#and the drummer who i feel like i need to do more research on

[1001albumslist]

Day 15

Album: There's a Riot Goin' On by Sly & The Family Stone

Have I listened before? no

Familiarity with the artist: never heard of them! which is sad bc i feel like i should have at least heard the name somewhere

Background Knowledge:

fifth studio album by the American funk and soul band Sly and the Family Stone, released on November 1st, 1971

the recording was dominated by band frontman/songwriter Sly Stone during a period of escalated drug use and intra-group tension

Stone had recently gotten involved with the Black Panther Party, who demanded he make his music more reflective of the Black Power Movement, and replace drummer Greg Errico and saxophonist Jerry Martini with black instrumentalists

the album departs from the optimistic psychedelic soul sound of the group's 1960s records, instead embracing a darker sound featuring filtered drum-machine tracks

Interesting Info:

Stone's intention of a darker, more conceptual work was influenced by drug use and the events that writer Miles Marshall Lewis called "the death of the Sixties"; political assassinations, police brutality, the decline of the civil rights movement, and social disillusionment

the band recorded their parts separately via overdubbed, rather than together as they had in previous albums

Stone also enlisted musicians like Billy Preston and Ike Turner instead of using his bandmates for several tracks

the lead single "Family Affair" which was the group's last number-one hit, was one of the earliest hit recordings to use a drum machine

the album's title track is silent and listed as zero minutes and zero seconds long. for many years it was speculated that title referred to a July 27, 1970 riot in Chicago for which Sly & the Family Stone had been blamed. however, in 1997 Sly Stone said that the "There's a Riot Goin' On" track had no running time simply because "I felt there should be no riots."

Listened on: Apple Music

Listening Notes:

funky!! (duh lol)

nice groove to these songs 

"Spaced Cowboy" is kind of this bitter lamenting of days gone by/a more cynical outlook on life

Favorite Tracks: "Africa Talks to You ("The Asphalt Jungle)", "(You Caught Me) Smilin'", "Time", "Spaced Cowboy"

Final Review: i listened to this album while doing chores around the house and i enjoyed it a lot, i think it has some nice grooves, but to be honest i didn't pay too close attention to the lyrics and i think i need to go back at some point and listen again for that. the background information surrounding this album is absolutely fascinating and learning about that was honestly my favorite part of this album pick. i will definitely have to do more research into this album and Sly & the Family Stone in general!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s1 episode 23 "roland" thoughts

back at it again with another post surgery painkiller and x-files combo, let's goooo!

i'm almost done with season 1, only 1 more episode! i'll have to see how long it took me to get to this point and then update accordingly- but i might finish today- which will be bittersweet

(update! i started watching 20 days ago, so a i'm at a little over an episode a day! wow, time flies. and yet it seems they have always been at my side)

anyway this episode was again Problematic but i did chronicle my journey like always. i am a citizen journalist.

episode opened with some math words, math words which i definitely knew the meaning of (/s)

then the scientist we see working on a sort of jet thing gets sucked into his jet- he was locked in there by the custodian- with a sound the closed captioning described as a "squishing thud" which was. unfortunate.

enter our duo! "how was the wedding?" "you mean the part where the groom passed out or the dog bit the drummer?" (mulder, teasingly) "did you catch the bouquet?" (scully, teasing back) "maaaaybe :)"

(your honor i would die for them. no hesitation. mulder, what do you care if she caught the bouquet? dreaming of her as a radiant bride or something? scully, you stringing him along with that imagery? lol. lmao, even. i need to put them in a bottle and study them)

another scientist is killed when the custodian puts him into liquid nitrogen which is not something i can endorse but he WAS rude asf so i get it. and then his ear falls off and crunches which was nasty!

scully says she has seen this happen on a fish before! mulder responds that this is not something they'll see on "beakman's world" (had to google that one but it seems to be a contemporary children's science programming of some sort. and there was a man in a rat suit playing a rat. which is absurdly funny to me. hold on NEED to get an image of him for you)

i'm. gonna fucking cry why does he look like that. need to end this line of commentary here before i start begging for explanations on what the hell was going on in the 90's

so mulder seems to think that the custodian killed his boss and all the other members of this team working on the fancy jet stuff, which we know to be true but we don't know Why. turns out our custodian, roland, is the twin brother of the head scientist, arthur, who died a few months back, and has since had his brain placed in a cryogenic freezing chamber. JUST the head!

i love when scully and mulder need a visual on what a person would look like so they go to the woman in the fbi that presses some buttons on a computer and generates a dude. it brings me pleasure to no end. then they look at the guy like :0 yup that is exactly who we are looking for. i eat it up every time.

! SCULLY LORE REVEAL ! she has two brothers, one older and one younger! (she's a middle child omg.........)

mulder thinks siblings have a psychic connection (which is actually deeply tragic if you consider his circumstances) and that the ULTIMATE psychic connection is between twins. so the twin that is currently in an icy soup is somehow connecting to the other twin to get him to kill all the other scientists and finish his research. sure. why not.

there's then a scene where mulder tries to walk in the wrong direction and scully has to correct him, which recalled him getting lost in the woods in an earlier episode i had No Positive Feelings Towards, but it does make him always driving funnier. like, can he follow a map but has no internal sense of direction? was the gps still in its early days? did he have one at all? how is he getting places? a lot of people want to know

the last remaining scientist who was not killed lowered the temperature on brain soup twin, which was stored in another part of the university campus where they worked. man my university campus has no jet propulsion wing OR brain soup section. did i get ripped off? what is my tuition even for?

anyway, the episode ends with the seeming psychic curse of soup twin being lifted from custodian twin, which we can hope to mean positive things moving forward

overall, like i said, any episode of a show from the 90's with the words "mentally challenged" in the description is bound to have aged poorly, which i am not surprised by- up there with the earlier Indigenous appropriation episode and the aforementioned episode i Shan't Name- but, we did learn things! for instance, that scully has 2 brothers (!!!), just went to a wedding where mulder teased her about maybe catching the bouquet (and also a dog bit a drummer, drop the full story time scully don't be shy), mulder believes in the psychic connection between siblings, and that there was a rat on a kid's show that was a mere man in a suit. that i'm still gonna cry laughing at.

[theflyingfeeling]

Why I think Niko/Tommi is an amazing ship - The essay

In this literary masterpiece and research I will focus on why Niko and Tommi would make an amazing pair. Facts are based purely on assumptions of their characteristic traits and on my own subjective insight of their personalities. <3 I am also only inclusively focusing on them two and not on others in the band.

Characteristically I think Niko and Tommi would compliment each other very well. They are both introverted, whereas Niko is more outgoing and social and Tommi likes to keep his public distance. Niko tho had multiple times brought it out that he needs lots of alone time. So this has given me a picture of a CEO-guy who will handle the public image like a pro and wants to keep all the strings in his hands and go against anyone who dares to give him or his friends a hard time. And then he will hibernate in his own corner to charge the batteries and observe the situations and analyse what would be the next step forward. I feel like Tommi is an observer too, and reads people around him very well. He notices stuff and comes up with simple plans to avoid/solve/maintain the situation X and helps Niko to plan their next theoretical moves.

Tommi also gives me storyteller vibes. His using of Finnish is somehow so rich and again: his observer-nature supports this too. He knows how to keep stories interesting with the word-choices (which is most likely unintentional, he has just learned to talk like that) and intonations and rhythm of his speech. And Niko the lyricist and creative mind would love to listen Tommi talk and either relax listening it or let the inspiration wash through him. Tommi could talk hours and Niko wouldn't get tired. And similarly Tommi appreciates Niko's ability to come up with lyrics and melodies and prefers to fall asleep to his voice. Also they both have the worst (=best) sense on humor so they will just try to outdo each other in horrible dad-jokes and situational comedy.

Lastly I want to meantion that their size difference is so hot!?!?!? Niko would fit just perfectly in Tommi's arms! Also we have seen couple of video-clips of Niko being manhandled and that man likes being roughed up a little bit. Who is better to pin him against the wall/mattress/kitchen counter than a big and strong drummer? 😌 Otherwise I think they would both just enjoy quiet, mundane and domestic love where they can fully embrace their need of their own space and just quietly love each other. 🥰

Loppu

omg 😭😭😭 I love you, Niko/Tommi anon <3

a literary masterpiece indeed, because I for one am now fully convinced they'd be a great match 🥺💕 they really do seem more alike than one might imagine at first glance, and it's obvious Niko adores Tommi - then again, who doesn't? 🥰 your observation about Tommi's storyteller vibes vs. Niko's lyrical genius vibes is an excellent one and it reminds me of Niko's tweet about Tommi saying he's most definitely not gonna invite any of his bandmates to his wedding (<3) but they do get an invite to his funeral to carry his coffin made of lead (<3), and yeah, it's safe to assume Niko giggled at that for hours with hearts in his eyes for Tommi 😂🥰

If you don't mind, dare I also add what @johnnyporko and I talked about in the DMs that night you sent the first Niko/Tommi ask: they're both the hermit type of guys you know, so it's easy to imagine them retreating to some cottage in Lapland to chop some wood and have sauna and go skinny dipping in the lake and read in bed together in the evening (perhaps some old Donald Duck comics) 🥺

and yeah, the notable size difference was also mentioned 🙂

[covershotsixshooter]

I’ve had these OCs bouncing around in my head for years, why do so few on them have firm names???

[polarisbibliotheque]

97;Vergil!!

You have NO IDEA how much I started laughing when I saw this was the song for the first one of the Spotify Wrapped Special requests xD

I mean, the lyrics kinda go pretty well with Vergil, but the chaos and viciousness of the song is directly opposit to the blue devil. Nevertheless, pulled it off: started dumb and ended on a sweet note!

Spotify Wrapped Special: 97, Vergil - Reckless Life, by Guns n' Roses

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Dante gets bored easy - specially when Vergil keeps reading his poetry in silence. It's time to go out and have some fun: the red devil has a thing or two to show you about your beloved blue devil.

Author's notes: I once saw a drawing on pinterest with Vergil answering the phone at the shop while having drumsticks in his hands and drummer Vergil has lived rent free in my mind ever since. I didn't pin it and have no idea who the artist is (pinterest being shitty with people pinning other's art and not crediting it), so I'm writing this to curse you all with the image of drummer Vergil as well, enjoy :)

About the Song: Reckless Life is from Guns n' Roses' album, Lies. It features Slash screaming at the beginning, it's kinda short and fast-paced. Gn'R has a lot of punk influences, Duff (their bassist) being one of the guys from the punk scene in Seattle before moving to LA and joining Gn'R. Even if there's a lot of blues in their music, more so on Use Your Illusion 1 & 2 albums, they always have the crazy, fast-paced, vicious, quick punk rock songs - this is one of them. The lyrics are about their reckless rock n' roll lifestyle, so it kinda suits the song in general.

This isn't researched, I just thought it'd be nice to leave my two cents on the songs that end up here. I'm a crazy music lover and could talk about it all day, so feel free to skip these "about the song" bits if it isn't to your liking ^^

97, Vergil – Reckless Life, by Guns n’ Roses

“Man… You gotta learn to have a lil’ more fun in that life of yours!”

As always, Dante was sitting on his huge chair, leaning on the desk while looking at his brother. Vergil, in the other hand, had his legs crossed, sitting with a perfect posture on the couch – limiting himself to only raise his silvery eyes from the pages of his current read.

“I am having fun.”

As he muttered in response, Dante just glanced at you with exasperation in his sky-blue eyes.

“Hey, he’s your brother. Don’t look at me like that.” You shrugged, leaning on his desk while skimming over the magazine that was left there for half a year.

“Hell sure wrecked your sense of fun…” Dante sighed, slapping the desk while suddenly getting up. You and Vergil just stared at the red devil. “We’re goin’ out! C’mon, get yourselves ready!”

“We don’t have enough money for whatever you want to do, Dante…” Vergil just rolled his eyes, turning them back to his book.

You held back a laugh. They were perfect for each other; you would always stand by that.

“We don’t need money, ass-hat!” With that, Dante gently kicked Vergil’s foot, making his brother stare at him as if summoned swords would suddenly pin Dante on the wall. “Gotta show ya how to live this life, c’mon. Let’s go!”

You didn’t argue. Leaving the magazine back on the desk – which would probably stay there for another half year – you took your leather jacket and waited by the door.

“You’re going along with this, huh…?” Vergil’s words were slow, and his eyes were piercing, but you were already used to that, just shrugging in response. He sighed, heavily. “I am going to regret this…”

*

“Hey, wanna see somethin’ cool?”

