#and now I am really judgmental of people who still like her

[swanqueen-is-the-story]

Okay, here's the thing... I've always LOVED the big coma theory from Operation Out...

BUT THIS RIGHT HERE makes the show MORE SWAN QUEEN!!

Like, I totally understand why people hate coma theories, I hate it too most of the time 'cause it sort of erases everything that happened in a show or a book, and makes it a dream.... But, that's not the case with OUAT, and I LOVE THAT! Like, yes, give me MORE TO CHEW ON!

All the emotions are not erased by this theory, and I love that the Swan-Mills family is still THE HEART OF THE SHOW!

This opens up the possibility of so much Swan Queen that we haven't witnessed but that's told metaphorically... Like, maybe in the beginning, Emma was not very responsive, but then she's kinda back and forth, so she isn't completely cut off from Regina and Henry.

She's sometimes moving and talking. So Emma and Regina are interacting, they just have to work super hard for it... like they're on opposite sites of the town line.

Or imagine Regina mocking an Emma who says weird fairy tale sentences... and a Regina who is so lonely that the only person she comes to talk to is a woman who is half-conscious... because it's safe. But then still being snarky about it like:

Sidney: The only thing I really learned was that she doesn’t like to sit still. Regina: Well, that appears to have changed.

OR

Regina (to Emma): Well, you covered this room. I suggest you branch out.

And then, the half-conscious woman is completely in love with Regina against her own better judgment because this asshole is not being precious with her like everyone else. And Regina goes from little sarcastic interactions to starting to look at Emma and really seeing her... she's listening to the weird things she says, she's trying to go to where Emma is, understand what she's saying with all her fairytale adventures. She fucking likes her, in spite of being in different realms, and feels like she knows her... profoundly. And that's holy CANON.

Video: YouTube

Like, I love Swan Queen still after all these years, and the fact that analyzing this show with these new glasses still has the potential to give me new SQ squeal moments is just insane. I am now on the HUNT for hidden Swan Queen moments in other storylines.

Like, one thing I've already noticed is that from the beginning, Regina is "cast" as the love interest every time in the first season. I mean the fact that Sydney is "The Mirror"... literally a reflection of Emma, and he goes, "She's an amazing woman." and then Emma "You're in love with her? Ugh." Like, Emma's annoyed with herself for totally being into this woman... and all of this stuff seems fully intentional. Just when you thought this show couldn't get more gay, it really, really does. And that's an example that's not super evident.... because let's remind ourselves that Swan Queen parallels Snow and Charming ALL THE TIME!!! So where are the other hidden ones, you know? 👀

So anyway, all I'm trying to say is that we should hunt all the Swan Queen that's still left to discover.

SQ really, really is the story.

Analyzing Once Upon a Time

This can't be how the story ends

Since this blog is now as old as Henry in the Pilot, we thought this would be a good time to re-introduce this Once Upon a Time theory to the new kids on the block - and to the old kids on the block, because we have learned a thing or two during the decade we've been researching this concept.

The heart of the theory can really be summed up in one sentence:

"Everything that happened on Once Upon a Time also really happened in our world, and it is all a metaphorical retelling of Emma's life experiences in the past and in the present."

That's the part of the theory that we are certain about. Every episode has a deeper meaning, there is no fluff and together they all form one big story.

Does that mean that the story that we watched, didn't really happen? No, it's more like getting two stories for the price of one. The best metaphor we can come up with is that of lenticular cards.

Remember those little cards that you would twist and then the image would change? It doesn't really matter which one of those two images is real, because they both are. Someone had to draw and print both of them and use the right technique so we could see them both. Usually the images tell a bit of a story when you combine them, but they work perfectly fine as two standalone images.

So what we are doing is simply twisting the card, we're revealing our second story. We've really emotionally invested in these characters and now we're entering an Alternate Universe that was written by the same writers. And that's the real appeal of this theory, to get another story after the show's been off the air for so long, with the characters we know and love, because they are both.

Let's say the genre of the story we watched on television for 7 years is fantasy and the genre of our new AU is magical realism. So take a seat, suspend disbelief and enjoy the ride, because we're about to watch the official trailer of this new ABC show called Once Upon a Time.

If you watch the trailer, you see the idea of the two sides of the story being reinforced. You also hear the voice-over tell us that "someone from our world" needs to save the fairy tale characters while showing an unconscious Emma. This is the moment when the story splits in two.

Once Upon a Time takes place in what Jung called "The Collective Unconscious", or in this case The Enchanted Forest - a place where humankind's stories are real, where the fairy tale characters we know and love live - the world of archetypes.

A metaphorical curse is cast when Emma crashes her car. She loses consciousness and travels to her own subconscious mind. The fairy tale world and Emma's personal world collide and she gradually steals the fairy tale characters to work through her own issues and traumas. This is how the fairy tale characters actually get trapped in our world.

This is why this version of the story is "Magical Realism" - In magical realism, the underlying idea is that the world we currently live in actually has an undercurrent of magic, of intelligence, a magic that expresses itself through uncanny coincidences. We see this in the Pilot. Emma makes a heartfelt wish, and a second later, her long lost son rings the door bell. Unlikely, but possible in our world. When she slams her car door in anger, electric sparks fly and when she looks up at the clock, it's stuck on 8:15. August 15th. The date her long lost son was born. Odd coincidences, but entirely possible.

This magical world, however, is also a world of karma, because she violently knocks a man against his steering wheel earlier in the episode. Later that night, she hits her own head. This was the only way for the hidden magic of our world to grant Emma's wish and to restore her karma. The intelligent universe forced her to confront her demons with the help of age-old archetypes, so she could heal from her traumas, learn the life lessons she needs to allow people like Henry and Regina into her life.

Everything we saw on this show was Emma's real experience during the show's timeline, but the undercurrent of the world she experienced was created by her memories and by everything what's going on in the world around her while she is in different states of consciousness. Like Jefferson points out during "Hat Trick", even fictional stories come from a real place. They come from the writer's emotions and experiences, codified into story.

What we didn't know when we first started writing this theory, was how weird our consciousness really is. Real comas are nothing like movie comas where people just sit up one day. Maybe they need a little bit of physical rehab and then off they go. No, in the real world, people spend days, weeks, months or even years living in between their dream world and reality, trying to make sense of it all. Some people report having no memory of the months after they woke up and after they were up and somewhat functional. Many report strange dreams and remembering conversations that happened around them - except they thought they were participating.

Based on this newfound knowledge, we concluded that Emma was only in a deep coma for parts of the show's timeline. We think Emma's state in this theory closely aligns with what medical professionals call a minimally conscious state (MCS). Sleeping curse victims in an MCS are awake but show limited awareness of their surroundings. They may respond to stimuli, have brief moments of purposeful behavior, or even show emotional reactions to familiar voices or events. While their consciousness seems fragmented, they can form connections between external events and their inner experiences. The show uses David's coma story to tell us what's happening with Emma. He is able to grab Mary Margaret's hand, which he couldn't do if he was in a full coma. That means Emma is sometimes saying words and interacting with the people around her. They can connect with her in meaningful ways. And they do.

The show is peppered with hints that point to Emma's state in the land without magic. Jefferson is one of the characters who is used as a part of her subconscious that is trying to make Emma aware of her situation in the reality realm, but during the second episode, Emma herself gives us a description of the curse that she is now trapped in.

Emma: "So, for decades, people have been walking around in a haze, not aging, with screwed up memories, stuck in a cursed town that kept them oblivious."

What's very important about this description, is the "screwed up memories". The flashbacks about Emma's life that we have seen, are just as metaphorical of the other parts. They did happen, but they didn't happen in the way we saw them happen. The best explanation for how these 'new memories' are created is by looking at one clear example.

The "memory" of Emma giving birth to Henry is actually a metaphorical memory of Henry coming back into Emma's life, through parallels and visual clues. In this new memory, she expresses how she really felt in that moment, in so much emotional pain she could scream, and terrified to be asked to be a mother. This is how all the stories are created.

Much of the show works this way, except unlike during this scene, we haven't seen the original experience that the metaphor is based upon. So to decipher the rest of Emma's memories, all we can do is look at the recurring themes and storylines, as they show what Emma is wrestling with. Season 1 is full of car crashes, because crashing her car in the Pilot is a very recent trauma. Parents giving up children is a recurring trauma, because it matches both her story and Henry's story. This is the translation key to figure out Emma's story. Look at the patterns.

If we listen back to the show's trailer one more time, the theme song that was chosen to represent the show couldn't be more of an invitation to see the reality layer of the story.

Rescue me

Show me who I am

'Cause I can't believe

This is how the story ends

Fight for me

If it's not too late

Help me breathe again

No, this can't be how the story ends

This is Emma fighting for her life in reality. Asking Regina and Henry and the people around her to help her come back to life, because this can't be how the story ends. This can't be how she dies.

Ooookay... so where's the fun exactly?

You may be wondering, what is the appeal? Admittedly, this story is somewhat sad and dark at first glance, but remember when you watched the first season and you were trying to guess the characters' fairy tale identities? You get to do that again, except this time you are trying to guess the real world identities. You get to experience the curse from the inside and it really does feel like you can recapture some of the fun from the first time around.

Once you realize that the memories we saw were warped, many questions bubble up to the surface. How did Henry really find Emma? Who gave him the story book and why? How did he come to his conclusions? Is he the author because he is creating the fairy tales he is reading to Emma? Who are Emma's real parents? Why was she given up for adoption? What really happened to her in foster care? Is Neal really Henry's father or is there more to the story? What is wrong with Emma? Was there something fishy about the adoption? Why is she in and out of consciousness? How do Henry and Regina react? Did Regina really try to kill her? If Regina wasn't actually the evil queen, why did Henry think she didn't love him? Why is everyone suddenly related? Who is Emma Swan? Who is Regina Mills? Who is Henry? And Gold? And Hook?

It becomes a gigantic mystery, a fantastical true crime show. And the more people lend their ears and their eyes to it, the better our chances are to actually solve this very, very weird puzzle. Because as we said, the only part of this theory that we are sure of, is that everything we saw, is all a metaphorical retelling of Emma's life in the past and in the present. We report on the connections we find, the possible interpretations. The recurring themes. The meaningful parallels. We don't claim those are the correct interpretations, because they change as we dig deeper.

So consider this an invitation to take a bite out of the forbidden fruit of knowledge, join in and share your observations, because we would like to see the full picture once we tilt our little card to take another look.

[tim-hoe-wan]

People who didn’t see that Taylor is not a good person until now have super weak bullshit sensors. Only a real loser who is secretly a mean person could write a song like You Belong with Me.

[bvidzsoo]

The trace of you

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: psychiatrist!Jeong Yunho x patient!female reader

ꕤ Warning: bullying, mistreatment, ptsd, mentions of insanity & abuse, mental health talks, psychiatric diagnose, unethical thoughts and actions ꕤ Word count: 25.1k ꕤ Rating: mature ꕤ Genre: dated around the late 1800's, psychiatrist x patient, lots of yearning, mutual pinning, forbidden love, inspired by Alias Grace, angst ꕤ Summary: Being caged inside your home for a wrongdoing you can't even remember seems to not have the effect people have been expecting. With the arrival of a foreign doctor with studies unheard of before, your life takes a new turn. Will Doctor Jeong prove your innocence, or will he fall into your web like everyone else? Are you sane, or is he just as insane as his patients?

A/N: Helloo, my lovelies! ^^ Wrapping up this story took way too long due to me having some unplanned health issues that are still (?) kicking my ass...anyways, keep in mind while you're reading this that there are probably historical inaccuracies to this story, especially to South Korean history that I briefly read through when constructing Yunho character's background. The dresses MC wears also aren't the most accurate, but I hope you can look past that and imagine instead whatever you'd like. I watched the mini-series Alias Grace and was rather inspired by it, so you will find similarities to it within this story. I am no medical professional, so the diagnosis MC is given might be inaccurate even though I have taken my time to research these things. Let me know if I should tag anything else as a warning, and I really hope you enjoy this story as I have tried making it a bit different. Let me know your thoughts about it, I am always excited to read your feedback! <3 Oh, and, I hope Santa brings you something sweet tonight, this is my not so small present for you all! ^^ divider

            The old clock’s ticking seemed to only get louder by the second. The sheer curtains were pulled to the side to allow more sunlight inside the tea room, the grand doors opened to let in the late fresh summer breeze. The white hydrangeas lining the paths leading towards the back garden were gorgeous and carried a strong scent with them, I could smell it from my spot on the soft faded pink cushion of the sofa brought all the way from France. The tea room had been remodelled not long ago. There was something about it that gave old cottage vibes, but it has now been upgraded to a more fashionable Parisian feel. It was pretty, with hues of light peach and a darker coral, however, I used to like more the cosy feeling of the sage green and baby blue colours that had decorated the room once. Karina liked it more this way, she had said something about the lighter colours giving the impression of a bigger room. I did not understand why the tea room was required to look grander than it already was, but I didn’t question her judgment. It was best if I didn’t, not out loud, at least.

The servants were quietly waiting outside the room as my mother paced in front of us, Karina perched on a fancy chair with an abandoned book in her hands. I knew the ticking of the old clock and the silence was driving her mad, but I remained silent as I gazed forward, eyes on the gravel path. I longed to walk in the meadow close to our house, but I wasn’t allowed to roam around on my own. Even inside my own home, I was under constant surveillance. The doctors have said it was for my own sake, but it felt like I was in a continuous cage. It was suffocative, I couldn’t sleep some nights due to it, not even after drinking Mrs. Humphrey’s delicious camomile tea. My last hope resided in summer, in the warm breeze that kissed my cold skin, everything a lush green where I looked, to keep me sane. As sane as it could, since I was deemed a madwoman long ago.

Unlike the others who hired chauffeurs and dated carriages with old horses, this doctor arrived by a fancy patent motorcar. It wasn’t him driving it, at least the servants had whispered that to each other, but his long wool coat looked expensive too. My mother finally stopped pacing and Karina sighed in irritation when there was a knock at the front door. One maid stepped forward and opened the door for the doctor, gently greeting him. I couldn’t hear his voice, I was trying to catch the song of the birds outside, but I could feel the shift in the air. It was warmer inside as if the sun had stepped through our threshold. It warmed my skin like none other. Finally, the doctor was led towards the tea room, my back to him as my lips moved in a whispered song that comforted me. If I ignored the coil of my stomach and the sheen layer of sweat over my brows, I could convince myself that I was fine. That whoever came to check on me wasn’t another vicious man eager to torture a damned soul like mine.

“My apologies, ma’am, I am unfamiliar with these roads.” The man’s voice was deep yet soft, like honey, thick but inoffensive. At least if I told myself that, it calmed my rapid heartbeat. As I continued sitting rigidly, my fingers wrung together, the tremors never disappeared. It was something natural, the other doctors have concluded, something they couldn’t fix about me. Another thing they couldn’t fix about me. It was fine, I knew I had been damned a long time ago.

“Oh, it is no issue, we are glad you made it, Doctor.” My mother’s voice was filled with deep relief as the crease between her brows finally disappeared, hands locked behind her back as she rushed towards the entrance. Karina was surprisingly silent, but her expression spoke volumes. Her eyes had widened and her mouth had parted, fingers barely clutching the book in her hands anymore. I gulped, trying to steady my irregular breathing. I knew what was coming, the same questions and objects this doctor, too, would use to check my stability. I dreaded it all, I wanted to scream and throw a vase and make it shatter against the ground, but I would only be deemed even crazier. My eyes shook when I heard footsteps approach, heavier than those of my mother or Karina, it was the man. The Doctor. He was coming further inside, I could feel his eyes trained on my nape, no doubt curious and with a glint madder in his eyes than in mine, here to dissect me, pick me apart just to never fix me. I saw polished black shoes stop before me, and the lump in my throat almost made it impossible to speak up.

“Miss Harold, my name is Doctor Jeong Yunho.” Then, unlike any other doctor had done, this one’s knees bent until he was crouching in front of me, looking at me. His eyes were round and kind, a dark brown unlike my icy ones, and they were filled with warmth and softness I hadn’t seen in any other man. His nose had a perfect slope and his fair skin was sun-kissed, the apple of his cheeks a rosy red. His lips weren’t too big but pouty and full, asking to be traced gently by soft fingertips. I shuddered, completely taken aback by his youth and beauty. The man was from faraway lands, yet judging by his speech, you couldn’t tell until you saw him. He was gorgeous, he was breathtaking, “Would you feel safe if it was just the two of us in this room?”

No, I wanted to scream. My fingers tightened against each other, I gulped and hesitantly nodded, our eyes spilling into each other’s as if a spell had them locked together. His features were serene and sincere, not a frown on his beautiful face to create creases, just a soft smile pulling at his lips. It was disarming and frightening at the same time. Then, the doctor smiled even wider as he stood back up, his height intimidating. My heart raced as I watched him, unable to take my eyes off him. And he was still looking at me as he spoke up, “If you could excuse us, I’d like to speak to Miss Harold in privacy. It won’t take long, I promise. I’m only here today to familiarise myself with her.”

“Good, yes, Doctor, whatever you need.” My mother sounded reassured as she gripped Karina’s arm, yanking her out of the tea room as she seemingly didn’t want to go. Her eyes were fixed on Doctor Jeong, and her cheeks were blushed, “Would you like a cup of tea before we leave?”

“No, but thank you, Mrs. Harold.” The doctor hummed, his voice warm, as he sat across from me. He had no leather tool bag, nothing. He only carried a ragged satchel bag, a dark green with patches made to it, and it seemed mostly empty. My heart couldn’t settle down, not yet. Maybe his tools were hidden in the pockets of his long black coat. He hadn’t taken it off, and he looked like he wasn’t planning on staying for long. I couldn’t decide whether that thought reassured or unsettled me even more. Silence stretched on as we stared at each other, my throat dry, but I made no moves to drink from my fine China cup. I gulped when the doctor finally moved, reaching inside his bag. Here it came, the torture for the next hours, he was just like all those other doctors. I could feel tears prick at my eyes and my chest felt on fire, my lungs constricting, but the world seemed to stop moving when the man finally retracted his hand from inside his ragged bag. He held no tool to harm me, instead, a slightly withering daisy was gripped daintily between his long fingers.

“I plucked this for you on my way here, Miss Harold.” The doctor spoke, leaning forward to extend his hand towards me. A daisy, from a man like him. A man who felt like the sun itself, warming my cold particles, how unusual. When I did not move to take it from him, his happy expression seemed to fall slightly. Before he could feel more disappointment, I quickly leaned forward and grabbed it from his hand. Our fingertips brushed for a second and the doctor gulped, loudly. I loved wearing my copper hair in a simple bun, lined with fresh daisies. How coincidental that I had made myself a daisy crown just this morning, and now, the doctor had brought one for me. It would’ve been endearing if it was from a suitor, but I haven’t had one since I was sent to the asylum.

“Everything has a price, Doctor, what must I offer in exchange for this?” I found my voice, less shaky than I had expected. My insides were twisting in every possible direction, my heart hammering so fast it made me feel lightheaded. I wondered whether I’d remember the doctor tomorrow morning still. It wouldn’t be the first time I experienced sudden memory loss.

The doctor frowned, sitting back on the couch stiffly, “Perhaps, your honesty? Will you answer my questions?”

“Will you measure my head and poke at my skin like all those other doctors?”

“No, I’m not here to physically evaluate you. I’m here to glance inside your mind.”

“That unsettles me more than getting cut open to determine whether my blood is still red or not.”

“Had they done that to you?”

“Yes, you should rather ask what had they not done to me, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor gulped, his dark eyebrows pulled together now and his lips downturned. He fished for something in his pocket, and a small pair of spectacles were placed low on his nose. It made him look more mature, more serious. I wondered if he wore it so that the other doctors would take him seriously, or whether because his eyesight wasn’t the best.

“I won’t cut you open, Miss Harold, I won’t even touch you during my examinations.” My heart skipped a beat despite hammering uncomfortably against my chest, and I wondered why. His words, however, did bring a little comfort.

“How will you determine what is wrong with me, then?” I raised my eyebrows, my fingers popping when I released the tension from them. I laid my palms flatly against my sage green dress, and the doctor’s eyes fleetingly glanced at them.

“By talking, by listening to your stories and thoughts.” The doctor spoke of a practice I hadn’t heard of before, “If you trust me, that is, your secrets will be safe with me.”

“Will they be?” I smiled, a little ashen, “The committee will want to hear what I said, there are no secrets we can keep with each other, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor hummed, an almost amused smile pulling at his lips, “My profession requires me not to disclose anything personal, so, even if the committee wants to hear it, I won’t relay our conversations word for word, Miss Harold.”

I gulped, analysing the man’s face. He looked sincere, his eyebrows didn’t twitch and he wasn’t sweating despite the coat still around him. It was summer, and it was warm outside, albeit not inside the tea room, that is why the grand doors were opened to let the warmth in. This room reflected a lot about how I felt on the inside, always cold and hollow, waiting desperate for the warm sun to fill me up with its hotness until it burned me away. I wanted to burn, I wanted to be freed of all I had to endure until now.

“You need my honesty, but are you willing to be transparent with me?” My question seemed to take the doctor off guard as his eyes momentarily widened. Then, he clasped his long fingers together and placed his arms on his thighs, leaning forward in his seat.

“As long as it helps us move forward and remains professional, I can be transparent with you, Miss Harold.”

“You must’ve read the reports about me, do you think I’m mad, Doctor Jeong?”

“Isn’t everyone a little mad, Miss Harold?”

“I don’t know, you are the doctor between the two of us, Doctor Jeong.”

“Indeed, and I claim that nobody is without faults or sins.”

“Then you must be a religious person, no?”

“My profession contradicts my beliefs, yes, but I do believe there is something stronger and greater than us, Miss Harold. If we ask for forgiveness, we shall be pardoned.”

“Father Leon would love to have you at his service, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor chuckled, a small smile settling over his lips as I realised I hadn’t looked away from the man since he had sat down on the couch. That was news. I never looked anyone in the eyes, as I didn’t feel comfortable. I had been told by previous doctors that they could see straight to my soul, my wicked mind and rottenness in the blueness of my irises. Now I never looked long enough to let them see what was inside my eyes, but this doctor didn’t seem to be afraid of me, of what he might find inside my eyes. Could he not see the darkness of my soul? Or was his faith so strong he preferred to spot the brightness before he was proven wrong by the wicked that permeated those like myself?

“Do you believe in God?” Doctor Jeong’s voice was louder than before, more filled with emotion as if my answer was crucial to him.

“I suppose I must. Everyone says the devil was the one to make me act like this, and I wonder where had God gone to let the devil do this to me.” Doctor Jeong’s cheeks became a darker colour as he licked his lips, mouth parting, but no words left it. I hummed, placing my right hand over my left one. Doctor Jeong wore one single band of silver ring on his middle finger on his right hand. He couldn’t have been married, then, I concluded.

“Perhaps you’ll find an answer to your question once I have done my job here.” Doctor Jeong’s tone caught a solemn note, but I said nothing as he grabbed his satchel bag and adjusted the collar of his white shirt. I watched the motion, eyes glued to the fair skin of his neck even as the man stood. His ears were flushing red too, I wondered why. I suppose the summer warmth had gotten to him at last.

“You are leaving already, doctor?” I asked as I looked up, standing when I realised he was about to depart. My mother had raised me with good manners, I would have even walked him to the front door if it weren’t for Karina suddenly barging inside, her jawline set tight as she sent me a fierce look of displeasure.

“Eager to have him all to yourself, sister?” Karina’s voice dripped with venom as she rushed further inside, rudely grabbing the doctor’s arm. What if he didn’t want to be touched? Karina lacked the awareness to consider that for a second. The doctor remained silent as he looked between me and Karina, and I just chuckled, looking down to the floor.

“I already have him all to myself, no need to be eager about it too.” The forced smile on Karina’s face would’ve satisfied me, but now I wanted both her and the doctor gone from my sight. My heart was racing again and I couldn’t breathe well, the tremors of my hands would’ve made me spill my tea if I were to drink from it. Perhaps Matilda could accompany me around the gardens, I wished to become one with nature for the remainder of the day.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Harold.” Doctor Jeong bowed his head slightly before he let himself be dragged away by Karina, who sent me a glare that would’ve scared anyone else but me. I let them leave as I crumbled back onto the sofa, suddenly feeling faint. I couldn’t decide whether the doctor would pick my mind apart or not, and it was scarier that I had no idea how he’d do it.

            The air felt oppressive and thick, yet I could see the doctor’s motorcar approaching in the distance. Matilda had been kind enough to accompany me on my walk around the gardens, but she had rushed me back inside the tea room when my mother sent a butler to alert us that the doctor was fast approaching. Now, sitting on a chair by the open grand doors, I could see the dark clouds gathering around in the distance. It was as if they were trying to chase the doctor away, but he kept approaching until the motorcar's engine died down and his heavy footsteps echoed around the house. There was a knock at the door as my eyes watched a small white bird on a branch of a tree, my mind absent. The heavy footsteps approached further inside, and I turned my head to look up at the doctor.

“Hello, Miss Harold.” He said with an easy smile on his lips, holding his satchel bag in both hands. He didn’t wear a coat today, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. His nape was sweaty as the top buttons were unbuttoned. The heat had finally gotten to him, it could get rather cruel in this part of the county.

“Hello, Doctor Jeong.” The smile came easily to my face. Despite only meeting him yesterday, my heart wasn’t racing like before. Perhaps it was the absence of his leather tool bag and the fact that the man was so young and innocent-looking. Before we could proceed, however, there was a knock at the door.

“Doctor Jeong,” Karina’s unmistakable voice called out with a shake to it, “Would you like some tea before you start your…examination?”

“The heat is already killing me, but thank you.” He declined with a gentle flick of his wrist, yet Karina lingered in the doorway. She was only looking at the doctor, her favourite dress ironed out and tightly cinched at the waist. I turned in my seat and watched her with amusement. She wasn’t subtle at all.

“May I help you?” The doctor asked, sounding confused as Karina stood still and slightly jumped, looking down abashed.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then she finally departed, closing the door behind her as Doctor Jeong had asked. I slowly looked up at the handsome doctor, finding his eyes with ease as his spectacles were close to slipping off his nose again.

“Won’t you sit, Doctor?” I pointed towards the chair, which was placed a decent distance away from mine, just by the other door. The breeze had picked up into a strong wind now, it blew inside and rattled the sheer curtains. I welcomed it with closed eyes while the doctor settled in, the rustling of paper caught my attention as I slowly fluttered my eyes open once again. It was silent for a second as I looked at the doctor, who was already watching me. His pouty lips were parted and his ears seemed to be red. As my eyes travelled all over his fair skin, I noticed the glint of something silver underneath his white shirt. It appeared to be a necklace, and once he leaned forward to retrieve a pencil from his satchel bag, I spotted a silver cross hanging off it. He really was a believer, then.

“Did you want to sit here?” The doctor asked as he leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. I hummed, clasping my hands together in my lap as the tremors slightly subsided. My heart was at ease, it finally wasn’t frantic like during breakfast and my walk in the gardens.

“Yes, I find nature most beautiful during this time,” I answered the doctor, turning my head to gaze at the white hydrangeas. Their scent was so strong I could almost taste it in my mouth.

“So, you like storms, Miss Harold?” The doctor asked and I chuckled, turning my head away when there was lightning in the distance.

“No, doctor, I’m terrified of storms.” I smiled as the doctor paused, he was jotting down my words in his notebook, I came to realise. He quirked an eyebrow, so I continued, “My father died saving me after I had fallen off the ship, the storm was terrible.”

The doctor hummed, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he quickly noted what I had just said, “Are you afraid of water, then?”

“No,” I shook my head, our eyes meeting and staying locked as if we had been hypnotised by each other, “I’m only afraid of the destruction a storm can cause, even on land.”

“Have you seen many of those?”

“Yes, our neighbours’ barn was destroyed just last month, it was terrible.”

“Have you helped him?”

“As much as a woman can help, yes, I offered them my servants to help rebuild the barn.”

“Then you’re caring.”

“I suppose, if you say so, Doctor.”

“Do you not consider yourself a caring person, Miss Harold?” I smiled, watching the doctor’s expression even out as his pencil pressed a hole into the thin paper of his notebook.

“As a doctor, do you care for your patients?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious since I hadn’t met anyone like him. If he dissected the mind, he must care for his patients, no?

“Within the limitations of my oath and law, yes, I do care for them.” Then the doctor seemed to consider his next words, licking his lips as his eyes bore into mine. They were wide and dark, and it was easy to get lost in them, “All I wish is to do is find a cure for them, to see them walk free of their shackles.”

“Can you cure madness, Doctor Jeong?” My voice sounded small, almost afraid. The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed as he averted his eyes, messily scribbling something down in his notebook. As I peeked at it, I realised the alphabet I was familiar with blended with one I did not know. Perhaps it was his mother tongue, then.

“Every person has a trigger, Miss Harold, if I find yours, I can cure it.” Then, he bit his bottom lip, and the added words were silent, “If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched on, and I felt my heart race for the first time since I had seen the doctor today. It was unsettling, I felt my cheeks warm up. The redness from the doctor’s ears seemed to spread down towards his neck and chest, I wondered if his skin was as smooth as it looked at first glance. Then, without considering my next words, I let the truth slip past my chapped lips.

“I want to be free, sir, I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life.” I had been young when I was convicted. My fate could have been much worse, but the men my father had been once acquittanced with owed him one, so they came to my aid. My sentence was very generous, the judge deemed me mad and unfit to be locked up in a women’s penitentiary, and instead, I was bound to constant surveillance for the rest of my life. Even when I slept, Matilda was there with me. Or my mother when the maid was too tired to continue keeping watch.

The doctor wetted his lips again, leaning slightly forward in his seat. The pencil was clutched tightly between his long fingers, and his tone had dropped lower too, “I can rid you of your burden if you’re honest with me, Miss Harold, I can set you free. But for that, you have to tell me everything that happened and made you do what you did.”

“Why won’t you say it, Doctor? Have you not read the reports? I was the talk of the whole town, still am, actually.”

“Something isn’t right about the reports, have you been truthful in your testimony?”

“Wouldn’t I be breaching the law if I wasn’t?”

“People lie all the time, Miss Harold.”

“May God forgive me for my sins, then, Doctor Jeong.”

A vein in the doctor’s forehead bulged as his jawline strained, mouth open but no words leaving his pretty lips. He huffed, then leaned back in the chair, eyebrows furrowing deeply as he wrote messily in the notebook once again. I smiled as I watched him, his black hair fell into his eyes as he looked down. His spectacles threatened to slide down his nose altogether, and I itched to fix it for him.

“Let’s start at the beginning, then, shall we?” The doctor’s tone had turned uncharacteristically soft as if he was talking to a frightened child. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked up once again and I gulped, feeling unsettled under his sudden undivided attention. His left palm pressed into the side of his thigh, his fingers tapping his black slacks rhythmically. I gulped, then nodded.

“What would you like to know about me, Doctor Jeong?”

“Tell me about your childhood. Your likes and dislikes, who is most dear to you and why. Have you loved before? Do you feel lonely now? Just tell me everything that crosses your mind.”

He wanted to know everything about me. It felt unravelling, dangerous. He had said my secrets would remain with him, would he note them down in the language only he spoke? Or would he tell the committee right after he was finished with his examination? Taking a deep breath, I turned my head to gaze outside once again, my lungs deflating as I exhaled long and loud. The lightning was closer now, the little birds were nowhere to be seen. Something coiled in my guts as my father’s face flashed behind my eyes, his warm smile and his kind tone still so present in my mind. If he were still here, perhaps nothing would’ve happened. There would be no Karina and Mr. Brooks, I wouldn’t be condemned for life.

“Much like I am afraid of storms, Doctor Jeong, I’m afraid of solace. It hadn’t always been like this, while my father was alive, I had never felt alone for even a second. He’d take me to the woods on horseback, we’d pluck flowers for my mother and he’d teach me everything he knew about the fauna and the poisonous mushrooms. He’d read stories for me before bedtime, and he had even taught me how to read. He was my favourite person, now it’s my mother and Matilda. She’s a young maid, we had found her hiding in the stable last winter. She was almost frozen to death, I thought I might be giving her a second chance at life if I took her in as my personal maid. She doesn’t speak much and I can’t tell whether she hates me or not, but I know she loves it when I take her on walks in the garden. I think she’s a little bit like me. Out there, in nature, we can both pretend to be free, just two girls roaming between flowers and giggling about the future.” The doctor’s hand seemed to be moving with my words, it was as if he tried to capture and note down everything I said. For that sole reason, I didn’t speak quickly, I let the words settle both in his mind and on his paper.

“I suppose my childhood isn’t anything special, I come from an aristocratic family, you must imagine what it was like. I was raised to have good manners and bow in front of men, but not without having an opinion and a mouth to voice them with. My father had been a fair man, he and my mother had always made every decision together, so he raised me to find a man who sees me as his equal and his other half. There had been moments when I had rebelled, I think that is only normal, but I was never a moody or explosive child. You can ask my mother about that, she’ll tell you so too.” I said as the doctor nodded along to my words, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I took a deep breath and watched his face as I continued talking, “There was only one thing I loved as much as I loved my father, and it was ballet. But that, too, was taken away after I was admitted to the asylum. Ever since then, I haven’t touched my pointe shoes. I had even asked Matilda to hide them deep inside my closet, my heart breaks anytime I catch a glimpse of them.”

A lump formed in my throat just from speaking about it, I could feel tears in my eyes as I watched the tree branches move violently with the strong wind. The willow tree looked gorgeous in the wake of the storm, and I wished nothing but to step under it and close my eyes, let the wind destroy my bun and rip the fresh daisies out of my hair. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dark flashes of memories I had tried to forget so badly. The asylum was a cursed place, filled with evil people who only caused more harm. I hated it and everyone that was associated with it. I could feel the doctor’s eyes on me, and he gulped, inhaling sharply. I glanced at him, and he looked amazed for some reason.

“Can you tell me about the asylum, Miss Harold?” My muscles tensed despite the doctor’s soft tone, and my heart started racing painfully in my chest. I thought wringing my fingers tighter together would stop the tremors from worsening, but it didn’t. I felt lightheaded as my own shrill screams echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t speak. My bottom lip shook as I took a breath through my mouth, and shook my head frantically, “Alright, it’s alright, Miss Harold. We won’t speak of it, take deep breaths.”

The doctor leaned forward in his seat and I rigidly turned to face him, my eyes wide in fear as I waited for him to strike. Maybe his mask would finally slip, maybe the tools were hidden inside his satchel bag. The notebook, his scribbling, my stories…maybe they were all just distractions. And yet, the doctor’s eyes remained kind and ridden with worry as he seemed to breathe through his mouth as well, as if he was mirroring my actions. I closed my eyes as the first thunder shook the ground, and inhaled deeply, keeping the air in my lungs until I couldn’t no more. I released the shuddered breath and opened my eyes again, only to see the doctor gulp, loudly. His pupils were dilated and made his eyes seem completely black, his fair cheeks flushed deeply as his long fingers tightened around his pencil once again.

