#and the first one is like… sort of self destructively burning the past and all your bridges

[a-passing-storm]

I love Son Lux! I love that they keep coming back to the same few songs and just consistently making them better and gradually making them more hopeful.

[changbunnies]

If You Call Me (18+)

♡ Pairing: Bad Boy!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: heavy angst, fluff, very slice of life at times, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, college au, slow burn, eventual smut, kind of love at first sight?, basically my take on the ever classic misunderstood bad boy x good girl trope

♡ Word Count: 43.8k

♡ Summary: After spending much of her high school life mercilessly bullied, Y/N hoped that going to college would finally allow her to move on from her past and put the pain behind her. Her hopes are crushed when it becomes apparant that the biggest perpetrator doesn't intend on letting the past stay the past– that is, until she gets unexpectedly rescued by the one person her past bullies seem to fear messing with, and he promises to protect her whenever she calls him.

♡ Warnings: flashbacks to bullying, physical assault, implied sexual assault (nothing is explicitly written, only described vaguely), past / referenced parental death (not described), chan has more than a bit of a savior complex tbh lol, self-worth issues and self-destructive behavior, an abundance of strong language, discussions around depression / being depressed, brief descriptions of blood and injury, theft.

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): petnames (baby, angel), implied loss of virginity (reader), as usual for my works there is so much kissing, nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), handjob, multiple orgasms, protected piv (shocking)

♡ Notes: please keep in mind that heavy topics and traumatizing events of various type are a main theme of this fic, so please read with discretion! heed the warnings and don't force yourself to read something you can't handle and won't enjoy! other than that, you can also read the story on my a03 where it is divided into chapters here updated 08/30/24: formatting fixes, slight changes to scenes and dialogue for improved cohesion

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Isolation, exile, a profound sense of loneliness. Those are the feelings you are used to, the feelings that have permeated your being and seeped into the very foundations of who you are as a person. And you weren't always this way– in fact, you can pinpoint the exact moment in time where a sad, loathful existence became all you knew.

It began a little over 3 years ago, when you started your first day of high school. That first spring semester came upon you quickly, and while you were anxious to begin, there was an almost equal level of excitement. You unfortunately were arriving alone, with your friends from middle school having spread out to various different schools that suited either their families or their own ambitions for their future.

While you would have liked to go to the same prestigious schools as some of your friends, your father simply didn’t have the money to pay for that sort of thing. On top of that, admissions were fiercely competitive, and being intelligent didn’t matter if you weren’t in the top 1% lucky enough to earn yourself a scholarship. You needed to be perfect in every single way to be considered for the honor, and that’s something you simply weren’t, and would never be.

Maybe that was bleak, but you preferred to keep your hopes and expectations grounded in realism. You wouldn’t say that you lacked confidence necessarily– just that you know what is a realistic outcome and what isn’t.

And realistically, what were the chances of a miracle happening? Slim to none. So you tempered your expectations, you kept your hope on a leash, and you continued to have mundane hopes and dreams.

So it wasn’t arriving at your new, average school alone that made you the way you are now; you’d made your peace with that long before it happened. Sure, you would miss the friends you made in your younger years, but high school is supposed to be the place with the most opportunity.

As long as you gave it your best effort, you’d make new friends and new memories. You’d discover what your goals for the future are, you’d work towards them with earnesty and diligence, you’d make your father proud.

At least, that was your mindset going into it; and maybe those thoughts were a bit more optimistic than your usual, but they weren’t unrealistic by any means. All those hopes were tangible and achievable, nothing about them should have been out of reach or unobtainable.

And it wasn’t like you were losing contact with your friends forever– cellphones existed, and it would only be a matter of time before a free weekend arrived for you to meet up with them again. So all in all, you’d felt good. Sure, your circumstances weren’t the most ideal, but you were more than capable of making the best of them.

That’s what you thought at the time, anyways. Despite the perceived realism of your wishes, it quickly became clear to you that life had other intentions for you in the name of Park Jaehyung. A boy in the same class as you, who took a keen interest in you for reasons beyond your understanding.

It started with you noticing that he was often looking at you. You’d look up from your textbook or notes, eyes aimed at the board or your teacher for further instruction, and you’d notice his gaze in your peripheral vision. It didn’t bother you necessarily; you were friendless after all, and you thought maybe he was just trying to figure out if he should approach you.

You knew first hand how shyness or doubts could make a decision you really wanted to make more difficult than it needed to be, and the simple act of approaching a person for friendship could become the most nerve racking experience of your life.

You even considered approaching him first to make it easier on him. There were plenty of times you were able to be the brave friend simply because you wanted to help, moments where all anxieties were trumped by the simple desire to help a friend.

However, he ended up approaching you first in the end, on an otherwise uneventful Friday. Most of your classmates left quickly, eager to get a start on their weekends or meetup with fellow club members for practice for their upcoming events.

You were nervous as he approached but not necessarily in a negative way; at the time, you had no reason to believe he had any bad intentions with you. In fact, you were excited at the prospect of finally making a friend in your new environment after weeks of being awkward around everyone.

You were so ignorantly optimistic.

When you finished tucking your things away and lifted your head to look at Jaehyung, you met him with a smile. The conversation was pleasant at first, albeit a bit mundane. Simple small talk such as “how did you do on the test,” “how do you like the school,” and things of that nature.

You don’t remember how long you two talked like that, but what you do remember is the shift in atmosphere when his friends came into the room looking for him.

“What are you still doing in here, Jae? We’ve– Oh?” you remember one of his friends saying as he stepped into the room, pausing his sentence when he noticed the two of you stood at your desk talking.

The shift in Jaehyung’s expression was shockingly instant, the positivity of the boy in front of you quickly warping into an animosity that you could hardly comprehend. The friend, who you recognized as a boy who sat in the back of the classroom, let out a laugh as he stood in the doorway.

“I knew it! You do like her,” the boy chuckled with a smug expression. Jaehyung scowled as he turned away to face his friend's direction. “I told you, I don’t. I was just telling her to stay away from me,” he spits at his friend, “She’s obsessed with me.”

You were stunned, blood running cold as you looked at him in bewilderment. You just spent the last several minutes talking pleasantly and laughing, and now he’s lying about it right in front of you? So blatantly? Why?

Before you could even open your mouth to defend yourself, his friend laughed loudly. “I told you, you need to stop playing with the easy ones. They get way too attached, man.” He’d said as Jaehyung stepped away from you quickly, making his way to the door with haste.

You simply watched, the words playing in a loop in your brain. Jaehyung took one last glance at you before the pair of them exited the room, leaving you by yourself with your thoughts running a mile a minute. Easy? Easy how? Because you were alone all the time? Because you’re shy?

You didn’t really understand why his friend said that, or why Jae’s attitude changed so quickly. Naively, you started to think that maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, and you could clear it up on Monday when you saw him again. It was unlikely, but the shift in tone was so sudden that you really had nothing else to grasp onto to make sense of it.

But Monday came, and it was immediately clear to you that the pleasant Jaehyung you’d known for a short time was entirely fake. He’d approach you with venom, antagonize you any chance he got, his friends always cackling in the background. He’d call you names and push you around, a sick enjoyment clear on his face every time.

You’d wondered if this was his intention all along; to make you like him, to spend time with you because you were vulnerable before he’d turn it all around on you and embarrass you. His friend walking in on you in the classroom probably just sped things up a bit, and made him lose the need to build trust with you first.

Some days you’d be lucky, able to avoid them by bolting out of the room the minute the bell rang. Of course there were still times they caught up to you or got you into a corner, but for the most part, the strategy had worked.

Eventually though, that method became nearly impossible as they got used to the trick and found ways to get you in a corner consistently. You only ever managed to catch a break on days that they needed to stay behind for detention or to be disciplined by the staff.

You hoped, you prayed, harder than you ever had for anything, that one day they would grow tired of tormenting you and just leave you alone. That staff would actually help you instead of turning a blind eye, only intervening when the boys’ actions inconvenienced their ability to work. You prayed they’d get suspended, expelled even– an unrealistic hope you knew would never come true, as little of a priority to the school’s staff as you were.

But hope was all you had then. In those incredibly dark days, where your life was the hardest it had ever been, you’d started to see the appeal of having outlandish dreams. It was comforting to imagine a world where everything about your life was perfect, where you'd easily obtained your goals and led the life you had always dreamed of, free of hurt and sadness.

There was no comfort in being a realist, no solace in the tangible. And you were tired. Not the physical kind of tired that came with a hard day's work, but mentally.

You were exhausted from the constant abuse, the unending loneliness, the hopelessness that was laid out so plainly in front of you. And so you would hope; hope for a better day, an easier existence, a friend.

You hoped that you’d be a braver person than you were the day before, hoped that one day the school would finally take action, hoped that one day Jae would get bored of you and finally leave you alone. You knew painfully well how improbable it was, but it was all you had.

All of it was out of your control, no matter what you did or how hard you prayed; it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change, but even still you couldn’t let go of that hope. It was around that time however, that you realized there was something you could control– your academic scores. If you just devoted yourself to studying, to doing well on tests and keeping up your GPA, you could get yourself into a good school and put all this behind you.

You didn’t get into as good of a school as you would have liked, the strain that Jaehyung’s bullying put on your brain made studying a herculean effort, but you managed to do well enough to get accepted into a decent college just outside the city. It was enough- as long as you stuck to campus, you’d likely never see Jae again. He’d stay in the city, doing god knows what, and you’d get the fresh start you desperately needed, away from the person that made you miserable.

It's been 6 months since you moved into the campus dorms and began attending classes. Your roommates already knew each other, having been childhood friends who promised to go to the same school, but they never made you feel left out or like an outsider in your shared dorm room. They were kind, funny, and outgoing, and it would be no exaggeration to say they adopted you, bringing you out of your shell bit by bit and helping you return to the person you used to be.

There’s still pain, sadness, and loneliness, of course. Those feelings don’t just go away, but for the first time in years you began to feel.. Happy. Like things were finally going your way.

You could breathe without needing to constantly look over your shoulder, or be perpetually afraid of when a moment of happiness would inevitably crumble. You could finally live. The universe seemed to want to have a laugh at your expense, however– because what would be more ironic and tragic than bringing you back to the person you hate most.

You’d never been to a party– not entirely by choice, but because the opportunity had never come your way, solitary and friendless as you were. And now that you were in college, where the surroundings are rife with parties and carefree nights, it just felt.. Unnatural for you to be involved.

Like you were trying to blend where you didn’t belong, and that everyone would see through you. They would recognize you for what you were all through high school; a girl desperate for friends that no one ultimately cared about.

But your roommates, the social butterflies that they were, insisted that you come with them after excitedly telling you of the invite they received. You protested at first, feeling like you'd be much too awkward and out of place in the situation to have any fun, but they were tireless in their efforts to convince you to go with them.

And really, you couldn't blame them for trying so hard– you'd told them about your desire to branch out, to make more friends and experience new things, and a party was arguably one of the best places to do that. So you conceded in the end, letting them help you plan your outfit and be your guides through what was supposed to be a fun, new experience. 

And it was fun– for a time. Your friends helped you come out of your shell the most you’d ever had, introducing you to other people they knew either from their classes or from the clubs they were part of. You felt included, like you were finally part of a group, like you no longer had to be the person who watched from afar while others mingled and laughed together. 

It’s almost funny how that feeling of belonging and joy you finally felt came crashing down on you in an instant. You didn’t see him at first, and if you had, you definitely wouldn’t have separated yourself from your friends. You were supposed to be gone just a moment, a quick run to the bathroom and refresh of your drink before you’d rejoin them.

But there Jae was, standing near the stairs that led up to the bathroom, chatting with the same group of friends he’d had in high school. Your mind reeled, blood chilling as your eyes settled on him for the first time since graduation. You stood frozen for a moment, body being bumped by those trying to dance or move past you as the music continued to blare.

You suddenly became conscious of every little thing– the volume of the music in your ears, the amount of people standing between you and him, how the hairs on your neck and arm began to stand on end. You could feel the way your palms clammed up as you closed your fingers into a fist, and the thumping of your heart became loud and erratic, to the point it began to drown out everything else.  

You tried to rationalize with yourself, to calm your screaming nerves and bring your racing heart under your control. He hadn’t noticed you, and if you were lucky, and quick, he wouldn’t at all. Besides, you weren’t the same person you were in high school. You had friends now, a new home and a new life. He couldn’t torment you anymore– you wouldn’t let him. 

You take a breath, steeling yourself to walk past the man who brought you so much misery, and hope for the best. Your legs felt like lead, each step taking excruciating effort to complete. You try to keep your head down, letting your hair fall over your face to hide your recognizable features as much as possible.

You look up as you reach the steps, realizing that you’re unconsciously holding your breath as you do. Your eyes meet– not Jae’s, but his friends. And you can tell by the way he laughs, one of disbelief as much as it is amusement, that he recognizes you easily. “What?” you hear Jae question as he turns his head to see what his friend is reacting to, his eyes landing squarely on you. 

Dread is the only word that can be used to describe what you feel when his eyes meet yours. Your reaction is immediate, panic settling in as you rush past them, and dart up the stairs. You just had to make it to the bathroom, and then everything would be fine. And you do, closing the door shut quickly behind you and locking it with a loud click.

You take a moment to breathe, to think with clarity now that you were within the safe space of a closed, locked room. You’re not proud of the visceral reaction seeing Jae gave you, the way you ran as soon as soon as his gaze locked on you.

You wonder how you looked to the others settled around the steps– hopefully, just like a drunk girl in desperate need for the bathroom, instead of a dreadfully panicked one. Regardless, your dash up the steps was certainly unceremonious and embarrassing, and you hate the thought that it gave Jae or any of his friends a laugh.

You let out a sigh, pulling out your phone to text your friends, hoping they’re not too drunk or that the music is too loud for them to hear their phones. You do your business, wash your hands, check your appearance in the mirror. You check your phone, and then check it again, and then once more, but no response from your friends ever comes through. 

You sigh, knowing you can’t camp out in the bathroom much longer than you have already. There are loads of people here, and someone’s going to need it sooner or later. And besides, he surely wouldn’t still target you now that you were all grown adults, right?

It’s likely he didn’t even follow after you, and is just laughing that even now you’re still afraid of him. You moved on, and surely he has to– you can’t let your fear of him control you the way it did when you were in school together. 

