#and literally it went downhill from there she claimed that it's been announced like a year ago i said it's been in development for years

[zevrans-remade]

.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I've been thinking on this for ages, but I can't decide on a character, maybe Leonard Snart, Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian. He saves, on purpose or by accident, a baby dragon. The dragon takes a shine to him and decides to hoard him. It's tiny, so the hoarding is really ineffective. It consists mainly on riding on shoulders and hissing at everyone. It's really cute.

Lan Wangji

“I like you! I’m going to keep you!” the tiny little dragon said, grinning widely. It was only large enough to fill two hands, black scales with red whiskers, and it had a mouth made for smiling.

“Get lost,” Lan Wangji said, walking faster; his uncle had explained regarding Wei Wuxian’s unusual cursed state so that he would be aware of it, but somehow his uncle had failed to mention how horribly cute Wei Wuxian’s little dragon form was.

“Lan Zhaaaaaan, you don’t meant that…!”

Wei Wuxian

“Her name is Chenqing,” Wei Wuxian said proudly, holding out his hands to show her off. “I found her wrapped around an old flute and I’m keeping her.”

The little serpentine dragon rolled around happily in his hands, lolling around and holding her little arms out in a big stretch. “Uh-uh,” she said, her voice a little kitten whisper, wrapping her tail around his wrist. “Mine!”

“Well, that’s new,” Jiang Cheng said faintly; a glance at Lan Wangji’s face revealed he also didn’t know exactly what to say. “But I suppose…congratulations are in order?”

Jiang Cheng

Zidian is his mother’s, long lithe and silver except when she’s sparking purple; she’s fiercely independent and hates anyone touching her but her master. Jiang Cheng loved to look at her as a child, the way she twisted around her mother’s hand like a bracelet, around her neck like a necklace, even around her ear, hissing a joke that only she can understand.

He’s wanted to have her in his hands since forever.

Not like this, though.

Nie Huaisang

“I found a little bird,” Nie Huaisang explained happily. “A little goldfinch! We only have eagles and vultures in Qinghe.”

“I can’t believe you brought it into the lecture,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Well, I couldn’t leave her behind! I found her right before I arrived.”

“Uh, Nie-gongzi?” Wei Wuxian, who was peeking under the cloth of the cage, said. “I don’t think this is a goldfinch.”

Wei Wuxian pulled off the cloth. The little gold-scaled dragon beamed at them from the perch, long whiskers waiving in the air.

“…yes?” Nie Huaisang says. “Is it a sparrow, then? I’m really not good with birds.”

Lan Xichen

Alone in seclusion, Lan Xichen wondered if he’d spent his entire life in service to others. To his uncle, who feared him becoming his father; to his brother, who he sought to protect; to his sworn brother, who betrayed him; to his sect, to their principles. They still meant everything to him, all of them – dead or alive – but…he was tired.

He lifted a finger to trace the head of the little dragon that had blown in through the window a few nights before – he should report it, a supernatural event like this, but…it’s not in the rules.

So he won’t.

He hasn’t yet named her, but he was going to. And then he would let her keep her the way she wanted to, nice and safe in her little hoard, for as long as she wanted him.

Nie Mingjue

Most of the time, Baxia was a saber, like all others in his sect. Like those in his ancestor’s shrine. Sometimes, though, she was something else.

“You’re mine,” she hissed in Nie Mingjue’s ear late at night, nestled deep in his soul. They’re bound together, sword and cultivator. “I won’t let you go, not in this lifetime.”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled despite himself. He didn’t smile often, his duties and dark future weighing him down, but his Baxia could do it; he sometimes thought that this was what it must be like to have a jealous wife. “Of course not. You’re my spiritual weapon; you’ll be by my side until I die, and then you’ll take your place in my tomb, with my ashes at your feet. Stop worrying so much.”

“I won’t let him take you this time,” she snarls. “Your head, your arms, your legs, your soul – they’re all mine. How dare he profane them!”

“Am I not supposed to be touching people anymore?” he chuckled, reaching back to run his fingers down her hilt; it turned into a tail and wrapped around his wrist, pinning him in place as if held down by a stronger man. “Baxia – if you just tell me who this ‘he’ is, I’ll avoid him, I promise.”

“No, he’s still necessary for now,” she said. “But when I tell you – strike true, no matter what the consequences. Do not allow your human compassion or etiquette overwhelm you. Promise me!”

“I promise,” he said, not for the first time, still as puzzled by it as he ever was. “I’ll listen to you. When the time comes, I’ll let you drink his blood to your heart’s content.”

Jin Guangyao

He’d always known there was a dragon inside Nie Mingjue, full of heat and fire and rage; he’d liked it, once upon a time, when it roared in his defense. It had been such a pity when it turned against him; he really hadn’t wanted to give him up, but he didn’t have a choice. He was backed into a corner – just like always.

He just hadn’t expected the man to turn into a literal dragon upon death.

Is this the real secret of the Nie? He wondered, backing up and reaching for his sword. Is this why they only bury their sabers, and never themselves?

The dragon curls around his neck, tight enough to choke.

“Are you going to kill me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

The dragon laughed with the sound like Nie Mingjue’s laugh, deep and sonorous and usually a little sarcastic.

“Only,” it murmured in his ear, “if you continue to misbehave, Meng Yao.”

Jin Ling

“Little Uncle got me a dog,” Jin Ling said, clutching Xiao Fairy to his chest. “So, Jiujiu, you’re getting me…a snake?”

“I’m getting you the opportunity to get a sna – to get a dragon. It’s not a snake. Stop calling it a snake.”

Jin Ling wasn’t really convinced. He squinted into the pool. “They look like snakes.”

“Of course they do, they’re flood dragons,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Those all look like water serpents when they’re swimming. Just…listen to me. Put the dog down – no, give it to me, yes, there’s a good puppy –”

Jin Ling coughed pointedly. “If this is all a scheme to steal pets from my dog…”

“It isn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, though his ears were suspiciously red. “Put your hand into the pool. If one of them likes you, they’ll claim you for their hoard and keep you for the rest of their lives. Give it a try. What can it hurt?”

Xiao Xingchen

Song Lan was the very first person he met when he came down off the mountain and, well, he was a bit over-excited about it – but luckily they hit it off very well, and it all worked out quite well for a few years. Song Lan was full of interesting ideas, like making their own sect based on friendship rather than blood; Xiao Xingchen liked it, but he liked Song Lan best of all.

Things went downhill, later, but as his shizun always said, it was cruel to keep a human that didn’t want to be kept any longer, so he gave him his eyes and left him alone, just as he’d asked, and hoped that one day Song Lan would come back to him. He had time, he could wait.

In the meantime, he met someone new – or rather, someone old, anew.

Xiao Xingchen decided to keep him, too.

Xue Yang

“I think I did something wrong,” Xue Yang announced to the air, though luckily nobody was around to hear him – his current employers at the Jin sect would be most unhappy if they heard, especially if they also heard that he has no idea what went wrong or how to fix it.

He looked down at what should be a repaired half piece of the Stygian Tiger Seal, but which is definitely a small black-and-grey dragon, staring right back at him.

