#also love how the beginning of the snippets sound like when you miss a note in guitar hero

[schnaf]

MONEY ON MY MIND

[farm-witches-fic-recs]

The first community rec list of the year! Thank you to everyone who sent us a rec! We love reading what you have to say about your favorite fics.

Grab your favorite reading device and check out what our farm witch friends shared this month. Don’t forget to leave the writers some love!

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All the beautiful parts of him (@blackandwhiteandrose) “A swoony combination of sweet and sensual. This is a gorgeous glimpse into a dreamy tropical place, where David’s contentment and trust are evident in his wild curls and casual dress. This writer is insanely adept at creating an atmosphere and Patrick’s bone-deep satisfaction with his life is palpable, as is his love and lusty admiration for his husband.” 

Anything for us (sweetsirius/@wordthieve) “Literally everything. It is a beautiful and thoughtful exploration of David and Patrick’s journey from acquaintances to best friends to lovers. The banter and smut is top notch, but the best part is how the author hits all of the emotional notes and every single part of the story felt completely natural. This whole fic was written in such a thoughtful and loving way, and everyone really needs to read it!”

As we dream by the fire (@blackandwhiteandrose) “It feels so real but so dreamy, like being wrapped up in the cashmere throw David wants. Beautiful and cozy, which is what I want for them always.”

At the beginning with you (@fishyspots) “This is a stunningly well-written, realistic, haunting story of how true love and happily-ever-after can be nearly derailed by day-to-day, week-to-week normal life and ambition and carelessness that slide into complacency, exhaustion, and neglect. But it is also the hopeful story of how work and trust and therapy can help. WARNING: Super-duper angsty at first (don't read the beginning when feeling sad!)”

Cabin Fever (iola17/@beaiola) “David heads to a winter cabin to clear his head, and there's a very handsome, cheeky, helpful guy offering to cut wood for his fire. That sounds like a euphemism, and ... I guess it is. But it's a very well written, sweet and sexy one. It's honestly a fantastic, cosy fic with so much feeling. Snuggle up and read it!”

Cor meum in incendio est (@blueink3) “I thought I'd ravenously devoured all of blueink's work, but somehow I missed this one and just recently read it. I wasn't so sure about the political setting but it works so well and turns out to be a really sweet piece for Patrick and David!”

The difference between them (kostia) “This little fic is more of a prose poem (or poemy prose?) than a story, and I love the glimpse it gives us into David and Patrick’s relationship. It quickly and beautifully captures some of what they find so compelling about each other. It’s a little bit behind-the-episode, a little bit interior monologue, and a whole lot of affectionate musing. Also, it contains perhaps the best paragraph I've ever read about “The Hike.””

Nobody gets left behind (falconeggs/@focksii) “This kidfic one shot is like a warm hug after a long day. It’s the ultimate comfort fic for me! Kidfics in the fandom can sometimes seem out of character, especially for David, but the bond that he has with his Calvin (whose existence is a surprise until one fine day!) is written gorgeously. Every snippet of Calvin’s life with his Dads is so adorable and the ending makes you wish for a sequel!”

Rose Records (ThePause) “I want to give some older fics love! Rose Records by ThePause is a sexy, funny David and Patrick AU with the Rose family as record company owners and Patrick their new star. This is almost zero angst, high fluff and light smut wrapped in great writing and a great story.” 

Sherlock Sands and the mystery of the pie thief (doingthemost/@sarahlevys) “It's a cute mystery with a fun twist.”

You can fall (sweetsirius/@wordthieve) “This is my favorite of my favorites. Period. I have read it countless times and think about it just as often. I love everything about this story, starting before it even starts with the title from my favorite Noah Reid song. The chapter titles and definitions are a perfect reflection of their journey together. The versions of Patrick and David are unique and engaging while also familiar and comfortable. It is sweet, tender, and sexy as hell. There’s really only one thing left to say: It fucking glows.”

You have no home, you have no walls (odofidi) “This is one of the first fics I remember reading that painted David in such a different, darker light with this deep pain inside of him because of his unrequited love for Patrick but also his complicated relationship with his family, causing him to make choices to try and bury it, and becoming an addict in that process. We know from the show, David had a very difficult time in NY and he always hides that hurt and his experiences behind an image of aloofness or self-depreciation. This AU really digs into that pain and how it manifests in David and leading him into a life of addiction and finding his way back with the help of his family and also his own personal strength. It’s so beautifully written and the format is so well done alternating between past and present. There’s also a companion piece from Patrick’s POV that is equally as compelling.”

[skrs-cats]

yea!! not to spoil too much but it focuses on her grieving and finding friendship in dove who shes only just really met as it takes place after tigerhearts se and fills the gap before tbc begins, its sweet sometimes the novellas really hit sometimes they dont i have a friend who skips them completely and i dont get it they add so much NIGHTSTAR MY BELOVED </3 i first read about him in yellowfangs se and thought damn i wish i could read more about him and then his manga came out and i was so happy lol, hoping we get cannon merch of him someday i love how hes written, gonna make a note to make fanart of him aha, unfortunate how he was treated but it feels like it shapes who he is i suppose ohh that makes so much more sense now i thought i was just loosing touch with the fandom and not being able to keep up with names, i was never rly good at it. 💀 i was talking about that with a friend recently too tpb used to repeat backstory about characters so much that it became frustrating but the newer books cut back on it and now when they introduce a character you have to really sit and remember it because they arent explaining it EVER again yaaa!!! u get it lol i started reading other YA series i never read as a kid and thought id reread wcs with a friend for the hell of it (and cause i had so many of the books i never got to) and it was great but as soon as i got to new stuff id never read before it kinda lost its charm and i took a break, sometimes you just arent feeling it, tho the longer you wait the more there is to read when you come back to it who knows maybe holly will be back from the dead again or we will get a jay, holly or lion se, were getting an ivy one after all and theres holly and jay content in the bonus scene for tbc 1

that sounds so sweet ToT SOMEDAY ILL FIND THE TIME TO READ AND REREAD THESE NOVELLAS ive forgotten most of them LMFAO. i think the ones i remember most are hollyleaf's, leafpool's, goosefeather's and dovewings which is.. wow. i def dont have a preference

and yes ur def right that the way nightstar was treated added to how he is generally perceived and his character, it kinda reminds me of mudclaw too! (whos manga i have also still Yet to read rip) i feel bad for them both but their unfortunate circumstances are what makes them such interesting characters T-T

i feel like we are old men yelling at the clouds but in a GOOD WAY HAHAHAHA im glad that despite it, we are talking about the series either way so i guess that means we still feel quite passionate about it, whether in positive or negative manner lmaooo

i think whats stopping me from continuing in reading the new books is that i want to reread it from the very start first, so i am very much stuck in my own way khkjahkljf tbh though whenever i see snippets of the new books in socials i actually find them very interesting! but i def also had moments where i just grew tired and felt like getting away from it all. i am praying so fucking hard for more og po3 content i miss them SO damn MUCH WAHHHHHH

speaking of the bonus scenes, a few weeks back i found out i completely forgot they happened! MORE SPECIFICALLY W HOLLYLEAF, WHAT. I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST W JAYFEATHER AND HIM GRIEVING FOR LEAFPOOL. YOURE TELLING ME THERE WAS HOLLY CONTENT TOO??? what the fuck is my brain doing forgetting this information what the hell im such a fake fan TTTTTTOTTTTT

[theggning]

Mr. Pinstripe Suit - A Godot Playlist

An updated, revamped version of an ancient FST of mine (I mean like, Livejournal old.) Brought to you by the convenient modern technological magic of Spotify!

Appropriately jazz, swing, and rockabilly-heavy with a darker second half, but mostly upbeat. Contains allusions to spoilers for Trials and Tribulations and all the Miego you can drink (17 cups worth, even.)

Link to Playlist on Spotify

Tracklist and Descriptions/Meaningful Lyrical Snippets Under Cut

TRACKLIST:

Overture | Mr. Pinstripe Suit - Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Diego | Alter Ego - Donald Byrd

Turnabout Beginnings | Town Without Pity - The Brian Setzer Orchestra

By Her Side | Dominoes - Donald Byrd

Flirtation | Butterfly - Jason Mraz

Dating | You’re the Boss - The Brian Setzer Orchestra

Those Six Months | This Boy’s Last Summer - The Night Flight Orchestra

Dahlia | La Camisa Negra - Juanes

Coma | Machines - Biffy Clyro

Awakening | Funeral in His Heart - October Project

Missing Her | Since I Don’t Have You - The Brian Setzer Orchestra

Godot | Not Yet - Michel Camilo

Phoenix | Wipe That Smile Off Your Face - Our Lady Peace

Bitter as Hell | Bitter - Remy Zero

Trite | Fake - Mystery Skulls

Bridge to the Turnabout | Blood Like Lemonade - Morcheeba

The Bitter Truth | Hollow Man - R.E.M.

Everlasting Love | Sister Mercurial - The Night Flight Orchestra

Mia | California Sad-Eyed Girl - Rockapella

The Fragrance of Dark Coffee - insaneintherainmusic

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

Overture | Mr. Pinstripe Suit - Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

… Now he strolls through the city like a big ol' alley cat

With his pinstripe suit and a big bad voodoo hat

I don't believe I ever saw him without a kitten on his hand

And no one swings as hard to the big bad voodoo band

----

Diego | Alter Ego - Donald Byrd

(Instrumental)

----

Turnabout Beginnings | Town Without Pity - The Brian Setzer Orchestra

How can we keep love alive? How can anything survive?

When these little minds tear you in two

What a town without pity can do

----

By Her Side | Dominoes - Donald Byrd

Hold me tight (hold me tight), don't let go 

Turn me loose, never, no, no, no

We'll stand our problems all in a row

Watch them fall like dominoes

----

Flirtation | Butterfly - Jason Mraz

Butterfly, well you landed on my mind

Damn right you landed on my ear and then you crawled inside

And now I see you perfectly behind closed eyes

I want to fly with you and I don't want to lie to you

NOTES: Wholesome and horny. Whorny, if you will.

----

Dating | You’re the Boss - The Brian Setzer Orchestra

Baby, you've got me beat up and down, inside out and across

But in the middle of the night, when the moon is shinin' bright

You're the boss

NOTE: 1. This song is ALSO very horny 2. Mia tops, song confirms it.

----

Those Six Months | This Boy’s Last Summer - The Night Flight Orchestra

Over and over and over again, through those cheap and dirty thrills

Over and over I’ve learned only true love kills

If those haunted memories enter my mind

Only you can save me this time

Somewhere deep inside you know you’ll always be mine

NOTES: GOD NFO is so good, this song slaps. Also song’s about a man falling in love after a series of meaningless (”summer”) relationships, but is also depressingly literal in Diego’s case here and AAGGHHH

----

Dahlia | La Camisa Negra - Juanes

TRANSLATED FROM SPANISH (not by me):

(I drank from the malevolent poison that was your love

I remain a dying man and full of pain

I breathe in that bitter second of your goodbye

And since you left me alone...

I wear the black shirt / Because my soul is just as black)

----

Coma | Machines - Biffy Clyro

I whisper empty sounds in your ear and hope that you won't let go

Take the pieces and build them skywards

‘Cause I've started falling apart I'm not savoring life

I've forgotten how good it could be to feel alive

----

Awakening | Funeral in His Heart - October Project

He had a love, it was keeping him alive

It was someone else ago

So he tried to hide it

But he knew he’d never let it go

----

Missing Her | Since I Don’t Have You - The Brian Setzer Orchestra

I don't have happiness / And I guess I never will ever again

When you walked out on me, in walked old misery

And he's been here since then

NOTES: Okay but when they make an Ace Attorney jukebox musical, I want Godot performing this absolutely over the top solo lament complete with choreography, then quietly drinking a cup of coffee and pretending it never happened. 

-----

Godot | Not Yet - Michel Camilo

(Instrumental)

----

Phoenix | Wipe That Smile Off Your Face - Our Lady Peace

See, I’m not your friend

And I won’t pretend

That I’ve come here for peace

Well, I’m not afraid

I’m gonna make you pay

I’m gonna wipe that smile off your face

-----

Bitter as Hell | Bitter - Remy Zero

And I tried to believe in these lies

I tried to still see with black eyes

I wanted to tame you but you never came through

Bitter / Just one more day when it’s already been too long

----

Trite | Fake - Mystery Skulls

Gonna make you sorry that you met me

Gonna make your insides hurt

I've been laughing, we're all laughing at you

Cause it's funny, 'cause you're worse

NOTES: By the way, special thanks to “Turntable Turnabout” for introducing me to Mystery Skulls in the first place. (Go look on Youtube if you’ve never seen it.)

----

Bridge to the Turnabout | Blood Like Lemonade - Morcheeba

Hunting high and low to seek revenge

Brand new moral code, got made reluctant renegade

Leaving empty souls when he avenged

Evil spirits flowed, he drank the blood like lemonade

----

The Bitter Truth | Hollow Man - R.E.M.

I’ve overwhelmed, I’m on repeat, I’m emptied out, I’m incomplete

You trusted me, I want to show you

I don’t want to be the hollow man

----

Everlasting Love | Sister Mercurial - The Night Flight Orchestra

I remained terrestrial, you took to the air

I despised the factual, you became aware

And I never will regret choosing death when we were young

Somewhere in the stratosphere you will watch me 'til I'm done

NOTES: OWWWWWWWW

-----

Mia | California Sad-Eyed Girl - Rockapella

You’ll always be the summer in my winter world

My California sad-eyed girl

I need to know - Are we still in your mind?

And come one day, impossible as it may seem, I can dream

At the end of this road somewhere, you wait for me

NOTES: “Japanifornia Sad-Eyed Girl” *almost* scans, too...

-----

The Fragrance of Dark Coffee - insaneintherainmusic

(Instrumental) One of many fine covers by the amazingly talented insaneintherainmusic!

[mustardyellowsunshine]

@superpixie42 @pinestripes You both sent your asks within like a minute of each other, so I figured I'd answer you both simultaneously. 😁

Grief is Not Chronologically Correct is a weird one. It started as an experiment in form/narrative structure, and then it kinda got away from me. Basically it's a modern AU that begins with InuYasha's death; the story is told in reverse chronological order, so the rest of the fic moves backwards in time from there, and is from Kagome's perspective. Tbh I don't really plan to post it, even if I ever finish it. Since our beloved dog-boy dies in literally the first couple paragraphs, I don't think most readers would be interested in reading it. ^^; It also deals with the subject of sexual assault, so, y'know -- really cheery all around.

Here's a few random snippets from it, just for some flavor (cw: remembered sexual assault in the final paragraph).

2011: When his mother calls, you are standing in the grocery store holding a bag of turnips. “Kagome,” she says, “something happened.”

There is not a funeral, only an obituary in the paper. Matsumoto Inuyasha, 24.  It does not say how he died. It does not say that half his family is too indifferent and the other half too heartbroken to have a memorial service. It says he was a graduate from the University of Tokyo. He majored in Environmental Science. He loved hiking and martial arts.

You read it over and over again, filling in the missing pieces, redrawing the portrait into one you recognize. You imagine the long silver hair framing his face, the quick flash of golden eyes, how his frown was always quicker than his laugh, but gods what a laugh. You remember how the strength of his own limbs always seemed to surprise him. How he sneezed in quadruples. How he joked about living in the forest, but meant every word. How little he truly spoke his mind, and how often he grumped over what did not irritate him at all. When he was tired, vowels became long and slow in his mouth, almost like music. The notes he left in your books. How his voice gentled when he looked at you.

Take three days off from work. Spend most of it holed up in your apartment, watching the news and staring out the window. Across the world, war erupts in dry desert places. People are shot and mortared and burned, and yet still fight.

2009: Most days are a blur of paper-writing and the type of procrastination that involves beer and musicals. Your friends make plans for graduation. In answer to their inquiries, say, “I’m just trying to make it to the weekend.”

Koga, from your history class, asks you to coffee. He is nice. He smells like pencil shavings and laundry detergent. Look squarely at his collar bone and say, “No, thank you. I can’t.”

Inuyasha sends you a three-page letter. Display the first page on the refrigerator door, and when your roommate complains about it, say, “We need some comedy around here.” It begins:  My neighbor started exercising at home. This would be fine if he didn’t do it naked, and with his curtains open. I haven’t been able to eat dinner for a week because every time I pass the kitchen window I see his bouncing naked ass bent over a blue exercise ball.

That has to be the most effective diet plan in the world, you write back.

One day, after class, you follow professor Saito Kikyo to her office. She does not see you. As she sits at her desk, you hover just outside the door. Step forward once, twice, only to step back again, like a moth uncertain of a porch light. Finally, raise your fist to knock on the doorjamb. Change your mind. Before you completely withdraw, your professor looks up. “Yes, can I help you?” she asks. She sounds harried, preoccupied. Hesitate. Say, “No, sorry, I just got a little turned around.” Go home. When your roommate asks about your day, tell her, “It was fine.”  

2007: Afterwards, come back to silence so profound you can feel it swelling towards you, meeting you as both welcomer and jailer. 

It is three in the morning. Your roommate is gone and she did not leave a note. Walk to your room and close the door. Get in bed without taking off your shoes. As you stare up into dimness, you cannot stop over-thinking your body: every limb, all the expanse of skin, each twitch of muscle and rattling gulp of oxygen. It’s like examining, from within, another’s body. It is another body, you decide; a pitched tent, a temporary country. You are merely visiting.

Hours pass. Recall—again, again—the sting of fingernails digging into your wrists, the spasms of your arms and legs trying, simultaneously, to wrench free and shrink into the ground. You still feel the concrete pushing against your tailbone, the harsh breath against your neck.

For the rest of the year, hold shrapnel under your tongue where other people keep words.

[lipstickstainz]

true lies - s. r. (7/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison

Chapter Summary: Girls night - and Spencer and you accidentally meet each other the day after.

Warnings: a little bit of angst, and fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I'm sorry it took me song long, but I was really busy. I hope you like it! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous part

"Will you please pass me the can of glitter?", Penelope asks. Everyone gives her confused looks, except you. Your gaze is fixed on the pictures in front of you.

"What do you need glitter for?", JJ asks, taking a sip of her wine.

"This is supposed to be a vision board", she grins, grabbing the reddish can Emily holds out to her. She twists off the cap and sprinkles a little glitter on her hand before letting it trickle onto the glue-covered cardboard. "In my vision, my future is full of glitter. With the cruel things we have to see every day, everything should be full of glitter."

Emily has to grin, but raises her wine glass. The others do the same. "Here's to a future full of glitter." As the others toast and glasses clink together, you silently slide the pictures back and forth on your drab piece of cardboard.

It's been Penelope's idea for you girls to get together on a Saturday night to create vision boards together. It's been a week since Spencer and you spoke, and Penelope couldn't take your suffering anymore. She had tried so many times to cheer you up, but nothing had worked. Your heart was broken, your world was shattered, but Penelope can't take it. Ridiculous.

At first you were against it. In the last days you were just vegging out, your emotions as if erased, repressed and burned out. If you allowed your true feelings, you would break. You got up, went to work and went to bed at night. You weren't capable of doing more than that, because even every breath was far too exhausting.

And then, all of a sudden, the girls had shown up at your door. Their bags were filled with craft supplies, sleeping stuff, and alcohol. Penelope, not knowing what had even happened, had rounded everyone up and decided you needed cheering up. You wanted to slam the door in her face, but there was so much pain in her gaze and only then did you realize that you weren't the only one to suffer. Your friends were suffering with you and their visit was a kind attempt to get you back on track. And it started with them forcing you to shower and put on a sweater that didn't have a coffee stain on it.

"Y/N?", Tara addresses you and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus back on the piece of cardboard in front of you and you realize that you haven't put a single picture, saying, anything on it yet, while everyone else's hands are covered in glue. In your friends' faces you see confusion and pity. You look away. "You haven't picked out anything for your vision board yet."

Because I don't know what my future will look like without Spencer by my side, you reply in your mind. You don't want to pretend you can imagine a future without him when he's been a big part of it for years. And most of all, you don't want to admit it.

"What do you think of this one?", JJ asks, pushing toward you the snippet she's cut out of one of the countless magazines Penelope has brought. The words are written in thick letters. "Trust the timing of your life." Funny.

"Do you want to tell us what happened?", Penelope asks quietly, sipping her cocktail. There's already red glitter on the glass. "We can see how bad you are."

She only means well and she's also a good friend and actually you want to tell, but then it would come true. As long as you keep your conversation to yourself, you can pretend it didn't happen. You could go on as before and hope that everything will work out. But it wouldn't be the truth.

The truth is that Spencer and you would never get back together.

As you begin to tell it, all the dams break. Tears are streaming down your cheeks and you have to gasp in between as the words get stuck in your throat. No one interrupts you, they just stare at you, amazed that you are actually talking. And you don't leave out a single detail. You tell them that you were standing outside his room at night and he slammed the door in your face.That he wanted you off the team and insulted the crap out of you at Rossi's party, only to cuddle with you on JJ's couch afterwards and then call it a mistake. You tell them about the angry kiss, about your fights and reconciliations, and finally you tell them about your last night together and your conversation.

When you're done, you reach for your glass, which you haven't touched yet, and drink the wine down to the last drop.Only when the glass is empty and you put it down do you look at the others again.  Uncertainly, you look around and recognize an infinite number of questions in their faces, which they don't ask - to be honest, you wouldn't have the answers either - and mixed feelings, which you can't interpret despite your good profiling skills. But there's one thing you can recognize in every look you meet: pain. And even though they look at you with a lot of pity, you don't regret telling them about it.

If you break from it, you know the girls will put you back together.

"That's ... a lot”, Tara says first, taking a sip of her cocktail. You nod mutely.

"We always hoped you'd find each other after all”, Penelope confesses, twisting the glitter jar shut.Apparently, she's lost the desire to put more on her cardboard.

"Even though you left Spencer, we always thought it was for a reason other than you didn't love him anymore. You were the perfect couple and we just couldn't imagine it." Up until this point, JJ had been suspiciously quiet. She looks up from her cardboard. "And now you're back, and the way you're suffering right now, we can imagine it even less. So why would you say that to him? If it's not true after all?"

"That's enough, guys. We should change the subject”, Emily interjects pouring wine into your empty glass. You're infinitely grateful to her. Talking has drained you, and just thinking about Spencer hurts. Talking about it doesn't exactly make it easier to deal with it all, but the weight on your shoulders doesn't feel quite so crushing anymore.

"You still love him, don't you?" Penelope sounds hopeful. And you don't want to take away her hope, and especially you don't want to lie to your friends, but it has to be done. You promised, even swore, that the deal would stay secret, and it was already too dangerous to have told Emily then. You wouldn't risk your friends' lives.

"No, Penelope." The glimmer of hope in her eyes goes out. It's a feeling you know all too well.

"I don't want to get too close to you, Y/N”, Tara begins. "But then why do you feel so bad? If you didn't love him anymore, then you wouldn't be so heartbroken, would you?"

And you don't have an answer to that anymore.

The topic is over and will not be brought up again. At the end of the evening, your cardboard is still empty, but you feel a little better and you mentally make a note to yourself that you owe them. When the girls say goodbye the next morning after breakfast - Penelope hugs you a little longer than the others - you head out as well. Thanks to your friends, you've realized that there's nothing you can do about the situation, that you're going to have to deal with it - and definitely not alone - and that sitting lonely in your apartment waiting for a miracle to happen is not an option.