A slight smile appeared on your lips as Dante leaned by your side on the bar and nudged you with his shoulder.

“Why do I have the feeling it involves vexing Vergil…?” You looked back at the red devil with a smart look in the corner of your eyes, making Dante flash you a positively mischievous grin.

“Because annoying him is usually cool.” Dante winked at you. “Since we were kids, sweetheart.”

Vergil came back with a couple more drinks for each of you – both had done a job for the bar owner and the poor man wrongfully gave the Spardas the honor of never having to pay for anything in the bar.

Indeed, you didn’t need money to have fun that night. Point for Dante.

“Ya know, I can play the guitar like a beast…” Dante suddenly started talking a little too loud, obviously for Vergil’s ears. “But I bet Shakespeare over here completely forgot how to play something cool instead of only his boring violin songs.”

“It isn’t boring, it’s classical music.” Vergil glanced at his brother with an icy look. “You should try it sometime. It might get something into that foolish head of yours.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve already heard Dante blasting classical music.” You had to point that out. Of course, it wasn’t the brooding music type Vergil enjoyed, but the more energic ones. Mozart was an all time favorite of the red devil. “No. It wasn’t Bohemian Rhapsody, although I do count that as a classical song.”

“Who doesn’t?” Dante agreed but kept on speaking as soon as Vergil opened his mouth to argue. “Anyway. Bet’cha can’t play drums like the good ol’ days, smart pants.”

You immediately glanced at Vergil, mouth slightly open. The blue devil noticed your glare but didn’t give in: he had only a stern look to his brother.

“You play drums…? Really…?!” Oh, yes. That night was surely turning into something very interesting.

“I don’t find it that surprising.” Vergil had one of his eyebrows raised, his icy look still in his eyes. The rosy tone on his cheeks, on the other hand, gave away how the alcohol was starting to affect him – even if just a little.

“We used to have a band when we were kids, sweetheart.” Dante leaned on the bar again; his cheeks also rosy. His behavior and cocky smile gave away how much the alcohol was getting to the son of Sparda, though. “The Hell Brothers. Dad laughed a lot when we told ‘im the name.”

“Mom thought it was terrible.” Vergil chuckled as he reminisced alongside his brother. Not something you would see every day. “I thought it was fitting.”

“On that, we agree!” Dante laughed at him, but scoffed right after. “The good ol’ days are gone, now. Smart pants over here probably forgot everything.”

“Well, for your information…” As soon as Vergil started talking, you had to hold back your laugh. He didn’t let that side of him come out much, but the mix of alcohol and Dante taunting him, made Vergil lift one of his fingers and get this professorial look while standing tall. You had to say, you loved it. “I do remember. I even picked up a few songs after we grew apart.”

“Really?!” You and Dante asked at the same time, leaning towards Vergil with an unsurmountable amount of interest in your eyes.

He was a sitting duck, willingly entering the predator’s nest – you and Dante. Poor Vergil didn’t even see it coming.

“Bet’cha can’t play on stage with me.” Dante smacked the bar; his sky-blue eyes fiery like his devil trigger. “You don’t have the balls.”

“I don’t, huh…?” Vergil’s silvery eyes carried Dante’s taunt, with a different fire – one filled with competition.

Both of them had that issue – but Vergil held on to his pride even to survive. It was his pride that dragged him out of Hell – and it was his pride that made him fall into the stupidest of bets alongside his brother. Vergil’s beautiful strength but ultimate fatal flaw.

You couldn’t help but smile. Such a dumb, wonderful powerhouse of a man-demon.

“Never had, Verge. You’d say you don’t want to look foolish…” While talking, Dante threw his hair back, making his voice darker and raspier, impersonating his twin. You snorted while drinking, having to spit it back in your glass – definitely not one of your most wonderful moments, but that lit something inside Vergil: he was being made fun of and you couldn’t hold back your laugh. The game was on, right then and there. “But we both know it’s ‘cause you don’t have the balls to go on stage and show your skills. Must be all old and rusty.”

Vergil didn’t even answer. He just took off his coat.

You stared back at him, eyebrows furrowed. It was rare, but there was Vergil wearing his leathery vest, arms completely free and hands covered only by his old gloves. He usually sported this look while training with family – you and everyone in the crew included – but it was very unusual for him to have bare arms on the streets. He gave you his treasured coat, making you immediately hold it.

“Save it for me, please.” With that phrase, Vergil turned the glass with his drink in one shot, drinking it as if it was water. You looked even more baffled. “So. Are we going or what? Don’t you have the balls, Dante…?”

You turned back at Dante – eyes wide and a surprised smile on your lips; but no surprise was better than the one stamped on the red devil’s face. Dante finished his own drink in one shot as well, laughing in the process.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! C’mon, smart pants!” He got up, clapping in excitement. Turning back at you, Dante winked while talking. “Get ready to see The Hell Brothers, sweetheart!”

You watched in awe as Dante had a word with the band playing that night. When they looked at Vergil – arms crossed, just staring at them – the men shrugged and figured why not. After all, everyone there knew Dante and a favor could be collected as a favor later – in case they had any problems with demons.

The bassist and vocalist went to the band area with the Sparda brothers – Dante using a pick from the guitarist and Vergil with the drumsticks from the drummer. You could hardly believe that was happening, in all honesty.

“Hey, bitches! Pay attention, we got new guys playin’ this one with us!” The vocalist took the cigarette out of his mouth to scream on the mic, making everyone turn to them. “They call themselves The Hell Brothers, a mouthful, huh?! Let’s burn this place down then!”

“Wat’cha wanna play, Verge? What do you remember?” Dante turned to his brother, who was testing the pedals while the vocalist was speaking. Vergil just lifted his silver eyes to his twin; a smirk playing in the corner of his lips.

“You know this one. Try to keep up.”

With those words, Vergil hit the cymbals four times before releasing all his strength on the snare drum – Dante immediately smiled, knowing very well which song was. He didn’t expect that from Vergil but hey, he didn’t even expect his brother to accept playing with him again either. As soon as the cue for the guitar came in, Dante began the fast and vicious riff of Reckless Life.

“I’m reckless and feelin’ no pain, you know I’ve got no need to control! Livin’ with the danger, I’m always on the edge now, with million dollar visions that I hold!”

Fast and vicious was a nickname for both of them – although, as soon as the vocals started singing the screamed lyrics, you noticed Dante was able to slow down to simple chords, but Vergil remained on the same speedy beat, setting the quick punk rhythm for the whole band. He didn’t stop and it seemed he didn’t lose both rhythm and strength.

That was another thing you noticed while watching him: Vergil followed his twin brother and played like a beast, almost as if he envied Tommy Lee himself. You argued the drummer of Mötley Crüe was one of the most entertaining to watch just from the sheer strength he used to play, but Vergil… He wasn’t much different, if you had to admit.

There was something raw, brutal in the way he played. Nothing like the refined emotions Vergil could sing with his violin… That was his baser instinct, his devil coming out. Indeed, they were the Hell Brothers: you could see a facet of Vergil he so very rarely let out.

On the brink of the riff, Vergil already had sweat dripping from his forehead – arms slightly glistening from it. You opened a bright smile when you saw him singing along to the lyrics just before the riff, closing his eyes as he played with his feelings overflowing.

“Livin’ like this never ever tore my life apart, I know how to maintain, ‘cause it’s comin’ from my heart!”

There was something of beautiful about his fangs slightly showing and the savage light on his eyes as Vergil opened them again – meeting yours for a brief moment. You smiled back at him, singing along the lyrics. And that, made him smile back – a cocky smirk, but nonetheless, a beautiful one.

“I lead a reckless life! And I don’t need your advice! I lead a reckless life! And you know, it’s my only vice!”

It was one of your favorite parts of the song really, just how the drums followed perfectly the guitar solo. As Dante shredded as well as Slash himself, he turned to the drums, finding Vergil’s eyes. The brothers smiled at each other for a glimpse of a second – something that made you scream, rooting for them. Dante was going all out on the guitar, and Vergil was following it – you didn’t want any of them to have a sudden moment of logic that could spiral them into their usually depressive thoughts. They were having fun, as brothers, after so long.

You could only imagine how Eva and Sparda were proud of them playing together as kids even if they weren’t that good when they were young – something you doubted wholeheartedly.

Planting one foot on the bass drum, Dante kept soloing while Vergil quickly rolled his eyes – either way, he kept on playing, never allowing Dante to slow down for a second. He kept the vicious rhythm, complimenting Dante with cymbals and snare drums whenever the song called for it.

You could swear the drum was going to fall apart at the end, really.

“Reckless life! I lead a reckless life!”

A small pause on it made Vergil rest the drumsticks on the snare drums, throwing his head back so his hair could go back to its place – the white locks were dripping with sweat and his neck was glistening as it seemed like he had just come out of a swimming pool. Vergil could try all he wanted, but his hair was already coming down his eyes – but it didn’t really seem like he cared at the moment.

With a breath for the last riff, the fierce rhythm came back, only to wrap up with him smashing the cymbals and snare drums in the same rhythm Dante stroke his chords, the bass drum never stopping for a second. You could see how both of the Sparda brothers could vent their frustrations and endless energy on rock and roll.

As they wrapped up the song, you got up from your bar stool, raising both arms and screaming as if you were seeing Guns n’ Roses themselves. The whole bar was fired up with energy, screaming and applauding, asking for more. Vergil left the drumsticks on the drum snare and threw his dampened hair back once more, as he always did.

“Hey guys, that was great! Wanna go for another song?” The vocalist covered the mic, turning to the twins as you approached quickly with Vergil’s coat in your arms.

“Eh, I dunno. Mister frowny face here doesn’t really play anymore, this was probably a one-time thing.” Dante pointed at Vergil, who just observed his brother for a while. “Thanks, though. It’d be nice.”

“Hey! You guys playing more?!” You had a huge smile on your face, eyes glistening in the dimmed lights of the bar.

“They don’t seem like they will, angel.” The vocalist sighed, placing one of his hands on his waist and smiling at you. He looked back at Dante and Vergil. “That’s ya dove?”

“Yes. That is my dove…” Vergil murmured in response, throwing his hair back one more time. “You would like to hear more, love…?”

“Hell yes I would!” The excitement in your answer made Vergil let out a quick laugh, turning his eyes back to Dante.

“Can you keep up?”

“Hell yeah I can, ass-hat!” Dante laughed, taking off his coat now. It was hot and the night was just starting. “Keep an eye on this for me, sweetheart?”

“No worries, red devil.” You winked back, placing Dante’s coat alongside Vergil’s.

You ended up on the table with the other members of the band – who were quite happy to take some time off and drink while listening to good music for a change. No one would mess with you, obviously, after knowing you were the Hell Brothers drummer's partner.

As the vocalist announced their next song and they tuned their instruments, Vergil still kept his gaze on his brother. It was something he had forgotten about – that feeling of playing with Dante, of having a brother. Of course, Vergil loved music and playing his violin was always satisfactory – but playing with Dante in a band had a different dynamic; a dynamic that couldn’t be replaced by any instrument in the world.

The songs they played together might not be the most refined and beautifully composed in the world, but they spoke to a baser instinct only they knew was there – and only they would understand in each other.

“I missed this.” Vergil’s tone was dark as always, but Dante’s ears were attuned enough to his brother’s voice, making him turn back to Vergil immediately. His twin’s eyes, for a change, looked like molten platinum. “I like playing with you, Dante.”

“I like playing with you as well.” Dante smiled back, his sky-blue eyes carrying the love he never stopped feeling for his brother – even after the most despicable things Vergil did, Dante would never stop loving him. “I missed you so much, Verge.”

As a spectator, you could only see the genuine and heartfelt smile that painted Vergil’s lips – and how his eyes were vulnerable. Looking back at Dante, he carried the same expression – as if both brothers would allow some tears to fall before playing; sharing something only they knew about.

You could watch them playing together for the rest of your life.