“Perhaps we should end the examination here, Doctor Jeong.” My voice was strained as I gulped around nothing, “The storm is here. You should head home before it worsens.”

As if nature had agreed with me, the air filled with electricity as lightning struck not far away, the thunder loud and following shortly after. Doctor Jeong’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, humming approvingly. He swiped his bottom lip with his thumb before he grabbed his satchel bag, adjusting his spectacles as they did slip off the slope of his nose. Thunder wracked the earth again as a colder breeze billowed past us, ruffling my dress and the hair that had fallen out of my bun. It also moved Doctor Jeong’s messy hair, jelled back and out of his eyes in an attempt to make him look classy. As the doctor stood, slipping the notebook inside his satchel bag too, I mirrored him, smoothing down my dress.

“I call what we do here sessions, Miss Harold, and not examination.” The smile was easy on his lips and I hummed, flinching when the wind slammed the grand door of the tea room against the wall. Perhaps it was time to close them, “I shall see you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Doctor Jeong, please take care on your way home.” My eyebrows furrowed in worry as Doctor Jeong nodded, opening his mouth to say something just as the door to the tea room was yanked open. The man in the doorway was unfamiliar, but he looked worried.

“Mr Jeong, we should go now if we don’t want to be stranded somewhere on the road during the storm.” He must be the doctor’s driver, then. My mother appeared behind the driver, looking as worried as if the doctor was her own child.

“We have guest rooms, Doctor, you could always stay.” My mother was a kind and loving woman, her intentions hardly questionable, “I would hate it if something were to happen to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harold, but I shall be on my way.” Doctor Jeong smiled widely, then faced me once again, and bowed his head much like yesterday. Perhaps it was their custom to take farewell like that, so, I bowed back to him. The doctor’s eyes widened for a second before his smile widened just slightly, and then he and his diver were gone, my mother’s expression was worried as she watched them leave from the front porch. Big droplets of water started falling from the dark clouds, and I quickly closed the grand doors as Matilda rushed inside to assist me. The rhythmic fall of the rain was a glaring reminder of my irregularly fast heartbeat.

The eyes were windows to one’s soul, or so Yunho had been taught. He had dealt with many cases during his practice period, and now as a certified psychiatrist, he had gained even more popularity in the West. He had no choice but to move at a young age, the world was an ever-changing place. He was young and curious, he wished to explore and find people that needed his expertise. But there was something so mesmerising about her eyes which left him unravelled and flustered like nothing else. Her words dripped with honey, and Yunho could swear he heard angels singing, accompanying her soft tone whenever she told stories. He was captivated. He ached to write down every single word she uttered, he felt desperate to pick apart her brain, to look inside it, to fix her. He was desperate to understand what had triggered her manic episode, he was desperate to tell the committee that she was innocent. But he was a doctor first and foremost, and his job forbade him from any personal attachment towards his patients. But whenever he looked into her icy blue eyes, the breeze brushing the fallen copper strands of her hair against her sun-kissed cheeks, he felt his very own soul stir and reach out in desperation to connect with hers, to possess it. She was a madwoman, and he was a man desperate to stay sane in her company.

            Another thing I completely wished to be free of was dinners, where I was forced to sit with my so-called happy family. The bags under Mr Brooks's eyes had been getting darker and darker lately, and the creases in his forehead were an obvious sign that something was worrying him. But it wasn’t my place to ask questions, so I continued to silently notice the small changes in his mood and behaviour. He had stopped pampering Karina, which was completely unheard of, and she was loud and clear with her complaints. She had wanted a silk nightgown just last week, but her father had denied her of it. He didn’t mention the cause, he only said she already has more than enough nightgowns. The clinking of silverware gave me something to focus on as my eyes were cast on the brussels sprouts on my plate, pushing around it as I didn’t enjoy their bitter taste. But Mrs Humphrey had cooked dinner with love, so I didn’t want to leave anything on my plate tonight. The silence around the table was broken as my mother grabbed her glass of wine, her kind eyes settling on me.

“Y/N, my dear, how are your examinations going?” I paused, feeling everyone’s eyes in the dining room on me. I gulped down the food I had in my mouth and tapped with a napkin at my lips, letting my hands fall in my lap as I hummed. Doctor Jeong’s words rang clearly in my mind, what we were doing was called sessions.

“They are called sessions, ‘ma, and they are going well,” I spoke gently, hoping she’d find my words reassuring. I knew she was constantly worrying about me, always fussing and around thinking I wouldn’t notice. I might be absent-minded a lot these days, but I’m mostly aware of my surroundings still. Mr Brooks nodded once, looking pleased as he wolfed down the steak Mrs Humphrey had made to be spicey, just like Mr Brooks liked it.

“That is lovely to hear,” My mother beamed at me, meanwhile Karina scoffed under her breath, “Do you find communication with the doctor difficult, perhaps? Or is everything clear between you two?”

Mr. Brooks nodded along, one eyebrow raised as he watched me curiously. I adjusted myself in my chair and plastered on a little smile, “Doctor Jeong is well-versed and rather attentive. He notes down everything I say in his notebook, and meanwhile, I have noticed he scribbles along in his mother tongue as well, I find no difficulties understanding him. He’s coherent and speaks English as if he was born around here.”

“That’s a very reassuring thing to hear, my dear.” Mr Brooks spoke up with a smile, the corners of his lips tugging up. Karina’s jawline was set tight as she let her fork clamper down loudly against her plate, her eyebrows raised mockingly.

“Why are we letting her spend time alone with that doctor, again? How is that helping her?” Her tone was high-pitched, filled with blatant jealousy that Mr Brooks and my mother remained oblivious to.

“Sweetheart, we’ve discussed this already,” Mr Brooks said with a tired sigh, giving his daughter a disapproving look, “Y/N needs a new medical approach, and Doctor Jeong is the best in this field. He came all the way here from South Korea when he was still just an apprentice. I’ve read up on him, he’s solved cases of mass hysteria and other mental issues no doctor could even come close to. Let’s not have this conversation again, Karina.”

Mr Brooks was mostly calling me insane to my face, but his words held no malice and I knew his intentions were pure. I couldn’t resent him for wanting to find a cure for me, something that could finally fix me. He had no obligation to look out for me like this, I wasn’t his daughter by blood, yet he had only treated me with kindness and understanding my whole life. He was a good man, perhaps a bit too absent from the household, but I could see in his eyes that he loved my mother dearly, and that was more than enough for me to accept him into our home. He couldn’t replace my father, but he filled the void that sometimes got too much.

“I think she just needs attention,” Karina hissed under her breath as she slammed her fist on the table, making the maids behind her jump, “What are you waiting for, stupid cunts?! My glass is empty!”

“Karina,” My mother muttered, her eyebrows pulled together as she gave her a displeased look while the poor maid scurried to fill Karina’s glass with wine, “A lady shouldn’t use such vulgar language, nonetheless in front of her elders.”

“Yeah, whatever Mrs Harold.” She scoffed as she glared at the maid, taking big gulps of her wine. I watched with distaste, catching Leia’s gaze for a split second. Her eyes were tear-filled and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from speaking up, it would only start an argument I didn’t have the mental capacity for right now. But Karina wasn’t done as her sharp gaze fell on me, her tone harsh when she spoke again, “I know you enjoy spending time with the doctor alone, it makes you fantasize, doesn’t it? You’re just playing with him like with everyone else around you, sister, aren’t you? How long do you reckon until you get him riled up enough to get underneath your skirts—”

“Karina!” Mr Brooks's voice was loud and stern, his eyes set on his daughter with disgust in them, “How dare you say such things to your sister? In front of me and her mother, nonetheless! You should be ashamed, is this who I raised you to be?!”

Karina chuckled, humourless, “Right, father, you didn’t raise me at all, perhaps that is why I am like this. Maybe you shouldn’t have admitted mother into an asylum because she didn’t know how to silence a crying baby, hm?”

The silence that settled over the table made my skin crawl. If anyone would’ve dropped a pin, everyone could’ve heard it in the dining room. I released a shaky breath, the tremors worsening as Mr Brooks seemed to be struggling with containing his rage in front of my mother. Her mouth was open and a hand pressed against it, eyes shaking with pain and incredulity as she looked between Karina and her second husband. I took a deep breath and pushed my chair back, grabbing my plate to try and stabilise myself, to stay in the present. Eyes fell on me, and before Leia could come to approach me, I shook my head with a small smile, “I’ll let Mrs Humphrey know she outdid herself once again, then I will be retreating for bed. Matilda will accompany me, sleep well tonight, mother.”

As I left the dining room, I heard Mr Brooks weakly whisper a good night, then Karina’s sobs as she raced up the stairs, slamming the door to her room loudly. The chatter and good mood died down the second the kitchen door swung open, Leia following inside after me. Mrs Humphrey looked concerned when she noticed me holding my plate and went to stand up and take it from me, but I quickly shook my head.

“No, stay seated, Mrs Humphrey, dinner is absolutely delicious.” I said with a smile, and the other servants and maids seemed to relax as well, “Would you mind…if I finished my dinner here, with you?”

“Oh, come here, my dear.” Mrs Humphrey’s frown was deep as she beckoned me over, making space for me between herself and our butler, Jesper. He was still a young boy, his eyes filled with a youthful spark, full of life and happiness. He offered me a small smile and placed mushrooms filled with cheese on my plate, knowing I loved them. I chuckled and thanked him, then looked over the table and realised I felt most comfortable when around these people. They were simple, they were happy, and they made the most of their days. They were free, away from society’s judgemental eyes, and they lacked the prejudice the other aristocrats hadn’t even tried to hide around me. I felt like I belonged at this table, and as the happy chatter picked up again and Jesper made small talk with me, with Carla eagerly interjecting sometimes, I could feel my tense muscles relax and the void in my chest disappear. For a little while only, while I was still at this table, enjoying my dinner with the people who looked at me as if I was just a human too.

            The doctor was quickly growing on me. I couldn’t trust him, not yet, it would be too soon. It’s been only a week since he started visiting me for our sessions, but I started believing that he wasn’t playing a character when around me. He was genuine, his eyes sparkled curiously with each question he asked, his frown was always worried and it downturned his pretty pouty lips, and when he smiled, something warm seemed to flood my chest. I could only compare it to the sun, for I have never felt such warmth when gazing upon a man before. Not even when suitors were lining up in front of our house, asking for a chance at marrying me. The doctor was considerate and kind, he hung on to my every word. It was his profession, I knew he was only doing his job, but I couldn’t help but imagine he was a man interested in me, his notebooks filled with poems and sketches of me. It was a far-fetched fantasy, but it managed to warm my cheeks anytime I dwelled on it.

I was out in the back garden as I found myself thinking about the doctor again, excited to see him today as well. We had left off at a rather culminating point of my story yesterday, I wondered if he was as eager as I was to hear the rest of it. Matilda wasn’t feeling well today, and as my mother was in town, Carla was the one supervising me. I didn’t mind the change, she was a chatty girl and easily kept me from detaching from reality. Here, in the garden, as I thumbed at the leaves of the flowers, Carla was still speaking about an encounter with a fairy. A supposed fairy as she believed in God and deemed the little creatures spawns of evil.

“Tell me, young miss, do you believe it was Satan sending those fairies my way?” Carla’s voice was full of wonder, “Have I done something bad to attract his attention to me?”

“I don’t believe so, Carla.” I answered her quietly, my eyes following a bee as it flew from flower to flower, “You go to church every Sunday.”

“Perhaps I should go from now on every Wednesday and Sunday, too.” Carla huffed, hands on her hips as she tried avoiding the bee that was flying towards her. I chuckled, straightening up. The scent of the hydrangeas was familiar as I closed my eyes, inhaling it deeply into my lungs so that they would stay there for a long time.

“I don’t believe fairies are inherently evil, Carla.” I mused as the breeze brushed upon my cheeks, already flushed from the great heat. My dress was thin and simple, I couldn’t wear pompous dresses during summertime, they were too hot. I would often feel lightheaded from the strong sun, the thick dresses would only make me faint. The white fabric was soft against my skin, and the white ribbons brushed against my nape as my hair was pulled into two small buns at the base of my neck. I could’ve performed on stage looking like this, but even so much as looking at my pointe shoes would’ve hurt my soul. I didn’t let the memories resurface despite the sudden melancholia that wished to break through my emotions, “Fairies are small creatures that protect nature, maybe you had done something they didn’t approve of. Did you disrespect their land, perhaps? Or did you step on a flower they had blessed before? Fairies are territorial beings, and they are also quite vengeful. But if you ask Father Leon to bless you after service, I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Carla.”

The scoff that followed my words wasn’t coming from Carla. I didn’t open my eyes as I became aware of heavier footsteps approaching, I had completely missed the engine of his motorcar. I felt Karina stop behind me, but I turned my head towards the sun, basking in it. I couldn’t touch the celestial without burning to a crisp, but perhaps the one it had sent to me in human form was really here to save me. A clear of throat made me blink my eyes open, and I turned to look over my shoulder.

“If you have nothing else but fairies to talk about, then I don’t see why Doctor Jeong should entertain your madness any longer.” Karina’s eyes narrowed at me, “You belong in an asylum, sister.”

I smiled, a little amused, as an ugly grimace appeared on Carla’s face upon Karina’s comment. The maid made to open her mouth, which would’ve landed her in trouble, but the doctor beat her to it, “Thank you for walking me here, Miss Brooks. But I’d like to be left alone with Miss Harold, now.”

“Right,” Karina muttered, shooting me a jealous stare, “She gets to have you all to herself, as always.”

Then, she turned around and raised her skirt above her ankles to storm off. Carla nodded her head and followed after Karina, not in a hurry so that the woman wouldn’t pick a fight with Carla as well. The doctor sighed, pushing his small glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking a little bit bewildered. Then, he looked at me and the crease from his forehead disappeared. I was already smiling at him, my hands behind my back to hide the bad tremors. I had felt faint all day, but the doctor was here finally and I could finally take my first breath of fresh air of the day. I couldn’t help but smile widely at him, and watch as the flush from his ears quickly travelled down to his chest. Even more buttons of his loose white shirt were undone, the silver cross sitting against his chest now glinting under the sunlight. His trousers were high-waisted and the shirt was tucked neatly into it, a leather belt pulled around his waist. And there, in his right hand, was something white. I tilted my head in wonder as I looked at it, curious about what it was. The doctor liked bringing small gifts, mostly silly, but memorable.

“Hello, Doctor Jeong,” I spoke up, and the doctor released a loud breath.

“Hello, Miss Harold.” His voice shook slightly, then his fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel bag, “Here, I have something for you.”

Then he extended his right hand out towards me, and my eyes widened in surprise. I could tell the ballerina was made out of a napkin, I hadn’t seen anything like it before. My hands shook despite trying to ease the tremors, and my fingers hesitantly curled around the present as our skin brushed together. The doctor’s cheeks flushed rapidly, and I found myself unable to look into his warm eyes. I wondered if it was the heat that made our hands so clammy. I looked at the ballerina in my hands, melancholy overtaking me once again. I longed to dance around in the garden, Mrs Humphrey and my mother as my audience now that my father was gone, but it only brought back bad memories. I was too faint to twirl around now, my legs weren’t as strong as they once used to be. I would fall even before doing my first pirouette, it was depressing.

“How are you feeling today, Miss Harold?”

“Faint, but it’s from the heat, Doctor Jeong.”

We stood unmoving, our eyes boring into each other’s. I didn’t want to move to the tea room just yet, perhaps I longed to sit under the willow tree. The doctor made no moves, and so I said nothing about heading for the house. We were in eyesight if anyone were to look through the kitchen window, and we weren’t doing anything wrong.

“Thank you for the gift, Doctor Jeong, did you make it yourself?” I asked with round eyes, unable to keep the smile off my lips. The doctor flushed darker and averted his eyes, thumbing at his wet bottom lip.

“Yes, I thought it would cheer you up. I hope I wasn’t wrong.” His tone was tender and just a little hesitant, the doctor was almost cute like this.

“It did cheer me up, sir, I was thinking about ballet just now.” I paused, and waited for the doctor to look up into my eyes, “It seems you can already read my mind, I wonder how you do that.”

The doctor smiled, his forehead exposed as his dark strands were brushed away from his eyes, “We are making progress, then, reading your mind isn’t as easy as one might think.”

“And why is that?” I asked curiously, fiddling with the napkin in my hands.

“Because it’s very complex, you like to speak in riddles, and you evade most of my questions.” Then the doctor chuckled and I bit my bottom lip, averting my eyes in embarrassment, “You’re cunning, but I’m good at catching all the little hidden messages.”

I grinned at the doctor’s words, my suspicions confirmed. I knew I could play around with him, he seemed like a very smart man. Hearing he could read between the lines was more than satisfying. My heart skipped a beat, but it didn’t start racing like before.

“Do you like hydrangeas, Doctor?”

“Their scent is too intense for my liking, but they are pretty flowers, Miss Harold.”

“They symbolise purity and gratitude, even vanity in some cases.”

“What do they mean in your case, then?”

“Gratitude, Doctor Jeong, towards you.” Our eyes met again as I looked away from the white flowers, a sudden calmness settling upon my racing thoughts, “I hope the end of my story will be satisfying to you.”

The doctor gulped, loudly, then motioned towards the house, “Would you like to continue inside? Did you remember something of importance, perhaps?”

“Can we sit under the willow tree?” I raised an eyebrow, “Mrs Humphrey can see us from the kitchen if that’s of worry to you.”

“Sure, if you’ll feel comfortable.” The doctor nodded, fishing for his notebook and pencil as I hummed, leading us down the pebbled path, the willow tree was just by the end of it. The territory the house resided on came with a small pond, I liked watching the still water while sitting by the trunk of the willow tree. The doctor followed after me quietly, and he watched me settle down into the green grass, dress splaying out around me. It had ridden slightly up, exposing my shins as I pulled them underneath myself. The doctor seemed to be frozen, eyes glued to where my legs had been just seconds ago. Then, he gulped loudly and settled down next to me. He sat a little closer compared to the usual distance between our chairs, but his presence was soothing. I smiled as I faced him, eyes falling on his long fingers as he got comfortable, opening his notebook to where we had left off yesterday.

“I don’t remember anything new, doctor, but we haven’t reached that part of the story yet.” I smiled, then turned my head to gaze out at the pond, “Would you like to hear what happens next?”

The doctor exhaled, “You told me this noble boy barged inside your house in the middle of the night? He must’ve been madly in love with you to do such a thing.”

I chuckled, eyes focusing on the dragonflies above the pond, “I suppose he was at one point, yes. But men are easily converted, I find love like my mother and father had once shared hard to find, doctor. Our love didn’t last long, but I’m getting ahead of myself. It was a cold spring evening and he had been visiting, drinking with Mr Brooks to ask for permission to marry me. My mother was present too, of course, but she couldn’t say much against Mr Brook’s words. In the end, the proposal was accepted and the man left, only to come barging inside hours later.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he was drunk, and because he had something to say.”

“Did you hear him out?”

I chuckled, facing the doctor. His eyes were wide as he was watching me, pencil pressing against the white paper, “Yes, I did hear him out, but his words made no sense. He said something about a lavished lifestyle and a farmhouse, and something about being happy together even in a later age, it was endearing but very inadequate.”

“So, what did you do, then?” The doctor wasn’t even writing down what I was saying, it made me chuckle. The corner of his lips lifted subconsciously, he looked amused too.

“Nothing, I just kicked him out and told him to come back when he’s sober. His drunken words meant nothing to me. I did not want to marry a man who made foolish confessions in an inebriated state of mind, besides, he was a gentleman. He should have known better than to barge inside a lady’s home well past midnight, no, Doctor Jeong?” I quirked an eyebrow, my question seemed to snap the doctor out of his staring. He cleared his throat and looked down at his notebook, pausing for a few seconds before he jotted something down. I couldn’t read it, it was in a foreign language.

“N-no—I mean, yes, Miss Harold. That was rather inappropriate of him, I must imagine the discomfort he had created for you.” He had barely finished his sentence when a giggle bubbled past my lips.

“On the contrary, Doctor Jeong.” I grinned, ducking my head down to hide my amusement as confusion crossed the doctor’s features, “It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Mrs Humphrey, my mother, and I had stayed up for hours giggling about it afterwards. We even made jokes about it and Mrs Humphrey let us drink her very secret brew that tastes like flowers but could knock out even a sailor with just two jugs. I have no idea what it is, but it’s very strong.”

The doctor’s eyes were filled with awe as I laughed, memories of easier times never failing to bring me in a good mood. It would’ve been easier like this, if things stayed put and if Karina wouldn’t have meddled with everything. I have faced hardships before, but having the person I considered my sister to betray me had stung like none other. In the end, neither one of us got what we wanted, just a lot of animosity and a tension-filled relationship. Sometimes I wanted to ask Karina if all of it was worth it, but I knew not to entertain an already greedy person.

“And how does this memory make you feel now?” Doctor Jeong’s tone was airy, and he wasn’t looking at me as he was scribbling in his notebook. I pondered for a second before I placed my hands on the grass, gripping it tightly between my fingers. Sometimes the tremors stopped when I grabbed something too hard.

“Bittersweet, but mostly happy. I’m grateful I was able to experience all of that at least once in my lifetime, others aren’t as lucky as I am. I am well aware of that.” The doctor nodded along as I spoke, but then he paused writing and looked at me with a frown.

“And when you think of that man? How does he make you feel, Miss Harold?” I gulped, not having expected that question. But it was easy to answer, I’ve pondered many times over this specific question, there wasn’t anything the doctor could surprise me with anymore. I smiled softly but knew the doctor could feel the shift in my mood.

“Mostly angry that I wasted years on that man when I could’ve found someone more decent, more loving.” Then I shrugged and watched as the doctor licked his lips, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, “Do you believe that God has everything planned for us, Doctor?”

“Mostly, yes, but we have enough free will to change the direction of our lives.” The doctor answered, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. I hummed, plucking the grass from the ground forcefully. My knuckles ached from how hard I had gripped onto it.

“You can’t run from what is meant for you, Doctor Jeong, we would’ve never met if I wouldn’t have gone mad.” But Doctor Jeong didn’t seem to be too convinced by my words. He chewed on his bottom lip, sweat rolling down between his pecks. I gulped, then averted my eyes from his exposed fair skin, and instead focused on his beautiful round brown eyes, “Are you glad we got to meet?”

The man’s eyes widened at my forward question, but I meant no harm nor did I have questionable reasons to ask such a thing. The doctor cleared his throat, playing with the pencil in his hands as he thought his answer over, “I’ll be glad once you are back to being yourself, until then, I cannot allow myself to feel any sort of satisfaction.”

“Don’t you think my madness is part of me, now?” I muttered, gazing off towards the house. The curtain in the kitchen moved, but I knew it wasn’t Mrs Humphrey. She was out in town with my mother at this hour. Doctor Jeong inhaled sharply, then closed his notebook loudly. The paper made a noisy sound, making me look over to him. The man looked aggravated as if my question had bothered him immensely, but I was merely curious about how he viewed me.

“Perhaps we should continue tomorrow, Miss Harold, and we must proceed with the story. The committee is pressing me with questions, they are very curious to hear the full story.” The doctor was avoiding my question, that was unusual. He stood, brushed the dirt off his trousers, then hastily grabbed his satchel bag and clumsily placed the notebook and his pencil inside.

“Thank you for indulging with me, Doctor Jeong.” I looked up at him, and had to shield my eyes from the sun, “I love sitting under the willow tree.”

“I will keep that in mind, Miss Harold, have a nice afternoon.” The doctor then bowed his head and I mirrored his actions, then he was rushing back towards the house, looking a little rigid. Karina stood in the doorway to the tea room, a tray filled with cookies and lemonade in her hands, but Doctor Jeong merely nodded at her and left the house in haste. Karina’s glare could be felt even from the distance, and I gently stood to head back inside, keeping the arrangement in mind. I wasn’t supposed to be unsupervised, I knew Carla would be in the laundry room if she had nothing else to do.

Yunho couldn’t sleep. He kept reading over and over his notes, all the small hidden messages making his head ache. His stomach growled in hunger, but he was physically unable to stand from his study and ask the housekeeper to prepare dinner for him. The girl was frail, she was soft-spoken but witty. She liked to keep him on his toes, and she was great at making him lose track of what was most important. He felt like he was making no progress, yet the committee kept pressing him for an answer. Father Louis was understanding enough not to ambush him with questions daily, but the rest of the officials weren’t. They wanted a diagnosis of Miss Harold already, they didn’t want to understand that Yunho couldn’t give his verdict in anything but a week. Building trust took time, getting to hear the unfiltered truth from someone who loved to play with her words took patience. Yunho was a patient person, but he wondered how long he had until he’d break. Whenever he closed his eyes, he felt as if she was watching him, standing over him, smiling at him. Her skin was sun-kissed and sometimes her cheeks were burnt from staying out in the sun for too long, but Yunho knew her skin would be soft. When he had twisted and turned his napkin into shapes, absentmindedly, he realised he had made a ballerina out of it. Thus, he had made his first mistake as a professional. He had allowed himself to sympathise with Miss Harold. He had allowed himself to notice her smile was brighter than the sun itself, and that she smelled an awful lot like those hydrangeas that Yunho was allergic to. And he had allowed himself to notice the tremors of her hands, making him yearn to hold her frail hands between his with the hopes of soothing her nerves. Yunho wondered if she yearned for him like she had yearned for her once lover.

            The clouds were almost black as they expanded over the horizon. The wind was too cold for us to keep the grand doors of the tea room open, so they remained closed as I sat on the soft sofa, gazing out through the glass. Matilda had left the curtains undrawn for me, and a few scented candles were lit to ease my muscles' tension. I couldn’t focus lately, these past three days my mood had quickly reclined. I know the doctor had noticed it too, but he didn’t prod more than it would be considered rude. I was reluctant to tell him the cause of my moroseness, he wasn’t here to listen to me weep about how unfairly Karina treated me. She had been ruthless these past three days. I knew she had a vendetta against me, but ever since the doctor started coming here, she had been progressively getting worse and worse. I could handle it until I couldn’t. If I ignored her and got lost in a deep spot in the back of my mind filled with happy memories, I would end up with a backhanded slap to my face. If I talked back and stood my ground, I would only fuel her fire, giving her power over me. Karina was clever, she knew when to strike. If my mother was around us, she was an angel. If the servants were watching, she’d be sharp and arrogant towards me. If Mr. Brooks was present, she didn’t bother hiding her disdain, but she wasn’t as straightforward as around the servants.

She didn’t hold back one bit if it was just the two of us. My eyes were lost on the gloomy visage, eyes tracking the swaying vines of the willow tree. It was even more beautiful in the eyes of the storm, I could’ve stared at it for hours on end. My mind was silent like this, absent of all the turbulent thoughts that shook me to my core and kept me up at night, when Matilda, poor girl, struggled to stay up and look over me. Just last night, she had fallen asleep, and I was grateful because I had a moment to myself where I could secretly slip away and walk through the gardens in hopes of clearing my mind. It wasn’t a smart decision, however, because I couldn’t remember anything after I stepped through the threshold of the house. I just know sometime later I was gasping for air as my arms were restricted and my throat was scratchy, Mr Brooks desperately trying to hold down my trashing body. My white nightgown was dirty with mud and the ends of it were dripping wet with pond water. It wasn’t foreign that I would lose consciousness if something lay heavily on my chest and gnawed at my thoughts, but it had been long since I had lost track of myself so deeply. Not since the incident, at least.

And Karina was enjoying it, her lips pulled into a nasty smirk as my mother cried by my side, asking Matilda and Leia to bring cold towels and help me clean up. Mr Brooks had looked tired as he gently helped me back to my room and tucked me into bed, his eyes pained and suffering as if I was blood-related to him. His expression made me feel guilty for worrying not just my mother, but also him. I felt terrible, yet I couldn’t control my mind or my body when these episodes happened. Even now, as I sat on the sofa waiting for the doctor to arrive, I felt lightheaded and on the brink of losing consciousness. My body felt light and heavy simultaneously, and I could feel my pulse in my neck. My lips felt chapped no matter how much tea I drank, and my throat was tight. I wanted to see the doctor, I needed to tell him why I had done what I had done. I had always been too afraid to confess the truth, not wanting to hurt my mother and break up the second family she cherished. But I also couldn’t continue living like this, not when Karina prayed for my downfall. Her harsh words from yesterday were still fresh in my mind, and I had to blink the tears away for a second.

“I know you’re just a whore, desperate to find another man to toy with.” She had spat with flushed cheeks, a cup filled halfway with wine in her hand, “Do you seriously think that doctor wants to touch you? You’re a deranged woman now, Y/N, nobody will want you. Not even Doctor Jeong Yunho, you whore. I won’t let you have him too, you always get what you want—but not this time, Y/N, mark my words.”

And just when I had thought she was done, she had marched up to me and grabbed me by the throat harshly, making me gasp, “If he doesn’t send you to an asylum, I will kill you myself, Y/N. You’re an abomination and a disgrace, even your own mother hates you, whore.”

The knock at the door startled me, I had been lost deep in thought. I turned my head and noticed Matilda giving me a small smile, “Young miss, the doctor is here to see you. Would you like me to prepare anything for you two?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I couldn’t tell why. Perhaps because I knew he’d take my mind off things, even if I was forced to relive the past I tried to bury deep down, sequences I couldn’t even remember anymore. Or, maybe, it was because I desperately wished to gaze upon his soft face, lose myself in his warm and round eyes peeking at me over his small spectacles. I couldn’t decide which was the reason, but I needed his presence to calm my turbulent mind and body finally.

“Thank you. I will welcome him inside, and you can take a break.” I stood up, hands balling into fists as nausea washed over me, “We won’t need anything, but I hope you get some sleep, Matilda. You’ve been watching over me for three days.”

“That is my duty, young miss.” Then she bowed her head before I could tell her she needed to take care of herself, and she took her leave. I smoothed down my long-sleeved dark blue dress now that the weather wasn’t as warm as days ago. I hadn’t pulled my hair into a bun today, even if it was not ladylike, I wished to feel my copper strands brushing against my cheeks when I moved my head. It shielded my face like a curtain if I didn’t want to be seen, I hoped Doctor Jeong wouldn’t mind.

Sucking in a deep breath and bracing myself, I left the tea room in search of the doctor, who should have been in the foyer, getting rid of his coat and dress shoes, but instead, he wasn’t there. I paused for a second to listen for his voice, and a smile pulled at my lips when I realised he was in the living room. Perhaps we could hold our session inside there today, I could play the piano and show him my favourite piece, if that, of course, was deemed fine by the doctor. As my fingers brushed against the wooden door, about to push it further open, I realised the doctor wasn’t alone. Karina’s sweet giggles flooded the room before she continued speaking.

“Surely, Doctor. I am pleased to hear you do not burn yourself out by coming here daily. I can only imagine how tiring it must be to listen to my sister, she’s rarely coherent. You must have noticed, given that you are a doctor, that she often has no idea where she is or who she is talking to. She tends to get lost in her own mind and blabber on about nonsense.” Karina then paused as my heart raced, my eyebrows furrowed in distaste, “She looks completely normal upon first glance, but it quickly becomes obvious she’s—well, she’s insane, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brooks, I cannot be discussing this with you.” Doctor Jeong’s voice was neutral, and cold, unlike the tone he used with me, “But as a licensed doctor, given that I am one, I can tell when her surroundings influence her mood, or why she is in a bad headspace.”

Karina scoffed, sounding a little offended, “Are you insinuating anything right now, Doctor Jeong? I don’t need a license to be able to tell that my sister is insane. How long until you realise she’s just trying to trap you here, twirl you up into her web of lies and fantasies? If you think you can help a mad person, Doctor, I fear you should seek help too. She’s beyond help, she’s desperate and pathetic, and as I have stated, she’s mad—”

“I am not mad!” Before I could stop myself, I let my anger take over me as I barged through the ajar room, “I am not insane, Karina, you’re always putting words in my mouth! Who has ruined everything I have ever had, huh?! You, you did, so don’t call me your sister. I am not your sister, and I will never be, you filthy skank!”

Karina gasped loudly, her hand flying up to her mouth. The doctor’s eyes had widened too, clearly taken aback by my outburst. I had been soft-spoken and kind in front of him, careful to not show anything he could incriminate me with in front of the committee. Karina had gotten what she wanted all this time, I suppose. Now, the doctor would make an early report that wasn’t favourable for me without even hearing the truth, or as much as I could remember of it. I gulped, feeling ashamed as tears filled my eyes, but I tried to keep myself from crying. Karina wailing like a banshee next to Doctor Jeong was more than humiliating enough to force me to keep myself in place.

“Enough,” The doctor snapped, his friendly and soft features morphing into something of anger and vexation. For a second, I thought it was directed towards me, but then he turned his head and his warm chocolate brown eyes fell on Karina, now sharp, “This is the last time I let you off the hook, Miss Brooks. If you don’t stop treating your sister so poorly, I will have to write you up on the board as the main suspect that causes Miss Harold’s turbulent manic episodes to occur, is that what you want? Do you wish to also be psychologically evaluated? I can do that, I can get one of my colleagues to come out here and question you, but you might be surprised to find yourself deemed insane too.”

Doctor Jeong’s words visibly shook Karina as she crumbled into an armchair, fingers sinking into her hair as she shook her head at the doctor, crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks pathetically. My heart was racing in my chest, the doctor was all I could see. His flushed cheeks from anger, his whitening knuckles around the strap of his satchel bag, his rapidly rising and falling chest—Jeong Yunho had stood up for me, taken my side. He was my doctor, he was supposed to look out for me, but he wasn’t obligated to protect me from claims that might be true. I didn’t feel insane, I never had, but Karina might still be right. Maybe I was a danger to society and Doctor Jeong hadn’t discovered why yet. It was only a matter of time until I exploded in his face, showing him my true colours. I had no idea what I was fully capable of, that part of my memory was still absent, but I could never forget the feeling of pure satisfaction and elation as I watched Karina lay on her back, gasping for air as blood trailed from her nose down to her mouth, chin, and then neck.

Doctor Jeong sighed loudly, his eyebrows furrowed as he licked his lips, shaking his head in almost disappointment at Karina. Then, he faced me and his features instantly softened. My heart raced again, and I hid my hands behind my back. Then, without many words, he came closer to me and nodded with his chin towards the stairs, “Would you mind if we skipped the tea room today, I’d like a more private setting.”

I gulped, feeling lightheaded once again, “No, the storm ruins the pretty visage either way.”