With another breath to calm your nerves, you unlock and open the door, and see that a small line did in fact start to build in front of the bathroom door while you were holed up inside of it. You offer an apology to the people waiting as you move past to allow the first person in, making your way quickly back towards the steps in the hopes that Jae is either no longer in that area, or has no interest in you anymore, and that you can return to where your friends are without issue. 

But of course, he’s there, standing at the top of the steps, very clearly waiting for you. Your heart sinks to your stomach, the smile that spreads on his face making you sick. “Long time no see, huh?” he says as he takes a step closer to you, his light, airy voice a stark contrast to the intentions you know he has. You don’t respond, which he takes as his sign to continue. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Don’t you want to catch up?” 

“I need to get back to my friends,” you say, finally finding your voice after the initial shock. It’s not as strong as you’d like, but considering you’ve never stood up for yourself before now, it’s enough to show how much you’ve changed since he last saw you.

“Oh, you have friends now? That’s interesting,” he responds easily, taking what little pride for yourself you fostered and crushing it beneath his heel. Before you realize it, your back is pressed against the nearest door, Jae closing the distance between you with proficient ease.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes darting to the side where the line for the bathroom remains unchanged. If you made a scene, would they help you? You honestly weren’t sure; they were all strangers to you, with varying levels of intoxication affecting them, and from their perspective, you and Jae could easily appear to be a couple sharing an intimate moment before trying to sneak away to a room. The thought alone makes your stomach churn. 

“Oh don’t worry about them, they won’t interrupt,” Jae says, that same sickeningly smug smile on his face as he seemingly has the same thought you just had. You know what comes next- his hands on you, a contact you loathe above all else, that makes your skin scream and recoil.

Things were supposed to be different now. You weren’t supposed to ever see him again, but maybe you were a fool for believing that you created enough distance from him for that to be the case. But you didn’t come this far to be the same person you were then- you were supposed to be different, to be strong.

You want to be strong, to have the courage to stand up for yourself and tell him to go fuck himself. If you don’t act now, then what was it all for? You can’t let yourself go back to the meek person who just accepted it whenever she was hurt. You clench your fists, you gather your courage, and for the first time ever, you raise your voice to him. “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He doesn’t take you seriously in the slightest, laughing as if your words mean nothing as he reaches his hand out to touch you. In a moment of unparalleled bravery on your part, you slap it away, conveying clearly that you won’t allow him to torment you anymore. There’s surprise in his eyes for a moment, though it fades as quickly as it appeared, replaced by seething anger.

He wraps your hair in his fist, holding your head back with so much force that a searing ache spreads over your scalp. “You wanna try that again? I don't think you're thinking clearly." Jaehyung's voice is dark and threatening as he holds your head in place.

So now he’s taking you seriously, huh? You glare at him, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as your fists tremble, 3 years worth of contempt rising forth all at once, practically begging to be set free, to be unleashed on the awful man before you who made your life a living hell. 

You were still scared of him, if you were being honest with yourself, but you had to be different. You had to. He was much stronger, his grip on you was painful, but if you gave up now, then what was it all for? Your perseverance had to mean something, it had to lead you to somewhere better, to help you become someone you were proud to be. You can’t let it be meaningless. 

You’re about to open your mouth to scream, determined to make a scene that can’t go ignored by anyone in the vicinity, when a voice you don’t recognize calls to Jaehyung, taking you both by surprise. “What the fuck are you doing?” the unfamiliar voice call from the direction of the stairs, and you’re able to turn your head just enough to see someone standing at the top of them, arms crossed with an incredulous look on his face.

“Shit,” you hear Jaehyung mutter under his breath when he turns his gaze away from you, looking at the man who is (thankfully) interrupting the moment. “What are you doing here?” Jae asks as he slowly loosens his grip on your hair, his teeth clenching as he begrudgingly releases you from his grasp.

“Don’t tell me you came to this party not knowing you’re in my fucking house. That’s my room you’re blocking, so move,” the man says, voice stern and unflinching. Jaehyung’s expression in response is strange– he’s very clearly annoyed, angry, but there’s something else there too that you’ve never seen on him.

He’s… intimidated? “Oh c'mon, man. You don’t mind letting an old friend borrow your room, right?” Jae’s voice turns jovial, a vain attempt at familiarity and friendliness. The stranger’s expression changes, a scoff leaving his lips as he looks at Jae in disbelief. 

The man looks at you next, observing your body language and quickly processing what it tells him. You’re very clearly distressed, body trembling, eyes angry and glossy with unshed tears; you want out of this, and now.

“Doesn’t seem to me that she’s into you,” the stranger says matter-of-factly, stating the truth of the matter as he sees it. “And you’re insane if you think I’m letting you use my room for this shit– or anyone’s for that matter.” 

“She’s just shy, isn’t that right? You’re not used to us being interrupted?” Jae says it with a sickly sweet smile before he turns his gaze back to you, leaning closer as his next words leave him in a whisper intended for only you to hear, a not so thinly veiled threat for you to play along with him, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

If it were the you of half a year ago, you probably would have buckled under the pressure, yielded to whatever it was he wanted from you. You would’ve been too afraid of the repercussions that would follow if you didn’t, afraid of what worse action he’d have in store for you if you didn’t listen to his commands. 

And that’s what Jae wants– he wants to put that fear back inside you, to remind you of all that he made you feel, all that he caused you to lose, to turn you back into the person he knew and expected you to be.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction. “Get the fuck away from me,” you say, doing your best to make your voice as steady as you can possibly make it. You can feel the rage radiating off him, and you have to admit, it’s extremely gratifying to watch him struggle, to see him flounder after being challenged.

He storms off, anger and bitterness seeping off him, as the man who saved you steps aside to let him pass– though Jae still manages to shoulder checks the stranger angrily on his way out. A sigh of relief leaves you once your tormentor is out of sight, thankful for the ordeal to finally be over.

“Are you alright?” the stranger who evidentially lives here asks as he takes a tentative step closer to you, clearly not wanting to make you feel boxed in and cornered the way Jaehyung had.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thank you,” you say as you separate yourself from what you remember is apparentally his bedroom door, fixing your clothes in the places that Jae caused it to crumple. 

When you look up, you see that he is looking you over for any noticeable injury– whoever he is, it’s apparent he knows who Jaehyung is and how he does things. It also makes you curious about how they know each other, and what it is about him that made Jae leave without putting up a real fight. 

He has dark curly hair that pairs well with his piercing gaze, but you didn't find him particularly frightening based on appearance alone. In fact, you actually thought he'd look sweet if he wasn't frowning so hard right now.

He did seem quite athletic though, and you could see how bulky his arms were underneath the sleeves of his black tee. Maybe it was the difference in strength that deterred him? Jae is stronger than you, sure, but he wasn’t as built as the stranger who saved you.

Or maybe Jae is simply all bark, and no bite? That’d be ironic– your biggest tormentor being someone who is inherently a coward. But isn’t that how it usually goes? The weak preying on the weaker for the sake of gratification and a sense of superiority they wouldn’t otherwise obtain.

And who better to play that role for him than you? You, who was lonely and eager to make a friend, who was too timid and kind for her own good, and without the inner strength to fight back. 

“You’re welcome to join me in my room, if you want. Uhm, not in like, a weird way or anything– just to make sure Jae will leave you alone if he's still around. We’ll leave the door open so you’re comfortable and– uh, yeah.” You can’t help but smile a little following his suggestion– it’s a little awkward, but well intentioned, and you appreciate the attempt he’s making to comfort you following a tense interaction. 

You follow him inside, and true to his word, he makes no move to close the door behind you, leaving it wide open and looking out into the adjacent hallway. Looking around, you notice that his room is more.. Minimalistic than you would’ve expected from a college aged guy. A decently sized bed, a bookshelf that contained more empty space than anything, a desk that held only a laptop and a rather old looking stuffed wolf toy that you assumed was from his childhood. 

There was no clutter, no mess, no decoration– nothing that tells you a guy in his early 20s occupies the space. Apart from the led lights circling the ceiling, the walls are bare, with no pictures or posters to give insight into his interests or personality. “You can sit wherever,” he says, intending to let you have first pick for comfort’s sake. 

You decide to sit at his desk, concluding that it's the better of your two options, and he flops on his bed, eyes on the ceiling as a slight sigh leaves his lips. “Regretting throwing a party?” you ask, noticing how exhausted he seems to be– dark circles under his eyes serving as a clear sign that something in his life is causing him fatigue and lack of sleep. 

“It’s not my party, it’s my brothers. The whole party thing isn’t really for me, but he wants the “whole college experience” or whatever, so, you know.. Yeah,” he closes his eyes for a moment as he speaks, seeming to think about what he wants to say before he continues to speak. “He won't have time for things like this once the fall semester starts, so why not let him have his fun until then? That’s what I think, anyways.” 

You nod, silently wondering if his brother is anyone you met downstairs, though you don’t recall meeting anyone that looks similar to him. “Do you both go to school here?” you ask, thinking it’d be nice if they do– you could do with some more friends in your life, especially ones that go to the same campus you do. 

“Oh, no, I–” he hesitates a moment, an almost indiscernible look on his face as he slightly tenses, just enough for you to gather that this topic is a bit tense for him. “I dropped out. Of high school, I mean. The whole school thing doesn’t suit me– got enough bills to pay and things to take care of without that added expense and worry, you know?”

You get it– you honestly do. Dropping out is a hard decision to make, one that society doesn’t understand comes with great personal grief and difficulty. Most people who drop out don’t do it because they want to, but because they have to, or feel there’s no other choice in the face of whatever it is they’re dealing with.

There was even a time you considered it; when your bullying was at its worst, and before you found solace in pouring all your energy into studying. “I completely understand; I almost dropped out too. And I wouldn’t even be going to school now if it wasn’t for my scholarship.”

“Really?” he sits up now, surprise written on his face as he looks at you. “Yeah, I– ..didn’t have the best high school experience,” you sigh, hesitating to meet his gaze right away. He’s a stranger to you, you don’t know what happened to him, and he doesn’t know what happened to you, but there’s a strange sort.. Connection you feel? 

Like kindred spirits– two souls who lived different lives, who are on a different path, but somehow are still the same. You look at him again, realizing you don’t feel the need to hesitate or hold back your words. There’s something about him that seems trustworthy, and the sincere empathy in his eyes makes you believe that he’s someone you can confide in without regrets. 

“I was depressed, alone. I had no friends, and I don’t mean it felt that way, I literally didn’t have anyone. And Jaehyung, he– well, you saw. It was like that every single day, unrelenting. Studying was the only thing I had to escape my thoughts and feelings, so I poured everything I had into my grades. I started to view college as an escape– like if I got accepted, all my problems would be solved. I could start over, be a different person,” you swallow, emotions threatening to choke you up as you talk about your experience, but you continue on despite it. 

“Unfortunately, schools are competitive, and recruiters could easily see that despite having good enough grades, I didn’t have the confidence or social standing to back myself up, so they chose other people. But the school here accepted me, and even though it’s still close to where I grew up I hoped it would be enough. I could meet new people, get away from everything that brought me down, and become the person I always wanted to be. And I have– you know, for the most part anyways.”

There’s a silence that lingers for a moment, one that makes you start to feel stupid for deciding to unload all that information on someone you just met, but when you meet his eyes again you no longer feel shame. As before, there is a sincere empathy, an understanding, a care, that you’d never experienced before now. 

You never talked about Jae to anyone new you met, and even your friends only know about him in the vaguest of terms because it was so hard to relive and talk about openly. But the person you met today– he saw it, in its rawest, unfiltered form, and he cared. Genuinely cared. And when you think back to all the times someone saw what was happening and ignored it, knew you were suffering and didn’t think twice about it, that care matters. 

He looks contemplative as well; like he’s thinking carefully on his words, and what impact they’ll have, as if formatting the perfect response to your admission is of crucial importance to him. And in a way, it is, because even though he’s just met you, he sees you for who you are– someone like him. Damaged. Lonely. Yearning for a connection that doesn’t yet exist, but could if you found the right person. 

He opens his mouth to speak, the words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but is quickly interrupted and drowned out by your phone suddenly ringing. You pull it out of your pocket quickly, and see your friend's name and photo brightly illuminated on the screen.

“Y/N? I’m so sorry, I just saw your text! Are you still upstairs? I’ll come get you–” your friend comes through loud and urgent, doing her best to be heard over the loud music that surrounds her downstairs. 

“I’m fine, I promise! Where are you right now? I’ll meet you,” you assure her as you stand up from your seat, preparing yourself to leave the room. The conversation ends quickly, with you confirming with each other that you’ll meet at the base of the stairs and then head home together. 

“I’ll get going now, my friends are waiting for me, but.. before I go I just wanna say thank you for tonight, uhm..” your sentence trails off as a realization hits you. Right. You still don’t know his name yet. Thankfully, he seems to know where you’re going, and offers his name to you before you have to ask. “Chan,” he says simply, “I’m Bang Chan.” 

You smile as you repeat his name, offering your own afterwards to which he acknowledges with a nod. You make it to the door before you stop, turning back to look at him one last time before you go. “I’ll see you around..?” you ask, hoping you don't come across as too desperate to meet him again. 

“Mm, yeah, sure,” Chan replies nonchalantly, though the corners of his mouth raise in the hint of a smile. And though it’s only a slight display, it makes you smile back at him. Because even though he comes across as aloof and reserved, you've gotten the impression that he's a nice person underneath his layers. 

You found yourself thinking a lot about him when you were in bed that night; wondering about who he is beyond what you initially see, about what makes him who he is and drives what he does. Someone who is clearly empathetic beneath their rough exterior, who has compassion even for those he doesn't know, someone you want to befriend. You hoped you'd meet and talk to him again soon. 

You sigh as you approach Sunshine Cafe, your go-to stop for coffee and a sweet breakfast before beginning your day in earnest. The fall semester has spared you no mercy since it began weeks ago, with your new professors hitting you with an increasingly grueling workload and frustratingly tight deadlines.

You’ve barely had time for anything, and your daily coffee is truly the only thing getting you through the immense amount of homework and academic papers that’ve been dropped into your lap. It also occurred to you that you greatly overestimated your ability to run into Chan again.

You thought it’d only be a matter of time, at first. Though he doesn’t attend the local college like you and his brother do, he still has a house near campus, and even if meeting at another party was unlikely, there were still plenty of places you could end up seeing one another. And yet, either due to the amount of work that needed done keeping you home, or Chan himself also having a busy schedule, that time never came. 