After being locked in a staring match for a while (he loses, but he doesn’t think the dragon has eyelids so it doesn’t count), he tentatively reached out and rubbed it behind the ears.

It purred, then belched out a puff of pure yin resentful energy.

“…well, at least you still work, I guess?”

Wen Ning

“You’re mine,” the little dragon says, happily nuzzling up to him as it flops around in the dirt. “Mine, mine, mine!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Wen Ning said, looking around all over to make sure nobody’s around. “All yours. Now, A-Yuan, please turn back before anyone sees you!”

“But…”

“A-Yuan! Please!”

Grumbling, the little dragon curled up into a ball and uncurled as a lovely bouncing little boy, and Wen Ning gave a sigh of relief. His sister hadn’t noticed the addition of an extra child to their group of refugees, assuming the way everyone else did that he’d been another Wen, someone’s child that got left behind or orphaned, and old granny had adopted him without so much as a word. He hadn’t known how to explain the truth.

But it was fine. He’d take care of A-Yuan, with the help of his sister and now Wei-gongzi, and no one would ever need to know.

Wen Qing

Wen Qing didn’t waste a lot of time worrying about things, and a dragon deciding to claim her wasn’t going to be the thing that messed up her day.

“Fine,” she said. “You can stay, but you have to earn your keep. How’s your memory? Can you take notes for me?”

The dragon nodded.

“I’ll be testing you,” she warned.

It nodded again, so she accepted it, put it in her sleeves, and went back to work.

Jiang Yanli

“I don’t need a dragon, though,” she said, quite appropriately in her mind. “I’m not much of a cultivator.”

The little dragon nuzzled her neck and picked up one of the melon seeds she’d been peeling with its jaws. “That’s okay,” it said. “I’m not much of a dragon. I mostly just like to eat and sleep.”

“Well, then,” she laughed. “In that case, I think we’ll get along.”

[vanaera]

Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)  

                 You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

               You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’.  Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

               Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

                The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

               As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.    

               You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work.  Your existence was enough of a proof.

               You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

               In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated.  You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

               You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

               It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

               “C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

               Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

               Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

               However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

               “Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite.  Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

               “Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

               “That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

               Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

               “It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

               “Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

               You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

               “Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

               “It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

               “Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

               A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist.  You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

               You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

               Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

               “Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

               “I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

               However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

               Motherfucking hell–

               “Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

               A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene.  However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

               “I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm.  The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

               What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

               “Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

               At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

               The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

               “YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

               The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat.  It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

               Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

               Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

               Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

               “Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest  for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

               Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

               “–your soulmate.”

               “–Park, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

               You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

               Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

               “Out of all people, why you?!”

               Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

               “I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

               Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

               Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

               “I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

               Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

               Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

               You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

               Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

               You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

                You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

               Frowning again, you storm off.

               Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.  

***

                Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

               Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

               You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

               “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

               You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

               “You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

               “Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

               “Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s.          Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

               Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

               For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

               You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word.  When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

               You  dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

               Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

               “That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

               “Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

               “Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

               “I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

               You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

               “Do you rave about it?”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

               “Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

               “Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

               “Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

               “So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered  the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

               “Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

               “It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

               Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

               “And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

               You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

               Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

               “Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

               “–so true–”

               “–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

                 Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

               “Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

               You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

               “Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

               “Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

               “At Petal Hill,” you mumble.  “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

               “Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

               “Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

               “Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

               You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

               “Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

               “Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’…sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

               “Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

               “Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”                

               “Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

               “Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

               “Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

               You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

               “Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me.  How did you easily connect the dots?”

               “I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

               “Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

               “What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

               At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

               “You’re not.”

               “Huh?”

               You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

               “Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

               You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others.  Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

               “Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

               “Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

               “Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

               “Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

               “I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

               “It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

               “Yeah, really?”

               “Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

               Jimin’s  mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

               “Well now you know,” you grin.

               “Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

               “Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

               Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

               “Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

               “‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

               You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

               Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

               “I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

               You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again.  At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

               “No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

               “Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

               “…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

               “Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

               “What do you like to receive?”

               You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

               “Pansies?”

               “Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

               “But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

               “Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

               Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

               You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

               “Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

               “Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

               “How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

               Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

               You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

               You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

               Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

               Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

               “Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

               “Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

               “No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

               “No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

               Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

                “Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

               “Jimin is here?!”

               “Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

               In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

               You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

               “Jimin! Jimin!”

               “Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

               “Hey, Jimin, look here!”

               “Jimin, please sign this!”              

               “Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

               “Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

               “Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

               “Jimin, I love you!”

               The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

               You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

               “What’s ha-happening?”

               Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

               You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

               Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

                The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

                It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

               The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

               “JIMIIIIIIN!”

               Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.            

               “Where’s Jimin?!”

               “There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

               “Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

               And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street.  You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

               When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

               “What are you staring at?”

               You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

               Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

               “What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

               “Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

               Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

               Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

               You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

               Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

               “Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

               “They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

               “But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

               Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

               You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

               “Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

               You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

               “You know that’s impossible.”

               “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

               “I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

               “’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

               “What?”

               You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

               “Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

               “Oh please, no–”

               “My girl.”

               “Shut up!”

               “Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

               The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

               “Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

               “Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

               “It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

               “What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

               “Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

               “What is it?”

               “Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

               “What is it?”

               “Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

               Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

               When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

               “Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

               “Why is that?”

               “It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

               Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

               “A place? In here?”

               “Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

               After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

               “W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

               “We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

               The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

               You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

               Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

               Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

               In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.    

               You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

               Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

               Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

               “She…spent all her money for this?”

               “Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

               You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

               “Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

               You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

               “How do you know all of these?”

               “I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

               You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

               “So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

               “Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

               “Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

               “You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

               “Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

               “Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

               “A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

               “Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

               “Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

               “Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

               “I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

                “True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

               “What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

               “Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

               You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

               “Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

               You shook your head, giggling.

               “I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

               “At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

               “You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

               “Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

               “No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

               “Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

               Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

               You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

               Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

               You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

               Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

               Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

               “Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

               You don’t answer him but glance his way.

               Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

                “You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

               “Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

               “But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

               “True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

               You look at him, curious. “How come?”

               Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

               “Abnormal?”

               “Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

               Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

               You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

               “My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

               “How did they meet then?”

               “Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation.  My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

               Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

               “Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

               “So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

               You glance away. “…Yeah.”

               Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

               “Why?”

               “These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

               You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

               “Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

               A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

               Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core.  But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

               “H-how so?”

               “You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

               Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

               “No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you.  I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started  to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

               “Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

               You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

               You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability.  And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

               “Wait, whoa!”

               “Okay, why don’t we dance?”

               Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

               “Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

               “I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

               “Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

               Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

               You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

               And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

               “I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them.  And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

               You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

               Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

                When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

               You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

               You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

               “That’s…terrible.”

               You nod. “…Yeah.”

               “I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

               You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

               Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I love you.”

               Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

               You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

               You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

               Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

               “Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

               You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

               After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

               Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

               “Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

               “W-What?”

               “Please.”

               You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

               Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

               Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

               You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

               You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

               Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

               When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

               You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

               You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

               You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

               Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

               You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

               Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

               “Hey, Miss, my roses?”

               “O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

               “Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

               Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

               Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

                You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

               For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

               The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

               It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

               Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

              “W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

              “Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

              “Y/N–”

             “So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

            “No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

              “What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

              You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

              “Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

              “I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

             “Y/N, please–” 

             “Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

              “I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

                You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

                Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

               “No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–”  Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

               You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

              “No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

             “What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

              “I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

              You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again.  “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

               Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

               “Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

               Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.  

               Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

               “Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

               After that, he’s gone.

***

                You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

               That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

               “Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

               The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.  

               The routine falls into place the following days.

               “Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

               “Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late.  We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

               “Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

               “Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

               “Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

               Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to.  There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

               For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

               “Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your  face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

               Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

               Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

                “W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

               Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

               Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

               Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”              

               What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

               “It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

               “The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

               “This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

               You’re the only one.

               “You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

               “B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

               “They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

               You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

               “That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

               “But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

               “Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

               Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

               When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

               “I love you, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

               Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

               You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

                As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

               “Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

                   “You ready, Y/N?”

                  You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

                   Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

                   Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

                  You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.i

[mgkconfessions]

Girls, Girls, Girls - Who is who?

This is an overview of the most talked about girls on this blog, who are or were in Kells’ life one way or another. (It isn’t finished yet and I’ll update it whenever I can, next girl will be Sahara.)

(in alphabetical order)

Chantel Jeffries

Nicknames used on this blog: Schantelle, C.

Instagram: chanteljeffries

Twitter: ChantelJeffries

Youtube: Chantel Jeffries

Profession: DJ, Instagram model, Youtuber (although she only posts if her video is sponsored these days)

Relationship to Kells: Probably dated from the beginning of July 2019 towards the end of October 2019.

Summary: I don’t recall the exact date when he followed Chantel or if she was already following him on Instagram, but publicly it all started when she attended his concert at The Wiltern in L.A. on June 30th 2019. Shortly after, both were seen at the Peppermint Club in L.A. to watch Dave Chapelle, where they were being filmed and photographed by paparazzi and afterwards had dinner at the Nice Guy. On July 4th Kells announced that he smashed Chantel and did the walk of shame, the same day they were at the 6th Annual 'Red, White & Bootsy' 4th July party in Malibu, where Chantel was djing and Kells performed as well. However he did the walk of shame actually multiple times according to an anon. Despite many fans complaining about her not being supportive, she did at least post about ‘Hotel Diablo’ on it’s release day. In the beginning there were many paparazzi pictures and videos taken of them (I let you guess who called them) for example when they were having lunch with Chantel’s friends or dinner and one time they even met up in New York, where he did some interviews for his new album ‘Hotel Diablo’ at the end of July. Chantel’s favourite paparazzo even got to asked both Chantel and Kells about their dating life, but neither of them really admitted to anything yet. He also caught them talking to fans or picking up clothes, although not for Jake Paul’s wedding as the title suggests. Jake Paul actually doesn’t like Chantel much and completely exposed her once (around 12:50). Anyway Kells also drove Chantel and her friends to Comic Con in San Diego, where he posted Chantel’s feet on his steering wheel and lap, while he was driving the car. Apparently Chantel didn’t see anything wrong with that and a week later she even joked around with Kells about him driving without a license. So for a month they spend a lot of time together, but since August he was touring again and went to Japan and Europe, so it seemed like they only saw each other a couple of times for example in London, where Kells took a flight earlier than his band mates, while Chantel was again with two friends there. Allegedly when he was in London with her, they started  following each other, after many fans were speculating why they weren’t following each other already, however he allegedly removed some of his likes on more sexual posts, some thought that she might have told him to do it. Twitter was in general a medium for Chantel to subtweet about Kells all the time and having extreme changes in her mood. Especially since September their relationship seemed to go downhill. She tweeted song lyrics about lovers becoming strangers and missing someone, but also starting to forget about him. But around the middle of September, they seemed to be fine again, because Chantel posted a picture of two lovers in a bad on her Instagram story, which she captioned with ‘us’. By the way she previously posted another picture, where the couple resembled her and Kells back in July. However they seemed to have had a fight, maybe even took a break or called it quits, only a couple of days later. Chantel posted about the perfect song for an afternoon cry, while Kells told everyone that he’ll date himself. Two days later he was still in a bad mood. Nevertheless around a week later, they were still or back together and Chantel made their relationship public by posting a paparazzi picture of them in Kells’ car and calling him her baby. Kells took his time until he reposted the picture on his Instagram story as well only to delete it briefly after and then posted it again hours later. He seemed a bit unsure of this whole thing. And I honestly believe that Chantel didn’t post it, because they were so in love, but because it was the last thing she felt she could do to try to keep their relationship going. For her birthday Kells commented nothing special under her birthday picture, but her sister reminded us all that Chantel was still in his life by congratulating her with a picture of Chantel next to Kells’ yellow car. Around that time he fully stopped occasionally liking and commenting on her Instagram pictures and their relationship seemed quite done and over based on the cryptic tweets Chantel wrote in October about him. There was for example her very insensitive tweet about Kells choosing to be sad, which she was called out for by other fans, because it was obvious that she was talking about him or her liking tweets about being ignored. Shortly after that she claimed to have an existential crisis, I assume because of Kells, while he opened up about feeling hurt all the time, but blamed himself for it. The next day he unfollowed Chantel, so it seemed like they broke up for good and the same day he lost control on stage and explained that personal frustration was the reason for it, but that he wanted to get help after the tour ended. Chantel stayed quiet about it, but after a video appeared in which a guy was touching a girl’s ass and then showing the middle finger, while the girl and her friend were dancing on the Tour bus and Chantel and her sister were the only ones tagged on the post, she unfollowed him as well on October 29th. But that wasn’t the end yet, because now she had some things to say in her typical cryptic tweeting style. A day after she unfollowed him, she started with saying that hurt people hurt people, which was a tweet that Kells liked, continued with that she has questions and I assume that Kells made her feel something again. However Kells kept being petty towards her as well with Sahara (see below) and after that ended, him and Chantel refollowed each other on Instagram again and ended up partying together into the new Year 2020, but Chantel seemed to have moved on with Diplo for now, while Kells is in love with the music.

In my opinion these two didn’t fit at all and I talked in more detail about it here, but from the beginning it was clear that they wouldn’t work out, because Kells usually preferred his privacy while Chantel seemed to be someone, who needed and enjoyed the media attention and had no problem with publicizing her relationships. Also Kells was and still is struggling with his own demons and Chantel seemed to lack empathy and understanding for it, accusing him more than understanding that he isn’t in the right mindset for a relationship. I don’t know if this relationship was supposed to be exclusive, because Kells hooked up and wanted to hook up with other girls on tour, but he said before that girls know what they’re getting into, when they’re dating him and Chantel’s own friends literally joked about how Chantel’s bad habit is that she doesn’t know that she has a boyfriend (around 08:04), which was Kells and I also doubt that Chantel was completely focused on him either, although it might have looked like it. She’s a calculated person and knows how to climb up the social ladder and how to play people and present herself in the public eye. I’m sure she always has an eye on other celebrities, from whose relationship she could benefit.

Eden

Instagram: e.d.en

Profession: assistant

Relationship to Kells: She was first seen working as his assistant during the European leg of his Hotel Diablo Tour and the Justin Bieber Big Tour with Young Thug both in 2019.