The doctor hummed as I turned around and took off towards the stairs, his strong footsteps loud behind me. My hands trembled as we ascended the creaky old stairs, my fingertips tracing the old railing. Doctor Jeong’s fingers were close to mine, tracing the same pattern as mine, so close yet so far away at the same time. I exhaled softly and tried to keep a clear head, but my nausea was getting worse as I led the way to my bedroom. My mother would’ve been outraged by the idea of leading a man inside my room, but this was the doctor, he was here to help. I couldn’t think of a more private room than my own bedroom, the heavy door closed and locked once we were inside. The doctor seemed to tense when he heard the lock, his back to me. I felt exposed, a little naked, now that the man was in my intimate space. There wasn’t much to my room except for a desk filled with books and poorly done sketches, and a vase filled with daisies and tulips. The doctor headed for my desk, meanwhile, I headed for my bed. The sheets were satin and silky as I lowered myself onto the edge of my bed, letting my hands sink into the fabric. With a questioning glance, the doctor turned my chair around to face me and sunk into it with a heavy sigh.

“I apologise.” My eyebrows rose in surprise as I tilted my head in question, “For letting your sister speak like that of you, I should have never let her go that far. I shouldn’t have even let her corner me like that and-and—it doesn’t matter. I understand if you need space after this, I might be able to convince the committee to give me a few more weeks.”

“She’s not my sister.” I whispered as I wrung my trembling fingers together, looking down in my lap, “Karina is not my blood sister, Doctor Jeong. I might have viewed her once as a sister, but not anymore.”

The doctor fumbled around for his notebook and pencil, which had gotten smaller from having sharpened it so often. The doctor’s eyebrows were furrowed as he pushed the spectacles up on the bridge of his perfect nose.

“Does this have to do anything with what happened on that day?” The doctor’s voice was gentle, understanding even. I bit my lower lip and nodded slowly, feeling my head swarm around uncontrollably. Would he know what to do with me if I were to pass out? He is a doctor, after all, but Matilda is the one who knows me best, perhaps I shouldn’t have locked the door.

“She-she really—hurt me that day, and I—” My throat felt dry as my lungs started heaving for air, “I don’t know—maybe I did want her to di-die—I can’t do this right now, Doctor Jeong, I’m sorry.”

Doctor Jeong’s bottom lip was between his teeth as he suddenly let his notebook rest on the desk behind him. He leaned forward, lowering his head as he tried to make eye contact with me. I gulped and kept my gaze focused on my tremor-ridden hands, “Listen to me, Miss Harold, we don’t have to talk about it today. I’m just here to chat, I can tell you are not feeling well. Your mother informed me through a letter that you had hurt yourself last night, may I know what happened? Can you tell me? I won’t even take notes, just this one time.”

I gulped, slowly raising my eyes to look up at the doctor. He wore a tight beige shirt today with a dark blue vest over it, his pants snugly fitting his long legs. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his fair and smooth skin, veins bulging through. The wristwatch on his left hand looked fancy, the leather a very dark blue to match his vest. Doctor Jeong’s dark hair was swept back once again, but it looked fluffier today. I itched to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, wanting to feel its softness for myself. I tensed my muscles before I could do anything stupid like that. The doctor’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and his tooth was leaving a small white dent in his bottom lip. Because he was leaning forward, there was less distance between us, but still respectable. Like between doctor and patient.

“I—” I chewed on my bottom lip before taking a deep breath, “I haven’t been feeling well lately, Doctor, so I couldn’t sleep last night. I went for a walk and…I don’t remember what I did or what happened. Sometimes I lose consciousness while I’m awake, it’s frightening. I woke up with a muddied nightgown and a cut on my arm, Matilda had patched me up though.”

“How often does this happen?”

“Not that often.”

“Do you have an idea what may cause it?

“Well, yes. I think it’s Karina, she’s been antagonising me for the past three days and I’m so tired of it all. I just disassociate when I see her approaching me now, I’m sorry.”

The doctor sighed, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. His spectacles had slipped lower once again, “Do not apologise, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just glad you’re alright, Miss Harold.”

“The thought of you visiting daily keeps me afloat, Doctor Jeong, I have something to look forward to now.” I smiled, widely, and the doctor’s eyes widened before he blinked rapidly, looking stunned. Afraid the moment of lightness would pass by before I could grasp it, I continued, “Would you mind telling me your story today? What it’s like where you are from? How you were as a child? Is that…is that unprofessional? Are we not allowed to speak about you, Doctor?”

Doctor Jeong’s gulp was loud, then he took a deep breath and slowly leaned back in his chair, his legs spreading wide. He looked conflicted for just one second, but upon a glance at my face, he gave in. I couldn’t help but beam at the doctor as he chuckled, taking his spectacles off to place them on the desk behind himself.

“Where should I even start?” He hummed, looking towards the window, lost in thought. He was gorgeous, and he was kind. I hadn’t met a man like him before, I wished to trace my fingers along his jawline, but Karina was right. I couldn’t be a whore, not with this man, “As a child I was energetic and always blabbering on about whatever was inside my mind. I liked to ask a lot of questions, but I was reprimanded often for being too curious. Life is…different in South Korea at this time, very much different compared to how things run here. I am lucky I managed to sail so far away, my family has made great sacrifices for me to end up here. I’m not even able to send them often letters, it’s too risky.”

“Why?”

“Because they are in hiding, our belief in God is frowned upon, Catholics aren’t safe there now.” To prove a point, Doctor Jeong grabbed the silver cross underneath his shirt and brought it forward, clutching it tightly in his hands, “I can bravely say it here despite the other religions that exist, nobody has tried to murder me for it, so far. Besides, I cannot tell whether they still live where we did before I managed to sneak onto a French ship and escape. The elite class isn’t like the one here, it’s falling apart and I cannot be sure that my family are still part of it today.”

My eyebrows furrowed as an ashen look crossed the doctor’s face, “Do you miss your home?”

“Yes and no,” The doctor answered truthfully, “I was young when I sailed here, I had nothing and no one until my foster father found me. He was a Dutchman, very kind but unforgiving. I got lucky because he was a doctor and I came here to study advanced medicine with the hopes of once returning home and spreading the word, but I cannot go back, not yet. They’d shun me away, shame me and possibly kill me. South Korea isn’t welcoming of strangers yet, and in their eyes, I’d be one too for leaving our homeland only to return with new doctrines. Even if it means saving hundreds of lives. Not that I work with the physical body, but everyone needs someone who can soothe their soul once in a while.”

“You’re beyond courageous, Doctor Jeong, I admire you.” I sounded breathless as I closely listened to the doctor, making sure no word he uttered slipped by my ears. I wanted to know more about him, who he was and why he chose to be here. I couldn’t imagine being on my own, out on the streets, away from my mother, “I promise not to waste your time here, I’m almost at the end of my story.”

“I know, Miss Harold,” Doctor Jeong smiled softly, “Rather an acquittance than your doctor, I’d like to tell you that I look forward to our sessions. You are easy to connect with, and you don’t make it hard for me to glimpse inside your mind. I cannot say I understand each choice you’ve made, but that’s the beauty of having free will and individual thoughts, it sets us apart and makes us unique.”

I couldn’t help but blush as I averted my gaze from his intense one, feeling shy all of a sudden. The doctor wasn’t calling me specifically unique, but the implication was there, and I couldn’t help myself but imagine, “What about your home? What was that like, Doctor Jeong? And your family?”

For a second, he was silent. It made me think I had offended him in some way, but then his eyebrows slightly furrowed and he looked serious, “Since I am not talking to you as your doctor, you should just call me Yunho, if I may…Y/N?”

Hearing my name fall from his lips had my heart racing and my breath shuddering. I gulped, feeling speechless for a second as my eyes bore into Doctor Jeong’s, wondering if the man knew what it meant to drop such drastic formalities. But I obliged because I wanted his name to roll off my own lips like mine had done on his, desperate to fortify this frail bond between the two of us, doctor and patient, “Right, of course…Yunho.”

Doctor Jeong’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, his gulp was loud. I watched redness coat his ears down to his neck, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests. He was still wearing the silver band around his middle finger, I wondered whose it was. Was it from someone back home? Or was it from his foster father?

“Right, Y/N, well my home certainly was smaller than your house, and also built with different architecture in mind. And people don’t wear these fancy suits at home, we have our own traditional clothes that we proudly wear. I still have the one I arrived in tucked away as a means to never forget where I come from.” Doctor Jeong—Yunho—smiled softly, eyes glazed over with memories as he spoke quietly, almost as if to himself, “I have a younger brother, he’s the loveliest. I didn’t want to leave him home, not even my father and mother, but we would’ve been discovered if we were to run away together. My mother sent me off sobbing, clutching me to her chest and wondering if we’d see each other ever again. My father was a stoic man, but he had cried too. He had enough faith in me and God to know I’d make it out alive and become what they sent me away for. I left a dear friend behind too, but he promised to follow me one day. I do not know if we’ll see each other, perhaps he’s wandering around on a completely different continent, but at least I have something of his with me.”

My eyes flickered towards the silver band Yunho was absentmindedly playing with, his lips set in a tight line. So, the ring was from someone he dearly loved and cherished, I wished I could reach out and pat his hand to offer him comfort. But Yunho’s solemn look switched into one of contentment as he looked at me again, “Our house was in a lovely neighbourhood, filled with silence and the chirping of birds each early morning. Our servants were few, so they lived with us, and they had quickly become part of the family too. I would play in the dirt with my brother when our mother was busy in the kitchen, overlooking the cooks while also helping out. Our father worked long hours but he always returned with fresh flowers for my mother and some sort of western delicacy nobody was allowed to know about. I would often take walks on the beach, if there’s anything I miss terribly, it’s the wide sea and the calmness it brought with itself.”

“I love sailing,” I muttered, tucking my hands underneath my thighs as I hummed, “Despite what’s happened to my father, I find solace in the sea. It silences my fears, much like taking walks in the garden does. I feel like I belong to nature, that I can easily become one with it.”

“Nature is a beautiful place,” Yunho hummed, swiping his thumb against his bottom lip, watching me closely, “You’d love exploring the world.”

I chuckled sadly, “I would, Yunho, but I’m forced to rot away in this house under the very eyes of my servants and family. I can’t even be left alone here, sometimes I want it all to stop. Tell me, have you travelled a lot?”

Yunho looked abashed as he shrugged one shoulder, “Enough to see all sorts of places, people, and cases. Not each one had a happy ending, but I had learned something from each of them, so it was worth it in the end.”

“I wish to see the world, Yunho. I don’t want to be caged in here anymore. Could you set me free—no, will you set me free, Yunho?”

“I—I’ll try, I really will, Y/N. If you tell me the truth, I can help you and write a promising report on your case. But you have to be transparent with me for that to happen.”

“What if they don’t agree with you? See me as unstable and a danger to society, what then? Will I require a caretaker still?”

“I’m afraid, yes. Perhaps you’ll have even more severe surveillance, I’m sorry. I truly promise to do my best, but you have to trust me.”

“And what if…what if you became my caretaker?”

The silence that followed my question felt heavy, it felt wrong. I shouldn’t have asked that, but I was desperate to know how far Doctor Jeong would go to prove I wasn’t insane. And perhaps, a hidden sadistic part of me wanted to know just what exactly the doctor would do for me, to me.

“That would imply you are very unstable, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing.” Doctor Jeong breathed out, reaching for his spectacles.

“But would you become my caretaker?” I whispered, gazing up into his eyes with yearning as the doctor abruptly stood, “I wish to see the world, the places you go to. I wish to see South Korea once you’re allowed to go back, Yunho. Would you take me with you?”

He was packing his things frantically, breathing through his mouth loudly, “I cannot tell, Miss Harold, it implies great responsibility to look over someone unstable. Given if you were the object of my desires, I wouldn’t even consider becoming your caretaker, but I’m your doctor and it’s inappropriate.”

“Isn’t it only inappropriate if you make it that?” I stood, facing the doctor before he could run off. He looked conflicted and angry, so I backed off, “My apologies, I have taken you for granted and stepped over our boundaries as doctor and patient. I hope I haven’t made you too uncomfortable, Doctor Jeong, that’s not what I wished to do. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I will be back tomorrow, and you must tell me what happened, Miss Harold.” With a nod of his head, the doctor was at my door, quickly unlocking it, but he didn’t twist the knob right away. He took a deep breath and released it with a whisper, “And I would become your caretaker, if I could.”

His footsteps echoed through the house just as lightning struck in the distance. I walked to the window and watched the doctor get onto the motorcar as his butler drove away, trying to avoid the storm. And then, just like that, the world started spinning as blackness threatened to coat my vision.

            My knuckles were bloody from having picked at the skin consistently since I was awake. The tremors from my hand have extended to my whole body, my head felt underwater. I couldn’t understand what was happening around me, but I jumped each time thunder rumbled the earth. I know I had been placed on a chair in front of the window in my bedroom, Matilda sitting in the corner with my mother regularly checking on me, but I couldn’t tell what was being said to me or done around me. I didn’t have an appetite this morning, and getting out of bed was harder than ever before. I knew something was wrong, that something had disturbed my peace of mind, but I had no idea what this sudden change in my mood meant. I tried to break through the veil of haziness and speak to Matilda, tell her that my head was throbbing and my joints ached from how wrung up my body was, but my lips formed no words. I tried using the breathing technique Mrs Humphrey had once taught me, but nothing was working. I wasn’t able to control my body, and it was only making me more anxious.

The door to my room opened, but I continued to look out the window absentmindedly, bracing myself for the loud rumble when lightning struck again. After the doctor left yesterday, it hadn’t stopped raining ever since. I knew he couldn’t make it today, but he was determined enough to push through the storm and visit me. Unless it was a serious issue that needed to be urgently taken care of, the doctor never cancelled our session. The thought of seeing him when I felt so unwell managed to calm my racing heart, but until he was actually standing in front of me and I could gaze into his deep eyes, I couldn’t help but take shallow breaths as my muscles tensed up even more.

“Look at you,” It was Karina’s voice unmistakably, “trembling and sweating like a dying child, aren’t you? Who are you acting for, hm? The doctor isn’t here, Y/N, no need to act all pitiful like this, nobody in this house cares about you.”

Her voice was crystal clear for some reason, it made my ears ring as I released a shuddering breath. My mind was so askew that I couldn’t even answer her, I just needed a warm embrace and a deep voice to whisper that everything was fine. Did nobody care about me? That was so depressing, it brought tears to my eyes.

“Besides, he’s not coming today.” I failed to inhale as Karina continued to speak, “He sent a letter to your mother that he couldn’t find a carriage in time, so he isn’t coming. How tragic, all this acting only for him to not witness it…”

The sound that left my mouth was quiet, but unmistakably a whimper. Matilda shifted in her armchair and cleared her throat. I could see Karina through the reflection of the window, she was smirking maliciously as she stared at the back of my head. She looked so pleased with herself, that it made tears stream down my cheeks. I wanted to say something, but the lump in my throat was getting tighter and tighter, I realised I had stopped breathing. Why wouldn’t Yunho come? Was he like Karina too, did he not care about me? Did he lie to me yesterday? Was I worth so little that he couldn’t take on being my caretaker? Why must this be my fate? Why must I be forced never to leave this estate, this house, trapped under the eyes of people who either hate me or pity me? I wanted to sob, but the more I tried to breathe, the quicker I realised dark spots had started appearing in my vision.

“I don’t know what you two do during your little sessions, but the committee has given him one more week before he has to make his final report,” Karina chuckled, I heard her coming closer, fingers gripping the back of my chair, “And then, he’ll be all mine. I already talked to my father and he considers Doctor Jeong a nice suitor, how exciting. You can’t have him, Y/N, and he won’t have you either. I see the way you look at him, you are pathetic.”

Karina’s warm breath fanned my ear and cheek as she whispered her last words, cackling like an evil witch in all those fairytales my mother had told me about. My mouth parted to inhale deeply, but the spots grew darker, becoming more.

“Miss Brooks, please,” I heard Matilda plead as she sprung up from her seat, “Leave young miss alone, she isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh, shut up, you silly goose!” Karina snapped at Matilda, throwing her a disgusted look, “You and everyone else who feeds into her delusions should be admitted to an asylum, get a grip! She’s fine, she just needs her daily dose of attention, stupid girl.”

Hearing the word asylum cracked something further inside me as I sprung up from my seat, eyes wide and body cold. I looked at where Matilda was standing, but all I could see was the face of the man who found great pleasure in cutting me open just to leave me bleeding and helpless. A scream tried to tear through my throat, but I lost my balance as I tumbled to the floor, fingers digging into the floorboards painfully. Someone shrieked as my stomach heaved, but there was nothing to empty. I could hear the man’s words, his tone unbearable and scratchy as he told me I was worthless and a whore, hungry for male attention ever since my father had died. It made my skin crawl, it made me feel dirty and disgusting as I tried to scrape at my arms.

“Mrs Harold!” I could hear the panicked screams, but I couldn’t tell where I was anymore. I felt caged and in danger, like someone was leering over my shoulder, waiting for me to pass out so I could be targeted. I whimpered when I felt hands on my back and tried to slap them away, but I was forcefully hauled up to my feet. A wail finally tore through my lips, and I started trashing around when I felt myself being lifted off the floor and carried somewhere.

“No! No, stop!” I screamed, my voice nothing but a screech as my nails sunk into whoever was carrying me, “Don’t take me back there! I haven’t done anything, please! No—no! I didn’t mean to—I don’t know—wait, no, please, I’m sorry, stop!”

My body sunk into something very soft and warm as fingertips pressed into my skin, forcefully prying my eyes wide open. My lungs heaved for air as I tried to get away from whoever was touching me, but I couldn’t, they were stronger. They were always stronger, I could never get away. They would never leave me alone, I was always their little experiment. They would cut me open as if I was a rat, they would ask me questions and whip me even if I told the truth, they liked to touch me and make me beg for them to stop…I wanted to die. I couldn’t do this anymore. Why would they torture me like this? Did my mother not love me? Had my father’s ghost abandoned me?

“Please.” I managed to whisper when my body finally froze up, all fight leaving it. My muscles and joints ached, my heart thumped wildly, and I couldn’t hear my thoughts anymore.

“My baby, please, stop.” A female voice pleaded above me, “Nobody is hurting you, tell me what’s wrong, baby. I’m here, your mother is here, please.”

How could my mother be here? The asylum didn’t let anyone visit us. My eyes burned when I opened them, but I couldn’t see well, they were filled with tears. There, looming above me stood the one man I yearned for. His eyes were kind and brown like the most expensive Swiss chocolate, his skin fair with a rosy flush to his cheeks that made him endearing, small spectacles slipping down the perfect slope of his petite nose. The doctor was here.

“Yunho, save me.” My voice was barely audible as I croaked out my words, but I noticed my mother’s eyes widening before I drifted off to the darkness that had come to claim my body. Here, nobody could hurt me.

But even in my dreams, the miscreants wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t tell where I was due to the darkness that enveloped me, but I felt frozen down to the bone. My summer dress did nothing to keep me warm, and the little friction to my arms only caused me to shiver more. I tried to call out to see if anyone was there with me, but my vocal cords wouldn’t even croak. My heart was racing and my eyes burned, I could tell I was in danger but I couldn’t see because of what. The impending doom I felt, however, said to me that I needed to run and that I needed to run now. So, I didn’t wait around as I grabbed the skirt of my dress and aimlessly took off, unable to see anything due to the permeating darkness. My feet hurt from all the little rocks that cut into it, and then something touched my cheek that made me cry out. It was warm, almost scorching hot against my frozen skin. There were whispers around me that I couldn’t make out, or understand even if I concentrated on them, but then one of them started making sense. It made more sense than the others, its timber familiar and warm, kind. Then, I could feel fingers tracing my left cheek, a calming hum easing my tense muscles until I could finally take a deep breath. It burned my lungs, it felt as if I was inhaling for the first time.

“Open your eyes, Miss Harold.” Then, just so that I only could hear it, the familiar voice whispered, “I’m here.”

A gasp tore through my lips as my eyes flew open, jolting me awake as I sat, frantically looking around. It was a lot darker in the room than the last time I was conscious, and the rain was hitting the roof of the house harder than before. Matilda, my mother, Mr Brooks, and Mrs Humphrey all stood at the foot of my bed, different emotions reigning on their faces. As I made eye contact with my mother, she let out a loud sob as she fell into Mr Brooks’ arms, and I felt my lower lip trembling. I hated seeing her in a state like that, worrying over me. Before I could cry too, my head was gently turned to the side until all I could see was the doctor. My mouth opened in shock as the doctor looked at me with sad, but worried, eyes, a wet rag clutched tightly in his other hand.

“Yunho.” My throat felt scratchy as I reached out incredulously, wondering whether I was just hallucinating. I noticed my bloody knuckles were bandaged now, ointment placed on the nightstand table next to my bed, “You are here? Really here?”

“Yes, Miss Harold.” He smiled gently, hesitantly letting me touch his jaw, “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” I said before I could mule over my answer. My stomach was aching and my head was thumping, “I don’t know what happened to me, Doctor, I cannot remember.”

“Don’t try to remember now, your body and mind are overwhelmed,” Doctor Jeong then gently guided me to lay down in my bed once again, “You need to relax, Miss Harold. You fainted, and Miss Matilda has told me you haven’t eaten all day long, that’s unhealthy.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt like a child being chastised by their parent for the first time, except that Doctor Jeong’s face didn’t look even a little bit angry like my mother’s had back then, “I thought I would throw up if I ate anything, still do.”

The doctor hummed, then slightly turned to look back at the others in the room, “Mrs Humphrey, can you bring me that tea I asked you to brew? It will greatly help Miss Harold right now.”

“It’s storming outside, why did you come?” My eyebrows furrowed as I watched the doctor’s serene face, his spectacles were missing and his hair was a wavy mess on top of his head. Looking further down, I realised he wasn’t wearing his fancy suit. Instead, the doctor wore a beige tunic with the strings undone, showing a silver of his collarbones and chest. His silver cross dangled between his pecks whenever he moved forward to check for my temperature, letting the cold rag ease the thumping of my head. The doctor’s boots were still on his feet and looked muddy, but nobody was paying attention to that as he sat on the edge of my bed, taking care of me.

“I’m a doctor, my duty is to ensure my patients are healthy and safe.” Then he glanced back at my mother and Mr Brooks, Matilda had left the room with Mrs Humphrey, “You scared everyone, you scared me, Miss Harold.”

“Thank you for coming, but what you did was unsafe, Doctor Jeong.” I gulped, eyebrows furrowing in worry, “How will you get back home?”

“He will sleep here tonight, sweetheart.” Mr Brooks answered for the doctor, looking just as worried as I felt, “Can’t let him go out in this bad weather, it’s risky. I will ask the maids to make dinner for you, Doctor Jeong. The guestroom is already being prepared, your butler can sleep with the rest of the servants, if that is alright.”

“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.” Doctor Jeong bowed his head, smiling at Mr Brooks, “I’m sorry to say this, but Miss Harold should rest now and the more of us are in the room, the bigger the risk of overwhelming her is.”

“Oh, of course.” My mother whispered, her eyes glossy again, “Rest, my dear.”

I hummed as I watched her and Mr Brooks leave, leaving me alone with Doctor Jeong as the door closed after the two exited the room. I sighed long, looking at the doctor as he removed the rag from my forehead to wring it in more cold water. We said nothing as he placed the rag back onto my forehead, gently removing wet hair strands from my cheeks. He sat close to my body, but his eyes avoided looking into mine. I gulped, trying to find the right words to say just as there was a knock at the door. Doctor Jeong told them to come in and Matilda came inside with a tray and a cup of tea. She offered me a sad smile as she placed the cup of tea on the nightstand.

“Get some rest tonight, Matilda.”

“But you are not feeling well, young miss.”

“This is an order, how long until you faint from exhaustion? Please, I won’t leave my bed tonight, you shouldn’t either.” The maid looked hesitant, but didn’t say anything other than a quiet ‘thank you’, and then she was out of my room, closing the door after herself.

“Someone should check on you tonight, though.” Doctor Jeong said quietly as he helped me sit up, puffing up the pillows behind my back. He grabbed the cup of tea and handed it to me. It was still hot, its scent herbal. My nose twitched as I took a whiff of it before tasting it, cringing away from it, “It tastes horrible, I know, but it’s very good for your health. Drink it.”

It tasted so bitter I thought I would throw up on the spot, but it was supposed to make me feel better, so I toughened up and drank it as quickly as possible. The doctor watched me as I placed the cup on the nightstand, looking a little amused. I wrung my fingers together and placed them in my lap, looking down at my hands. I felt guilty for having forced the doctor to come all this way in such bad weather, yet he was looking at me with kind eyes and a soft smile.

“How do you feel now?” He asked, turning his body more to face me.

“Slightly better, my head isn’t thumping as violently as before, thank you.” I answered, sinking back into the pillows and cushions, “I think—this could be a grave accusation, but what if Karina is the reason I am like this?”

I couldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes as I chewed on my bottom lip, my thoughts whirling around too quickly for me to comprehend them. The doctor froze for a second, then I saw a hand reach out, only to settle on the blanket next to my thigh. I could feel Doctor Jeong’s body heat through the blanket, I wished he had placed his hand over my thigh instead.

“Why do you think that, Miss Harold?”

“May I call you Yunho?”

“Of course, Y/N.”

For a second, I paused and looked up with a smile. Yunho was already looking at me with a small smile on his lips, and I huffed a little embarrassed. Seeing him dressed so casually was doing something weird to me, my heart raced from excitement as I felt shy all of a sudden.

“Just like on that day, she was saying bad things to me again, antagonising me. I know she hates me, but I get so angry around her that sometimes I can’t even form words.” I gulped, eyebrows slightly furrowing as Yunho’s fingers twitched next to my thigh, “I wasn’t feeling well all day, but then she started speaking and I just—she brought the asylum up and I was back there again, being terrorised and touched—I can’t talk about it, I’m sorry, Yunho.”

“Let’s not talk about it, then.” Yunho’s jaw was clenched as he licked his lips, his forehead creasing as he leaned slightly forward.

“I don’t remember anything after that, even her words are muddy.” I felt helpless as my eyes bore into Yunho’s understanding ones, “Matilda was there the whole time, you can ask her what happened, I’m sure she’ll tell you everything. She hates Karina as much as I do, she wouldn’t lie for her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Y/N.” Yunho nodded once, then tilted his head to the side. I gulped, feeling nervous for no reason, “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight? Are you feeling tired?”

I hummed, playing around with my fingers as I looked down at my lap again. Yunho’s fingers were tapping the blanket, his breaths audible but even, “I feel spent, and I know I will be able to sleep, but I’m…scared to fall asleep alone.”

“I understand, I’ll let Mrs Harold know. Perhaps she could keep you company.”

“Yunho?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?”

My voice was quiet as I glanced up at Yunho through my eyelashes, feeling my cheeks heat up. He looked taken aback, then something I couldn’t recognise crossed his features for a split second. He exhaled through his mouth and gulped, loudly. He hummed, deep in his chest, and flattened his palm against the blanket as he shuffled his feet around until his muddy boots hit the ground. I realigned my pillows and crawled a little further away on my bed, to make more space for Yunho as he made himself comfortable, still on the edge of it.

“But I cannot stay once you are sleeping, I’m sorry.”

“I know, it’s alright, Yunho.”

Our smiles were small but appreciative. Yunho nodded and chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes raking over my face as I watched his cheeks flush a deep shade of red. It wasn’t warm in my room, but I suppose the sheets could make him feel warm too. His hand balled into a fist, grabbing a tight hold of the blanket as I glanced down at it.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

“You too, Yunho.”

Every waking moment he spent thinking of her. Even in his dreams, she appears as a vixen, tempting Yunho to do unforgivable things. He knows he cannot, he’s her doctor and she’s a patient in desperate need of treatment. Yunho knows this, she isn’t his first case. He’s met people with manic episodes before, potential dissociative amnesia too, but something sets her apart from the rest. Yunho has never once in his life wanted to reach out and cradle one of his patients to his chest and tell them everything would be alright now that he was there. But when he saw her, so frail and generous, soft-spoken and kind, he couldn’t help but feel anger whenever she told him of Karina. Yunho had a feeling she wasn’t like that unprovoked, and the more he heard of Karina and her schemes against his patient, the more convinced he was that Karina had lied in the first place to get her into that asylum, far away from the safety of her home. Yunho knew what went down inside an asylum, he’s treated many mentally unstable patients before, straight inside those horror houses, and his blood boiled anytime he saw pain and terror strike upon her face whenever the asylum was mentioned. Yunho didn’t want to know, truth be told, what had happened to her there because he was sure he’d march up to that asylum and strangle every man who had hurt her. He was a doctor, his ego and fame protected him from making a mistake, but when she had led him inside her bedroom, Yunho was close to throwing it all out the window, quite literally. Her unique scent of hydrangeas had been so potent inside her bedroom, and her sitting daintily on the cushions of her queen-sized bed had his thoughts going haywire. Yunho wanted to touch her, not just tell her that she was safe and sound with him, but show her too. He was wanting and wanting, and he wondered if her story would have a happy ending. Could he save her from the madness they plastered over her head? Or would he dig her a bigger hole once the committee hears his verdict of her mental state? But what Yunho most importantly needed to sort out with himself, was the question that’s been mulling over in his head ever since she had uttered it. Would he be willing to become her caretaker? Just to keep her safe and away from Karina, of course, Yunho was a professional, above all. He told himself he didn’t have second intentions with her, but the more days passed by spent in her company, he couldn’t tell for sure anymore.

            Karina was right about one thing, the committee had given Doctor Jeong one more week to sort out everything. He was right, I couldn’t beat around the bush anymore, besides, we had gotten close in my story to that faithful day. Doctor Jeong knew this, I knew it too. Because he was afraid of overwhelming me again too soon, he had given me two days of bed rest before he’d return to resume our sessions. The two days had gone by and I was nervously waiting for him in the foyer. After the storm passed, the heat returned even stronger. I didn’t wish to stay in the house, it aggravated me anytime I glanced towards the stairs, Karina’s injured body lying by the foot of it too clear in my mind. The doctor’s patent motorcar was louder today than other days as it rolled to the front of the house, where he was welcomed by Mr Allen, the gardener. He was an elderly man who had grown fond of Doctor Jeong like many others in the household. Myself included, which would explain why my heart was beating uncontrollably once again, sweat brimming my eyebrows.

“Will you be alright?” Leia asked as she shuffled past behind me, fresh bedsheets in her arms, “I don’t think Matilda will survive one of your episodes.”

Leia had no mal-intentions, she was just honest down to a pulp. I chuckled, glancing at her as she had stopped in the doorway to the laundry room.

“I might not survive another episode, too.” Leia’s eyes widened guiltily, but I continued to smile, “If the doctor writes a good report about me, I’ll finally be out of your hair, Leia. Pray for it.”

“I don’t believe in God, young miss.”

“Don’t let Doctor Jeong know that.”

Speaking of the devil, his knuckles rasped against the sturdy front door as Leia grinned, disappearing inside the laundry room. I opened the door before the doctor could knock again, welcoming him with a bright smile on my face. He paused, looking taken aback.

“Good morning, Doctor Jeong.” I greeted him, stepping aside to let him walk inside.

“Good morning, Miss Harold, you seem to be doing fine.” He returned a small smile as he shrugged his blazer off, wearing another tunic but fancier this time. It was a deep green, paired with his brown trousers which made him look like he was a huntsman returning from a long hunt to his wife, jittery to have her in his arms. I gulped, feeling embarrassed by my thoughts when I realised, I had imagined myself as the wife Doctor Jeong would return home to. It was inappropriate, but the thought was intrusive and fast before I could stop it.

“Thank you for letting me rest, it has helped.” I hummed, raising a hand when the doctor went to step out of his polished shoes, “Do you mind if we sit underneath the willow tree today?”

“Not at all,” The doctor beamed, taking me off guard, “I was just about to suggest it, you know we cannot postpone today’s topic. Being in a place you love might bring comfort, I hope, at least.”

“You are thoughtful,” I smiled, then led the way towards the tea room, the grand doors were pulled open, letting inside the fresh warm breeze. Mr Allen was in the doorway, trimming the bushes, but he made way for us when he spotted us. I offered him an appreciative smile as he raised his hand in a silent greeting, a straw of wheat between his teeth as he tipped his hat towards Doctor Jeong. The doctor bowed back to him politely before we made our way down the gravel path, headed towards the willow tree. The warmth today made me feel hot despite the thin summer dress I wore, its sleeves short with a sweetheart neckline. It was a sage green, a pretty contrast against my copper curls. Without needing to ask, Matilda has made a daisy crown to wrap around my bun. I felt pretty and safe covered in my favourite things, sitting underneath the willow tree as frogs ribbited down by the pond, bees buzzing by. The doctor got ready as he opened his satchel bag, taking his notebook and new pencil out. As we sat, I noticed our thighs brushing together, the doctor’s now musky cologne invading my senses. When he placed his notebook on his left thigh, twisting his upper body to face mine, the pages of it brushed against my own thigh too.

“In our last session, you spoke about visiting your father’s grave with your mother. You made him a daisy crown since he loved the flowers just as much as you do, and then, when you returned home, your once lover was waiting for you in the foyer.” Doctor Jeong’s tone was gentle but impersonal, he was a professional after all, “You stopped after you said you were fighting and it got…violent? You must elaborate on that, did nobody hear it? Did nobody help?”

I sighed, picking at the grass, “It didn’t get violent in the sense of a physical altercation, but our words were harsh and unforgiving. He called me many names that day, he broke my heart, Doctor Jeong. I know you are curious about what was said, and because it leads up to what happened between Karina and me, I shall tell you.”

The doctor was jotting down my words in his notebook, his hand flying over the page. His bottom lip was between his teeth as he pushed at his spectacles with his other hand. He hummed and briefly glanced at me when I remained quiet for too long. I had to brace myself, so, I took a deep breath and gazed at the doctor instead of at the house, finding my nerves calmer if I gazed at his beautiful face, and his chocolate brown eyes whenever he held eye contact.

“Matthew, the man I had once loved, was my fiancé. He had asked for my hand while my father was still alive, our love story goes way back. We’ve grown up together due to our father’s being friends, and chancefully had fallen in love too. He was always sweet and loving, he respected me, and always heard me out. I suppose that is what attracted me to him most, I could see a glimpse of how my father treated my mother in him. But we had our ups and downs too, he was way too jealous and hated it when I spoke to other men, meanwhile, I had no problem if he had female friends. After my father died…it was hard for me to come to terms with it, I was sad every day for a very long time. I didn’t want to see anyone but my mother, not even Matthew. He knew I needed time, but he was getting impatient, he was bringing up marriage more often than not, but I wasn’t ready yet. I had just lost my father and the thought of not walking down the aisle with him by my side just hurt too much.” I paused and licked my lips, pulling my knees up to my chest as I felt the doctor shift and lean even closer, “And then as my mother and I healed together, she found Mr Brooks. It took them a while to settle down, paperwork and whatnot got in the way as well as people talking nasty behind their backs, but when I found out Mr Brooks had a daughter too, I felt hopeful. I thought I would finally find a true friend, someone to share everything with. Karina was lovely at first, very kind and funny, I could easily consider her my sister even if we weren’t related by blood. But then, one evening we went out to a pub where she finally met Matthew, and things just…changed.”