Should you have just asked for his number before you left? It’s something you’d think about since that night, wondering if that would’ve been too forward or made him uncomfortable, because who knows if he wanted to be your friend as much as you wanted to be his. There was a lot you liked about Chan following your first interaction with him, but was there anything he liked about you? 

It was hard to say; you certainly hoped so, but you weren’t exactly confident in your ability to make connections with people. Apart from that, a search of his name online didn’t lead to any social media platforms you could add or follow him on.

A bit strange for someone his age to be completely void of a social media presence you might think, but he didn’t really seem the type to spend his days scrolling instagram or writing personal posts on twitter in the first place. 

And honestly, wasn’t it silly to be so stuck on someone you’d met and talked to so briefly? You were broaching pathetic territory if you were being honest with yourself, but you truly couldn’t help it. There was something different about him, and not in that corny love at first sight way your friends might assume if you brought the issue up to them. You could see it in the way he interacted with you and listened to you. 

The more you thought about it though, the more embarrassed you felt about it; why did you unload your deepest feelings on a stranger? Because having a little bit of alchol in your system made you uninhibited enough to feel the need to bare your entire heart? Because he was nice to you?

That’s so pitiful, you’d laugh at yourself if it wasn’t so depressing. Even if you did run into him again, it’d probably be best to avoid his gaze, and save yourself from the realization that he actually thought you were a fucking weirdo, and only listened to you to be polite. 

God, you were spiraling– one minute thinking it’d be best if he never saw you again, and the next praying he’d show up in your life regardless, even if just for a moment. But really, you just wanted to know– know for sure if you just imagined the way he cared to make yourself better, or if what you felt then was real. And if it was real, why? 

No one ever protected you before, and it was hard for you to imagine a world where someone would do that for you purely out of the kindness of their heart. You know selfless, compassionate people exist, but not for you.

Even with the friends you had now, you’d hesitate to believe that they’d do anything for you beyond the surface level of friendship. And that was no fault of their own, of course; you knew it was a response to your own trauma that led you to think that way. But now that you were met with the evidence that someone could be kind to you purely for the sake of it, you struggled to grapple with it. 

You could argue that your friends are nice to you purely because you’re also assigned roommates, and you needed to have a good relationship for your home life to be copasetic. They introduced you to the people in their life because living in their space meant you’d be around them as well, and by extension they were only nice to you because they needed to be. But Chan– what reason did he have to do anything for you? To listen to you or offer kindness? 

He wasn’t the first person to show you kindness after you came here, but he was the first to do so with seemingly no explanation behind it. To be kind and help you just because it was what was right, and for no reason other than that– that’s what made him different, and made you want to see him again, to get to know him.

Another sigh leaves your lips now as you stand in line, waiting to order. You really need to stop dwelling on it and focus on more critical things at hand, i.e your paper that's due tonight and still needs to be proofread.

Yes, it’s best to do what you’re used to doing, and pour all your frustrations and worries into getting yourself the best grades you possibly can. You’ll head back to your dorm as soon as your coffee is in hand, and spend the rest of your morning (and a good portion of your afternoon) into ensuring that your paper is as perfect as it can be. 

Felix, the blonde, freckled barista who has come to memorize your order, smiles sweetly as soon as he sees you. “Here’s your usual,” he says as he hands it over to you the moment you reach the counter; benefits to being a regular, and a creature of habit, you suppose– he always has your order ready for you by the time you make it to the front of the line. “Thanks, I really need it today,” you reply as you put your card in the reader to pay. 

“Professor still kicking your ass?” he asks as he confirms the payment on his screen, letting you take your card out swiftly and fit it back into your wallet. “Pretty much,” you answer, though it’s not entirely true anymore; the amount of work you need to complete is definitely a major stressor, but it’s your brain’s fixation on Chan, and your subsequent worry about how you were perceived by him that plague yours thoughts and makes finishing your work much harder than it needs to be. Felix doesn’t need to hear about any of that, though. 

You thank him for serving you before you step away to allow the line to continue to flow, and he wishes you luck with the rest of your day before he greets his next customer. You scarf down your doughnut before you step outside to leave the building, the crisp fall air instantly helping to bring your mind back to a place of normalcy. A few small sips of your drink, a tossing of your trash in the public bin, and you’re ready to make your way back to your room to tackle the behemoth of a paper you wrote that needs reviewing. 

You make it only a few steps before you’re stopped by a voice you dread hearing saying your name from behind you, one that the universe seems to love to remind you that you can’t run away from. “I’ve been looking for you,” he smiles as he steps in front of you, cutting off your path and making you stop walking.

The blood in your veins feels ice cold, the alarms in your brain deafeningly loud. Fuck. How did Jae find you here? 

Stumbling upon each other at a random party, as unpleasant and unfortunate as it was, was at least feasible. College parties weren’t limited to the host’s affiliation; word of mouth took campus parties to new heights, their friends invite their friends who then invite theirs, turning what one might intend to be a simple get together between close friends and roommates into something much larger than the host ever intended. 

Yes, as much as you hated it when you ran into him, the party setting you were brought into made the most logistical sense. But here? At a small off-campus coffee shop at 9am? What the fuck was he doing here?

Surely if this was a place he frequented you wouldn’t have gone so many months without coming across one another. Which leaves you to think only one thing, that you desperately hope isn’t true- he sought you out on purpose.

“I don’t want to see you,” you say, voice as stern as you can possibly make it despite the way your nerves threaten to eat you alive. You’re doing your best not to panic, reasoning with yourself that things on your side in the situation; you’re in a public space, on a fairly active street with plenty of witnesses, and lots of options for safety. As long as you don’t freeze up or mentally shut down, you’ll be okay. 

You take a step in an attempt to walk past him, but of course, he doesn’t want to allow you to leave so easily. “C’mon, don’t be like that,” he says in a tone that’s supposed to portray himself as innocently pleading for your time, but his smirk deceives his intentions. You opt to ignore him, shifting to the side to once again make your way past him. 

He reaches out to grab your arm, instantly stopping you in your tracks. “Let go of me!” you protest, trying to pull yourself out of his grasp, but to no avail. Your eyes scan the area, seeking a way to get yourself out of this situation as quickly as possible. As if sensing this, Jae pulls you towards the nearby shop alley, dragging you into it with him. 

Your coffee falls to the ground in the struggle, splashing your legs and drenching the soles of your shoes. Your eyes water, race burning red as a wave of emotions washes over you– shame, anger, misery, all of which make him laugh.

“It’s a shame we were interrupted last time, isn’t it? And you don’t have your guard dog here to protect you, how sad,” he taunts, infinitely condescending in the way he speaks to you, “Go ahead and cry, he’s not gonna save you this time.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying your hardest to suppress the rising panic. You need to will yourself to move, to be loud, to make it impossible for him to take advantage of you any further. You take a breath and open your eyes, surprised to see someone standing directly behind Jae– Chan.

He’s yanked away from you in a sudden motion as a hand grabs his shoulder, stumbling backwards and landing awkwardly on his right foot, clutching you tighter in his hand to try and steady himself. “Wha– who the fuck?” 

“Fuck off. Don’t make me teach you a lesson again,” Chan’s voice is low as he grabs Jae by the wrist and twists it, causing him to grit his teeth and finally release you from his grasp. Jae scowls as Chan’s grip on his wrist loosens, curses and insults quickly being muttered under his breath as he shoots you both furious looks.

“You heard me. Go,” Chan says, eyebrow raised with a look that says ‘test me and you’ll regret it.’ Begrudgingly, he retreats while calling you both less than kind names and rubbing his wrist. Chan hears them of course, but making sure you’re okay is more of a priority than fixing Jae’s loose mouth.

“You alright..?” he asks, looking you over for injury as he did the first time he stopped Jae from harming you. You stayed silent however, your brain struggling to process the fact that Chan is here and helped you again– and he eventually frowns. Jae may be a fucking imbecile, but he was smart when he wanted to be; he didn’t hurt you enough to leave any marks– at least not anywhere Chan could see clearly. 

On top of that, you still hadn’t responded yet, and he wasn’t entirely sure when your altercation even began; it was pure coincidence that he turned the corner to reach Sunshine Cafe and saw you being pulled away to the adjacent alley.

But he heard what he said as he approached; “guard dog,” Jae called him. Yeah, that’s exactly what he’ll be if Jae refuses to leave you alone– your personal guard dog, ready to attack as needed.

He cautiously taps your shoulder, his eyebrows knitting together in a clear sign of concern, “Hey… you okay..?” You nod, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat. You were in shock more than anything, you think. Jae tormented you for years, and you’d grown used to it over the years. Hair pulling, tripping, slapping, dumping water on you.. Things that though you hated, you were used to and came to expect. 

But now? Now that you’d left that behind, began to live your life with a sense of fulfillment and joy, were away from all that once dragged you to the depths of despair.. You realized how much those things still hurt, how the time and distance didn’t cure or absolve you of your pain.

And you hated that he found you, hated that his presence still had an effect on you, hated how easy it was for him to reverse all of the positive progress you made. Most of all, you just hated Jae– truly, deeply hated him.

You could tell you were shaking, felt the tears in the corners of your eyes threatening to fall, embarrassed by the fact that Chan once again has to see you at your lowest when you’ve just barely formed a friendship. It’s humiliating in a way that’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t felt it themselves– the shame that comes with feeling inadequate, in looking weak in the face of someone you don’t want to see you that way.

Chan looks down, seeing what he assumes is the remnants of your fresh coffee spilled on the concrete, whipped cream and caramel splattered in all directions from the impact they made with the ground. He kneels down, grabbing the plastic cup and turning it to the front, confirming what he already suspected; your name, written in big, black letters with a sharpie, followed by a sticker with the specifics of your order.

He looks back at you as he stands back up, still holding your cup in his hands despite how sticky it’s become from splashed coffee. “Hey, look.. I’m sorry– Jae was pissed that I helped you last time, right? It's my fault, so why don’t I buy you a new coffee?”

“Huh?" you blink, surprised by his offer; once again, he's helping you when he has no reason to, and trying to process it makes your brain lag. "Oh– you don’t have to do that! It’s not your fault at all, he’s always treated me that way. He probably would’ve done this again even if you hadn’t helped the first time,” you respond after a moment, not yet meeting his gaze. 

Chan frowns at your answer; he knows Jae well enough to know that’s true, but it doesn’t piss him off any less. He’s always been like that– a coward in wolf’s clothing, always preying on whoever wants and thinking he can get away with it. “Unlock your phone and hand it to me,” he says, holding his hand out to you expectantly.

You furrow your brows in confusion, but do as he asks regardless, fishing through your pocket and quickly putting in your password before passing it to him. Chan locates your contacts page easily, adding his number to the relatively short list. “Call me next time,” he says as he hands it back to you.

You stare at your phone for a few moments, processing the information slowly before you look up at him. “You.. I can call you?” “Of course.” His response is nonchalant in tone, but you can tell he’s being genuine, just as before.

You don’t understand why he’s consistently so kind to you, someone who is effectively a stranger, who he has no reason to look out or care for. Stopping a bad situation he came across once made enough sense, especially since it was happening in his own house, but to devote himself to regularly helping you was completely different. Was he really that selfless? 

“What if you don’t answer..?” you finally ask, still struggling to make sense of his kindness towards you. “I’ll answer,” he replies easily, as if that’s the only option there is. “What if Jae takes my phone? Or I can’t reach it?” you continue, because surely he can’t be serious.

Why would he do that for you? Chan’s expression shifts to one you can’t read, full of thoughts and emotions you couldn’t possibly read before he speaks again, “Yell if you have to. If you call, I’ll hear it. I’ll come running as soon as I can.”

You tear up for the second time today, though this time for a reason completely different from before; you’re grateful to have someone who wants to be there for you unconditionally. After suffering for so long, you began to believe that you were beyond selfless kindness, that it was something you would never experience or have offered to you. And in your current state, it seems that even the smallest ounce of it is enough to make you emotional. 

“H-Hey, don’t cry!” Chan’s voice is suddenly filled with worry, a stark contrast to the aloof tone he seems to typically have. And really, he isn’t sure what to do– he’s never had to comfort a girl who was crying before.

You wipe your face, trying your best to calm down quickly and offer him an appreciative smile. “Sorry, this is actually super embarrassing..” you awkwardly laugh as you rub your eyes dry, hoping that he won’t change his mind and decide you’re not worth it. 

“No, it’s okay.. You’ve been through a lot on your own,” his tone softens, clearly trying to relay sympathy for you. You nod, steadying yourself with a deep breath before you finally look at him directly, without embarrassment or shame for your feelings. “Thank you, Chan.”

“Of course,” he says, giving you a small pat on the head in the same way he used to do to comfort his brothers when they were upset. “Let’s get you a new coffee, yeah?”  

You nod again, deciding to take him up on his offer and let him buy you a new coffee. “Just stick close to me, okay?” Chan reaches his free hand out to you, offering for you to take it if you’d like to. And you do, deciding to ignore the way your heart picks back up in speed when your hand is in his.

You know there’s no romantic intent, but that doesn’t stop the butterflies from erupting in your stomach at the contact. You can tell he’s just a sweet person, that there’s nothing special about this interaction, that he’d likely do this for anyone in a similar situation to you, but regardless of your rational thoughts, you can’t calm your heart, or prevent it from skipping a beat when he gives it a reassuring squeeze before leading you out of the alley.  

It doesn’t take more than a few moments to reach the cafe again, the line having drastically shortened since you were here minutes prior. Rather than wait in the line however, Chan walks directly to the counter, with you nervously in tow. The waiting customers shoot you both angry looks, but they ultimately choose not to say anything about your transgression.

“I’m sorry, I need to take care of this real quick,” Felix says to the angry girl waiting at the front that Chan just caused you to cut off, giving her an apologetic look before turning to the both of you. “Channie-hyung! And Y/N..?” He looks puzzled to see the two of you together, and really you can’t blame him. You were just here, and now here you are again, with a guy you’ve never brought up, and–

Wait. Channie-hyung? They know each other?