[xocasper]

(Jet Black) Hotel Mirror

Pairing: Mikey Way x Reader Summary: At long last, you're spending the night in a hotel. Your plans are showering and sleep, but a bit of sex wouldn't be a terrible inconvenience. Warnings: NSFW content Tags: dirty talk, mirror sex, orgasm denial, rough sex Word Count: 2169 A/N: Holy shit, I had a busy week. Hopefully this week won't be quite as busy and I'll have more time to write! I have a pretty good idea for a fic right now, but I'll have to do a bit of research before I attempt to write it (aka I have no idea how threesomes work). Anyway, enjoy this fic that I finished on my lunch break :)

You slammed your sticks against your drum kit, playing the last song of the set with as much energy as you could muster. Your eyes drifted from the sea of spirited fans to Frank, who was hyper as ever, before finally setting your sights on your boyfriend, Mikey. He had slowly grown more comfortable on stage, stepping out of his microscopic comfort zone every now and then. He looked up at you as the chorus hit, sending you a smile while his fingers danced across the bass.

The two of you had been close since you joined the band back in 2004. They needed a drummer on very short notice, and luckily you were friends with Brian and he talked you up enough that they decided to meet you. Though skeptical at first, the band was very impressed with your drumming skills. Now here you were, three years and an album later, playing your heart out on stage for thousands of people.

As the lights dimmed and Gerard’s voice faded out, you felt a wave of exhaustion crash over you. Thankfully you would be staying in a hotel room tonight, and you were more than grateful to have a real bed to sleep in; that is, if Mikey let you get any sleep.

The adrenaline was still high backstage, which was to be expected at this point. A pair of strong arms snaked around your waist, eyes fluttering shut as your boyfriend rested his chin on your head. “You did really great tonight,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah? I thought I messed up a bit during House of Wolves, but–” He cut off your sentence, shushing you gently. “You did perfect, don’t worry.” You turned around in his arms, staring up at him lovingly, his gaze holding the same passion. His lips were mere millimeters from yours when you were interrupted.

“Get a room!” Frank yelled, pretending to vomit. “Yeah, can you make out with my little brother somewhere else? Preferably when we’re not around?” Gerard piped up, Mikey huffing in defeat. “We’re staying in a hotel tonight, so you guys can be as gross as you want later,” Ray reminded you, and as if on cue, Brian walked over ushering everyone outside, insisting that you needed to rest.

The ride to the hotel was peaceful; no one bothered to go to their bunk, knowing that if they went down for a nap before you arrived, they’d be a pain to wake up. As hard as you tried to stay awake, Mikey’s embrace was far too comfortable and you could feel yourself dozing off in his arms, whatever conversation they were having turning to white noise.

He shook you gently as the bus stopped, kissing your forehead as you rubbed your eyes. His hand slipped into yours as he pulled you up, leading you outside where the cold jolted you awake. “Shit, it’s cold out,” you mumbled, and he laughed as you gripped him for warmth. “Woke you up real fast, huh?” he teased, earning him a playful shove.

Ray went to grab the room keys while the rest of you stood around, sticking out like a sore thumb against the beige walls. “Alright, rock paper scissors for whoever takes the room next to them,” Frank said, facing Gerard who rolled his eyes at the proposition. “There’s no way in hell I’m sharing a wall with them again.” You raised your eyebrows at them, torn between embarrassment and amusement, while Mikey stayed stoic as usual, biting back an arrogant remark that would definitely have him sleeping on the floor.

“You guys are so dramatic,” you said, halting their game. “Nah, we almost called the police the first night, sounded like someone was slaughtering you,” he grinned. “Jealousy’s a bitch, Frank,” you smiled back, Ray walking over before he could say anything else.

The second Mikey got the key, he was pulling you into the elevator, hardly waiting for everyone else. Another game of rock paper scissors ensued, followed by a groan from Frank as he lost for the third time. He started to grumble something about sleeping in the lobby, but you missed the end of it when the doors opened, Mikey wasting no time dragging you off to your room.

The second the door shut, his lips were pressed against yours, hands on your hips as he gave you the first real kiss in a long while. It was hard to get privacy with the guys around, so kisses were short and sex bordered on nonexistent. Occasionally you could hide somewhere long enough to relieve the tension, but most of the time you found yourself waiting for hotel stays.

“I’m gonna go shower,” you told him, giving him one more kiss before heading off to the bathroom. He furrowed his brows, confused and a bit hurt, trailing after you. “You could shower later,” he said, and you smiled gently, willing to compromise. “Or you could join me?”

He seemed to like the idea, hand on your lower back as you stepped into the bathroom. It was actually clean, which was a bit of a shock at first, but the hotel was nicer than some of the others you’d stayed in. There were warm disc lights above the sink, casting a soft glow upon the two of you. The countertop stretched across the wall, a good five feet or so, with a wide mirror covering the wall behind it.

Mikey stared into the mirror, meeting your gaze, back to having no interest in showering. You looked back at him, stomach fluttering as you had the same thought. He grinned and bent down to your neck, holding eye contact as he whispered against your skin. “Or we could shower later,” he proposed once more, his breath sending shivers down your spine. You tried to hold your ground though, shaking your head and beginning to strip, avoiding his gaze to not give in.

He copied you, stripping down to nothing and giving you a sweet kiss. Your self-control crumbled as he stood before you, his lips turning a loving kiss into a lustful one almost as soon as it started. Damn, he was good.

He knew it too, trying not to smirk as his hands slid up your body, yours tangled in his hair, shower long forgotten. His tongue traced your bottom lip, and you almost resisted and returned to your original task, but with his soft hands and warm mouth, you couldn’t find it in you to be stubborn.

His fingers brushed against your cheek before pulling you closer, tongue sliding against yours. A shit-eating grin crept across his face as he pulled away, knowing he had gotten his way. You were still dizzy from his kiss, ignoring his pride and pulling him right back to you. The two of you tripped all the way to the counter, leaning against it as he placed wet kisses down your neck.

The countertop was cold against your thighs but Mikey was warm, his hands massaging them as his mouth skimmed across your chest. He brought his fingers to your mouth, groaning as you sucked on them. They glided down to your core as he kissed you messily, tugging lightly on your lip as he pulled away. “Were you thinking about this during the show?” he asked you, fingers sweeping across your slick folds. A shaky sigh passed your lips, and you nodded gently.

“Use your words, c’mon,” he mumbled, still barely touching you. “Yeah, ‘m always thinking about you,” you breathed, wiggling in hopes of friction, but he pulled his hand away. You whined softly, already missing his touch, but he just chuckled cynically. “Do you want something?” So he was going to be an ass about it.

“You know what I want, Mikey,” you huffed, and he raised his eyebrows in return. “I don’t think so. How ‘bout you tell me?” You could feel your stomach burning with embarrassment, but it seeped lower, turning into arousal as he waited for you to speak. He clicked his tongue impatiently, tossing his hands up and backing up further.

“Where are you going?” you asked a bit too quickly. “I can’t help you if you can’t tell me what you want.” He stopped as he said it, and you gave in. “I want you, Mikey.” Obviously this wasn’t enough for him, but he at least turned around. “Specifics, baby,” he told you, walking closer. It took all of your strength to not glare at him, looking him up and down and deciding it was worth the embarrassment.

“I want you to fuck me.” Miraculously, he still wasn’t satisfied. “How?” he asked, hands back on your thighs. “With your fingers, then your–” your breath hitched as he left an open-mouthed kiss on your neck. “Then my what, hun?” His lips were placed right below your ear, waiting with a slew of lewd words. “Want you to fuck me hard with your cock, Mikey,” you said, burning with humiliation, but just as before, it relocated between your legs. He moaned softly below your ear, nipping your skin softly before turning you around.

You watched in the mirror as his hands slid down your body, stroking the inside of your thighs before they trailed up to your dripping cunt. He took his time, thumb barely brushing across the skin, gathering your wetness on his fingers before touching you properly. He pushed one in gently, your breath catching in your throat, followed by a moan as he pressed his thumb to your clit.

Every touch was dizzying, varying between gentle strokes and the sudden curl of his finger, head tipping back as he added another, spreading you open for you to see. He used his other hand to pull your chin back down, having you watch as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

He went at a solid pace, reveling in the garbled praise he received while curses and slurred phrases fell from your lips. He circled your clit as you felt your muscles tighten, legs becoming unsteady as you gripped the countertop.

“Mikey, fuck, I’m gonna–” you said, staring at his reflection as he pulled away, listening to your pathetic cries with a wicked smile. “Nah, I don’t think you will,” he replied, tongue swirling around his fingers, making a show of it. You gaped at him, searching for words but also knowing not to complain. He could tell what you were thinking, speaking up for you. “Good things come to those who wait,” he told you, and you rolled your eyes at the stupid saying. “You can get yourself off if you want, or you can wait for me to fuck you,” he mumbled in your ear, now returned to his previous position, hands resting on your waist.

“Please,” you breathed, watching his eyes trace your body in the mirror, committing it to memory. “You’re gonna watch yourself come apart on my cock, yeah? Are you wet knowing you’ll get to see me fuck you?” Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought, and he sucked on the crook of your neck, hands coming to rest beside yours.

He leaned forward, lining himself up with you before pushing in slowly. A stammered ‘shit’ slipped out as he delved further. He moaned softly as you took every inch, cunt warm and wet, desperately waiting for a sign to continue. After another mumbled ‘please,’ he kept going, pulling back before thrusting in again, face contorted in pleasure.

You watched as he pounded into you, a cacophony of moans and names encased the two of you, unable to process anything but each other. He moved his hands back to your skin, one diving down to your clit, the other cupping your breast.

It was all too much, going dumb over his touch. “I’m gonna—“ you moaned out, only for him to cut you off. “You can wait,” he muttered back, thrusts growing sloppier each time. You let out an uncontrollable sob as he denied you, feeling as if you’d burst if you had to wait any longer.

“Please let me come,” you pleaded, breath shaking as you locked eyes with him. He took pity on you, humming in question. You could tell he was close, growing louder as you clenched around him. “Fuck, come with me,” he commanded, your vision darkening as he released inside of you, continuing to fuck you as you held yourself up against the countertop, body weak from the exertion.

He stayed inside for a minute and kept his arms wrapped around you, surveying your dazed expression. Your hair was a mess, lips wet and skin blemished, pupils still dilated, and you were practically hearing colors. “Damn,” you said, incapable of forming words. He laughed quietly behind you, “Yeah.”

You hauled yourself up, resting against his chest and tilting your head up to look at him, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “I think it’s time for that shower.”

taglist:

@lubbockshusband​

[majorlb]

#ok I'm a little obsessed with this AU honestly #first and foremost Niko as a drummer is a bespoke choice no notes #but also #imagine the string for string solidarity those two would have #Edwin tunes Charles's guitar for him when they're in a pinch #Charles tries to tune his violin exactly once and it makes That Noise like its about to snap in half and he never touches those pegs again #(he would be scared by the amount of force needed also Imao) #Meanwhile Edwin offers to pick up some strings for charles and spends the next 3 days researching all those confusing specs #he's also absolutely APPALED by the number of random objects Charles tries to use as picks "for a new sound' #(just admit you forgot to bring your pick baggy) #speaking of they've dated for like a week and Edwin starts finding guitar picks EVERYWHERE in his flat #they just spawn #there also is a wild goose chase at some point bc they somehow both forgot to bring a nail file on a trip #(it ends with crystal handing them one while hardcore juding them for not jus... asking) #also also I think Edwin would have amazing technique but would never be fully satisfied with his improvisational skills #he always feels like he's just copying smth he's played before #meanwhile Charles has probably never played a song the same way twice #and like #the way they would start influencing each other #Charles sarts using more complex operatic harmonies #Edwin discovers his love of bold percussivos and down strokes @smollsmule you get it

you get the vision 💕😭

Charles never plays the song the same way twice, mostly because he learned by playing by ear (learning by doing) and he gets so lost in the music that he simply let's the mood take him where it goes. It never fails to make the crowd go wild, and also their shows are never predictable because you could go to every single show and never hear a song the same way again. But it always RULES. He does learn how to read sheet music, out of pure necessity for the bands sake. but boy does he hate it.

Edwin thinks sheet music is fun and amused by Charles complaining.

They both approach music so vastly differently and are fascinated by the other.

Edwin who invites Charles to his own performance with orchestra. And at first, he doesn't think Charles will show up, but there he is, whole band with him, giving him enthusiastic thumbs up and standing ovations when it's done.

"What? I'm a music enthusiast"

"You're also enthusiastic about Edwin"

"Two things can be true"

Also Edwin sleeping in metal band t-shirt.

And yes, as soon as they start dating, guitar picks just find their way into every nook and cranny of Edwins apartment. And his violincase. And his SHOE one time.

I'm not done apparently-

Edwin in his little sweaters and pressed collar shirts standing on the side of the stage (he can't be in the audience, the bands crowds are known for their enthusiastic circle pits) and people who follow the band starts to notice him.