Doctor Jeong hummed, still writing as I let my eyes take in his focused expression. His forehead was creased slightly as he chewed on his bottom lip, his neck flushed from the heat. I had also shifted more into his space subconsciously, and I had to refrain from tracing his brows before sinking my fingers into his smooth-looking hair, “You see, it wasn’t Matthew who had changed, but Karina’s attitude towards me. She became snappy and rude, she didn’t make it obvious, but I knew she was looking down on me. She barely talked to me now when my mother and her father weren’t around, but she somehow always found time to ask about Matthew. At first, I thought nothing much of it, I figured she might’ve not liked him too much and was looking out for me in an obscure way, but then I found their letters. Mr Allen was bringing in the post and I told him I would sort them out, so when I saw Matthew’s letter, of course I had assumed it was for me…except, it hadn’t been. It was addressed to Karina, and there were all sort of weird questions about me as if whatever Karina had said before had upset him.”

“Has Karina been sending him letters behind your back?” Doctor Jeong looked confused as he looked up at me, his round eyes narrowed and void of kindness. When the doctor was this serious, he looked almost frightening. But I knew he was kind and caring underneath that mask, so I didn’t care. I hummed and nodded, absentmindedly picking at the scabs that had formed over my bruised knuckles.

“Yes, and she was lying to him, saying very ugly things about me. Still to this day, I don’t understand why she did all of that. Leia says she’s blinded by jealousy and wants to be better than me, but unless Karina says it, I don’t want to believe it. Anyways, I didn’t confront Karina right away, I hurried over to Matthew’s house to talk to him.” I huffed sadly, looking at the doctor again, “He was just about to mount his horse and leave for the city, but when he saw me, he knew we had to talk. It turns out, Karina has been lying about me for months now, saying I was seeing other men behind his back and somehow even made up some evidence of it. She had sent him handkerchiefs that had been my father’s, claiming they were of those I was—sleeping with. She even told him I was badmouthing him and that I was only marrying him out of pity, and because my father had made me promise I would marry someone richer than my family. But—it was all lies! I loved Matthew, I always have! I wanted to marry him and have a nice household, but Karina took it all away from me. What he said to me…it had hurt a lot, and it still does, so I won’t repeat his words, but he broke off our engagement and told me to never appear in front of his eyes. I had loved him, Yunho…”

My throat clenched as I took a shuddering breath, eyes filled with tears. Yunho had stopped writing and looked at me with pain in his eyes, bottom lip between his teeth, “I’m sorry, you deserved better.”

I hummed with a sad chuckle and quickly wiped my eyes before the tears could fall. This was it, this is what Yunho had been desperately wanting to hear for a month now. I lowered my legs and looked at Yunho with a neutral expression, making his eyes widen minutely, “I know, but it’s okay. If God is watching like everyone claims him to be, Karina will be punished, and so will Matthew. I was a mess after that conversation with Matthew, and I cried all the way back home. My chest was clenching and my heart was thumping wildly, I thought that was what heartbreak felt like, and I still believe so. When I stumbled through our front door, Karina was just…there. Waiting for me in the foyer with an amused smirk. She didn’t even feign innocence as she asked what happened, she could clearly see Matthew’s crumbled letter in my hand. I won’t deny it, I said some very ugly things to her. I didn’t even let her speak as I exploded on her, I’m still surprised the house staff didn’t try to stop me. I have said this in my report too, but I struck first, I slapped her and pushed her back when she started laughing. She was only doing it to make me even angrier, and it was working.”

My muscles tensed as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, keeping it in my lungs as Yunho’s jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on my face as I continued talking, “I needed space, so I backed away before I could do anything really hurtful. My head was thumping and my body was shaking, I felt like I was suffocating. Karina just continued laughing as I hurried to the stairs, wanting to lock myself in my room and cry myself to sleep. She was following after me, now cackling instead of laughing, and then she said something—something that I’ll never forget, ‘All that courting and playing around each other just to never even fuck him? Don’t worry, you’re not missing out on anything, sister, he’s not even good in bed.’ I saw red when I heard her say that, my thoughts were a mess and I didn’t even doubt the accuracy of her words. I just reacted, I know I slapped her again as I stopped on the stairs, but I couldn’t say anything as I was close to sobbing, so I just ran up the rest of the stairs, but she was still following after me. She was saying something, and I was screaming at her to shut up, but she wouldn’t. And I—I just really wanted her to shut up, to not look at me with those eyes and I just—I don’t know, Doctor, I don’t know. My whole body was shaking and I couldn’t see clearly, my head was aching and I couldn’t even hear anymore, I just—I just remember suddenly coming to myself again when there was a shrill screech. And then I remember Matilda looking at me with terror in her eyes as she called for Jesper and Mr Allen to come help, to call for a doctor.”

“In your report, you said—”

“I know what I said, Yunho, I said I turned around and gave her a backhanded slap, yanked on her hair and bashed her head against the wall before pushing her down the stairs.” Yunho’s eyes were shaking as our faces were close, “But I don’t remember doing any of those, the lawyer told me to say that to protect myself from a serious accusation. Matilda lied for me, and so did Mr Allen. In the end, Mr Brooks paid the judge and I was simply classified as insane, the case was swept under the rug and I’ve been forced to live like this ever since.”

“I knew there was something wrong with that report,” Yunho muttered under his breath, “But why did you lie?”

“I was young and scared,” I sighed, my eyes searching Yunho’s face for any judgment, but it wasn’t there, “I thought they would lock me up if I didn’t make up a story. But in the end, I was locked up in my own house for six years, a prison still, just different. I fainted in the court too, I don’t remember much from there either.”

Yunho looked troubled as his eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his bottom lip thoroughly chewed on, and his spectacles pushed up on his nose. With his free hand, he reached forward, but stopped just before his fingertips could touch my hand and instead balled it up into a fist and lowered it back into his lap. His jaw clenched as he gulped, shaking his head as he looked down at his notebook.

“I have a scar on my abdomen,” I whispered, hand pressing against my covered stomach, “from having fallen over and cutting myself, do you believe me, Doctor?”

When Yunho’s jaw just clenched and he didn’t look at me, I gulped nervously and reached towards my sleeves to pull them off, to let the dress pool at my waist, but one fleeting glance at me had Yunho reaching forward with a panic-ridden face, his eyes widening, “Stop, what are you doing? I believe you, Y/N, I do.”

His hands were big and warm, wrapped completely around mine as the sleeve of my dress swiftly slipped off my left shoulder. His thumb rubbed my bruised knuckles, and despite the sting, I welcomed the affectionate gesture as it covered my arms in goosebumps. I released a long breath, my eyes boring into Yunho’s. His eyes were easy to read, he looked conflicted and confused. I had no idea if he believed me, but I wanted him to. Hurting Karina was wrong, but she deserved it, and I was glad I managed to make her hurt at least once compared to how many times she had hurt me. But I remained silent as Yunho leaned even closer, our faces a breath away from each other. He gulped, loudly, then frowned. As I opened my mouth, he looked alarmed and scrambled backwards, letting my hands drop into my lap as he gasped, grabbing for his things frantically. I didn’t understand what was happening, but when I tried to help, he just pushed my hand away. My heart hammered in my chest nervously as sweat rolled down my temples, and I stood so quickly I got whiplash. Doctor Jeong was just about to take off towards the house when a desperate question left my lips.

“Will you save me, Doctor Jeong?” My voice was trembling just as much as Yunho’s hands, “Will you become my caretaker and take me away with you, will you?”

My questions went unanswered as Yunho ran off, not even bothering to go inside the house as he followed the cobbled path to the front of the house. The engine of his motorcar was loud as I slumped back against the tree with a dizzy head.

             The committee was more eager than I had thought at first to wrap this whole thing up. Just two days after my last encounter with the doctor, a letter came at an early morning hour that the verdict would be given today. I was nervous, but I braced myself for the worst possible ending, which would be me being sent back to the asylum. I doubted I would survive that once again, so I could only hope the doctor had taken pity on me and would be generous in his report. My mother had been buzzing around the house all morning, making sure everything was perfect for the arrival of the committee. Cookies had been baked, fresh tea was brewed, the ground floor aired out with every corner dusted off, and the tea room was decorated with vases of freshly picked flowers. The grand doors were opened, creating a serene surrounding as I sat on the sofa by myself. Nobody was inside the room except for me, something which was rare. I gaze forward, at the visage, trying to commit it to memory. I wondered if I would get to see it tomorrow too.

Matilda had dressed me in a dainty white dress to feign innocence, with my hair pulled in a low bun, and daisies hanging out of it. It felt as if the ghost of my father was here to cheer me on, to offer me some braveness before everything would unfold. And it would, way too soon. There were loud knocks against the front door before it was opened, and six people piled inside our foyer. My mother and Karina quickly walked inside the room with my mother sitting next to me, meanwhile, Karina took her spot in her favourite armchair. The image was eerily similar to the first day the doctor had arrived, it made my heart race. The rest of my future was in the hands of another man, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew what I had done to Karina was wrong, but a small part of me knew that she had deserved it. My muscles tensed when Mr Brooks’ voice carried inside the tea room as he led the committee and Doctor Jeong inside. My jaw clenched and my hands balled into fists as they each walked in, eyes on me as I remained unmoving.

The committee consisted of the town mayor, the judge who had handled my case, the town’s richest married couple, and Father Louis, the head of our church. My stomach churned as the familiar faces sat down surrounding me, leaving space for Doctor Jeong at the front. Mr Brook sat next to my mother and held her hand, making my mother sigh loudly. I didn’t want to look at anyone, I was afraid to see what they hid in their eyes. The doctor seemed tense as he rolled his shoulders a few times, then cleared his throat and accepted the tea from Mrs Humphrey, who had insisted on staying in the room, in the back where she didn’t bother anyone. I couldn’t focus on anyone else but the doctor as he finally seemed like he was ready to speak up. He faced the room and his eyes took in everyone, staying on me for a second too long. I could see Karina sneer from my peripheral vision, but I didn’t care. I was just as curious to hear what Doctor Jeong had to say as the committee.

“Dear committee, Mr and Miss Brooks, Mrs and Miss Harold, and of course, Mrs Humphrey,” Doctor Jeong bowed his head lightly, “Thank you for coming, and I’d like to thank the committee for entrusting me with this intricate and peculiar case. I must say before I begin, that I have encountered cases like Miss Harold’s before, but neither one has been as complex as hers. I trust my personal judgement and everything I have learned up until this point, that my verdict is the right choice, and that if the committee sees it fit as well, it shall proceed with Miss Harold’s sentence accordingly.”

Doctor Jeong’s fingers were wrung together in front of him, his dark blue suit was perfect. He looked dashingly handsome with his wavy hair falling all over his forehead and into his eyes, his spectacles perched into the pocket of his vest. His warm eyes found mine for a second before he looked around the room again, nodding to himself. He took a deep breath and continued his speech, starting to pace around the front of the room. Him standing in front of the garden and the path that led to the willow tree was dreamy, “We all know that Miss Harold had lost her father when she was young, which would be hard news to swallow for a person at any age. I assume that his early death left Miss Harold traumatised in a way that could go unnoticed unless looked upon by a professional, which didn’t happen. Her stress and repressed pain had accumulated, waiting for a small spark to ignite the explosion, which did happen as we all know it. I spent a month daily by Miss Harold’s side, listening to stories of her childhood, and her adulthood, all leading up to the moment we’ve all been curious about. During my time studying her, I’ve come to observe that she is a very kind soul, attentive, and a generous person. She is soft-spoken and very sensitive to everything that happens around her, it is rather hard for me to imagine she could even as much as hurt a fly.”

I gulped, feeling my heart hammer in my chest as Yunho spoke with much conviction, his eyebrows furrowed as he stopped moving around, his eyes settling on Father Louis, “Her mental state, however, fluctuates a lot based on her surroundings, she easily reacts to the change of weather and the change of mood of a person. People like Miss Harold aren’t only in touch with their peers, but with nature as well, as insane as that might sound, it’s a rather special attribute to have. She’s had bad days during our sessions, and I had the chance to further observe the cause of this. As a psychiatrist, I do not enjoy lightly throwing out diagnoses, but I have to ensure the health of my patients. Miss Harold suffers from manic episodes that get triggered by certain words, environmental changes, and people. In Miss Harold’s stories, I have found one person who seemed to be always around her when these episodes happened, making me confident in my theory that she is Miss Harold’s trigger.”

The people in the room gasped as they looked around. My heart was hammering, I could feel my pulse in my throat, but I couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Karina’s eyes were wide and her knuckles white as she gripped the armrest of the armchair, fear painting her face. It felt satisfying looking at her, and if I hadn’t known the doctor better, I would’ve missed the satisfied smirk on his lips there for a millisecond, “If this wasn’t about the health of Miss Harold, I wouldn’t be throwing out names so unabashedly, but this is to ensure her safety and health. Miss Brooks seems to like to pick on Miss Harold whenever she gets the chance, and she likes provoking her sister. Before anyone could deny my claim, I was witness to such a thing happening, Miss Brooks herself has said some very rude things about Miss Harold that no lady should utter, less about their sister, even if not related by blood. That being said, I cannot throw all the blame on Miss Brooks since Miss Harold is traumatised and doesn’t know how to handle it, or how to control her outbursts.”

Then, as if there was nobody else in the room with us, Doctor Jeong’s eyes found mine, his expression softening. Karina had started crying next to me, but I couldn’t care less as my mother was glaring at her, the committee didn’t look very pleased either.

“What she said in her report…” Doctor Jeong loosened his necktie a little, licking his lips, “Turns out to be true. In a fit of rage, she disassociated and acted upon instinct. I do not know if she had told anyone, but Miss Brooks had come between Miss Harold and her fiancé, breaking off their marriage. As someone who had been in love once, much like all of you in this room, I’d like to assume, we all know what it means to experience our first heartbreak. For someone who had grown up with this boy, loved him with their whole heart, and was supposed to grow old with them, to hear their engagement was broken off based on some lies made up by Miss Brooks not too soon after Miss Harold’s has lost her father must’ve been devastating. Thus, the trauma she had experienced before due to her father’s untimely death combined with another tragedy has made Miss Harold’s mind break, lose its bearings, making her unable to tell right from wrong.”

I couldn’t breathe as my eyes bore into Yunho’s, filling with tears. I had expected him to go against me for having lied in my report, or to try and go around the topic without bringing it up much, but no, he was actively lying for me and keeping up the image that I had a lapse of judgement all this time. My mother’s hand found mine as she squeezed it reassuringly, tears streaming down her cheeks. I glanced at her fleetingly, my body buzzing with life as my hands trembled. I wanted to see the faces of the committee members, but Yunho was all I could look at. There was a heavy sigh in the room, it could’ve come from Mr Brooks or someone else, I couldn’t tell.

“I’m very close to giving my verdict, so allow me to say this before that,” Yunho smiled softly, looking towards the committee with a gentle look on his face, but with a steely look in his eyes, “Miss Harold’s is a human like all of us in this room, and she is allowed to make mistakes. She’s been punished for her mistakes, probably unfairly, and we mustn’t make the same mistake again. I have concluded, that Miss Harold needs an environmental change for her to fully heal. This house no longer feels homey to her, she feels caged in and watched all the time, plus now you all know that Miss Brooks won’t leave her alone either. As a verdict, I have concluded that if the committee and her mother agree, Miss Harold could be assigned a new caretaker. And…before you make suggestions as to who could fit this role best, I would like you all to consider me as her new caretaker for the next year. I am a doctor, I know what to do and how to act in case she is having another episode. I will be leaving the country in a month to return to France, where my foster father has requested my presence. The environmental change would benefit Miss Harold greatly, that is, if you trust me, of course.”

I felt close to fainting by the time Yunho had stopped talking. Him, Doctor Jeong Yunho, my new caretaker? Could that be possible? Would the committee even let it happen? I had no idea, but I wanted to fall in his arms and sob as I thanked him for his effort, for listening to me, for trying to save me from this place. The committee erupted in whispered mutters amongst themselves, but Father Louis seemed more than pleased with Yunho. His brows were sweaty as he dabbed at them with the back of his wrist, his arms covered with the sleeves despite the heat. My mother wasn’t moving next to me, and Mr Brooks had turned his body away from Karina, who was trying to catch her father’s gaze insistently. Then, there was a tsk as the judge rose to his feet, all eyes falling on him.

“Thank you. Doctor Jeong, for your in-depth analysis and for the tabs and reports you’ve been keeping on Miss Harold this month, we appreciate it.” He rubbed at his chin, his hair already silver from age, “We have selected you, Doctor, to treat this delicate case because we have heard of your expertise. You have never once failed to treat your patients accordingly, and I find no reason to doubt your verdict, however, wouldn’t it be risky to take Miss Harold away from here? Couldn’t that trigger her madness even more? And if Mrs Harold won’t agree, she cannot go. Either way, we cannot let her go unless you promise to report back to us monthly, Doctor Jeong, and once the one year is up, you must return her home. She shall be reevaluated, then her fate will be decided for the future.”

When Yunho and my eyes met again, I knew my fate had been sealed. France, a new beginning by his side, sounded like a far-fetched dream that was now within my reach.

Yunho was a professional, except when it came to her. The lines had blurred long ago, he couldn’t tell who was the doctor and who was the patient when it came to her. All Yunho knew was that he could never let her go, not when she clung to him as if her life depended on him. Her lips tasted like honey and her moans were the prettiest music he had ever had the chance to hear, her skin soft and warm and her body so pliant underneath his. All it took was one touch from her for his whole being to crumble, he felt drunk on her, insatiable. Yunho knew he couldn’t let her return home, not now that he’d found Mingi too, not when the three of them were living in a tucked away village in a homey cottage, away from prying eyes. Yunho finally had what he’d been yearning for his whole life. His family was back, right within his reach, and even when he missed his home, he’d gaze upon Mingi and her, and realise that his home was here with them. And she was sweet like nectar, Yunho’s guilty pleasure that he just couldn’t get rid of—didn’t want to get rid of. He was a bad man for preying upon the innocent and unassuming ones, but may God forgive him for his sins, he was just a man after all. He knew he was bound to become insane like his patients one day, but Yunho was already a madman for her, and he didn’t care. Profession be damned, only the four walls of their cottage would truly know the truth, much like her amnesiac brain that had no desire to return to a land and home that’s treated her so horribly once. Here, Yunho was a complete man and he had wowed to protect what was his…no matter what it took. Mingi and her were staying there with him, forever.

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[dontbesoweirdkira]

Hi! I love your interpretation of the yan batfam so much bdnfbfkjfnd I was wonderong how you think Dick and/or Jason would react to a rather compassionate batsis?

She's definitely not on board with their obsession but she can understand where their coming from and gives them like ACTUAL compassion.

Ik you said Dick enjoys having a positive image in front of others most of all his younger sister, so how would he react to her seeing his flaws but still, being kind? Jason strives to be "normal", so much so he spirals sometimes, but like what would knowing/experiencing genuine closeness (not pity or false pretenses) change?

Idk if either of them would redeem their bad habits, but am curious to know what being truly seen and accepted would do to them, especially by someone they care about so much. The bats can have their walls pretty high up after all

A/N: sorry about the late responses. I've been out of it the past few days.

context dick context jay

Okay so when you are dealing with yanderes... you are dealing with extremely unstable people. There are so many ways thus could go but here's just one

Dick

Maybe your compassion makes Dick chill out a bit with his unhealthy tendencies. I think initially he'd still be uncomfortable and bothered that you can see right through him. You can see all his flaws and you don't revere him like the others which is bad. It will still anger him and he'll try manipulating you into loving him like everyone does at first.

A heart to heart with him could work. You acknowledge you know he's crumbling and has really horrible coping mechanisms but that doesn't mean that you don't love him. That you respect him even more because you see just how much passion he puts into everything that he does. It isn't his fault he craves so much validation when he had the upbringing he had but he doesn't have to pretend to be someone he's not to please you. That even if he doesn't smile as much or be selfish sometimes that you won't love him any less. You give him a space to be authentic with you with no judgment.

"erm,,,okay. I'll keep that in mind."

He's a bit taken back by it and doesn't know how to exactly process what you just said. I've mentioned before that he doesn't exactly know how to just be himself because for most of his life he was always being someone that others needed.

He's still on guard for a while. He will dip his toes in the waters by maybe not smiling as much with you or rescheduling your hang out session to go out on a date just to see your reaction. Did you truly mean it when you said he was allowed to be selfish? He was fully expecting you to hate him but seeing just how unbothered you were made him go...oh!

I think this shifts his obsession with you. He's still very much yandere but i think he's much more child-like ? I mean Dick still is obsessed with you and all that jazz but before, he wanted to be the best older brother/father figure. His happiness was dependent on how much you needed and revered him. But now you're becoming his safety blanket for when he's stressed, tired or upset. WIth you he can just lay on your shoulders without speaking and you won't even mind. He can be kind of assholey or dark and you will understand he's just in a mood and what he says never leaves the two of you. You won't take away your compassion or love based on how he acts...the first non-transactional relationship he's ever truly and it's pretty great. He finally feels like a brother and not like he's playing house anymore.

Don't get me wrong, he's still your older brother who gets on your nerves but there's just this mutual appreciation there that lacks with the others.It's clear to the others that he loves you just a bit more than the rest. When it's movie/game nights, he will allow you to sit it out or not tag along to restaurants. He's very protective and defensive over you. He doesn't feel as much of a need to do all that stupid crap with you because if he wanted your time, he could have a peaceful moment on the rooftops with you instead.

Jason

Hmm..i think Jason will just always feel a bit outcasted. There are plenty of people who do care about Jason in the comics but it's hard to relate to someone who's been through what he's been. It's just so unique to him. He knows you don't truly understand what it's like to have spirits of the Lazarus haunting you in your sleep. He knows that you cannot feel the pain of being replaced by someone you're now forced to see as a brother.

When i wrote my last piece a few people took it as me saying the reader found Jason to be odd. Really what it was is that Jason put those thoughts into his own head because he internalized the joke because of his own insecurities. The reader was perfectly fine with Jason being a little off...it made sense as he would've just come back from being dead and is trying to find a bit of normalcy.

It's funny though because while he's trying to be "independent" it's painfully clear he's still very much attached to you and is still unknowingly mimicking you.

I think though if reader sat down with Jason and explained he doesn't need to change or be "normal" because you love him the way he is, maybe he will relax a bit. But i think there would always be voices in Jason's ears telling him he needs to be perfect. My version of jason is around 20-ish year old who is a bit emotionally stunted and disoriented because he's just coming out of the pit. After a few years of being integrated back into the family he'll understand that you actually do love him as a brother and he serves a great purpose even if that purpose doesn't look the same as Dick's.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

" Dinner Party "

Part 1

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Potter!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: The Potters throw a dinner party; Mattheo meets the family}

Wc- 4142

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Harry is a bit of an arse, cussing, sexual themes cussing, just a bunch of fluff and yearning}

Taglist- @helendeath @2dloveshp @hatakemrs

“Well.” Lily spoke slowly. “Look at us now.” 

Lily looked over at you just in time for you to glance up and meet her eyes. She smiled sweetly before she continued. “I think its sweet.”

…

The tension in the room was slowly beginning to ease. You couldn't help but feel a bit of hope grab hold of your chest. Your eyes flickered between your mother and your father. James, of course, ever protective, still held a look of drastic offense as Lily spoke up again. “I know you're a smart girl, I raised you myself. I knew your partner would be a sore subject.” 

She reached her hand over and placed it over James’ leg. She smiled at him, a look to try and convey everything running threw her head at once. They are kids. Our angel will be okay.

“Why? Did you.. not trust my judgment?” You asked cautiously, your hands slowly fisting the cloth of your pants. 

Lily quickly shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. Quite the opposite.” She mused and turned to look at James who had closed his eyes and began to even his breaths.

“We used to joke you were perhaps meant to be a Hufflepuff. Darling, you have always seen the best in people, even when others couldn't really see it.” Lily offered and James scoffed. Your mother gave a small grimace before she spoke carefully. “Love is complicated. I can attest to that.” She began, eyeing James as if warning him to challenge her. 

“But love is beautiful. That night, at dinner, was the first time I've ever seen you talk back to us. I was distraught, and I am sorry I reacted the way I did.” She began to fiddle with his pant leg between her fingers. Speaking before you could continue. “It was immature. And if this boy puts so much fire in you, I want to at least meet him.”

Your body stiffened and your eyes widened. Looking between your father and mother as you stammered and tried to stutter out something. “M-meet you guys? We've only been dating a few months now.” You tried to defend.

You loved Mattheo, but he wasn't exactly house trained. He was raised by a house elf and saying the Malfoy’s tried to help raise him would be an exaggeration at the least. He could be polite, charming, he was well mannered when he wanted to be, as he had a smile that could take breaths away. 

But he was also Mattheo Riddle, and the idea of putting him in a room with your father, the other most hotheaded boy you knew, was a terrifying one. Mattheo didn't take kindly to being reminded of his father. It felt cruel to put him in a boxed up room with the very people his parents tried to kill. Not to mention, he got emotional when it came to families. 

You acted like you didn't notice at first, for Merlin's sake you were head over heels for this boy. You would sit in his dorm room, bare to your core and tangled together under the sheets. He would be holding you from behind like you were a vice, telling you about his dreams of a family with love like yours. When you would mention your family, he’d grow tense but stay his stoic self when you would ask. 

It wasn't hard to read him like a book, especially since Mattheo basically read it for you. He had changed a lot in the last few months you'd been with him. You used to fight horribly the first month. He was still so used to his single status, he hadn't really had positive expectations set on him. You explained to him what you wanted, you were patient, then he started to talk and communicate with you more efficiently, copying your behaviors to mimic your maturity. He loved how happy you looked when he improved himself, the praise sick boy wanting any bit you'd give him. When he told you he quit smoking, he let you drown him in praise and kisses, using withdrawal as an excuse for him being more handsy with you.

You soon learned from his friends that he had quit months ago, when you first told him you hated them, the cheek. He didn't even have the sense to look guilty when it came to light, just seemed so damn proud of himself.

In all honesty, it was hard not to adore him. Even when he was being a little arse. You had fallen hard for the loaded gun, and he obeyed you like you were the trigger. That being said.. he was still Mattheo, meeting your parents seemed like a bigger step than when he would drag you under his sheets with a silencing charm. 

“What? Don't want him to meet us?” James spoke up, and you snapped out of your thoughts. He sounded almost hopeful, like you weren't entirely serious about him. You gave him a pout and Lily squeezed his thigh tighter. 

“Do you think it's too soon, lovely?” Your mother asked patiently and you bit your lip. The last thing you wanted to do was lie to your mother. Lying to James was easy, he was a bit of a push over when it came to you, and you never lied about anything truly groundbreaking. But Lily, she had been your best friend for years. She was your mother, your confidant, and she knew more about you than anyone else. Probably helps that she's known you since you were welcomed home.

“... I am just scared.” You admitted and James’s expression shifted to soften. He sat up a bit and Lily gave him a soft smile.

“Why?” Your mother prodded and you curled your knees to your chest. 

“Just.. he's never had this.” You gestured around you. “He can be a bit.. reactive when it comes to stress?” You tried to offer the information carefully and James frowned hard.

“Reactive as in?” He leaned closer and your eyes flashed open wide. 

“No, Merlin, he would never. Not to me.” You tried to defend and the look on your mothers face made you realize what you said.

“That's not- no, I don't mean it like that.” You quickly tried to back track. Lily sent James a smirk. 

James looked at her with a furrowed brow and a slight pout. “What?”

“Just reminds me of how I tried to defend my choice of partner to my parents. Then, to your parents.” Lily laughed and James bit his cheek but smiled to see his wife so happy. You watched the two and your heart throbbed a bit. You loved your parents so much. You wanted that with Mattheo. Were you moving too fast? It was likely. Could this go horribly wrong? Most definitely. 

“Okay.” You spoke up and your parents turned to you “I'll invite him.”

~~~

Mattheo was at the Lestrange manor alone, as usual, but this summer was far different. He usually would busy himself with his friends, going to pointless balls the Malfoy’s insisted he attend, sneaking off with pureblood girls he didn't even remember the names of. Or better, going drinking with his mates from school.

This summer was killing him. The silence of the manor used to bother him before, every footstep sounded like thunder, every breath he made echoed in his ears, but now? Merlin. You came from a loud family, you didn't know the pain of it. When he was with you, the louder things weren't always bad. You always talked a bit louder than him, played music in his dorm with his unused radio, talked to him while you ran your fingers through his hair. It was easy to like the louder things now. He hated quiet.

The silence just reminded him you weren't there. He didn't even remember when his nights spent alone with witches of different backgrounds became nights of desperate yearning for you. Neither of you had said it yet, but even if you were just talking now, he didn't intend to keep it that way. He didn't want anyone else. He couldn't have anyone else. And the idea of you with someone else? He'd rather die.

Theodore Nott had been lettering him to try and get him out of the hell house, but the idea of you lettering him back when he wasn't home ate him up inside. Pansy called him whipped, when he lettered her to ask if he had done something wrong. ‘It’s only been two weeks, let her settle.’ Out of all of his friends, you clicked with her the easiest. It didn't help that he got a bit jealous when you talked to his male friends. He's never cared this much.

He was sure you've had to have hexed him.

Slipped him Amortentia.

Or soaked your entire body in it. 

Maybe it was mixed into that lovely perfume of yours? 

He groaned out and covered his face, leaning back from his desk into his seat. He let his arms go slack at the sides of his chair and looked at the ceiling. He was pathetic, but he wasn't scared of it this time. He liked feeling weak, if it was for you. He bit his bruised bottom lip and turned to look at the window. What would you think of him now? Sitting about with nothing to do but need you. He needed the heavenly haze you gave him. He liked to worship you, like you were all he was beyond his family. 

Two days after he had sent that letter, he was starting to wonder if you had realized your mistake. That being with your family reminded you that Mattheo Riddle was no one. Someone who should remember he was no one. Not worth the time you spared him day to day, that he was just some phase. He didn't know if he could recover from you. He might just throw the towel in if you didn't want him. Who could recover from a love like a prayer? A love that made him think of you like it was a threat. You were a threat. To his sanity. To his reputation. To his status. 

And he was a threat to you. Obsession, he had to agree with Draco. You are an obsession.

His thoughts were thrown out when he noticed something coming into view through his window. He nearly knocked his chair over as he stumbled over to open it. The Potter’s Owl.

~~~

“You're invited to the Potter’s Residence for our first dinner party of the year,”

Mattheo thumbed over the invitation in hand. He was shocked when he first read it, not only did he never expect to be invited to the Potter’s, he definitely didn’t ever expect you to tell your parents enough about him to be invited. He was excited, thumbing the invitation over and over.

He had groomed himself properly, he was in a button up shirt and a green vest, his hair was almost tamed. He was holding the invitation, raising his knuckle to knock on the door.

You snapped to attention from where you were looking in the mirror. You were wearing a deep forest green dress, the one you knew Mattheo loved, and your dad seemed to take that as a personal offense, dressed in his red dress shirt that matched your mothers dress.

“I still don't like this.” Sirius grumbled from his seat on the couch, and Remus rolled his eyes from where he leaned in the doorway. “A bit late, darling.” He mumbled as he watched you walk down the hall to open the door.

Lily requested Harry and James set up the table, leaving just you and her in the immediate room.

You took a deep breath, looking at your mom before she nodded and you turned back. Opening the door you were a bit startled to see Mattheo so put together, you had to remember that he was raised as pureblood royalty, you just never figured you'd see him so done up. You bit your lip a bit and he chuckled at this, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly stepped aside and he walked in, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against his form, not having noticed Lily yet. 

“I missed you, beautiful.” He whispered, leaning forward to kiss you. The second his lips touched yours, you sighed. Like he unwove every bit of your tense frame with just his touch. You couldn't remember a thing, not why you were so worried, where you were, and how your mother was watching you. For ten whole seconds, with just his soft careful kiss, he had made you dumb. He took a sharp breath and sighed after you, stepping closer.

Lily noticed the signs as it got a bit deeper than just a greeting kiss, and she quickly cleared her throat. You quickly pulled away in a fluster, and Mattheo just followed your lips to give you another quick peck, before he pulled back and gave Lily his dazzling look. “Mrs. Potter, right?” He mused and you had to catch a whine in your throat when he stepped back. He held his hand out and Lily moved to shake it, but instead he took her palm and kissed the back of her wrist. “You have a lovely home, ma'am. I can't say I'm surprised, {Y/N} had taken on your style.” He mused and Lily smirked at him.

“So you've been to my daughter’s dorm, hm?” She asked cheekily and his eyes widened and his face dropped. Like a guilty puppy. “I-”

Lily laughed and waved her hand. “Please, don't feel the need to explain. I'm only joking.”

Mattheo blinked a few times and slowly smiled. You and Lily were a lot alike. It looked like he had an ally already. He let go of her hand and stood up straighter. Waving his hand a bundle of Orchids appeared and he offered them to her. “Well, thank you for welcoming me.”

Your heart swelled at the interaction. Maybe tonight wouldn't be horrible. 

“Riddle, hm?” 

Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Sirius stood in the doorway of the parlor room, staring down at Matheo with a harsh glare. Mattheo met his gaze with his usual dissociative state. “Sirius Black, sir? It's nice to meet you.” He mused and offered him his hand. Sirius looked down at his hand then back to Mattheo. Riddle sighed and moved his hand down to his side, a bit startled when you walked up and took it for yourself. 

He smiled at you like a love sick fool, and Sirius felt his lip twitch at the look.

Remus seemed to see it too, ever the helpless romantic, he bit his cheek. Trying to hide a smile. 

Now, Remus despised the idea of you bringing a Riddle into the family. He hated the idea you would possibly, one day carry the last name of the monster that was Tom Riddle. But those thoughts left his head when he saw how you rested your head on his shoulder, your fingers playing with his, like a practiced art, knowing exactly how to soften the blow of rejection from your uncle.

Suddenly, Mattheo was giving that bright smile again, and you felt a bit cocky to be the one to give it to him. Pressing your lips to his shoulder and you peaked over it but just stared at his profile.

“Nice to meet you, again.” Remus mused, offering his hand and Mattheo’s smile only grew, taking his hand and shaking it firm. “Thank you, Professor.”

He shook his head. “Remus is fine.”

Sirius gawked at him in full offense, having lost himself to the boy's charm. 

Before Sirius could make a snappy comment, Lily spoke up. “Well, I'm sure you're hungry, let's go get you fed, hm?”

“Yes ma'am.” Mattheo responded in kind, before glancing down at you by his shoulder and wetting his lips. Leaning down to steal another kiss, Sirius scoffed as he passed you two to get to the table. Remus followed behind him, as Lily waved the two to their seats. 

“Not much for a dinner party, hm?” He mumbled to you and you gave a small laugh. 

“Not all of us are as extravagant as your family.” You teased and he gave a wolfish smirk. “I think you forget, your father is James Potter, famous for his parties if I remember.” He teased and you rolled your eyes before biting your lip. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Not to mention, even if he seems to hate me, Sirius is my family.”