The warm sun on your skin feels good, like a hug, and you reach out to it as you walk to your favorite bookstore. There are many people out and about, walking or shopping. Countless people are sitting in the small cafes, eating and drinking and talking. You've only been back in D.C. for a few weeks and it feels like you've never been away.

Over the past year, you've been on the road a lot, not only in the States but also in Europe. In addition to work that has sent you nearly halfway around the world, you've sat in the Hamburg State Opera, eaten in the cute cafes in Bucharest, and admired the medieval old town in Lund, Sweden. You've seen and experienced so much, met new people, but nothing resembles home. And not being able to be here for a year had been incredibly difficult.

As you enter your favorite bookstore, the smell of old books rises to your nose and goosebumps spread across your warmed skin. How much you missed it. You may have been to other bookstores, but you know this one like the back of your hand. How you've missed this. You walk down the aisles, running your fingers over the various spines before stopping at a book. The cover is a faded red and somewhat damaged, with white writing that makes you want to pull it off the shelf and open it.

You are so engrossed that you don't notice how someone comes up to you and stops next to you.

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair," the person begins to quote and you wince, but don't turn around. "Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt fort he liquid measure of your steps."

You have to swallow, put a finger between the pages to find the poem again before closing the book and turning around. "Hi."

Spencer smiles at you. "I didn't think I'd run into you here."

You pucker your lips into a thin line. "Yeah, um, I haven't been here since I got back. Wanted to see if it's changed."

Oddly enough, it doesn't feel strange to be standing in this bookstore with him, considering you'd been here almost every day before and this moment is the first time you've seen each other outside of work since you had your clarifying conversation. Nervous, though, you are. You suppress the urge to tap from one foot to the other.

"So, has it changed?" Spencer tilts his head, but doesn't avert his gaze from you.

You shake your head. "Not really. But I guess the salesgirl who had the hots for you back then doesn't work here anymore." You try to lighten the slightly tense mood with the joke, and it seems to work. Spencer laughs out loud.

"I still don't think she had a crush on me." His smile widens, and it's so infectious that you have to smile, too.

"One hundred percent”, you return, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. "It was pretty funny watching her flirt with you all the time, but you didn't go for it."

The bookstore is completely empty except for you and the clerk at the entrance. Silence surrounds you, but it is not uncomfortable despite the circumstances and the new situation. You just stand there smiling at each other until Spencer takes the book from your hand.

"Neruda writes beautifully." He flips through the book once before handing it back to you. As your fingers graze, a flash goes through you, but you try not to let it show. "Very nice poems."

You nod. "I know. Only know him through you”, you answer truthfully.

Spencer has to grin. "True." He runs a hand through his tousled hair. "He's in that book I gave you once."

"Right." You don't want your conversation to end, and you don't want to leave, but it would be best for both of you. You're not ready to be friends yet, and while your meeting doesn't feel awkward, you're not sure how to handle it. You tap the book and look at him.

"I'll go pay for that." You walk past him, but turn back to him. "It's good to see you, Reid." You use his last name on purpose, knowing full well that his first name is reserved for friends. And in your opinion, you're not ready yet.

"It's good to see you, too."

You nod to him again before leaving without turning around again. You feel his gaze on you anyway.

When you get to work the next day, there's a gift on your desk. It's wrapped in brown wrapping paper and a cord is tied around it and tied into a bow. Simple and beautiful. You set your bag down, confused, before sitting down and inspecting it.

"Who's this from?", Luke asks, walking past you to his desk. You shrug ignorantly.

"I don't know."

The gift is slightly larger than your hand, but not particularly heavy. After opening it and putting the paper in the trash can under the desk, you take a closer look at the book. It's black, and the cover features a plain white flower, with the word "poetry" engraved underneath. As you open the first section, you come across something written. You recognize Spencer's handwriting.

"And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud, was more painful than the risk it took to blossom - Anais Nin."

Your heart skips a beat and you block out the feeling spreading through you. You flip through the book and realize it is completely blank except for this poem. The pages are lined and practically screaming to be filled.

"Do you like it?", Spencer asks, sitting down across from you at his own desk. He sets his fresh cup of coffee down in front of him and you give him a friendly smile.

"It's wonderful." You blink away the tears forming in your eyes. "Thank you."

"I found it in the bookstore after you left. And I know you like to read poetry, and I thought you could write down your favorite poems in it." He takes a sip of his coffee.

"That's very sweet of you. Really, thank you, Reid."

"Spencer." A thin smile spreads across his face and you warm. "My friends call me Spencer."

next part

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[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 9: ABEL GANCE’S NAPOLEON (1927)

1. The Introduction

Greetings, Citizens, and welcome to the ninth meeting of our Convention.

Now, today is a bit of a special day as, for the first time, we’ll take a look at an example of a rather rare variety of Frev media that tackles not just the French Revolution proper, but also the beginning of the Napoleonic era.

Unfortunately, I’m not exactly knowledgeable about the latter but Tumblr has a Napoleonic era community, who happen to be our neighbors in the chronological sense of the word, so should a friendly Neighbor show up in the comments, be sure to make room for them and, for the love of the Supreme Being, try not to fight for I will swiftly take action should any offensive behavior take place in the comments of my reviews. You’ve been warned.

Anyway, this particular silent movie, directed by Abel Gance (who also plays Saint-Just but more on that later) and released in 1927, became a blip on my radar thanks to one of my elective classes at college, when the teacher showed us a snippet of the movie during her lecture about the history of cinema.

Being a history buff AND an old movie buff, I knew I had to look into this one and believe me, there’s a lot to unpack.

Since the full movie can’t be found on YouTube, here’s a link to the website where I found it:

(Do note that, apparently, this isn’t the full version and about an hour of the original footage is missing.)

Okay, now, with the formalities out of the way, let us begin, Citizens and Neighbors!

2. The Story

As expected from a movie titled “Napoleon”, Naps is our main character and the approximately 4 hours of the movie tackle his early life, from boarding school to the beginning of his campaigns and ends in the Alps. That’s the gist of the story.

Now, there are two things in particular that I like about the story.

First and foremost, the beginning of the movie contains some pretty good examples of foreshadowing.

It opens with a snowball fight outside the boarding school, and already we can see Napoleon showing his military talents that would manifest themselves on a much bigger scale later on.

And then, during a Geography class, one of the islands the teacher draws on the blackboard is St. Helena, the place where Naps will spend his last days in exile.

There are other examples throughout the movie, like Lenormant predicting that Josephine de Beauharnais will become a queen and a shadow in the shape of a guillotine being cast onto the book in Robespierre’s desk, so watch out for those moments.

Maybe it’s not the best example of foreshadowing in the history of cinema but personally I was genuinely impressed and surprised by how well it worked and even took a few notes on foreshadowing just in case.

Another good thing about the movie is that it’s honest about not being all that accurate right off the bat, unlike some other pieces of Frev media (*cough* AssCreed Unity *cough*). Therefore, the viewers know that this is simply the director’s vision, not actual history, and know what to expect.

When you know you won’t be historically accurate, honesty is the best policy so I genuinely appreciate the fact that the movie doesn’t pretend to be an encyclopedia.

One thing I didn’t really like is the insane amount of filler scenes and the fact that some parts (like the snowball fight) tend to drag on for way too long so please keep that in mind.

I know complaining about the fact that a movie is too long sounds weird when it comes from the girl who watched “Lawrence of Arabia” in one sitting but still, mind the fillers.

My second (and final) major complaint is the fact that the movie feels...unfinished, without a proper conclusion, but that’s probably because originally Gance wanted to make six movies in total, only to realize that it wouldn’t happen and scrap the idea, so I don’t exactly hold this point against him.

Anyway, let’s proceed to the next point.

3. The Characters

Most of the major characters are historical, so let’s talk about them.

First is Napoleon himself.

His arc is that of an underdog as he goes from a school outcast to an accomplished general respected for his leadership and talent.

I have a soft spot for “underdogs” and in this case this type of story actually works because it mirrors the real Napoleon’s early days in many aspects.

Besides, I can relate to being bullied (I used to be the outcast myself) so I genuinely liked his defiance and determination no matter the circumstances and wanted to give the kid a hug in the early scenes that showed how bad the bullying was (spoiler alert, pretty freaking bad).

Josephine de Beauharnais is also portrayed in a rather sympathetic light.

Her husband is executed, she is torn apart from her children (Napoleon’s future stepchildren, Eugene and Hortense, who have cameos in the movie) and imprisoned. Thankfully, she is freed later but I genuinely felt bad for her when all of that happened.

Not all characters got so lucky, however, for propaganda has reared its head yet again!

Marat, Robespierre, Couthon and Saint-Just got the short end of the stick yet again while Camille Desmoulins (who wears a lipstick in this movie) and Danton are idolized. Again.

Marat is outright described as “bloodthirsty” so technically we’re supposed to root for Charlotte Corday (even though the movie acknowledges her as a fanatic) like her killing Marat is a good thing.

Robespierre, with his menacing sunglasses and a pout, doesn’t speak much, but he grows increasingly paranoid, watches through the wooden blinds on his windows as Danton is being transported to the guillotine and condemning everyone to death without hesitation as soon as appropriate paperwork is placed in front of him or the “evil” Saint-Just tells him to have someone arrested.

Speak of the devil, Saint-Just, played by Gance himself, is not a heavenly pretty feminine boy for once. Yay! But unfortunately he is technically one of the bad guys too, so he couldn’t catch a break even here. Most of the time he is beside Robespierre sniffing a flower. I do like the fact that he is shown to be a skilled orator in the movie though.

Couthon is paraplegic like in real life, but also acts like a cliché mentally ill person for some reason and keeps playing with a pet bunny. Okay...

Other historical figures who appear in the story include Antoine Saliceti, Pichegru, Beaumarchais, F**ché, Theresia Tallien (wife of Jean-Lambert T*llien, a guy who was so determined to rescue Theresia that he became a Thermidorian, only to get cheated on and dumped by her later), Murat (here he sports gigantic hoop earrings and lipstick) and Barras.

Despite Theresia being there, T*llien himself is absent.

Moving on, Citizens!

4. The Acting

The acting is great! I’m honestly a big fan of pantomime and I tried it myself so I know how hard it can be but I think the cast did a fantastic job.

I don’t really have any significant complaints here, although it might seem over the top to modern audiences.

5. The Setting

Aside from the fact that an absurd number of characters wears makeup, the clothes and the hairstyles are mostly pretty good.

The backgrounds are also well done in my opinion, at least for that time.

I must warn you that sometimes the camera tends to move way too fast and there are flashing images in some places though. Discretion is advised.

6. The Music

Oh my Supreme Being, the music here is fantastic! I think it really drives home the emotions conveyed in the story by its characters.

That’s always a plus if you ask me.

7. The Conclusion

Despite all the fillers, Thermidorian propaganda and some other flaws, I enjoyed this movie and I recommend it to you, my dearest readers, with the utmost sincerity.

Just be sure to have your thinking caps on while watching and take everything with a tablespoon of salt.

With that, let us conclude the ninth meeting, of the Jacobin Fiction Convention.

Stay tuned for updates on the next review and stay safe!

Love,

- Citizen Green Pixel

[hhjs]

summary ➝ "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigating the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

"Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath.  Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart.

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

word count ➝ 16.6k words.

alternatively➝ university premise.

genre ➝ angst, romance??? comedy??? a smidge of drama??? idk

pairings➝ han jisung. x fem reader.

warnings ➝ recreational drinking, use of profanity, suggestive.

note➝ i suspect that i have a vague emotional attachment to this. Please note that it used to be a jeonghan fic originally but is now rewritten.  i've been toying around with my writing style, idk if this has met what's expected :c but... this piece is a proper example of the idiots to lovers trope. 

a huge thanks to @emhpathy​ for beta-reading. 

 also i felt indolent and didn’t edit. :(

loosely based on the Coldplay song in question, ‘A Message’.

After. 

The air smells like seasalt. Like having a foamy blanket of  waves draped over your face until you let go, slowly, let all the air leave your lungs. 

In the distant rhythm of the rattling wind, you can barely hear the ring of childish laughter. It's an old bicycle Minho last rode when he was 13. Jisung's driving too fast. But you don't care, you don't care because you feel just so alive. You can feel your heart on your tongue. Under your fingertips. Inside your chest.

You can't believe it's true. Can't believe this is your life. Can't believe you're real.

The city is a haze of blue and yellow and red. Jisung slows down by the sidewalk, leaning into the wash of colours and it  stains the side of his face a little. The breeze is caressing his hair. Patting stubborn gelled strands out. His shoulders rise and fall with every little movement, upwards and downwards. When he breathes in and when he breathes out. Everything seems to slow down. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute like an hour.

 Then suddenly- and it surprises you a little - Jisung pauses, cranes his neck back to smile at you. It's lopsided, toothy. He looks so much younger. Suddenly, so utterly boyish. You commit the sight to memory, the sliver of his teeth, the glint in his eyes, the curl of his mouth -

You hope you never forget this.

 Because this is how you know. This is how you've always known.

You wouldn't change anything. Even if you could go back.  

Not for a second. Not when it hurt. Not when it was hard.

Not even once.

...

Bach's  Toccata & Fugue in D Minor. 

You're in your bedroom, you can hear the music in your head, the crescendos and diminuendos, the feather light piano, the strum of a guitar and the gargling of a trumpet, fingers buzzing with an intense desire to write it all down. But then the sound of an organ rips through the air, the curtains pull apart. Your bedroom floor gives away from under your feet. There is a stage, there is an audience impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say.

So you run, run, run home.

You remember standing in front of your mum's bedroom. Knocking. When she lets you crawl back under the covers and she runs a caressing hand down your back, you say nothing. (There seems to be a gaping hole in your chest. And you don't understand it. Like something's missing.) . When she traces the shape of your jaw and says trouble sleeping? you say nothing. Then the rain pelts the windows, the curtains are  pulled; suddenly it's so much darker, so much colder, you place a hand over your heart and then look up at her, up to her large, concerned eyes and say, "It hurts."

 But it's okay. It's okay. You'll forget all about it by tomorrow morning.  Because your mum smells like home, like the earth after it rains. It's okay because the world is less scary when you're a kid. When you don't understand.

 Then you're on a train, it skids against its tracks and your hand hurts from holding onto the handle for too long. You hold your draft against your ribs.There are too many people. Shoulders. Heads. Standing. Sitting. Their lives are different. Even when they're together. 

From here, you can make out a woman stroking her toddler's cheek, a teenager with a copy of A Tale Of Two Cities in hand, a tall man, with his head hung low. He is smiling down at his lover. His fingers splay against her throat. She is looking at him. They say nothing. 

 She stands on her toes and kisses him. And something inside you suddenly comes alive, an absence, tries to gnaw its way out of your ribcage. Tries to tell you I've never left. 

The train finds itself in the belly of a tunnel. Outside, it's so much darker. So much colder. There's a blinking streetlight ahead. Yellow and lime green. It must have been raining. You don't know your stop.     

All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. This is a stage. 

The passengers are impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say. You can't run this time.

(You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. This city. Something is missing. Something is wrong. You need to get away.)

Now you wait for a room. A door. A bed. And miss your mother with an intensity that's akin to taking a punch to the gut. You don't remember what the earth smells like anymore. Everything in the city is platform and concrete. And soot rising from tall  chimneys.

Suddenly, you can't believe childhood is over.

Spurts of light found themselves against the hallway ceiling, you wondered how long you'd been thinking about that nightmare for it to take so much of your attention. A mic involuntarily roars to life, reminding you that you were still at the varsity and you had to find Jisung. 

Which sounds easy, had it not been for your history with him. Avoiding him was getting progressively hard a task to maintain because you were in the same department, sharing minor courses that prompts you to think that nothing much had changed and you'd be lying if you said you mind. He is a stubborn page which keened on flipping over in the youthful chapters of your life, refusing to be left behind and some part of you is too scared to know what would happen if you had.

You sigh, looking at the clock nailed to one of the pale yellow pillars and then close your eyes to try to ease the tension in your shoulders. Breathing in. Breathing out.  This morning, you put on a thin cotton dress but the humidity had somehow prompted it to appear somewhat translucent.

Summer brushes up against the back of your neck, you rub your eyes vigorously, placing your sweaty palms on them, dapples of light settled atop  the lids. Coating the little twists of purplish veins pink and white, becoming brighter and brighter and brighter. Any minute now and you would muster up the courage to face him.

You push the field door open.

Football players for the born-again team are loitering about in the heavily populated room, expectants look on most of their faces. You begin to feel twice as much nervous than you did before. 

See, the possibility of stuttering nonsensical sentences and potentially embarrassing yourself in front of Jisung and nameless strangers, again, wasn't the most thrilling idea for you but if you don't make the deadline this time on this group assignment, you'll fail your linguistics course, so it  would be tough to bounce back from for the both of you.

The coach, who is a lanky man, with an alarmingly ruddy face and tufts of snow white hair spiralling out of his head, experienced a lot of difficulty blowing it away from his line of sight. With the  door held back, pressing a curious looking opaque board to his chest, he scans the entirety of the team with an owlish stare, when he was satisfied with the number of persons attending, he stepped in.

"Game starts in 10 minutes." he pauses, allowing the candidates to settle in. A feet away from you, Changbin produces a series of garbled profanities before going back greedily guzzling down the rest of his gatorade.

Once the coach clears his throat, his beady eyes travelling from one curious face to another, flitting between each person, it finds you briefly then it darts curiously across the scenery behind you, as though an explanation for your presence is out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

You hold the assignment packet against your chest, feeling the weight of gel blue letters under the rough pad and then slowly fold it open.

Han jisung. You tell him, that's who I'm looking for. 

It takes you awhile to navigate your gaze to the owner of the name amidst the maze of students huffing and puffing about schedules and missing lectures and deadlines, some shouldering their way out in bored frowns, some smiling excited smiles, rushing to grab a suitable seat. Like a blur of faces you catch on the subway and eventually forget, the little snippets of another person's life. Glimpses of them from car windows pressed together in traffic, just a few seconds before the light turns green. One minute you think you know them, put yourself in their shoes and imagine their life for them and the next, you go back to being strangers. 

To you, Jisung's face is an unmistakable, unforgettable kind of face. 

Taunting you from posters of his many swim team accomplishments, under which his name stood in big bold yellow letters, plastered on the noticeboards, on the  walls where the paint was starting to crack. The search didn't prove to be very difficult even though he didn't stick out like a sore thumb without his signature bleached blonde hair.

A varsity jacket is discarded on his body. Under the blue and yellow fabric, Jisung's chest rises and falls with every breath, his lanky legs perched up on the bleachers.  You wonder how he managed to doze off in the face of all this tension about getting clocked in face with a football. 

Aside from by accident, you were positive he hadn't tried to speak to you ever since your previous, unspeakably embarrassing encounter. 

That was a long time ago. 

It was certain that had it not been for this assignment, things between you would remain that way. In spite of this, you've gathered, because people never stop fawning over this prominent character, that not much has changed since you were in school.

Jisung managed to secure an attention drawing position wherever he went and upperclassmen wanted to be his friend even though he mostly indulged only in his own company. 

His head rests on folded arms, his foot is propped up on his knee, which he keeps shaking.  Sunlight crawls up the expanse of his exposed cheek, allowing burnt orange to  bathe half of his face, ribbons of liquid light tapering to smudges down the side of his jaw and disappearing.

Jisung has a boyish face, his eyes are big and kiddish, paired with a sharp nose and a convenient, small, pinkish mouth inherently pouted out to accentuate his puffy squirrel like cheeks but slimming down around his jaw. His raven hair falls in sleek, wet tufts clinging to his forehead and grazing his rosy cheeks, giving him a strange resemblance to a cherub loitering around in the real world.

Come to think of it, Jisung looks, like he invariably does, just slightly out of place.

You drop your bag on the grass. The action makes an unexpected thump. His eyes stir  faster behind closed eyelids, as though he were stirring awake from an ardently produced dream, like a newborn baby, divorced from the worries of the world. Jisung opens one of his eyes, then another, glaring confusedly, his lips pursed in unspoken surprise.

What's the big deal, right? At best, he'll start cooperating with you. At worst, you imagine, he'll toss you across the field for disrupting his sleep.

Of course, no one in their right minds would opt for the latter option, the rational part of you reasons - but you show him the packet,  just for safety measures.

"I thought we ought to go over how we're going to work around this assignment and you weren't in class so..."  You explain. When Jisung just blinks up at you in a curious fashion, you consider that he might not recognise you at all, that, for some reason, bothers you. "You probably don't remember me I-"

"I remember." He interjects firmly, acknowledging you with a fluent utterance of your name that gives you enough evidence of his claim, followed by a watchful, stoic gaze, he motions for you to take a seat beside him. 

You hesitantly sit at the end of the row,  keeping a calculated distance between your bodies. You find that even after all this time looking him in the eye was just as unnerving as it had been the first time they shyly flickered back to yours from across a thick spined A levels Calculus textbook. There's still an intimidating air about him, something that seeks to be constantly impressed without asking to.

Jisung sits up straighter, setting both his legs on either side of the bench, he keeps his gaze trained on your face, not looking away once. "Go on." He suggests, his voice low, "What do we have to do?"

You perk up at this, taking the contents out of the packet. Setting them down before you, you reiterate the instructions rendered in class, trying to include every important detail which contributes to the making of the project.

"We have to attach a PowerPoint part too." You paused, "Let's do that bit today."

Jisung listens intently, never cutting you off, he nods occasionally, making suggestions when you were trying to look for suitable loops in your schedules to work on the scheme, you recommended  several premises, ranging from cafés to parks to libraries to food courts, even your place because it's the closest from Jisung's flat and he refuses go beyond the distance on a Sunday morning. You casually let in the fact that your flatmate would be there in order to insinuate that you hadn't made the offer because of your previous feelings for him.

 You sigh, taking a minute to stretch back and take a deep breath. The bench is cool under your thighs, soft caresses of a warm summer breeze brushing the hair from your face away, pale yellow pours from the canopies, staining the grass, football players prepping in the distance, their zealous partners egging them on with excited smiles, shouting encouragements from the other end of the court.  You imagine lying down on the grass, spreading your arms out and not having a care about anything.

"You still wear that bracelet." 

"What?" You yawn, brows furrowed in confusion. You look at him from the corner of your eyes,  finding that his brown orbs motion to the source of comment, they dart from your cheek to your wrist, where surely the platinum accessory is tied to its loosest hoop, it used to be your go-to add-on in school. 

Surprised, you touch the item briefly, before retracting your hand slowly. All you can think is he remembers, he really remembers,  "...Yeah."

...

Instead of running about playgrounds with a mouthful of kiddish laughter and building cartoonishly  architectured sandcastles, you remember spending most of your childhood with your nose dug deep inside a fairytale, splurging much time on committing the glide of milky pages to memory, eyes widening, face twisting with each vicissitudes of emotions that would come over you with each stage of exploring a story. It was your own little world, a catharsis for all that you were holding inside, a window you could crack open and when the real world felt stuffy. 

Fancying Jisung was, your younger self imagined, fantastical, like something out of those fairytales.