Who is this fancy young man? A manager? He's certainly new, but the old manager is still around.

He's in the background of so many pictures, and sometimes in the forefront with Charles arm around his shoulders.

They start hearing violin on the albums, but no one is ever credited (Edwin doesn't want his name on metal music, at least not in the beginning)

But the fans figure out its probably him, because once he showed up later in the show with a violin case, still standing on the side, never on stage, never playing live.

But its not until a fan straight up asks in the commentsection, "Who's the fancy one?" that they get the response "Edwin is Charles boyfriend" To which the band both lose and gain fans.

"We make music criticizing the state of the world and how capitalism and war tears humanity apart! What do you mean we 'went woke' by Charles having a boyfriend?!" writes Niko, the drummer, on Twitter.

Crystal is being physically restrained to stop her from doxxing people

[estellamiraiauthor]

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 11)

Welcome back to the silly project where I re-read my own book and comment on various things, like what was based on real life, what was totally made up, what I’d do differently if I could do it over again, and more! Spoilers abound, including spoilers for chapters beyond this one, so only click if you’re OK with that, thanks!

It’s starting to feel like these early chapters are following a pattern… Teru sees Rei, something happens to make him feel like shit, so he goes back to the band, and something happens to make him need or want to see Rei again? Maybe it just feels repetitive because I’m reading each chapter two or three times in a row now to annotate them?

Anyway, Chapter 11 picks up right where 10 leaves off, with Teru heading back home after the disastrous kiss and trying to distract himself again. There’s a sumo tournament on TV—this would be the Heisei 12 (2000) Nagoya Basho, I did make sure to get a sport that would actually be being aired on that particular day. (I like researching stupid details that no one is ever going to notice WAY too much.) And a soap opera about “a mother estranged from her gay son”—this almost certainly did NOT exist on Japanese TV 23 years ago. Even now, if there are ANY canon queer characters at all it’s like, a side character who has a crush on the MC but never gets a happy ending of their own. (Yet anime has queer characters, and has for a long time... it’s OK if it’s a cartoon or something? I have no ides.) But that was a creative liberty I wanted to take, just to remind Teru of what he was trying not to think about.

Unable to find anything in his apartment to distract him, Teru heads to the studio early and rents the room for an hour to pound out his frustration on the drums. I really like this scene because it’s one of the very few times we actually get to see Teru play the drums, and even though “having fun” isn’t really the word I’d use here, it shows that music isn’t just a career move for him, it really is something he enjoys and uses as a release.

Like Rei often isn’t really mad at Teru, I don’t think Teru is necessarily mad at Rei here… he’s really angry at himself for spending so much mental and emotional energy on something that won’t go anywhere, that CAN’T go anywhere (as far as he has convinced himself at the time). But it’s easier to direct that anger at someone else, or just pound it into the drums?

Then Minori shows up for rehearsal, and says they have a lead on a new drummer, if that’s OK with Teru. Teru is again sort of wishy-washy in his response—sorry? And I think that’s partly BECAUSE things didn’t go so well with Rei. He knows that Rei wants him to keep singing, but isn’t sure whether or not he wants to give Rei what he wants at this point. 

He DOES, however, actually give the band the minidisc with the new song Rei gave him the night before of his own accord, thereby perhaps becoming more of a Proactive Protagonist? Just a little?

MINIDISCS. Can I go on an aside about minidiscs? They were fabulous. You could put about 3 average-length CDs on one, and the portable players didn’t skip as badly as a Discman would. They weren’t usually used for selling commercial music, but a lot of people would put their favorite CDs (or demo tapes) on MDs for portability, use them to make mixtapes, or, in the case of musicians, to record their own songs. Definitely a nostalgia thing for me, but historically accurate!

Seika comes in, joking as always about the “wonderful boy” he spent the night with—this is definitely a defense mechanism. I think all of my characters have defense mechanisms of one kind or other. Rei acts like an asshole and pushes people away so they won’t have a chance to reject HIM. Teru replies to every question with “I don’t know, whatever you want,” because he can’t be disappointed with the way things turn out if literally anything is OK with him. Yasu acts like everything’s a joke, including himself. And Seika can’t really “pass” as straight, so he turns the camp factor up to 1,000, and that’s totally a shield. But this time, the “joke” kind of hits too close to home for Teru.

After rehearsal, they listen to the MD. This is the second time Teru has heard the song, and he internally comments that the first time, he was really only listening to the melody and the contrast between the operatic vocals and the really heavy backing track (nod to X Japan, anyone?), but the second time around he can enjoy the details. One of my very, very first readers left a comment on that line and said something to the effect of “I feel the same way reading back through this to leave comments!” and that was one of the nicest things any of my readers have ever said!

So, in terms of details to notice when we go back through this scene… Teru notices that all of the instruments are real, not synthesized—someone played this live, and it couldn’t have been Rei. While it IS possible to play the guitar with one hand (see this dude, he’s amazing!), I think that A) Teru simply doesn’t know that and B) I’m not really sure if it’s possible to play in a more metal style just by using the tapping techniques I was able to find... but mostly A. This is Teru’s point of view, and he doesn’t think there’s any chance that Rei could play what’s on the MD. Yasu comments on it too, saying Rei is a pretty good guitarist, but it’s clearly framed as a question, and Teru doesn’t really have an answer to this—he doesn’t know who’s playing on the recording either.

Now, you are absolutely free to headcanon this however you like. No one ever answers the question on the page, and I’m a fanfic writer, too—I absolutely left some things intentionally open to interpretation so people could have fun with it. But in my mind, at least, this recording is old. I don’t think Rei is going out and paying studio musicians to record demos NOW; either it’s his old band playing, or maybe he played everything himself before the accident. Personally, I think this is Rei’s old band, including Saki, on a song that they never got to officially record that Rei now wants Teru to perform, instead. Although, again, you are free to interpret it as you like!

Anyway, the band goes out to dinner after the show and decides to let the prospective drummer audition, with Yasu joking about Rei’s incredibly difficult songs with “Drummer wanted. Must be willing to dislocate own neck on demand.” (Very obviously a nod to Yoshiki, who I think actually BROKE his own neck playing the drums?) And they also decide to submit a demo to an “omnibus” CD.

So an omnibus CD is basically a “various artists” thing, and there were quite a few of those back in the day. It would be a good way for a lesser-known artist to get some exposure, because you’re going to sell copies to fans of ALL the bands in the track list, and maybe get some of them to become your fans as well. So, a pretty good career move if they get selected.

Minori also reveals that they’ve sold 19 tickets to their upcoming show, a pretty good number for an indie band of this caliber, and MUCH more than they’ve sold before, and… the REAL good news, that a magazine called Shokker (obviously a stand-in for the real-life visual kei magazine Shoxx) wants to do an interview with them. They talk about the cover for the album, and then Yasu asks about Teru’s date with Kiyomi.

At this point, the date with Kiyomi always seems really far away at this point, but in-universe, it was literally THE NIGHT BEFORE. Teru also comments that it feels like a long time ago, and gives kind of a noncommital response when Yasu asks if they’re going out again… and then Yasu accuses him of “never knowing what he wants” which is honestly pretty fair. Teru has not really thrown himself totally into the band, and he hasn’t really thrown himself fully into either of his prospective relationships at this point—Yasu tells him to decide what he wants and go for it, not knowing what he’s REALLY advising Teru to do.

And then at the end of the chapter there’s a little scene where, after Minori and Yasu (who live in the opposite direction, away from Shinjuku) leave in Minori’s van, Teru asks Seika to join him for a coffee, and asks Seika how he knew he was gay. Seika says it wasn’t so much about realizing it but admitting it to himself, after he tried to date girls, and Teru admits that he kissed a man (but doesn’t say that it was Rei). Seika was always supposed to be the “gay friend,” but I’m glad he turned into such a well-rounded character. One little thing that gets slipped in here is that Seika lives in Koreatown… supposedly because the rent is cheap and he can walk to work (which we can assume is in Shinjuku 2-chome, where most of the gay clubs are concentrated). Of course, it’s not unheard of for someone who isn’t Korean to live in Koreatown, and for all Teru knows Seika COULD be Korean (a lot of the Koreans in Japan at this point are the children and grandchildren of people who were abducted during World War II, so Japanese is their first language and if they go by an alias, you’d never know they were Korean unless they told you). But we’ll find out later that he actually has a long-term Korean boyfriend. That isn’t revealed until MUCH later, and was actually something I added in a later draft—Seika acts like a playboy, but it really is all an act. He’s committed to and very much in love with Sung-min, and I think that dating someone who is a part of a discriminated-against minority, he would’ve had a bit of a learning curve when they first got together as well, and is therefore in a position to give Teru advice and sympathise with some of the hurdles he faces in the beginning of his relationship with Rei. Of course, neither of them knows who the other is dating yet, but Seika is still kind of helping Teru discover himself, <3

[morerelatableautisticcontentblog]

The Makings of a Maniac Pixie Dream Girl

I have been thinking for a week or so about writing about being Autistic and being much more likely to enter an abusive romantic relationship. And, while I know that is very, very common from hanging out in Autistic groups and from my own personal experience and from the limited research available, I think my thought was far too limited. It didn't seem like The Blog to write. I sat down to write it and the data and the words didn't flow.

Now, I know why. This morning I came across and interesting study from Dr. Amy Pearson. From it, "The findings highlighted the experience of polyvictimization within the sample, with many participants having experienced multiple forms of interpersonal violence across the life span." Right then and there, I came to understand that The Blog I needed to write would be talking about abuse in all different forms- and how susceptible we are to it! I will explore the "why" from my own perspective and experience.

Many of us are rejected often and regularly by our peers. I know, I didn't have a lot of friends when I was in elementary school. It was a very lonely time, that has stayed with me. I am not male, so I cannot speak to how the undiagnosed male experience goes or the mechanisms that open them to abuses, though I know abuse towards males in romantic relationships is much more common that people discuss.

With that said, such experiences often turn us into strange, fleeting things. As we grow, we are often perceived as Manic Pixie Dream Girls, with our unorthodox hair, clothes, and ways of moving to the beat of our own drummers. I was the nerdy librarian variety!

We often don't feel worthy of such romantic intentions and are just happy anyone at all is interested in us, after years of rejection and being felt that we are "too much" in all spaces. We often don't even think our friends truly like us, because of how often a person will befriend us, only for us to figure out they using us as a English tutor.

We are often gaslit when we talk about how loud the lights are in the cafeteria. We are told that we are crazy, because lights don't have sound. Same for when we talk about taking a test in a quiet classroom and being distracted hearing the electricity buzz in the walls. And a million other ways, we are taught to doubt ourselves...

The seam to the sock is fine. You'll forget about it in five minutes!

Corduroy is a perfectly good material! You are so picky!

Finding pants for you is too hard!

Why don't you leave your room and join the family for the party?

Crushed velvet is so soft and fashionable! You should love it!

If we cannot trust ourselves to know that lights are loud and that electricity does buzz and that toe seams are of the Debil and that we don't like hot materials like corduroy or crushed velvet or pants that go up to our boobs or that we do not like the company of people who talk down to us, then what hope do we have of knowing how to set boundaries?!

Figuring out in 2019 that I am Autistic reframed these situations for me and I was able to learn that I am not crazy or broken. That my perceptions and experiences are valid, even when others tried to invalidate them. Finding out I am Autistic gave me the chance to speak up for myself and what my sensory needs are and honoring those needs! I didn't have to pretend anymore that going grocery shopping where there are bright, buzzy lights didn't give me a sensory overload.

In fact, right before I found out I am Autistic, I thought was having some problems with my hearing. I was at the check out and the cashier had to keep repeating what she was explaining to me, but I absolutely couldn't hear her. I even went and go my ears checked and they were perfect. I know now that I was having a sensory processing issue that stemmed from being overstimulated. Now, wear noise reduction earplugs and am kind to myself when I am overstimulated.

I am glad so many Actually Autistic adults are taking up so much space and being so loud! I don't want another generation of Autistics growing up not trusting their own selves and feeling fundamentally flawed. This will go a long was towards reducing the amount of polyvictimization!