You narrowed your eyes before your eyebrows jumped upward as you pieced together his family tree. Right. His mother was Sirius’s cousin. It suddenly sunk into you just why Sirius seemed to be taking this so seriously. Mattheo was a mix of the two things he hated most, his family and Voldemort. Must be hard to believe anything good could come from those two things.

You shoved the thought away. He could get over himself. You weren't going to throw away everything you and Mattheo were because Sirius couldn't get over his bias. Your father too.

Once you and Mattheo walked into the dining room, it seemed to be going well. There wasn't much conversation between Mattheo and your family, you found yourself talking to each other. Updates on your lives, him whispering how much he missed you, taking every opportunity to drown you in his affections. You were a flustered mess, but smiling the brightest you've had in days. It was like an addiction, his attention. 

You didn't notice Lily's attention on you two, too wrapped up in Riddle. He was the same, looking at you like you were the last person in the world, like you were worth falling for. He sure hoped so, because he was approaching the ground rapidly as your eyes danced his features. It reminded her of something, turning to look at James and was met with the same look as he tried to start up another Quidditch conversation with her. She simply rolled her eyes fondly. How could he not see what was happening?

“So.” Lily spoke up after her conversation with James flickered out. She spoke in a tone that demanded attention. “How did you two meet? When did this start?” She offered and Mattheo bit his cheek and looked at you, for the hundredth time that night. You smiled and looked back at your mom.

“Well, Professor McGonagall asked me to help a student study during lunch periods. I had no clue who it was but I figured it couldn't hurt.” You mused, conveniently not bringing up the bribe. “Then it kind of.. changed. Eventually it just became casual study dates. Like one, I was teaching him how to summon a patronus and-” You lit up as bright as a star as you began your story, before Harry scoffed. Your face fell a bit and you looked over at Harry with a furrowed brow.

Mattheo had to resist the urge to snap at him for taking away such a view.

He looked up at you with a glare. “I've just never met a Death Eater who could use a patronus is all.”

There was a thick silence that filled the room as your jaw went slack. You tried to figure out a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, mouth growing dry.

Lily tried to speak up but Mattheo beat her to it. “Sorry to disappoint, still haven't it seems.” He cheeked and you looked back at him with a laugh. Your mother gave Harry a look that certainly meant danger for him later. Harry didn't even seem to care, just scoffed.

“He summoned a Fox.” You informed your mother and her mouth fell open a bit, her smile brightening. 

“Is that true?” He prodded Mattheo and he nodded. “Yes ma'am.”

Lily looked at James with raised eyebrows, amused, and he shook his head before clicking his tongue. “So. Heard you were in the Quidditch team, what position?” James finally and reluctantly joined the conversation. 

“Beater, sir.” Mattheo mused and smirked, eyeing Harry from the corner of his eye. “Seems someone still miffed over the bludger he took a few weeks ago.”

“Your team cheated.” Harry challenged quickly and Mattheo gave him a wolfish smirk. “Did we? Or is that the only way you'd accept that we got the cup?”

“Watch it, Riddle. I'll make a fool of you next season.” Harry quipped and it actually sounded almost playful. You gave a scoff and Mattheo chuckled. Figures they'd bond over Quidditch of all things.

“Really? A beater?” James spoke up and Mattheo looked over to him with a nod. 

“Sirius was a beater too, we were a fierce team.” James mused and leaned forward. “We created this move…”

Their voices faded out, and you smiled at the scene. It was cordial, almost friendly, as the men at the table talked about the sport with enthusiasm. Well, all safe for Remus who started talking to your mother about a new book recommendation. You just watched how Mattheo seemed to fall into place in your family so easily, and how happy he seemed about it. 

Way too soon, the night was over, and Mattheo was leaving. You and your parents walked him to the door, and he turned to face you.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Potter, the food was amazing. And Mr. Potter, thank you for allowing me to come over.” He mused and your mom shook her head. “Please, anytime sweetheart. Call me Lily.” 

Then, much to your surprise. “Call me James.” Your father mused and took his hand into a firm shake.

Mattheo had this startled look on his face, thrown for a loop before he quickly recovered. “Y-yes sir. I mean James, yes James.”

You giggled and before Mattheo could be given any more surprises, you walked up and hugged his arm. “I'll walk him out of the apparition wards.”

“Don't be gone too long-” James began before Lily covered his mouth and shooed you both off. “Go! We'll be here.” She reassured you.

You pulled Mattheo out the door, leaving Lily to smirk up at James and he groaned. “Okay, the kid isn't that bad.”