You don't know when you started liking him, maybe it was the first time you saw him. It was your last year in school and Jisung's unfamiliar face was a new sight against the fuzzy background of sleepy students pouring into the hallway, it was the kind that demanded to be noticed, even though he simply  looked bored with an enormous pair of headphones looped around his thin neck.

Jisung was born to go through life being the embodiment of an all rounder, now that you think about it, there's not a thing he wasn't good at, always  having a proclivity to outshine others.

 He was a transfer student with stellar grades in spite of mostly routing his interest  towards composing  obscure music you'd found floating about the net. In all honesty, he truly was the master of all trades and the jack of none and every room was a keeper of attention, enveloped in an intangible but unanimous, wordless veil of interest towards the new character.

But  maybe it wasn't as theatrical as you remembered; maybe it was the love at  first sight nonsense, maybe it wasn't something you realised overnight, out of the blue, maybe it all happened at a slow, infuriating pace, maybe you started liking him for the small, stupid and unimportant things, like when you dropped your pen, the thin stick rolling away between your desks and he picked it up, flicking it between his fingers curiously, carefully curling his fingers around the metal, observing it before putting it back on your desk, maybe it was in class, when he zoned out in class, not bothering to look apart until he realised it had caught your attention, he then blinked away, the rosy hue of his cheeks more prominent with each passing second,  maybe it was when you were sure you were about to flunk the history pop quiz and Jisung whispered the names of warriors and poets and the fallen while keeping his gaze firmly poised on his paper.

You were so shy, cloistered, intensely egregious and he kept seeking you out in some new manner, causing you to be an element of mild interest not only amongst your peers but also people who actively seeked his romantic interest.  Although, conversations  on your part never stretched beyond differentiation and stealing cautious glances at one another, (which wasn't a shocker because you didn't know how to compute a chat with him and Jisung was unusually timid for someone who acquainted himself with well known rambunctious personalities), you genuinely enjoyed his company.

So you obliged. Even though it was utterly improper and you were sure he liked someone on the cheer squad. It was just that you were a kid and you wanted to wear your heart on your sleeve just once before tucking it away forever.

He poked his head out from the water, wordlessly upon hearing his name, looking at you with a cocked brow and you were quick to say it, like you had to before you ended up changing your mind, it took a lot of courage to mutter a simple confession after all,  in spite of the fact you didn't at all picture him reciprocating, whisking you off of your feet with a wide grin, in a grand affirmation of all the rubbish pop culture has spoon fed you. 

It was a stereotypical teeth rotting, sweet crush that bound you to want to be around Jisung in a way he didn't, something lodged deep inside of you, the same thing that was childish and clung onto its fairy tales for dear life, hoped that he would share the same feelings, in spite of knowing it was undoubtedly unrequited. 

 Jisung had an indecipherable look on his face, he parted his mouth to say something but paused as if looking for the right words.  He simply settled with a sigh, before lowering his body down into the pool. You replayed the scene over and over again for the rest of senior year, until it drove you to a point of absolute insanity. You even considered googling what a sigh was supposed to convey, if fishing through dictionaries wasn't going to tell.

That was notably the last time you spoke in school.

But your strained relationship stayed with you like an embarrassing tattoo  and in trying desperately to  conceal it, afraid someone would see too much, know too much, you would only make it more apparent. 

You had to push him away to the farthest corner of your mind so you didn't have to wonder anymore, didn't have to interpret every action like your life depended on it - because love to you was so immense that it was overwhelming. You've wanted love to rescue you in some way, looked for it in the soft murmur of pages, in the chilling words to a song you can't seem to forget, you've waited for love like an impatient eagle anticipating its opportunity  to leap in and swoop up its shot at satisfying its undying hunger. You needed to uproot those budding feelings before they took abode inside your chest, grew stronger, into something massive, unignorable, something like love.

Avoiding Jisung in hallways, in class and really everywhere was some form of a habit you were developing - but that didn't stop him  from entangling himself with your ponderings; you thought of all the things he did without paying much attention to the act, like his petulant whining when he wanted something he wasn't getting, you thought of the way he tapped his pen against the wooden desk, silently eyeing chalky math problems on the board before uttering the answer with an ease only he could carry, you thought of his petulant front during arguments and how he always ended up winning, you just missed being around him without the added tension - which was funny because you're the one to blame for it. 

To your knowledge, Jisung didn't know to speak in puzzles, even when he didn't want to say something, he always found an agreeable way to deliver it,  often unknowingly wording them as they were, he didn't understand the complexities with which people conversed, needing everything to be black and white, as clear as the summer sky, so everyday felt like he owed you an example of his unintentional transparency, a explanation even though you knew he didn't.  

Maybe that's it, you thought, maybe that's all. 

(Sometimes you would sense his gaze searing into the side of your face, as if he was on the verge of uttering a greeting.

But graduation came along. And you never heard anything from him.)

You began to understand that all those tear jerking, unhappy endings were inevitable, like not being able to take your eyes off the stage during  Giacomo Puccini's Sono Andati, like being exposed to Mimi's excruciating death, losing something you can't put a finger on - and suddenly, the plays, the window, the catharsis wasn't enough, the child in you wanted to scream and  kick and throw, the child in you wanted to forge her own ending, the one that made sense, the one you could anticipate.

Running his palms along the cool glass, Jisung pauses from time to time to look at you, as if expecting you to address the elephant in the room, the same elephant that followed you all the way from campus, to his car, to the café downtown. It wasn't until the waiter went away in the pursuit of getting your order did he pose the inquiry. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

You shake your head slowly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips.

 "What's there to talk about? It was a long time ago and I'm over it."

 Saying it out loud like this feels weird, it feels so real and disappointing and embarrassing, you feel reduced to a child coming clean about that one time they tipped over a vase and dusted the debris under the rug he is about to step about on, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

The statement makes you feel guilty, like you're lying. You don't want to know if you really are.

"Well, does that mean we can be friends?" Mutters Jisung against the opening of his straw, sipping miserly as though not wanting to finish the rest of his Americano. He opens his mouth to say something but stops, looking blatantly confused, like that was the only explanation he had for your fallout. "I don't understand." 

Not having thought that far, you stop typing, the click clack of keys muting, Jisung's thick rimmed glasses rest atop the jut of his nose and he's peering over them to look right at you with big wide eyes, genuinely interested in being supplied an answer.  The sixteen year old you would be overwhelmed with bouts of fluster right now. But you stopped being that person a long time ago, in fact, that person is to you a bleary recollection of a mere stranger who you thought you saw somewhere but couldn't put a finger on the location.

Shrugging, unsure, the question comes after a lengthy pause, "I guess it does?"

You sit in temporary silence after the short conversation ends, never going off topic again and giving into irrelevant chats even though Jisung is actively trying to initiate conversation about things which had nothing to do with work. You wonder why, wordlessly admitting that it was getting harder to resist the urge to talk to him with every passing second.

His car was parked a few lanes away from the café so you were obliged to walk after getting through the first portion of the assignment.

"So." Jisung starts, biting the side of his cheek, "What have you been upto lately?"

Talking to Jisung isn't as difficult as your younger self made it to be, he could hold a conversation well, jumping from serious topics to lighter ones to keep the balance, making witty comments here and there that had you laughing without really meaning to and every time, you'd catch a look of satisfaction glinting in his eyes. 

 The pair of you walk by an ice-cream parlour where a short bald man with a perpetually happy  face is handing out samples. A mint green board is attached to the appendage of a stall, outstretching from the original store, it says La Petite Glacière. 

You raise your brows, literal nomenclature.

"Journalism could suit you." The comment is off-handed, a product of you thinking out loud, imagining Jisung running around with a recorder, with his big, friendly eyes, queries posed with an an easy jovial attitude; it's so befitting, you just couldn't help but notify him. Even if it was an involuntary notification. You left out the part where you always pegged his love for composing would eventually materialise instead, this was unexpected to say the least. But Jisung described music as a getaway, something he was willing to do out of passion and not duty.

It was to his credit that he didn't laugh in your face when you said you wanted to be a playwright, specialising solely in the field of fiction. That's one thing he doesn't have in common with your parents. (Who didn't hesitate to point out that it was an obsolete branch of writing.)

"Yeah?" Jisung grins archly, glancing at you, as insinuating the memory of you playing Iago when you were expecting to land Desdemona is still impressed on him. "I could say the same for you."

You only wave him off, rolling your eyes. Some things are better left forgotten.

It's hot and you're really thirsty. You're knee deep in lengthy conversations engineered to catch up with one another, which consisted of ping-ponging inquiries about everything and anything, like how it was moving away from your family and new hobbies and pet peeves and casual strolls down memory lane but then the tension would settle and you would grow awfully quiet, like you're doing something you aren't supposed to, like you're walking into the inviting mouth a ginormous tiger whilst convincing yourself that it won't gobble you up.

"Okay. I have one." you start, he's nodding in encouragement,  "Have you been dating a lot?" 

Jisung laughs at your obvious curiosity, wiping his sweaty forehead with a spare napkin, strolling really fast, long legs promoting his speedy gait, you have to jog from time to time to keep up.

"Why?" 

He tilts his head to you, the teasing spark in his eyes glinting knowingly, he becomes shorter and grows taller walking up and down the slopes of the bumpy road.

  Your eyes widen. You were curious! You haven't spoken to him for a long time and you're just catching up. Exactly, you tell yourself,  that's believable, that, you think, makes sense. The other explanation, the one you're deigning to not look in the eye, that a part of you would be disappointed if he had said yes doesn't.

You flounder for a response, something, just a word or even an awkward noise, anything to formulate a proper retort. When that proves to be delayed and difficult, heat begins to pool into your cheeks, shooting up to the back of your ears and budding under the skin of your neck.

"Just asking."

 He hums, ghosting his fingers along the small of your back, careful not to touch you as he shoulders his way to your side without bumping you off of your feet, the gesture prompts something inside your gut to twist and twist and twist. "Well...yeah, but it's never been serious."

You're waiting for the red light so you can cross the road to the parking area. Jisung is towering over a sea of the heads, he's not much taller than the average person, hands tucked in his pockets. The wind is messing his hair up to the side, he keeps running his fingers through the stubborn strand to get it to sit right but when the endeavour proves to be futile so he just scoffs, as if berating the strand whilst stubbornly repeating the action. 

Looking at him like this, you imagine falling in love with Jisung is easy. Like gliding a hot knife through butter. It must feel just right, even if it doesn't last long, like holding fire in between your palms and pretending you own it, feeling the warmth kissing your skin before it nips and burns, like speeding across comets, stars and the moon, waging wars in the name of romance and producing litanies about love and then - finally, inevitably, unwillingly - letting go, like you always knew you would.

 You imagine the aged memories of blurry faces behind cobwebs of raindrops and curtains of mist, the faces of people who he could've loved but hadn't.

And it scares you for some unknown reason.

There's something inexplicably lovable about Jisung, his babyish features have always possessed the tendency to catch you off guard, even though you've known him for a long time; it's gobsmacking and too winning to be real, like something out of a dream, the milky planes of an acrylic face. The smooth buttery texture of his skin, the subtle, narrow jut of his nose, the pouted shape of his mouth and pearly teeth. You think he doesn't know this, doesn't see himself the way you do even when he pretends to be confident with his boastful jokes, they are just jokes after all. Only further evidence of how he doesn't want to believe any compliment rendered his way.

"What about you?" He poses, looking over from the hood of his car while unlocking it from the driver side, "Dating anyone?" 

The truth is, you've tried the atrocities of blind dating and online dating and casual dating but they all have been deficient and you're too tired to go through the never ending cycle  of being on disappointing dates again: your expectations are too high, some might even say, for the way you seek familiarity with absolute strangers; you're stubborn, awkward and sometimes, simply unapproachable,  but for the sake of not deflating your ego, you decide that Jisung doesn't need to know this. 

You shake your head, failing to understand why Jisung is grinning through the cracked window, whilst you're pulling the door open and plopping down on the passenger seat.

"Why are you smiling?" You furrow your brows, watching as the lopsided grin grows bigger. 

"Because." He shrugs, tucking his hands in his pockets.  

"Because?" You look at him expectantly, but he just looks back at you without expanding the brief explanation. You're so close that you can make out the thin layer of mist collecting on his eyelashes, his arched cupid's bow, his eyes have so much brown in them. You'd liken the colour to that of a muddy lake, like the bare earth, they catch sunlight and turn golden, just for a second, for just one second, it looks like what magic must be like. Realising that you have been staring at him for quite long, you tear your abashed gaze away. Piloting it to shift from the buskers to the other cars, buses, pedestrians, traffic lights, looking for a sight distracting enough.

"I'm not telling you!" Jisung mocks your tone like a child with a violent shake of his head, putting his keys in ignition. The engine roars to life, wheezing like a kettle. Why he drives a Comet Convertible when he could've gotten any other alternative is a wonder; not that you mind, you like it, it’s  like sitting  inside a giant jewelry box, the inside is smooth red leather, velvety smooth black paint on the outside.

"Why not?" You frown.

Jisung rolls the steering wheel with one hand, keeping his eyes trained to the approaching traffic while turning lanes, he giggles, "Because."

...

You'll have to admit that it's quite... challenging coming to terms with being friends with Jisung. Not because he's practically everywhere but  just since Jisung tends to demand your attention when he realises he's not getting it.

When you try to dodge him on mornings after he cheats at UNO, scurrying away behind swathes of sleep deprived university students, hoping you don't catch his eye, he calls your name in that  loud, clear and intentional way that he does, dragging a heavy arm around your shoulder to squeeze it against the back of your neck before tousling your hair or some other action to effectively ruin your get up. When you zone out in class, musing absently about something that has nothing to do with scale efficiency and accidentally catch his gaze, he winks at you, snapping you right back into attention. 

Your friendship is, to say the least, interesting, for everyone around you.  It's like everyone is always on the edge of their seats, waiting for a chance to poke fun at your apparent chemistry. It means nothing, you're just friends, you remind yourself over and over again, defensively, succumbing to the urge to grow closer and closer to him without paying mind to the annoying voice in your head.

Jisung texts you in the middle of the night, when he's parked out front, to meet him for a midnight drive out that you're sure no one knows about and you tell yourself you're getting away with it - only to be confronted by a smirking Sunwoo in the morning, likening the situation to a teenager  caught red handed sneaking in through the window after a clandestine night of partying.

 But you're not spared the teasing even out in the open. Though while you squirm awkwardly, sink into your seat and refute offendedly, Jisung doesn't have a lick of such knowledge or care, he easily slumps against you, resting his head on your shoulder in class and dozing off, indifferent to the multiple pairs of eyes zeroing in on you.

Even though the bartenders smile their coquettish smiles, offering drinks on the house and people laughed a little more than necessary, twirling their hair around their fingers at anything and everything he said, thence offering proper chances to ditch you completely, he remains close to you at pubs, putting his long fingers on your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, shooting some creepy guy who just wouldn't stop insisting on buying you a drink a look that said he wouldn't mind taking a stronger stance, had the creep not backed off. It was what anyone would have done, you tell yourself, ignoring the underlying pang of a gut feeling that begged to differ.

You envy the obvious charm Jisung holds over everyone, easing his way out of the jokes to do whatever he wants, you wonder what he would do if someone asked him if you were just friends, if he would dismiss them with a wave or provide a positive response, if it would hurt, if it would matter.

"Hey!" 

You jump at the tone. It's breezy, light and followed by a scoff at the end, you recognise it, sighing once the initial surprise oozes out of you to be replaced with familiarity, Renjun is halfway through a complaint about acrylic paint, his mouth half open while his eyes travel over your head, where you're certain the owner of the voice is jogging up to the pair of you. 

"I'll er...catch you later." Renjun purses his lips, while you turn your gaze back to Jisung, he's coming from practice, so his hair is wet, cheeks flushed red, he looks younger like this, completely barefaced. He's wearing a  plain white t-shirt and light wash jeans, even in such an ordinary attire, a few bypassers' attention latch solely onto him.

The sun has long laid on a cotton soft sheet of clouds, letting a blue evening straighten its back against the dark firmament, the crowd at campus is reducing dramatically, you were walking to the metro, deciding to rest by the park bench as he mimics the pose, sliding from the opposite end when you try to keep a distance.

Jisung nudges you with his shoulder. "We’re having a party at our new place. You should come."

It wasn't willingness that took you to loud premises. You aren't exactly a party animal, far from it, maybe an animal that blends into the background, wordlessly observing  masses of sweaty people who will wake up with horrible hangovers the next morning, wishing the night before had never happened. If such an animal exists. 

 But you're genuinely curious about meeting Minho, who seems to have assumed the position of  one of Jisung's best friends while you were absent from his life. You found yourself wondering if he was different from Bang Chan, who in spite of being the former's friend, is someone you could deem yourself more similar to than he is to Jisung; shaking your heads and groaning into your palms, Chan would pinch the bridge of his nose and cautiously glance at you as though to convey You get me, right? while Jisung showered the karaoke bar manager with grandiloquent blandishments into giving extra minutes for a lower price.

Despite this, it is the undeniable but sheer adoration for your fun-loving mutual friend that binds you two together the best, the shared looks of appreciation when Jisung  scolds you for neglecting your health, when he surprisingly remembers a minor detail about you or when he indulges in appreciative chats about crayon drawings with loquacious kids who would come running to display their paintings when you were looking to take an indolent walk in the local park, he would listen attentively, moving to a sitting position, nodding his head like he understood what the kiddish gibberish meant; one thing is certain -  there was certainly more to Jisung than people pegged and if anything, those undiscovered traits only made him more endearing.

"Okay….but make sure we don't end up playing strip poker or something." You shudder at that thought, grimacing exaggeratedly to make your point.

"Why?" He raises his brows, a small simper playing on his lips to give away that he was only teasing you, "I like that game."

But under all that banter, it was well received that Jisung would never put you to the obligation of doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just play along, narrowing your eyes, "That's because you're a pervert." You say, stifling a laugh whilst his grin dissolves to drop to a blank face.

 Jisung glares at you, nudging you with his knee, effectively putting you on the verge of falling.

"Hey!"  You scoff, repeating the action but Jisung doesn't roll across the grass like you wanted, he doesn't even budge. Instead, he laughs at your frustration, shaking his head and glancing back at you with an entertained look in his eyes. 

(Something inside your chest is growing, like an epiphany, its vines pushing up against your lungs, your heart, its thornes prickling, injuring the flesh, something that tells you this is so much more to you than you'd admit, you press it down, ignore it; just a little longer, you think, just a little longer before you start to see this for what it is. )

"Why are you staring at me?" Jisung questions, you can't help but notice how he tilts his head, moving his curious face closer to yours, inspecting, like just before he makes his final move and mutters Checkmate but he doesn't actually know what he's doing, doesn't realise the weight of his actions.  "Do I have something on my face?" He tilts his cheek to you, as though offering you to examine it and then, immediately his mouth lowers down to form a deep set frown. Is he really that goddamned clueless? Doesn't this affect him at all? 

"No." You clear your throat and lean back, moving your weight on your palms,  "It's getting late. We should get going." 

...

The earliest memory you have is from when you were five, your parents had taken you to the beach and that day, while the sun shone brightly and the sand was warm, like home under your feet, with big curious eyes, you gazed off into the brilliant blue water. 

It was just so beautiful. 

And you so badly, wanted to wade into the welcoming foamy arms of the sea. If only the immensity of the water hadn't scared you as much as it did, you thought. It was like a blue giant that was reaching to steal the sun off of the sky and if you  dared to test the waters, the liquid Goliath could whisk you right off of your tiny feet and drag you into its mouth.

 That, you think, is what you're really afraid of, that deep down inside , you never really stopped holding back. That you'll never muster up the courage to do anything you really want.

In the midst of the chaos of an alcohol induced party, your head feels like it's about to explode.

It stopped raining. And you haven't had the luxury of running into Jisung ever since he went off to get a drink for himself.

The windows are open. Though there's not a flutter of a cool breeze or anything. But there are assortments of crisps, juices and other suspicious looking snacks. The cool curve of the stair railing pressing up against your side. It's unspeakably loud. The frat house, as typical as it sounds, welcomes an obnoxiously large crowd, it isn't surprising, considering people here have a reputation for social adeptness, the house being big enough to capacitate a crowd twice as big as its guests is just a plus point.

 Once the majority of the crowd  had  long thinned out to participate in a curious sounding game of  beer pong, the aftermath is that everything smells like sweat, vomit or both. You're tipsy, tired and alone. It's been an hour since you arrived. Your patience is wearing thin. 

 You down the remainder of the watered down scotch, even though the liquid could secure a horrible case of nausea if you couldn't hold your liquor well tonight.

In the mess of too many heads, too many hands and too many bodies, pushing, pulling, dancing and kissing  with shocking hostility, suddenly, the view starts to shift, from left to right, from upwards and downwards, like you're on a rollercoaster but without the lap bar. It's certainly a symptom of  the  splitting migraine you're sporting. It's too loud downstairs for you to summon anyone and besides, the search for a familiar face seems futile.  

You fish out your phone, wondering if you should send Jisung a text, squinting at the glaring blue screen but decide against it - hoping to God that you don't walk in on anyone shagging while looking for one of the rooms to crash in. 

Now, that...would put them in an awkward position. You mentally high five yourself for the joke. 

Though the amusement is  mostly transient, soon replaced by a rapid jerk of pain. Wincing in an attempt to stand with little control over balance, you try to ease the pain from your briefly twisted foot. 

When you've made it to your desired destination, an inconspicuous looking room at the end of the long hall, you kick off the death traps for heels off of your feet and all but fling yourself on the mattress.

Stacks of comics are carefully  placed on the top most shelf of the bookshelf pushed against the wall, their polished spines sticking out.

 The rest are overflowing with vinyls, set in alphabetical order. You can tell because each row has a tag taped over its head.

Everything is surprisingly clean, the walls are crisp white, there's a single black wall on which a large painting sits. A night light glows dimly, perched up on the bedside table. Whoever's bedroom this is, has the blandest taste in interior design. Or a lack of it since they moved in not long ago as Jisung informed.

 You stare owlishly at the blue ceiling, following the undulating spines of bricks, stacked in. Upwards and downwards. Like a map. Like a  staircase to nowhere. Then you close your eyes. 

Imagining that you're staring up at the sky at dawn, when it's  a swirl of milk tea. Golden. Buttery white. Autumnal Yellow. And pumpkin spice. Brown curls against the background of a milky white firmament and if one bothered to look closer, they'd catch stars peeking from behind slowly darkening clouds, waiting to come out. 

When you were a child, you liked to stick a curious index into filled tea cups, as if to study the khaki liquid , not quite grasping the connoisseurship of hot beverages just yet. The experience would always end with a mouthful of biscuits and your grandmum's tickles engendering your stomach to ache a good kind of ache.

Now, the memory prompts you to raise a finger to the air, as if you were dipping your digits into the whirlpool of maroon. For a moment, you feel as if you're still that little girl stuck in someone else's body, like you hadn't grown up at all. 

But in the hurtful manner that reality often made itself known, yanking you right back from your dreams, the door creaks noisily and then closes.

Out of the corner of your eye, the character looks more like a funny sketch on a chalkboard than he does a person. All blurry and messy. Like someone tried to rub him out. 