“Felix, can you make her another one of these? I’ll pay for it,” Chan says, holding your ruined coffee cup to the poor barista to look at. “Don’t worry hyung, I know her order. And you don’t have to pay! I’ll take care of it,” Felix says as he takes the cup from Chan’s hands, tossing it in a bin underneath the counter before he turns to make you a new drink. Chan grumbles something under his breath about how Felix should let him pay, a subtle frown growing on his face.

“Chan,” you speak up, and he turns his head in your direction, a small “hmm?” leaving his lips. “Your other hand– it’s sticky from the coffee, isn’t it? Do you want to go rinse it off?”

“Oh– yeah, uh, I guess it is,” he says, clenching and unclenching his fist as if he only just realized when you brought it up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, letting go of your hand to make his way to the public bathroom on the other end of the cafe.

You breathe a sigh of slight relief, because as much as you enjoyed holding his hand, it made your heart feel like it was going to burst out of your chest. “Here you go,” Felix says as he holds your newly made drink out to you, though instead of his usual smile, he’s looking at you full of curiosity.

“How do you know my brother?” he asks, and wow, does that take you by surprise. The cute, freckled boy who takes your order everyday and serves you with a sweet smile is Chan’s brother? You honestly can’t believe it.

“I, uhm, met him at a party. Wasn’t it your party?” you ask, remembering how Chan told you it was his brother’s and not his. Though as you recall, you didn’t see Felix there, and you definitely would’ve remembered if he was. “Oh, no! It wasn’t mine, it was Changbin’s!”

Oh, so Chan has more than one brother then? You’re about to ask to confirm, but the lady you cut off clears her throat impatiently, clearly fed up with waiting.

“Sorry ma’am, I’ll be right there!” Felix tells her politely before shifting his focus back to you, “Well, gotta get back to work, but I hope you’ll come by the house when I’m there next time! So we can talk more and be friends outside of the cafe!” 

He then waves goodbye to you with a bright smile, turning his attention back to the customers in line while you’re left more than a little stunned. You always thought Felix seemed extremely sweet and fun to be around, so you’re definitely not opposed to seeing him outside of getting your morning coffee, but you didn’t expect a friendship to happen like this.

Chan returns shortly after, and though he isn’t smiling, he does seem glad that you have a fresh coffee in your hands. “You gonna be okay? Don’t need me to walk you to class or anything?” Chan asks and you shake your head, though the fact that he even asked practically makes your heart erupt.

“N-No, I was just gonna head home, I have a paper I need to work on and turn in tonight,” you explain, and he nods in acknowledgment, thinking a moment before he speaks. “I’ll see you around then. And uh.. you know. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” 

“I will,” you smile, one that he returns ever so slightly. You thank him before you say your goodbye, waving as you make your way out of the door and back out onto the street. You take a sip of your coffee as you take your first steps back to your dorm, finding that it tastes much sweeter than the first one you had– and you like that.

Everything in your life has been that way; sweeter, more enjoyable, with Jae absent from it. And you hope that with your new friends by your side to help and support you, it will stay that way.

Chan is late getting home that night, the shit he had to do for work tonight being beyond exhausting and dirty. The first thing he does is shower, eager to get all the grime off his body so he can eat dinner and hopefully relax, if his brain and body will let him. He eats a microwave meal in relative silence when he’s clean, thinking about all that happened before he set off to work. 

He knew it was only a matter of time before he met you again, but he didn’t expect it to be in negative circumstances again. He had a job in the area that day, and figured he’d stop by Sunshine Cafe to see and get a coffee from Felix before getting things done, only to stumble on the sight of Jae dragging you off against your will. 

Without even thinking about it, he ran– he didn’t know how far Jae was going to take you, what he planned to do with you, and so he wasted no time to catch up to where he saw you go. Jae has a knack for pissing him off, but this went beyond a feeling as simple as that.

What Chan felt instead was disgust. He thought that Jae was easily the most reprehensible person he’d ever met, and that if he has nothing better to do than harass women, then he deserves to get his teeth knocked out of his skull– and Chan would happily be the one to do that. 

And that’s what he planned to do when he pulled Jae back, but when he saw the look on your face, your eyes full to the brim of unshed tears and fear, he stopped. He didn’t want you to see his violent side, he realized.

The side of him that will punch and maim and hurt, that left people bloodied and bruised. When he told you that he was a drop out, and you didn’t judge him, instead offering your understanding and shared your experience with him, he knew you were someone compassionate and good.

Why did people like you always get hurt? He’d seen it countless times, and it always made him sick with anger. And everyone in his life knew that about him, saw first hand the things he was willing to do to protect someone, but for some reason he didn’t want you to see it.

Was it because he didn’t want to taint your impression of him? Because there was a part of him that was afraid that if you knew the kind of things he’s done, that you’d retract any desire to form a friendship with him? He wasn’t sure, but what he did know is that for whatever reason, he wanted you to see him as someone better. 

It’s just past 11:30 when he flops down the couch with a sigh next to Hyunjin, who has some drama Chan doesn’t recognize playing on the tv. It was nights like tonight he wished he could turn his brain off, and not worry about what people think of him, nor be plagued by the memories of horrible things he’s done just to survive. 

Checking his phone in hopes to find something else to focus on, he sees he received a few texts whilst he was busy– most from clients, a few updates from Changbin, who was complaining about the group project he was assigned from his professor and how he’s staying out tonight to complete it, and a few more from an unsaved number that he can safely assume is yours. 

Hi Chan, it’s Y/N! 

Thank you so much for everything. I really appreciate it <3

If you’re still sure, I hope it’s okay to rely on you while I keep gathering my courage

9:12 PM ✓

it’s fine rly i’m not gonna let some dickhead like jae do whatever he wants

you can rely on me as long as you want i don’t mind

call me anytime you need

11:34 PM ✓

“What are you smiling about?” Hyunjin asks as he peers over Chan’s shoulder to take a peek. Chan jumps slightly in surprise, locking his phone screen before sliding it into his pocket. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Uh-huh, sure you weren’t. I believe you,” Hyunjin laughs in response. Chan sits there in an awkward silence for a few moments, before he glances over to see Hyunjin looking at him with a grin. “What?” Chan questions and Hyunjin lets out another small laugh.

“Y/N, huh? Is that the girl from Changbin’s party?” Chan wants to be angry that Hyunjin saw the name on his phone and is asking about it, but honestly, he’d be curious too if it were the other way around, so he can’t fault him for asking.

“Yeah. I saw her again today and gave her my number. Jae was harassing her again, and it pisses me off when he gets away with shit, so. You know.” He’s leaving out the part about his complex, unfamiliar feelings towards you, but Hyunjin doesn’t need to know them, he thinks. Better to leave those unsaid until he figures them out for himself.

Hyunjin meanwhile clicks his tongue in disapproval, displeased to hear that Jae’s up to his usual bullshit. “What’s wrong with that dude? He and his prick friends need to get a job or something and leave everyone else alone.” 

“Well if at this point he still doesn’t get the hint, he’s an even bigger dumbass than I already think he is,” Chan says and Hyunjin laughs, agreeing with the sentiment instantly. Chan feels his phone vibrate against his leg as Hyunjin shifts his attention back to his show, and is surprised to see its response from you this close to midnight. 

Don’t say that, I might rely on you for a long time then!

11:47pm ✓

i said i don’t mind

i’m here for you okay? 

11:48pm ✓

The two of you continue to text, and unbeknownst to himself, Chan has a small smile on his face again, that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin. However, rather than tease his older brother again, he decides to let it be. As fun as it is to poke some fun, he did genuinely like seeing Chan smile. It felt so rare these days to see happiness on his face, and he was grateful to see it now, even if it was only by a small margin. 

Chan glances up from his phone to see if Hyunjin is still peeking at him, and is relieved to find that he isn’t. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be seen texting you, but.. Before he dropped out, he had a reputation in high school for being a bad guy, with all kinds of rumors being spread about him during his freshman year.

And while a lot of them weren’t true, he didn’t mind leaning into them and letting people believe whatever they wanted to if it meant he was left alone. He had no interest in the things his classmates were interested in; grades, exams, college applications, after school clubs… None of those things mattered. 

He was forced to grow up quickly after his parents passed away, and it left him jaded to the worries someone his age would typically have had. And while he encouraged his friends-turned-brothers to do well and go after anything they wanted to, he couldn’t find it within himself to care about such fleeting things after all he’d been through.

At the time, all he wanted was to coast until graduation, and then start working full time to support himself and help his found family reach their goals. As long as the people he cared about had a chance to lead a better life than him, that was enough. 

Chan figured then, and especially when he dropped out and started working full time, that he wouldn’t have time for new friendships until much later in life, and he made his peace with that a long time ago. However, he couldn’t deny the possibility that perhaps he pushed down the idea that he did want someone to spend time with that wasn’t from his own bubble.

Someone he could talk to about mundane things, who lived a normal life with normal hardships, someone who knew nothing about the shady shit he had to do to survive, and who could distract him from the weight of his responsibilities. And maybe it was okay to let you be that friend for him. 

He was sure the others would tease him and say he has a crush, but honestly, his intentions are nothing like that. Despite what rumors would lead you to believe, he’s always been the kind of person to lift up those who needed help, and give them a place next to him. Anyone who had been dealt bad cards in life, he would help if he had the means to, because he knew how awful it felt to be alone with no one to turn to. 

Regardless of gender, you both needed someone. And if you could be that someone for Chan, he would be that someone for you, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. As long as you needed him, he’d be there for you, he’d protect you, he’d be your friend. And he hoped you’d be his friend too, and that you’d never stop needing him. 

Hiraeth; a deep sense of longing, a deep-rooted desire to return to home that no longer exists, or never existed to begin with. A homesickness tinged with grief and sorrow over what is lost and cannot be regained. A word that encompasses Chan in his entirety, though he’d be loath to admit it to any who asked, emotionally solitary as he is. 

When others feel nostalgia, there is an associated happiness– that even though they miss or long for that period of time in their life, they accept that they cannot return to it. They look back on it fondly, happy to have those memories and able to appreciate what they had.

They miss the joy they felt in those simpler times, the days where they were taken care of and pampered by their parents, where every meal was provided for them and they spent all of their free time worry free, watching their favorite cartoons on tv or playing video games for hours on end. 

But what do you do when your only memories of childhood are encompassed by an overarching sadness? When what should be happy memories are tainted by the knowledge that you lost your joy too young, that fate held no mercy, not even for a child so young- what do you do?

Chan wished he knew, because the reality is that even nearly 15 years since the day he lost his parents he still doesn’t know how to cope with his grief. And those are the thoughts that kept him up at night, his insomnia complexly woven with heartache and melancholy, unable to be separated no matter how hard he tried.

He doesn’t dare check the clock, knowing that whatever number he sees reflecting back at him will just add to the misery he feels. He shifts onto his back with a sigh, eyes now pointed directly to the bare ceiling. 

How different would his life be now if his mom and dad were still here? It was no use thinking about it, it didn’t accomplish anything other than making the ache in his chest grow tighter, but he couldn’t prevent it from happening anymore than he could turn back time and change it. There was no way to make the impossible possible, and there was equally no way to prevent his brain from fixating on the what if's and should be's of his life.

There was a part of him that felt selfish for not being happier– like he was asking for too much, expecting some sort of retribution for all the suffering he’d endured, though such a thing would assuredly never come. It wasn’t like he was always miserable, either– he had so many people in his life he cared about and made him feel sane when life was running him to the ground, he had enough money to afford the things he needed and keep everyone afloat, he was strong and (mostly) healthy.

He should be grateful for all those things, and he certainly is, but just.. It’s hard. You never stop missing the people you lose, he supposes. Even when you’re grateful, even when you’re happy and smiling, even when everything is seemingly perfect, the pain is still there.

Lingering in every interaction, present in every moment, sometimes ignorable but never forgotten, always reminding him that the hole in his heart exists, and will only ever grow larger, impossible to fill. That’s what Chan feels. 

Fuck it. 

He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, bright light immediately straining his eyes as he unlocks the device. 2:14 a.m– not the worst it could be, thankfully; it means he’s only been stuck in his head for a little over an hour. Should he text you and see if you’ve fallen asleep yet, he wonders?

No– better not to disturb you, and risk himself saying too much about what he feels due to lapse in judgment. The thought of telling anyone about how sad and lonely he is inside makes him physically ill– he dreads the feeling of vulnerability, hates the way his emotions catch in his throat and eyes fill with tears whenever he tries.

He’s always regretted sharing in the past, not because of the fault of anyone he told, but purely due to his own inability to not feel shame and embarrassment when he lets someone in. His friends, brothers, found family, whatever you wanted to call them– very few of them saw Chan at his worst, but in an ideal world, none of them would’ve seen it.

He can still remember the look on Minho’s face the first time he broke down in front of him, and it plagues him. He couldn’t control it– the tears just wouldn’t stop coming no matter how hard he tried to keep them in, choked, broken sobs leaving him uncontrollably as his body shook and trembled. 

Minho comforted him, of course– he wasn’t going to leave Chan to suffer alone after seeing him in such a state. But when the moment passed, there was no comfort or consolation within him to be felt– just the shame and embarrassment that twisted itself into a gnawing self-consciousness.

And the thought of being in that state of self-doubt and hatred in front of you was even worse, because you were the absolute last person he wanted to see him that way. Maybe one day, but not now– not when your friendship was still relatively fresh and being built upon. 

But.. even if he’s not ready to share his deepest thoughts and feelings, he still wants to talk to you now. He wants to see you smile at him, he wants to listen to you talk about what your plans are for when the winter semester is over and the weather starts to become warm again.

He wants to see the twinkle in your eye when you talk about what your newest favorite song is, wants to your your thoughts on whatever new meal you tried out for dinner. Because as silly as it is, in the few months it’s been since he first became your friend, those are the things he’s come to enjoy most and look forward to. 

Are you still awake now? Are you staring up at his ceiling the way he is now in the living room? Is his bed comfortable enough for you? Did he leave you with enough blankets?

He could text you so easily to find out, but for some reason the thought of it makes him extremely nervous. You’ve been to the house plenty of times now since becoming friends with not only him, but Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin, but this is the first time you’re staying overnight. 

You initially came at the request to help Changbin, who is currently taking a class you took last semester but is struggling with the material, and needed assistance to understand the concepts he was being introduced to. You brought your laptop with you, using it to show Changbin the detailed notes you took and offering him copies of the study guides you made, and it truly made Chan happy to see you helping his brother out so diligently. 