“You too!?” Sirius shouted from across the house and Lily laughed. 

~~~

You walked with Mattheo, managed to get just a few yards from the house before his lips were on yours. He had stopped completely, wrapping his arms around your waist and almost toppled you over when he leaned over your frame so easily. You let your hands slide up to his biceps and he gave a low groan, pulling away before he got too far. 

You took a sharp puff of air and steadied your breathing. Your eyes met his deep dark ones. He was looking at you with something so familiar and yet it was hungrier than you'd ever seen before. “Mattheo-”

“Tonight was amazing.” He whispered and took your lips again. This time, you actually managed to prepare yourself. Your hands slipped behind his neck and into his gelled hair. Pouting into the kiss and he smirked. “What?”

“Your hair. I hate it like this.” You mumbled into his lips, not wanting to break the kiss. Mattheo laughed and pulled his wand from his pocket, waving it to return his hair to his naturally fluffy glory. 

“That better?” He teased, giving a toothy smirk as he watched you lick your lips clean of him. 

“Much.” This time, you started the kiss, earning a low yelp from him. He chuckled and pushed you against the wall of your fathers property. Hands roaming lower, as you tilted your head back, his new target being your neck.

“You’ve been driving me mad all night, ya know that?” He breathed against your collarbone, fingers fiddling with the end of your dress. “Had to look your father in the eye tonight, and you still wore this? All I could think of was the last time you wore it.” 

You gave a low gasp when his fingers lipped just under the small skirt. “M-Mattheo-”

“I've missed you, beautiful. The last two weeks were torture, you know that? Know what you do to me?” He mumbled against your skin. Your eyes grew hazy the more he spoke. Like he was controlling you with his words. Suddenly, his head snapped up and he looked just past you. 

“Huh. Do you guys have a dog?” He asked and you snapped out of your trance when you heard a loud roar from behind you. “And.. a stag? You have dogs and deer on your property?” He asked and you simply covered your face and gave a loud groan.

“Dad!!”

[ckret2]

Chapter 72 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen. 

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe). 

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

[writersblockiskillingme]

Can you do like a teen hades x reader? Like, can you do something like he has a crush on reader for a while but he doesn't know how to express it?

Sorry if it's bad! This is my first request I've ever done 😅

Unspoken Love | Hades

Pairing: (teen!)Hades x fem!reader

Summary: Hades has been in love with you for a while now, but doesn't truly know how to express it.

Warning/s: fluff, very short fic, reader is considered to be blonde and shorter than Hades, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Here you go, you did amazing with the request, don't worry. Enjoy!

It was so infuriating.

Hades was amongst Uliana's crew when she was treating Bridget. Once again. He was just standing aside, listening to Uliana's threatening as his eyes finally landed on you.

You were a new friend of Bridget's.

Somehow, someway, he found himself staring at you. Your blonde hair was gently flowing as the wind carried it around you. Your eyes, oh, your eyes. They were sparkling with determination as you stared at Uliana's as you stood by Bridget's side. Your soft lips that had somehow frowned along with your eyebrows as you listened to Uliana's speech.

He felt like you were some sort of angel. He had never seen you at the Merlin's Academy before today so that means that you were probably new here. And yet you already befriend Bridget, he thought, finding himself slightly disappointed.

He couldn't deny that he found himself drawn to you in many ways, but your friendship with Bridget was bad news to him. That meant that you were probably a lot like her or even exactly like her.

That meant that you would probably hate his guts, considering the fact that he's a part of Uliana's crew. But also, he had no idea why you had such a strong effect on him. He just saw you! He doesn't even know who you are!

But, Gods... he found himself loving the idea of finding out.

°

As days rolled by and as he saw more of your interactions with people and also with him, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with you.

Your courage, strength, and determination when you stood up to Uliana's bullying.

Your beauty that shined everywhere you went.

Your height that seemed to cause you difficulties every time you tried to reach the books on the highest shelves in the library of the Merlin's Academy.

Your willingness to give help to someone, but also take help from someone when you needed it.

Your ability to not judge anyone before you meet them and giving them opportunity to help you out. Even if it's a villain.

That's how the two of you officially met.

You were in the library of the Merlin's Academy, trying to reach one of the books on the highest shelf, but with no success. Your height was getting in the way. Only your fingers were able to brush against the shelf, but a shelf that was lower than the highest one. You were growing frustrated until you heard the voice behind you.

"Need some help, shortie?" Hades' smug smile was glaring at you as he leaned against the opposite bookshelfs.

"What are you doing here?" You asked him, your voice teasing. "I thought that you would rather die then spend time in here."

"Touché," He pointed as he found himself amused, "However, Morgie forced me to go get some books for him."

"Oh, well," you smiled slightly, "Would you look at that."

A few moments later, when he saw that you were still struggling, he was brave enough to offer you help, and you were brave enough to take it.

Later in the future, there was no way he would admit out loud why he offered to help you. Maybe it was the trouble you were in, maybe it was your helplessness in that simple situation, but when someone from the crew asked him why did he help you, he won't admit that he fell in love with you.

He didn't even admit it to you, even though he really wants to.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@xoxo-h3arts @i-am-fork @a-homosexual-homosapien @snixx2088 @heartsfromcoco @hiireadstuff @cyb3r-st4r @angeliangelo @judgment-days-kid @mitsiell @ratchetprime211 @milo-webp @teti-menchon0604 @pvmkyn-sp1c3 @mystic-mae @leftmooncollector

[evilslushy]

PenPal Girlfriend ♡

Hamzah x f!reader

(A/N): (lowkey not proofread lol), reader is shorter than Hamzah. Mentions of depression and loneliness (nothing too detailed), mentions of weird people on weird websites, no usage of y/n, reader is definitely 19+

wc: 20.2k (oops)

Lonesomeness can creep in slowly, but over time, it can become a suffocating force, leaving someone feeling invisible and abandoned. As days stretch into weeks, and weeks into months, the absence of connection amplifies an inner ache, stirring a deep, almost desperate need to be noticed, to matter. This void can cloud judgment, pushing a person to seek out any kind of interaction, even if it’s fleeting or harmful.

It’s a hunger that gnaws at the soul, distorting the desire for genuine connection into a frantic search for anything to fill the emptiness, no matter the cost.

After moving into his new apartment, Hamzah found himself overwhelmed by a deep and gnawing loneliness that settled in like a shadow. The walls, still bare and unfamiliar, seemed to echo with the absence of voices and laughter. At first, it was a quiet discomfort, a subtle sense of isolation that he could brush off with distractions. But as days turned into weeks, the silence grew louder, and the emptiness became harder to ignore.

Yes, he was near Martin and Mandy’s house. He pretty much lives there at times. Still, there was this void. Hamzah began to feel a desperate hunger for companionship, and the more he sought it, the more he found himself grasping at anything that might ease the ache, even if it meant settling for shallow exchanges that left him feeling emptier than before.

Once he shared this concern of his with Martin and Mandy, they both looked at him with empathy. Mandy shared that she had a similar experience once and that her pets helped her through it. Martin agreed, suggesting the idea of getting pets.

And desperation strikes again.

Blue and Red were shortly adopted after. Hamzah's lonesomeness had seemed to fade. Their excited greetings after he goes out with Chase and Claire apparent. He felt appreciated, loved, and cared for. Until they started only playing with him after he feeds them.

This is totally a transactional situationship.

So then here he lies. Bottom lip between his teeth, recording a Fortnite video with Martin for their channel when he suddenly shared his agony. “Martin, I’m feeling lonely again.” It must’ve came out as a bit for the video because all Martin said back was: “dang it.”

“No, I’m being serious.” Hamzah reiterated, Martin clicking his tongue, “guys, Hamzah seriously needs a Fortnite girlfriend. So I think the plan of for this video is to find him a Fortnite girlfriend!” Hamzah can almost hear the sound effects of children cheering in the background, his problems going unnoticed by his friend yet again.

After recording, Hamzah hung up from their discord call. Promising Martin to show up tonight for movie night with Chase.

He stared at his monitor for what almost felt like five minutes, his screen on a movie pirating website to download the movie they’ll be watching tonight. God, this feeling sucks. Like really sucks. He’s literally planning on spending time with his friends right now and still feels lonely.

“Am I depressed?” He questioned out loud. He wasn’t sure if he was finally coming to terms with what he’s currently feeling, or if he’s Tiktok self diagnosing and really needs a girlfriend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

Blue jumped up his lap, purring at the feeling of his touch. Pulling Hamzah out of his state of constant thinking. Hamzah looked down at Blue, who meowed at the eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” He run’s his hand across Blue’s back, sliding his hand back up and across to cup Blue’s belly, carrying him up to set on his shoulder. The cat stood on his shoulder proudly, slightly shaking to find it’s balance.

“Keeping daddy company?”

Blue had to have felt a sense of disgust at what Hamzah just called himself. Jumping off of his shoulder to ground a second later. Hamzah snarking at the action: “damn, I wasn’t being serious…”

Red must’ve sensed the awkward sadness Hamzah wasn’t ready to address from the rejection of his own cat. The similarly named cat jumping on the table, and standing up right to meet Hamzah’s gaze.

Hamzah smiled, his hand petting red’s head and scratching the bridge of it’s nose. “Are you both hungry?” He asked, more to himself since the cats can’t understand him. His eyes moved to the edge of the screen, reading the time. “You just ate thirty minutes ago…” his eyesbrows furrowed. Uncertain if his cat’s suddenly started considering their situationship with him or not.

When his eyes turned back to Red. The cat’s tail was slithering in a calm manner, it wasn’t hungry, it just wanted some love…? Hamzah’s hands involuntarily gave the cat what it wanted. Showering it with love, petting its head and kissing its face.

“Aren’t YOU acting out of place…?” He mumbled, kissing the cat’s nose one last time before turning his gaze back onto his computer. Only then realizing how much the cat covered his screen. “Okay, wrap it up. I need to finish this,” he pushed the cat towards him, sliding it from the table to his lap.

Red meowed, an annoyed meow. Hamzah looked back down at the cat. “Sorry.”

Red’s tail curled up, Hamzah’s eyes shifting to the tail at the sudden movement—looking at it from base to tip—he noticed something from the corner of his eyes. An ad, Red’s tail weirdly pointing at it. Just then, the cat jumped up from Hamzah’s lap, its face moving closer to the same side Hamzah’s currently looking at and sniffing it.

“Your Next Penpal Is Just a Message Away!” The ad read.

“From click to paper…” Hamzah’s voice barely above a whisper as he read the rest of the ad: “Words create bonds, letters build friendships.”

His face lit up for a millisecond before dropping with a frown. “Who am I kidding… this is totally an affinity scheme.” He thought, rolling as eyes at the fact that such things excited him. A weird feeling of embarrassment rushing over him.

He quickly clicked the ad away. He never really did that before because he never really cared for pop up. But something about this ad (the embarrassment of how excited he got) made his skin crawl; not wanting to see a glimpse of it.

A sigh escaped him. Rapidly clicking on the download button and closing the tabs it would open each time. With a few low annoyed groans and agonizing two minutes; Hamzah pulled off the flash from his PC, grabbing his computer and rushing to put on the nearest shoes he could find to run to Martin and Mandy’s house (since he spend ten respectable minutes doing nothing but petting his cats and mumbling nonsense about a pop up ad he saw on a pirating website.)

“Fuck. Chase.” He squeezed his eyes shut almost like his problems would disappear if he did.

Sending the following message (via Siri) to Martin shortly after: “Just left home. I’ll pick up Chase in a bit. Running late.”

—

The aroma of sweet vanilla filled the room. Mandy and Claire working on their attempt on crumbl cookie’s pink frosted sugar cookies. The came out fairly decent for their first attempt, Hamzah standing beside Martin by the kitchen island both the girls were decorating on.

“It looks like the real deal.” Hamzah commented, Claire sending him a haunting glare at his poor attempt on complimenting their baking skills. “It is the real deal. Probably even better.” Mandy added, Martin nodding his head as he grabbed a freshly frosted cookie and bit into it. Hamzah looked at his face to read his expression.

Martin seemed pleased, which only made Hamzah grab a one of his own.

“You guys are so…” Claire seemed annoyed at their presence with them, like that feeling you get when someone else is in the kitchen with you when you’re making your late night snack. “Everyone just be quiet. I wanna focus.” Mandy said, making Clarie sigh in defeat. If Mandy isn’t on anyone’s side, its pretty much over for everyone.

Martin turned to ask Hamzah, “did you download the movie?” Flicking his head to the side to move his bangs out of his eyesight. Hamzah nodded, eating the last bite of his cookie. “Can you set it up? By the time the finish up we can just start it.”

“I got it. Hand me the flash.” Chase spoke up from the couch, closing his phone, setting it on the couch. Hamzah turned to him, shoving his hands in his pocket and threw the flash towards Chase. Just when Chase caught it, Mandy added: “do you guys want popcorn?”

Hamzah remained quiet, letting everyone answer for him. He must’ve zoned out because he doesn’t really know what they decided on. Only one thing primarily hung over his mind right now. That one weird penpal ad.

“I saw this weird ad today on the pirating website I was on.” Maybe the thought was so heavy it had to slip past his mouth. Martin chuckled, thinking it was going to be a ‘Hannah, thirty miles away’ type of joke—but when he saw Hamzah’s face—his quiet laughter died down.

The rest continued to look at Hamzah with curiosity. The man blinked awkwardly as they waited for him to continue.

“It was like… from click to paper or something like that. A website for meeting penpals—”

“Affinity scheme vibes.” Both him and Martin say at the same time. Dropping the original topic at hand to look at each other with the mouths wide open, giggling like idiots.

“Wait. So it’s like-” Mandy started. “Is it like… tinder but the penpal version?”

“Maybe you’ll find a girlfriend there.” She teased, pulling the cookies away from the parchment paper. Hamzah turned to look at Mandy, “my struggles shouldn’t be a laughing stock.” He responded, a hand on his hip.

Claire smiled at the two, recalling a friend of hers mentioning something similar to her. “I remember a friend of mine mentioned something like that. She said it was pretty nice and like, fully anonymous. Kinda cool.”

“That ad was most likely the bootleg version of the real thing.” Chase added from across the room.

Martin sighed, resting his hip on the counter to hold the balance of his body. “Pretty much knocking two birds with one stone. Meeting someone new and journaling.”

Was it the sugar rush talking or is the idea of this website appealing to him? As Martin said: “Two birds with one stone.”

Meeting someone new and maybe feeling less lonely…!

—

What the fuck is he doing…? Hamzah himself wondered that as he clicked on the website, the forefront of the site was something out of the two thousands.

It must be an old website then. A message from his browser on the top left corner asked him if he allows the website to use his location, he didn’t fully read or comprehend what it said—clicking allow (thinking it was asking if he could allow the website to give him notifications.)

Hamzah clicked on the sign up button. Typing in his spam email and the same password he usually uses on burner accounts, lastly clicking on ‘male’ when it asked for his gender.

His eyebrows raised curiously when it asked him what gender he preferred to speak to. Is this actually like penpal tinder? But he innocently clicked on ‘male’ again. His thought process was that he wanted to make more male friends, he felt like he only had Martin and Chase as of right now, all his other male friends always seem too busy to hang out.

Plus it’ll be cool to say you met your homie on a penpal website.

As soon as he clicked on the done button; it loaded him into a new page, this one asking him to highlight or enter some of his interests. Hamzah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, thinking about what he should type.

Nothing. Nothing really came into mind except for one thing.

Hamzah started typing it, a circle forming around the word and finally getting highlighted as he pressed enter—validating his interest as one of the many hobbies in the database of this website.

‘Fortnite.’

He smiled at the screen. Happy with what he wrote. That happiness rudely interrupted by a pop up message reading: ‘MUST ENTER AT LEAST THREE ENTRIES!’

Hamzah continued his journey to remember hobbies he has, recalling fishing being one of them seconds later, then journaling lastly. He might be lying a little bit on the last one since he doesn’t feel consistent enough, but it was something he enjoyed doing!

As he pressed the enter button again, it sent him to another page, it took a while to load, though he was shocked to see that it immediately took him to an open chatroom.

It had the same outline as Omegle, but slightly more vibrant and with a feel of mySpace. A loud ding made him slightly jump back; realizing that the sound was a notification for a message being sent. He blinked, looking at the other buttons available on his screen, a skip button beside the send button, a block button beside the username of whoever was on the other side.

Hamzah looked at the message on his screen:

FeetAsianFisher: Age?

He giggled at the name, mumbling: “what the fuck?” Under his breath. “Did he put asian as his interest or asian-fishing?” Hamzah thought, his giggles turning into laughter from his own joke.

FishingFortniteJournalist: 22, what the fuck is that username? LOL

Hamzah noticed his username, realizing the website never asked him for one. And also noticing that his username was a mashup of all his entered interests. The horror washed over him as he re-read the other guy's username.

FeetAsianFisher: 62

FeetAsianFisher: do u like older men?

FeetAsianFisher: i like pretty boys, are you one?

Hamzah almost couldn’t see from the face he was making, his eyes squinted, his mouth forming a frown. Hands frozen over the keyboard. Did he just enter a website where old people get their freak on? His right hand held his mouse, moving the cursor to the skip button faster than ever.

“Ew.” He commented under his breath, turning to Red to see if it also just witnessed what he did. Red only meowed to it’s owner, turning to run to Blue and continue wrestling.

Another ding. His attention back to the screen.

FortniteFeetGamer: Age?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

FishingFortniteJournalist: WHAT IS UP WITH YOU GUYS AND FEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He didn’t waste time, skipping this guy as well. Absolutely not giving him a chance to respond back.

Hamzah realized that he’ll probably continue on this loophole if he doesn’t change his settings, there must be a filtering system for interests or something. If there is, he's definitely filtering out ‘feet’ first.

He clicked through the settings as quickly as he could, furiously trying to make adjustments to his profile before more creepy messages came flooding in. The website felt more like a maze designed to keep him lost than a genuine way to connect with people. If mySpace was this complicated, how did people like it?

After a few more clicks, he found the “Preferences” section. His face lit up, this must be it! He could change his settings, modify some interests, and maybe—just maybe—dodge the barrage of strange messages and people.

His eyes scanned the options, nothing. Just two buttons: ‘change gender preference’ and ‘change interests.’

Then it hit him. His preferred gender was probably the reason why he kept getting weird messages. He could change it. Maybe, just maybe, if he set his preferences to women, it might filter out some of the weirdos.Without really thinking about it, he clicked.

The forefront reloading again, taking him to a new page. Then loading up a new chatroom. A pop up message on the top read: ‘PREFERRED GENDER CHANGED SUCCESSFULLY.’

The chatroom was quiet. The opposite party didn’t send a message which made Hamzah feel obliged to start the conversation.

FishingFortniteJournalist: hello?

He waited patiently for an answer, a ding alerting him of the other person’s answer.

FishingGirlFeet: ＭＹ ＰＵＳＳＹ ＩＮ 🄵🄸🅂🄷🄸🄽🄶🄶🄸🅁🄻🄵🄴🄴🅃.🄲🄾🄼

Hamzah could only sigh when his eyes registered the message.

FishingFortniteJournalist: I hate you so much.

He skipped the bot as soon as he pressed enter, going into the settings again to avoid being put in another godforsaken freaky chatroom. His eyes darted at the available options, deciding to click on the profile settings.

It didn’t say much other than his username, email, and gender. The username was unavailable to edit, same for the email (though it had a message written underneath that said: “this email will not be shared publicly.”) The only thing that was available for change was gender.

Hamzah hesitated for a moment, wondering if he changed his gender to woman, and had his preference to women, would things be any different? Or is he still going to get bombarded with weird messages?

Curiosity killed the cat.

A few clicks and he was (according to the website) a lady.

Reloading him back to a chatroom as soon as he exited the settings, his eyes falling back to the center of the screen awaiting an answer from both the person and for his theory.

GamingJournalingReader: Hello???

…normal?

ForniteFishingJournalist: are u a normal person or do u like feet?

GamingJournalingReader: LMFAO

GamingJournalingReader: NORMAL

ForniteFishingJournalist: u have no clue what i just went through

GamingJournalingReader: I think I have an idea… LOL

GamingJournalingReader: WTF YOU PLAY FORTNITE?!

ForniteFishingJournalist: not a lot nowadays but i play it with my friend most of the time

GamingJournalingReader: Cool! I guess the reason why we got paired up was the journaling part.

GamingJournalingReader: How long have you been journaling? I only started a few months ago, honestly it’s been super fun!

ForniteFishingJournalist: around a year ago? but i started taking it seriously a few months ago too

GamingJournalingReader: That’s awesome!! How old are you by the way?

ForniteFishingJournalist: 22

GamingJournalingReader: Taylor Swift age :0

ForniteFishingJournalist: idk abt u but im feelin 22

Just before Hamzah could ask the person for their age, a big pop up message showed up on his screen:

“Did you enjoy your chat with GamingJournalingReader? Take your conversation offline—turn your typed words into handwritten letters! Just write your message, send it to the P.O. Box provided, and we'll make sure it reaches your new friend—anonymously. Your location stays private, but the connection stays real!”

Below that, a P.O box address was given. Hamzah raising a brow, “huh? How would they know my location?”

“Whatever.” He sighed, moving his cursor to the delete button, the tab disappearing as he clicked on delete. The thought of whoever he was talking to being a bot flowed into his mind. A pout forming on his lips, he felt like a loser. Was he that desperate? An online website to meet strangers? Who was he kidding, this was all a stupid idea.

He pushed his chair away from the desk with a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the night pressing in on him. Red and Blue, sensing his movement, immediately sprang from their spots and bounded toward him. Hamzah glanced at the cats, then at the clock on his desk—it was already 11 PM, well past their usual feeding time.

"Sorry, guys," he muttered under his breath, heading toward the kitchen. The cats trailed behind him, meowing insistently, their hunger unmistakable. "I shouldn't have let this distract me." he added, though he knew they wouldn’t understand.

As soon as he placed their bowls on the floor, the cats pounced on their food, eating eagerly. Hamzah sat beside them, gently ran his hand over Blue’s head as it ate, the soft purrs filling the quiet space.

Hamzah watched them eat for a moment longer, the quiet rhythm of their hunger oddly comforting. When he was sure they were settled, he stood up, stretching his arms.

"Alright," he said softly, glancing down at Red and Blue, who were still focused on their food. "Night." His voice was quiet, but the cats didn't seem to care, too wrapped up in their meal.

With a final glance at the pair, Hamzah turned off the kitchen light and made his way to his bedroom.

—

It had been a long, grueling week for Hamzah—filming, endless hours of talking with Martin. Why? Martin was heading off to visit his family for the next few weeks. They had to prepare. Filming, editing, discussing, then filming some more. Hamzah was relieved that he wouldn’t have to talk at all for a while. The idea of spending a whole month in silence, without the pressure of constant conversation, sounded like paradise.

He kicked off his shoes the moment he entered his apartment, sighing as the weight of the day lifted slightly. Red and Blue immediately began circling his feet, meowing excitedly. “Hello,” Hamzah cooed, his backpack slung over one shoulder. With his other hand, he held a small stack of bill-mail.

“Are you cuties hungry?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at them. Both cats meowed in response, louder this time, their tails flicking in anticipation. Hamzah smiled and nodded. “Coming right up.”

He dropped his backpack by the door, then turned to make his way into the kitchen. Blue reached out and clawing at Hamzah’s sock.

“Ouch! Stop,” Hamzah groaned, wiggling his foot to shake the cat off. Blue quickly jumped back and scampered over to Red, starting a little wrestling match. Hamzah watched them for a second, his lips curling into a smile.

He set the mail on the kitchen counter, then opened the cabinet where he kept the cat food. Pulling out the pre-packaged sleeves of wet food, he quickly split the contents into two separate bowls.

Before he could bend fully to put the bowls on the ground, Blue was climbing up his leg in a desperate attempt to get to the food first. Hamzah laughed and stood back up, carefully setting the bowls out of reach as the cats scrambled over to him.

“Easy!” he said, half-amused, half-annoyed. He nudged them both back a little, enough to give him space to set the food down, but not without a couple of claws grazing his leg.

As soon as the bowls were on the floor, the cats pounced, their meows filling the room as they dug into their meal. Hamzah leaned against the counter, letting out a small sigh as he watched them. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft sound of their eating. For a moment, it was just him, his cats, and the peace that he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

Hamzah turned his attention back to mail on the kitchen counter, resting his elbows on that same counter to peel them open. He went through seventy five percent of them, the usual billing receipts and ads for local stores opening nearby—that is until, of course—a letter with a sticky note captivated his vision. He pushed the other mail envelope that laid over it, the brown textured envelope standing out not only with its color but with the odd yellow sticky notes attached to it.

His eyes first read the address, a P.O box that seemed familiar but he quickly dismissed it since it didn’t pop up in his mind immediately. Moving his gaze to the sticky note.

“To. FishingFortniteJournalist”

Hamzah let out a breath chuckle at first, the words in front of him not fully forming in his mind. Until it did. Hamzah's heart skipped a beat as he realized the note was addressed to his username. The username that had been automatically generated from his interests. He hadn’t even thought that something like this would actually happen.

How? How did they get his address?!

But then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. His thoughts rushed back to the moment he'd clicked Allow. He’d been in such a rush to sign up for that weird penpal site, too eager to bypass the pop-ups, the terms and conditions, just to see if it could actually be real! Something that would make him meet someone new. The website had asked if he allowed it to use his location. He'd assumed it was for notifications or maybe some setting for the chatroom. But now, with an annoyed realization creeping in, it dawned on him that by agreeing to share his location, he'd essentially handed over a piece of his privacy.

Hamzah cursed under his breath. "Of course, of course… fuck! What do I do?”

The website must’ve used that location data, linked it to the profile he’d made—FishingFortniteJournalist, his fishing, Fortnite-loving, journal-obsessed persona. And used a user matching database to know when someone sends in a letter—with a username attached to it—where they have to send that letter to.

And at the end of this all. ‘GamingJournalingReader’ wasn’t some bot chatting with him to keep him engaged with the website. No, no no no. This is a real person. In fact, it’s a person who wrote this letter, addressed to his username, and sent it to the website’s mailing P.O box TO SHIP TO HIM.

‘This is bad. This is really bad.’ Hamzah couldn’t help but think. And even with all these nerves kicking within him. Curiosity won yet again. He peeled open the envelope, careful not to rip the contents inside. Pulling everything out slowly. The letter unfolded, a faint scent of vanilla wafted up, a strange but oddly comforting smell. The letter was written in neat handwriting, the ink smooth and deliberate.

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite the strange way we met. I thought it was amusing that we connected over Fortnite and journaling—two things I never expected to overlap. I’m glad we were able to chat for a bit, even if our first conversation was cut short. It’s rare to find someone with similar interests, and it was refreshing to find a connection like that!

Something about you being traumatized and trying to have a conversation about Fortnite is still funny to me. But, on the note of our interests. Since you said you just recently started journaling again I included some gifts for you in the envelope! Nothing too crazy, just some washi-tape and stickers I got from a friend of mine a while back.

Anyway, I don’t want to keep my letter too long. I look forward to hearing from you again—if you’re interested, of course.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader"

Hamzah blinked, rereading the letter twice to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. He sat down on the couch, the letter feeling heavier in his hands than it probably should. He quickly reached into the envelope and pulled out a tag, pink washi-tape wrapped around it, and some Hello Kitty stickers.

“What the hell is going on…?” Hamzah whispered to himself, still trying to process everything. He had forgotten about the whole website experience from all the stress, but now... now there was this letter. An actual letter. Sent by someone who seemed to have taken the connection seriously.

One thing was clear: this wasn’t something he could just brush off. Especially not when the person seemed too genuine to ignore.

Without wasting another moment, he tore a sheet from an old notebook and grabbed a blank envelope from a pile of mail, double-checking it didn’t have his address. He began writing:

“Hey GamingJournalingReader,

I have to admit, this is pretty wild. At first, I didn’t even think you were real, and now I feel a little guilty for not mailing you a letter first. I’m not sure how this works, even though I feel like I should. It’s intriguing, to say the least.

Thanks for the sticker and the tape, I’ll make good use of them. I wish I had something to send back, but I don’t.

Take care.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the letter with a pang of doubt. He definitely wasn’t good at this. The words felt stiff and distant, as if they came from someone else entirely. It felt similar to when he first messaged them; in the chatroom. Normally, he’d be the one making jokes, have this calm yet energetic spark and humor everyone. But with this person, everything seemed to slow down, his usual spark dimmed to something more subdued and thoughtful.

Maybe it was just the timing—talking to them that night after a long, exhausting day (movie night), when all he wanted was quiet and rest. Or maybe it was something about them, this GamingJournalingReader, that pulled him into a calmer, more introspective version of himself. He wasn’t sure which was more unsettling.

He folded the letter, shoving it inside the envelope he grabbed and copied the same P.O box address the person had on their letter. Writing their username boldly in the middle. GamingJournalingReader. The soft rustle of paper and writing filled the room, punctuating the silence. This whole situation felt strange. However, tomorrow morning, this is the first thing he has on his to-do list.

He traced the edge of the envelope with his thumb, the paper rough against his skin. For the time being, with a tired exhale, he sat back and stared at the ceiling, the shadows from his dim lamp shifting in a slow dance. It was late, the kind of late where everything felt heavy and honest. He rested his arms to each side of his body, the envelope slipping past the grasp of his hand and rested beside him on the couch.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, feeling different around this person. Maybe it meant there was something more to this, something worth unraveling, even if it made him uncomfortable.

But as his eyelids drooped and sleep began to claim him, one thought lingered: was it better to stay guarded, or to let himself lean into the quiet curiosity that GamingJournalingReader seemed to draw out of him? Whatever the answer was, it made him feel less lonely since he’s going to sleep with someone in the shadows of his mind.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

God! I feel like a creep now that I was the first one to send a letter. I’m glad you liked the sticker though, matter of fact I’m glad you got the letter safely. Anyway, thank you for going through with this. It’s crazy that you were the first person I talked to!

Enough of the website, I don’t think you want to talk about it… I was thinking of fun things we can include in our letters to get to know each other. We can do playlists!! Obviously written playlists. Now that I’m writing this I think what I meant is song recommendations but regardless! I’d love to hear what you listen to! I attached a note to my letter that has some recommendations of mine.

I hope you had a good week! My week has been super hectic but I was happy to see that you got and responded to my letter. I don’t want to make this too long and bore you. See you next letter.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

The soft glow of your computer screen illuminated your small bedroom, casting a pale light over your tired eyes. It was one of those rare, tranquil evenings in Canada when the snowstorm outside created an almost cinematic backdrop. Flakes danced and swirled under the streetlamp’s light, covering the neighborhood in a pristine blanket of white. With a warm mug of peppermint tea nestled between your palms, you clicked on the familiar green icon on your laptop, waiting for the call to connect.

A moment later, the screen burst to life, and there was Mandy’s face, vibrant as ever. Her tanned skin glowed against the muted blues and oranges of what seemed like a hotel balcony. The sound of distant ocean waves crashing against the shore filtered through your speakers.

“Hey, there you are!” Mandy’s voice bubbled, her smile so wide that her eyes crinkled at the corners. She pushed a lock of sun-bleached hair behind her ear, revealing a pair of dangling shell earrings.

You couldn’t help but grin back. “Mandy! Wow, look at you! So… beachy.”

Mandy laughed, the sound warm and contagious. “I know, right? I’m starting to think I’m never going back to winter coats and boots. It’s paradise here, honestly.” She shifted the phone a little, giving you a view of the blue expanse behind her. “Look at this, just look at it!”

Your eyes widened at the sight of the brilliant turquoise sea and the golden glow of the setting sun. “It’s so nice. Where are you now?”

“Somewhere near Tulum. Martin found this tiny resort off the beaten path. He said he wanted to have a week for ourselves before coming back. No tourists, just an endless beach and some hammocks strung between the palms. We spent the whole day exploring the cenotes and eating the best tacos I’ve ever had.” Mandy’s eyes sparkled with the kind of joy that only came from adventure and sun.

“Ugh, lucky.” you pouted, taking a sip of your tea. The rich, comforting tea filled your senses, a stark contrast to Mandy’s tropical paradise.

Mandy’s expression softened a little as she leaned closer to the screen. Clicking her tongue before mirroring your pout. “I know. I feel guilty sometimes, being out here while you’re back in Canada. How’s it going? Heard there’s a snowstorm out of nowhere.”

You set your mug down and pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Sudden snowstorm is correct. Streets are buried under layers of snow, and I had to shovel the driveway twice today.”

Mandy winced in sympathy. “I don’t miss that at all actually.” Then a memory took over her vision, a giggling leaving her lips before reminding: “Remember last year when we got stuck in that coffee shop when we were trying to have this cute study date?”

“Oh my god! That was last year?”

“Yeah! It was fun, though,” Mandy said, a nostalgic smile curving her lips. “I miss those random little adventures with you.”

“Me too,” you admitted, glancing at the snow swirling just outside the window. A pang of longing settled in your chest, a mixture of missing Mandy and the familiarity of your carefree times together.

Suddenly, you remembered something.

“Oh my god. I forgot to tell you!” You started, setting your tea cup aside to adjust your laptop as you spoke to Mandy. You caught her attention immediately, fixing her posture to move closer to the computer. “I finally got a penpal.” You exclaimed.

Mandy made tiny claps with her hands, leaning even closer to the camera to celebrate. “No way! How?” She asked, continuing to add something before you answered: “That's funny because, a week ago, Martin's and my friends were over for movie night. And one of them mentioned seeing an ad for… uh… like online penpals? Like sending emails?”

You jumped at how similar it is to the idea of the website you used, “oh! It’s similar to the one I used but mine is like, you meet, you chat for like three minutes, then they give you this P.O box address that you can send your penpal letter to. That way it can be fully anonymous.”

“Location?” Mandy tilted her head.

“You allow them to have your location as soon as you click on the website.” You informed. Mandy looked at you like you had cat ears for ears; “and you allowed a random website to have your location?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You’re insane.” Mandy sighed.

“Anyway,” you continue. “I met a girl as soon as I was matched to chat, we had journaling in common. She seems nice so far!”

Mandy raised her right eyebrow, crossing her arms, “and what makes you think she isn’t a twenty something year old creepy man that plays video games with his friends all day and can't ever interact with women outside of Fortnite skins?”

“I feel like you described me but with the implications of a man.”

“Point stands.” Mandy warned. You roll your eyes. “Mandy, why would a man put journaling as one of his interests?”

“To fool you.”

“Oh my god. Stop.” You started giggling at Mandy’s resistance against your ideologies. “So what? He doesn’t have my actual address if that’s true!”

“Plus, Fortnite Fishing Journalist? Sounds like a woman.”

“I think hypothermia is kicking in.” Mandy rubs her temple, looking to the beach as the waves crash down into a soft shuffling sound. “Careful.”

“Don’t worry. Probably won’t get murdered.” You reassured. Though, Mandy’s face didn’t seem reassured at all. “You enjoy your time! This is some silly penpal stuff! Tell me what you’ve been up to.” You noted, wanting to derail the conversation away from you since Mandy seemed so tense.

She gave you a half smile. Starting to go on about how she loves the beach waters here, how stray cats are friendly, and how her shopping sprees are becoming bigger and bigger as the days go by.

After an hour of talking about how Martin needs to stop wearing graphic t-shirts when they’re out together at a fancy restaurant or about how much Mandy misses fish; the call ended with a goodnight wish to you. Waving hands and kisses goodbye making a smile linger on your face even after she hangs up.

As you think back about your conversations, remembering what Mandy said about your new friend. Snarking at the imaginary tail of your friend. Yeah, right. A twenty something year old man pretending to be a woman to have a penpal that sends him Hello Kitty stickers, pink washi-tape samples, and song recommendations.

—

“GamingJournalingReader,

It’s me. Hi. How are you? I hope you are good. I’m okay. Song recommendations? I listened to some of yours and so far, I like it. I’ll also add some songs on the bottom of this ripped page. Excuse me, I don’t have sticky notes.

How’s the weather where you live? It’s snowing for me. No fun. I can’t go out to grab sticky notes for our letters. Dislike emoji. Sorry, I’m not used to writing on paper. I kind of wish I had emoji stickers to add.

This is kind of breaking my habit of using Siri for everything. I have a serious problem with that. My friends make fun of me for it. It kind of feels weird to not let Siri write this down for me. (I’m not being serious.)

I don’t know if this is oversharing, I’m just not used to this.

Bye.”

—

Hamzah titled his head as he looked at the neatly folded and decorated letter sent by GamingJournalingReader. The way this person wrote was so detailed and intricate, the signature vanilla lingered in the air for a while after he opened the letter. Groaning when he turned his vision to his monstrosity of a letter. He was reusing old envelopes as his new envelopes, his paper being from an old notebook he bought when he first moved into the apartment to journal (which failed.)

His writing improved, a little less dry and more comfortable. But still, it missed that hidden element.

Whatever! It doesn’t matter. Why does he need to impress this random person on the internet? It’s not the end of the world if his letters aren’t the most presentable, all that mattered was that it was perfectly readable and both parties seem to be fine with it (for the most part on his behalf.)

Hamzah went over to the kitchen to feed Red and Blue before he leaves to meet up with Martin to film another eating in a cultural restaurant vlog.

His lips curled into a smile as he recalled something: “I was happy to see that you got and responded to my letter.” Something about that line—it felt real. Maybe it was the novelty of it, or the way it was phrased with such casual care. The kind of care you get when someone, even on the other side of a screen or a thousand miles away, takes the time to reach out. It’s only been a month or so since they met. He already somewhat felt the companionship he was longing for. The person who was asking him about himself, wondering how he is even if it wasn’t fully genuine. It felt nice to have someone willingly wonder how he is.

Red squawked from his cage in the corner, snapping Hamzah out of his thoughts. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, calm down," he muttered, moving over to the kitchen counter. He filled their food bowls, watching as Blue immediately dug in, while Red took a more dignified approach, nibbling delicately.

As he prepared their water and cleaned their area quickly, he caught his reflection in the microwave door. His hair was a mess, and his shirt—he hadn’t even bothered to iron it. He wasn’t in the mood

Hamzah grabbed his jacket from the couch in his living room, walking past his coffee table where his letter sat. He took a final glance at it, wondering whether he should be embarrassed by his own letter. ‘It’s fine’, he thought. After all, the words would speak for themselves, wouldn’t they? And wasn’t that all that mattered?

Besides, he seemed to get like this every time he wrote his letters. Every single Thursday, he’d sit and stare at his letter—beating it down and comparing it to his penpal’s letter. Or when he twists his lips around while he looks at it, thinking it’s bland and that it needs more decorations like how GamingJournalingReader’s letters would be. “Whatever.” He whispered.

With one last deep breath, he grabbed his keys beside the letter and headed for the front door.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I get the whole Siri dependency. But isn’t that why they made Siri anyway? You’re just getting your money’s worth. Writing by hand is like an old-school challenge but kind of nice, right? And YES! Emoji stickers would make this 10 times better.

It’s kind of funny because when I got your letter, it was snowing for me too! I couldn’t get to my mail box until two days later, which kind of explains why this letter will also be sent late to you. Sorry, Mrs.FortniteFishingJournalist!

On a good note… I FOUND SOME SILLY SMILEY FACE STICKERS!! I’ll send some to you in my envelope, if you want to make it sad; just draw a pout on its face and it’ll all be good.

My question for this letter is: do you have any pets? You don’t have to share names! Just a yes or no. Or you can ignore my question. It’s okay as well.

I had a pet pigeon for a while, not actually but it would jump on the rails of my apartment’s balcony and pick at an empty ashtray for two hours every morning. Named it: trashy. Because, I’d leave it be then it’ll start trashing my balcony for no reason!

Anyway, how was your week? Mine was still snowy. I hope yours was warmer than before.

With love and kisses

GamingJournalingReader”

—

“Martin’s and my friends are coming over next week.” Mandy announced over the phone, “do you wanna come? It’s a bigger party this time, some of Claire’s friends are coming over.”

You sighed on the other side of the phone, your agony made Mandy frown. “Oh no. Why?” She immediately asked, using her shoulder to hold her phone close to her ear while she fed Fish and Carl. “I don’t know… I haven’t gone to a party in a while.” You message the bridge of your nose, thinking about being in a crowded place where you don’t know ninety percent of the people there.

“Girl. It’s like twelve people max.”

“And only two of which I know!” You argued back, closing the book that sat neatly on your lap. You uncrossed your legs, standing up to walk around the room while you talked to your friend.

Mandy remained silent for a second, seemingly unaware that you would agree if she would just promise that she won’t leave you alone with some strangers. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Just knock it out, it’s in my apartment, you won’t lose me.” And the key answer was declared, allowing you to mumble an “okay.” With a not so convinced tone.

Your friend let out a dramatic sigh on the other end of the phone. “I promise I’ll be your social bodyguard.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Mandy as your personal bodyguard in a sea of people you barely knew. Still, the idea of pushing through your discomfort for a night in the company of friends—letting go of the fact that most of them were friends of friends—was oddly reassuring. “Fine, but if I end up hiding in the bathroom, you’ll know it’s because I’m at my social breaking point.”

“You can lock yourself in there as long as you want, I’ll bring you snacks through the door if I have to,” Mandy teased, clearly delighted that you were coming around. “It’ll be fun! You’ve been cooped up in that apartment for weeks now.” Mandy's voice softened, genuine now. “You know I would never drag you into anything you don’t want to do. Just come for a bit. If you need an out, I’ll get you out.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and for the first time in the conversation, you felt a tiny shift in your anxiety. It probably wouldn’t be so bad. Right?

—

It was totally bad.

You blinked. The living room was dimly lit, with warm golden lights strung up around the walls, the low thrum of music in the background. It was cozy, but too crowded. Mandy’s apartment wasn’t massive, which made this feel a whole lot more uncomfortable. Mandy’s cat, Fish, darted between your legs and Carl was curled up beside you on the couch, blissfully ignoring the humans around him.

Okay, maybe you are totally being dramatic. It wasn’t all that bad but you did feel like the odd man out. Everyone was a little awkward with you, unsure of how you’ll take their humor, trying their best to have the best first impression. All of it ends in them having conversations together about things you won’t get—excluding you without noticing.

Mandy went out to grab more drinks for everyone, NOT keeping her promise about being your PSB (Personal Social Bodyguard.)

That’s an unfair way of thinking. Wasn’t it? She should have fun without you holding her down. You pet Carl to calm your thoughts. The sound of folks mingling around you soon becomes background noise as you smile down at Carl.

Suddenly, the couch dipped beside you, and your head subconsciously turned toward the shift in weight, half-expecting it to be Mandy. Instead, you were met with a guy you hadn’t noticed before, his posture relaxed, with a quiet awkwardness that immediately made him seem more like someone who was trying to fit in. Just like you.

You blinked, a little surprised. He had messy, dark, curly hair and an effortlessly laid-back vibe—like he’d just thrown on whatever was comfortable, and somehow it suited him perfectly. His eyes scanned your face for a moment, his eyebrows raising as if processing your unfamiliar presence.

Oh! You know him! That’s Martin’s friend. “Hamzah?” you asked, the name slipping out before you even realized it. For a split second, the guy’s expression froze, a flash of surprise crossing his face. It was less of a ‘That’s not my name’ look, more of a ‘How do you know my name?’ look. His brows furrowed as he glanced at you, clearly puzzled.

This is so awkward.

“…that’s me,” he said slowly. His voice was low and steady, but there was a slight hesitation in it, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the sudden attention. “How do you...?”

You quickly cleared your throat, hoping to clear up the confusion. “Sorry, I’m Mandy’s friend,” you explained. “That’s how I know you. You’re Martin's friend? I’ve heard her mention you a couple of times.”

He nodded, still looking at you with a quiet curiosity. His lips twitched into a small, almost sheepish smile, but he didn’t seem entirely at ease. "Oh. Yeah," he said, his voice a little softer now, like he was processing the new piece of information. “She doesn’t talk shit about you.” You reassured, although now that you said it; it makes Mandy look guilty with what you accused.

Hamzah let out a short breathy laugh, “Good to know.” His tone was humorous, almost like he sensed your slight embarrassment and tried to let you know that he won’t take it negatively. “I didn’t realize Mandy had a... friend here. I mean, I didn’t know she invited a friend.”

Both of you are doing horrible in wording your statements, everything could be taken backhanded but you both ignored your troubled sentences and continued your awkward conversation.

You shifted your position, trying to make the space between you feel less awkward. “Yeah, I’m kind of the ‘out-of-place’ one tonight,” you said with a half-laugh. “I don’t know anyone here except Mandy and I met Martin only a handful of times.”

Hamzah nodded, biting his lip nervously as he turned to look around for Martin. You noticed what he was doing, letting him know where the couple was: “Mandy and Martin left to grab some drink.” He turned to look at you as you answered, nodding his head again.

You both sat in a brief, awkward silence, both of you still trying to find your footing in the conversation. You could feel the tension in the air, but it was the kind of tension that felt more like a shared experience—neither of you seemed comfortable in the party setting, but at least you weren’t alone in it.

Trying to break the silence, you thought of something Mandy had mentioned earlier, something that seemed like an easy topic to latch onto. “Mandy was telling me you and Martin went camping recently,” you said, your tone a little hesitant as you watched his reaction. “She was saying it was... pretty intense? You know, like, the kind of camping where you actually rough it.”

Hamzah’s eyes flickered briefly, as though he was momentarily caught off guard, but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit as he processed what you said. There was a slight smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice sounding a little more grounded now. “It was... an adventure, for sure.” He leaned back slightly on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Martin insisted on doing the whole thing the real way—no hotels, no water bottles, just tents and a campfire. It was... an experience, to say the least.”

You couldn’t help but smile, imagining the chaos of two guys trying to make the best of a rough camping trip. “That sounds... brutal, honestly. Like, no luxuries? I’m sure it was fun in some way, but... wow.”

Hamzah chuckled softly, the sound deep and quiet, like he was remembering something particularly funny—or maybe just trying to make light of the situation. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever missed a good shower more in my life. And the food—The food was awful.”

He gave a small, genuine laugh, and for a moment, you both shared a look, a moment of connection over something completely unrelated to the current social chaos. His smile was genuine now, the tension from before slipping away just a little more.

“How long have you and Mandy been friends?” He asked, finding footing in the conversation. You hummed at the question, “around a year ago maybe?”

“I lost my phone in this beaten up, old amusement park when I was babysitting. I was lowkey freaking out and she must’ve seen me from afar. Held the kids with me and ran around looking for my phone.”

“Mandy would do that?”

“Only a year ago.”

Both of you giggle at your combined joke. Hamzah’s playfulness coming out, your heart weirdly fluttering at the sight; not weirdly actually… Hamzah was really cute. You knew that since Mandy showed you pictures of him and her boyfriend. But you don’t want to feed that crush too much, you knew you wouldn’t see him a lot—what could possibly tie you guys together anyway? It seems like you guys wouldn’t have anything in common.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled your attention away from Hamzah. When Mandy stepped inside, you instinctively stood up from the couch to walk toward her. As you glanced back at Hamzah, you caught the subtle flutter of his eyes in your direction, and your heartbeat quickened in response. “It was nice to meet you!” you said, offering a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you too,” he replied, his voice soft, and though the words were sincere, an awkward tension lingered between you two, faint but noticeable.