The flash of light radiating from his phone, a sliver of neon, silver, you recognise his face, you've seen the same expression right before he's about to choose between  his favourite ice cream flavour; eyebrows knitted in concentration, lips pursed, emerging from the shadows.  He's typing really fast. You blink, adjusting your vision. The unobstructed sight of his face broadens. "Jisung?" 

 He looks at you, positioning his phone towards your face to get a good in the barely there light. 

"Yeah?"

You furrow your brows in confusion, "What are you doing here?" 

"That's a good question."  He snorts.  "Indeed, what business might I have in my room?"

You jump, sitting straighter, then stand up. Just in case he thinks you're a fucking creep. He probably doesn't even want to be friends with you anymore and you understand, you wouldn't want to be friends with you either. "I...I didn't know."

Jisung laughs loudly at your fluster, rolling his eyes,  he plops down, the mattress dipping under his weight, groaning noisily. He pats the spot beside him. "Relax..."

You wear a doubtful look, under the impression that he'd break into a laughing fit with a quip about you caving in so easily.  You narrow your eyes even though you're quite tempted to take his offer. 

He tuts, yanking you by the arm so you sink down beside him.  

"I just saw you coming upstairs, wanted to make sure some asshole wasn't picking on you." He explains, his face contorting to momentary peevishness just at the fleeting thought. 

A crappy pop song is buzzing in the background, you can hear it, you can smell the salted popcorn in the air. His fringe is brushed forward, cheeks smoothed over, moisturised, in this intimidating proximity, you pick up that Jisung always smells really good. Like aftershave and something strong, woody, earthy — but just the right amount, not overpowering.

 "Have you considered trying something more...erm... colourful?" You  scan his room, deciding to change the subject, attempting to dodge the heavy feeling of fluster in your chest; you guess it was showing on your face because the corners of Jisung's mouth begin to quirk upwards. If there’s anyone more awkward than Jisung, it /s definitely you. "This isn't really you."

 With his mouth lopsided, his nose scrunching upwards, his teeth showing, his eyes turning to crescents, Jisung chuckles, as if perceiving your attempt to digress but choosing to let it slide.

 "Then what is?" He raises a brow.

"I don't know." You pause, trying to picture a suitable tint, "Something bright."

Someone starts blasting Ed Sheeran outside, putting the volume all the way. It creates a proper distraction from the conversation to go beyond simple suggestions, it was a sudden reminder of just how badly you wanted the party to be over.

 "You know the more I think about it, the more I come to acknowledge that this is really not my scene."  You confess absentmindedly, backing up on the mattress so your feet dangle, your headache kicks back, beating inside  your ears, knocking against your skull. You lie back on the mattress, curiously blinking up at Jisung's frowning face.

 "Why didn't you tell me that before?" He says, a pinch in his brows pushing the shape up in utter concern. 

"Because I wanted to come." You say honestly, prompting Jisung to heave a deep sigh, relief gradually washing over his rigid features, "I don't know, maybe I'm just not fun enough."

"Yeah. That's probably it." He jokes, grinning from ear to ear. But the shape drops immediately when you jut your lip out instead of mirroring the mirthful action. "You really think so?"

 He blinks at you, not expecting the forwardness, "No." He says, and you note that this is the most serious Jisung has ever sounded around you.

Your face is growing increasingly hot as the weight of his remark started to kick in. It’s so unfair, isn't it? He has no idea how every little thing he said to you meant so much more than it ought. It hurt when you found yourself automatically deducing his trivial actions, all the while knowing it hadn't meant anything to him.  To him, you're just a friend. And you aren't going to let your emotions ruin that, not again. 

 "What's the party for anyway?"

You furrow your eyebrows in genuine curiosity when the silence has become unbearable. Constantly needing to be disrupted. 

 "It's a stupid frat house tradition, they do it every time we move."

“Sounds like a cult activity to me."

You hear him hum, as if feigning contemplation, then open your eyes.

 "Well, that...That's because it is."

It's very typical of Jisung to try to make jokes whilst trying to keep a straight face. In most cases, he doesn't fool anyone. His voice rises  to a cartoonish volume, his mouth pouted out when he speaks as though to hold back a laugh, it’s his eyes, widened, twinkling with a notorious spark in them that ultimately gave it away. In rare instances, however, they deluded strangers into thinking he was being serious when he really wasn't; like that time he told Chan the pool was pre-heated just for the latter, who trustingly dove into the water, to swim up with clattering teeth and ice cold skin to the surface finding that Jisung was grinning deviously. It was an obvious payback for the time the older male hogged Jisung's share of cheesecake as a daring attempt at pranking.

Maybe, you guess, you just knew him too well.

  "Interesting." you raise your brows, playing along, "I'm surprised there isn't any nude dancing involved."

 "Wow...you sound so disappointed.” 

 Jisung laughs, his chest heaving upwards and downwards with every laboured breath.  It's a pleasant sight, knowing you get to have this moment to yourself. For reasons you'd like to ignore, something inside your chest begins to ache, thrumming against your ribs. It isn't until you put your hands over your face in an attempt to get rid of a thin layer of sweat, do you realise that you were smiling.

When he calms down, he keeps looking at you. "I take that you made the submission?" He presses, knowing well that you were intending to put off the matter from the dodgy look in your eyes. "Right?"

 Before, Jisung stubbornly pressed on the matter, it was unheard of for you to allow your writings to be read by anyone other than yourself; it was only fiction, your little secret, you reason, even though you knew the underlying cause of your unwillingness was that you simply cannot take rejection well, it is truly terrifying but an automatic reaction to think that your work is boring and somehow unworthy of praise every time  you are on the verge of sharing it. Your parents never showed any particular interest in it and you assumed that was a universal desire. 

But Jisung is incredibly obdurate when he wants to be.

 Sometimes, you think he's the only person in your life who's truly honest with you, he doesn't shower you in false accolades, not hesitating to rip the band-aid, to point out the less likable bits from the likable ones even if he knew it would make you unhappy. It was interesting prying your wounds open around him, he wouldn't suppress his thoughts and blurt euphemisms like it's going to be okay, he would grimace and gag and then he'd clean them, he would sit patiently with them and try to dress them up for better - and somewhere along the way, while you may have cared about other people's opinions, your concern for what he thinks of you is starting to become far more significant. And it petrifies you.  "No." 

Jisung shoots you a look of annoyance, staring at you like he's awaiting an explanation. You can sense the lengthy talk coming from the back of his throat, something which surpassed the regular limits of you should do this and you shouldn't do this, he relentlessly pushed you towards your career which you claimed you were passionate about but needed his stern berating often when you would stagger back in indolence and you'd be lying if you said it isn't effective - albeit, the scoldings sometimes led to the two of you bickering back and forth, giving each other the silent treatment until one of you would cave - whatever it was, you know you could never turn down Jisung, even if he was bruising your ego to ask you to get your shit together.  "Why not?"

 "It's just a stupid draft, Sungie..." You laugh nervously but he doesn't give into the fit like you imagined, instead, he just dons a solemn look on his face, something that seems to show that he'd been peeved by your response.

  "No it’s not." He shakes his head slowly and there's sort of a firmness in his retort that surprises you, far from how he usually jokes on about,  that tells you there's no room for argument, "It's not stupid at all."

Jisung tears his gaze away, his expression softening once he notes the worried look on your face, it's as though he had suddenly changed his mind about the lecture he was surely planning  to give you,

 "Look I don’t want to fight.” He sighs, “You’re always talking about how much this means to you and if it’s something that you really want, don't put it off. I'm your friend, I can only encourage you — but at the end of the day, it's your job to pull yourself up. Goes without saying that it’ll be a complete waste if you don’t pursue play writing because you - and I don't care if you don't agree with me -  really do have a lot of potential.”

You blink in wonder, ”You think so?"

 "I know so."

 You don't remember the last time someone said something like that to you, if at all. Tearing your gaze away from him, you’re met with the inability to shake the feeling of craving something you don't want to understand, mired in your own musings and for no particular reason but to avoid the desperation of confessing to yourself of the warm tight feeling inside your belly - you give into the temptation of placing your palm over the nightlight, watching the light turn from bright yellow to muted blue, it stings slightly. 

Too cheesy, you would groan out under any other circumstance where you hadn’t been so fazed.

Instead, you just gulp, eyes wide at his forward comment, his praise is the equivalent of being splashed with ice cold water when one is half asleep, now you're all wide eyed and incognisant of what's real and what isn't, it prompts a jolting sensation to traverse all throughout your body, "Thanks." 

This scene was no exception, Jisung tips his head back against his palms when he's thinking about something, while keeping his calm gaze posed on you, he smiles, rolling his eyes. “You’re too hard on yourself, loosen up just a little. I'm not always gonna be around.”

You muse that your mum said the exact same thing when you moved away for university but chose not to mention it, it's not true though, you want to say. Because Jisung is always there for you.

 See, the universe exists on this dreadful thread of balance  and you've been hanging on by your last finger for as long as you remember, taking every step on the basis of a fear of tumbling off to be greeted by the gasps and complaints of an imaginary audience, for the longest time, picturing  your play to be dissected like a lab rat, for a delirious critic to point their scalpel and announce, the misshapen heart is here, that's the pudgy head.

But nowadays and you'll never tell him this, when Jisung talks about you  like that, you almost believe it, believe in yourself and don't think he understands what it means to you, how grand that is  -  to imagine seeing your play come to life, something severely intimidating about watching it, spotlight gingerly kissing up the actors' newborn faces as the audience spews quiet comments, critics' expressions morphing with  nuanced understanding, the anticipation is tangible, the walls closing in by the second, tension squeezing the air out of their lungs -  until the curtains part and a story draws them into another world. Then everything falls into a formidable silence.The inexplicable feeling of being one wrapping its limbs around everyone and cradling them to its chest like a loving mother, awestruck strangers listening in on the heart wrenching dialogues, the belter of a riveting tragedy prompting their hearts to lurch forward and sit on their tongues, then they'll look around, spot bits of you in your characters and think I'm not alone. I never was.   (The people you've both never known but known your entire life.)

It's better to slip, to put everything on the line for the sake of making way to what you want on a feeling rooted deep inside your gut than to cower behind the fear of disapproval and have nothing at all. Being brave enough to tell your story is not the absence of that fear which keeps you, but it is telling the tale despite, toppling that fear.

There's something relieving about that theory.

 "I want to lie down..." You mewl, in spite of already lying down. It's a sign of how the constant toiling through exams was finally taking a toll on you, the sleepiness coupled with hours long lethargy from the party seemed to be weighing your body down, making your eyelids heavier by the second. He moves your hand, leaning into the light. A wash of colour is spreading  across his face for a brief moment, exposing the skin to scrutiny, all veins, curves and crinkles around his eyes. Jisung smiles at you. Your eyes dart all over his face, resting on the curve of his mouth briefly, then his eyes, you catch the yellow flickering in them , the brown turning to dark copper. 

Your heart drops to your stomach when he blinks away slowly, the disappointment assuaged by something foreign, dumb and utterly clichéd stirs in the pit of your stomach as his thumb briefly swipes across your knuckles,  "You don't say, sleepy girl!" Jisung scoffs, bringing his arm under his head.  

Unconsciously, entertaining the thought of staying alone in his room, you find yourself feeling safer because of his presence instead, divorced from prying eyes, "Thanks for staying." You say, wanting to talk to him more and more,  contemplating fashions  to contribute to the conversation again and again just to cut the silence.

"Well, you had a lot to drink." 

He reminds, as if the reason for his staying is that obvious;  worry laced in his voice and you understood why -   even though you aren't completely doused in a state of inebriation, you kept swaying all the way upstairs.

"But you missed out on.." you drag the consonant unintentionally, "all the fun, though."

"Do I look like I care?" Jisung snorts, staring up at the ceiling, leaning back on his hands and dropping down against the bed, he laces his fingers together over his chest, digging into his pocket and fishing out his phone. It isn’t a question.

His wallpaper is of a kid gazing up from the water, he peers up at the camera, grinning ear to ear. This is definitely Jisung. Because even with his front teeth missing, his smile is all too familiar. His cheeks were chubbier back then, face rounder, softer around the edges. Subconsciously, you rose a finger to poke at his cheek, as if to examine it. Jisung shoots you a glare.

"You were cute."

You coo, leaning onto his shoulder, the closeness should not intimidate you, given the amount of time you spend like this. But it does anyway.

"What do you mean were?” Jisung scoffs, “Nu-uh, still am. I'm the resident cutie pie, if you will."  He sings, narrowing his eyes briefly, thereon chuckling at the look of sheer disgust on your face. 

You wrinkle your nose, "I can't believe you just said that..." 

The rest of the night is spent in a comfortable quietude, except for the times when either of you perk up to initiate conversation and Jisung gives you aspirin for the throbbing migraine. 

Your shoulders are touching. Jisung breathes. Slowly. Then fast. Then slow. And then he tucks an earphone into your ear, it was an unspoken ritual you two practised when you were alone, oft in a different venue, sitting languidly about campus, while you read and he winked through the glaring sun to get a distant view of the landscape.

Jisung yawns, the grapple on his speech loosening and loosening.

You remain quiet, closing your eyes again. Words feel liquid in your mouth, letters wobbling on your tongue until you feel like you've lost complete control over what you're thinking of saying.

You can see the scene unfolding inside your head, can feel the earth under your skin, can hear birds chirping, can feel the dusty orange, morning glow kissing your faces. As if you're the only two people there. "Coldplay, right?" 

"Uh-huh..." Jisung replies, he sounds unsurprised by your aligned tastes. You look at him and find that he's mirroring you. His long lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks, eyes clamped shut. 

"It's beautiful..." You murmur, dropping your head back against the mattress, you think Jisung hums in response but you can't be too sure. It's like you're slowly, slowly and slowly drifting far, far away. Letting slumber wrap its welcoming arms around you. 

For a second, you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten, you imagine that you're soaring, soaring, soaring, like you could look down and see the rivers and seas and lakes pulsing against the  Earth's body, as though they were a bundle of nerves belonging to a round, green vessel of a body, and somehow - then immediately, you're being pulled to your feet, at great speed, you're falling, falling, falling - so fast that you feel like there's a fire budding inside your lungs, budding under your fingertips, inside your heart. 

Then it begins.  This must be a dream, this must be a dream, this must be a dream. The soft murmur of scripted words. Parted curtains, an open window allowing you to stare in wonder, dusk stretching across the entirety of the landscape, blue, then pink. You think of the big sapphire sea, the warm sand and someone waiting for you before it.  You think, this is it. This is it. This is it. And run, run, run. Sprinting to the broadening view. You recognise the back of his head, the curve of his neck, tufts of raven hair fluttering about, his white cuffed shirt, his footsteps like a trail of breadcrumbs, feet dipped in frothy water, You call his name, surprised  but think I knew it, I knew it, I knew it all along. He looks back and smiles at you, offering you his hand. (You're not over him. You don't think you ever were. And this is what you want, you want it so bad, after all this time, are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back?)

Just for a moment, in the split of a second, just now,  just once, you aren't afraid. 

You jolt awake, the earphone straining against the sudden movement, "Hey." You whisper, looking up at him. His Adam's apple drops with a slow gulp, the rosy colour of his parted lips. The slope of his nose. You don't know when you  nuzzled your face into his chest, his long arm is draped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.  Your heart is beating noisily in your ears, on your tongue. 

To your surprise, Jisung hums in response, eyes still clamped shut. You're so close, just so close, he brushes his slender fingers against the back of your neck, the touch feather light, as though reminding you that he had heard you. Your breath hitches inaudibly.

"Let's..." You say, with your tongue starting to limp inside your mouth, "go to the beach sometime."

...

A shower is running, loud, water gushing down and thumping against the tiles, the sound echoing and growing thinner by the second. 

You sit up on the empty bed, the recollection of last night lodged deep inside your head like a butcher knife. 

The realisation that you aren't at home isn't startling as you momentarily grow distracted in examining the room, the photos, the turntable, the white paint, the portraits, a light adjusted above, bits and pieces of a person scattered around.

Jisung's t-shirt is discarded carelessly on his reading table, your eyes widen when you acknowledge the occupant in the shower to be him, leaping up with a haste, everything comes back to you  with a force equivalent of pulling the butcher knife out and slamming it right back into your skull.

"It's you!" You gasp, partially  because the cheerful exclamation sends pangs of pain to your head, having made all the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to find Minho whipping up pancake batter in a bowl. As opposed to his old Instagram photos, with the new complementing pink hair, his feline like features are even more staggering, eyes narrowed to amused slits, behind which beady black orbs stare you down in absolute curiosity.

"Right, we met last night." He reminds you, uttering your name quickly, finding that you already recognise him. He holds the spatula up, paused in surprise as if he really wasn't expecting to see you right now, the position only eases when you wave your hands dismissively and say it's not what you think.

  He smiles, there's a strange disappointed quality to the demand."Sit down, let's have breakfast."

It's awkward, Minho spares you a few interrogating stares while you silently dig at your meal, the sound of cutlery and ceramic sounding through the open kitchen. You wish Jisung would come down already if the floor beneath your feet isn't going to open up and swallow you whole to save you from this discomfiture.

"They're really good." You nod, shoveling more of the unevenly cut portions of the pancake into your mouth.

"Do you still have feelings for him?" 

You choke, coughing on the gigantic bite, patting your chest as you slowly as you begin to regain your composure. Minho's eyebrows are weaved upwards, hinting that he expected an answer despite offering you water. God, he cut right to the chase, you aren't used to people as blunt as that. When you don't say anything, he blinks at you, tilting his head to examine the evasive expression on your face.

"He talks about you a lot..." He notifies, as though it was an explanation for something.  Minho's arms are crossed over his chest, proudly before announcing, "I think I practically know everything about you."

Funny, you could say the exact same thing about him. Jisung likes to babble on about people he cares about, which albeit is a handful, you are just as special as any of them. And that reminder as a consequence of his constant prodding makes you a little angry. 

"Look, he doesn't like me if that's what you're trying to say." You blurt out, you don't want to get your hopes up.  It's weird saying something so grave to someone you only recently  came to know. Having already accepted your one sided feelings even though you struggle to try to suppress them and the hopeful part of you reasons that Jisung probably didn’t initiate a kiss because you weren’t exactly sober — but the real reason, and you know this, is that his withdrawal last night was just cherry on top of the  big fat I-don't-feel-the-same-way cake. 

You made the mistake of ruining your friendship because of a stupid confession in the past and you aren't going to make it again, not when you're closer than ever now.

"That's not what I asked."  Minho comments. He is pretty great at appearing intimidating. Or rather, he sees right through you. You can't tell. But he's practically cornered you with his witty questions whilst his perceptive eyes keep an intent watch on you.  Minho had a curious  quality to him when he looked at things, he seemed to notice everything.

You laugh nervously, rubbing your nape when his gaze is practically unblinking in anticipating a reaction. 

"How was your Gimpo trip?" You digress.

 Minho's ears perk up, his eyes blown to big, happy circles, he nods his head excitedly, properly distracted from pressing the previous topic further. 

The conversation fizzles away in a haze, Minho rambles on in a cheerful tone, his eyes glossed over in enthusiasm. He speaks  of his three cats and asks you to commit their names to memory with a dead serious face, moving onto ramble on about his childhood, an entanglement of being the only child who dreamed laboriously of pursuing a career in ballet and succeeded. You listen attentively, not breaking your focus even when he gets up to do the dishes. 

By the time Jisung lazily drapes a towel around his neck, all the while hopping down the stairs, you feel like you've overstayed, digging your feet into the heels from last night while Minho holds the door open for you. 

"Need a ride?" Jisung asks, standing on his toe to look at you from behind Minho. 

 You shake your head, suggesting that you were to take the subway instead, keeping your eyes fixated on your sore feet as a reminder that you're opting for the alternative not by choice but because you don't have the energy to render Sunwoo an explanation of where you'd spent the night at with his constant teasing, Tightening the strap around your leg, while balancing yourself with the free arm, Jisung's long fingers quickly grab onto the underside of your arm, letting you balance your weight whilst posing the question, "You’re coming tomorrow for the group study, right?" You ask.

 It was an uncharacteristic gesture, outright surprising, because of his renowned proficiency in that class, when Jisung suggested that he didn’t understand the volume of topics you were going over.

Jisung glances cautiously at his best friend, who has a stupid smirk on his face for some reason, like he knows something you don't, “Yeah, yeah...” He says, reaching out to pinch your cheek despite your complaint. 

“Are you an alligator?” he calls out, prompting you to shoot a confused look over your shoulder.  "What?"

It's just one of those things Jisung says instinctively, his eccentric humour getting the best of him in silences and you, well, you walked right into this one. 

 "You know...cause I'll see you later!" 

In your peripheral vision, you spot Minho pinching the bridge of his nose at the quip, muttering a quick Jesus Christ.

...

During the day, the portrait is much more confusing. 

It's carefully placed on the paper covered floor, the room smells like fresh paint and sweat. Jisung suggested that you go paint shopping in the  pursuit of looking for a suitable colour to liven up his walls and the end of the semester meant you had enough time to put the purchased product to use. 

There is a blob of red on Jisung's jaw and the colour gets smudged all the way to his cheekbone when he makes an unsuccessful attempt to itch the skin with the back of his palm. You don't tell him this. 

"I bought it from the local display." He breathes out exasperatedly, the paint roller is placed on the paper, "The artist said it was about an unlikely romance or something like that. Looked pretty dope to me too and—"

 "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigate the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. Or anything that bears semblance to it, you never did have a good eye for art,  "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

 "Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath.  Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart. 

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love  meant to be understood. 

It was meant to be felt. 

...

"Why do you have that dumb look on your face?"

 Sunwoo speaks, chewing through his snack, his fringe is glued to his forehead in a thick layer of sweat. You aren't surprised. The humidity is skyrocketing. A cut in your salaries have made you compromise the use of your obsolete air conditioner. It's a terribly humid Sunday morning and you're getting ready for a trip to Minho's beach house.

It wasn't hard to convince you. Such was possible because Minho's offer was reiterated through a number of ways and people over the span of last week. Even from Sunwoo. 

He and the rest of the boys have started  to get along pretty well, so well that you often end up acting as an amused spectator, simply watching the boys cosying up to one another while you're effectively camouflaging in the background of utter silence. Your friends  teamed up to produce quips here and there, stopping to chuckle into their napkins, cheeks rubicund like ripe apples whenever you went out for dinner. It was becoming a regular occurrence, at this point. Not that you minded; you genuinely enjoy the time you spend together.

As a final move, Jisung reminded you of your slurred request of wanting to go to the beach, beating the purpose of you claiming you wanted to stay home doing nothing when really you were just looking to avoid encouraging how you felt for him. You constantly found yourself suppressing the desire to want more and the last few weeks had been the toughest because you had trouble ignoring how you felt although you were careful not to show it. Jisung was spending more time with you than usual since you were on summer break and were relieved of your studies for a short while. You couldn't forget that night at his place, the memory made your gut wrench in a desire you couldn't fulfill. 

But  while it was hard being around him, you just knew you couldn't help it.

The trip was, nonetheless, a reminder of how Jisung always gets what he wants, even if it is as easy as snagging his favourite items off of the super store shelf or something which demands  more patience to be possessed, something that needs to be drawn out with unwavering persistence.  