Hedi Gores:

Instagram: hevin_gg (private)

Profession: co-founder of “Pressed Juicery”

Relationship to Kells: casual dating that turned into an open long-term toxic relationship from probably around the end of 2015 till the beginning of 2018

Summary: They met through their mutual friend Taav Cooperman. At first it was only casual between them until they realized that it was time to stop fucking around. They dated till around his birthday in 2016 and were on and off till 2018. Although Hedi has been described by various people as a toxic person and she went back and forth between Kells and her ex(-es), she seemed to be one of the few woman, he caught feelings for and was also one of the few, who he posted about on his Instagram page. He also knew family members of her, who liked him as well. But apart from that they kept their relationship low-key and most pictures of them were posted by friends. She was also the one, who got him more into fashion and I believe even had some connections for him. It is believed that his songs ‘Let you go’ and ‘The Break Up’ are about her. I don’t know if they’re still in contact, because they run in the same Hollywood circles, but I hope that she will never be a part of his life again, because she seemed to only want to play with him and keep him as her plan B, when she can’t date someone else.

In my opinion she never really loved him, because you wouldn’t play with someone you love and respect. However I think that Kells was in love with her, because she’s actually a mum, who takes care of her son and Kells never really had a mother, so he probably saw her as a caring and nurturing woman. She also fits to his preference of an independent woman, since she runs her own business and was fine with him sleeping with other girls.

Josie Canseco:

Instagram: josiecanseco

Twitter: JosieCanseco

Profession: model

Relationship to Kells: I believed that they were dating, others thought that they weren’t, but after writing this, I changed my mind. It looks like she wanted them to become something serious, while he preferred to keep it a casual fling from around January till the beginning of April 2019.

Summary: Publicly it all started after she commented a black heart under a picture of him around January 14th 2019, which isn’t on his Instagram page anymore. However you can still see the picture on the photographers Instagram page (melimelzone). The only pictures of her and Kells were taken on January 28th, where she went to Sundance Film Festival as well, I assume as his plus one, where they showed Big Time Adolescence. And on February 1st both of them attended Pete’s comedy show in L.A. After that they weren’t publicly seen together anymore, but she was busy on social media liking pictures of him on his fan pages and posting about him and the guys on her Instagram story, while Kells was very likely hooking up with Paris Hilton and partying with Katie (see below). At a mutual friend’s birthday dinner, that happened in the beginning of April, they were already not sitting next to each other anymore (Josie was wearing the grey cap and white shirt) and like 2 weeks later she unfollowed him finally. But that isn’t really a surprise, considering that she unfollowed and refollowed him so often during this short time to the point where fans couldn’t take it seriously anymore. She also wrote many cryptic tweets about him and allegedly deleted tweets prior to being with Kells, in which she was siding with Eminem and agreeing to everything he said about Kells during their beef. She’s also known for posting Eminem songs whenever she’s unhappy with Kells (till this day) and allegedly talked shit about him before, during and after their fling. I guess because he attacked Eminem and then she was unhappy, that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with her. However they seem to be on friendly terms now. Recently she even tried to flirt with him on Twitter again, but he still didn’t seem interested in her like that.

In my opinion Josie is probably too childish for Kells and brings too much stress. Kells is actually a chill guy and Josie seems like things need to go her way or she would throw a tantrum. She also has no problem with pda and publicly living her relationships, although I don’t think that’s so surprising, since she was part of reality tv shows before.

Katie Knobbe:

Instagram: katieknobbe

Twitter: KatieeKnobbe

Profession: wardrobe stylist

Relationship to Kells: I don’t know if she has styled him before, because of her job, but they seem to be in a friends with benefits situation, although some of us believe, that Katie caught some feelings for him. They probably know each other since 2018. 

Summary: tbc

Nicky Mir:

Instagram: nicky.mir

Twitter: NickyMirXX

Profession: assistant

Relationship to Kells: Fans seem unsure of how long she has worked as Kells’ assistant and if she’s still working for him, but it has been at least a couple of years. She is also a huge fan and part of EST.

Sahara Ray:

Nicknames used on this blog: PG (Personal Groupie)

Instagram: sahara_ray

Twitter: Sahara_Ray_

Profession: Instagram model, owns her own swimwear line “Sahara Ray Swim”

Relationship to Kells: Very likely just an extended hook up, who joined him for a short period of time while on his tour with Young Thug in November 2019, although she acted like they were a proper couple throughout the whole time.

Summary: tbc

[deadinsidedressage]

Examples of my Classism & Elitism

Just helping @waywardequestrian back up her claims.

1) My accommodations for my horses growing up. My family had enough money to keep our horses on our property which consisted of dirt floor stalls so warped be repeated cleaning of wet spots over the years that I horrifically sprained my ankle in 2015 taking a misstep into one of the craters. Whenever I asked my parents about getting stall mats I was told that was too expensive and we couldn't afford it. I also had issues every year with the horses getting thrush and weak hooves from the foot-deep mud that made up about a 1/4 of the pasture (and was right outside the stalls) that existed about 1/2 the year since we live where it rains a lot. The two times my parents had enough money to buy me a truckload of gravel to try and fix it; it hardly made a dent and I was told they could only afford the one load.

2) My "arena" growing up. It's an empty grass lot that's wider but shorter than a small dressage ring. It also was horrifically rocky. Whenever I asked if we could put sand down and I offered to do it myself if they just bought it for me I was told we could not afford that. I did my best trying to clear out the large rocks, diligently taking a big fence post pry bar out there to remove the big ones every few weeks, filling in with dirt and hoping that by doing that I was reducing the risk of my horse taking a bad step and being hurt. I was lucky though that my neighbor would periodically run his riding lawn mower through it to keep the grass low. I tried a few times to keep a temporary fence up but ultimately the blackberries would just eat it up anyway so over the years I lost more length and width to that. My horses learned uberstreichen from me ducking to avoid tree branches I was in a constant battle with.

3) My parents couldn't afford to buy us (I have a sister who rode for a while) our own horses, so for the first few years we were given our cousin's pony to learn on and share. Then my mom careleased an old retired WP horse for a bit before having to send her away because she had eye problems and we couldn't afford the medication. For 3 years we shared an Arab pony who was 4 when my mom bought her for less than $500. Eventually we landed with two careleased Arabs, one who was 21 when we started leasing her and one was 7 when we started leasing him. After looking after the gelding for 7 years, his owners announced they wanted to sell him. We couldn't afford what they asked and he was ripped from our family after 7 years of an spoken agreement that he would be ours permanently.

4) Our first year in USPC we couldn't take our horses to any of the lessons because our parents couldn't afford a horse trailer. When we did finally get a trailer it was so ancient that the tackroom floor was rotting out. I lived in constant fear my shitty little saddle would fall through and be lost forever during one of our trips to the twice monthly USPC lessons we went to.

5) When my parents finally were able to buy me a horse, our budget wasn't supposed to be over $1500, but my mom got an extra $500 by selling some of her personal tack for the Arab mare she bought 1 year before becoming pregnant with me. She'd bought that mare for $700 dollars and she had to ask my grandfather to loan her the money so she could buy her. Mia was $2,500 but my mom had fallen in love with her personality so she negotiated to pay for her monthly. She paid $150 a month for her and they only agreed because she was a broodmare they had sold to riding home, had to rescue her from it, resold her to another riding home and then had to rescue her from that, and they were trying to get her off the property to make room for the valuable horses.