[magical-girl-coral]

hello! how you doing today? i just found out your blog and i feel saved! ok, this is kinda specific and out of context but i need help with an oc 😭

in short words: i re-started working with one of my ocs after a long break, and i decided to change one of his backstory: he is the drummer for a hard rock band from the 1960s in england. this drummer is british german and ashkenazi jewish, but i'm afraid i'm not doing him justice or just straight not making an “authentic representation”. i’m not jewish myself, so i don’t feel in the position of writing him.

what are your suggestions for writing jewish characters? or what elements can i add to make it feel more authentic? sorry if i'm taking up your time, but as a non-jewish, i's like to hear your thoughts. thank you in advance for any messages or recommendations, and please forgive me if i misspoke at any point 🙏🏻✨

As much as I am honored that you asked me, I cannot stress enough how under qualified I am for this.

My family is less jewish and more jew-ish. My mother is a "pagan" who believes in mother earth and my older brother treats science like a religion. We're only jews cause we don't know what else to be.

If I were you, I would just check the tumblr tag Jumblr for general knowledge and go from there. There's jewish history, icons, various cultures and inside jokes that can helpful for your research. I also have a "Jewish Tag" on my blog that you can use.

As for the history itself, basic research is your best friend. Googling about the Jewish world post holocaust is a good start especially if your character is in their thirties, since they either immigrated from Germany when the war was over or had to live through England's bombing while being a child. Their PTSD is also probably pretty strong and researching about mental health in the 1960's is important as well.

My bottom line is RESEARCH. Ignorance is the Jews' worst enemy and thanks to constant misunderstandings, it has become dangerous for me to leave my country. Always check the source, who's sharing the source, and why the source is shared in the first place.

Anyway, good luck! And please give me updates when you can.

[draslihanxfahri-bailey]

While she would've been more than understanding, the woman was happy to hear the duo accept her offering. "Perfect! I have some baggies of strawberries, blueberries, and pomegranate arils; some chocolates; I have some homemade hummus and aish baladi; and I got some baggies of pistachios and almonds. Please, pick and have has much as you want." Her lips curled into a smile at Kaya's words. While she knew French, she understood wanting to help immerse your child in speaking English in a primary English-speaking country. With Alex, she insured that her daughter already knew Turkish, Arabic, Hebrew, Ladino, Greek for her uncle, and English, primarily the former two and the latter. Fortunately, her eldest had a knack for languages like her and her family. Now having spent the past few years learning Japanese and Spanish as well.

Yet it was easy to forget about the treats as soon as she realized who she was speaking to. While all her research didn't mention Iris once, she learned about the girl from Eli. It felt wrong, meeting her before he could mend things with Kaya and Roman. To look at her and realize that Harrison's eyes were staring right back at her. God, how much pain has Kaya been with that realization every day? How much would it hurt Eli to see the man he loved living on through Iris? It felt unfair. It was heartbreaking. And she forgot how to breathe again.

Kaya's fear was understandable. Yet it didn't stop her from feeling worse, especially once the girls began to pick up on the tension. The curator winced as Alex turned to her. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, how she was also becoming concerned about the whole situation. "Sorun değil," she told her softly. Giving her a gentle smile before kissing her forehead. Alex wrapped her arms around Asli, peaking over her shoulder back at Kaya while her mother held her. She looked back at the other, shaking her head. "Je suis désolé, je ne veux pas vous effrayer," she offered. Hoping, praying, that speaking in French could help in some form or way.

The last thing Aslihan wanted to do was make things worse. She wanted Kaya, Iris, and Roman to be a part of their lives. For Eli to work things out with his former bandmates and for them to be a family again. For the children to grow up together. For them to be a family together and put the past behind them. At least, for Harrison's sake. While she never knew the man, she was certain that seeing Amethyst like this would've broken his heart.

Alex looked back at her mother and she nodded. Smiling softly before saying, "Go play with her. We just need to talk for a moment. Everything's going to be okay." The seven year old didn't look convinced for a moment. Yet, looking between Asli and Iris, she soon nodded and let go of her mum. Moving back to her new friend and heading off with her to play. And as she looked back at Rhia, she was relieved to see that the baby had fallen asleep in her stroller. Leaving for things to be just between the two women. A conversation that was bound to happen; Just, not as soon as she was expecting.

She looked back at the drummer and winced at her words, moving her hands behind her back with one hand reaching up to hold her other arm. Trying to appear as open as possible to the other. "I'm sorry. I swear, I wasn't trying to scare you or Iris. I... I didn't know about everything until recently." Though, she felt shameful as she admit that. After knowing Elijah for nearly four years yet only just now learning the truth as to why he left Amethyst; She knew how bad that must look. She nearly let out a sad laugh at her words. God, if only she had shown up a year earlier. Then she might've known the struggles her and Eli faced once learning about their daughter. "Trust me, it wasn't an easy journey," she admitted softly.

Yet, would that only made this harder? After all, Kaya should've been there. Her, Harrison, Roman, and Toni should've all been there during the pregnancy, helping to calm down Eli with his fears and helping them. They should've been there from the beginning and see their niece grow up. That is... Assuming that her and Eli would've even had a chance to be together, considering his love for Harry.

The Egyptologist swallowed thickly. "He shouldn't have left the way he did. Losing Harrison... I can't imagine the pain you all experienced. Especially you." Especially Eli. "But, regardless, I'm sorry. I wish that things were still good between you lot. You're his family. Is... Is there any way to mend things? I know that it can't change the past, but it could lead to a better future, if possible." ||📜@kayadubois

Kaya grinned at the other woman as she scoured around her bag in search for treats, ignoring her daughter's eyes bulging open at the promise of sweets. "Oh, please, don't worry, we've just had a little snack ourselves." her daughter's eyes zeroed in on her at the refusal and were followed with the best attempt at puppy eyes she'd ever seen. She'd never in her life been able to deny those eyes anything, much less now when accompanied by Iris' pout. "...fine. Just one little snack, if you ask nicely." she saw her daughter open her mouth excitedly and raised a finger, cutting her off quickly. "In English, please" Iris could speak it, Kaya had made sure of it, but she knew her daughter, just like herself, resorted to the comforts of French more than she should. At times, the little girl would forget others around them didn't speak the language, and get fussy about being made to switch. Kaya could already see the frown begin to settle between her blonde brows, but Iris was saved by the bell, or rather, by the other woman's voice uttering Kaya's name.

Immediately, Kaya's casual arm around her child tightened, pulling Iris closer towards herself, her own body angling away from the stranger who said her name like she'd seen a ghost. This wasn't the way she'd get recognised by a random fan of the band, someone who might have been obsessed with her during her twenties, a crazed paparazzo. She couldn't place what this tone was, and that was even worse. She looked at the children, then back at the woman, searching for clues, anything that would tell her whether she needed to bolt out of the park, into her car and back to Maryland.

Iris was clearly picking up on her mother's anxiety because a small hand landed in her neck, snapping her eyes out of their darting and instead looking at her baby, who know looked worried, almost scared. Forgetting her previous request, she murmured. "C'est bon, ma chérie." she settled her child on her hip and stood up, trying to put some distance between the stranger and Iris, angling her away from the woman, who also mimicked her action and stood up, her hands careful, soothing. However, Kaya's eyes didn't miss how the other woman's widened upon landing on Iris and her frown deepened, mistrust glaring from her eyes. "Who are you." It wasn't even a question, it was almost a demand, a mother hiding her own fear for the sake of her child.

The answer came, and if possible, it made it all worse. Her eyes darted back to the toddler and the baby, who now looked confused back at her, and she realised she had seen them before at the Spring Extravaganza, laughing in Elijah's arms. Her brain whirled with information, trying to take it all in. The bigger child looked older than Iris by a few years, but the younger… The younger had features Kaya had seen before, and her eyes snapped back up to the woman, Elijah's girlfriend, who at the very least shared a child with him.

She swallowed, trying to find words, any words, she had to say to this woman, who, regardless of having done nothing to deserve it, immediately infused Kaya with a sense of dread. What had Elijah told her? She clearly knew who Iris was, if that stare she tried to hide was anything to go by, but what else? Did it matter? Elijah had deemed they all were dead for him, why should she care about any of these people?

The silence dragged on, uncomfortable, only broken when little Iris, tired of being upended from the floor and her own worries forgotten, whispered in her mother's ear. "Maman, veux descendre." the words snapped Kaya out of her reverie and she looked at the girl, realising she had no idea what was going on, just that her maman had suddenly freaked out and taken her away from her new friend. She cursed herself in her brain and quickly plastered a smile for her daughter's sake, squatting to put her down again. "Sorry, ma puce. Why don't you show your new friend your sand toys? They're back with your backpack." she gently shooed the two girls away, old enough to pick up on the tension between the two women.

Watching them leave, Kaya crossed her arms, unsure. How did she speak to Asli, when she could barely tolerate thinking about the man that linked them together? "I wish I could say it is nice to finally meet you, but I wasn't aware you existed until… well, until now." It wasn't exactly true. She figured there was someone, or had been someone, what with Elijah carrying two children around the other week, but having Asli standing in the flesh in front of her was jarring. She should have known this woman. She should have teased Elijah about liking her and not asking her out, befriended her in order to annoy him, told her embarrassing stories about her boyfriend in his terrible twenties. Instead, she had this. Resentment, pain, and, in the quiet recesses of her mind, envy. Because she had gotten to keep her friend, when she'd been forced to lose him.

Her eyes kept fleeting about, the girls, the baby, the ground. Asli's face. She was a beautiful woman, kind eyes, now looking concerned, and she couldn't meet them for too long. She wanted to get away, but Iris and Alex kept her rooted to the spot. She would not ruin this for her daughter. "Nice children. He always said he would never have them, but I didn't really know him all that well after all, so..." there was bitterness in her words, mostly towards herself, and what Asli represented, just by virtue of existing.

@draslihanxfahri-bailey

[srbachchan]

DAY 4815

Jalsa, Mumbai                  May 4/5,  2021                  Tue/Wed  2:34 AM

... the lamentations for the loss of the text that was written and then disappeared last night , has been lost too .. they were in reference to years and thoughts of the years gone by .. of times and some remembrances in , as one of my readers of the Blog  put it, in kgb mode .. secretive , non understandable , like most secret services of all nations .. 🤣

If they come back to me in that refrain I shall reconsider .. else they go down with me .. some matters and minds should .. their relevance shall be naught .. for they hold hands with them that either have left , or were never interested in the first place .. they could have had value for the self .. but that would be a most selfish exercise .. un exercice égoïste .. eine egoistische Übung .. تمرين أناني  tamriyn 'anani .. эгоистичное упражнение .. 

... but the mind is a relentless tortoise winding its limitations of speed and destination in its sincerity .. unlike the hare .. determined to nose the tape .. and for some peculiar reason the refer to the previous strikes in the silence of the early morn now .. as the slightest of vibrations on the shutters behind , alert you to the cctv .. they be blank, but not the desire .. ehh hrhh .. not desire .. such a vacant word .. supposed to say it all but never does .. maybe it does for others , maybe not .. but there .. 

.. so in the last we were at -

“Leave it , leave it mrB .. you behave like those fact formative early years of self independence when the evening parties were spent in ‘bring your bottle, bring your girl’ and sit aside and debate .. the ‘adda’ of the times which exists in its maturity to date .. and those that resented the thought minds of mere talk for the sake of talk would sneer and snigger , as they danced to the …

GONE .. again .. an entire page of writing as I posted a picture ..

Shall  not remember to write again .. it is so damaging .. to destroy and steal my process and think  .. TUMBLr .. 😡”

yes .. those that resented the thought minds of mere talk for the sake of talk would sneer and snigger, as they danced to the .. 👆🏾 .. 👇🏿

strains of the popular at the time Pat the Boone, Cliffy baby , and often the holding the traditional waist and hands in ballroom fashion would be freed by the ‘rock of the jailhouse ‘ in the ‘lis Presl shakin all over his blue suede shoes .. Bobby the Darin the sweetheart of the school and the Humperdinck .. maturing on with great swoons and screams to the mop headed at HDN .. the ‘night so hard’ .. and the yaay ya of loves me yayaya .. till the sudden surprise of the wood in Norway .. the Norwegian .. the indian instrument , the haridwaar, the meditational spell of bearded gurus who swore to walk on water and sank at Juhu beaches .. to submarines painted ‘yellow’ .. and the livings of the evenings in the raj infested cultural left overs still predominant to make the burra sahib and the burra din existence in the prominence of the blue decorated  Park by the street of a million jams on one .. sundays at trincasjam, pam crain and the Louis Banks of the Fox that was Blue .. mocambo not the ‘gambo’, ??? moulin rouge ..  and the solo drum hours of the drummer  .. as you ended up in the high end hoteliere Grand and drove back intoxicated with the first era feel of INDEPENDent SELF .. drove walked taxied or trammed to the million residences changed due paucity and capacity of the earning - the clac of the tons with 8 the high gates of the friendly family at Tolly , the chowrings shared with the other in adjoining , and closer to the new rd the Pore of the A .. the NEW of the pore  ending up the pgied  highest towered , peering at the late night highlights of the neighbourhood .. in gasping views , through parted curtains .. 