Come to think of it, you never really understood what it means to live like that. 

"What dumb look?" You ask, averting your gaze from your phone, twiddling your thumbs for a response to Jisung's text notifying that they were taking the lead on the journey by setting off earlier than you to set up the place.

 It won't take them as long as it will for you because it's a familiar premise for them. Your arm is starting to hurt from holding up your suitcase.

Sunwoo mimics a grin, stretching the corners of his lips awkwardly and flattening his lips like that of a frog, a string of dried milk sits on his chin to finish off the impression. He points to his face, "This one."

 "I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes, "Hurry up. Jisung messaged me the location." 

Sunwoo nods, then pauses, then his eyes widen, a teasing grin making  its way on his face, insinuating that he finally understood why you packed chocolate cake last minute in spite of you not having a particular preference for the item. "Does he know you have a big puppy crush on him?"

Sunwoo makes up for your social ineptness, amongst other things, and there are times when you don't understand what you'd do without him, times when you're relieved he's your friend even though you're essentially opposites - now is, certainly, not one of those times, now you wish he wasn't so close to you  to have access to this information without telling. 

"Are you hearing yourself? I don't have a crush on him." You lie, glaring at him, when your flatmate ducks his head to display that he didn't quite agree, you groan, 

"I don't!"

…

"Do you take me for an idiot?"

Sunwoo pulls his sunglasses down to pretend to study you, his big brown eyes scrutinising you from head to toe.  The  strong stink of diesel is still emanating  in the air in spite of the image of the gas station being wiped out long ago in your peripheral vision. You kind of like it, it contributes to boosting the anticipation of what was to happen when you reach your destination .

"Oh absolutely..." Sunwoo says, driving in the direction of the beach house the GPS pilots him to, Lauv hums faintly from the dusty speakers, the familiar lyrics filling the air  whilst you unconsciously bobbed your head. The vague distraction allowed Sunwoo to buy time to gather his thoughts, 

 "You need to tell him how you feel before someone else does. You need to tell him how you feel, period."

“I'm not doing that again.” you warn him, he speeds down the highway, your beach hat threatening to fly about under the weight of your hands at the sudden gush of wind. "Need I remind you how it went last time?" 

"Last time was different." 

"How?" 

"You barely even spoke to each other!" He exclaims frustratedly, pointing out the obvious, "Now you're good friends and he seems to feel the same way considering he always puts up with you...like...voluntarily." Sunwoo mocks, looking at the corner of his eye to note that you're rolling your eyes in annoyance, "Maybe Jisung's out of his mind."

"I'm not that bad!" You defend, quieting down once again when the memory of your admission flashes before your eyes in vivid details - the years of distance and silence that stretched between you because of it was hard - if that were to repeat itself now, when you're more used to him that you were before, you don't think you could bear it.  Or maybe you could but you don't want to.

It's enough to just have Jisung around and not be yours than to lose him by admitting.

"I'm not putting us in that position again just because of how I feel. It's kinda selfish, don't you think?" Your statement has a touch of finality to it that shuts Sunwoo right up, he wordlessly pulls up in front of the huge beach house, another jeep and the Comet Convertible is parked; before which far off near the shore, you couldn't help but notice the two unfamiliar figures by the boys, one of them is wearing a bikini, standing incredibly close to Minho, who's setting up their small grill, the other (and it makes your stomach turn) is talking animatedly to Jisung, he nods and smiles in that way that makes you think you'll never quite stop loving him. Chan is holding up his phone to take a picture. 

 Sunwoo honks loudly,  pulling you out of your trance. You can hear the I told you so sitting on the tip of his tongue when he shoots you a look of pity. You don't like it. The way that makes you feel like a toddler who can't keep herself from sticking her fingers into electric sockets in spite of being precisely instructed not to. Now, you think, the ‘I told you’ so would've been much more agreeable to your pathetic but injured emotions.

Jisung snaps his head around fast, raising his lithe digits to the air, waving at you languidly.  The girl spectates the exchange in an engrossed fashion, slowly routing her inquiring  gaze to yours in thought. Not all that seemed black and white is black and white between you.

"Are you coming?" Jisung screams over the noise and distance, away from the spot you're completely frozen in.  

(A pang in your chest tightens. Tightens. Tightens.  And you don't want it to mean something. But it does. It does and it always will.)

...

Minho once learned to set up tepee fires in scout camp, with twigs, a small heap of leaves, wood shavings and loosely screwed newspaper in the centre. Now, he only prides his younger self for setting up the fire once in their backyard and decides roasting marshmallows on the grill demands less of the expertise that he's lost overtime.

"I've actually heard a lot about you before we met." Sunwoo garbles out, clearing his throat.

You've been ignoring Jisung ever since you arrived. Now the group is sat down on the sand, in a misshapen circle, the two girls, now you know their names and the root of their invitation - Junhee and Shoshanna are merely bypassers the boys met when they arrived this morning. They're on a weekend trip like you and their visiting resident is a few houses away from yours. You wanted to act on your peevishness  and groan out a loud What are they still doing here?  everytime Shoshanna took the seat beside Jisung or asked him to set her marshmallows but that would, amongst other things, make you look like a crazy jealous idiot who has no right to step into a situation of that sort, even though Jisung seemed hesitant, cautiously looking at you every now and then. 

Jisung's brows rise and fall, gaze darting between you and your flatmate, surprised, "Is that right?"

Sunwoo laughs, "Yeah."  He chews carefully, trying not to choke, as if the source of his knowledge doesn't need to be pointed out. 

"Only good things I hope."

Skeptical, Jisung glances at you with a cocked brow, in case you oppose but you avoid his gaze, glaring down at charred marshmallow on the tip of the stick and thinking of ways to strangle Sunwoo, who chuckles at the former's apparent doubt, furrowing his eyebrows in bemusement, "Only good things."

"You're on the varsity swim team, right?" 

 With a mouthful of food, Sunwoo poses the question, the grin only widens when Jisung replies with an equally enthusiastic nod. 

"Did you know that this one can't swim?" He points his marshmallow stick at you, keeping his eyes trained on Jisung's surprised face. "I tried to  provide assistance." Sunwoo insists, "But when someone is really bad around water, like screaming at the top of their lungs-I'm going to drown in a kid's pool- bad, it's quite a challenging task."

Minho produces an animalistic laugh at this, patting his thigh like he's rendered a vivid image of your embarrassing experience while Chan shoots you a concerned look, as if sensing an underlying tension in the air that the others can't. You don’t know which one you dislike more.

"I can hear you, you know!"  You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Suddenly having lost your appetite. 

Sunwoo widens his eyes, with a hand atop his chest, mocking you,  "Really?"

You open your mouth to continue bickering with him because it was the only way you could hold yourself back from jumping across the sand and grabbing him by his collar in case that should stop him from further embarrassing you, but Jisung  interjects, blinking inquisitively at you.

 Jisung pouts. "It isn't that bad, you'll see, we can go for a swim anytime. That's what's the pool for anyway."

"Sungie,  I could use a swim now. Can we go, please?"  Shoshanna piped up jutting her lip in a way that made her more attractive, she hooked her arm with Jisung, pulling him to her side and he simply blinked at her, surprised by the gesture. Only you called him that  —  when did she pick that up? Why doesn't Jisung seem to mind at all? Are you seriously seeing what you are definitely seeing?

 Without meaning to, you imagine them floating about in the water, while she curled her arms around his neck to keep balance and him leaning down to grin invitingly.  And it feels like you're losing something.

You feel yourself jumping up to your feet. The sudden movement gains the attention of all your friends except Sunwoo, who keens on sparing you the smug grin which insinuates that he sparked the entire conversation intentionally.  You hope the universe would miraculously  render you telepathic powers so he'd start to choke on the stupid marshmallow. 

"Uh...I mean...I gotta." You gulp, "I'm going to go grab a beer."

"Wait."

Jisung frees his arm to get to his feet, powdery sand dusted off of his sweats.

"I'll come with you."

You walk in silence, wrapping your arms around yourself. In your peripheral, you catch the sight of his pockets swelled around the area he stuck his fingers in, you don't think Jisung's ever been that quiet. It makes you feel guilty. You're acting out because you simply can't get a grip and it seems to have taken a toll on him. You want to punch yourself in the face.

 It's not like you desire to stand in the way of his merry-making, it had to happen eventually, right? Jisung is free to get involved with whoever he pleases. He doesn't know how you feel and even if he did, you don't think he would reciprocate. 

And despite everything, your heart still aches for him. 

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jisung  tells you. There's a sadness to his voice that supplies that you can't escape this conversation because you simply cannot stand it when something prevents him from being his happy-go-lucky self. But you can delay it. 

You pull the fridge open slowly, scanning the items, alcohol, milk and a few other things that are necessary to spend the weekend. They definitely were newly bought. 

 Jisung pushes the fridge door wider, sighing, he pulls a can and hands it to you. "If this is about the girls, I'm not-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Sungi—I mean, Jisung." You stare down at the perspiration collecting between your fingers and  the can, then set it down immediately in fear of it slipping out of your hands. Jisung stiffens at the transition, a faint look of pain flashing in his eyes. What did he do that is so wrong? 

You feel horrible for making him feel bad, aren't you supposed to be an adult? Aren't you supposed to have a strong grapple on your emotions? This isn't good for the two of you, you don't want to hurt him because of how you feel, Jisung needs you to be his friend and you can't accept, even after so long, that that's all you are to him. 

 "I don't think we should be friends anymore."

"What?" He purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why?" He provides, raking a frustrated hand through his hair when your mouth parted instead of giving him an answer. "Did I do something? You could have just talked to me about it but..." He muttered shakily, repeating, "Why...this?"

Jisung glares at you, he looks so clueless, angry, blatantly hurt and  it's such a selfish thing to ask of him, the least you can do is be honest with him, though you couldn't fight the annoyance from seeping into your tone because he apparently had not a clue. 

"God, don't you see it?!" You placed a warm hand against your forehead, "I'm...in love with you...I love you, okay?"

You start to panic when the tense expression melts into his  features, replaced by something you couldn't put a finger on, "Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you to reciprocate or anything. It's stupid, I thought I was over you but I'm…I'm not. And I can't...I can't watch you get on with someone who isn't me, especially when…" you trail, preparing to admit the truth to yourself once and for all, "...you don't already love me back. I can't...It'll hurt too much…" 

"So...I think...it's better for the two of us to not continue this friendship anymore." You gulp, your palms shaking by your sides, those words have been taking refuge inside you for too long and saying them makes you feel empty, like you've lost something that keeps you grounded and you'd be aimlessly floating about for the rest of your life. 

"I know I'm asking for too much…"

Jisung interrupts you with a wry laugh, the sound startling you. He never spoke to you that way, not even when you argued before.

"Yeah, you're right, you are."

"Well, I'm sorry."  You breath out. 

He leans closer so your hip presses against the cool counter. He drags his fingers from the exposed skin of your collarbone to your neck, tilting your chin up with his thumb while the remaining digits splay against  your throat, "Sorry doesn't cut it." 

 The kiss sends a chill down your spine, prompting you to straighten up from your slumped position. Your knees feel like jelly, like they could collapse any minute. Jisung deepens the kiss, grazing his teeth along your bottom lip, he props you up on the counter and you sense yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, tugging on to his hair to draw out a groan from him; touching him feels so surreal, even though it's a reminder of just how real everything that's happening is. 

"I…" he breathes heavily, "I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't know what to do with how I felt and seeing you again...it just made me realise that I couldn't ignore it anymore. There were times when I couldn't help myself, I felt like I needed to see you when I couldn't, so I did, even if it meant I had to lie. I love taking care of you. I love our dumb inside jokes and I love the way we can't go long without talking. Hell, I love everything we do together." He chuckles, "But I didn't say anything because you told me you were over it. I... just assumed you were only interested in being friends with me." You don't think you've properly registered the sentences, maybe it's the suddenness of it all, maybe it's because you've never actually pictured this. You told yourself, this is how it's supposed to be, that Jisung was never supposed to feel the same. Just with that alone, you had axed your own foot, screwed yourself over more than anyone else did.

Jisung's face breaks into a sudden grin, he pecks your pouted mouth. "But I'm glad I was wrong." 

"Did you just kiss me?" You joke, touching his face, tracing your fingers against his cheeks, the skin glossy and pinkish under the touch, his pupils are blown to large black circles, the brown in them barely visible. 

"I don't know, did I?" Jisung deadpans, narrowing his eyes jovially. 

 He eases into the embrace when you slump against him in a tight hug. The chuckle comes out all muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Hmmm, can't be too sure."

You wrap your arms around his neck, it's like you just can't stop smiling. When you think about it, that's what being around Jisung was like, really. Your digits traverse from the side of his jaw to cup his cheeks, eyes peering into his. You watch as he blinks incredulously, there's something impatient about the way you look at him. Then you tilt your head and kiss him, gathering a faint taste of chapstick whilst your tongue prodded at his bottom lip. 

A low moan thrums against his chest, his mind failing to produce a single coherent thought. Because, God, he knows exactly what you're doing. 

This time the gesture is needy, desperate, as though to convey a strong desire to be completely consumed by him,  to be ruined by him. You raise your hips to brush against his lower abdomen, eliciting a low groan from his throat. 

"Baby not here." He breathes out, gauging your intention whilst resting his forehead atop yours. His palm traces the skin of your thighs, travelling up your sides, a free hand which rests at your neck coming to rest at your jaw. His delicate thumb journeys upwards, tugging your bottom lip out and then slowly retracting the digit. Somehow, the gesture makes his eyes darken even more, if that's possible. "Let's go upstairs."

You're so breathless and shocked and have your head stuck way  so far up  up in the clouds that the statement sounds imperceivable. "What?" You blink dumbly, with your hands on his shoulders.

A husky laugh made reverberates inside his chest, "We can’t...here."

As if on cue, you whimper needily at the weight of the implication. The thought of what is to unfold upstairs making your throat close up. You understood the purpose of his statement, the rest of the boys would soon gather into the beach house because it was getting dark soon, the sky was gargling its throat in the distance too, it would rain and neither of you were keen on PDA.

Jisung's teeth graze along your throat, his fingers around it to keep your head pressed to the door while your thighs are snuggly bracketed around his lithe waist. His need is apparent when he grinds up into your body. You're all but putty under his touch.

It's dark. But you can still make out how absent the room's paraphernalia is, just a bed which is stripped to the bare essentials of a white blanket and scratchy sheet, giving away the fact that visits aren't made too often. You don't care about all that though, Jisung pushes you back against the mattress, pulling his shirt over his head before resuming his position on top of you. 

You can't understand how you kept away from him for so long. 

...

Between your short, bitten and misshapen fingernails, the word Premiere reads on the tickets  in bold red slanted letters. 

You can't believe what was once a figment of your imagination, a rubbish script you wrote whimsically on too much caffeine and too little sleep was going to unfold right before your eyes.

It's crowded inside the subway, you stare at the heads, faces, shirts, jackets, arms and legs and your heart is beating too loud, like you ran a marathon or drove a sports car way past its speed limit, rammed it into a tree and flipped it over.

 All the world's a stage and all men and women merely players.

(You should be scared, you should be scared, you should be scared.)

 Delicate, lithe fingers quickly travel down your palm to squeeze the tense digits at the end, his free hand is rubbing circles on the back of your neck; you stare into those brown eyes and without really thinking, press a quick kiss to his pouting lips, it's difficult, he keeps grinning against your mouth but you pay little attention to those things now. 

"That was a good move, champ." Jisung winks briefly, tracing his thumb along your cheek as he nuzzles his nose against yours, "You always kiss people on the subway?"

You grin, with a slow shake of your head, "Just the hot ones."

(This is a stage. And the passengers are waiting. The Tale Of Two Cities. The couple. The mother. Like that nightmare you used to have. 

But, you think, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter anymore. 

Because you've got your silver lining.)

[aliixen]

Soft[Christa Lenz x Fem!Reader]

Okay so I’ve got some ideas in my head that I need to get out. This was one of them, I started writing them down because they just keep coming to me and I;m still on my attack on titan brainrot, so please bear with me. This is a short one shot where reader is part of the 104th Cadet Corps and Christa’s best friend. There are no amazing things here, just pure fluff so if any of you need some sweetness today, here you go. Enjoy!  ❤️

Note: Sorry for mistakes and bad writing, I’m still a novice and English isn’t my first language. I also have a problem with writing short snippets because I always end up making them longer and longer, adding new things so this is one of the first I managed to write and not turn into a story with chapters 😖

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- You should watch out for yourself dummy! You’re always making me worried! - Christa said as she cleaned another cut on your face, a result of your recklessness during training session - What if something happened to you and I wouldn’t be there?

- Relax Christa, it’s just a small cut! It will heal in no time so it’s not a big deal - you gave her your award winning smile to show her everything was alright but it quickly turned into a pout when she gently smacked your forehead with her small hand - Meanie.

- Oh don’t be like that you big baby. Besides, you always say that it’s just something! If you’d only watch out for yourself more… - you saw a glint of worry in her eyes and it made you feel guilty about your actions.

You often got hurt while you were training and Christa, your best friend, was always there to help you, knowing you had a knack for getting in trouble. Today was no exception and once again you found yourself sitting on Christa’s bed in the shared room, her soft hands treating your injuries as you gazed into her blue eyes. You were alone and it was hard to focus on anything else since for the past few months you grew to love your dearest friend, although you kept it to yourself, too afraid of losing her to even try and do something about it.

It was no wonder. Christa was a literal angel, both in looks and character and everybody knew it. That was why she was so popular with guys and girls alike, her good heart and sweet smiles always making them feel like they were being graced with the presence of a goddess. 

You were the lucky one that got the privilege of calling yourself her best friend but you were still far behind Ymir. Ymir. Every time the two of them interacted together you felt jealousy tug at your heart and even though you hid it well it was still bothering you greatly. There was no chance for you and Christa happening, yet the possessiveness inside you wanted her to be only yours, to the point that you stopped hanging out with her while Ymir was around. It just hurt too much. Maybe that was the reason for your recent rise in times you got injured. It meant being alone with Christa like right now and you would do anything to have more of those moments.

- What is it? You’re spacing out again Y/N. Are you sure you’re alright? - Christa’s worried voice reached you and when you focused on the present, you realised she was closer than before, so close that your noses were brushing. Christa stared into your E/C eyes, searching for something before she pressed her forehead against yours. You could have sworn your heart stopped for a second as a crimson red blush spread across your cheeks, her presence this close to you rendering you speechless - Hmm, you don’t have a fever...but your face is all red! Do you feel lightheaded? Or hot? I can bring you some water, you just have to wait a…

- No! Please don’t go! - you cut her off, unable to stop yourself from reaching out for her as she was about to turn to leave. Your arms wrapped around her middle and you pressed yourself into her stomach with your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them you will have to see her reaction to your sudden outburst. And you didn’t want that. You weren’t usually clingy but today was actually the first day in two weeks that you got to be alone with her. You didn’t want that to end so you just squeezed tighter, holding on so that you could get just a little bit more time with her.

- ...Y/N? Hey, it’s alright. I’m not going to leave, so open your eyes, please? For me? - her warmth and soothing voice calmed you enough to loosen your grip on her but not let go completely. Your heart jumped when you felt her pet your head gently, running her slender fingers through your hair and the gesture made you calm down. You breathed out and slowly tilted your head up to look at her, meeting her light blue eyes that emanated such kindness and warmth - So? Tell me what’s going on, please. I don’t like it when you’re bothered by something. Oh no. Did I do something wrong?

- No! No! It’s not your fault, it’s just that...No, I’m sorry, it’s stupid anyway - you hid your face from her once again but she was quicker than you and before you could successfully bury your head between your arm and her shirt she managed to grab you, squeeshing your cheeks playfully as she made you look up once again.

- Tell. Me. - Christa said in an authoritative tone that was accompanied by a pout and the combination made you smile slightly as you watched her tenderly. Even when she tried to be firm, she was still as cute as ever. If she was going to give you this face, how were you supposed to keep quiet?

- I just...I missed you. Being with you - you managed to get out, ignoring the lingering fear that gripped your heart - We don’t see each other as much as we did with all this training and stuff.

- What do you mean, silly, we see each other everyday! - she gave you the biggest smile she could muster to make you feel better and the butterflies in your stomach danced at the sight.

She was right of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about and you wanted her not to worry about your weird behavior. Unfortunately, due to her sweet nature, you knew she would do everything in her power to get to the bottom of the problem and help you, so you had to tell her the real reason eventually. You detangled yourself from her form, feeling a sudden wave of courage and confidence wash over you before standing up and grabbing her face in your hands, the same way she did to you just a minute ago. You towered over her and watched as her expression formed into one of surprise.

- I know, but it’s not the same. I meant we don’t see each other like that anymore, just the two of us...I like that. Having you all to myself, I mean - her blue eyes widened at your admission and you couldn’t stop the blush spreading on your cheeks up to your ears, their tips red, betraying your emotions - I like being with you, you know...and I, umm...I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but...oh my god, why am I stuttering….I….I’m sorry, I don’t…

Your embarrassing rambling was stopped when you felt Christa’s lips on yours, a state of shock paralyzing your senses that couldn't process what was going on. The softness and sweetness of her lips was all you could focus on and you couldn’t believe this was happening but for now you decided to not dwell on it and simply kiss her back as your heart fluttered in your chest. Your best friend, this beautiful, gentle angel was here in your arms and you couldn’t be happier. This was all you wanted. To your dismay, as soon as you started to move your lips against hers, Christa pulled back quickly and covered her mouth with her hand as her face became red in an instant.

- I’m so sorry Y/N! I don’t know what came over me, you just looked so cute when you rambled so I… - she started to explain herself but was interrupted with the sound of your chuckling. She stared at you for a few seconds before a pout appeared on her face and she stamped her foot on the ground, seemingly irritated - Geez, why are you laughing!

- I’m sorry, I’m sorry! - you managed to get yourself under control and gave her a cheeky smile. Taking a step forward you closed the distance between you two and ruffled her hair, too happy to worry about the possibility of making a mistake - I’m not mad or anything! I like you Christa, so I’m really happy right now.

- Wait, what….? You like...me? - her face became even redder as you leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her nose and smiling gleefully. She averted her eyes, opting to look at the floor instead and you had to stop yourself from squealing at how cute she was - But I thought...I mean you weren’t hanging out with me as much as we did before and I got worried and then...I realized I like you too?

She almost whispered the last part and you had to focus on what she was saying to hear, but as you did, you felt an immense amount of happiness fill you before you grabbed Christa and lifted her in the air, turning around with her in your arms, her sweet laugh echoing through the room.

- Y/N! Put me down, we’re gonna fall! - she protested but her eyes were closed and she seemed just as happy, her hands squeezing your neck tightly in an attempt to hold herself up. As your head started spinning you thought it was time to stop your twirling before you really fall down, so you slowed down but still kept Christa in your arms, refusing to let her down just yet. She was now as high as you thanks to your hold and it was all so perfect that you couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her again. She squealed against your lips before relaxing in your embrace, her gentle hands tightening her grip on the back of your neck. Both of you smiled into the kiss, happy to finally be together like you were supposed to. You broke the kiss and leaned your forehead against hers, gazing deep into her blue eyes that you grew to love so much during those hard months of training. They were still the same as at the beginning, warm, kind and making you feel like this world might not be so bad after all.