6) This or some variation of this was what I looked like the majority of the time I was growing up. My boots were an extra wide calf because my dad had actually bought them for my mom. I'm a regular calf. I wore them until they literally came apart, took them to a cobbler to get a repair that lasted a bit, and then wore them completely through again. Whenever I had to walk on foot somewhere with them my socks would get soaked from the holes in them. My show coat was a boys sport's jacket we got at Goodwill. My saddle was a shitty and ancient Steuben that did not fit my horse, actively caused saddle sores, and which forced my leg so forward I battled a chair seat. But my mom got it for $100 and it's called an all-purpose so can't you just do dressage in it? I also didn't have access to private lessons. I got my twice a month group Pony Club lessons.

7) When I was 13/14 I got really serious about horses and wanting to progress. I had to beg my mom for about a year to get private lessons and the deal was that I could only have two a month on the opposite weeks of Pony Club. My sister had pretty much stopped riding by then so it was a lot more doable financially and my mom was finally working full-time. As it became obvious I didn't have the right saddle, the right arena at home, the right clothes; I had to work to get access to those things. I luckily had a knack for braiding and lived close to a prominent show ground; I worked the shows and made enough money to get a dressage saddle, to get boots, to even get as basic of things as stable wraps for my horse.

8) As a 15-16 year old I worked as a WS for a hunter/jumper trainer in order to get weekly lessons. She wasn't against me for not having a TB or a WB, she honestly put in a lot to make things work for us and really liked my horse--- she did however exlcude me from opportunities I couldn't afford. I couldn't afford to do the rated shows, so I didn't. The year she thought I could take the school horse for one show she passed me over for the girl whose mom would pay her. I would've worked it off but that wasn't good enough.

9) This is the horse I competed for 10 years. She's standing on a hill so you don't get the best picture of her confo and this as all I could drag up. Long backed, downhill, weak hocks. Not exactly the perfect dressage or jumping prospect. Between ages of 14-16, I developed a lot as a rider. One of my trainers through Pony Club saw this development as a great time to try and rip me from this sub-optimal mount and stick me on one of his horses I could lease because I wouldn't progress on this horse. He didn't want to work with a downhill, long backed APHA that was deeply under conditioned and not professionally trained for where I was starting to head. The emotional abuse I sustained from that trainer-student relationship still effects me. But how could I tell Mr. Watson that not only did I love this horse, but that we couldn't afford a different horse.

10) 14-16 were tough years for me mentally as an equestrian. While I had one supportive trainer I actually worked for and lessoned with; the presence of the other who continually rubbed it in my face that my horse wasn't meant for dressage and jumping made me fall into that "I'm an underdog" toxic mentality that I've been talking about on this blog for years. For as much fuel as deeply hating someone tellimg me what I couldn't do there was a greater presence of a "woe is me the world is biased against us" attitude. Any bad scores were "because the judge hates non-Warmbloods" and not because I had a horse that struggled with being on the forehand. Not placing well in jumping was because "I don't have as much money as they do" and not because my equitation was mediocre at best and I chipped-in to every fence.

11) I went about 6-9 months without professional training at all because I was so disillusioned with it (again, despite having had a trainer who was trying to work with me and my horse) and managed to sort some things out on my own given the foundation I'd received from the h/j trainer.

12) I took the very strong foundation that the one trainer who was there for me throughout that period gave me and took my embittered 17 year old self off to an "unconventional" "morally superior" trainer who would turn out to be an opioid addict with more bravado than talent. Thinking I was such a supremely talented but underrated rider, I didn't develop as much as I could have and I wasted a lot of money where I shouldn't have. I wanted to do rated shows (and actually the opioid addict wasn't the worst dressage trainer) but was actively discouraged because "they won't score you what you deserve it's a waste of money"--- not true. My opioid addict trainer also wanted to take credit for the development of my horse's canter (she used to cross-fire and be so strung out) but literally couldn't get that canter out of her when on her. Realistically, given the right opportunities falling into place I could have probably knocked out my Bronze and part of my Silver on that horse in high school.

13) I was only guaranteed my horse at college with me for one quarter at age 18 (even though board actually broke down to be way cheaper than keeping her at home). I worked a lot my initial stint at undergrad to get more opportunities with my horse. Too bad I was being abused, tried to kill myself, and had to drop out of college.

14) At 18 it's not illogical to expect you'll have to field all your horse's costs yourself. My mom had always said she'd take care of Mia until she passed though--- so she'd always have food and shelter. I did have to retire her early though because I couldn't afford hock injections. My lucky break was that my mom had purchased a horse for herself my sophomore year of high school who I had in high school been putting time into (spitefully not much because she wasn't suitable for my mother, but when I thought I might be able to convince my mom to sell her right before I left with my horse to college I put in a lot more effort and took her to schooling shows) who was sitting doing nothing but certainly sound.

15) This blog documents part of 5 years in which Chevy was my primary horse, an even less suitable APHA, and my struggles with not being able to afford lessons, clinics, shows. You'll find a lot of me working that horse in that shitty little grass arena because I couldn't afford to haul-in as regularly.

16) This blog also documents the extremely emotional traumatic ups and downs of my mom wanting to sell Chevy because she realized she was never going to ride her and me coming to grips with the fact that even if I could manage to afford to board her myself I would continue to be stuck making no progress. I desperately and fiercely love that horse and she was desperately and fiercely very wrong for me.

17) That's who I am. I'm the bobo backyard rider whose horses went years without floating their teeth or getting vaccines because we couldn't afford it. The girl whose horse was always tripping when we first got her because we couldn't afford a farrier who knew what they were doing, we could afford Rich who charged $60 for all three horses. The girl whose mom had to sell her own tack in order to buy me a horse. I'm not speaking from a place of privilege. I'm speaking from a place of knowledge, of experience, and of protection for all the other little girls who just want a pair of boots that fit them right.

Don't you dare fucking presume to know me.

[ayearofpike]

Scavenger Hunt

Pocket Books, 1989 215 pages, 13 chapters + prologue & epilogue ISBN 0-671-73686-8 LOC: CPB Box no. 1779 vol. 24 OCLC: 222111517  Released June 10, 1989 (per B&N)

The whole senior class was excited for the end-of-year scavenger hunt, especially when the teacher in charge announced the grand prize as a week-long trip to Hawaii. Carl Timmons was doubly excited when the sexiest girl in school invited him to be a part of her team. But as the clues progressed, as they got farther and farther from normal and the teams got farther and farther from town, Carl started to suspect that his teammates had nefarious intent. Even then, though, there was no way he could have ever deduced that the whole thing was a revenge plot by his dead best friend effected by a pair of sexy lizard teens.

Is this the one we’ve all been waiting for? It’s certainly been memed as the craziest, as far as I can tell. And up to this point, maybe it is. The only supernatural characters we’ve had in Pike books already covered are Vulture Girl and Ghost Detective. Everything else has been scientifically plausible, and conjecture about powers beyond the mundane is either disproven or not discussed enough to be a legitimate part of the plot. And even in those other two, the setting and storyline sticks pretty close to the realm of the possible. So yeah, this one goes pretty buckwild.