—

“GamingJournalingReader

My week was cold too but definitely better than last week… It's so funny how similar our weather matches up.

Pigeon? That’s unique. I have two cats, as I have mentioned before I’m pretty forgetful. I decided to name them very common names that won’t ever be forgotten. Red and Blue. Isn’t that so convenient? Never understood the hassle with names. I think our love is one sided, they only love me when it’s feeding time. I’m sure you understand, with your pigeon and all.

I get busy sometimes and can’t be there emotionally for them. That kind of makes me feel like shit, but I need someone emotionally too. You don’t see me complaining like they do. Kidding. Obviously.

The stickers are so fucking cool. You’re a lifesaver, honestly. How do you even have that many different options of stickers? Do you make these? Or do you collect them? So many questions, so little answers. You’re such a mystery…

Mr.GamingJournalingReader,

Teach me your way of stickering.”

—

Hamzah leaned against the counter, sipping from a cup of iced coffee he'd made. The cold, bitter liquid slid down his throat, a jolt of wakefulness that kept the remnants of sleep at bay. His gaze flicked over to the cats, Red and Blue, happily munching on their meals. Their rhythmic chewing was the only sound in the kitchen, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly still.

Then, his phone buzzed on the counter, its vibrations cutting through the silence. Hamzah glanced at the screen. It was a notification from Martin: “Did you confirm with the camera guy for the vlog next week?”

He set his cup down and breathed out slowly, trying to shake off the weight of the message. He glanced back down at the cats again, watching them finish up their breakfast. The silence of the moment was a balm, familiar and comforting, like an old friend who never demanded anything more than your company. It was his life of solitude, his sanctuary.

Hamzah groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of the question. The vlog was something that had been hanging over his head for a week—something he was technically responsible for (since it was his idea) but had zero desire to manage at the moment. The thought of reaching out to the camera guy, arranging schedules, figuring out who was doing what, made him want to crawl back into bed and pretend nothing exists. The last thing he wanted to do on this quiet morning was deal with anything.

But of course, his mind wasn’t content to stay in that peaceful place for long. His thoughts, as they often did, drifted back to something that had been on his mind more than he cared to admit: a night from last week.

It was last Friday. The day had started like any other—quiet, unremarkable. He'd been lounging around, enjoying the feeling of having no plans, no obligations, when his phone buzzed with a message from Claire.

“Hamzah, are you sure you don’t want to come by? Last minute change of plans, it’ll be chill, I swear. Just us, maybe a few others, but it’ll be super low-key.”

When he showed up, though, he quickly realized the party wasn’t exactly what he expected. The place was louder than he anticipated, a mix of chatter and music spilling out into the small apartment’s entryway. And Claire’s promise of “just a few others” had been a stretch of the truth. The living room was filled with unfamiliar faces. And he had to shake their hands with jorts and a minecraft shirt on. The only laundry he finished this week.

But one thing stood out to him from that whole night; her.

They were both somewhat in the same social hierarchy in that party, weirdly finding comfort within each other's unfamiliarity. He never thought he’d be ‘getting to know someone’ this smoothly before, although it was awkward. She was carrying the conversation pretty well. Remained him of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

And she’s pretty. Did he make a fool out of himself in front of a pretty girl…? He shut his eyes, breathing in to relax himself. “She asked me one question, I asked her. Fair conversation.” He reassured himself, like if he said it outloud he’d feel any better.

He didn’t.

“This is stupid.”

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

Mysterious? Me? No way. I think you only think that because you don’t know my name. I feel like I share a lot more than you think. You know about my pet pigeon, and not a lot of people know about that beautiful creature!

Anyway, CATS! I love your cats' names! I get you with the whole forgetting thing, I forget some important things too. Just a part of life, isn’t it?

Random but I really love talking to you. You’re starting to feel like a longtime friend I had since middle school. Can you believe we’ve been talking for two months? Maybe a little under that but LET ME PRETEND LIKE IT’S A BIG MILESTONE! Crazy, feels like yesterday. One tear crying emoji. (I don’t have that as a sticker. I have failed my sticker master skills.)

Oh! I have some TEA. Not really tea but… listen, girl. I went to a party the other day, and I met my friend’s boyfriend’s friend. I know it's confusing. Anyway, he was cute. Not like smash cute, but like… wife me up cute. That could be the same for you, they’re kinda different for me.

I don’t think I can ever date him though… our conversation was short and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. Unless some miracle happens. Knowing my luck there won’t be any.

Isn’t this such a long letter? Sorry girly pop, got too excited telling you about my party crush.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah blinked as he read the letter in front of him.

“Holy shit.” How could he forget? Such a small little perfect detail about this whole big ordeal of a pen-pal relationship they had.

“But…listen, girl.”

“Sorry girly pop,”

She thinks he’s a girl. That was the whole reason why they met, he changed his gender to female. Hamzah sat back in his chair, staring at the letter in his hands with wide eyes. The words echoed in his mind. "Sorry, girly pop." and "But... listen, girl" both said so casually, so warmly, and for the first time, it really hit him. ‘She thinks I'm a girl.’

Two months. He hadn’t expected to get this far, heck he didn’t even expect the first letter to begin with, he thought this whole thing was dead and gone as soon as he logged out of that website that night. A week later, when he got the letter, he somehow managed to forget the most crucial part of this whole dilemma. The only reason why she feels comfortable enough to talk to him in the first place is because she thinks he’s a woman. A woman around his age, who completely understands her girl talks and problems.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” Hamzah ran his hands through his flattened curls, his hand resting on the back of his neck when he reached it. “Shit.” The only words that managed to leave his lips were no good to his current situation. He can’t do anything. There is nothing he could do to fix this. It’s been two months—as she said—two months built on a lie.

Hamzah exhaled a breath, his eyes skimming over the words as if he could somehow read them differently, like they would magically change if he focused hard enough. But they didn't. The same sentences, the same affectionate tone. Just when he felt like he had something, something that filled the void he noticed within himself, the void he’s been complaining about to all his friends. Everything crumbles on him, over something so silly and stupid. His lips twisted as a splash of guilt pulled on his heart. She thought he was someone he wasn’t, someone he couldn’t be, and there was no way he could fix that. And it was all because of one click, and a forgetful mind.

He glanced at the desk in front of him, cluttered with papers and billing mail—distractions. His mind was buzzing, a loud cacophony of thoughts and what-ifs.

He had to admit the truth: he’d lied to her from the very beginning. The whole thing—it was a lie. Sure, he never outright said he was a girl. But, the tag of female under his name was enough to hold his fate. Fate he wasn’t ready to face. Not yet. He never expected it to go this far. He hadn’t planned on actually forming any sort of real connection, hadn’t planned on actually caring about her feelings. Especially since this whole website was—as he thought—bait for scammers and weirdos. But now, after two months of letters, of laughing at stickers she’d give him and sharing minor intimate details about one another, he couldn’t just pull out. This weird attachment he had didn’t allow him so.

His fingers drummed on the edge of the desk as his mind ran wild with ideas—what if he told her the truth? What if he just came clean and explained everything? But no. No, that would only make things worse. She’d be hurt, probably angry. Never speak to him again. She’ll think he’s some sort of creep, praying on her or something. And what would he be left with then? The same empty, hollow feeling he had now, only worse.

But why does he care? It’s just a random person he met that doesn’t actually know him.

Hamzah leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His thoughts circled around one word, one solution that was simple but painful, though probably less painful than finding out that the girl you’ve been talking to the past two months was a twenty two year old man that does YouTube for a living.

That word was: ignore.

He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to just disappear from her life without an explanation, but he could already feel the weight of the lie pressing on him. Ignoring her, pretending like everything was as it used to be and that nothing had happened, was the only way to avoid confrontation. The only way to let this fizzle out without dealing with the mess. It was easy, anonymous, and clean.

He would just stop responding. Stop mailing back. And eventually she’ll forget. Only two months, right? It shouldn’t get her hung up too much… right?

He crumpled the letter in his hand, tossing it into the trash. For the first time in two months, Hamzah felt nothing but disheartenment on a Thursday night. Both the stress and the weight of it all was something he couldn’t shake off.

All he could think about right now was how his friend must feel. It didn’t matter how hurt he was about not being able to contact her again. She seemed so excited, so eager about how deep their friendship was growing in such a short period of time.

He spun his chair around, staring at the darkened window. His reflection stared back, a guy who had somehow stumbled into something real by pretending to be someone else. It wasn’t even intentional—at least, not entirely. When he’d checked that little box on the website, it was supposed to be a joke. A way to bypass the site’s foot obsessed weirdos and see who he’ll meet.

He hadn’t expected her. At all.

Red circling around him snapped him out of his thoughts, turning to the purring cat to carry it. “Let’s feed you, come on.” He got up and walked to the kitchen where Blue also ran to his comfort.

That’s it. Back to square one.

—

Martin huffed, hands rushing to massage his temple. “You can’t be serious.” His tone filled with irritation. Hamzah looked at him with indifference, almost an ‘I told you so’ attitude burned in his eyes.

Mandy overheard her boyfriend's anger grow, peeking from their kitchen. “What’s wrong?” She asked, a frown forming between her eyebrows as her concern (and slight annoyance) grew.

Martin groaned, letting his hands fall dramatically to his sides. “The guy canceled. After a whole week of silence, he texts saying he’s not coming.” Hamzah leaned back against the armrest of the couch, his expression still unreadable. “Told you hiring someone off Craigslist wasn’t it,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Should’ve gone with someone we know.”

Mandy walked further into the room, her brow still furrowed. “Wait, what? The cameraman? For the exploring video?” She looked between the two men, her voice rising in disbelief.

“Yes, the cameraman,” Martin snapped, pacing the small living room. “He ghosted us for a week and then decided, at the last minute, that he’s not available. Who does that?!” He waved his phone around in frustration.

Hamzah shrugged. “Probably saw a better gig pop up. It happens.”

“Did you pay him?” Mandy said, her gaze fell on her boyfriend. “No, but we agreed with him on an amount and told him what we’re doing.” Hamzah responded before Martin could, “maybe that’s why he said no…” Martin muttered. “Maybe he felt like we’re under paying him.” He continued.

Mandy glared at her boyfriend in disbelief, “I highly doubt that.”

Mandy crosses her arms as she rests the weight of her body on her left leg. “What if you guys… I don’t know, do it yourselves?”

“Do it ourselves?” Martin echoed, looking at her like she’d suggested they film with a potato. “That’ll be too much work, plus we don’t have a tripod or anything.”

“Why didn’t y'all have back up?” Mandy shot back, her tone defensive. “Don’t you think about what could go wrong when it comes to this?”

Hamzah let out a breath, the sound making both Martin and Mandy turn his way, “look, there’s no point in arguing about anything right now. We should think about another video idea to do.”

Mandy uncrossed her arms, her lips opening to say something but she hesitated. Martin looked at her, tilting his head as he waited for what she wanted to say. “I might… have a friend that’ll be willing to help you. Except, I'm not so sure about her skills.”

Martin was at his wit’s end. “We need to finish this video as soon as possible. I don’t care, we just need a third person to film the both of us.” He turned to Hamzah, seeking his approval. Hamzah still gave him an indifferent look, shrugging.

“Who’s this friend?” Martin asked.

“My friend that showed up to the last movie night we had.”

“The shy one?”

“She’s not shy,” Mandy corrected. “She just didn’t know anyone.”

Hamzah’s interest was piqued at the discussion of such a friend. “Is she the one you told about me and Martin going camping?”

Mandy seemed surprised that Hamzah knew about that. “She talked to you?”

Hamzah nodded. “For a bit, yeah.”

“Yeah. Her,” Mandy confirmed.

Martin spoke, breaking them out of their question and answer session: “Alright. Call her. See if she’s available. The worst she can say is no.” Gesturing to Mandy to go on and call.

Mandy nodded, already reaching for her phone. “She’s usually pretty chill. If she’s free, I’m sure she won’t mind helping out.”

The room fell silent as they watched Mandy’s phone, the tension building as if the entire project depended on this one text.

Finally, Mandy’s phone chimed. She read the message, her expression brightening. “She’s in.” Martin sighed in relief at the news. Weirdly enough, Hamzah felt like he was growing nervous at the thought of meeting her again.

“That’s awesome, tell her to come over later tonight.” Martin pressed, moving to the coffee table to grab his phone. Mandy nodded once again, her thumbs typing out his message.

Hamzah shuffled in his spot. Why the hell does he feel nervous? He talked to this girl once and they don’t have to talk much now, she’s there to film and that’s that. That’s… that. It’s not that deep.

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t know her much. (As if he knew the cameraman from Craigslist any better)

“Come on. We have to go grab some stuff.” Martin nudged Hamzah’s shoulder to grab his attention. Hamzah cleared his throat in response, nodding and following behind him.

—

“Okay! Three, two… one. I’m recording.”

Martin let out a light laugh. “You don’t need to count us down. Just make sure you’ve got a good angle,” he teased.

You clicked your tongue in irritation. “I know. It’s just a habit. Don’t laugh,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

It’s quite interesting that you had a longer conversation with Hamzah two weeks ago than with Martin in total since you met. That made sense with the way you seem to still get irritated at his jabs.

“Why are you staring at me? Just start already,” you pressed, trying to maintain focus on the screen. Hamzah, standing in the corner of the frame, covered his mouth to hide a grin. Watching you get frustrated with Martin was, apparently, very entertaining. The only person who has ever gotten angry like this over his jokes was Mandy.

Now he sees why you guys are friends.

But, it did seem out of character for you to get this riled up, not that he’d know you that much to know that you aren’t being yourself, but the energy around you and the words you spoke seemed off. There was something in your expression—tight, uneasy—that struck him as odd. You weren’t just frustrated. You were nervous. No… anxious.

But this wasn’t the shy or uncertain kind of anxious. It was something sharper, heavier. Fear.

Who could blame you? The house was unnerving. The kind of place that felt alive with all the wrong things—creaking wood, rustling leaves, and the distant snap of twigs that made you whip your head around. And then there was the eerie way the last traces of sunlight bled into the horizon, swallowing the shadows until everything was steeped in twilight. Even Hamzah could feel the chill creeping up his spine to his neck.

Still, despite that, Hamzah couldn’t fully shake the amusement bubbling inside him. A part of him—the part that usually found humor in tense situations—felt guilty for being entertained. But another part, quieter and harder to define, wasn’t amused because you were scared. It was something else entirely. He found it a little cute.

The way you tried to cover your fear, rushing Martin and him to get through the video intro as quickly as possible, only made it more obvious. Your voice was firm, but your eyes darted around, scanning the shadows as if they might come alive. It was endearing in a way; Hamzah wasn’t sure how to explain, even to himself.

So, he looked away, trying to focus on something else. Whatever it was he was feeling, this wasn’t the time to figure it out. Not here, not now.

“Hamzah, can you move to the left a little? You’re out of frame.” Your order ensured his eyes would fall back upon your face. You gave him a flat smile, gesturing for him to move. “Oh, yeah. Okay.” He returned the smile, moving a little closer to Martin.

—

Martin huffed as they approached his apartment, Hamzah beside him with his hands shoved into his pockets. You followed behind them, your fingers delicately wrapped around your old, beat-up camera, a splurge purchase from years ago. “Never thought you’d come in handy,” you mumbled to the device as if it could respond, scrolling through the footage to ensure there were no visual errors with the lens or other issues.

Filming with the two boys was chaotic. Seeing Martin fully in character made you squirm at first, but the chuckle that escaped Hamzah’s lips when you both glanced at each other afterward became the highlight of the experience. There was something about him. Every time you locked eyes, it felt like a reminder of… something. Something you both shared that night weeks ago.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head slightly in an attempt to steer your thoughts away from this dangerous train of thought. What were you doing? It’s not like that. He’s probably just nice but awkward. It doesn’t mean anything. Those stares don’t mean anything.

“Hello?” Martin’s long, exaggerated drawl of the letter L snapped you out of your daydream. Your head shot up—from the camera to his face—and he asked, “Are you going home?”

You blinked, almost as if you didn’t register his question. You had, of course, but you’d completely forgotten that you’d Ubered to his apartment for the sake of time. Now, it was 1 a.m., and catching an Uber at this hour felt like asking for trouble. You shut your eyes, groaning at your predicament. “Fuck.” Opening your eyes, you looked at the two men standing in front of you. “No. I have to get back home, but…”

You trailed off, not wanting to make it their problem. “Never mind.” You waved your hand dismissively. “I’ll see you guys around.”

Martin tilted his head. “No, no. What’s wrong?” he pressed.

You sighed. “I… it’s nothing serious.”

Hamzah stood there quietly, unsure of what to say since he didn’t know you well enough to bombard you with questions like Martin.

“Do you not have a ride?” Martin guessed.

You smirked at how quickly he pieced it together. “I Ubered here, but I think the metro’s been down all week because of the snowstorm…” Your worries tumbled out like word vomit. Once you started, you couldn’t stop.

Martin glanced over at Hamzah, who remained silent beside him. “Well, Hamzah came by car, so…” He looked at his friend. “Can you take her home?”

Hamzah had never wanted to punch Martin more than he did in that moment.

He couldn’t say no, not without looking and feeling like an asshole. The only option left was to press the big, red button labeled YES. He tried to remain calm, forcing his face into a neutral expression that didn’t betray the fact that he was internally freaking out about being alone in a car with a girl. A girl who was quickly becoming his friend-of-a-friend crush. A total hotshot he couldn’t stop staring at.

“Y-Yeah. Totally,” Hamzah stammered, finally turning his gaze to meet yours.

A smile spread across your face. “You don’t have to. Seriously, I can just call a friend.”

“It’s… too cold out. They might keep you waiting. I’ll drop you off,” Hamzah replied, surprised at how smoothly the words escaped his mouth. His tone was calm and collected—or at least, that’s how it sounded to him.

“Well, thank you.” You smiled, your eyes seeming to sparkle under the dim streetlights. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

“Great. Email me the footage by tomorrow, yeah?” Martin interrupted the moment, walking backward toward the apartment building’s entrance.

“Okay!” you called back.

“Thanks, cameraman. I owe you,” Martin added before turning on his heels and disappearing through the door.

—

The silence was heavy in the car, almost deafening. His cologne mixed faintly with the lingering scent of weed, a combination you hadn’t expected but found oddly comforting. You noticed the steady grip he kept on the steering wheel—calm and deliberate. Maybe he was being careful because of you. The thought made you smile faintly, but you quickly pressed your lips into a pout, not wanting to look like a weirdo smiling at nothing.

Still, the silence grew too loud to bear. You glanced at him, stealing a moment to take him in. ’Well, isn’t he a pretty sight?’ you thought, biting back another smile. Searching for something to say, you finally settled on, “So, what do you like to do in your free time?” The second the words left your mouth, you winced internally. Hobbies? Really? What are you, twelve?

Hamzah seemed a little surprised by the question. His hands flexed on the wheel as if debating whether to glance at you, but his eyes stayed on the road. “I, um…” He paused, as though the answer had caught in his throat. A fleeting memory of him typing his hobbies onto that embarrassing pen-pal site flitted through his mind. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I like fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“You asked—don’t judge,” he replied, his tone defensive but light.

You giggled softly. “I’m not judging. You just don’t strike me as the fishing type.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back against the seat. “Actually, I met someone recently who also likes fishing, so it’s not that strange.” You shrugged, still smiling.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?” you clarified.

“Yeah, obviously,” he added quickly, his awkwardness making your smile widen. There was something so endearing about the way he spoke to you, like he was trying hard not to trip over his words.

“Um… gaming,” you answered simply.

“Like Roblox?”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What?” His pitch rose in mock indignation, the tension in the car dissolving as his comfort grew.

“No, like Fortnite,” you said, deadpan.

Hamzah shot you a quick side-eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Fortnite? You? Fortnite…?”

You raised an eyebrow, curious where this was going. “You are not defeating the sexist allegations right now.”

Hamzah huffed a laugh, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea. “No, no, it’s not—,” he said, his grin still in place. “It’s just… you seem like you’ve got your life together, that’s all.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, laughing at the vague explanation.

“Teenagers, losers, and weird YouTubers—like Martin and me—play Fortnite,” Hamzah teased. “Wait, so you’re saying I fall under the loser category?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, forcing him to glance at you. He stammered, his grip tightening on the wheel as your eyes locked on him. “N-No. I don’t think you do.”

“Right. ’Cause I’m not wearing a Fortnite jacket when I leave my house,” you quipped, a grin tugging at your lips. Hamzah chuckled again, shaking his head. “That—and the fact that you’re too pretty. Pretty people aren’t losers, no matter what they like.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unintentional. You froze, the unexpected compliment catching you off guard. At the same time, Hamzah’s half-smile faltered as the weight of what he’d just said hit him. His eyes stayed glued to the road, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t dare look at you—didn’t want to see your reaction.

“Well,” you began after a beat, your tone light but steady, “you aren’t so bad yourself. So, I don’t know what your point is here.”

The casual way you said it made him glance at you, almost involuntarily. This time, you weren’t looking at him, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. But he caught the faintest hint of a shy smile playing on your lips, your cheeks slightly pink. You turned your head toward the window as if trying to hide it, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined it altogether.

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the GPS chimed in, breaking the moment. Hamzah slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the road near your apartment complex. You sighed softly, taking in the sight of your building. The conversation had been brief but charged, and the realization that your time together was over left a quiet sadness in its wake.

“Thanks for the ride.” You said, the shyness you once seemed to have changed into a casual expression, turning to face him with a grin. Hamzah fully met your gaze for what it had seemed the first time. “It’s cool.” He responded.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He nodded, the sound of the door clicking open prompted him to look away to get ready to drive off. “Sorry.” His sudden apology made you look back—half of your body already out of the vehicle.

Your confusion caused him to continue: “if I made you uncomfortable.” He paused, “it kinda just—”

“I wasn’t.” You cut him off. “Besides, I meant what I said too.”

Hamzah kept his eyes ahead, too shy to meet your burning eye contact; but he managed to respond quietly, “okay,” a soft smile tugging at his lips. His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, betraying his nervous energy.

You lingered for a moment, one foot still on the pavement, your hand resting on the door. The air between you felt charged, as if both of you were holding back from saying something more.

“Night, Hamzah,” you said finally, your voice softer than you intended.

“Goodnight,” he replied, daring to glance at you one last time. The way the streetlights caught the edges of your smile made his chest tighten. He wanted to say more—but the words never came.

You stepped back, gently shutting the door, and with a small wave, you turned and walked toward your building. Hamzah watched until you disappeared inside, the faintest trace of your perfume still lingering in the car.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

How are you? It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard from you! I hope everything’s okay on your end. Did I say something in my last letter that upset you? Honestly, I can’t even remember what I wrote, but if I did, I’m sorry.

I have news though. Big news. Remember wife me up boy? Well, he drove me home the other day, and we joked around a bit… but here’s the kicker: he called me pretty. Yeah. Out loud. Unintentionally. The context doesn’t even matter (and is way too long to explain here), but just know that I may or may not have flirted back a little.

He’s so cute, though. I could tell he didn’t mean to say it, and honestly, it made it even better. Like, who just accidentally blurts that out? Him, apparently.

But don’t get your hopes up for me—nothing will come of it. I don’t think we’ll see each other again unless fate decides to get dramatic. Plus, our mutual friend would probably hate me if I caught feelings for him, so it’s better to let this little moment stay in the past.

For now, this stays between us. You’re officially the keeper of my secret feelings. I hope you’re doing okay and sending all the good vibes your way. Write back soon—I miss hearing from you.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah blinked as his eyes followed each word. He promised himself he’ll ignore GamingJournalingReader’s mail from now on, even said he won’t pick it up from his mailbox. But there he is tracing the words back with his index finger, finding himself smiling at the mere mention of his penpal.

After reaching the halfway point, something felt off. Like he heard this story before, deja vu. He frowned, tapping the paper lightly against his palm as he tried to piece it together. The details were familiar in a way he couldn’t explain. The car ride, the accidental compliment, the blush hidden behind casual words. It all felt like a story he already knew… or one he’d lived.

His heart thudded once, hard, as the realization began to settle.

“No way,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He glanced back at the letter, the corners of his lips twitched into a disbelieving smile.

Hamzah sat back in his chair, the letter still in his hands, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He read the lines again, slower this time, dissecting every word as if they’d shift under his scrutiny. The way she described him—the car ride, the compliment, the awkwardness—it was all too specific. Too real.

His hand ran through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as if it would help untangle his thoughts. “No way,” he said to the empty room, but even as the words left his mouth, he didn’t believe them.

The coincidence was too perfect.

Hamzah folded the letter neatly and set it on the table, but his eyes lingered on it. A small laugh escaped him, dry and nervous. His hand reached for the bottom drawer of his work table, as soon as he pulled it open the sight of the crumbled letter of last week greeted him.

Hands running to meet contact with the crumbled paper, grabbing all the letters that layer underneath it. Throwing them on the table, his anxiety at an all time high. If this means what he thinks it means… The thought only made him shiver.

His eyes glazed over each word.

“Anyway, how was your week? Mine was still snowy.”

“I went to a party the other day, and I met my friend’s boyfriend’s friend.”

“Our conversation was short and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”

“Sorry girly pop, got too excited telling you about my party crush.”

“Party crush.”

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

His mind raced as each sentence clicked into place, tying together moments he’d lived but never thought twice about. The snowy week. The party. The friend’s boyfriend’s friend. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the latest letter again, scanning it for more clues he might’ve missed.

It was her.

It had to be her.

The sheer impossibility of it made him laugh under his breath, but the sound was strained, laced with disbelief. His penpal—the girl he’d poured a piece of himself into, letter by letter—was the same person who’d sat in his passenger seat just days ago, teasing him about fishing and Fortnite. The same person who’d made him nervous enough to blurt out she was pretty.

Hamzah leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he stared at the pile of letters. He buried his face in his hands, groaning softly. This wasn’t just some coincidence—it felt bigger than that, like some cosmic joke he wasn’t sure he was ready to laugh at.

Like the universe promised him a fate where he can’t ignore the vague mistake he made when he pressed that ‘female’ button.

This just keeps getting worse.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

Are you dead? I’m actually getting worried now lol. You’re probably busy, aren’t you? This is making me feel like the unemployed friend >:(

Joking. Not really. Maybe.

But you know what I’m not joking about? Seeing ‘wife me up’ guy. My friend is hosting this party for her boyfriend, it’s for a milestone he hit! I was invited. And his friend (cute guy) is most likely invited too. I think you’re putting two and two together. WE ARE SO BACK.

Get back to me when you can! I miss you.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Your lips puckered as you scrutinized your reflection in the mirror. Was this dress a little too much for a casual dinner? You’d had all of last week to plan your outfit, yet here you were, second-guessing yourself at the last minute.

Nothing in your closet seemed to meet your standards. Everything was either too plain, too formal, or too revealing for a winter night out. Frustration bubbled up as you sifted through your options.

You sighed heavily, your grip tightening on your phone as though willing it to stop you from texting Mandy and bailing. You sank onto the edge of your bed, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts.

Why were you overthinking this so much? It was just dinner with Mandy, Martin, and Hamzah—Mandy, your close friend; Martin, her boyfriend; and Hamzah…

Hamzah.

The guy you’d totally flirted with last time, assuming you wouldn’t see him again for months. Yet, here you were, almost two weeks later, preparing to sit across from him at a celebration dinner. A dinner Martin insisted on hosting to thank you for your work on their abandoned house video, which had apparently performed so well that he felt the need to show his gratitude. And the fact that you refused any payment from both boys made his gratitude only worsen. “Great,” you muttered to yourself. “You really can’t back out now.”

This was for you, after all. You couldn’t skip it. You groaned, dragging your hands down the fabric of your dress to smooth it out as you stood. One last glance in the mirror made you hesitate, but you shook it off.

“Fuck it,” you mumbled, resigning yourself to your chosen outfit. A knee’s length, wine-red velvet maxi dress, grabbing a large black leather jacket to cover your shoulders and warm you for the night.

The cold air nipped at your skin as you stepped out into the night, the soft velvet of your dress brushing against your hands as they moved with each step. You pulled your leather jacket tighter around your shoulders, boots crunching against the frosted ground.

The walk to the restaurant felt longer than it should have. Each step was weighed down by the thought of seeing Hamzah again. You kept reminding yourself it was just dinner to celebrate.

The restaurant came into view, its warm golden glow spilling out onto the street. You stopped short, peering through the glass. Mandy and Martin were already seated, laughing together as they huddled close. Across from them sat Hamzah, his hands folded in his lap, his shoulders stiff despite the casual setting. Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t looking at anyone, his gaze fixed somewhere over Martin’s shoulder.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your jacket, and pushed open the door. The chime above the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Mandy was the first to spot you, her face lighting up as she waved. “There she is!” she called, standing to pull you into a warm hug. “You look amazing!”

You nodded shyly, your grin easy. “Stop. Oh my god.”

Your eyes involuntarily peeked at the quiet figure still seated, Hamzah. He had turned toward you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but he just gave you a curt nod and muttered, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to read into his clipped tone.

You took the seat Mandy gestured to—right beside Hamzah, in front of Mandy.

The conversation started off easy, mostly led by Mandy and Martin. They gushed about the video’s success, recounting how unexpectedly popular it had become. Hamzah chimed in here and there, but stayed mostly quiet, his eyes focused on his glass of water or the corner of the table.

Every so often, you’d catch him sneaking a glance at you, but the second he felt your eyes on him, he’d look away, his jaw tightening as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It was awkward. Painfully so.

At one point, Martin cracked a joke about the abandoned house shoot, something about you jumping at a shadow, and Mandy let out a giggle. You couldn’t help but chuckle, too, but Hamzah barely reacted. His lips twitched into something like a smile before he took a long drink from his glass, his eyes focused mainly on Martin.

“You okay, Hamzah?” Mandy let out, leaning forward. He shrugged, forcing a casualness that didn’t quite land. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.” His fingers playing with the rim of his glass.

The rest of the dinner continued in a similar pattern—Mandy and Martin carrying the conversation while you tried not to notice how Hamzah barely addressed you directly. It was clear he was trying to act normal, but the stiffness in his posture and the way he avoided looking at you made it impossible to ignore.

Was it something about the car ride? God, maybe it is. Maybe he doesn’t know how to address the fact that you made him uncomfortable and brushed you off thinking he won’t see you again until months later—like you thought as well. You bit your lip as Mandy’s rant about Carl being clingy became background noise to your thoughts. Humming to what she was saying, responding strictly to the only few words that do end up registering into your brain.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation and laughter, though Hamzah’s quiet tension never fully dissipated. By the time the check arrived, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed that the dinner was over. As the group began gathering their things, Mandy turned to you with a playful grin. “‘You walking home?”

You nod, putting your leather jacket back on you. “‘Home’s nearby.”

Mandy frowned slightly, glancing out at the frosty street beyond the restaurant windows. “You sure? It’s freezing out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured her with a small smile. “It’s not a long walk.” Before Mandy could say more, Hamzah cleared his throat. “I can drive you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but still firm.

Huh…? you thought he was upset? Were you overthinking this again? I mean, if he was uncomfortable the first time he wouldn’t ask again, would he? Or is he trying to make amends with the tension between you? Whatever it is, it’s driving you crazy.

Your eyes darted to him, surprised. He wasn’t looking at you directly, his focus fixed on zipping up his coat, but his posture was tense, like he was bracing for your reaction. “Oh,” you started, unsure. “You don’t have to. It’s really not far.” Deja vu. You lived this moment before and you can pin-point exactly when, and how.

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. And your heart reacted to his insistences. He adjusted his puffy jacket, still avoiding your gaze. Yet your eyes lingered, drawn to the way his hands moved down his torso, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.

“Cool.” Was all you managed to let out, slowly turning back to Mandy who wasn’t paying attention to the crazy situation (according to you) that was happening. She fixed up Martin’s jacket as they talked about something that you definitely weren’t paying attention to.

Her eyes turned to you as though she felt you staring. Smiling. “Hamzah will take you home?” She asked, wondering what you both finally decided on. Once again, feeling too annoyed with yourself for agreeing without a second thought, you just nodded. A half smile on your face.

The walk to his car felt heavier than it should have. You both stayed silent, the space between you filled with unspoken words. When he unlocked the doors, he hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to open the passenger side for you.

You stopped short, caught off guard by the gesture. He hasn’t spoken to you the entire night, where is all this coming from? His hand lingered on the edge of the door, his knuckles brushing the cold metal as he glanced at you. For the first time all evening, his eyes met yours.

It was brief, a fleeting connection, but it was enough to send a ripple through your chest. His expression was hard to read—his gaze uncertain, like he was searching for something in yours. You thought you saw a flicker of hesitation, or maybe it was determination, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Thanks,” you murmured, breaking the quiet, your breath curling in the chilly air between you.

He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was low, almost inaudible, as he stepped back slightly to give you room. His hand shifted from the top of the car door to the edge of the roof, hovering there protectively, as if anticipating the need to shield your head when you bent to get in.

You slid into the seat, the warmth of the car immediately wrapping around you, but the moment lingered—his presence, his silence, and the unspoken tension that seemed to hang between you like a thread stretched too tight.

Hamzah shut the door carefully and walked around to the driver’s side, climbing in without a word. He started the engine, the hum breaking the silence, and adjusted his seatbelt with deliberate focus.

“Which way?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

You gave him directions, and he nodded, pulling out onto the road. His eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead, his jaw tight.

It was familiar. The same hesitation, the same careful distance he seemed to put between you. It was like the beginning of the first car ride. And yet, beneath it, there was something else—something that felt like it was just waiting for permission to surface.

You stole a glance at him, your stomach flipping at the furrow of his brow and the slight downturn of his lips. “You okay?” you asked quietly. A part of you hoping he’ll tell you why he’s been acting so differently around you.

He didn’t answer immediately, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. Finally, he let out a breath. “Yeah. Just…tired. Long day.” And that part of you was crushed in that moment. ‘Yeah, right. Long day my ass.’ You thought to yourself, mentally rolling your eyes at how vague he was being. But, you would never want to pressure someone, you let it go. Resting your back against his passenger seat—averting your gaze to the window beside you.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I think he hates me. He drove me home that night, but he was so quiet and was avoiding me the whole night as well. Is he trying to say he’s not into me? I don’t get it, he called me pretty. Do people just say that to other people?

I’m reading my paragraph back; what am I saying? I sound ridiculous. People can compliment people. Maybe I read too much into it. Way too much. God, this is driving me crazy. ALSO! Christmas eve is coming up next month and Mandy will probably host a party the night of and invite me. I can’t say no! So, I’ll have to sit there and see him again.

That sounds negative. I don’t hate him. Obviously it’s the opposite. He’s cute. Like really cute. Super nice. Well-spoken. Funny. I like him. And I knew I did since I first met him that’s why I fucking flirted with him when I got the chance.

This is so stupid. Sorry, I usually don’t make boys my main topic for the month—deal with me this time, yeah? Tell me what you think when you can get back to me. Hopefully I wouldn’t have blown everything apart.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah was trying his best not to open them. He really was. But the itching urge to see your words was unbearable. His fingers hesitated before he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning each line, the handwriting blurring into something painfully familiar.

It was you. This wasn’t a “maybe” or a “perhaps.” This was you.

His heart sank. The way you described how you felt—it hit harder than he’d expected. He’d already been replaying that night in his head, berating himself for the silence that filled the car ride. The memory of you stepping out of his car with a quiet “Thanks, goodnight” played over and over like a broken record. Now, knowing how you felt about it made him feel even worse.

“I like him.”

The words burned in his mind, clearer than anything else on the page.

Hamzah had always wanted the ability to read people’s minds, to know exactly how they felt about him. But now that he had something close to that, it was too much. Not because he didn’t like you back—God, no. The opposite. He liked you too much. Too much that he hates how much his actions are affecting you.

His thumb brushed over the paper absentmindedly, a weak attempt at comforting himself. This killed every chance he might’ve had. This stupid pen-pal experiment he’d gotten involved in with you. He groaned, raking a hand through his hair.

“Fuck.”

He stood abruptly, needing air, and grabbed his lighter from the shelf beside the balcony door. Stepping outside, the cold air bit at his skin, turning his cheeks pink almost instantly. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick of his thumb before leaning against the railing.

The problem was spiraling out of control. He needed to do something. Ignoring you clearly wasn’t working. He briefly considered telling Martin he felt “uncomfortable” around you—but that wouldn’t hold up. Not when he’d deliberately offered to drive you home. Twice.

“What am I even doing?” he muttered under his breath, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. His chat with Chase was still open, their last messages flashing back at him.

Chase: What are you doing?

You: mail

He stared at the conversation for a moment before typing a response. Wondering what Chase wanted from him.

You: u ok?

The message sent with a soft chime, and Chase’s reply came almost instantly.

Chase: Yes…?

Chase: Are you okay?

You: no

Chase: ???

Chase: What the fuck happened?

You: idk

Hamzah rubbed his temple. Halfway through him trying to vent, he remembered that no one was supposed to know about this. About you. About how badly he’d messed up. This is annoying.

Chase: Are you nervous about the party?

The party. Of course. Chase was coming, too—an idea sparked. If he could just stick by Chase the whole time, he could avoid you without making it obvious.

You: yea

You: could you stay with me the whole time?

He waited, his leg bouncing as Chase’s typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

Chase: Okay

Chase: Don’t worry about it too much. It’s in two weeks.

Relief washed over him. A small grin tugged at his lips as he typed a teasing response.

You: u wowwy about me :3?

The ridiculousness of it made him chuckle, cigarette dangling from his lips as he hit send. He stubbed it out in the ashtray and headed back inside, his anxiety eased—if only slightly—as Chase fired back with a string of sarcastic messages.

For now, this would have to be enough. Enough to rest him easy.

—

“Thought you were gonna bail.”

“Almost did,” Hamzah admitted.

Chase raised an eyebrow but said nothing, instead handing him a cookie. Hamzah took it without much thought, his gaze drifting back to the living room. He knew he’d see you eventually, but the waiting was eating at him.

The past two weeks had been strange. Almost unbearably so. Not because the days had been particularly busy or stressful, but because something was missing.

GamingJournalingReader has not sent him a single letter.

At first, he chalked it up to timing—maybe you were busy, or maybe the holidays had gotten to you. But as days turned into weeks, the silence began to weigh on him. It wasn’t like before when your messages arrived sporadically. This was different. And it felt bitter. As weird as it was to admit—even to himself—he missed you.

He missed you.

Not just the you in front of him at parties, or the you he’d driven home twice. He missed the way you rambled about your favorite games in real life, then your little quirks in writing, the warmth that radiated from even your most mundane thoughts. How he felt a safe, steady presence, even if the reality of who you were had started to overlap in confusing ways.

“Hey,” Chase said, snapping his fingers in front of Hamzah’s face. Hamzah blinked, realizing he’d been staring blankly at the ground. “Sorry. Just… thinking.” Chase gave him a skeptical look but let it slide. “Alright, try to relax. You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor.”

Hamzah huffed a laugh, finally biting into the cookie Chase had handed him. But even as he tried to focus on the party, the absence of you lingered like a dull ache.

He spotted you a long time ago. You seemed to have been here since the afternoon with Mandy. All you did was greet him quietly then went back to mumbling something to Mandy when he first got here a few minutes ago.

Currently. You were standing by the Christmas tree, holding a mug of hot chocolate, your sweater dress catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, it was like the noise of the party faded away, leaving just the sight of you.

Hamzah’s chest tightened. This was the first time he took a good look at you since he got here—he understood why he couldn’t bring himself to in the first place; the way your eyes filled with stars when you’re talking to anyone, your tone sweeter than the marshmallow floating around your cup.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too caught up in a conversation with someone beside you. But when your eyes finally flicked over to his, there it was—that flicker of recognition.

And he knew. He wasn’t the only one feeling the weight of the past two weeks. A hint of something in your eyes he recognized; too fearful to name.

He looked away. Clearing his throat. Chase typing away on his phone; too caught up to notice his friend’s romantic demise. “Chase.” He called, and his friend only hummed in response.

“These cookies are good,” Hamzah muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Chase, still glued to his phone, gave a distracted nod. “Mandy made them.”

Hamzah nodded absently, his gaze flickering back toward you. He didn’t mean to look again, but he couldn’t stop himself. This time, you weren’t talking. You were standing still, holding your mug and watching him. His breath caught in his chest. Before he could decide to smile or look away, you set your mug down on the nearest counter and started walking toward him.

Hamzah stiffened, his grip tightening on the half-eaten cookie in his hand. Chase finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow at the shift in his friend’s demeanor. Not noticing the fact that you were walking over to them.

“Hey, mind if I sneak Hamzah with me for a little?” Your voice was soft, your tone polite, but your eyes darted nervously between him and Chase.

Chase smiled knowingly, nodding. “All yours.”

Hamzah shot Chase a glare, one that clearly said ‘why would you leave me?’, but didn’t resist as you motioned for him to follow. The faint murmur of conversation and laughter from the party seemed to fade as you led the way toward the balcony door.

Hamzah fell into step behind you, his heart thudding in his chest. His mind raced, wondering what this was about, whether you were going to confront him about something or if this was just a casual chat. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his fingers fidgeting with the lining as he tried to steady his breathing.

You paused and turned to him, your expression softer now, almost nervous. “Can we… actually go outside?” you asked, your voice quieter this time. Your finger pointing at the balcony that was behind you.

Hamzah’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, the request throwing him off guard. “Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice almost automatic.

You offered him a small, uncertain smile before reaching for the door to the balcony. He followed closely, the chill of the winter air biting at his face as soon as you stepped outside. The quiet outside was stark in contrast to the muffled noise of the party behind you, and for a moment, it was just the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the soft puff of your breath visible in the cold.

Hamzah stayed a step behind, watching as you stopped near the railing of the porch. You rested your hands on it, looking out into the yard. The strings of lights hanging from the roof cast a soft, warm glow over you, and he couldn’t help but notice how still you were, like you were trying to gather your thoughts.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms against the chill. “I just—” You paused, searching for the right words.

Hamzah watched you, his own hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He could see your breath in the cold, the faintest wisp of white against the dark sky.

“I just wanted to… talk,” you finally said, your eyes meeting his.

“Alright,” Hamzah said quickly, his throat dry.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It hung between you like a fragile thread, ready to snap at the wrong word. You exhaled deeply, your breath visible in the air. “I’ve been meaning to apologize. For the other night.”

Hamzah’s brow furrowed. “Apologize?”

“Yeah. I mean…” You glanced down at your boots, your voice faltering. “I feel like I made things awkward. I shouldn’t have flirted like that if I wasn’t sure you feel some type of way about it. And then—”

“Stop,” Hamzah cut in, his voice soft but firm.

Your eyes shot back up to his, wide with surprise.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his words coming out in a rush. “If anything, I should be apologizing. I—I’ve been acting weird, and I know it.”

Hamzah flinched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I-”

“I was ignoring you. But not because of anything you did.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “Then why?” Your tone growing a little louder.

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything—that he’d been overthinking, that he’d read your letters, that he felt like the biggest idiot for how he’d acted. But all he managed was:

“Because I didn’t know what to say. To you.”

Your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “You could’ve said anything, Hamzah. You didn’t have to avoid me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…” he ran his hand through his hair, shutting his eyes in irritation. What does he even say?

‘Hey, by the way! The girl you’ve been talking to for the past few months has actually been me and I know how you feel about me in every nanoscopic detail.’ He rolled his eyes at this own thought.

Hamzah inhaled sharply, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as if the motion could somehow ground him. He glanced at you, his jaw tightening. You were standing there, waiting, watching him with an openness that only made his hesitation feel heavier.

“Fuck. I don’t know…” Hamzah muttered, his voice strained, his hands running through his hair in frustration.

“Hamzah,” you said softly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you or anything—”

“I’m fishing Fortnite journalist.”

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them, raw and unpolished. He immediately froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched your expression shift from concern to confusion.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, turning his gaze to the other side. He can’t look at you. Not right now at least. This was embarrassing, for the both of you. The way you looked at him only confirmed his suspicions. It was you.

“I know. This looks really bad. But, I promise. I can explain.” He shoved his hands in his pockets again.

“Oh god.” You shut your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line as you remembered what you wrote the past few letters. “I can’t believe Mandy was right.” You rub your temple, Hamzah turning to you when the mention of his other friends was brought into the conversation.