After a couple hours, Changbin let you off the hook, citing that his brain was tired from the overload of information and he’d be hitting the gym to let off some steam. “Oh my god, it’s this late already? I still have to work on my discussion post for this week,” you groaned, evidently dreading the work you’d have to put into making it decent enough for your professor’s obnoxiously high standards. 

“I can help you,” Chan offered without even thinking, and God, why did even do that? Because how was he, a high school dropout with no GED, realistically going to help someone as smart as you?

He wasn’t dumb by any means, but what kind of input could he even offer that would benefit you? But despite the way his brain made fun of him for his lapse in judgment, and convinced him that you’d absolutely refuse his help, you smiled at him.

“Yeah, okay! We should get some food too, I haven’t had dinner yet and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” you spoke cheerfully, opening up a new tab on your laptop to check over the delivery options in the area. He was stunned for a moment, feeling like his entire nervous system was zapped the moment you accepted his offer.

There was no hesitation, no doubt in your mind that he could help despite what you know of his education history– why did that make him feel so warm inside? 

The corners of his mouth tugged in a smile as he helped you pick out a restaurant to order from, the two of you munching on burgers and fries as he listened to your thoughts on what your discussion post should be about. You bounced your ideas off him, and while he wasn’t knowledgeable on the subject you needed to write about, discussing it with him still seemed to help you.

It was kind of like thinking aloud; like voicing what you thought worked and what didn’t, what you thought your professor would like to see and what he wouldn’t helped you to formulate a more cohesive outline in your mind. Chan watched as you typed furiously, tongue slightly poked out and brows furrowed as you concentrated on the screen in front of you.

You’d occasionally seek his input, asking things like “does this make sense?” or “do you think this is too much or not enough?” He was entirely out of his depth if he was being honest, but he was happy you wanted his input regardless, and enjoyed seeing a side of you he didn’t typically see. 

With Chan’s (albeit limited) help, you managed to finish before the midnight deadline, hitting submit on your post with just a few minutes to spare. You stood up and stretched your arms and legs, feeling stiff from all your time spent hunched at the same spot, a sigh of relief leaving you shortly after.

But then there came the next dilemma– getting home this late into the night. Chan didn’t live far from campus, and thus was near the dorms as well, but the thought of you walking home in relative darkness by yourself didn’t sit well with him. 

“You can stay here if you want. You can take my bed, I’ll stay here,” he suggested. You blinked, staying silent as you processed the offer. Chan, who took the quiet as discomfort, was quick to speak up again and try to remedy it, “Or uh, I could walk you back if you’d prefer that–”

“N-No!” you quickly blurted out, face reddening slightly as you cleared your throat to speak more calmly, “I mean– I’ll stay.” Chan nodded, standing up to go up to his room with you; you didn’t need to be led there of course, you already knew where it is, but Chan needed to at least grab a few things for himself before leaving it to you for the rest of the night.

A pair of clothes to sleep in, a blanket, a pillow, his phone charger, and he’s all set. You watched him move about the room while sitting on his bed, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you did. “I’ll see you in the morning, uhm– let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’ll be on the couch, so.. Yeah, good night,” he said with a slight smile before he departed, doing his best to close the door behind himself despite how full his hands were.

Another sigh leaves his lips now, followed by another check of the time; it’s already 2:30 a.m. He doubts you're still awake, and even if you are, he's decided he won't bother you. But if he’s going to lose sleep no matter what, he hopes it's from thinking about you comfortably wrapped in his blankets upstairs, instead of any of the other things that attempt to gnaw at him.

How on earth were you supposed to sleep?

You were in Chan’s bed, surrounded by the smell of his cologne, his stuffed toy wolf clutched closely to your chest because you always held something to fall asleep, but obviously didn’t have any of your own plushies here to do so. And God, your heart absolutely refuses to be still no matter how mundane of a situation you’re in.

Who cares if you’re spending the night in the bed of the guy best friend that you’ve started to develop a crush on? It doesn’t matter! You’re going insane, you think– you can’t take it.

You’re stupid, delusional, thinking about how it'd be if he was still here with you, what it’d be like if he were laying down next to you. Wrapping his arm around you, pulling you against his chest, speaking to you in a gravelly, tired voice and– please brain stop!!

You pour all your mental effort into stopping yourself from thinking about it any further as embarrassment flushes over you. Isn’t this kind of cringey..? Getting a crush on the first guy to ever be nice to you seems so.. Cliche? Pathetic? What is even wrong with you? But when you look at him, you can’t help it. 

He may look intimidating to others, but you’ve seen the truth of him since becoming his friend. Maybe it’s just puppy love that will fade with time, but you can’t help but admire him. And maybe that admiration is being fueled by the fact that he’s also incredibly handsome, but that’s besides the point. Underneath the aloof exterior, he’s sweet, caring, humble, generous.. How could you not like him? 

And you think about the first time you saw him smile– really smile, full and bright, teeth showing and eyes crinkled as a laugh escaped him. It was so beautiful, you felt like time slowed down around you.

You learned that he had dimples that day; cute ones that made his smile endearing beyond explanation, and that you hoped you’d see again and again and again from that day forward. You loved the way he looked when he was happy, when his hard exterior melted away to reveal the soft features he hid underneath.

Every day spent with Chan was full of a joy you thought you’d lost the capability to feel. You found yourself endlessly enamored by him, by every thing you learned about him; every interaction you had with him, intensified the feeling that welled in your chest.

He was so considerate of you, always watching out for you and making sure you were okay when you were out together. Like the time a few weeks ago when all of you were out together, celebrating Felix’s birthday.

You also met the other guys Chan considered his brothers that day; Jisung and Seungmin, who also had birthdays very close to Felix’s, Minho, who was close in age to Chan and equally as aloof in appearance, and Jeongin, the youngest of them all, though only by a small margin. It was fun to watch them all interact together over dinner, their dynamics quickly becoming apparent.

Changbin, who was typically loud to begin with, became even more so in the presence of Jisung, the pair becoming so explosively loud and chaotic that even the quieter ones like Chan and Minho would end up roped into whatever shouting was currently taking place. You’d laugh as you observed the chaos, and you enjoyed seeing a new side of Chan– one who let loose and had fun, who smiled freely and laughed just as much, who was beautiful beyond words. 

You learned a lot about them that day too– about how Minho moved to the opposite end of the city to go to vet school and how Jisung moved into a small apartment with him to make sure he was taking care of himself (and to help care for the cats the older had adopted shortly after.)

Hyunjin, who you already knew was an avid painter, expressed his desire to own a studio some day, and Felix, your favorite barista and baker, talked about all the times he failed at a dessert and forced the others to eat them anyway so they wouldn’t go to waste. 

Seungmin was scouted to play baseball, and so moved pretty far away from the others now, but still loved to come back to the city and visit when he could, often with a camera in hand to capture moments he found beautiful. Jeongin was taking a gap year before going to school again, trying to make sure that he was sure about what he wanted to do with his life before committing himself to the hours of work and money spent. 

You were in awe of them, truly; they were all so different, yet came together and loved one another so genuinely, as real brothers would. And they all unanimously agreed that Chan was the one who held them together, the one who supported them through everything and helped them during the hardest times in their life.

You loved how anytime someone praised him, or had anything even remotely positive to say about him, his ears would light up red with embarrassment as he turned his gaze away from them. You knew Chan was softie underneath, that was obvious to you from the day you met him, but it was still nice to have your opinion of him affirmed by others, to know that was the kind of person he always was.

And he expressed that he didn’t see his actions as praiseworthy, always feeling awkward when it was brought up. To Chan, it was just human decency to help someone if he had the means to– a feeling that stemmed from the time he spent alone and in need of help when he was a child. 

He was well acquainted with that pain, knew how miserable it was, and he didn’t want anyone else to experience it. He couldn’t ignore someone who was clearly in need, so he always helped; even if he wasn’t in the best of circumstances himself, he would do whatever he could for them, no questions asked. And he never asked for anything in return, because to him, seeing the person back on track and happy again was reward enough. 

You knew every kind thing they said about Chan was no exaggeration, knew first hand that he truly was the kindest person you’d ever met. He put on a mask of toughness, sure, but there was no one in the world who was as generous and caring as him. You looked at him with pure adoration, which certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin, who smiled to himself whenever he saw the way you’d blush or smile whenever Chan looked back your way. 

And when you were leaving the restaurant together, each saying your goodbyes as you readied yourselves to head in your separate directions, you saw him. It was pure coincidence– Jae was across the street, talking with some friends as he stood outside the bar smoking, completely unaware of the fact that you were even in the area.

Chan looked at you, noticed the way you suddenly stopped in place and just stared across the street, and he followed your gaze to the culprit. He stepped close to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his body.

“It’s okay, he didn’t see you,” Chan comforted you, bringing his other hand to your face, directing you to look away from Jae and at him instead, “and even if he did, I’m right here. Just stick close to me, okay?” You nodded slowly, wondering if the thumb that rested on your cheek could feel the way heat rose to it.

The others who were there, a group consisting of just the 3 who lived with Chan, just observed, not daring to step in until the moment was over. They all knew Jae well, and were also well aware of the things he’d done to you, at least on the surface level, and they promised that they’d look out for you too. 

You thanked them earnestly at the time, honestly unable to think of a single time you’d ever felt such solidarity, deeply appreciative of them, and of Chan, who brought you all together. But now, as they all stood there watching, they felt it’d be best to leave it to Chan, who you quite obviously had feelings for. Hyunjin and Felix shared a knowing look, deciding to drag Changbin down the street with them before he’d have the opportunity to accidentally interrupt your moment. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as he squeezed your shoulder, leading you to walk away from the area with him. There was no romantic intent, you knew that– he was keeping you close to make sure you were okay, to ensure that you were within his reach should anything happen. Chan was a kind hearted person who did anything needed to protect others and there was nothing special about this interaction, you knew that. 

But regardless of all those rational thoughts you were repeating to yourself, you couldn’t stop the way it made your heart skip a beat, couldn’t help the way his care for you made your knees weak and face hot. Because even if he never liked you the way you liked him, he still cared about you, and that was enough fuel for your growing crush on him, enough to make your heart beat out of control. 

Was he still awake? Chan told you before that he was an insomniac, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he was just as wide awake as you are. Should you go check?

There was certainly no harm in it– if he did happen to be asleep, you’d just quietly slip back to his room and let him get some much needed rest, while you'd try again to get some sleep. There was really no reason not to go. 

Carefully, you rise from the bed, wolf plush tucked safely in your arms and blanket wrapped around you, quietly opening the door and exiting out into the hallway. You’re careful not to make the stairs creak as you make your way down to the living room where Chan is supposed to be, and he immediately comes into view once you’re at the bottom.

It’s obvious he’s awake, phone screen brightly illuminating the otherwise pitch black space. He hears your footsteps as you step closer, lifting his head just enough to see who is approaching him this late at night.

He looks surprised to see you for a moment, an emotion you can’t read in the relative darkness on his face for just a second before he’s sitting up and scooting to the side to make room for you on the couch next to him. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” he asks as you plop down in the spot he’s provided for you next to him, “Is my bed uncomfortable?” 

“Oh, no! Your bed was fine, it’s just..” I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it was driving me crazy, you think, but don't admit, “.. a lot on my mind, I guess.” He hums in acknowledgment, definitely feeling the same way; but he didn’t need to drag you down with all that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers, but you quickly shake your head, mortified at the thought of revealing your crush on him. That’s the last thing you should do. “Thanks, but no, I just want to take my mind off it.” 

He chuckles a little at your response, opting instead to change the subject, “I see you have Wolf Chan with you.” Wolf Chan? You look down at your arms, the cute wolf toy’s head peeking out from between your arms.

“Oh, he has a name?” you ask and he nods, smiling ever so slightly as he speaks. “Yeah, kinda embarrassing but I had a huge wolf phase as a kid, so my mom and dad got me him for my birthday. Named him after myself cause, you know, kid brain thought it was cool.” 

“That’s cute! When is your birthday?” you ask, hoping that you’d have the chance to plan something nice for him as thanks for all he’s done for you in the time you’ve known him. “October 3rd,” he answers swiftly, and you frown.

“..What? It already passed then? Why didn’t you tell me?” your frown transitions into a pout, sad at the realization that you all celebrated his brother's birthdays but not his. 

“I.. don’t really celebrate it. Wolf Chan– he was the last gift I got from my parents, the last birthday I had with them before.. Yeah. So I just.. Don’t acknowledge my birthday anymore, I guess?” Your heart sinks, not only because of how sad that is, but because you’re holding something clearly so important and personal to him without even having known it. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know– should I go put him back?” 

“Nah, don’t worry. I like it actually,” he smiles softly, sincerely, “I haven’t touched him in a long time myself, so.. He needs the attention. I’m sure he was feeling neglected.” You smile back, relief washing over you instantly, thankful that you didn’t unintentionally make a drastic error. “Well I hope you know, I can’t let your birthday go ignored now that I know it.”

“I expected that,” he replies, knowing full well you’d share that sentiment with his brothers. They still always wish him a happy birthday and get him a gift despite how often he expresses that they shouldn’t.

“Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you ask carefully, voice quiet and unsure, an underlying worry carried in your tone. Chan swallows, already anticipating what the question will be, the same questions he’s answered countless times, but never gets any easier to talk about.

“What they were like? You must still think about them a lot.” Oh. That wasn’t the question he was expecting. He’s used to being asked what happened, how he's coping, if there’s anything he needs– no one has ever asked about what they were like when they were still here.

He anticipates pity, or a sympathy that while mostly appreciated, makes him feel incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. Even with practice, there’s still times where he doesn’t know how to react, a terse, “I’m fine, thanks,” leaving him as he plots the quickest way out of the conversation. 

Safe to say, Chan isn’t good about talking about his feelings, or even feeling them to begin with for that matter. Apart from moments of weakness, when his facade cracks due to the mounting pressure and overload of emotions, he shares only what he deems necessary, never offering more than the minimum of what is needed.

Even when it came to his brothers, who he trusts more than anyone else, it was hard for him to go beyond his practiced response, taking him a great amount of emotional effort to do so. And he's not confident he can talk with you about how good they were without breaking down, but he can still share a little of how he feels, can't he?

“I do,” he answers after a moment, voice ever so slightly wavering. It's a simple response, sure, but not for Chan– nothing related to this topic is ever simple or easy for him. But somehow he feels comfortable enough to try.