- My sweet darling… - she blushed at your worlds and let go of you to hide her face behind her hands, the tenderness of your words making her heart beat twice as fast, in par with yours.

- Stupid! You’re making me blush, quit it! - you smiled and grinned at her, knowing that this would only be the beginning of your teasing now that you were together. She would learn that soon enough.

- Never, my dear. I like you too much.

- Oh, you. I like you too, dummy...

[voiceless-terror]

Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home. 

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case. 

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away. 

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy. 

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone. 

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance. 

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile. 

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

[summonerscenarios]

Can I ask for a scenario where MC finds and takes care of a stray cat and brings it around with him causing some of the other feline transients(tezcatlipoca, macan, nomad, and sitri) to become jealous because the cat is possessive of MC and is getting attention. On another note thank you for creating this blog, it really is nice for you to continue doing something like this for others to enjoy and i hope you are enjoying it as well. (P.S, agyo probably glares at the cat from behind the couch)

I WAS SO WORRIED THAT I’D LOST THIS BECAUSE I SWEAR I ALMOST COULDN’T FIND IT BUT HERE IT IS!!! Thank you so much for liking my blog I’m having so much fun with it!! And I hope other people are having as much with it as well~! 

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Tezcatlipoca

Honestly, you’re starting to get pretty fed up with how many times Tez tries breaking into your dorm through the window when you’ve got a perfectly good door to use (especially because you gave him a key, dammit). It’s something about ‘stealth’ or ‘a surprise attack’ but it’s seriously starting to grate on your nerves; so when you decide to bring the stray who you’ve been feeding and taking care of for the past few months home with you, you decide that the jaguar can find out about the new arrival the next time he tries to make an ‘impromptu visit’ in the middle of the night.

And sure enough that’s exactly how he gets to meet your cat. Usually the loud declaration he makes as he bursts through your (thankfully open) window is what wakes you up from your slumber, but this time it’s the sound of your cat hissing up a storm as it leaps from your bed to confront the ‘intruder’ while he’s half-way through the window. It’s enough of a surprise to Tez that the therian slides right off of the frame and hits the floor loud enough that you feel bad for the person living on the first floor. However, he’s quick to recover, and by the time you’re out of bed you’re standing between the two trying to get Tez to at least lower his voice before he wakes the neighbors as he glares over your shoulder at the protective feline, the latter of which purrs and rubs against your legs vying for your attention.

That should have been your first sign that things were going to be tense between the two, but you didn’t actually think that Tezcatlipoca would get jealous of your new kitty just because it was a tiny bit attached to you. Little do you know from that point forward what ensues is a full out war between the therian and your cat. Perhaps its due to the fact you’re so doting, or just because you feed it and give it a place to sleep, but your cat is ridiculously attached to you, but Tezcatlipoca isn’t about to let a possessive stray take up the space at his brother’s side that Tez had waiting so long to reclaim - if it’s a battle for you that this little kit wants, then he is more than prepared to show it who your true favorite is. Tez gets increasingly more petty in his attempts to lure your attention away from the cat, and considering that he’s pretty adept with tactics you’d imagine this would be fairly easy but it isn’t.

Tez tries to get a moment alone with you by closing the door behind him before the cat can enter, and not two minutes later it’s pawing at the door and meowing so loud that you hurry over to the door to let it in and warn Tez to check next time. He also attempts to pawn the cat off onto his subordinates for a few hours under the guise of a play-date and to get the cat used to company; and yet that plan backfires spectacularly when you start getting pictures of its ‘playdate’. Group photos of the Luchadores all fawning over your cat and giving it treats alongside videos of them jumping around and letting it leap between them as they perform - it’s clear that the feline has successfully won them over just as it had with you, and you’re soon distracted cooing over the messages much to the therian’s growing frustration.

The lightbulb finally goes off when you catch Tez glaring at the cat when he thinks you’re not looking like he’s trying to convey the words he can’t say to the little feline due to your presence. You’re laying with your back on the floor as the kitty drapes across your chest, hands running through its fur and rubbing its ears as you coo and shower the cat in affection and praises. Your cat is absolutely loving the affection, purring hard enough that it’s practically rumbling as it stretches out and pads at your face with its paws; Tez on the other hand is staring the cat down like it’s going to claw your face off and he’s just waiting for the moment to jump in and intervene. When you tilt your head back to look at him you catch his expression before he notices you’ve spotted him; you ask him what’s got him so miffed, but in the split second it takes for him to look in the opposite direction and insist nothing’s amiss you look between him, the cat, then him, then the cat again.

Then it clicks.

“Tez, you’re not...jealous are you?”

His reaction is just too good - the lack of verbal response makes you lift the cat off of you so that you can safely roll over and look directly at him, taking in the lowered ears and ruffled feathers as he looks away from you. Assuming that he’s just feeling left out with the attention you shuffle over to where he’s sitting and apologize for not giving him some time too in a cooing hum that’s pretty similar to the tone you use when you’re coddling the cat. He goes to complain, but the moment you lean over to start scritching a spot right behind his ears he chokes on the words, expression tensing for the brief moment it takes him to realize what you’re doing to him. 

Tezcatlipoca grumbles about underhanded tactics and how he won’t fall for them so easily even as he tilts his head up with a noise akin to a deep purr when you move your free hand to scratch just under his chin. At the forefront of your affection Tez almost has to laugh in triumph - of course you may lavish the little fluffy kit you’ve taken in with affection and praise, but you’ll always end up pouring your attention back onto him when it really counts. You’re pretty sure you catch his tail flickering languidly out of the corner of your eye as you pet him, but you don’t bring it up when it brushes up against your legs as you shuffle around to get a better angle to fuss him with. If the cat doesn’t try to make too much of a fuss and he keeps receiving your undivided attention like this, then Tez supposes that he can allow this kind of arrangement…

That is until the moment is interrupted when your cat promptly shoves itself between the two of you and turns it’s back to Tez so that you have to pull your hands away to look down at it. And just like that it’s back to square one, with Tez glaring daggers as the feline has the audacity to use his leg as height leverage to nuzzle its way into your arms, effectively regaining your attention as you turn back to fussing the cat - completely oblivious to the pointed stare-down the pair share when you’re not looking.

Macan

Taking in a stray for the first time you’d worried a lot about it wandering off or losing interest if it went outside, and the stories you had heard only heightened the worries you had about owning a cat. Turns out you didn’t have to worry at all, as the feline sticks to your side everywhere you go, even following you to school and sneaking its way into your classes even when you were sure you closed your dorm door - it was a running gag that where you went your new fluffy buddy was sure to follow, and it significantly eased your concerns as you gained a little more confident about taking it out with you. It even came with you when you went out to see friends, dropping by on the Berserker’s guild to catch up with your allies with your fuzzy companion in tow. Granted, it did in fact wander off from time to time, but rarely ever out of your direct line of sight. However, this time when you pull yourself away from a conversation with Andvari about merch revenue to check on your cat who’d been perched on the counter, only to find it missing from its spot and not in direct sight, you begin to panic. The main floor is thankfully empty of most of the visitors, with most people in the arena watching one of the fights and leaving the space mostly clear, but you still end up running circles around the room looking for the cat in question. Eventually, a familiar mewl catches your attention, followed by a sharp hiss and a growl that you recognize and you slide around the corner the moment you hear it.

Then you spot your cat, latched onto the Macan’s snout with both bearing their teeth and you nearly scream as you bolt over to pry the two felines away from each other. It takes a while to separate your cat and Macan, and you’re honestly flabbergasted that your kitty had such a wild reaction when up until this point you’d never had any of these problems before. Macan at least doesn’t seem entirely fussed about the sudden outburst - if anything he seems a bit entertained that your cat had the guts enough to try anything - but you still make a point to make sure his nose is okay, checking for any lasting claw marks as you apologize over and over.

From that point forward, it doesn’t take a genius to piece together that Macan and your kitty don’t entirely get along...well, that’s not exactly true. In the times where you’re doing your own thing and not focusing on the two of them, you notice that your cat has little qualms with sidling up to the bulky tiger therian and lounging all over him, and Macan doesn’t even shrug it off or push it away whenever the furball trots up to him looking for attention. It’s bizarre seeking the two of them actually getting along with each other, though you do have to laugh at how easily Macan’s able to pull your cat away when it starts getting too playful with his tail - it almost makes you wish you had a camera so that you could save these snippets. 

However, those moments only last about as long as it takes for either of them to notice that you’re paying attention; then your cat’s racing me over to your side kicking up a fuss until you relent and give the feline some well deserved pets. You honestly don’t know who’s more attached to you - as when your cat comes to curl up on your lap, meowing and pawing for your attention, chances are Macan’s right there alongside it, leaning up against your back and resting his head atop yours nosing in on whatever you’re doing. It’s cute, but frustrating when this happens right as you’re in the middle of doing something important - and yet you don’t have the heart to get either of the cats to budge.  (not that either of them actually would - you’ve now got two stubborn felines to deal with in your life, hope you’re ready.)

Nomad

Taking in a stray wasn’t your initial plan, but you definitely don’t regret it. You always came across the same cat on your way to and from school, and while you’d only stop for the occasional fuss and to give it some treats if you carried some with you, it didn’t take long before it started travelling with you as you made the walk. And then one day you got back to your home and the cat just...stuck around - and needless to say you just didn’t have the heart at that point to not take the cat in; how could you not? The fluffy feline needed a place to stay, and you were more than happy to have a new roommate in the form of the tiny cat. It takes a lot of trial and error to ease your new pet into its new life, taking your time to get it used to being around some of your friends so that it feels more comfortable coming over - and honestly, things go a lot better than you expected. Your cat warms up to just about everyone you’ve introduced easily, going in for pets or at least giving them a curious sniff before deciding whether it likes them or not; seeing how well it gets along with everybody you’ve introduced so far, you thought it was high time to introduce it to your favorite tiger detective - after all, you’re sure they’d get along just fine, right?

Your way of ‘introducing’ Nomad to your new kitty isn’t so much an introduction as it is you quite literally plopping the cat right into his lap the moment he sits down, looking up at him with an excitable smile and kneeling down beside him as you present the small cat to the exceptionally bigger cat. Your cat and him share a look, and you just about melt watching it purr and nuzzle up against Nomad’s jacket like you’ve seen it do with some of your other friends before - it looks like it’s taken a shine to him, which is honestly incredibly relieving after the initial worry that this introduction wasn't going to go as well as you’d hoped. What makes you even happier is that Nomad doesn’t seem to mind the cat either, leaning a hand down to give the kitty headpats as it preens and purrs under the action.

But then you turn away for a moment to check something on your phone, being pulled away by a message, and in that split second that you shift around to check your cat does a complete 180, just about hitting him square in the chest as it whips around and hops off of his lap to trot over to your side, meowing all the way until you turn around and focus your attention back onto him. What seals the deal is the warning noise that your cat makes as it turns back to face him, slinking into your lap with a pointedly sharp stare before it turns its attention back to you.

It’s not exactly jealousy, per se, because Nomad’s been around the block long enough to not get hung up over you doting over your cat and giving it a lot of your attention - though at the same time he gets pretty embarrassed realizing that what he does get hung up on is the fact that most of your attention is pulled away from him when you are together. When he realizes that’s what’s got him upset, the therian wants to just about kick himself for sounding like a damn kid about it, and he’s not about to go around admitting it out loud, so you’re gonna have to figure that out on your own.

What’s more, Nomad’s fully prepared to just cut his losses and accept that him and the cat just aren’t gonna get along, and he would if it wasn’t for the fact that this same cat was so damn affectionate when you weren’t around. Without fail, whenever you go out to run errands and he’s stuck with the cat it’ll come plodding up to him and flop down into his lap demanding pets and attention. And he falls for it every single time. You can practically see the frustration rolling off of him when you return, and the cat just about claws his head off trying to get to you as soon as possible, leaving Nomad nursing more than a few nicks thanks to the sheer protectiveness the little fluffball possesses when it comes to you.

Sitri

When you’d first brought the stray you’d adopted home it was a learning experience for you. Figuring out what toys to get and what kind of food and bedding to go and buy were just some of the things you needed to get and asap, and you’d been so focused on making sure the little guy was settling in okay and comfy that by the time everything was sorted out you’d pretty much neglected to let everybody know that you were a cat parent now. Once things have calmed down however, you’re eager to show off the fluffy feline to just about everyone and everyone, and who better to show that Sitri? You were planning to meet up with him after school anyways, and you figured if the kitty was going to warm up to anyone, he’d be a pretty good start, right? 

Though perhaps you should have actually let him know that the cat was home when he’d stopped by your dorm room to see if you were ready to go, as while you’re mid-way through tossing a jacket on and grabbing your bag you hear a yelp and Sitri nearly barrels into your back. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but as you spin around you spot your cat dart across the room, and you have to catch the little fluff ball mid-pounce as it aims directly for the poor therian’s tail. Turns out, while you’d been getting ready, the cat had spotted Sitri at the door and had slipped past your feet to investigate the newcomer, only to latch onto Sitri’s tail the moment the flickering had peaked the feline’s interest. A slew of apologies wasn’t how you’d intended to introduce Sitri to your cat, but you really can’t stay mad at the kitty for long when it sticks you with the wide eyes and cuddles into your arms mid-apology, gently butting your jaw with its head.

You just about melt at the action, especially because this is still in the early stages of your cat settling into your home, and the apology quickly filters off into you cooing over the feline as you hold it up for Sitri to see. For a split second Sitri swears that the cat’s glaring at him as it wriggles free and drops back down to your side to curl around your legs, but surely he’s just imagining it, right? Wrong. That cat spends just about every second that he’s there curled protectively right beside you, sticking Sitri with a stare and swatted paw if his shoulder so much as touches yours. It even kicks up a fuss and follows the pair of you out of the door, which ends up with you asking if you can bring it along, which of course he’s not going to say no to. This quickly becomes a regular occurrence, where almost every time the two of you get to hang out your cat comes with you, and it must know it’s damn cute because every time it tags along you and just about everyone else comes over to pet it and give the cat attention.

Sitri absolutely refuses to admit that he’s even a tiny bit jealous of your cat - getting jealous over a cat is super dumb, and Sitri’s not the kind of cool cat who gets hung up watching you fuss and fawn over the cat every single time you’re together...okay, maybe he’s a tiny bit jealous, but it’s not like he’s going to tell you that he is. Instead, he stews with the thoughts for a while, and just kind of puts up with the presence of the cat in favor of hanging out with you, and he’s sure the cat knows because boy does it push the limits of what it can get away with. There was even one instance where Sitri had made the mistake of having his wings out around your cat, and the little ball of fluff just about ripped a few feathers free the moment it caught sight of those bright orange wings. That at least got your attention focused back on him as you’d worried over his wings and checked that he was okay, but Sitri really doesn’t wanna go through something like that just to keep your attention - he’s pretty sure he’d end up losing all of his feathers if he did that.

With that being said this is Sitri, and you’ve known him long enough that you can tell when something’s starting to bug him, and clearly something has been bothering him for a while. You don’t make the connection for a little while, after all while he does get a bit frustrated watching your cat nuzzle into your hands and curl up on your lap, so you’re blissfully unaware. However, after a while you start to realize just how little attention you pay to Sitri when you guys are together, having your attention pulled away by the cat, and you start to think that maybe he’s feeling miffed that you’ve been leaving him out as a result. You can’t say for sure though until you decide to bring the topic up with him, curious to figure out what’s got him so ruffled.

Once you put two and two together he gets notably embarrassed, and you don’t even have to voice your thoughts aloud before Sitri blurts out that he’s 'not jealous!’ automatically jumping in to deny it before you’ve said a word. Seconds later he realizes what he just said and his hands fly to his mouth as though hoping to stuff the words back in but it’s too late. Your jaw drops, but just as quickly you spin around and exclaim “You’re jealous!?”, watching as he flushes. Sitri tries to deny it again, but it’s significantly less convincing when even the tips of his ears are starting to turn pink; soon enough the moment dissolves into you repeating that he’s jealous, sounding more and more amused each time he tries to argue that he swears he’s not. After a while of this though you make sure to assure him that you’re not making fun of him, ruffling his hair as you assure him that as much as you coddle and fuss the fluffy feline you’ll always have time for him - after all you’d be a fool not to remind your friend he’s the number one cool cat, right~? At your words he goes from flustered to groaning at the cheesy remark, but you can tell he’s feeling a bit better about the whole thing, if not still a bit embarrassed over being seen through so easily.

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART VIII — masterlist

concept: for your birthday, chris takes you to a burlesque club, where you reunite with anthony and sebastian. the first kiss. the slowest of slow burns. part nine of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: strip tease, kissing, aNgSt

author's note: nothing i can say will prepare you for the rollercoaster you are about to endure. i hate myself for doing this to you. ya girl really popped tf off on this one.

Looking at Christopher Robert Evans, you wouldn't expect him to be someone who happened to frequent burlesque clubs.

You also wouldn't expect him to have so many tattoos, but that's what a good long sleeve jacket was for.

It would be dangerous for anyone to assume anything about Christopher Robert Evans. And yet, assumptions were made... Just like how you had assumed he would forget your birthday.

It wasn't an unfair assumption, by any means. You had only been living together for about six months, of which he was only there for a few days at a time, before jetting back out to whatever location his film shoot was at.

You were close, but at the same time, not close at all.

It was hard to think of where you stood – neither one of you could really answer that question, and should anyone corner you both separately, you'd both resignedly sigh and claim "just friends."

That was why his gift surprised you on two different levels:

One, he had remembered your birthday. Perfectly friendly enough.

Two, he had gifted you something not quite friendly in the slightest... And that was where waters got murky. But you'd be fucked if you didn't admit just how willing you were to wade into those waters – murky or not.

The box had been delivered to the house late in the morning. Chris had been gone for just over a month this time – 46 days, you were unashamedly keeping count – and his absence didn't go by unnoticed.

Everything reminded you of him, even if he didn't spend a lot of time there.

The box had been from La Perla, and just the name – gold embossed on cream – elicited a visceral reaction of excitement.

You signed for it – a little too eagerly, given the delivery boy's eyebrow raise – before dashing inside to open it.

And now, there it sat, on your bed, silk ribbon still intact.

You weren't unfamiliar with the forever coveted – and forever out of your price range – Italian lingerie brand. But knowing it was from Chris... Your fingers inched towards the ribbon.

Your phone rang, rescuing you from letting your imagination run too wild. Checking the caller I.D., you faltered. It was him.

"Hello?"

"{Your name}! Hey." If you shut your eyes, you could see his smile. "Did you get the gift?"

"Yeah," you responded, a bit more breathless than you would've liked. "Looking at it right now, actually."

"And? What do you think?"

You hadn't the heart to tell him you hadn't opened it yet. "It's..."

You heard a familiar voice in the background. Two of them, actually. "Who's that?" "Is that {your name}? Hey, yo, {your name}! Happy birthday!"

"Guys, cut it out!" Chris laughed, the reciever crackling a little. You could only imagine what was transpiring on the other end: Chris trying to wrangle himself free from his friends all clamouring to get a word in over the phone he was holding just out of reach.

You giggled. "Is that Mackie?"

"Yeah, and Seb. I'm on set with them right now. Decided to drop by, say hi to everyone. Try and convince those two delinquents to come out tonight, but after they heard where I was taking you, it wasn't much of a task. Just managed to sweet talk the producers into getting them the night off."

"It better be great tonight, Kevin really wasn't impressed!" You could hear Seb's muffled shouts from across the room, followed by a "quiet on set!" from a voice you didn't recognize.

Silence was instantaneous from the clamour you had almost gotten used to from the other end.

"Hold on," Chris' voice was hushed. "Gonna get out of their hair before they start filming again..."

You found yourself perching restlessly on the edge of your bed as you waited for Chris to return to the call. There was some shuffling on his end, quiet apologies whispered to passing strangers he was trying to skirt past.

When he got back, he was speaking normally again. "About the gift. It's a bit much, I know. Not exactly Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge! but I know how much you love that film, so I thought it'd be fun if tonight... Well, if tonight we visited something close to it."

"You're not taking me to France, are you?" Your heart was in your throat, hoping he'd say no. Not that you wouldn't love to go, it was just that you weren't ready to make a trip that big any time soon. The panic of packing would be all consuming, and that was the last thing you wanted to be doing on your birthday.

His laugh was infectious. "God, no. In this economy?"

"So, where are you taking me, then?" Your eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

"Think Moulin Rouge, but smaller and more local."

"Oh..." There was one name that came to mind – Vulpecula, the Latin word for "little fox". A burlesque club, every bit as elite as the club you used to be a waitress at.

"Oh," he agreed. Even over the phone you could see the smug smile on his face. He had recalled you mentioning how you'd always wanted to go there, but could never get in. The moment he heard that, about four months prior, he had excused himself from the conversation – having given you some perfectly justifiable explanation at the time, reasonable enough for you to not suspect anything different – and promptly booked a front seat table there for your birthday. "So, listen, I'll be home in... Let's see, they have an hour left here before they wrap, from Georgia to L.A., that's four, maybe five hours...? So let's say no more than seven hours? I should be home by dinner, have a quick shower, and be ready to meet Seb and Anthony at Vulpecula around nine for the reservation. Sound good?"

That was in... One glance at the clock on your bedside table confirmed it. Ten hours time by the looks of it.

Ten hours was more than enough time for you to pick something Vulpecula worthy and get ready. You hoped. "Sounds good."

"Alright, see you in a bit."

You said your goodbyes, the thrill of finally going to a burlesque club beginning to rise. Your thumb hovered over the "end call" button, about to press, when Chris interjected one last time.

"Oh, and {your name}? Happy birthday."

———————

True to his word, Chris was home for dinner. "Dinner" being two pizzas balancing precariously in one scopic hand – held aloft, well out of Dodger's eager jumping reach – and roses clutched firmly in the other.

"You're back."

His face lit up at your presence, tired eyes becoming wide awake once more. "Hey there, birthday girl."

You let him put down the pizza and flowers first before you sprinted into his arms. The scent that you could only reconcile with airplanes from his flight clung to him, but if you inhaled deeper, the smell that was so distinctly Chris was there too.

He chuckled, hugging you back every bit as enthusiastically, even going so far as to pick you up and spin you around, Dodger yapping excitedly at the situation.

"I missed you, you asshole."

"I missed you too," he sighed into your hair.

You pulled apart. "You have no idea how quiet it gets here when you're not around. I almost feel bad for the shampoo bottles, they haven't heard you sing in a month now and it's– What? What are you staring at?"

A stillness had overcome Chris as he held you at arm's length, hands resting just above your elbows. He was looking at you.

"Just you," he affirmed softly. There it was again, that smile. "You look gorgeous. Doesn't she look beautiful, bud?"

Dodger, suddenly bored of the interaction, dashed off to go retrieve some chew toy or another.

"Guess he doesn't think so," you shrugged, suddenly shy under that molten ocean gaze.

"Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

———————

Vulpecula didn't disappoint. Your eyes were wide in awe, almost wishing they were wider so as to take in as much as you possibly could. You were right by the stage, all of you seated in plush, velvet chairs. You sat around a gold and black vintage marble-top table cluttered with empty bottles and half full drinks.