“What? Mandy knows?”

“Obviously not that you are who you are! God, I didn’t even know that.”

Hamzah’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes flickering back to you, unsure whether he felt relief or a deeper sense of dread. “Then what did she say?”

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight nervously. “She said I was being naïve. That I was putting too much trust in someone that was probably a man in his twenties being a creep.” Hamzah winced at your description. The words of his friend sharp against his chest.

“Why did you…” you started. Even you didn’t know where to start or go with this.

“Just. Listen, okay? I… I kept getting messages from weird porn bots, then I was just testing the settings out—then I met you and I didn’t think it’ll actually go anywhere.” He paused, looking back onto the view over the balcony. “By the time you sent me that letter I completely forgot that I changed my gender to female and kept writing to you.”

“But when I realized that you thought I was a girl. The letter where you mentioned Claire’s party. I freaked out, I stopped replying.” Hearing himself re-explain everything made him realize how stupid he must look right now.

“Then when you kept sending them—and fuck,” he paused. “I don’t even know why I kept opening them—everything I read…it kept becoming more and more familiar. I realized it was you pretty early on. That’s when I started ignoring you.” He sighed, “I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

You stared at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The tension between you was palpable, each word sinking deeper into the weight of the moment. You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “So what, you just thought you’d keep it to yourself forever? Pretend none of it happened?”

Hamzah flinched, his jaw tightening. “No. I was trying to figure out how to fix it. But every time I tried, I just… made things worse. Like when I ignored you at dinner. That wasn’t because I didn’t want to talk to you—it was because I didn’t know how to.”

Your brows knit together, your expression softening slightly despite your frustration. “This is…”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said firmly, finally turning to meet your gaze. “That was all me. And I’m sorry. For everything.”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him. Finally, you exhaled, your arms dropping to your sides. “This is�� a lot, Hamzah. I don’t even know how to feel right now.”

“I get it. You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He looked down for a second, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

The sincerity in his words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart was still racing, the weight of everything he said mixing with the uncertainty of what you were feeling. You stood there, unsure of whether to close the distance between you or step back. The space between you seemed to stretch, even though you were both standing so close.

He nodded, understanding, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he reached out, his hand almost trembling as it brushed against yours. “I didn’t mean to throw all this at you. I’ve just… I've been thinking about it nonstop. And I’m scared I’ve ruined everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the softness in his touch making your chest tighten. For a second, you wanted to pull away, to stay distant because it felt safer. But something in you wanted to believe him, to let the vulnerability between you both have a chance.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you murmured, your voice quiet but steady. “It’s just… it’s confusing, and I need time.”

“All the time you need,” Hamzah said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you.”

The silence between you only got heavier, you thought that once you both addressed everything it’ll all end. Though you stood still, his fingers faintly brushed over yours, the way he looked down at you—there was something there.

“You read my last letter.” It was more of a fact stated than a question.

Hamzah cleared his throat, remembering what you said in that letter. It made him spiral, but he tried to maintain his composure in front of you. “I… did.” He muttered.

You looked up at him. “None of that changes.”

Hamzah swallowed, his throat dry, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of your words had settled on his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he stepped just a fraction closer, the subtle movement sending a wave of warmth through you. He was waiting for you to guide this moment, but there was also a tenderness in his gaze that made your chest tighten.

You took a deep breath, your fingers still tingling from where they’d brushed against his. The space between you was shrinking, but there was still a part of you that hesitated—partly because you weren’t sure where this would lead and partly because of the vulnerability in his voice. He was laying himself bare, in a way, and you could feel it. You could tell he was embarrassed by this whole ordeal just as much as you.

His hand moved, almost instinctively, reaching for yours. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, the touch so light, yet enough to make your heart skip a beat. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him, your breath catching in your chest as his hand finally closed around yours.

“I really like you,” he let out, his words simple but full of meaning, like he’d been holding onto them for longer than he could admit. He leaned in, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “I just… didn’t know how to say it before. And I’m sorry for all the confusion I caused. But I mean it. I like you. A lot.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in them wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Without thinking, you leaned in slightly, your lips brushing against his. It was gentle, almost questioning, like you were both waiting for confirmation that this was okay—that you were both ready to let go of the doubts and fears that had kept you apart.

“I like you too,” you whispered, your thumb gently caressing his hand. “Obviously.”

Hamzah’s eyes met yours, and the warmth in them was undeniable, a mix of relief and something deeper, something more. Without another word, he leaned in, this time with more certainty, pulling you closer as your lips met once more, the kiss deepening, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time.

When you pulled away, it was quiet. Both your lips meeting the cold air again—your quivering at the temperature change. Your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him; “You’re an idiot.”

Hamzah snorted at your comment, resting his forehead on your shoulder to continue his giggles. “Stop.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension that had been building between you two finally dissipating. The warmth of his laughter, the feel of him so close to you, made everything that had come before seem insignificant.

“Seriously,” you said, your voice teasing but soft, “you really are an idiot.”

He pulled back slightly, still chuckling, and looked at you with that same familiar warmth in his eyes. “I know,” he said, his tone light but there was a trace of something deeper, something real. “But I think I’m okay with being an idiot if it means this.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “This?”

Hamzah nodded, the laughter fading as his expression grew more sincere. “Yeah. This. Us. Whatever this is. It’s worth being an idiot for.”

“Shut up.”

“Dork.”

(A/N): is the ending ass… be honest guys. ;( I felt like it seemed rushed ;-; anyway, hope you enjoy it :3 (I literally used AI to proofread—lazy city)

[thedemoninme141]

Wednesday gets Ghosted... literally.

Never ever thought I would write Halloween specials but here I am...

Paring: Wednesday X Fem Reader! Theme: Fluff!!!

Summary: Wednesday confesses her feelings on a Halloween date.

You wanted a date for Halloween since Wednesday won't go trick or treating with you, you jumped on the offer to trek out to an old, abandoned house in the woods—a place the locals swore was haunted—with her.

And now you both sat on the wooden balcony that hung off the back of the house. Wednesday glanced at you, scrutinizing the way you stared blankly out at the woods, as if you were lost in your thoughts. You seemed quiet, too quiet.

“Do you…” she began, her voice quieter than usual. “Do you regret coming here with me tonight?”

You glanced at her, eyes slightly widened, surprised that she’d even ask. Wednesday wasn’t usually one for questioning her actions—or caring how others felt about them.

“I just thought, perhaps, you might be disappointed that I dragged you here instead of letting you do…something more festive.” She looked away, unsure if you could read the tinge of insecurity in her face.

You tilted your head, looking at her, silent as ever, which only made her feel more self-conscious. She didn’t know what to make of it. Usually, she adored the fact that you didn’t constantly babble on like everyone else did. But tonight, she wanted—no, needed—some kind of reassurance.

“If I’m being honest,” she continued, voice a bit lower, “I've wondered a lot... If I am enough for you.” She cast her gaze downward. “My feelings… they are complicated. I suppose they’re not easily expressed in ways you might expect, or—” She clenched her jaw, then forced herself to go on. “Or that you deserve.”

"Sometimes I think that you see something in me that isn’t really there," Wednesday whispered, "And I fear that one day you’ll realize you were wrong. That you’ll wake up, look at me, and think, ‘this wasn’t worth it.’" She clenched her jaw, the briefest flicker of pain crossing her face before she forced herself to look at you again, her eyes steady.

"But then you… you fascinate me," she admitted, "The way you fearlessly follow me to places like this. Most people run from me, but you… you stay. You follow. It answers all those doubts. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

A small smile tugged at her lips, but she looked away, as though embarrassed by the thought. "I thought I'd find myself alone, somewhere like this. And I thought… perhaps I’d like that."

Wednesday paused, her hand ghosting closer to yours. "But then you came along, completely oblivious, and ruined all of that," she said, her voice softened by an edge of tenderness. "And, against my better judgment, I don’t resent you for it."

"There are things I struggle with, you know," she went on. "Emotions. They’re foreign… unwieldy. But here I am, feeling them—feeling you, in every cold, dark part of myself that used to belong to nothing and no one." She turned, and her dark gaze fixed onto you, almost vulnerable. "I don't know if I can be what you deserve, but…" She swallowed, her voice soft. "I need you to know, if I’m capable of love, you’re the only one I’d give it to."

"I don’t know why I’m saying all of this," she admitted. "I’d tell myself it’s for your benefit, but really, I think it’s for mine. To tell you things I never knew I’d feel." Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her lips together as if already regretting her words.

A long silence fell between you two, and the quiet grew deeper, the forest still and watching as if it too were waiting for your response.

Then, from behind, a voice broke the silence: "Sorry I’m late, Wends… had to fix Enid’s costume trouble… umm, who’s that?"

Wednesday felt her cold blood run colder. She turned, her gaze landing on… you. You, standing at the doorway, looking at her with your familiar, gentle eyes.

The “you” beside her shrank back slightly, lifting "your" hands in surrender, as though embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

Wednesday's gaze snaps back to the figure beside her — the “you” who had been sitting with her all this time.

Her voice hardens. “Who the hell are you?”

"Um… I wanted to haunt you after taking Y/N’s face," the ghostly you confessed, scratching the back of it's head. "But given the gravity of the situation with your emotions and all… I’ll leave you two alone." The ghost looked at Wednesday, gave a curt nod, and disappeared into the shadows with an almost sheepish wave.

Wednesday was still, her gaze now fixed on you, her surprise melting into a look that could only be described as deadly.

"…How long were you there?" you asked, stepping forward, trying to hide the amused smile on your lips. "And what did you tell the ghost?"

Wednesday’s mouth tightened, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly. "I… told the ghost," she began slowly, clearly unwilling to divulge the truth, "nothing..."

You chuckled, glancing at her with a playful grin. "So… I hope I wasn’t replaced too badly, was I?"

Wednesday let out a frustrated sigh. Perhaps she should've gone trick or treating with you.

At the Ghosts Pub: Hey guys! you won't believe what happened!

[Author's note: It was really fun to write it, Comment how you guys like it.

Request me for more one-shots!!!]

->WORKLIST<-

[ponderingmoonlight]

And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

 “Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

 “But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

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[igotanidea]

A biker and a bicycler

requested by @blooming4u : reader x Jason meeting for the first time.

AKA; what happens when it rains and someone causes a little water fountain out of the puddle.

***

“HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU GOING!!”

The sudden screeching of the motorcycle wheels on the asphalt quickly made her realize that yelling at this driver might have been a bad idea.

The driver getting off the bike and striding towards her without taking off his helmet only fueled that suspicion further.

Him standing way too close, as if waiting for her to apologize made her ….

Even angrier.

The hell was he thinking?!

Speeding on the street in the rain, not giving a shit about the cyclists?! Hello?!

Not taking a second to get his head out of his ass to maybe consider that there were puddles everywhere and fucking driving too close can fucking cause someone to get all wet?!

Oh hell no, she was not backing down from this!

“You were saying something, princess?” a muffled voice, came from behind the motorcycle helmet

“Damn right I was!” she exclaimed, pointing at her drenched jeans and bicycle. “See what you did?!”

“You sure that was me?” the guy chuckled, but due to that stupid thing on his stupid head it sounded more like Lord Vader joking around. “There are plenty other people who could have done it? How do I know you are not trying to trick me into taking responsibility?”

“Huh? What—” that little speech surely took her aback. A little though, since she quickly recovered. “Are you a lawyer now?”

“Far from it, believe me! But still, I’m going to need proof to that, princess. Otherwise, I might think you are doing shit like this on purpose, cause I caught your attention. You know, if you want to ask me out, you can just ask without all those charades.” His face was still hidden, but Y/N could swear he was smirking.

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, I guessed right? Didn’t I?”

“Ok, let’s assume for a second that you are. That I am doing it to catch the attention of random guy-”

“Hey, no judgment, there are worse deviations.” He cut her off, raising hands up in mock surrender.

“Oh yeah, right. I am that desperate” Y/N rolled her eyes in response “but clearly you got some serious issues yourself. If we do go out, are you going to stay in that helmet? Ugly much?”

“Oh, sunshine—”

“Do not call me sunshine, idiot.”

“Feisty much?” he retorted

“You ruined my jeans.” She deadpanned.

“Poor girlie.” He mocked “who rides a bike in a rain either way?”

“I’m sorry I can’t see you having a sliding roof over your bike.”

“I got a helmet though. And you don’t. Feisty and reckless.”

“Yeah, true. You got a helmet, wonder why you’re hiding under it? Kinda rude to talk to a girl like that.”

“Well if you put it that way.”

“The hell does that mean--?”

Before she could scoff further or even finish the question he took off the helmet, revealing his face. And well, um, he didn’t look ugly at all.

Quite the opposite, actually, not that she was going to admit it out loud.

The guy, whose name she still didn’t know tried to smooth out frizzy hair, but ended up only ruffling them more.

“Do you need a mirror?” she mocked, raising her eyebrows.

“Nah, not really, the admiration in your eyes is enough for me” he grinned.

“You know I’m starting to hate you.”

“Oh no! You cannot hate me before you know my name!” despite herself Y/N couldn’t hold back an  amused snort at his joke and grin. “I’m Jason.”

“Y/N.”

“So Y/N. Since apparently I ruined your jeans how about I take you for a coffee to make it up?”

“Really? A second ago you were-“

“Yeah, yeah, traumatic past, let’s not get back to it. Seriously, my treat.”

“Um… why?” it wasn’t like she was just going to go out with a stranger. Not that type of girl even if the guy was handsome. Blame the bad teenage rom-coms that made her see herself as the object of mockery, rather then possible love interest.

“Why not?” he shrugged “seriously, what do you have to lose?”

“Sanity and a sense of humor in your presence?”

“Ouch! Rough! I’m hurt!”

“And I;m not sorry.”

“Okay then, now you got a reason to grab a coffee with me.”

“And what may that be?”

“Remorse?”

“Who’s desperate now?” she smirked, shaking head and following him to a café. If nothing more, she was at least going to wait the rain in a warm place. And if the company turned out bad? Well – she would get a reason to put her sarcasm and irony to the test, cause something was telling her, that this Jason guy would be a worthy opponent on the matter.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry was never really Dumbledore's man

So, in HBP Harry says himself:

“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry.

(HBP, 348)

But, I'm here to argue Harry actually has many many doubts and reservations about Dumbledore throughout all books (even HBP), and I find it interesting how Harry convinced the Wizarding world (and the readers) that he's Dumbledore's man when he isn't. Not really.

(Just makes me all the more annoyed at him calling his son Albus...)

I'm going to go through some examples of Harry showing his doubts about Dumbledore way before book 7. Because Harry is an abused, distrusting boy, and Dumbledore isn't actually an exception to that until very late into the books. And even when Harry chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions, he never fully trusts his judgment.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?” “Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.” “No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….”

(PS, 217)

This quote above is from the ending of Philosopher's Stone and the outlook Harry, Ron, and Hermione have on Dumbledore and his behavior is the same as seen in the later books. So I wanted to talk about each of them and how they see Dumbledore because this quote really sets the tone for the rest of the series.

Ron is doubtful and distrustful. The situation is odd, and he's clever, he analyzed the situation and came to a frightening conclusion — the whole ordeal seemed planned by Dumbledore. And Ron isn't scared of voicing this question.

Hermione, while not always a rule-follower, respects Dumbledore and his authority. A lot. So, she doesn't believe Dumbledore could've planned it as it would reflect badly on his character and authority. Hermione is a very loyal person, and once she decides she respects someone she is willfully blind to their flaws (we see it with her later in the series).

Harry, while he's clever enough to notice the same things Ron did and come to the same conclusion — that Dumbledore planned for an 11-year-old to face Voldemort — he attributes good intentions to Dumbledore. Harry sees the situation and draws his conclusions, but chooses to hope/believe Dumbledore's intentions were good ones.

Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry’s own parents, and so many others. . . . At last he forced himself to speak. “You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Not what?” snapped Riddle. “Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —” The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —

(CoS, 282)

This is one of the scenes people call to to show how much faith Harry has in Dumbledore (even Dumbledore himself), the thing is, Harry says (in his mind) he's just saying things to try and scare Tom. To try and buy time, or unbalance Tom so he may have a chance at escape.

The important note is that Harry doesn't actually believe what he's saying to Tom. He's just saying what he thinks would bother Tom the most.

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

(GoF, 310)

This part about telling no one about his wand's connection to Voldemort is true. He never told anyone by that point in GoF. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Sirius.

As I mentioned above, Harry is abused and distrustful. He's not at all Dumbledore's perfect soldier who trusts him with everything. In GoF, Harry decides against telling Dumbledore about his dreams and the pain in his scar:

“Your scar hurt? Harry, that’s really serious. . . . Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. . . . Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars. . . .” Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. [...] As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.

(GoF, 21)

Harry doesn't wish to share secrets with Dumbledore, nor does he feel comfortable to go to him with his troubles (his go-to adult while Sirius was around was always Sirius). Again, Hermione is mentioned as the one who trusts Dumbledore's authority, in Harry's head, but he's right, he knows her well.

Harry actually spends a good portion of the series purposefully trying to hide information from Dumbledore. (I'm saying 'trying ' because Dumbledore always found out, but not because Harry told him).

“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.” “Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry. “I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —” Ron began. “Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?” “Well, no — but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time -” Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him. “Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?” “He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.” “Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”

(OotP, 63)

Harry is angry here, true, but he doubts Dumbledore's idea of what's "safe" for him. He's actually glad for the dementors because he doubts Dumbledore would've brought him over if it wasn't an emergency.

And Harry is right to be doubtful and suspicious. He's right that he's less safe at the Dursleys than at Grimmauld Place. He's right to feel angry and betrayed at literally everyone knowing he's being followed except for him. He's right Dumbledore probably wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't for the dementor attack. Harry is correct in each and every one of his assessments of Dumbledore's character and decisions here.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I’m feeling it when he’s pleased too. . . .” There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building. “You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron. “I told Sirius last time.” “Well, tell him about this time!” “Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?” “Well then, Dumbledore —” “I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.” Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully. “Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said. Harry shrugged. “C’mon . . . we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice . . .”

(OotP, 382)

Remember I mentioned Harry hiding things from Dumbledore? This is one of such occasions. There are more in GoF that I didn't copy, but this is an example of Voldemort-related, dangerous information Harry is hiding from Dumbledore because he doesn't trust him and doesn't feel comfortable telling him things.

“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m getting sick of my scar hurting, and I’m getting bored walking down that corridor every night.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —” “That’s not funny,” said Hermione sharply. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.” “I am working!” said Harry, nettled. “You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!” “Maybe . . .” said Ron slowly. “Maybe what?” said Hermione rather snappishly. “Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,” said Ron darkly. “What do you mean?” said Hermione. “Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry. . . .” Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other. “Maybe,” he said again in a lower voice, “he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —” “Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione angrily. “How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.” “He used to be a Death Eater,” said Ron stubbornly. “And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . .” “Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione repeated. “And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.”

(OotP, 554)

Again we see the same exact dynamic from first year. Hermione is loyal to Dumbledore, not even considering he might be wrong about something, or not have their best interests at heart. Ron and Harry on the other hand, are both open to the possibility that things aren't so simple. They don't think Dumbledore is intentionally harming Harry, but they think he's wrong about Snape. Something Hermione, Arthur and Molly would never consider.

(This is actually the most annoying thing in Hermione's character for me, her unshakable faith in Dumbledore, who doesn't deserve her trust)

“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finished at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hissed angrily, as both Ron and Hermione showed every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?” “Harry —” began Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.

(HBP, 552)

Even in book 6, the book Harry grows the most comfortable and trusting towards Dumbledore, even then, he doesn't trust Dumbledore. He thinks (and somewhat rightly so because he doesn't know of Snape and Dumbledore's plan) that Dumbledore is wrong about Snape. that Dumbledore is wrong about Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust that whatever protections Dumbledore would leave would be enough (and they weren't).

Even at the end of HBP, the point in the series where Harry has the most faith in Dumbledore, Harry still doesn't trust Dumbledore's judgment or his ability to protect the school. Even after Dumbledore calls Harry out on it, telling him the safety of the students is important to him, Harry still tells Ron and Hermione to get the DA to protect the school without notifying Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore raised Harry to feel responsible for the school's safety, Harry is doing what he was "bred" to do. But he does it behind Dumbledore's back, because like every adult, Harry deep down expects to be let down. After all, he's used to saving the school himself.

So, no, Harry never really trusted Dumbledore fully. At least, not Dumbledore's judgment. Harry does believe Dumbledore's intentions are good for the most part, even if ineffective.

“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside. “And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry [...] Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!” “What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry. [...] Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

(DH, 135-137)

And in Deathley Hollows, Harry is very quick to start questioning and doubting Dumbledore. Especially when compared to Hermione:

“Harry—” But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand . . . “Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It—it doesn’t make very nice reading—” “Yeah, you could say that—” “—but don’t forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing.” “You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?” “Yes, I—I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands.

(DH, 311)

Harry is hurt, he feels betrayed, because while he never 100% trusted Dumbledore's judgment, he trusted his intentions. He trusted Dumbledore was good and cared for him. He feels cold and betrayed, showing trust in his intentions. But his readiness to accept Skeeter's and Muriel's accusations so quickly shows he always had his doubts about Dumbledore and they never really left, even if he wanted to trust him, he never did, not fully.

Hermione, on the other hand, who was always loyal and trusted Dumbledore (both his intentions and judgment) 100%, tries to rationalize Dumbledore's actions and convince herself everyone who says bad things about him is lying.

Harry doesn't. Because out of the Golden Trio, Hermione was always Dumbledore's woman, Ron and Harry... not really. Not as much.

“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.” Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it. “Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice. “Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.”

(DH, 478)

More of how Harry thinks about Dumbledore, showing, again, how he always had his doubts and reservations but he chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions because otherwise, he doesn't think he has any hope to defeat Voldemort. He chooses to keep following Dumbledore's path because he has no real choice but to trust what he sees as the only path that'll lead to Voldemort's destruction. But Harry has plenty of doubts about Dumbledore.

Hermione, on the other hand, has little to no doubts. She doesn't allow herself to doubt.

And this pattern, of Harry doubting Dumbledore again and again, never truly trusting him, just trusting his plan will kill Voldemort... like, how does that lead Harry to want to name his kid 'Albus'? I just don't get it...

TL;DR

Harry likes to say he's Dumbledore's man, but he always had his reservations, even when he choose to ignore them since trusting Dumbledore's plan felt like his only chance at survival. Hermione is much more trusting of Dumbledore than Harry is.

[kittenlittle24]

A/n:

Recently started watching House MD and instantly fell deep into the fandom. Please forgive any mistakes, might be ooc, I didn’t write anything in a very very long time! As well as this is my first time writing a Gregory House imagine! Not good at writing summaries!

Summery: Reader and House used to date, and like a little boy now that someone else has his toy he wants it back.

Masterlist

The door to her office slammed open, she didn’t bother raising her eyes, “Yes Gregory?”

Frowning, “You know I don’t appreciate being called like that.”

She smiled, lowered the file she was reading onto her desk, and placed her hands on it, “Ah. Just like you know I don’t appreciate people barging into my office like that.”

He pulled out the chair opposite of her and sat down, he put his legs on her desk and started to play with his cane.

“Nice bling.”

She sighed and lightly smacked his feet, not wanting to hurt him but signaling to take them off.

“Are congratulations in order?”

She stayed silent for another moment, he wasn’t done, she figured.

“Though I really don’t understand why you would do something so idioti-“ he didn’t disappoint.

“House. Say why you are wasting my time or get out.”

Putting his legs down, he sat up, “5-year-old girl, fever, loss of appetite, irritability, and shortness of breath.”

“Did you run an EKG?”

Hitting himself in the head with a fake gasp, “Why didn’t I think about that?”

She got up and walked around the desk to open the door for him.

“You don’t need my consult, you know what it is. I don’t know what the hell it is you want from me, but I want you to leave.” She told him before returning to her desk and resuming her paperwork.

She heard him get up and limp to the door, only looking up when she heard it close, but just to see he was still there, her door closed once again and he was leaning heavily on his cane and looked deep in thought, eyebrows scrunched together and knuckles almost white from his grip on his cane.

“So expect me to watch you walk down the aisle, wearing all white and what?”

She leaned back in her chair and quietly replied, “I’m not sure why you think you’re invited.”

His mouth opened slightly and his eyebrows raised to a shocked expression.

“My fiancé doesn’t want me to invite an ex to our wedding.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” He yelled.

Getting up and walking to stand in front of him, “I do! And frankly, I understand him. House, you want to be miserable, fine, have at it. But please, leave me out of it! I’m done with whatever this is!” She answered with her hands moving between them.

“I don’t think you can be more done with me than not even inviting me.”

“You broke up with me! Don’t you get it? How could I marry another man when you’re sitting right there? I’m marrying him and then I’m leaving the hospital.”

“Leaving me,” he added defeatedly.

She nodded and looked down. Not able to look at his blue eyes.

“Marry me instead.”

Her eyes shot up to him, shocked and so each speechless.

“You don’t want to leave the hospital, you love me, I love you, I’m an asshole and you could tell me that everyday for the rest of my miserable life. Please, be miserable with me.” He asked in a low voice, half jokingly.

Against her better judgment, as if forgetting the pain he put her through when he broke up with her because she got too close and he was too afraid of intimacy and letting anyone break his walls down, she took his scruffy cheeks in her soft palms, raised his head to lock their gazes and whispered, “I guess I am an idiot.” Before she placed her lips on his, kissing him passionately, feeling his salt and pepper beard scratch her chin in the best way possible.

[fandomfucker]

Pregnant-TJD X Reader

Request: Could you maybe please do one where all of the judgment day are dating and the reader gets pregnant and doesn't know how to tell her parents

A/N-Your mom's name in this is Martha because that's just what I heard in my head and I liked it🤷‍♀️ You're also from the south in this one specifically because I also am and I say so

Word Count- 2,888

Reader's POV

Two little pink lines looked back at me from where the pregnancy test sat on the bathroom counter. Next to it, two other positive pregnancy tests just in case.

As excited as I was for the new chapter in my and my partners' lives, I was also terrified.

I kept my head down as I slowly creaked open the bathroom door. All four of my partners stood around anxiously as we waited for the test results.

They had all respected my privacy and given me the space to be the first one to see the result and not have them all crowd around me as it developed.

Their heads all shot up towards me as they all now crowded around me in anticipation. I had been throwing up almost every morning for the past week and a half which originally we thought was just a stomach bug or something until I realized that my period was really late.

"Well?" Dominik asked me, wringing his hands together nervously.

I looked up at them with tears brimming my eyes, my gaze meeting Dominik's first.

"We're pregnant," I whispered, a smile breaking out on my face as I clutched one of the tests to my chest.

"Are you serious?" Finn asked me, unbelievingly.

I nodded happily, my face stretched taught with how big my smile was, as happy tears began to slip down my face.

"We're pregnant!" I shouted gleefully, jumping up and down in excitement. My partners all shouted in glee, jumping around and screaming in happiness with me. They crowded around me in a circle, encompassing me with their hugs of excitement.

Rhea eagerly, but gently, grabbed my face in her hands. Her bright blue eyes shone as they locked onto mine. "We're gonna be moms!" She whisper-shouted to me excitedly.

I laughed wetly, lunging up to kiss her. And then I kissed her a few more times before pulling away.

"We're gonna be dads!" Damian shouted, throwing his arms out to encompass Finn and Dominick in a hug as Rhea and I looked on, me still enveloped in her arms.

Dominik removed himself and got down on his knees in front of me, resting both of his palms flat on my lower stomach. "With all of us being wrestlers, this baby's definitely gonna be one too." He spoke aloud.

He gave me stomach a soft kiss, resting his forehead against my stomach, "A fourth-generation talent," he whispered wistfully.

"Someone's gotta call Triple H," Finn spoke up, rubbing the back of Dominik's neck with two fingers as he stood back up.

It was then that the realization of this all hit me head-on.

"Oh my god," I spoke with dread, slowly sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. "How am I supposed to tell my parents?" I looked around at my partners in horror.

My parents had been fine when I came out as pansexual as a teen. They supported me through and through and even bought me my first pride flag.

However, they had no idea that I was dating anyone at all, much less four people at once who are all also dating each other.

My partners all got on their knees in front of me in a semi-circle on the floor. I still held one of the pregnancy tests between my knees and stared at it, lost in thought as I hung my head.

"Hey, Sweetheart, all four of us will be there to support you the whole time. We know your parents mean a lot to you so we'll do whatever you need us to." Finn consoled me from where he kneeled in front of me with a hand resting on my knee.

Everything looked blurry through my tears but I looked up at him, terrified, "Promise?" I whispered. I held out my pinky finger for him to interlock his own with.

"Promise. For better or worse." He intertwined our pinkies, us both leaning forward to seal the promise with a kiss.

"And we don't have to tell them right away if you're not ready, Mi Amor. The only people that need to know are our bosses so they can write you out of the storylines for a little bit." Damian reasoned for me.

I took a deep, albeit slightly shaky, breath in as I nodded in agreement. I knew my partners wouldn't force me to tell them unless I was ready and they'd have my back every step of the way. *Time Skip*

It took over a month and a half for me to be ready enough to tell my parents. Triple H and Adam Pierce had fabricated an injury for me so I was out for the rest of the year, the fans along with everyone else, were none the wiser.

But now, I sat in the backseat of Rhea's truck in my parents' driveway. The nerves had settled in and my knee bounced as I played with my fingers, staring off into the distance as I imagined the worst. "Hey, look at me," Dominik spoke softly from next to me. When I didn't respond, he placed two fingers underneath my chin, moving my head and forcing me to look at him. "We'll be right there, okay? no matter what happens. You're not getting rid of us anytime soon, chica." He placed a small kiss on my forehead, sealing his promise and calming my nerves.

I took a deep breath in, nodding at my partners. "Okay. Let's go."

I had asked my parents to have dinner under the guise of just introducing them to Judgment Day as my friends. They knew that Rhea and I were together, as did the rest of the world, but we had all worried about the hate we'd receive (me especially being the more feminine of us two women) from announcing all five of us were dating. Everyone backstage knew and supported us but it wasn't public or common knowledge.

My parents had met Rhea once before briefly at some WWE event we had, back before we were dating. They actually really liked her and were excited to see her again, this time as my girlfriend.

Dominik slid out of the car before me, holding out his hand for me to grab onto as he helped me out of the car, shutting the door behind me. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and walking around to the other side to meet up with Rhea.

She held out her hand for me to grab and I held on tightly as I led the way to the front door. Since my parents knew we were coming, they had left the door unlocked for us so we were able to just walk right in. 

The heavenly smells of my dad's familiar home-cooked pulled pork wafted straight toward us, making my stomach growl in anticipation. I could also smell my mom's mashed potatoes which were absolutely to die for.

"Dad?" I shouted into the house, making sure that the door was closed and locked behind us.

"Kitchen!" Was all I heard in response.

I motioned for everyone to leave their shoes in the basket by the door, slipping my own off in the process. Forgetting why we were even there in the first place at the smell of the food, I happily skipped into the kitchen as my partners shuffled after me.

Being away from my parents for so long had already made me miss their food, but with the pregnancy, it was all I was craving which was why I had requested dinner. And, being the only child, and therefore the favorite, they were only too happy to comply.

Walking into the kitchen, my mom was the first of the two to see me. She squealed in excitement and ran over, just about squeezing the life out of me with her hug. "Hi, mama!" I gushed into her shoulder, squeezing her back just as hard.

"Hi, my baby." She sniffled. She pulled away from me, holding my face at arm's length as she took me in. I still had a little bit of a fading bruise on my jaw from a bad hit but Rhea'd managed to cover it with makeup for me.

I looked to the side when I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, only to see my dad standing there. I let out a small squeal just like my mother and bounded over into his awaiting arms. 

It was only when someone cleared their throat that I remembered there were others in the room with us. Pulling away from my father, I discretely as possible wiped away a stray tear. Damn hormones.

"Mom, Dad, this is the Judgment Day. This is Finn, Damian, Dominik, and y'all remember Rhea, of course." I pointed each of them out individually, each of them being met with handshakes from my father and hugs from my mother. Except Rhea, who was hugged by both. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. Dinner's almost ready if y'all want to go ahead into the dining room and find your seats." Mom politely told my partners. 

I went ahead and nodded, grabbing Rhea's hand as I led the four of them to the dining table. Luckily, they had already put the table extension in so there was plenty of room.

I took a seat in the middle of the table, allowing my partners to sit wherever they chose except for the two head chairs which were for my parents. 

Rhea took the seat to my left as Finn took the seat to my right. Damian sat across from Finn so as not to leave a weird gap between him and my mother and Dom sat across from Rhea.

"How're you feeling, mariposa?" Damian asked me, nudging my foot gently underneath the table.

"Nervous," I replied, the nerves having since come back. "But, we're already here so there's no turning back now."

Finn nodded next to me in agreement, placing a reassuring hand on my thigh. "And if worse comes to worst, we can always leave."

My heart rate finally began to slow down at that tidbit of information. I had forgotten I was able to do that now that I'm an adult. I smiled at my partners just as my parents came in with the food.

*Time Skip*

After dinner, we all sat around in the living room, continuing our previous conversations from the table. Once there was a slight lull in the conversation, I shared a look with all my partners before speaking up.

"So, Mom, Dad, there's actually another reason I wanted to have dinner with everyone here tonight. Well, two reasons actually."

Wanting to comfort me as much as she could, Rhea got up and stood behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders and beginning to massage them. 

My mother's hand shot to her mouth in horror, "Does it have something to do with you being out injured? Is it worse than they thought? How bad is it?" She questioned me, her eyes darting back and forth between mine and the other members of Judgment Day.

"No. No, no, no, Mom. It's nothing like that. I'm fine. Better than fine even." I said, huffing a small laugh. 

She made a motion for me to continue talking as my Dad sat on the armrest next to her, also looking at me in anticipation. 

"So, y'all know how I'm dating Rhea?" I waited for their nods of acknowledgment before continuing. "Well, I'm also dating each of these guys. And they're all dating each other. Rhea included. All five of us are all dating each other. It's called polyamory, so the Judgment Day isn't just a faction, it's a partnership, relationship, type thing." 

Sitting in the silence after my little ramble, I watched my parents' faces for any sign as to what they were thinking. I saw my dad's eyes switch between looking at me and each of my boys before back at me. 

"Oookay. Well, as long as you're happy and healthy, sweetie." He smiled at me, still looking a little bit unsure of everything. 

My mom nodded in agreement, "It might take a little bit to get used to that but you are an adult, honey. You can do whatever and love whoever you want. Consenually of course." She laughed and I let out a small surprised laugh with her, happy and grateful for both of their support.

"What's the other reason?" My dad asked me.

My leg started bouncing with nerves again as I stared at the carpet. "Well, it does actually have to do with my injury. Um..." I trailed off as my parents looked at me in concern, waiting for me to finish. 

"I'm actually, um, not injured at all. I, uh...I'm pregnant." I whispered the last part, only then letting myself look up at their faces.

They both had a look of shock mixed with horror on their faces.

"What?" My mom asked, her voice clipped.

"I'm pregnant," I repeated, slightly louder this time. "Almost three months along now. I have ultrasound pictures." I fished the pictures out of my back pocket and handed them over, my dad wordlessly taking them from me for them both to look at.

"Oh my God." My mom spoke. I could hear the emotion in her voice even as she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. "Our first grandbaby. Wait, do you even know who the father is?" My mom asked me accusingly.

"No. But at least we know who it's not," I laughed nervously as I looked up at Rhea.

She gave me a nervous smile of her own in response, toying with the top strands of my hair as she continued to massage my shoulders from where she stood behind me. My mom glared at me, obviously not liking that answer. I cleared my throat, awkwardly looking down to the floor as I answered her seriously this time. 

"Um, no we don't, but we all talked about it and I'm going to do a paternity test once I'm a little further along so we'll have all the baby's family's medical history and a name to put on the birth certificate. Rhea's agreed to help me with all that so we'll be the only two that know." I reached up and took one of Rhea's hands from my shoulder, giving it a squeeze for comfort.

"And we worked it out with our bosses that at least one of us will always be with her, guaranteed, for the last couple months of the pregnancy and first couple months of the baby being here. She'll always have help and won't be alone." Rhea informed my parents smoothly. "That baby will have five parents who love them more than anything in the world. They and your daughter are in good hands. I swear it."

My dad covered his eyes with his hands, still holding the pictures, and sobbed when he heard this. I rushed over, concerned as I had never even seen him cry before. "Daddy?" I asked timidly, resting a hand on his shoulder as I bent down slightly.

He removed his hands from his face, wiping some tears away before just hugging me. "I can't believe this, my baby girl." My heart dropped when I heard that.

"We're getting a grandbaby and we have four new babies. Martha! We're finally getting our big family!" My dad cheered as he cried into my hair. 

Hearing just how excited he was made me cry too. He was already calling my partners his kids and I couldn't have been happier. All my nerves earlier had been for nothing.

My mom stood up and joined our little hug as I cried into their arms in relief.

Abruptly, my mom pulled out of the hug and faced my partners. "I need to get your stockings made! And, I'll need group pictures of y'all and copies of the ultrasound for the wall with the rest of Y/n's pictures, and we still have to plan the baby shower. Are we going to do a gender reveal? What about maternity photos? Goodness, gracious Y/n! How am I supposed to get everything for all of you and the baby together with this timeline?" She rambled, only slightly angry.

I laughed in response as Finn spoke up from the couch. "Don't worry, Mrs. Y/L/N, I can help with all that. I'm an excellent planner."

"Yeah that's true he plans everything." The four of us all muttered in agreement.

Damian muttered something in Spanish to Dominik making him laugh and my dad turned to them. They both straightened up in fear at his attention but relaxed a bit once he spoke. "Are y'all going to teach the baby Spanish as they grow up?"

They shared a look before Dominik responded. "We haven't all discussed it yet but probably. Just because it's a big part of the both of us that we want to continue sharing. We've been teaching the girls for a little bit already so I think we can do it." He gave my dad one of his cute little smiles, his slight accent having been thicker on some words than others.

"Oh my god!" I gasped, throwing my hands to my mouth in horror at the sudden realization. "What kind of accent is our baby going to have?" With my southern accent, Damian's New York, Rhea's Australian, Finn's Irish, and Dom's Spanish accents this baby would be in for a world of trouble.

All four of my partners along with my parents busted out laughing. "Oh, that gonna be hilarious." Damian boomed.

Yes, it would be. And I couldn't wait.

[nateconnolly]

“I have tried to show you what I am,” says Barb, the protagonist of one of the most controversial short stories ever written. “I have tried to do it without judgment. That I leave to you.”

Barb comes from I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter by Isabel Fall, a science fiction story about gender and imperialism. It was Fall’s first published story. There was no backlog of stories to analyze, and her author’s bio was sparse. Readers weren’t given any information about Fall’s gender identity, but that didn’t stop activists from speculating. “… this reads as if it was written by a straight white dude who doesn’t really get gender theory or transition,” complained Arinn Dembo, President of the science fiction writers’ collective SF Canada. The author Phoebe Barton even compared the story to a weapon against trans people: “Think of it as a gun,” she tweeted. “A gun has only one use: for hurting.” N.K. Jemison joined in, tweeting, “Artists should strive to do no (more of this) harm.” But Dembo and the hundreds of thousands of others were mistaken about Fall’s supposed cis identity. The publisher responded to the backlash by taking the story down and posting a statement about the author’s identity. Isabel Fall was a transgender woman, and self-identified activists for trans rights bullied her so mercilessly that she attempted suicide. Dembo later adjusted her criticism, saying “a lot of people might have been spared a lot of mental anguish” if Fall had made a statement about her gender identity. Meaning, Fall had a moral obligation to out herself as a trans woman. Both of Dembo’s comments reveal a preoccupation with the author that distracts from the text. The recent obsession with author identities is one of the great failures of contemporary liberal movements. In order to win liberation for any given group, liberal activists must focus less on who speaks and more on what is spoken. 

Roland Barthes’ 1967 essay The Death of the Author argued that an author’s intentions and life experiences do not make the “ultimate meaning” of their text. The author might as well “die” once the text is in the reader’s hands. The text is “a multi-dimensional space” that one cannot simply flatten with biographical details about the author. Barthes has largely been vindicated among literary critics and theorists, but his idea has not been well-received among liberal activists. It is easy to refuse to acknowledge multiple dimensions of a text. Moralistic groups like liberation movements might even be tempted to sort texts into a simple dichotomy—“good” or “bad,” without any gray areas—on the sole basis of the author’s identity. That is exactly what Dembo tried to do: she suggested that Attack Helicopter was bad simply because of the author’s (supposed) gender. 

I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter is not a transphobic story. Although an in-depth analysis would be beyond the scope of this essay, I can confidently say that Fall critiqued American imperialism, not transgender people. I think that would be clear to anyone who reads the story. But apparently, reading a story is no longer a necessary step in the process of interpreting it. Barton—who suggested her fellow trans woman was a “gun”-wielding transphobe—had not actually read the story. Jemison also admitted she had not read the story before tweeting that it was harmful. We now have a complete reversal of Barthes’ idea: this method of moralistic interpretation is nothing less than the death of the text.

Fall is far from the only queer storyteller to face backlash for allegedly not being queer. Becky Albertalli, Kit Connor (who was still a teenager), and Jameela Jamil all came out of the closet because they were harassed for telling queer stories as “straight” and “cis” people. It is a common talking point in activist circles that the government should not compile lists of queer people or forcibly out them. Why, then, do activists engage in the same behavior? It simply is not always safe to admit that you are gay, or trans, or autistic, or epileptic, or that you have had an abortion. The reason that we need liberation movements for these groups is the same reason that people might not want to publicly claim these identities.

You can read the rest on Substack

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for saying I was uncomfortable with a 21 year old flirting with me?

I [18FTM] have been perusing the dating & sex scene since I just turned 18. I met this guy on Lex (it’s basically a dating app/social media for queer people, where everybody’s age is public), I’ll call him Tony [21FTM]. We started talking for a while, just platonically, until I made a post asking about hookups in the area. Tony messaged me asking if I’d hook up with him, and I told him no, thanks without explanation. He accepted that pretty easily.

That day, I went to my friends [All 19-22] to tell them about the experience. I was being a little dramatic/ over exaggerating my discomfort (like “Why does he want to sleep with a TEENAGER 🤨”) but just because that’s the humor my friends and I have (since I’m the youngest, they always jokingly call me a minor even though I’m well over 18 by now). But after the sillies I just straight up told them I felt weird about a 21 year old wanting to have sex with me.

(Obviously, I know I’m an adult and I know there’s not really anything inherently wrong with an 18+21 year old hooking up or even dating in most circumstances. I don’t think Tony is a creep and I don’t really judge him for trying to sleep with me, I just felt creeped out by it since I still felt/feel very young (this was just a month or two after I turned 18) and I had only ever slept with or dated people within a year and a half age gap. I am also aware I probably should’ve said in the post that I was only interested in 18-or-19 year olds, so that is My Bad — again, I am not judging him, just making my personal feelings clear).

Anyway, I thought venting a little to my friends was mostly harmless. Except it turns out Tony was one of my friend’s COUSIN. And now Tony was upset with me because he thought that I thought he was a creep, and my friend was upset with me because she thought that I thought her cousin was a creep. Y’know.

My friend (who is 20 and originally agreed with me, saying something like “Yeah, I’m 20 and I can’t even look at an 18 year old that way, that’s weird”) suddenly felt like I was being mean and judgmental and a “puritan”, and Tony was all but crying in my DMs, apologizing profusely, which made me feel terrible. I tried to explain myself to both of them but now Tony and my friend wouldn’t talk to me.

Idk, AITA?