Left .. left it ..

So .. thoughts and time devoted to the wants and needs for the others .. in distress and in saviour mode for help .. something collected , some on the way , some delivered , some in operation .. BUT ..

.. lots to be done .. 

.. this we give in the times of trouble .. the 3rd .. the 3rd wave be in preparedness already and there is the planning in the city at least of the eventuality in the coming few months ..

.. each nano second come the suggestions and research and opinions and statistics of the fraternity , and nothing remains authentic for more than a nano second for the reverse or the opposite come about immediately ridiculing the first .. belief and follow is shattered .. is the T and FB and insta follow the true follow , or manufactured .. every theory has a theory to a theory of another .. 

.. never has there been uninterested doubt of one from the other .. believe one and the disbelieve comes hammering through .. say one and unsay the other in immediacy .. 

SO .. hehe  .. (I use the SO with so much dignity and respect) .. ok away .. simplify the narration mrB .. 

RIGHT .. that sound alright ?

RIGHT .. in these conditions then I share thought with the Ef each day .. DAY .. speak to them as one .. as one that sits before me in isolation .. I see them before me .. at my writing location .. up late , up from days work , up after leaving household or office and read .. my rubbish that I pour out .. 

BUT .. if I were to ask of a job duty .. a service to be rendered .. naaah .. service and job are wrong .. if I shared and asked for it to be shared further .. would you .. ?

Haha .. I see many hands raised .. screaming all at once  “of course .. how can you ever think we would not .. I mean how can you even ask such a question ..” 

etc., etc., etc ... 

So I shall ask you .. to .. to .. 

 Forget it ..

Good  night .. 

surprisingly I felt sleepy by 8 pm and went to sleep in my tracks .. got up by 11 .. and now after the repeats of the postponed IPL , am just not wanting to get back to bed .. 

.. there shall be consternation and scoldings and high voices .. and expressed, exasperated dismay  .. which I shall of course bear with shielded smile .. but they be right as do you in the many here  .. 

.. you know the distraction is not the rarity of slumber .. its slumber itself .. it has different manifestations now .. a dimension that cannot be explained .. 

earlier it was hit the pillow and the dreams or the sleep went on the ON mode immediately .. 

NOW .. there is a process, which if not followed pesters the life out of you .. what to think of when the pillow be hit so as to induce the sleep .. that ladies and gentlemen of the jury takes about the time you normally need for the completion of the hours for rest .. so in the end you actually never sleep sleep as such .. you comprehend .. ?

no .. you did not .. OK .. 

Fine .. 

GN .. thats good night .. said in all sincerity .. but may it be known that for some its too late to express it and for some that wait it shall be a limited night .. and for me the goodness just leaped out of the window ..

O heavens the morning bird chirps now begin .. its 3:41 a of the M .. soon it shall be 4 .. then 5 .. thats like morning ..

so ..

Good Morning ALL ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[yehet-me-up]

Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes! 

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself. 

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone. 

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table. 

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive. 

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water. 

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it. 

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny. 

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan. 

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real. 

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.’ But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand.  He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.  

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder. 

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take. 

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door. 

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.’

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure. 

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always. 

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen. 

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh. 

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting. 

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in. 

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing. 

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there’s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp. 

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court. 

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit. 

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you. 

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you. 

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’ 

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’ 

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’ 

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands. 

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’ 

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’ 

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride. 

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop. 

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up. 

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space. 

[natromanxoff]

25 - Just Chatting...

Hello one and all.

It's been a long time since I graced these pages and, believe it or not, nothing much has been happening in my life, apart from the odd soiree or two. Winter has finally left us and spring has sprung, and it's nice to see the sun again. Let's start by wishing my old mate a happy birthday and I hope you all had a little drinkie for him, I know I did. In fact I got legless, he would have been proud of me. Whenever we were in London there was always a party at Fred's on his birthday, be it a handful of friends, or one where he invited half of Britain, but which ever one it was there was always a good time to be had and a lot of chaos. One year he actually took over Pikes Hotel in Ibiza and chartered a private plane to fly his friends in. Roger and myself were already on the island recording some of his solo stuff so we didn't have far to travel to the bash. When I say we were working, it's kind of true as we spent a lot of time on his boat "Ga Ga" whizzing around having lunch and fun. The party was held outside around the swimming pool, now is that an invite for trouble or what? There were hundreds of balloons hanging from every available fixture, and of course there is always an idiot that thinks he's a clown. This particular clown, who will remain nameless, decided it would be funny to light one of the balloons, and needless to say the whole lot went up in flames. Phoebe and Crystal to the rescue. We had to get this "fire" off the wooden rafters before the whole hotel went up in smoke, so we were pulling bits of string while burning rubber was dripping down on us. I was so traumatised by the whole event I had to have another drink ....... a lame excuse I know, but hey, it's my story. Back to the pool. Edwin Shirley, of trucking fame and also an all round good guy after a few too many, decided to have a swim, so he removed his clothing and was flapping around the pool when some daft countess told him to get dressed and behave himself. Wrong move lady. Edwin was not impressed by his telling off and threw her in, and she was even less impressed with that and started ranting and raving, much to the amusement to the rest of the party hounds. She left with her tail between her legs and didn't look at all glamorous in her soaking wet dress, running makeup and failed hairdo. We continued till mid morning and went straight to the airport and caught a flight home. Thanks F for the great parties and good times, you will never be forgotten.

I still get asked a lot if I'm gonna write the "Real" story about Queen. Well the answer is no, and the reason is that the guys gave me a great job and a great life and I have far to much respect for them, their wives/girlfriends, children and families to tell the world what we got up to in private. I feel that is our business and ours alone. Most of us are all in relationships and telling tales could make life awkward for a few people, band and crew alike. I'm sure at some point in time someone from the organisation will write a book, have 5 minutes of fame and make a quick buck, but it sure as hell won't be me, and I'll still be able to sleep at night and when I see the guys I will still be free to say, "Wanna beer MATE."

I've had a few questions asked me that I'm gonna answer quickly.

First off is "Do you have any stories about Freddies cats? (ripping furniture etc.)" Here's a good reply, No. So moving right along, "Of all the famous people you've met, who impressed you the most?" Tricky one this. After years in this "Biz" they all become "Just normal people," and some become good pals, but on one occasion I was in Paul McCartneys studio and I was handed his violin bass and I was sitting there holding it when someone said, "Paul is left handed, hold it like he would." When I turned it around, still taped in the cutout was the Beatles set list from their days in Hamburg, now that impressed me.

Deaky and myself were the only two reggae lovers in the outfit, and Bob Marley turned up to see the show at Madison Square Gardens. Strange choice of show for Bob, but he loved Another one bites the dust, and he happened to be in New York on a stopover on his way to Germany for laser treatment. Show time and our intro tape was playing, and someone told JD that Bob was in the audience, so he cranked his bass up and played "Lively up yourself" over the tape. This was very possibly the last time Marley ever heard this played as he died shortly after. I didn't get to meet him, but I did get to meet Tyrone Downie, Bobs keyboard player in the Wailers, and Tyrone and myself got up to all sorts of mischief that night. RT on the other hand hates reggae music, but I did manage to drag him to the Circus Krone in Munich to see Peter Tosh. I loved it, he hated it. I look at this as payback because years before he insisted that I went to Hammersmith Odeon to see Laurie Anderson, of O Superman fame. This show he loved, but I put it alongside Cher as one of the worst concerts I have ever seen. Needless to say I have also met a couple of stars that I didn't see eye to eye with. Like the American rock star we encountered in a club one night, and he was such a pain I had to take him into the toilets to have a quiet word with him. He finally got the message so I released my hand from around his neck and let him drop back down to the ground. To finish this segment I wanna tell you something that Bev Bevan said. Bev was the drummer with ELO, and them and us were touring the US at the same time, and as it turned out, staying in the same hotel in one city. Roger and myself were leaving the hotel and waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened Bev was in there and him and RT said their hellos. Rog then said, "Bev, this is Crystal, he looks after me." Bev turned to me, shook my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you. If it wasn't for guys like you, guys like us wouldn't be where we are today." He didn't need to say that, and was genuine when he did. I wasn't impressed with meeting him, but he is certainly in my top ten of nicest people I have ever meet.

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time in the Chatroom, and I highly recommend it to you all as it can be a bit of a laugh. For anyone who has never visited the room please remember a couple of things, if you come in and start swearing you will be kicked out. I know, it happens to me all the time. Also don't come in and start going on about knowing axemen and murderers and other such garbage, cause that also warrants a kicking. Some buffoon from Ireland, who went by the name of "Death" turned up with an attitude and was going on about how f***ing awesome Queen were at Slane Castle. He was not known by anyone in there so I asked him to watch his language. He said he was the Grim Reaper and could do and say what he liked, so I told him otherwise and he was most put out when I kicked him. What a fool. A while ago there was some prat who called himself F***queen, good name eh! Anyway, he/she/it was picking on a lovely young lady called Raisa, and was saying some awful things to her and completely freaked her out, so I went to her defence and FQ turned the attention my way. As far as I'm concerned it's only letters on a screen and it didn't phase me at all, but at least he/she/it gave up on Raisa. In all fairness to FQ, whoever you may be, he/she left a message on the Bulletin Board saying sorry to Raisa and myself and would never do it again. So FQ, from the both of us, thanks for the apology, we accept it. What other weirdos have we had? Well, there was a brightspark who decided it would be funny to use the nickname QueenRshite, another bad move from this person who was honoured with a ban.

While in there I've seen a lot of friendships made, and a couple that have fallen apart. I got a private message one evening from a very drunk girl who, how shall we phrase this, offered me her body and wanted to do all sorts of naughty things to me, I thanked her and declined...must be getting old or something. I have also witnessed relationships being made and, usually there is a lot of humour involved, but needless to say some arguments do occur. I have also seen some of the daftest things said. One guy was so convinced that one of the regulars was either Deaky or she was chatting with him in private that he actually started tracking her every move on the net. He also told me about some highly illegal activities he was up to concerning the band. I wouldn't have thought I was the best person to tell such stuff to, and needless to say I had a go at him. Just to add to his stupidity he's been recently boasting about his affair with an underage girl, and I reckon if he had any more sense he would be half witted. Having mentioned all the twits I'd like to say a quick hello to all the regulars, White Queen and Killer Queen, the lovely girls Blue Rock and Rannnnnnni, SQJan, Mayflower and her boys, Farookh (aka Leroy Brown) MarshMallow, the three Tigers - Babe, Lily and Stripes and the mighty Falc, also to all the rest who I haven't mentioned by name, you know who you are. I'd also like to say hi to Daddy Cool who is the singer in the Dutch cover band Miracle, and Dad, if you never make it as a singer you could make a great career from being a stand up comedian. Finally an extra special hello to the gorgeous MTB, who is about to make an honest man of me ;)

Before I go I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of a certain date in November that is engraved in all of our minds. And I know that a lot of you will be heading to Garden Lodge to leave flowers. I don't wanna preach and tell you what to do, and I know flowers are a nice gesture, but they do die and the only people to really benefit from this is the florist. This year lets all give a donation, no matter how small, to Aids research, this way the cash will be used to try and stamp out this awful disease. If you really wanna leave flowers, buy a smaller, cheaper bunch and donate the balance of what you would have spent to these charities. It's been said a million times before but it is true, Every penny counts.

As always, Loadsa Love.

Crystal

[beomglocks]

sk8ter boi ; c.bg

summary : he was a boy, she was a girl. can i make it anymore obvious?

pairing : skaterboy!beomgyu x reader

warnings & other : reader already has a child with yeonjun ok, beomgyu still pining after all these years, based off queen avril lavigne’s sk8ter boi song, listen while reading if you want 

w/c : 2.1K (i may have gotten carried away)

"where'd you get that note and roses from?" your friend maria asks you when you get into class. you wipe away your smile quickly, already knowing who the mystery person was. "i don't know."

yeah, of course you knew. how could you not when the boy oh so clumsily shoved them in your locker while you were literally turning the corner. he tried to act like he wasn't doing anything but he was clearly caught. he tried to play it off in the best way possible and smooth talk his way into a conversation with you but you shut him down due to the bell ringing.