Anthony and Seb – after showering you with birthday wishes and small gifts now residing in your discarded coat pockets – were reclined in their seats, drinks in hand, talking low to one another. You had heard a snippet of their conversation in passing. They had been debating how long you and Chris would last in this will they, won't they charade.

The very thought of a will they had your eyes rolling. As if that would ever happen. You didn't need to remind yourself: friends. Just friends, nothing more.

Sultry music, moody lighting, and the hint of wine and expensive perfume mingled with French cigarette smoke all invaded your senses.

"They look amazing up there," you whispered in reverence, eyes never leaving the dancers.

Chris leaned in, shoulder brushing yours. The natural magnetic pull he had on you snapped you out of your wonderstruck state, and you tilted your head to hear him better. His breath was hot against your ear as he struggled to be heard over the music. "Not as amazing as you look right now."

You shrugged the compliment off. It wasn't lost on you, the reason he enjoyed these types of clubs. "Yeah, but I could never do what they're doing right now."

"I don't know," he cajoled. "I've seen you dance before. You've got moves."

He was referring to one particular evening where you had decided to settle your differences over The Impromptu Never Have I Ever Swim™ – namely, who was at fault – with a dance battle. But that was nothing.

You quirked an inquisitive brow. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"No suggestions here," he said, hands raised in submission. "I'm just saying you've got moves."

At your scoff, he leaned in again. You weren't entirely oblivious; the implication of his words were crystal clear: "And you could out dance anybody in this room."

"Is that a challenge, Evans?" The smirk came easy to your wine darkened lips as you brought the flute of champagne to them for a sip. You had been rather indulgent in your mixing of alcohols all night, and compliance was becoming incredibly enticing.

"You can't compete where you don't compare, and these girls don't even come close."

The dismissive wave he gave the stage had caught the attention of Anthony and Seb, and they were now listening and watching intensely, both trying to hide their amusement behind their tumblers of whiskey.

"You are challenging me," you gasped in mock disbelief.

"If anything, it's a request," Anthony had attempted to disguise his commentary behind the whiskey glass, but had failed. The whole table had heard, earning him a slap on the arm from Seb and an amused quirk of your lips. "What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking. We're all thinking it."

"I'm not about to be sweet-talked into making a fool of myself by the likes of you, Christopher," you teased, turning your attention back to Chris.

He smirked. "I dare you."

"You really don't think I'll go up there." It was more a statement than anything. He knew the need to prove him wrong would heavily outweigh your dignity, and you hated that he knew that.

He shrugged, noncommittal, but still smirking. "I have no inclination to what you will or won't do."

That was it. The thread he'd been pulling at all night had finally unravelled, and it was probably the alcohol that had dulled your better judgement, but it was your birthday, for fuck sakes, and you felt like doing something memorable and insane.

"Guard my drink."

And then you were up, making your way to the dimly lit steps leading up to the stage.

If you had been there with anyone else, you would've been escorted out immediately. But that was the thing about loyal patronage, fame, and money... You could get away with almost anything. Your status was immediately elevated just by being in their company.

Seb watched you, mouth agape, as you sashayed to the front and centre. "Holy shit, she's doing it."

Uproarious applause met your arrival as your steps pulled the attention of the audience, but you could hear and see Anthony whoop in support above them all.

"How the hell did you pull this one off, Evans?" Anthony asked as he sat back down to enjoy the show, face laminated in a permanent smile.

"What can I say? I know my girl," Chris winked.

Seb sighed, digging some cash from his pocket. "You win, I guess," he grumbled as he handed over the money to Chris.

"That's mine, thank you." Anthony plucked it from Seb's fingertips. "You too, blue eyes. Hand it over."

"But I won," Chris all but pouted, confusion creasing his brow.

"You said you could get her up there with them in ten," Anthony corrected. "I said you could do it in five if she had the right amount of Moët in her. And would you look at that..." – he plucked the near empty bottle in question from the table to display to his friends – "the perfect amount of Moët."

Chris yielded. He fished some stray bills from his pocket and paid his fee.

The entire exchange was lost on you, however, as the song changed. There was a hush over the club as the music faded, and suddenly, there was a spotlight on you. The other dancers stood back, watching you in delight.

And then the music began to play.

And you began to move.

You were mesmerizing, incredible in your command of the stage. The sway of your rolling hips, the placement of your hands, roving over your body suggestively, but not overtly sexual. That was the beauty of burlesque – it was to sell sex without outright giving it, and it was as if you'd danced there your whole life, the way it flowed so naturally through you.

"Would you look at her up there?" Anthony breathed, something akin to pride in his eyes. Your relationship with the Falcon actor was strange – something close to siblings. Although, if you were to think about it, no big brother would ever be as proud as he was to be watching his little sister dancing at a burlesque club. It had been less about the dance, though – and all about the joy he could see emanating from you.

You liked being the centre of attention for one night. And you very much were.

The interaction at the table was practically forgotten as your friends stared up at you in admiration.

And when your hands traced your curves, moving languidly to the zipper at the side of your dress, Chris' breath visibly stuttered. And when the dress was slipping off of you – straps slinking off the delicate slope of your shoulders to allow the pooling of the fabric at your feet – Chris leaned forward in his seat, entirely bewitched.

You were wearing it – the lingerie he had bought for you.

It was a pretty little number – light champagne coloured silk, trimmed in black lace. It fit you like a glove, hanging off your frame in a way that revealed enough to stir a desire to see more, but not enough to have you shying away in discomfort in front of all the onlookers. The neckline was low, and the skirt fell just above mid thigh.

And still you danced, motions slow to the music, toying with the skirt, the straps, your hair. For that single moment, you were seduction incarnate.

He couldn't look away. You were everything in his world, the only thing in it. You were his world.

When you made eye contact with him, out in the darkness at the edge of the stage, he could've sworn he'd forgotten how to breathe.

You sank to your knees, sensual, undulating, gathering your now discarded dress. The smirk you had – so often teasing – was beckoning, mirroring the intent in your eyes.

You slowly dragged your eyes over Chris, taking in the state of him. What you had rendered him. The hold you had over him was tangible – the awed set of his agape jaw, the way his eyes were glazed with such intensity and want. It stirred something in you, something in the pit of your belly.

You cast him a coy wink before you lazily tossed the dress to him as if you hadn't a care in the world.

Sebastian sucked a whistling breath through his teeth when the song ended. "Who was that girl?"

Chris shifted in his seat, trousers having grown immeasurably uncomfortable. He found himself dumbfounded. "I have absolutely no idea."

———————

The excitement of the stage was still coursing through you when you returned to the table.

Anthony, who had rightfully given you a well-deserved standing ovation, gave you a massive bear hug that lifted you off the ground and had you giggling. "Wow," was all he said. And then, louder: "Wow!"

Nearby patrons cheered in agreement, and you felt your cheeks flush. "Stop it," you rolled your eyes.

"No, he's right," Seb smirked. "Isn't that right, Chris?"

Seb had tilted his head to peer at Chris past you and Mackie, cocky at having caught Chris out.

Chris – having crossed his legs to conceal the effect you had on him – could barely even look at you. "Yeah," he cleared his throat; it didn't help chase the rasp from his voice. "It was quite something."

You exchanged a slightly annoyed look with Anthony. "I don't see what your problem is, I was only doing what you wanted."

You plopped down in your seat, immediately taking a sip from your champagne. Chris' eyes followed your action, attentative – even more so when you caught a drop at the corner of your lips with your deft tongue.

As if he wasn't already hard enough.

And then his undoing – you spotted your dress. It was still exactly where it had landed when you'd tossed it, splayed across his lap. Unthinkingly, you reached for it, your fingers grazing his crotch and–

His hand shot forward, intercepting you, seizing your wrist in an iron grip. He looked to almost be in pain. "Don't."

What happened next, you didn't blame the alcohol this time, or the thrill the stage had left you with, or anything else. This was all you.

The air had been thick with desire – that all consuming want – and there was a glassiness in his blown out pupils – a need – that had spurred you on.

You grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him to you. Tilting forward, you captured his lips in a hungry starving kiss. He stiffened, before melting, becoming putty in your hands, kissing you back with a passion that set your entire soul and body ablaze. It was sloppy, liquor heavy on both your lips. He moaned into you, hot tongue swiping against the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. Entrance which you granted, whimpering as he deepened the kiss.

You had clambered onto his lap in the frenzied urgency. The hiss of pleasure he gave at the slow grind of your hips against him was almost enough to make you come undone then and there.

Searing hands travelled your body, fingertips digging into soft flesh every time you rubbed against him just so. He traced your curves, encompassing all his hands could reach without ever crossing the line you so desperately wanted him to. He was a gentleman, first and foremost – although he kissed like he hoped to devour you.

Your own hands carded through his hair, tugging at the strands, eliciting throaty groans you never dreamed of hearing from him. His lips muffled every mewl of pleasure you emitted, and for that you were thankful, because once his hand came to rest around your throat, you knew you were done for.

"Fuck," he growled out against your lips.

You finally pulled apart, head swimming and breathless. "Let's get out of here."

He stared at you for the longest time. You, who looked so beautiful with your kiss swollen lips. You, who was sat in his lap, looking down at him, eyes telling innocence, but lips suggesting sin. You, who was finally his. "You must know what you're doing to me."

You stifled a moan as Chris tilted your head back, gently leaving a trail of featherlight kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your toes curled, and you knew that if someone were to ask you your name in that moment, you wouldn't be able to tell them. "And what's that?"

"Driving me fucking crazy."

———————

You were still in absolute disbelief, convinced you'd wake up and this would all be a dream.

But it wasn't a dream, and you were there, with him, and your lips still throbbed in the remembrance of that kiss...

"Hold on," you said. Chris reluctantly halted his steps, turning to look at you. "Just wait here, I need to go get my coat."

"Don't be long," he said, voice low and soft.

You gave him a goofy half smile, still kiss drunk. "No promises."

You dashed off to the coat check station, leaving Chris in the foyer.

Ten minutes, that was how long it took. That was the number you would put to the time it took for absolute devastation to occur.

It wasn't your fault there was a line at coat check. Just like it wasn't his fault he happened to run into a particularly gorgeous woman from his past in just those ten minutes.

"Chris Evans?"

He spun at the sound of his name ringing out in the empty foyer. The music of Vulpecula was still faintly going in the background, muffled by the gilded gold doors that granted entry.

"Hey! Long time no see," he grinned. "I haven't seen you since...? Wow, it must've been ages."

"Since we broke up, yeah," she nodded in slow agreement.

"How's," he snapped his fingers, hoping to jog his memory. "Don?"

"We broke up, actually. About a month ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." He made his consolation known through a friendly pat on the shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the skin revealed by her sleeveless dress.

And it was at that moment you returned, seeing him and the woman, too close to be entirely platonic. He wasn't guilty of anything, you knew that. But the hand on the shoulder...

He hadn't noticed you yet, so you were given ample time to dissect the unfolding situation.

It dawned on you exactly why it bothered you so much. The way he was touching her, it was how he had touched you. Not in Vulpecula, no, but every day leading up to it. And it could've meant one of two things:

The first was that it was friendly. Suggesting that he had seen you as nothing more than a friend before... Before you'd fucked it up.

Or the second... That he had seen you as something more all along, and that was what he perceived her as right after that kiss you had both shared.

And honestly, you didn't know which was worse.

"I'm going to be in town for the next few days if you wanted to grab a drink and catch up..." You had stalked past them in that moment, coat draped over your arm, catching her words in passing.

Chris' eyes followed you as he spoke, distracted by your shift in mood. "I'm actually here with someone..."

He trailed off, watching as you didn't even look at him as you brushed past. "Um, hold that thought," he said, already starting to follow you out. Her entire existence was dismissed by his need to get to you and discover why you were suddenly giving him the cold shoulder. "It was great seeing you again, tell Don I say hi – wait, no, scratch that–!"

He was practically yelling over his shoulder as he chased you down. "{Your name!} Wait up!"

You didn't stop, but you were at a disadvantage – your heels, his long legs – and he caught up to you easily. His hand on your shoulder was enough to make you flinch. Who knew you could read so much into the touch of a shoulder? "Hey, what's wrong?"

Your heart could've broken at the gentleness of his voice. Could've. You'd steeled yourself already, and it was glaringly noticeable. "Nothing is wrong, Chris, forget it."

"Just wait–"

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder. "I said forget it."

"I won't," he stepped closer. "Not when I can see something is bothering you."

"Well, I will," you stated, voice flat. You turned away from him to continue your retreat. "Can we just go home?"

When he refused to budge – instead looking at you with those mournful blue eyes of his, you sighed, exasperation and a touch of anger laced through. Why were you so upset, anyways?

"Chris, I just want to go home. I'm tired and I want to get out of this ridiculous fucking outfit so please. Please can we go home?"

He watched as you backed away from him, already pushing open the foyer door to step out onto the curb. His voice was so soft when he next spoke, you hadn't even heard him over the sudden symphony of noises from outside.

"Okay. Okay we'll go."

———————

"Hey, Evans!"

Chris peeled his eyes away from your silhouette to find new purchase on the person who'd called him. He'd been watching you try – and fail – to get a cab for a little over five minutes now. He was still trying to puzzle through your sudden tonal shift, and had ended up simply staring at you from afar for what felt like ages. His eyes burned. Had he blinked? He couldn't recall.

"What are you still doing here?" Anthony hollered from the other side of the foyer. As he drew closer, his voice lowered. "I thought you guys left a while ago."

"Is {your name} around?" Sebastian asked, still in the midst of shrugging on his coat that he'd just retrieved from coat check. "We wanted to say goodbye before we headed back to the hotel. Early flight and all that."

Chris struggled to find his voice, and when he did, it didn't sound much like himself. "She's outside, getting a cab."

"Oh, you guys are gonna go home and—" Anthony wiggled his brows suggestively.

Seb was quick to land a gentle slap on Anthony's shoulder, a silent hint to shut the fuck up. "I know that face. And that voice." Sebastian drew closer – approaching Chris almost like one does a wounded animal – and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I... I don't know," Chris sighed. His voice sounded strangled, even to him. "She won't talk to me. Wants nothing to do with me by the looks of it."

Anthony pursed his lips. "Well, what did you do?"

"Why?" Sebastian sighed in exasperation. The question was addressed to no one in particular – except maybe God.

Anthony ignored him. "Man, do I have to spell it out for you? She's crazy about you, giving you those big doe eyes everytime you come within a five mile radius. That is some love shit if I've ever seen it," he chortled to himself. Snapping out of it, he leaned in menacingly – big brother mode activated. "So what did you do?"

"Oh, man..." Chris groaned, trying to remember the events that had led to this point. "Well, she was getting her coat."

Anthony nodded slowly, showing he was following. "Right."

"And this girl I used to date, she came over and we started talking."

"You've lost me," Mackie said, still nodding.

"What do you mean?"

Lightning quick, Anthony smacked Chris upside the head. It wasn't hard, a love tap at most, but it still made Chris grimace. "What do you mean, what do I mean? Honestly, both of you are so clueless. Man, she's perfect for you. Literally, perfect. So what are you talking to your ex for?"

"It wasn't like that, Ant," Chris groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Wait, do you think she thinks...?"

"I don't know what she thinks. What I think, is that you should fix it. As soon as possible."

"Guess I'm in the lead again, huh?" Sebastian slid his hands coolly into his pockets, rocking on his heels.

Chris frowned. "You guys bet on us?"

"Not with money. With something much more meaningful," Seb smiled.

Anthony nodded sagely. "The settlement on who the Black Widow belongs with."

Chris winced. "That's a lot."

"Well, I had faith."

"He's Team Chris-and-{Your Name}-Should-Get-Married," Seb nodded toward Mackie. "I'm Team Let-Them-Live-Their-Lives."

"Yeah, the names are still a work in progress," Anthony admitted.

Chris sucked in a deep breath, fatigue suddenly hitting him like a freight train. "Well, it's late. You guys should probably get going. I'll text you with an update tomorrow."

Anthony had already started heading out, Sebastian at his side. He swiveled to face Chris. "If I'm not scandalized by what's about to go down tonight, don't even bother."

Sebastian took Mackie by the shoulder, guiding him away. "I'm going to take him back to the hotel before he has an aneurysm," he smiled apologetically. "He hasn't planned yours and {your name}'s wedding in a little over four hours now."

As they departed the building, Chris could still hear Anthony calling out to him.

"I want to be scandalized, Evans! Scandalized!"

———————

"What part of forget it is not getting to you, Christopher?"

He leaned against the doorframe of your room, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles.

"I just want to know what I can do to make it better. Tell me what I can do to make it better."

You gently removed your earrings, tossing them on your desk, before removing your coat. When you'd gotten home, you'd gone straight to your room, and, in a great imitation of Dodger, Chris had followed you there. "It's nothing."

"Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it."

"That's exactly it, Chris. It's nothing. We were both drunk, and it will never happen again. It was nothing. So forget it."

You couldn't even look at him, instead choosing to speak over your shoulder. Because if you had seen him, been looking at him, you would've seen the hurt in his eyes, the pain in the set of his jaw. Your next words were a dismissal: "Thank you for the gift. Good night."

But it wouldn't be a good night, not for either of you.

You were too tired to cry, too tired to sleep, too tired to dream. You were just so... tired.

And Chris... He spent the night sleepless. Entirely unable to do what you asked, and forget. You had seared yourself into his mind, and he was entirely incapable of forgetting.

[jesbelle-writes]

The Gift

After his failed attempt to reach kohlinar,  Spock found that the rhythms of life aboard the Enterprise were somehow different.  He had reached a hard-won détente between his Human emotions and his Vulcan logic, and it cast a new light on even the most familiar of rituals – such as the one now playing out in Kirk’s quarters.

“So Bones – your birthday’s coming up...”  Kirk opened this conversation just as he had every year about this time.

“I don’t want a big fuss,” said McCoy, with the same frown as usual.

“How about a little fuss then?” asked Kirk, the customary amused smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I suppose I could tolerate it, if I had to,” came the reply.

And so some small celebration would be agreed upon.  A place and time would be chosen for a quiet round of drinks; Scotty, Chapel, Uhura, Sulu, and (now that was no longer “the kid”) Chekov would be invited; and they’d all spend a quiet evening getting mildly inebriated and swapping reminiscences.  Spock would attend, of course.  McCoy was his friend, after all.

But this year, Spock couldn’t shake the feeling that something special was in order – something to acknowlege the shift he sensed in his relationship with McCoy.  He couldn’t really name the nature of that shift – it was different somehow to the way his other relationships had changed – but he felt a need to take some kind of action nonetheless.

He wanted to give McCoy a birthday present.

His mother had explained gift-giving to him when he was a child.  She had provided him with an exhaustive lesson on the rituals and obligations involved, including a list of the types of gifts that would be considered appropriate to each occasion.

“But sometimes,” she said, “a person wants to give a gift from the heart – something that shows how much regard they have for another person. The best gifts on these occasions are something the recipient can experience.  A happy memory is worth a thousand objects.”

Spock understood that these “little fusses” that Jim put together were exactly that – another in a collection of happy memories for McCoy.  Spock wanted to give McCoy something like that.

The bulk of his meditation time was dedicated to solving the puzzle of how to do that.

He considered the activities that McCoy engaged in during his rare breaks from work. He spent the bulk of his time simply “hanging out” with Spock or Jim or Christine.  He enjoyed reading a genre of books he called “dimestore trash” that Spock had no idea how to even begin to obtain.  And he enjoyed music.

Music seemed promising.  McCoy’s tastes were eclectic, but Spock had a good ear and he was reasonably certain that he could find something that would please McCoy.

It was in this frame of mind that he noticed the humming.

There was a little snippet of a tune that McCoy hummed when he was trying to unravel any particularly thorny problem.  Spock had heard it hundreds of times when sharing laboratory space with McCoy.  It had long ago been relegated to the background noises of the lab.

It was a pretty tune, and obviously a favorite.  He asked Dr. Chapel about it that afternoon.

“You mean the one that goes hum de dum dum dum hum de dum dum dum?”  She mangled it completely, but it was still recognizable as the same tune, if only barely.

“Yes,” said Spock.  “Do you know the title of the piece?”

“Sorry, no.  I asked him about it once.  He got really self-conscious and said it was just something his mother used to sing.  Then I didn’t hear it for about a month.”

Jim was no help.  “I don’t spend much time in the lab,” he pointed out.  “And his mom was some kind of music historian, so she probably knew a lot of obscure songs.”

Spock made a recording of himself playing the tune on his lyre and fed it into the ship’s computer, but it matched nothing in the database.  Finally, he sent the recording to the library at Memory Alpha and waited.

The answer came almost fourteen hours later – a song from the mid-twentieth century, lost for nearly 200 years before it was discovered in an archive on the North American continent at a place called Muscle Shoals.

The tune was sweet, and the song was short.  But the lyrics...

If Spock had searched for years, he couldn’t have found a song more suitable. He decided that the piece should be performed live.

“It’s beautiful, Spock.  Where did you find it?” asked Uhura.  “It’s just so… Dr. McCoy, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is a favorite of his,” said Spock.  “I would like to play it at his birthday.  I was hoping that you would agree to sing it.”

“I’d love to, but I think you should do it.  It would fit your range.”

“My musical range, perhaps.  It is a very emotional piece,” said Spock.

They practiced the song every night.

McCoy’s birthday was in the forward observation lounge.  It was busy tonight, and when Spock picked up his lyre and Uhura stood next to him a hush fell over the crowd.  

“If I needed you Would you come to me, Would you come to me, And ease my pain?” sang Uhura.

“If you needed me, I would come to you, I’d swim the seas For to ease your pain.”

“In the night forlorn The morning’s born And the morning shines With the lights of love.”

Spock spared a glance toward McCoy, but Jim was seated between them, blocking his line of sight.

“You will miss sunrise If you close your eyes And that would break My heart in two.”

Spock tried twice more to catch a glimpse of McCoy to no avail.  It wasn’t until the final chorus that he saw him.  

McCoy looked stunned, overcome, but with what emotion, Spock couldn’t tell. There were, however, most definitely tears in his eyes.

The song ended to enthusiastic applause and several people came to pay their compliments – mostly to Uhura.  McCoy was among them.  He took Uhura’s hand in his and said, “Thank you so much, Nyota.  That was lovely.”  He nodded toward Spock.  “You played that… very well – as usual, Spock.”  He raised his glass toward the others. “I want to thank y’all for coming tonight.  I know the night’s still young, but I’m not so much, and I’ve just had a week and a half of long shifts.  So if y’all’ll excuse me, I’m going to head on out and get some shut-eye before I have to deal with the next torn rotator cuff or targ bite or what-have-you.”

There followed the usual well-wishing and congratulations as McCoy left.  Spock, feeling unsettled and having no desire to feel unsettled in public, picked up his lyre and retired to his own quarters…

… where he was surprised to find Dr. McCoy leaning against his desk.

“I used my medical code,” said McCoy.  “I hope you don’t mind.  I promise I’m not planning to make a habit of it.”

Spock nodded. “I apolo--”

“I’m sor--” McCoy shook his head.  “You got nothing to be sorry for.  Just… let me say my piece and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”  McCoy took a deep breath.  “I… what you did tonight, Spock – that was the nicest, most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.  I couldn’t say this with a bunch of people around, but I need you to know what it meant to me.