The funny thing is that I don’t remember it being so crazy the first time I read it. Maybe it’s partly because I read it at an overnight lock-in in a church, which is the setting for the prologue and the grand finale, that the whole thing seemed plausible. Like, sure, this is the kind of place where I’m supposed to feel safe, and I do when I'm surrounded by my friends and leaders, but who knows what could happen? A lizard dude could kick down that door and garrote the priest, maybe. Thinking back on this creeps the ever-living shit out of me. Where the hell was my brain at thirteen that I could have imagined and maybe even expected something like this? Not to mention the sheer gall of reading horror books about horny teenagers in church, which is just one reason why I half expect to burst into flame when I walk into one today.

Obviously, Carl wasn’t totally safe in the church either. The priest in the confessional created a convenient plot device to recap the story, as Carl retells his side of events while hiding from the lizards. He chose the sexy girl’s team over the team with his old maybe flame (we’ll get back to this) and the three-years-younger wheelchair-bound valedictorian. Part of that is duh boobs, but another part is that the valedictorian’s older sister was the girlfriend of Carl’s best friend, who died in a freak flash flood in the desert. This might seem implausible to those who haven’t spent a whole lot of time in the Southwest, but it can and does happen: when it rains, it pours, and the ground is so hard and dry that the water doesn’t soak in, rather racing downhill and gathering volume at sometimes terrifying rates, sweeping away whatever is in its path.

So Carl tried to save his friend but couldn’t, and the girlfriend hates him for surviving where her man did not, and so Carl would rather avoid dealing with it. This seems to be Carl’s default reaction to most things. He’s done well enough in school to get through it, he works at a garage with a bunch of assholes but won’t defend himself or his friends, and he’s more or less totally shut down emotionally in the wake of the drowning. The only people he talks to are the valedictorian and his old buddy who hurt himself playing football and hasn’t been mentally the same since, never mind that nobody else knows this guy and Carl himself can’t remember how and when he got injured.

The maybe flame sees and resents this a little bit, which we understand through Pike’s continued use of the two-person POV. Remember when I read Weekend and I said I thought it was a sporadic instance of a technique? Maybe I’m remembering later works, because it’s already showed up eight times in thirteen books (and four of those have at least four). So we've got Tracie White in addition to Carl Timmons telling us what's going on in our new bullshit-small-town of Express, California, population 20K with a senior class of 300. Like, I seriously don't know how he can call these places "nothing towns" (19) with a straight face. On the other hand, though, there were plenty of people in my 2K+ high school in my city of 500K who felt like it was a one-horse town they couldn't wait to get out of. Maybe there's just a teenager tendency to diss the place you live by calling it a nowheresville. I'll grant Pike the benefit of the doubt here, while continuing to acknowledge that he undersells the plight of real small-town kids.

But anyway, Tracie and her team are neck-and-neck with Carl and his team as far as deciphering the clues goes. It makes sense, when you consider that Tracie's paired with the valedictorian and Carl's desire girl's brother (also on the team, along with the football buddy) was, as student body president, partly responsible for setting up the scavenger hunt, although he claims to have no inside knowledge of where it will take them. Still, both teams seem to meet each other at the location of each clue, and they don't see anybody else from school once the hunt takes them off campus. Implausible, yes, and even more so in the chapter where they spend like an hour in a clue location trying to figure out together where the next one might be.  Is the whole senior class that mind-bogglingly stupid, or do these teams have a different set of clues from everyone else?

We already know the answer to that – I gave it away in the intro paragraph. It seems that when Carl's best friend was taken by the flood, it washed him into an underground cavern carved by these lizard creatures over millions of years. Lizard Brother and Lizard Sister took the body as a gift: they need vengeance to sustain their lives, and the best friend thinking he'd been abandoned to drown would do the trick nicely. So they reanimated his body, hypnotized essentially the entire town into thinking he was an injured football star who'd always been there, and set up the scavenger hunt as a ruse to get Carl to the cave for ritual sacrifice. This means we're not just dealing with sexy lizard teens – they're also magical immortal dinosaurs.

But what about Tracie's team? Was it necessary for them to tag along? Wouldn't it make for problems if four people tried to fight rather than just one? Well, sure, but to set up the whole scenario the lizard teens had to integrate into school for the year, and over the course of two semesters the valedictorian had pissed off the sexy lizard brother enough that it was decided he needed to die too. Life sucks for nerds in 1989. The valedictorian handles it surprisingly calmly; way better than Carl, in fact. Like, Carl acknowledges that he's the reason everybody is in danger in the first place, but remember, when we met him, he has run for his life and is seeking shelter in a church. BY HIMSELF. As in, he didn't try to take anybody with him. Meanwhile, the valedictorian, knowing he is about to be killed and thinking that it will save the lives of his sister and his friends, ties HIMSELF to his own wheelchair to make it easier on Lizard Brother.

However, there's a crack in the ancient armor here. Apparently, going after more kids than just Carl was never part of the plan, and it has pissed off Lizard Sister. She screws with the magic that is supposed to transfer the valedictorian's essence and kills him instantly and painlessly, rather than the drawn-out and painful sacrifice that Lizard Brother intended. Should we seek out the sliver of hope that this reveals? Carl's not sure yet. After all, she doesn't attempt to derail her brother's announced intent to hunt Carl in the desert, which is how he set to running in the first place. But when they do catch up with him, she plants subliminal messages in the two remaining girls, trying to guide them to catch her brother on fire. It takes a few tries and more mental gymnastics from Lizard Sister, but when they do put the prayer candle to his head, the dude literally EXPLODES. Only here does she sort of explain her motivations, involving more than just murdering humans to stay alive. She’s starting to become curious about society and emotions, prime among which is wanting to understand Tracie's feeling for Carl (and, like, we feel you, girl) and the desire to know in general what is love.

I don't really care for how much we're supposed to piece together ourselves in this final sequence. There's an exchange between the lizards where she tells him he should have never taken her for a lover (oh, did I not mention that they were apparently incestuous sexy lizard teens?) and that he never knew exactly who she was. But then she also doesn't explain it to the kids after all else is over. What's the difference between these two lizards? How can she touch the fire without hurting herself when the dude blowed up real good? Is she some kind of different species or creature or being altogether than Lizard Brother, or is she just yanking us around?

Also, Zombie Best Friend refuses her invitation to come with her and stays in the church by himself after everyone leaves. But um ... then what? Is he alive, or is he gone? Is he immortal too, or is he going to crumble as soon as no more magic is holding him up? Why can't the friends take him to a final resting spot? These are questions that don't seem like Pike even considered answering, which makes the closure feel kind of incomplete. We're left with a disappearing lizard girl who threatens future contact, a no-longer-dead guy in a ruined church, a sister without a satisfying answer for where her dead brother went, and a romance that in light of certain cowardly actions makes even less sense than it did to Tracie at the beginning of the book.