And maybe that’s because it’s encroaching 3am and lack of sleep really takes a toll on one’s mental defenses, but he doesn’t think that’s all there is to it. He trusts you, as he does anyone he’s grown close to, but it takes more than trust alone to be able to open up.

You could trust someone with your life and still struggle to express an emotion, still have the words you want to say die in your throat. Maybe it’s because of what else he feels when he’s around you– an unfamiliar emotion that encroaches on his chest whenever you’re in the room with him. 

The one that intensifies his desire to protect you from people like Jae, the one that leads to him wanting to talk to you at all hours about any and every thing that comes to your mind, the one that makes his heart pick up when you smile at him and always makes him return the smile despite himself.

He wants to share with you, he realizes; share everything he can, from his happy moments to his sad ones, his thoughts, his feelings, his entire life even. He wants nothing to be off limits, to be his authentic self before you, even if who he is deep down is ugly and scarred.

“Even just before you came downstairs, I was thinking of them,” he continues, his honesty unfamiliar to himself but not unwelcome; it’s not that he’d lie about anything he felt, but he was just.. Avoidant. He didn’t want to talk about it, refused to even, most times.

But you– you make him want to be honest, not just with you, but with himself. Maybe it’s because of the feelings for you that have begun to accumulate in his heart, or maybe because he knows how similar you are. The circumstances were different, but the feelings were the same; isolation, sadness, hopelessness.

No one to turn to, no one to rely on, fighting all by yourself, with only your own ability to pick yourself back up to carry you forward. Chan knew first hand how painful that existence is, how much it hurts to have nothing, no one. He’s also come to learn, time and time again, that even when you’ve found your place in the world, the void lingers.

The hole in his chest never closes– even if he can stop it’s growth, it never shrinks, never collapses or recedes. There’s reasons for that, he knows; it’s his own fault for not allowing himself to feel, to share, his hesitancy to allow anyone past arm’s length or to chip at his walls.

He doesn’t want that with you– if he wants something with you beyond this, beyond the boundaries of simple friendship, he needs to do more, feel more, share more. It was something he thought he would be terrified to do, an irrational fear that your opinion of him would change if he wasn't as strong as he appeared to be; but now that he's met with the opportunity, instead of fear, he feels.. safe? 

“I lost them really young, you know; I was just a kid with a lot of grief he didn’t know how to handle, and the people who took me in didn’t care. ‘Suck it up,’ ‘get over it,’ ‘stop being a baby and grow up,’ shit like that. Didn’t matter that I was only 7 and lost everything, I should just be grateful they gave me a place to sleep and eat."

"Got emancipated at 16 to get away from them, dropped out of school cause I couldn’t balance it with how much I had to work, and I wasn’t gonna miss it anyways. And here I am now,” Chan is hesitant to meet your gaze when he finishes talking, worried about what feeling it might conjure in him when he sees your eyes laden with sympathy. 

Normally, the sympathy of others make him feel sick. He hates the pity, hates the attention that comes with having his vulnerabilities on display, hates the words they offer as consolation. But he doesn't hate it for you– the only thing you ever make him feel is warm. So, so warm after a lifetime of cold.

You move across the couch and wrap your arms around him in a hug, an action he didn’t expect– it's the first time you're hugging him. “That must’ve been so hard..” you say softly, care and concern for him evident in the way you speak to him.

He blinks, a lump forming in his throat that normally he’d try to ignore, to push away and act as if he’s fine, but this time he doesn’t. He’s choked up, he’s emotional, and for once, that’s okay. 

Carefully, he wraps his arms around you as well, his head resting atop yours as he lets out a shaky exhale. “Can we stay like this for a while?” he asks quietly, his fingers clutching at your shirt, as if afraid you’ll leave him the moment he lets go.

“Of course,” you assure him, moving just enough to make yourself more comfortable and settle in against him, “as long as you need.” He mumbles a ‘thank you’, to which you hum in response, following his lead as he lays back and settles with you in his arms. 

You stay like that for a long time– long enough for your breathing to slow, eyes closed and arms beginning to fall from the hug as you drift off. Your head has sank to his chest, his heartbeat, that started fast and erratic, has slowed to a comforting, steady rhythm that lulled you to sleep.

Chan is careful to pull the blanket up to your shoulders, ensuring that you at least are covered and will stay plenty warm until you wake up. He closes his eyes, keeping his arms wrapped around you under the blanket, wanting to keep you close and not let go.

He doesn’t know if he’ll always have this with you; this close comfort, this feeling of peace and calm, of having you in his arms and being able to be held by you, while holding you in return. He likes it, wants it engraved in his memory in case it never happens again, to always remember the way you felt, the way you cared, the safety he felt with you. A small, but cherished moment, special and important to him beyond words.

Was it okay to be this happy? It’s something Chan thought about lately, whenever he had finished spending a day with you, laying in his bed and playing them over in his mind, making sure every little detail was memorized.

The way you smiled, the way you laughed, the feel of your soft skin when he touched your hand or you hugged him tight, the way your perfume lingered in the room long after you’d left it. Did he deserve to be happy?

He certainly didn’t feel like he did, but he welcomed it all the same, too selfish to let go of the small piece of joy he’d obtained. His feelings for you had grown considerably, and he was sure it was obvious to his brothers, who never failed to notice the way he'd change when he was around you; they just knew him too well and were around him too much to not notice something different about his behavior. 

He liked you a lot, and there was certainly no way he’d be able to deny it if they asked about it. They didn’t overtly ask about it though of course, more often opting to make subtle nods to their knowledge of it or make suggestions like ‘wouldn’t it be fun if Y/N came too? You should invite her!’ when they had plans together.

Sometimes they even lightly poked some fun, one instance that sticks in Chan's mind being when Hyunjin wanted to show him what he called an “adorable picture.” It was of you and Chan, asleep on the couch together that first time you stayed the night.

Your head on his chest, his arm loosely wrapped around you, blanket having fallen from your shoulders just enough to make Chan’s hand on your back come into view. His face flushed when he saw it, ears burning as they turned red. Hyunjin was right, it was an adorable picture, and Chan was embarrassed beyond belief to see the moment captured. 

Hyunjin giggled in a mischievous sort of delight upon seeing the older’s reaction, evidently very pleased with the result he obtained. Chan's typical response in a situation where his feelings are exposed like this would be to play it cool and act like it’s not a big deal, which truthfully, he didn’t want to do.

Why should he pretend he doesn’t like you as much as he does? Especially after he’s decided he’ll do his best to be honest with himself, and by extension, the others in his life (you especially.) Even if it’s embarrassing, or uncomfortable because he’s not used to his emotions being obvious and out on display, it’s what he wants, needs even.

He needs to let them out if he’s going to be a better man than he was the day before, to be deserving of you when the time is right. So instead, he does what would normally be the unthinkable– he owns it. No denial, no avoidance, no playing it off as less severe or important than it really is to him. 

“Can you.. send it to me? I– I want to keep it,” Chan asked, easily the most shy and embarrassed to ask a question he had ever been in his entire life. Hyunjin blinked, initially surprised, but then immediately smiled. “Of course Channie-hyung! You should send it to Y/N too, I’m sure she’d like it,” he said as he eagerly opened his message tab, clicking Chan’s name to send the photo he took. 

“You could send it to her,” Chan responded before the words following fully sank in. Would you? “You think she’d want it too?” he asked, wondering if Hyunjin could tell how much hope lied in his question.

“Why wouldn’t she? You’re friends, aren’t you? And it’s a cute memory,” Hyunjin said, doing his best to convey why he thinks you’d want it without revealing that you absolutely have as bad of a crush on Chan as he does on you. (And it’s not like you explicitly told him either; it’s just that you’re as obvious about it and easy to read as Chan is.) 

“Right, yeah, of course.” Was it silly to hope that Hyunjin would say something like ‘obviously because she likes you!’ …Yeah. Definitely. But when he looked at the picture, it gave him hope that maybe you felt the same way; and if you didn’t, that maybe you would in the future, after he gave his earnest effort to be someone good. 

His next bit of hope came during a get together for Hyunjin’s birthday. The weather had just begun to turn warm, the days slowly getting longer and longer, allowing for more frequent outings. Thus, by Hyunjin’s own request, you went to have some fun downtown, hitting up local art scenes and scouting out opportunities for the birthday boy to get some fresh, new supplies.

It turned out to be a long day, with Hyunjin’s interest piqued towards various different places and sights, and as night rolled in most of the group had empty stomachs and aching legs. You all settled for having dinner at the house, picking up takeout and a birthday cake on the way back.

You seemed different after eating dinner, Chan noticed. You were sitting alone on the couch away from the group in the kitchen, who were crowding around the birthday cake waiting for a slice. You were watching them with an almost somber expression, and Chan could’ve sworn your eyes were fixated on him in particular. 

Had he done something to upset you? There was nothing he could recall, but he wasn’t exactly well versed or experienced with understanding or handling the complexities of feelings. He could easily imagine a world in which he unintentionally said or did something wrong, but he hoped that maybe you were just tired, and Chan only thought you were looking at him in sadly, when in reality, exhaustion was just catching up to you. 

And really, you were staring at Chan, but not for the reason he feared; he hadn’t done a single thing to upset you– quite the contrary, actually. He was good– not just to you, but to everyone. You watched the way he’d shoulder everything, how he’d support endlessly and rarely accept anything back, always so selfless and caring, withstanding anything thrown his way with generous consideration. 

You learned a lot about Chan in your time with him; about his youth, what his family dynamic used to be like, how even before he dropped out he had a bad reputation at his school for appearing stand-offish and cold. That reputation followed him for a majority of his life after leaving as well, with most people who knew him having a great dislike for him due to their perceived vision of him and the half-truths (or outright lies) they believed in.

It was only people like you and his brothers, who took the time to know him beyond the superficial front, that knew what a great person he truly was. And truthfully, it angered you; why were people so quick to judge someone they didn’t know?

Chan was the exact opposite of what people made him out to be. He wasn’t violent or cruel, nor was he scary or someone to be avoided at all costs. He was just a boy, now a man, who had suffered far too much pain and cruelty for someone his age, who was just doing his best to navigate the world with the limited resources he had. What was so wrong with that? 

But despite all the misconceptions of others, the burdens he carried, or the responsibilities he had, you never once heard him complain about any of it, or show any sign of annoyance. Because despite what people might think about him, the people close to him knew who he truly was– someone who lived his life with compassion and kindness, who was misunderstood but not ill-intentioned, always trying his best despite the difficulties that came his way. 

Sometimes you would wonder, though– is he really okay? Chan had dealt with so much, enough to easily break down even the most resolute of people. And as much as he shared, there was equally as much that you didn’t know; about what he felt, if he ever received as much as he gave, if he was truly happy.

You did your best to ensure he was. You always returned whatever favor he gave you, strived to be a reassuring presence for him as much as he was for you, but it was hard to know if that was enough.  You wanted to ask, but you didn’t know how best to broach the subject, or if he’d even be willing to talk about it if you did.

He had opened up to you before, during late night chats or if something he saw reminded him of a memory he held, but the moments themselves were quite fleeting, and you worried about him. You always worried about him, no matter where you were or what you were doing, because simply put, you loved him. 

You weren’t in love with him (you definitely were), but he was an undeniably important person in your life, who you had a lot of love and care for. He was your friend, and you wanted the best for him.

You’d never force him to share with you or tell you anything he didn’t want to of course, but you hoped he knew that he could if he wanted to. You hoped he knew that he never had to be scared or uncertain when it came to opening up to you, you hoped he knew that you would always listen to him and be there for him. 

Chan approached you carefully, working up his courage to talk to you and see if you were okay, and to know if there was an apology he owed you for some unknown grievance. “Are you okay? What’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” he’d asked, trying his best to not show how nervous he felt; you’d stopped looking at him, but he could tell even from afar that you were focused on something.

“Oh, I..” You hesitated a moment, wondering how you should best phrase what your honest thoughts were. You took a quick glance towards the kitchen where everyone else was, noting that everyone still seemed to be involved in their own conversations and antics, not paying any mind to the two of you. That made it a little easier; you think you’d die of embarrassment if they heard what you planned to say next. 

“I was thinking about you actually,” you said quietly after turning your gaze back to Chan. What surprised him wasn’t just how openly you admitted it, but how you didn’t seem the least bit angry or upset with him like he was worried you were.

So.. what about him had you so deep in thought, then? “What about me..?” he asked hesitantly, hoping for the best but still slightly scared he was reading you completely wrong. 

You swallowed before continuing, worried that you were somehow going to offend him by bringing up what you were thinking. While you felt like you knew Chan fairly well at this point, people can still become defensive or agitated when asked about something personal, and that’s the last thing you wanted him to feel.

But he’s looking at you expectantly, eyes fixed solely on you as he waited to hear what you had to say, so there was no getting out of it now. “I was wondering if you are okay lately. Like.. really okay, and not just saying you are so we don’t worry about you.” 

Oh. He was completely stunned by your words, unexpectedly taken aback. No one had ever said that to him before, and he didn’t know how to respond to such earnest concern for him. Obviously, he had been asked if he was okay plenty of times in his life, but never in a way such as this, that insinuated there was a lot more hiding below the surface.

And there was. Deep buried feelings gnawed at him, begging to be acknowledged, but he always pushed them down further, reasoning that now wasn’t the time and he’d confront them later, when the time was right. 

But when was the right time? It never came, no time ever feeling like the right one. Or maybe Chan just spent so much time avoiding his feelings that now he didn’t know how to confront them anymore. He was so used to sharing so little, that even his earnest efforts were still small in comparison to what most others were able to do.

But how did you realize that about him? Was it just coincidence, or were you already so acclimated to him that you could recognize the way his brain worked? “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you said after his prolonged pause, worried that you did in fact make him uncomfortable as you feared.

“I– No, I was just surprised,” he finally responded, turning to look in the direction of his friends just as you had done a moment prior. They were all joking around, laughing loudly as they made the birthday boy wear a stupid party hat they picked up and putting frosting on his face, leaving Chan in his own little bubble with you. 

He turned his gaze back to you, wanting to say something, anything, but finding it difficult to speak, as usual. His words were trapped in his throat, refusing to come to the surface no matter how much effort he poured into trying. You took notice of his hesitancy, and decided to speak again in the hopes of giving him some comfort.