“My mama used to sing me that song when I’d have bad dreams.  She’d come sit on my bed and… stroke my hair… and sing that song.  And it worked every time.

“She sang a lot of songs.  She had a beautiful voice and she played guitar.  She made a lot of recordings of those songs, and after she died, I’d play them all and pretend she was still there – just in the other room, singing.  Well, I was just kid...  

“Anyway she never got around to recording that one.  So I’d sing it to myself when the bad dreams woke me up.  I forgot most of the lyrics.  I forgot what it sounded like when she sang it.  I forgot what her fingers felt like in my hair.  But it always made me feel better.

“I guess I got used to singing it.  It was the tune I’d whistle in the dark, and it became the thing I turned to whenever the going got even a little rough.

“That’s what you gave me tonight.  You gave me back her song.  I don’t have words for that.”  McCoy swiped at the tear that had fallen onto his cheek.  “If you weren’t a Vulcan I’d hug you.”

Spock didn’t know what to say.  He was experiencing a rush of emotions too powerful and too complex for him to even name, let alone express, not that he wished to express them.  He didn’t even want to experience them.

Did he?

“And on that note,” said McCoy, standing up,  “I’ll just see myself out.”

“Leonard.”

McCoy had nearly reached the door when Spock put out his hand to stop him.  He took him by the wrist, his fingers curling around the warm, soft skin above McCoy’s pulse.

The sensation cut through some of the turmoil in Spock’s mind.  This was… good?  It was… fitting.

It was right because Spock had wanted to touch McCoy, hadn’t he?  He’d wanted to give a gift that would touch McCoy’s heart.

And now he was touching his skin and that was also what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He pulled McCoy closer, put his arms around him, held him.  And holding was also what he’d wanted.

And then McCoy’s arms wrapped around his waist…

...and there.  This is what it is to fit, thought Spock.  This is what it is to be exactly where he belonged.

McCoy drew back a little, enough to look Spock in the eye.  “You sure?”

Spock nodded.  “I am now.”

And then he kissed him.

Just a little note -- the song is “If I Needed You” by Townes Van Zandt.  I’ve used it in fics before because it gives me serious Bones vibes.  I actually had this scene in mind for one of those fics, but ended up using something else, so now you get it here.

[firewoodfigs]

a smorgasbord of unbidden thoughts / highlights (long post ahead!): 

we’re slowly creeping out of the lockdown, and we’re allowed to go out for meals now! I got to meet a friend for dinner on Monday and he treated me to some amazing Italian fare as a belated birthday gift :’) I was really craving Italian after watching Luca and I haven’t had good pasta in a long while, so that was really nice. I also met a friend for dinner today after work, and we’re just glad to have made it to Friday tbh lmao. it was nice catching up again after so long and talking about everything under the sun (in this case, under the moon). I love spending time alone and having time myself, but I can’t deny that I’ve also missed interacting with other sentient life forms lmao. 

I managed to re-schedule my vaccine slots, and I'm getting my first shot tomorrow! fingers crossed it won’t be too bad (I still wanna be able to type through the soreness 😩). I'm a little nervous tbh because I absolutely detest needles, but I feel like at this point I just don’t care anymore LMAO. it also helps that my bf and I got the same vaccination slot, so I guess I'll just make a ruckus and be a nuisance if things go south. jk 

next week’s my last full week of work before my two-month break begins! I'm really excited to finally get a breather from work (although to be fair I've only been working for like... 6 months lmao rip) before things get real hectic in September haha. I'm definitely not looking forward to the added responsibilities, and i’m honestly not sure how to feel about getting called to the bar because everyday is just a flurry of shit, am I really cut out for this and help, work is dulling my * sparkle * and yo, you think I can just move somewhere west and be a country singer? but oh well. too late I guess. I'm too deep in debt to get out now LMAO. jk 

on the bright side, though, I received news today that I’ve been designated to my preferred area of practice for my next seat :) and i'm pretty excited about that! I've honestly been feeling pretty desiccated about the law ever since starting practice because it’s so different from whatever I've studied and something that college couldn’t have possibly prepared me for lmao (many thoughts but I don’t want to turn this into an essay so I will simply project my feelings onto my favourite war criminals)

it’s been a struggle to create lately, for various reasons. these days it feels like anything I make is woefully inadequate and subpar and mediocre, and i’m just. constantly torn between striking everything out altogether and desperately wanting to be better, to feel better. I felt a little burnt out after royai week because  I was rushing to complete so many projects and ideas on time (I do tend to get a little overambitious and overzealous that way, haha), and so I tried to take a break, but I couldn’t properly rest, either, because these days I only feel alive when I'm... creating. LOL. it's like an unresolvable paradox where I slog to feel alive and then feel like death, and then feel like I'm wasting away and wasting time when I'm being unproductive and fruitless. idk, man. it’s probably the productivity guilt acting up or something. it doesn’t help that my mind is an unholy mix of anxiety and imposter syndrome and perfectionism, either, or that inspiration only strikes me at the ungodliest of hours. I find that it’s easier to write when I've cleared everything else on my plate, but sometimes it’ll be midnight by the time I've done that because there’s just so much to do. I end up writing at two in the morning and/or recording snippets of a putative song while half-asleep (the result is usually pretty dang awful, because I have no idea what I was saying when I listen to it the next day lmao).

I also find it to difficult to alternate between so many forms of writing. my job mostly consists of reading and writing (mostly boring and terribly dreary stuff, because lawyers have apparently never heard of punctuation or one-liners, and I am 100% proving this right now with my streams of consciousness), and my hobbies primarily include that, too. I've also been struggling to switch between writing prose/fic and poems and songs because i tend to focus on different things. (I also have the attention span of a goldfish. or a confused rat.) like, I focus a lot more on how things flow for the first, how things look for the second, and how things sound for the third, if that makes sense? but I also literally cannot focus on one thing at a time so everything is just a half-written mess and a smattering of my illegible scrawls tbh 😞 I'm hoping that I'll have more time to sit down and properly sort these out one at a time during my break hahaha. 

that being said, I read something this week about the four stages of learning a new skill LOL iirc it goes (1) unconscious incompetence (2) conscious incompetence (3) conscious competence (4) unconscious incompetence? I find that I'm stuck at (2) atm for a lot of things, which is probably why it’s so hard to go forth and do the damn thing without descending into a spiral of self-doubt haha. the truth is I rely on external reassurances and validation a great deal to tide me through, because my mind is just so used to criticising myself for everything and being my own harshest critic that it’s become a challenge to objectively assess my own work. it’s probably a defence mechanism to feeling like failure is not an option and/or my upbringing or something, and it’s how I’ve coped with a lot of things, but I'm also coming to realise that it’s not always the healthiest way to live haha. 

BUT, you know. at the end of the day it’s a hobby and it’s supposed to be fun and joy-inducing and. it’s so easy to ruin all of that in the process of pursuing perfection so. I think i’ll just work on attempting the damn thing and worrying about it afterwards 🤠 (and also being less exacting on myself haha) 

ending things on a lighter and brighter note - I received a lovely surprise from a friend this week!! I ordered some earrings from her (the stuff she makes is the stuff of DREAMS) and she tossed in a necklace for me and it’s just. it’s beautiful. it’s handmade. it’s astounding. I'm weeping. 

[oftenderweapons]

Apple of my pie (2) — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story

Chapter 2.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 3.0k

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers, Fluff, slightest angst

Rating: suggested 18+ (there are brief apparitions of dirty thoughts, also future episodes will contain NSFW material); 

A/N: Hello my sweet poppies! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Jin goes on his first date with Grace, who is actually a sweet person. However, during the date, he casually meets a friend who is more than capable of making him open his eyes. Meanwhile, Buttercup remembers exactly why they’re friends. The following day, the young woman faces a challenging conversation with her classmate and friend, Lara — who is also Jin’s assistant at the bakery. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sweet date; some angst between friends (Yoongi, the psychiatrist who always cuts too deep when he speaks his mind). Meet Yoongi and his sweet and horny girlfriend, Spice. Lots of swearing, especially from Lara and Buttercup towards the end. Dirty thoughts, mentions of wet dreams, playful bickering and name calling between Buttercup and Lara. There are a couple very painful references to Severus Snape and Lily Potter (lowkey Harry Potter spoilers, just in case).

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Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

Sitting at the pizza shack near the university campus, Seokjin realised that Grace wasn’t a plain human being.

She was actually cute and funny. He could see himself with someone like this.

Someone who didn’t make him feel dull and a bit of an understudy.

Grace liked puppies. She was at her last year of vet school, she was interning at the local animal clinic and she had spent all day visiting pregnant cows. She hoped she could assist to at least one birth, even though the first expected date of delivery was a couple days after her internship formally ended.

Jin grinned as he listened, genuinely warmed by her caring ways and her childlike laugh. Her name really did fit her. She had a gap between her front teeth and a very sweet dimple that made him grin each time it appeared. Small, a little soft in all the best ways — and best places, he had unwillingly noted — and terribly endearing.

The date wasn’t bad. At all.

And it was way more than decent. Almost too good for being a first date.

No misunderstandings, no embarrassment, no shyness whatsoever. The pizza was good — not as good as his, but it was an eight out of ten, solid — there had been no accidents of choking on drinks or on food, no talking while having mouths full, no uncomfortable flutters in his heart as he looked at her. It was warm. It all felt warm.

However, the more time went by, the more he realised that a few things were missing,

Like you, humming at how good the food was, making jokes about unsuspecting patrons sitting around you, people watching, building impossible scenarios and stories about specific clients, basing yourself on stolen snippets of their conversations.

The strident chord was the sudden appearance of a familiar face. Actually two of them, one slightly less familiar than the other.

“Seokjin?” The very familiar face called.

He turned. “Hello Yoongi!” He greeted with a smile and a small wave. “Hello Spice!” He said, turning to the woman at his side, his hand laced with hers.

“Where’s Buttercup?” Yoongi asked, before he turned and spotted a woman sitting before his friend.

That was not you. Yoongi turned to Seokjin and eyed him suspiciously, making sure that Jin’s table companion didn’t notice.

“Guys, this is Grace.” He introduced the girl.

Spice looked at Yoongi with a meaningful look before turning to the young woman.

“Nice to meet you, Grace.” She said warmly.

Grace blushed. “Nice to meet you too, guys,” she replied with a soft smile.

“We’ll leave you to your night, he seems to be enjoying your company, Grace.” Yoongi said politely, before turning to Seokjin. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Seokjin’s ears blushed. He felt ashamed, “Sure. Have a good evening,” he said, bidding his friends goodbye.

“To you too,” Spice said it’s a tight smile.

The two left, moving like one, perfect as always.

Seokjin knew how that felt. That’s how he always moved with you.

“They seem good people.” Grace noted, genuinely kind, as she had been all dinner long.

“They are.” Seokjin agreed. “And they’re smart too.” He said, beginning to worry for himself.

You weren’t in the living room when Seokjin arrived at the apartment. He was glad. He was glad he could have a few minutes to rethink about how Grace had stretched to her tiptoes with her hands laced behind her back and had placed a playful peck on his cheek before wishing him goodnight and dashing upstairs.

He was glad he wouldn’t need to confront you. And from the sounds coming from your bedroom, you were very likely watching one of those dramas and films you loved so much. Once more, he was glad.

However, that small peace lasted little.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He exhaled and picked it up.

Is Pollyanna still around?

Yoongi wrote. Seokjin shook his head in hopelessness.

I’ve just arrived home.

Yoongi called immediately. Seokjin hid into his room. “So you decided to follow Namjoon’s way?”

“I have to save myself. I can’t stand there forever, hoping for her to notice. Or to care.”

“You decided to follow the advice of a miserable man abandoned by the highschool sweetheart rather than that of other four sane men who told you to talk to her?” Yoongi said, raising his voice.

“You never said your opinion.” Seokjin noted.

“You don’t need my opinion. You didn’t care about anyone’s opinion. You had already made up your mind even before the discourse started.”

Seokjin exhaled, exasperated.

“Can’t you just say it?”

“What?” Yoongi snorted. Hearing his frustration, Spice rubbed his back trying to calm him down. He nuzzled into her warmth.

“Just say what you think for once in your life.”

Spice frowned at Seokjin’s voice blasting from Yoongi’s phone. He patted her head.

Yoongi huffed. “Fine. I think Buttercup deserves to know and choose for herself. I think she does care, no matter what you think. Also, all that self convincing you’re trying to do is just you trying to keep yourself from losing something that makes you feel comfortable. Because after all you’re comfortable, aren’t you? You just drown yourself in her so much that you don’t even have to face yourself and what you want. And we both know Pollyanna is not what you want.”

Seokjin frowned and pouted. He already knew he was being childish.

“This silence is precisely why I don’t state my opinion.” Yoongi said, speaking softly when he noticed Spice had closed his eyes beside him, on the pillow next to his. He smiled and looked at how beautiful she is. He cupped her cheek, brushing her hair off her face.

“Yoongi. I can’t go on like this forever.” Seokjin said, his voice hopeless and tired.

“I know. All I’m saying is… you should tell Buttercup first.” Yoongi replied, his voice more comprehensive and gentle.

“I am such a coward.” Jin whispered, sitting on the bed, combing his hair with his free hand.

“Listen. I know Buttercup is to you what Spice is to me. I know it.” Yoongi said, his girlfriend scooting closer to him and pressing her face to his chest. “I know I would give her anything she asks and do anything to stay as close as she allows me.” He petted her hair while her warm fingertips danced on his spine.

Seokjin shut his eyes tight. “I’m just trying to get as much as I can before they take her from me.”

“No one will ever break your bond except your lack of communication. Someday a brilliant, smart man will come along and realise how damn precious she is and snatch her for himself. All you’ll have left will be possibilities and smoky dreams.” Yoongi took a pause. “You guys are amazing. You are borderline disgusting with the amount of private stuff you know about each other. Tell her.” Yoongi said, smiling and closing his eyes once Spice’s lips tickled his throat.

“I’ll try.” Seokjin replied. “Goodnight doctor.”

“Goodnight, lover boy. Try not to have wet dreams of your flatmate.”

“Don’t you have better things to do? I bet your girlfriend keeps a list.” Jin said, biting back.

Spice’s voice rose in the background. “Jin is almost right. However, why be doing things when you could be doing me?”

Jin blushed and snickered. “Goodnight, lover boy.” He quipped before shutting the call.

Yoongi placed down his phone, then shook his head and chuckled. “Doing you, uh?”

Spice licked her lips and closed the light before she bent to his neck. “You’d better provide, Min.” She warned before he pounced on her with an ecstatic grin.

Seokjin went to grab a glass of water sometime around one a.m., quite unusually. His routine is basic: he falls asleep at ten thirty and wakes up at four thirty, showers, dresses and runs to the shop. He starts the ovens and by six fifteen the first morning batch is ready.

But that night for some reason, he woke up. He stood up. He reached the kitchen.

Maybe it was because his sleep had been fitful. Maybe because all he had been thinking about was you. You and how it would have been like to be on a date with you, what you were like on a date, if you would have kissed him goodbye on his cheek, if you would have invited him up, had you been in Grace’s shoes, hadn’t the two of you been flatmates.

First he noticed that the fridge was open. Next he noticed you, in thick flannel pjs and a tank top. You were sniffling and drying your eyes, filling your mouth with the leftovers from breakfast.

“What happened?” He asked, spying on you.

You stood up straight, his face appearing in the dim, yellow glow of the fridge.

“His patronus was a doe.” You said, your lip wobbly, cheeks still wet with tears, filling your mouth with chocolate pudding.

He rose from his position slowly, raising his head from his arms, once crossed on top of the fridge door.

Why are his shoulders are always so damn big? What’s the use of all of that… wingspan — ? — when your kitchen is so tiny? And when he needs to move in the narrow lanes of the bakery? What is he so big for?

As you watched him turn on his side, trying no to hit the fridge or the counter as he stood behind you and hugged you close.

“After all that time.” You murmured.

Seokjin held you closer as you turned around. That’s why he was so big. All those good bear hugs.

“I know.” He replied, one arm snaked around your waist, the other wrapped around your shoulders and head while his hand patted your head. “I know,” he repeated as you hiccuped and sobbed. Of course he knew. He had been stuck there himself. Loving someone after all that time. Always.

“Who pissed in your latte?” Lara asked the following day after your nine a.m. bibliology lesson. “You look awful.”

“Thank you Lara.” You said, pushing your stuff into your bag. “Jin went on a date last night.”

Lara frowned, “What do you mean?”

“On a date. Pizza. With a girl.”

She laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m serious.” You said, placing your bag on your shoulder and wrapping your scarf around your neck.

“Listen. You’ve been friends for years. Honestly, it was a matter of time before it happened.”

“He’s never had a girl, a boy, a… partner. In four years.” You said as you and Lara walked out of the room, stopping by the closest heater in the main corridor.

“Do you think he would be your loyal servant forever? Your knight in shining armour?” Lara took a small bag of caramelised almonds: she had negotiated that she would work for Seokjin for a monthly pay and a weekly amount of his grandmother’s almonds covered by raw crystallised sugar.

“I am not opposed to it, it’s just… I’m uncomfortable, okay? What if he moves out and leaves me paying full rent. I can’t do that!” You stated weakly with strong disappointment.

“He’s just dating the chick, not marrying her!” Lara replied, throwing another almond in her mouth.

The mere idea of him getting married made you even more petty. “I don’t want her to barge in and change our friendship.”

“Friendship...” Lara scoffed. “You weren’t screaming friendship at my birthday.”

“I was having a nightmare!” You snarled playfully.

“You were having a wet dream. How long has it been since you’ve—”

You pressed your hand to her mouth. “Shut the fuck up. Not talking about that.”

Lara licked your hand, making you yuck and pull it away, cleaning it against her jacket. “We should talk about that, though. Think about it, Buttercup; he’s not gonna be single forever and you definitely have a bone to pick with that Grace girl.”

“She can have him like… on weekdays.” You said, trying to be reasonable. “Except on free mornings. We have breakfast together on free mornings.”

Lara shook her head. “Don’t wanna burst your bubble, but you do realise that soon he’ll be out on dates on Saturday night and staying out until Sunday morning?”

You frowned, pouting. You opened your mouth, trying to object.

Lara snickered proudly. You couldn’t let her have that.

“Well, at least I’ll be able to get laid with him out of the house.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be getting laid too, fucking finally. He needs it and deserves it.” Lara muttered as she thought about all those years he had spent looking at you with heart eyes. “And remember that Grace will be getting Saturday dinner. Filet mignon. All that meat...” Lara commented.

“The meat...” You said, dreamily. Juicy steaks and roasted chicken and ribs and… Meat.

Your brain short-circuited. He was tall. Handsome. Well-built. And you sort of knew he’s large. For fuck’s sake, that was your best friend you were talking about! Why would you suddenly think about his junk?

You shook your head.

Still, Lara went on, grinning as she saw you falter. “Grace will get all of that. Saturday evening. Sunday morning. Breakfast in bed. Milkshakes. Homemade gelato. Apple pies. Picnics with his granny. Trips to the lake. His granny’s roast-beef—”

“Don’t touch the roast-beef, bitch!” You hissed, pointing a finger against her chest. “Grace won’t have my roast-beef, my homemade gelato, my Sunday breakfast in bed, she won’t have my apple pies, my coffees, my picnics with granny and my Saturday dinners. And no, she will not have the meat either!” You snarled.

Lara cackled. “Nice. Then you should make a plan. ‘Cause I think she wants to take it all. Now that you’re having this sudden mystical revelation, can you also vaguely perceive that you are in L-O-V-E with your flatmate and he’s been pining for you for years and he’d love it if you accidentally fell tits-first on his cock, you big fucking dumb idiot?” Lara said, completely exasperated while a posh, preppy girl gave her the side eye, tutting in disappointment.

“Stop talking about love and all that jazz. We’re platonic. We’re fine. We’re great and we’ll always be, forever.” You said shrugging. “We’ve been friends for years. He’s had plenty of time to make a move, if he were interested.”

“He blushes when old ladies call him charming! God, you’re big dumb!” Lara said, kicking her foot against your toes.

“What?”

“He’s shy! You want him! You’re attracted to him!!! You were literally sobbing his name!” Lara punched your shoulder

You shook your head, making to walk away. “Night-fucking-mere!” You objected violently.

“Li-fucking-ar!” She mirrored as she tugged at your arm and followed you.

Yes. After all, you were a liar. And well, first and foremost, you liked lying to yourself.

“He’s my best friend. I am not attracted to him. And I know I’ll never be.”

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Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

[diana-prince-s]

god that last snippet was so so so unbelievably hot!!!! rosé really has denali wrapped around her finger huh. can't blame her lol. i love that rosé still praised denali during the spanking, that lets her know that she's not really mad at her. for me i'm a sensitive girl, if you don't tell me i'm doing good during rough play i'll start to get in my head and then the scale will tip more towards pain than pleasure and then it's not so fun anymore. but nali ain't no sensitive flower, i love that she can take what rosé dishes out!! good for you girl!!!! and she wanted more too!! rosé really found her match with her lol

on another note i loved the lil drama queen moment denali had in the beginning lol. so cute, i bet rosé was endeared. and i loved that this time it was rosé who seeked denali out. she missed her, aww! i wonder how much longer denali would've spent wallowing in bed all day if rosé hadn't come to her hahaha. you take a lesbian's hot milf away and she'll act like life isn't worth living anymore. so funny!!! those lil antics make the characters so loveable and personable, i'm really getting attached. great job as always

thanks so much for taking the time to write this during your finals, i really hope they've been going well so far? and btw, i love that you got your school logo shaved into ur undercut, now that's dedication, sounds like the kind of dorky thing i'd do lol. i hope your school kicks ass in the ACC (ngl i had to google what that was, i'm french, we don't have that here!!!) and please enjoy your holidays, no rush or pressure with posting, we'll still be here by the time you come back, can't get rid of us that easy. sending you much love, friend

(also, i have to say, denali's lil inner monologue about rosé being the gods' gift to her was insanely hot to me for some reason. the religious themes/metaphors/language keep coming up where she keeps comparing her experience with rosé to something saintly and divine, treating rosé's bedroom like a place of worship and rosé like her goddess, when she came across rosé praying to athena but her focus was entirely on the woman and her desire to be with her intimately again, when she was bathed on the morning of her wedding and she could only think about how they were washing rosé's mark away rather than her own sins, like all of that is so unbelievably hot to me as someone who was raised religiously. there's not only a total lack of sexual guilt or repression but it's the fact that denali really treats her desires as if they were pious. but i also couldn't stop laughing for a moment cause the phrase "pussy so bomb it makes you believe in god" kept coming to mind. after all, gays who were born into religion invented bdsm and that's a well known fact)

Wow well all of this is IT like y’all are really enriching this AU with so much life and nuance and maybe I’m just writing it and you all are picking it up or maybe y’all are creative as hell. First thanks for the well wishes, I hope to keep up with the writing! And also yes everything you said all of that. I love using religion when it comes to sex and queer sex because there’s nothing more hot/romantic than comparing your partner to deities. (And maybe it’s just my fantasies of being with Wonder Woman, a literal deity). Anyway thank you thank you thank you!