"oh- oh ok sure...yeah," beomgyu stumbled over his words, nervousness eating away at him with you being here. "yo gyu you coming? i just finished fixing my drum kit," his friend, jeongin, calls him over, interrupting your already over conversation.

"you should go...but thanks for whatever you just threw in my locker," you laugh. he nods hesitantly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "dude," jeongin now stands in your vicinity. he looks at you and beomgyu before pulling away his best friend to where the spare band room was.

"well open the letter, we wanna know who your little secret admirer is," maria says, leaning onto your desk. your other friends agree, eager to know who was pining over you. you laugh nervously before opening it. you're not sure how they'll react to finding out that it's beomgyu.

you see, you wouldn't exactly call yourself the prettiest girl in the school but hell it sure was close. almost everyone would compliment you every day even if it was something minor like a change in your nail color. you kind of prided yourself in that, not to gas yourself up or anything.

someone like beomgyu...well. he wasn't exactly the ideal guy, to put it simply. he was a skater boy, he hung out with the "simple boys" who skated and did music and hung out around the skate parks after school. he wasn't the scholar type like soobin or the athlete type like yeonjun, he was simple.

you liked simple but your friends didn't. they had preferences for people like soobin and yeonjun, not people like beomgyu. you could probably guess they felt like beomgyu was the bottom of the barrel, like a roach on their foot not worthy of their time.

you pull the letter out of the envelope. for some reason without even trying, you could smell his cologne all over it. you want to smile at the obvious try hard gesture but your friends don't allow it. "what the fuck is that smell, it's so strong," maria gags. you roll your eyes at her dramatics. "it doesn't smell that bad."

"yes the fuck it does," she retorts. "just see what it says." you read over the letter, smiling at certain parts where you could tell he'd done his research on the things you liked. "it's from beomgyu," you say when you finish the letter. you already knew this anyway but maria's eyes go wide and she suddenly snatches the letter from your grasp. "hey!"

"CHOI beomgyu?" she asks while she reads the letter herself. "yeah?" you confirm.

your other friends mumble amongst themselves and you can hear some snicker. "y/n you could do so much better. beomgyu is like a street rat or something. don't do that to yourself," she laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever said. you don't think beomgyu's that bad but you also don't stand up for him, simply biting your lip as she continues.

"he barely comes to school and when he does all he does is sleep. he skates with those other weirdos and thinks he's gonna make it big with his shitty guitar playing- i mean have you heard him?" she rolls her eyes, throwing the letter back on your desk. "you should go out with yeonjun, i think yall would be a cute couple. the prettiest girl with the coolest guy, your babies would be so damn cute."

"babies?!" you laugh at her ridiculousness. "yes! have you seen choi yeonjun?" she sighs in content. "anyways, don't pay beomgyu any mind because he's not gonna make it in life. go for someone like yeonjun and please for the love of god throw that letter away!"

you never did throw the letter away. you sigh as you think back to your high school years. you had just found it hidden behind one of the closet drawers while you were looking for valkyrie's binkie. she was crying so much since her father had gone out for the day and you were stuck taking care of her, as always.

you wonder how beomgyu was doing. you both talked after the fact but fell off during college since he had gone off to do his own thing. you didn't know what that thing was but you were proud of him nonetheless. you finished high school, went to college, got a good paying job, and were now married with a kid. all at the young age of 21. the typical life, you figure.

you're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear your child crying in the next room. "shit," you mumble to yourself. you leave the letter in your drawer and head back to the living room with the binkie. "valkyrie~" you sing song.

she continues crying, not giving a fuck about your efforts to calm her. she was usually a bit of a daddy's girl. "val please stop crying," you exasperate. "daddy's not coming home until late today. cut me some slack babygirl."

you slip the binkie into her mouth but her shrill cries go right through it. "let me go see if you need a diaper change," you mutter.

before you can even get up from the couch you hear your phone ring from somewhere in the couch. "shit where did i put my phone?" you put valkyrie down to look for your phone but it stops ringing before you can begin searching. you wait for it to ring again you find it between the cracks of the couch.

"oh hey mari," you say in confusion. after high school ended, you and maria kind of fell off along with all your other popular friends. you still had that clout all throughout college given who you were dating but you kind of strayed away from her. you guys were still on speaking terms though but this call was odd since it had been months since the last time she called.

"GIRL-" she pauses for a moment, still as dramatic as ever. "what it is mari? val won't stop crying she needs attention," you sigh, looking over at your daughter. her cries had gotten softer but she was still grumpy about not being with her father.

"girl turn on your tv to MTV right now- like right now before you miss it!" she says hurriedly. "this better be good you know i dont watch those shows," you say into the phone. you place the phone between your ear and shoulder so you can hold valkyrie while watching whatever it was that maria wanted you to watch.

then you see it. "is that-?" you begin. "CHOI beomgyu! yes girl!" maria finishes your sentence. she's right. there he is, the boy you were just thinking about was on your tv screen. "he's famous?" you ask.

maria sucks her teeth, "apparently after high school and like a year or two of college, he dropped out to pursue a music career and i guess it worked out for him." you nod even though she can't see you. "he signed with a label and now he's in like some super fucking famous band, look at him," she continues.

you stare at your tv screen in silence, watching beomgyu have the time of his life on the MTV stage. he really did get good on his guitar. the camera pans to the drummer and your eyes go wide when you see jeongin. wow, they really stayed together this whole time.

"he's fine as hell," you admit. you hear maria cackle on the other side, "you said it, he looks so attractive playing guitar like that, look at his fingers."

"ok alright maria, i have a child right next to me," you say. she laughs again, "anyways, i got tickets to their next show. you wanna come with?"

you're not sure how you managed to convince yeonjun to stay home with the baby while you went out with maria to this concert, but you did it. he was skeptical of letting you go out with what you were wearing which is why you both argued before you eventually stormed out to go anyways.

when you met up with maria outside the venue she looked up and down with a knowing smile. "i thought that pussy belonged to mr. choi yeonjun? what're you all dressed up for?"

"dressed up?" all you were wearing was a black and white bandana for a top and tight leather pants and comfortable shoes. "do the pants really have to hug your ass like that though?" she jokingly slaps your butt and you glare at her. "that's what yeonjun said," you mumble to yourself.

the concert goes smoothly and you're glad you actually got to see beomgyu in person and playing guitar. one thing about choi beomgyu is that he will play guitar like it's his last day on earth. he plays with so much intensity that you almost feel bad for the guitar.

you could almost feel how the crowd's energy in this packed room transferred to the members. if it was even possible, they started to play with more vigor.

at some point, beomgyu was full on immersed in his own playing. his once fluffy hair was now soaked with sweat and covering his forehead and eyes. he kept headbanging along to the beat while skillfully moving his fingers along the strings of the guitar.

during the middle of one of their songs, beomgyu took the center stage for his guitar solo. it was a fast paced riff that just seemed to give the song more life. his head is down so that it's solely focused on the guitar but once he finished the hardest part of the riff he looked up smugly. the crowd went absolutely mad when beomgyu bit his lip during the rest of his solo.

you had to admit the boy had stage presence, you practically almost re-fell in love with him.

after the show, you and maria went to get refreshments at the nearby bar. beomgyu seemed to already be there talking to one of his members so you took this opportunity to speak with him. you wonder if he'll remember you after all these years but you take your chances.

"beomgyu!" you shout over the music that's playing in the background. he whips his head around to the sound of his name being called and smiles lightly when he sees you. when you get to him, he subtly looks you up and down, taking in your body and attire. "y/n is that you?" he says, his voice laced with something teasing.

"you remember me?" you ask him with a smile. "how could i forget a face like yours," he smiles, leaning back. you laugh and he smiles. "i just saw you on stage, i never thought you'd become this huge! congrats!"

he nods, "yeah, i always wanted to make it big you know." he trails off, looking over you again like he's entranced somehow. "so how's life? you still with-"

"yeonjun...yeah we um- we have a kid...now," you finish nervously. did he really have to bring yeonjun up right now. "a kid?" he says, surprised. "let me see."

you show him a selfie of you and valkyrie that you took at a time when she wasn't completely hating your existence and wanting to cuddle her father instead of you. he laughs and leans back once again, "she's cute like you, she definitely got her mom's features."

"yeah and she's got her dad's attitude," you say, mostly to yourself but beomgyu catches it. "oh yeah! i wanted to say, i really like that one song you played, uh- fairy?"

"fairy of shampoo? yeah we added our own little rock twist to it," he says. "you know the lyrics are actually about y-" your phone cuts him off and you apologize, turning away to answer it. "what is it yeonjun"

beomgyu sighs in frustration when he hears you say that. when you finish talking you turn back to him and he has his eyebrow raised in question. "looks like my fun is over," you laugh dryly. he nods in understanding, "before you go though, let me get your number so we can catch up sometime."

you agree, not wanting to pass up the chance to reconnect with your now famous friend.

"maybe we'll see each other around gyu," you smile, beginning to walk away.

he smiles at the old nickname, waving you off, "i sure hope so."

[trentsleatherboots]

Carach Angren, interview translation Dutch > English

Published in the magazine Rock Tribune, edition June 2020, nr. 192.

Text by Morbid Geert. Fotos: Stefan Heileman.

WILL THE REAL FRANKENSTEIN STAND UP NOW?

At the end of last year you could already read about how we kept close watch on Carach Angren. Back when they were still heavy in the production process, on Halloween Day we went over to Ardeks homebase and studio to see the first glimpse of their new work and later Rock Tribune got invited to listen to the album in Germany. Now it's almost time for 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus' to be shown to the world and that's why we wanted to take an even deeper look. Weaponed with an oil lamp and shovel we went onwards towards the graveyard to uncover the soul stirrings of Ardek. (Text: Morbid Geert)

---

Ardek, the last time I talked to you the songs were still in a very early stage and what we heard was more of a pre production. Did you tinker more afterwards to come to an end result or did you purposely keep your hands off to avoid overproduction?

"In terms of song structures and lyrics not much changed on the premature songs that you heard. What followed however was another production-finish, where especially the mix and mastering made a big change. That last stadia really lifted it all to another plane and you can really hear that."

A FRESH LOOK.

As far as I knew, Patrick Damiani was still fully onboard working on the songs at Tidal Wave Studio in Germany. How important was it for you to pull an extra producer into the process? After all, you are very much at home with that as well? Or maybe not as much as you'd like?

"Back then he worked on drumediting and played the basslines, but his role is way bigger than that. We've worked together a lot and now we're doing something for L'Âme Immortelle, where we vibe together perfectly and know exactly how to handle such a project.  When he takes on production for Carach Angren however, I notice how much better he controls it. He has so much knowledge about drum sounds, mixing,... and he's really specialised in it. It is nice to add that knowledge, it brings a lot of added value. These days a lot of bands record at home and that all makes it a lot cheaper, but a good producer brings a lot of experience and equipment, it ends up with a whole different result. Besides, we left the mix and mastering to Robert Carranza."

That last one is a pretty big name, who among others worked with Marilyn Manson. I can imagine that has a big impact on your budget, but was it worth it?

"I think so. When I listened to 'Killing Strangers' by Marilyn Manson on headphones and heard the bassline, it went so deep that it turned me upside down. Apparently Robert Carranza mixed that album.  Furthermore he does a lot of different things such as make latin music and win grammy's, but in the extreme metal scene he is totally unknown.  However, he wanted to help himself to our record and yes, the price was steep, but I managed to convince both the band and the label… even though that wasn't without some doubts, since all eyes were on me for a bit. I had a good feeling about it and shared it, with the result being having a record now that doesn't sound like the others.  He had a fresh look on our work and thus we could avoid the recognisability of the average metal producer.  There are too many records that when you hear them you know exactly who had their hands on them and in which studio they were recorded.  Contrary to what you might think, there was constant contact with him (Robert) and a lot of talking about how we wanted it to sound. In particular the clarity of the sound is massive and gives it a bit more of a cinematic effect. There was no compression applied where everything sounds constantly loud and where as a listener you'd get easily tired, but the dynamics were preserved."

DIDN'T FEEL LIKE IT ANYMORE.

To refer back to Patrick Damiani: if he does so much and even plays the basslines, do you see him as sort of a 4th band member or is that just a bit too much credit?

"That's not how we see him. He's an amazing producer and musician, who gives us his opinion and helps us out. On the other hand he is not part of the creative process and he isn't on stage with us… but it is a relationship that's been going on for 12 years and something we get a lot out of."