“I just– you’ve done a lot for me since I met you, more than anyone ever has, so… I want to be there for you too. If you need it, I mean, because I really, really care about you..” Your face heats up a bit when you’re finished speaking, feeling nervous from the admission. 

This must feel so out of the blue from Chan’s perspective, and that thought made you feel silly for bringing it up in the middle of a birthday party in the first place. And on top of that, you’d openly said how much you care about him, which is embarrassing all on its own. Even if it’s not a love confession by any means, it feels similar enough that it makes your heart pound like crazy. 

Chan’s face grew hot, positively burning, heart rate picking up drastically. He hopes you don’t notice the obvious red creeping on his features, or hear how fast his heart is beating against his chest. It wasn’t just the fact that he hadn’t expected this moment to happen that made him react this way, but the way you expressed your concern for him.

You wanted to support him, you wanted to make sure he was okay, you were thinking about him. Normal things, sure, but when coming from someone you have undeniable feelings for, it’s enough to make your blood pressure skyrocket. 

He swallowed, preparing himself to make another attempt at speaking. “Thank you, I really appreciate that,” he said, offering a timid smile your way to ease your growing anxiety as he continued, “It might be hard for me, but– but I’ll try, at the very least.. To tell you if I’m not okay, I mean.”

You returned his smile earnestly, evidently pleased with his response. You couldn’t ask him to open up easily or suddenly share all his close-held concerns and deeply buried thoughts, but the fact that he’d try and was open to it was what’s important. If he could trust you the way you had grown to trust him, that’d be more than enough for you to be happy.

From a distance, Felix had taken notice of the way you and Chan hadn’t joined in on the chaos of chasing Hyunjin around the kitchen to cover him with icing, and paused to look in your direction. The others stopped too when they noticed his pause, following his gaze to be met with the same sight of Chan’s burning face and the beaming smile you held towards him. They had hope, as much as Chan did, that there would come a day where the two of you would become a couple. 

Was it okay to be this happy? Was it okay for Chan to hope that you returned his feelings? Was it okay to plan his confession, to wonder how his life would look if you said yes, to picture himself kissing you and holding you close at all hours of the day?

There were still things he had to do first, things to get out of and people to get away from, but you were his driving force to do that. You were the motivation to turn his life into something better, the hope he needed to get through it all. 

Even if he didn’t deserve it, you made it worth trying. His life, which was plagued with bad memories and remorse for actions taken, became brighter and more livable when you were there to share it with him. Maybe it was okay to have someone to lean on, someone to confide in and share his burden with, someone to ground him and remind him that happiness is possible for him, and that it doesn’t always have to be a fleeting hope or dream. 

That’s what you were for him– hope in human form, a dream come true. Everything he wanted, everything he needed, beautiful and perfect in every way. And if you accepted his feelings, he’d never stop showing his appreciation to you, he’d shower you with all the love you could handle and then some, making sure you always knew just how much you meant to him.

There were many things in this life that left Park Jaehyung feeling resentful; the way adults expected absolute obedience from him, the way he was expected to be an exemplary student with no flaws, and the way society projected their version of ‘success’ onto him. He wanted to do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it, with no one to tell him what is or isn’t proper.

All he wanted in life was to have fun and live by his own terms, consequences be damned. If he wanted to smoke, he’d do it. If he wanted to party, he’d do it. And if he wanted to get with a girl, even one who absolutely loathed his existence, he’d do it. So, what by far angered him more than anything else was the way Bang Chan had thrown himself into your life. 

Jae would say that he knew Chan and his crew fairly well, often finding themselves within the same spaces. And from an outside perspective, comparisons definitely could be made between them; after all, how different from each other could some ex-school delinquents be from a shady drop out that no one gave a shit about, and his friends that followed him around like lost puppies?

They’d often find themselves rooted in the same places, attending the same parties, pissing off or scaring the same people; but that was the extent of any similarity between them. Contrary to what an outsider may believe, Jae absolutely hated Chan, and anyone who would look at them and come to the conclusion that they were friends were blatant fucking morons. 

From Jae’s perspective, Chan was pretentious and irritating; he always had a holier than thou attitude, looking down on Jae and his friends as if he was any better. Who was Chan to preach about morals and principles? Who gives a fuck about any of that bullshit?

Jae certainly didn’t, and he was tired of being told he was ‘in the wrong.’ If Chan wanted to spend his whole life worrying about whether or not what he was doing was right or wrong, he could, but Jae wasn’t going to listen to it. Besides, it was pretty fucking ironic to get lectured by a “professional fixer" of all people. He really should drop the “I’m better than you” act.

But for the most part, Jae could live his everyday life without interacting with Chan, or seeing any of his loyal idiots. The occasional glare on the street or punch thrown at a party was the extent of their relationship, if you could even call it that. As long as both sides minded their own business, there wasn’t much conflict to be had.

Sure, Jaehyung would love to instigate a problem given how much he disliked them, but he wasn’t stupid enough to start a fight he wouldn’t assuredly win. Some might accuse him of cowardice, but he would argue that it was just being smart. There was nothing to be gained from a losing battle; it was better to bide his time, and wait for the right moment. And there was a critical piece missing in the “right moment” that he still needed; you. 

For as long as he could remember, Jae found school pointless. It was repetitive, boring, and everyone around him was exceedingly fake. They all wore such obvious masks, trying (and failing, in Jae’s opinion) to appear without fault. No one was perfect and he found it pitiful to even try and pretend they were.

No matter who you are or what you do, something will be flawed. There will always be something wrong with you, always something there for someone to criticize. So what was the point of it all? By the time he entered high school he was used to this monotony and the ignorance of his peers. 

And that’s when he saw you for the first time; shy, vulnerable, unmasked you. You weren’t trying to project anything to anyone that wasn’t authentically you, though at first he couldn’t tell if that was intentional or not. Maybe you simply had no reason to, or you were comfortable not to, or maybe didn’t even realize how different you were amongst the people he’d grown to hate.

Whatever the reason, he was intrigued by your ‘realness’ in a sea of two faced, judgemental people. You were smart but not boastful, kind but not pretentious, beautiful but seemingly modest; and he liked it. 

At first, his fixation with you started with simple curiosity driven observation. You were always at the top of the class but never once looked down on anyone below you. And while he personally found studying incredibly tedious and pointless, he did oddly admire how much you devoted yourself to it.

You weren’t born smart, at least he assumed so from how often he witnessed you studying, rather you reached your heights through effort and determination. And instead of finding it a worthless effort like he would if it were someone else, he found himself meeting a strange feeling he couldn't name. 

He wasn’t sure why, but watching you give your earnest effort to your studies didn’t piss him off like it did with everyone else. Normally he’d tell someone like you that they were wasting their time– studying was stupid, school was stupid, and anyone who cared about it was stupid as well. So why didn’t he have that same sentiment towards you? Why did he want to encourage you? 

Why did he want to always look at you? What was it about you that infatuated him so much? He could have any girl he wanted, ones who lined up with his view of the world and he could woo as easily as he could tie his shoe, but instead he always found his gaze landing on you.

To like someone like you went against everything he ever told himself, but maybe that was okay. Maybe you could change his perspective, make him the kind of person that could care about the shit he's supposed to.  

That’s why he approached you that day. He didn’t tell any of his friends what he was feeling or about his intentions to get to know you– it was something he wanted to do for himself. He didn’t want to look at you from afar anymore, he wanted to be next to you. He wanted to talk to you, get to know you, find out what makes you the person you are. 

And then his friend fucking ruined it. Maybe it was Jae’s own fault for always putting himself in the leader position, for being the kind of person who can’t let someone else take charge, because that meant he had people waiting on him.

In hindsight, it was obvious someone would notice his absence from the group and come seek him out, but it still pissed him off. And what pissed him off even more were the words his friend spoke. 

“I knew it! You do like her!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now what was he supposed to do? His friend’s smug fucking grin was infuriating. Who was he to look at Jae like that? He couldn’t admit he genuinely liked you or say he wanted to get to know you, he had a reputation to maintain.

So, he did the opposite of what he truly wanted to do. He treated you the same way he treated the girls he had flings with, acting like you were some lovesick puppy who couldn’t handle that he didn’t like you the way you liked him. 

You were going to hate him after that, he knew it; and maybe he was stupid for even thinking he could have genuine friendship with someone like you given the kind of guy he was. And why should he want that?

He doesn’t do shit like that, he never has, and the fact that you even managed to get into his head and make him doubt the way he’s lived so far pissed him off. You were just a girl, at the end of the day. 

And so his complicated, unresolved feelings of frustration and hatred were endlessly unleashed upon you, the undeserving outlet for his confusion and stubborn desire to never change his ways for anyone. He’d live his life the way he wanted, regardless of what anyone had to say about it, and like-minded people could come along for the ride as long as they recognized him as the one on top of it all. 

And you, the one he liked for a fleeting moment before it all came down on him; he wouldn’t let you go. Because whether you liked him or hated him, you wouldn’t be able to ignore him. As long as you felt something for him, even if that feeling was hate, fear, or dread, it was a feeling for him, and he’d take anything from you he could, because that was the best he was ever gonna get. 

When he saw you at that party, it felt like fate. God didn’t do favors for men like him, but maybe he could start to believe in shit like that if he kept getting blessed like this. When graduation day came, he was sure he’d never see you again. You were moving to god-knows-where, while he’d stay stuck in this shitty city with his shitty friends, doing the same shit he always does. 

Well, his time with you couldn’t last forever; this was the inevitable conclusion, after all. He’d just crash wherever he felt like it, work when he felt like it, and maybe get a girl on his arm to take your place when he felt like it. But then he saw you, at this random ass party he went to by chance, purely cause his friends were going and booze was promised. 

You hadn’t moved all that far, it turned out. You were still within his reach, and he had you now. Oh, and the look you gave him when your eyes met; he knew he missed it but damn, did it light a fire in him. He had you again, he had you, and then Chan fucking ruined it, like he ruins everything he comes in contact with. 

It was okay, he thought. There would be more chances, and Jae could be assured of the fact that no one fucking likes Chan, and you wouldn’t either. Now that he knew you weren’t all too far from where you grew up, he could find you again, and relive his glory days before they ever even faded. But every fucking time he saw you again, Chan was there, ruining it. 

Fuck, it infuriated him. And the way you looked at him? What the fuck was that? The way you smiled at him made him absolutely sick; Jae never knew you could smile like that, and why would he? He never did anything to warrant something like that from you. But if he didn’t get to have it, then why did Chan? Chan didn’t deserve shit, and especially not you. 

You smiled at him like he was the world, stared at him with twinkling eyes and a flushed face, let him wrap his arm around you and hold your hand with the most shy delight Jae had ever seen. And it all went to Chan? All your pretty looks and radiant smiles were for him? No, he couldn’t take that. If there was one thing Jae was going to do, it was going to be making sure he ruined it for Chan, the way that Chan ruined everything for him. 

And finally, his patience was rewarded, because he sees you walking alone in a shopping plaza not all too far away from where you go to school. It’s a popular spot for the local college students, carrying everything they need to get through their daily lives, as well as a few luxuries.

It’s not all that busy at this time of day however; it’s still fairly early on a Friday evening, and if Jae had to guess, that’s precisely why you’re here now, instead of an hour or two later when there will be a rush of students all looking to do some shopping or have a bit of weekend fun. 

He wasn’t here for you, having come instead to look for a hook-up, but he’s not going to ignore a perfectly good opportunity when it’s presented to him. He wastes no time in approaching, smiling as he does, eager to put a plan in motion to bring everything Chan wants crashing down on his fucking head.

You freeze when he calls your name, heart sinking as you register the voice you’re hearing. You know it all too well, never able to forget it. Despite your better judgment screaming at you to just keep walking, you turn in the direction you heard the voice to see Jaehyung standing against one of the plaza’s many support beams.

What was he doing here? You want to believe he didn't come out looking for you purposely, but you wouldn't put it past him; he's certainly capable of it. “Long time no chat, huh? Have you missed me?” he asked with the signature condescending tone you were once so familiar with. 

“What do you want?” You ask sternly, deciding you absolutely will not entertain any of his mocking. “Wow, so hostile already,” Jae fakes a disappointed sigh as he crosses his arms, “That’s pretty brave of you given your guard dog is nowhere in sight.”

You glare at him as you stick your hands in your pockets, wanting to have your phone at the ready in case he tries something with you. “If you touch me you’ll regret it. Chan will know it was you,” you say, trying to sound braver than you feel. You had no doubt that Chan would kick Jae's ass if he did anything to you, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try anyways if he really wanted to. 

“Yeah, you’re right, which is why I’m not gonna do any of that shit. I just wanna talk to you," Jaehyung says, and your brow immediately raises in suspicion. He just wants to talk to you? Yeah fucking right. “Talk about what? There’s nothing I want to hear from you,” you counter, and he chuckles, having fully expected a reaction like that. 

“Just hear me out. How well do you know Chan? Like really know him?” he counters back. “..Why?” you ask with a frown. You wanted to say you knew Chan well, but the truth is that there’s still a lot about him you don’t have insight on.

Despite that, you’re sure that anything Jae has to say about him isn’t going to be the truth, and you certainly won’t let anything from Jae’s mouth change how you feel about someone. Especially not Chan. 

“Mm, I see,” Jae responds, seemingly amused at the way you refuse to offer anything up. “How about this then, do you know what he does for a living?” You narrow your eyes at his question. What is he getting at by asking you something like that?

“He works at a convenience store,” you respond flatly, not wanting to give away anything you feel from his pestering. “Oh, does he? Are you sure about that?” he responds with a sarcastic smile that leaves you feeling uneasy. “What are you insinuating?” 

“Do you really think that the money he makes at a convenience store earns him enough money to pay for that big ass house he lives in? All the food they eat, their bills, school expenses, everything? Even with a hell of a lot of overtime and his friends pitching in, that’s a bit unrealistic, don’t you think?” he once again counters your question with one of his own, clearly trying to plant seeds of doubt about Chan within you. “Cmon, you’re smarter than that, why don’t you think about it harder?"

You glare at him again, refusing to listen any further or reach whatever conclusion he is attempting to bring you to. “Whatever you’re trying to say about Chan, I don’t care. Tell it to someone else.” You start to turn to walk away, feeling fed up with his game at this point, but he quickly grabs your arm to stop you. 