Still, the story has that feel, you know? Like we're exploring things that are new and unique, and these areas are tacitly forbidden which is what makes it interesting. I'm sure Pike was not the first novelist ever to write magical immortal dinosaurs, but the way he handled it made it interesting and maybe even plausible, at least to a fucked-up thirteen-year-old at a church overnight.

[starship-squidlet]

[Story time--feel free to ignore]

So I need to get something off my chest, and I can’t do it anywhere else because people who know the people I’m going to talk about will see it and I don’t want to harm these people’s reputations. However, the only one of them who has a tumblr has already blocked me, as far as I can tell, so I’m not too worried about them seeing it here.

So my senior year of college sucked. I hate to admit it, but it did--basically the whole year, but especially the end.

It started off well enough. I spent two weeks in London and Edinburgh for a class, moved into an apartment with all of my best friends, had (mostly) great classes, and quickly started forming/strengthening friendships with people I had met in the theatre department the year before. For the first time in my life, I was starting to feel like a normal person, socially. I wasn’t having trouble with anxiety or depression. I was getting along really well with just about everyone in my life. I had finally cut out my toxic father for good (or so I thought). My relationships were just so healthy, and so was I. I felt happier than I ever had in my life, surrounded by amazing people, and doing what I loved in the theatre department.

But it very quickly started to go downhill. The closer I grew to people in the theatre department (the only people I still talk to from school), the further I felt from my apartmentmates. Then, my great-aunt died. After a few panic attacks, I threw myself into my work in the theatre, painting our production of Translations. I did my best to juggle painting, work, classes, homework, and life in my apartment, and I felt like I was doing pretty well--passing all my classes, handing homework in on time, wowing the director with my work, getting really close with the TD and carpenters, and still managing to take my roommates on weekly trips to the grocery store--but I soon realized that things were getting worse in my apartment. My roommates stopped including me in apartment life. It felt like they were criticizing my every move: I spent too much time in the theatre and not enough on homework, my growing love for technical theatre was wrong, I didn’t sleep enough, I wasn’t focusing enough on my classes. When I announced my intentions to pursue a career in technical theatre, they all mocked me, even my theatre MAJOR (I was only a minor) roommates; they said I’d never make it, that I should stick with my majors (English and Linguistics), theatre was too hard of an industry to get into so I shouldn’t even try.

The growing stress from my worsening home life, a really bad professor who I could never get anything right for, the impending deadline of the fall show, and the fact that I didn’t have enough chapel credits to meet the quota for the semester got me to the point where I started cutting for the first time in my life. I felt less healthy than I ever had, including when I was a child and being beaten by my narcissistic asshole of a father. I realize that there were many factors contributing to this, but at the time, I didn’t know what to do. I coped by focusing as little as possible on the class I was having trouble with and abandoned everything else to throw myself into my work in the theatre.

In the theatre, I was happy. In the theatre, I was safe. Even my interactions with my roommates there were fine. We were still friends. It was when I got home that things would get bad again. First, they stopped asking me to take them to the store. Then, they started ignoring me. After that, they started getting quiet when I walked into the apartment; conversations would stop or clearly abruptly change topic to something harmless, and anything I attempted to contribute to discussions was either brushed off or ignored.

Finally, opening weekend of Translations, I was done. After opening night, I spent the night in a friend’s apartment, and sent my roommates an email outlining the issues I had with them and informing them that I was planning to search for different housing. They responded with another email begging me not to move out and promising to respect me more and not exclude me. I wanted to believe them so badly that I fell for it and decided to stay. This lasted for about a week before things got even worse than they had been before.

The cycle of disrespect, outright rudeness, and stress continued. Every time I would protest the way I was treated, my roommates would promise to stop, before getting worse. I was told that the way I felt was wrong, that I was exaggerating or misunderstanding or just plain wrong.

I completely recognize that I was also a part of this cycle. I let my stress get the best of me and reacted poorly to situations that arose. Instead of confronting my roommates when things happen, I let them fester because I didn’t want to cause conflict. Sometimes, I did things knowing full well that they would bother my roommates and not caring.

Finally, the week before opening of the spring production, things blew up. I had gotten into a fight with my roommate the week before, but we had talked, I had apologized, and we had made amends. Some of the other girls responded to this with a poorly-disguised “wellness check”: they came to the theatre to “see the pieces I had made for the show”, but spent the entire time asking me how I was doing, if anything was wrong, and other, incredibly patronizing, questions. Then, opening week, I reacted to a form of disrespect that had been going on all year: during our start-of-year apartment contract meeting (mandatory in all dorms on our campus), I had asked that we not use bleach-based cleaner, because I believe that bleach is a harmful chemical and don’t want it anywhere near my body. They agreed to use vinegar-based cleaners instead once we used up the other cleaners their mothers had bought for us, and I agreed--I also offered to buy the more natural/vinegar-based cleaners, as I was aware that they can be more expensive. However, all four of them continued to buy bleach-based cleaners, despite this agreement, and I let it slide. Finally, over spring break, I bought a new natural cleaner and, when everyone returned, asked that they use it multiple times (admittedly, not necessarily in the kindest manner), and was repeatedly ignored--to the extent that they discussed in front of me the purchasing of new bleach-based cleaner. I finally got fed up with it, left the apartment for my work in the theatre (I was backstage supervisor for hair and makeup on this show), and used a few minutes of spare time that I had to write a facebook post in our private group about my frustration (again, I realize that this wasn’t the best way to respond, but between the theatre, classes, homework, and work, I was spending literally no time in the apartment during waking hours and had no opportunities to talk to my roommates). 

Within half an hour, two of the girls showed up backstage at the theatre. This was an hour and a half (or less) before opening; my team and I had an hour to get 20 people ready for the show, and we were running very late. Also, anyone who has any association with theatre (as these girls did, although they weren’t my theatre major roommates) knows not to just walk backstage. They asked one of the ASMs to find me, tracked me down in a dressing room, and demanded to see me. When I explained that I was busy, they reluctantly agreed to wait until after the show opened. However, within 15 minutes, they tracked me down again and once again demanded that I stop what I was doing and talk to them. Despite me, my assistant, and the stage manager all repeatedly explaining that I had literally no time to talk to them, they continued to insist, growing more and more belligerent, before finally storming away and leaving me to explain to half the cast and crew why my roommates were so rude. I found out that they had left the theatre entirely, apparently giving up on talking to me, and spent the show relieved that I hadn’t had to deal with them after all, but wondering what they wanted.

After the show, I was still angry about the disrespect and rudeness they had shown, and my anger and frustration only grew as I walked home. I finally burst into the apartment and demanded what they had been thinking in doing and acting the way that they had (which I fully 100% acknowledge was totally not the right way to handle things), but got no answer. I received blank stares, as they had clearly justified themselves in their minds, and finally accusations that I hadn’t taken the time to talk to them. After a lot of skirting the issue, they finally explained that they had come because my roommate was sick. This stopped me in my tracks; why did my roommate being sick entitle the others to invade my sanctuary (because this was how I had come to think of the theatre by this point) and disrespect me in front of everyone I worked and spent time with? Then they dropped the bomb: not only was my roommate sick, it was her anxiety flaring up, and it was all my fault.