Now I'm saying '4th band member', but after the recordings of your new record ended, your brother and drummer Namtar left the band. Can I ask what happened and if you saw this coming, or whether it was a bolt from the blue?

“In November he recorded his drum tracks and back then everything went fine, but then there came an offer to play at '70000TONS OF METAL'. Since we always looked at the financial side of the band together, we talked about the offer and he was immediately against it.  I thought that was strange and to me it seemed better to sit around the table with three to talk about it. Then it became apparent that he'd been wrestling with it for sometime and in brief didn't feel like it anymore.  We offered him to take a break of a few months instead of just throwing away what we've worked for the last 20 years, but that wasn't a solution.  It wasn't an easy decision, but afterwards we saw it had been an issue for a long time and at that point you rather put a stop to it.  That hit us hard, but you can never force somebody to stay in a band.  To keep our motivation high we played '70000TONS OF METAL' after all with Michiel van der Plicht of God Dethroned as replacement. That pleased us all and he's willing to help us out in the future."

Michiel van der Plicht in indeed an amazing drummer. Are there any plans to keep him in the band permanently or is this an emergency solution and is there an offer still standing?

"I discussed that extensively with Seregor, but together the two of us stay the core of the band. We already have an extra guitarist live and in the studio we will definitely have those people join again, but all decisions will be made by us two in the end.  We want to avoid that other people leave a mark on the band, causing us to lose our individuality (personality). It's about so much more than just making music: the stage decor, our own stage outfits,... for us it is very clear and it's going well, so we only need help to fill in with the music in the studio and during lives."

MILKED OUT?

Let's get to the core of business. At the end of this month is the release of your 6th album, 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus'. Now lends the Frankenstein story itself perfectly for a horror metal band, but I wondered if the story isn't too milked out by other bands… unless you do it with a completely new vision. After all, that's what you did with 'This Is No Fairytale', where Hans and Gretel were transported to the now and the horror became bigger than ever. 

"When we started, I had the same feelings about the Frankenstein story, but there's a twist to it. Everything started for me as a dream, where I flew through an old house. There, I heard dissonant piano tunes and I got sucked into a room where a portrait of an old man hung on the wall. Later I made a drawing of that portrait and it got stuck in my head. When I began doing research for the album months later and even read Mary Shelley's amazing book 'Frankenstein', I found out that there is a theory that when she wrote her book she was influenced by Johann Konrad Dippel, an 18th century alchemist.  Then when I looked him up, he turned out to look like what I had seen in my dream, which personally motivated me to dig deeper. Dippel is an unknown figure for the masses and that's why it seemed fascinating to us to do something with it.  There is fiction and truth mixed in our story. By the way, Dippel lived in Frankenstein Castle near Darmstadt, where he was looking for the elixir to eternal life. He was also a theologist, but he clashed with the church and was therefore cast away. Because he also did experiments on cadavers and sought life extending resources, he would've inspired Mary Shelley for her story. What we did was make a concept around the source of her story instead of following the clichés.  That monster with screws in his head, we've seen it already before…"

Yet it doesn't seem like a concept album, because I notice that you address very diverse subjects.

"It is definitely a concept, since all stories are connected to one another, even if it's not noticeable. 'Operation Compass' is about the North-African desert war between the Brits and Italians. In official documents the Brits were ordered that if there were to be a fallback, to make all sources unusable for the enemy with 'Dippel's oil' (a nasty substance that made water undrinkable but did not poison it, so it was in battle with the Geneva protocols).  In our story it leads to a demonic outburst that went towards the soldiers. So you see, Dippel comes back throughout different moments in history. 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' is about a real figure that is still alive. He committed necrophilia, killed people and drank their blood, … but is now at large. In our story he lost his ways after reading Dippel's books, which once again links it with the core story. 'Here In German Woodland.', the opening song, is about a boy that gets lost and dies in the forest surrounding Darmstadt, but later comes back and eats his parents. In the closing song 'Like A Conscious Parasite I Roam' it all comes full circle: Dippels life elixir only works for his soul, and his body rots away, so he searches for a guest body and his spirit creeps into that little boy." 

In a few songs, some German lyrics show up. Is that besides the concept also because of the grim sound of the language or is it simply because you live so close to Germany and it has a certain impact? 

"The subject lends itself to it of course and Seregor speaks German very well, which made things easier. And yes, the sound does play a certain role. 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' sounds way better than the English translation, it immediately sets the right tone."

Some of these stories are the result of reality, but are often at least as gruesome as many fantasy stories: such is the bonus song 'Frederick's Experiments' about the sick science experiments of emperor Frederick II, a man who apparently was not inferior to the Nazi doctors?

"Yes, you can say that he set a good example! Seregor came with the idea and somewhere the story did fit within the total picture, even though we couldn't fit it into the big story. Our label Season Of Mist however asked for a bonus track and that's how we managed to include the song after all."

CROSS-POLLINATION.

What I noticed with the first sneak preview, but what has become clear now, is that Carach Angren this time worked very innovative musically.  Watch out, it is immediately clear that it is from Carach Angren, since you already have your own sound, but at the same time there are noticable things we haven't heard from you before. The title track has a considerable industrial touch and we also hear something from Laibach in it, just like 'Monster'. Is that something you've only recently been getting into or have you maybe secretly been an industrial fan for years?

"It is more recent, even though I've always been appreciative of it. By also collaborating with Till Lindemann for his project Lindemann, I also came into contact with it more and started taking it up unconsciously. Afterwards I got to experiment with it for my solo project and that's how I came up with the song 'Monster'. Seregor tested some things out for singing for that song and it just made sense.  It was very cool to experiment like that, which you should when you're making a record based on Frankenstein…"

It became a musical experiment instead of scientific experiment, but you do create a parallel, yes.

"Inside Carach Angren we like to put a lot of variety in the songs and if you can also give that a different look, then that is something you should try. We ourselves are absolutely crazy about it! Some fans will have to swallow when they hear those songs, but for them there are plenty of old school songs on it."

To come back to Lindemann: he and Peter Tägtgren got you involved since you are so good with classical orchestras and arrangements, but in the end it seems to have become two-way traffic, doesn't it? Have you learned a lot from it and developed other visions? 

"We worked together in a very awesome way and you do learn a lot from that. You grow as a componist, as musician and as producer. It made me compose more compactly and I sometimes pursue slightly less complex songs, like the two more industrial based songs. Always great to be able to take a different approach."

Both those songs have an easier buildup, but in the other songs you go back to the complexity that you left out purposefully 'Dance And Laugh Amongst The Rotten'. Is it a way to generate more contrast?

"In some ways yes, but it depends on how it works out in a song. We tried to make the title track a bit longer, but then the effect fell away and it didn't feel right anymore. But strangely enough I write a complex song like 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' easier than a less complex piece like 'Monster'.  With less arrangements it quickly becomes hard to keep it exciting(engaging), but seeing as you want to keep the concept to level, you need to have enough variation. The industrial songs sound a bit less complex, but there is a lot happening in the background and they are full of tiny details that make the difference."

MIXING COLOURS.

With the new approach you have opened some doors to maybe do more experimenting in the future. Is that actually your goal or is there nothing reasoned behind it and do such new influences pop up sooner when they seem to be able to improve the song?

"It all almost comes down to what the concept of the album requires. Back when we wrote 'Death Came Through A Phantom Ship' we added swirling waves and custom/adapted sounds to it. With the new record the 'marching' of the pulsing industrial beat seemed to work the best with our Frankenstein theme. You have to see it like a painter who is mixing colours to make a new colour to fit his vision. We don't do any different and we would love to experiment more in the future. If we see what we've already tried with singing now … in the long run we were completely out of control trying to do crazy things."

The singing is indeed a very remarkable part of 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus'. We always thought Seregor had a good black metal voice, but we were very impressed by the way he twisted his voice this time around and helped set the mood.

"We are very happy about that ourselves. He delivered an excellent job and we really pushed everything to get to that point. We actually took several weeks to make sure my home studio was in perfect condition and sometimes Seregor had to redo a certain part up to 10 times to get the result we wanted, but he did it without struggling. A lot of singers that ask so much from their vocal chords are dead on their feet after an hour, but then there is Seregor who gets through the day without complaining, even while screaming his lungs out.  While recording 'Operation Compass' we did however find out it is better to record a deep grunt in the early morning, since your voice is still a bit slow and heavier from sleep.”

MUSIC AS A BOOST.

The whole corona crisis made it so that as a band it is way more difficult to promote an album now, since all concerts got cancelled. Did that have a big impact on Carach Angren or can you make it?

"I myself am very concerned with the people who are really affected by the disease and that is why I can partially ignore the inconveniences for ourselves. Nevertheless, it has a serious effect on the music industry, although that is secondary to me. We are dealing with a pandemic, people are dying and we all have to work to keep everything under control. In addition, it is strange to release an album in a full crisis, but we decided to go for it anyway. It's a cool record and we already started the promotion, so we just keep going. For now, tours are not planned, but that does not mean that we will now stream all kinds of performances to attract attention. We are not that type of band… what is a shame is that our plans for a very cool video clip are now also being abandoned. We had to go to Germany and there are also the social distancing rules, which make such a recording impossible.  But should we really want that and turn it into drama? Of course it sucks to have to promote the release like this, but the whole world is just not what it was a few months ago."

Do you have any alternative ideas to bridge that gap? I know that you guys always have enough visual ideas and there already is a lyric video for 'Monster', but I can imagine that there is more to come.

"We are working on that yes, because last month we made one for 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' and next month we might take another song in hand. We will keep doing those sorts of things together with some 'making of-' videos that we recorded in the studio, that way we can give the album some extra promotion.  Nothing for us to worry about so… by the way, there is something about releasing a record in times like these. The people have been stuck at home for months and have nothing to do, so if we can give them a new piece of music to listen to to get through the day, then that is awesome too. It would be disappointing for the fans if we just put our new work on the shelf because of this pandemic. Every band should do what they think is best, but we had already started our press campaign anyway and we would also be a lot less driven if we only had to arrive 'with old stuff' within six months or later."

Carach Angren already has a few beautiful video clips which are build up with a real story and don't only have something musical to offer. In addition, there are also the lyric videos, where certainly those for the complete album 'This Is No Fairytale' with comic images by Costin Chioreanu stand out from the crowd. Have you never thought of bundling everything on a DVD?

"We've honestly never thought about that, but that's actually a really great idea! I think it would be nice to bundle everything together and that way we immediately remove some (away) from youtube. That can always be a good idea for the future."

LEARNING SCHOOL.

As songwriter of Carach Angren you may have previously absorbed a lot of influences that shaped you into the musician and songwriter you are today. Can you list the five most essential records or artists that shaped you personally and what exactly were their interests?

"That is a good question that doesn't let itself be answered very easily. In the classical field and orchestras I think Tchaikovsky and Stravinski are very important. They both had a lot of influence on me as a componist. Another important inspiration to me in that respect is John Williams (modern componist famous for his film scores for Star Wars, Jaws, Jurassic Park..) They helped shape me even more when it comes to layered composing, although I don't come close to what they do. As a child I followed keyboard lessons for 8 years, I did a year of conservatory and studied a year of music and media, as well as cinematic orchestration. Those last two were online, but on a serious level and you really had to write pieces for an orchestra. I learned a lot there, but ever since then I kept learning by actually doing it myself, looking through books and analyzing musical pieces.  But if I hadn't gotten the theoretical basis I had as a child, I would've never been able to do this today. On production level I have to mention Nine Inch Nails and, something you'd might find strange, Michael Jackson! If you see how well their albums are produced, and how many layers are incorporated, it's amazingly well done! You can say about Michael Jackson's music what you want, but the way the songs are built up and how much dynamics are in there thanks to the arrangements by Quincy Jones, it is absolutely astounding.  There is no lack of bells and whistles and sometimes, for example, the snare drum comes in in four layers, something you don't hear so loudly even in extreme metal. I mainly listen to those albums as an audiophile to analyze them and see what I can get out of it as a producer. Last week I checked the solo record of Roger Waters, in which I heard effects that seemed to be situated outside the loudspeaker field. Then I want to know how that is done and whether I can integrate it with Carach Angren. That kind of thing is the reverse of the compression they use too often today and you wonder why we don't all go in that direction anymore."

---

Translated by Jeordie/Trentsfishnets.

(For the record, if this interview already exists in English, I will just see this as translating practice C:)