Through the discussion, their circumventing of my questions had only made me angrier, and at this point, I left, mostly to avoid doing or saying anything else harmful to our relationships--at this point, I still wanted to salvage our friendship. I spent the night at a friend’s, texted my roommate asking why she was blaming me for her anxiety and apologizing for whatever I had done to cause it, and went back to the apartment early in the morning when I knew none of them would be awake to shower and get ready for the day, and packed the things I would need for the day. I found a note on my pillow and grabbed it to read later; I ran into a few of the other girls on my way out, and got dirty glares from all of them. On my way down the stairs, I read the note. It continued to blame me for my roommate’s anxiety, but also forbid me from speaking to her, and claimed that I was the cause of the conflict and strife in the apartment. Before I got to the ground floor, I was in tears. Instead of going to class, I went straight to the theatre, to my TD’s office, and spent the next hour sobbing and explaining what was wrong and what had happened. He calmed me down, gave me some advice, and I spent the rest of the day curled up in a chair downstairs; I was in no state for class. 

Halfway through the day, I saw my roommates enter the theatre. Assuming they had tracked me down there again, I rushed upstairs to hide in the little-used bathroom there, not mentally ready to deal with them, only to see them going into the head of department’s office. I didn’t pay it much mind, just went downstairs and hid from them, then went on with my day. Instead of going home after work that night, I planned to wait in the costume shop until very late, when everyone would be in bed, and sneaking in to sleep for a few hours then. At this point, I was terrified of my roommates and being in my apartment; I had no idea what they might do or say, and didn’t think I could handle any of it without breaking down completely. I called my mom and told her what was going on, sobbing again, and she convinced me to tell my RD what was happening and ask to be moved to a new room. I pulled up my email only to find one waiting from my RD. My roommates had gone to her and told lies about me--that I was unstable, that I was causing conflict, that I was an issue.

I spent that night on another friend’s couch, after going back to my room and taking everything I would need for the next few days. The next day, I found out from a friend in the theatre department that my roommates had told the same lies to the head of the department that they had told to me RD (later, they would also tell them to people in student life and the housing department), and he was furious, claiming that I needed counseling and couldn’t resolve conflict, all without actually knowing me as a person beyond a little interaction during the aforementioned trip to London and Edinburgh. My RD informed me that they would try to find me a new room, although she couldn’t make any promises with only a month left in the school year, and that someone from housing would contact me to hear my side of the story (spoiler alert: they never did).

I spent the rest of the weekend on friends’ couches and floors until Sunday, when I was told that I had been found a room. A few amazing friends kindly helped me move (a process of throwing things randomly in boxes and bags and haphazardly jamming as much as possible into my car), and I settled into my new single room, confident that I would be okay now.

But I wasn’t. I felt more alone than I had during my entire college career; I didn’t have the best friends that I had grown to love over the past four years, or any of our other friends, all of whom took my roommates’ side. I had my new friends, sure, and they were beyond amazing--far better than I could have asked for--but it wasn’t the same. I would find myself scrolling through my feeds on social media and thinking “Sarah would love this!” and starting to send it to her in a message before remembering that I couldn’t. Or I’d hear a funny joke or story and think “Wow, Karli would find this hilarious!” and go to text it to her, only to remember that I had been forbidden by the others to speak to her.

What was almost worse was that I still had class with Molly, the one who had been most demanding and belligerent to me during that “surprise visit” to the theatre, and who had written me the note I found on my pillow the next morning, and had to sit next to her for an hour and a half two days a week. I tried to act normal, but felt myself breaking inside every time we talked.

As for the theatre, I lost my second home and sanctuary. I thought I would be fine spending time there, instead of painfully alone in my room, but the first time I heard Annika’s voice around a corner, I froze. In a moment of panic, I started hyperventilating and dove for the nearest door, the bathroom, where I hid until I was sure she was long gone. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t, and when I heard her again, I bolted for the door, only starting to relax when I was free, halfway back to my new dorm.

I began failing my classes. I could no longer focus on homework, much less lectures, and did poorly everywhere. I spent all of my time not in class in my room, to scared of running into my ex-roommates if I left. I spiraled further and further downwards, until one weekend, I gave up. Laying on my floor and sobbing, unable to do anything else, I sent a paragraphs-long text to the only person I still trusted, my TD. I don’t know how to describe it besides a suicide note, except that I couldn’t even kill myself at this point--I didn’t even have the ability to function to that extent. He promised that we would talk the next day, Monday, and I reluctantly made my way to the theatre then, unwilling to talk but knowing that I had to. Most of the time, I think that he was the only person who got me through that last month; I couldn’t talk to my mom, and didn’t trust any of my newer friends enough to burden them with this. I don’t even know how I was able to trust him this much, but I’m so grateful that he was there for me when no-one else was. I don’t know if I’d be here today if he hadn’t responded to that text.

One of the things he kept encouraging me to do was reach out to my roommates and see if it would be possible to patch things up. I finally did this the week before finals; I asked Molly to talk with me after class, and we sat down in an empty classroom to do so. During the course of that conversation, I came to the realization that there would be no “making up”, because none of them had any desire to do so. Not only that, Molly continued to insist that everything was my fault, even the fact that they didn’t want to speak to me ever again. I left that meeting knowing that I would never speak to my closest friends again. I would never send Sarah stupid memes or fangirl with Karli over Markiplier. I would never talk theatre with Annika or literature with Molly. I would never reminisce about our London/Edinburgh trip with Mariah or talk shop about writing with Michaela. I would never see any of my closest friends after we graduated. Sarah wouldn’t be my maid of honor, and Karli and Molly and Annika wouldn’t be my bridesmaids. I would never see them walk down the aisle, and my children wouldn’t call them “aunt”.

I feel robbed of my senior year. I was so scared of my former friends that I couldn’t leave my room, or spend time in the only place I had been happy all year, the theatre. I couldn’t go on the senior trip to the Red Sox game at Fenway because not only might I run into them, I had no-one to go with. I didn’t go to the senior breakfast because my only remaining senior friend was planning to sit at the theatre table, and there was a chance that Karli and Annika would sit there too. I didn’t go to baccalaureate, and almost didn’t go to graduation, because I didn’t care anymore (the only reason I did was because my mom had a hotel reservation)

Now, I should be okay, but I’m not. I have been for most of the summer, but that’s gone now. I’m looking back on posts from the last four years that all of my friends are tagged in, and realizing that I’ll never speak to them again. If I even start to think about the past years, I can feel my heart breaking again. I’m crying even now. All I want is to freak out to Sarah about the Game of Thrones finale even though she doesn’t watch the show, or tell Molly about the last book I read. I want to be able to listen to Africa by Toto (Karli’s favorite song) or the Undertale soundtrack (a game that me and Karli and Sarah played together) without having to turn it off after a few seconds because it hurts too much. I want to be able to watch Sarah and Duck (an adorable British cartoon about a girl named Sarah and her friend/pet Duck that Sarah and I watched together) or any cartoon about Robin or Nightwing (my and Karli’s favorite cartoon/comic character) without my heart breaking as soon as I see it.

I just want my friends back.

Is that really so much to ask?