“Let go,” you protest as you try to tug your arm away, but he tightens his grip. “Just listen,” he says as he keeps a firm hold on you, “Chan isn’t as good as you think he is.” You scoff at his words. As if someone like him was any better?

You’d take Chan over him any day, no matter what it is you don’t know about him. “You’re going to lecture me on good people? After all you’ve done to me? Whatever Chan may or may not be involved in, I’d take my chances with him rather than spend even another second around you.” 

Jae’s face contorts in anger at your words, and he roughly throws your arm back at you. “Fine, go fuck your piece of shit criminal boyfriend and see where it gets you!” 

…What?

Jae sees the shock and confusion clearly on your face, and his usual smug smile replaces the scowl he held just a moment ago. “What, you didn’t know? He does some real bad shit in his free time, sweetheart. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets arrested one of these days,” he returns to his mocking tone, clearly trying to get even more of a reaction out of you. 

“I don’t believe you,” you respond and he laughs, as if he expected to hear that. “Of course you don’t. But I can prove it to you.” “Prove it how?” you question despite your better judgment. You know you shouldn’t indulge Jae by leaning into whatever he was trying to make you think, but if there was some semblance of truth in his statement.. What would that mean for Chan? For his brothers, and for you?

“Meet up with me later, you’ll see then,” he says plainly and you frown in response. “I trust you even less than I believe you,” you say as you cross your arms and Jae laughs again; you certainly have gotten more of a spine since the last time he saw you. "Like you said, they'd know it was me if something happens to you. I really have nothing to gain from tricking you unless I have a death wish.” 

You narrow your eyes, contemplating the situation before making any definite decision. You supposed what he was saying is true at least; anything he tried would get back to the guys, and they’d make him regret it with no hesitation.

But even so, you were still hesitant to go along with this. You really didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by buying into whatever he was trying to tell you, but now there was a gnawing feeling in the back of your head telling you that if it was true, and Chan is a criminal, you needed to know. 

“..Fine, but don’t expect me to go anywhere private with you,” you finally say, a knot building in your stomach as you commit to seeing what Jae thinks is so terrible about Chan. “Fine with me, princess, just show up where I tell you to and you’ll see everything you need to,” he smirks at you and your stomach churns, both from the smug look on his face and the nauseating nickname.

“I’ll reach out, so don’t chicken out, ‘kay? I expect to see you,” he grins before he turns away, leaving you to resume your evening. As he gets further away, guilt and uncertainty begins to creep up on you. What if this is something you and Chan can never come back from? What if you can never trust each other again? Is it worth potentially losing someone so special to you? You hope beyond words that this isn’t a decision you’ll come to regret.

It takes Jae a week to reach out to you again, doing so on social media cause there was absolutely no way in hell you’d ever give him your phone number. You also didn’t see Chan much that week, the guilt and worry eating away at you every time you looked at him, knowing that at some point, Jae was supposedly going to present you with evidence of Chan being a bad person. You still don’t believe that he is, but you need to put this to rest yourself, and not give room for any doubts about Chan to live in your head. 

The address Jae sends you is indeed a public one, a relatively large park just outside of the city that you imagine is popular with the families that live close to it. At the time you’re going though, there definitely won’t be any families there. You have reservations about meeting up with Jae at night, even if it’s at a public place, but he insists that night is the only time that’ll work because “people don’t do shady shit during the day” apparently. 

Begrudgingly, you go to the park well before the appointed hour, passing the time on a bench until Jae shows up, having your phone at the ready just in case this is all some sort of elaborate plot to get you where he wants you. He grins when he sees you, shooting you a wave that you don’t reciprocate. “Nice to see you,” he says with a smirk as he walks up to you. 

“Can’t say the same about you,” you respond flatly, “let’s just get this over with.” “Gladly,” he responds, motioning for you to stand up. You do, hesitantly, and he walks over to a small hill at the edge of the park, walking up it and expecting you to follow.

“What are we doing?” you ask, cautiously taking steps to reach the top. “Look there,” Jae points across the street, where street lights illuminate a rather empty street, with a small alley just within your line of sight. “Just wait, this won’t take long,” he says, holding his characteristically smug smile as he leans his weight against a tree.

You frown as you turn your attention back to the street, looking around for anything you’re supposed to be noticing but aren’t, but you don’t notice anything in particular of importance. On top of that, your mind is at war with itself, one part scolding you for really following along with this, while the other demands you see it through so you can put any doubts about Chan’s character to rest.

“There we go,” Jae says enthusiastically as two figures appear on the street walking next to each other, one man that you don’t recognize and one that you definitely do- Chan.

“What is this?” you ask, not sure what’s so critically important about watching Chan walk the street with some guy you don’t know. “You’ll see, just don’t take your eyes off him,” Jae responds, pointing forward and urging you to not look away for even a moment. 

The pair step into the alley, and while there’s no light to illuminate them fully when they’re off the main street, you can still see them well enough. They’re talking, you think, calmly at first, but then it becomes more animated, with the stranger becoming increasingly more expressive with his arms and hands.

He’s.. panicked? He takes a step back, trying to put distance between himself and Chan, but then it happens- a punch thrown, by none other than Chan himself. He hits the man hard, and he crumples to the ground instantly, arms coming up to protect his head after he’s hit the floor.

That should be it, you think, but no, it continues, with Chan throwing punch after punch, unrelenting. You can hear the main cry out in pain now, his voice carrying easily to you in the otherwise silent area. You don’t understand- what is Chan doing? You’ve never seen him like this, but surely there’s a reason, right? 

Chan reaches into the man's pockets now, fishing for something, and he finds it soon enough- his wallet. You watch in disbelief as Chan takes the money and shoves it in his own pocket, throwing the wallet back at the man as if it’s worthless now. When he emerges from the alley, it’s even worse- you can see the blood on his knuckles, can see how it drips down to the ground, evidence that there was no mistake in what you saw. 

“Chan!” Jae calls out enthusiastically, rushing down the hill to make his way to him, “Thanks for the show!” Chan looks visibly surprised to see Jae running up to him, but then sighs, rolling his eyes as Jae approaches him.

You move down the hill hesitantly, not sure if Chan has noticed you’re here too, but hoping for some kind of explanation. “Why were you watching?” You can hear Chan question as you start to get to the bottom of the hill. 

“What, can’t a guy watch? It’s entertaining seeing a shitty guy get what's comin’ to him,” Jae answers and Chan scoffs before he holds his hand out to Jae, clearly waiting to be given something. “Ironic coming from you. But whatever, I did what you asked, so just pay me so we can get out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah, good doin’ business with you and shit,” Jae smiles as he reaches into his pocket, putting a large stack of bills into Chan’s hand. Jae looks back at you then, who is still standing across the street at the bottom of the park’s hill, confusion and disbelief threatening to rip your brain apart as it tries to make sense of everything.

“There you go princess, all the proof you need,” he says with a smirk; he accomplished exactly what he was hoping to- anything you had with Chan is ruined. Chan is clearly confused, and follows Jae’s gaze straight to you, who he realizes just witnessed the entire exchange. His face changes in an instant when his eyes meet yours, blood draining from his face and eyes going wide.

Jae says something to him then, but he says it so low that you can’t hear it, and Chan’s gaze remains fixed on you, as if Jae isn’t even there anymore. “Well, I’ll leave you two to sort this out. And don’t worry about the guy in the alley, he’s a good friend of mine so I’ll get him home,” he says in a smug tone, clearly happy with the situation he’s created. 

“Fuck you Jae,” you bite as you shove past him, rushing up to Chan who has begun to hurriedly step away from the scene. You hear Jae laugh behind you, but you ignore it, fixed on your goal. You need to talk to Chan. “Chan, please wait!” you call to him, doing your best to keep up with him despite how much faster he is than you.

You know what happened just now is wrong, that whatever is going on with him is bad, but you need to hear him tell you why he’s doing it, you need to know what’s going through his head. “Chan-” you’re about to plead again but he stops, allowing you to catch up with him.

He slowly turns to you, hesitant to meet your gaze even as you look up at him. Fuck, he felt so stupid. How could he believe you'd never find out about his secret life? How could he believe that one day you'd be with him happily?

He was so incredibly naive, and he hated it, hated how he had tricked himself into believing he could have normalcy and happiness with someone else. Who was he kidding? There was no way he'd ever be allowed to live a life like that. 

“..I need to call Changbin, and then I’ll take you home,” he says lowly as he takes his phone out of his pocket, and you watch as he puts some distance between you, not trying to get away from you but just far enough to have as private of a conversation with Changbin as he can.

“Hey hyung, what’s up?” Changbin’s voice comes through jovially on the other end, but he can tell immediately something is wrong when all he hears is a shaky exhale as Chan tries to find the words. “Hyung, what’s wrong?” A million possibilities race through Changbin’s mind; he knows what Chan does for extra cash, and he knows the dangers that can come from it.

He’s trying not to assume the worst, but fuck, whatever happened must be bad if Chan is choked up on the other end. “I’m gonna be late coming home tonight. I, uh.. I need to take Y/N home. She’s with me,” Chan says and Changbin is quiet for a moment as he processes the information he was given. “I thought you had a job tonight, though. Are you saying..?”

“Yeah, she saw me,” Chan interjects, not even needing to let Changbin finish his question. “Fuck, okay, just.. Take your time, alright? Don’t rush to come home, we’re fine. I’ll let the others know you'll be out a while, just take care of Y/N.”

“Yeah, I will.. Thanks, I’ll see you later,” Chan mutters into the phone before he hangs up, stuffing it back into his pocket and taking another shaky breath before he turns back to you. “Chan-” you start when you see him walking back over to you, but he quickly cuts you off.

“Let’s get you home, I didn’t park my car too far from here,” he says tersely, walking briskly towards the end of the street. You frown, but decide not to dwell on it too much; you can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now, and the last thing you want to do is make the situation even worse than it already is. 

You follow him swiftly, trying not to be concerned about the silence between you. It doesn’t take long for you to see his car, parked in a nearby empty parking lot, the only car in sight. Chan doesn’t drive much, his car basically reserved strictly for work and emergencies, so you’ve only been in it a handful of times.

You wonder now though if this is the reason he only uses it when he has to– do police know his license plate? You don’t know if you’re ready to find out the answer to that question. 

When you reach his car, he unlocks it wordlessly, and you both enter quietly, neither of you uttering a single thing even as he starts the engine and pulls onto the street. You want to try talking to him again but you aren't sure if you should even try yet; he's very clearly upset but if he's not ready to talk about it yet then there's nothing you can do. 

Truthfully, Chan desperately wants to say something, hating the silence he was subjecting you to, but found himself at a loss for words and stuck in his own head. Jae's words before he walked away rang in his mind over and over again. "If you think a good girl like her can fall in love with trash like you, you're pathetic." And it was true, he was pathetic.

It was pathetic to pretend he could have a better life than this. Pathetic to think you would always be with him. Pathetic to think anything about him was worthy of love. What kind of happy life was he hoping for when this is what his life was truly like?

He knew there was no easy way out of this kind of shit once you entered it, but at the time he really had no choice. He tried everything else possible and there was nothing left; and even with how dangerous he knew it could be he was resolved to see it through because when he began he was just a kid in desperate need of cash at any cost.  

He wishes things could be different now. He didn't want you to ever see this side of his life, to see the kinds of things he had to do to afford all of the things a person needs to survive. And while the rational part of Chan's brain was telling him there was no way you'd just walk away or hate him, it was overpowered by the wave of self loathing washing over him. 

Because even if you didn't hate him after this, could you love him? Could you even still look at him the same way you could just last week, when you gave him that bright smile you always did. Would you still want to confide in him? To rely on him? To let him rely on you? He doesn’t know if you realized it, but Chan has come to rely on you a lot. 

Not in the overt ways like asking for help or opening up about his deepest thoughts, which he only did on occasion, but in the normalcy you offered him. In your presence, Chan felt like the life he wanted was attainable, like he could leave all the bad behind him and have something good.

You were always there to distract him from the life he led privately, to give him a sense of peace. He could be comfortable around you, and allow himself to relax. He could be carefree and live in the moment instead of being stressed about what the future held for him. He could forget about all his regrets just from seeing you smiling up at him.

Late at night when insomnia was gripping him, he would look over your messages fondly and wonder what it would be like to share a bed one day. For you to be next to him on his worst nights and help lull him into a peaceful sleep that he wasn't normally rewarded. To kiss you awake and bask in how beautiful you’d be naked with the morning sun glowing around you. 

To Chan, any chance of that future with you was taken away the moment you saw the ugly truth of his life. Even if by some miracle you decided you still wanted to be around him, he knew it wouldn't be the same. There was no way your view of him wouldn't be tainted after this.

You'd become strained, being pulled away from each other little by little until nothing was left of the friendship you once held, or of the feelings he'd hoped to admit to you when he was able to leave behind the things that bound him. He should just leave your life now, before things get even worse; the pain he'd have to endure if he held on now would become unbearable.

You'd distance yourself from him, you'd meet a good guy who actually deserves you and fall in love, you'd forget all about him.. And that's how it should be. You deserved better than him; he knew he had nothing of worth to offer you. 

And he was sure in response you'd bring up how he was there for you and supported you, but anyone could do that. That was the bare minimum of a relationship. What did he have to offer you other than support? There was nothing he could think of that felt good enough or like he was worthy of anyone's time, much less yours.

It was better to get the heartbreak over with now.. it would hurt, but much less so than if he prolonged the process. He needed to just rip the bandaid off now and get it over with for both your sakes. He couldn't delay the inevitable.

You felt stiff, the silence deafening as he drove you to your dorm. You couldn't tell what Chan was feeling anymore, his face completely void of anything, as if he turned his emotions off entirely. You didn't know what to do; he cut you off when you tried to speak to him earlier, and now it seemed like anything you said now wouldn't reach him. It was as if he was running on autopilot, like he wasn't truly there with you anymore. 

It didn't take all that long to reach your street given that you were traveling by car, and you felt dread welling in your gut. You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you know he must have his reasons, that you understand that life is cruel and he's probably just doing what he has to, to tell him you understand why he didn't tell you but that you want to hear him out and be there for him regardless. You were approaching your dorm now, and you turned to look at him once again. 

He was so close but felt so far away, his face remaining devoid of emotion. His gaze didn't meet yours, instead he stared straight ahead at the street even after he parked, as if purposely avoiding your eyes. "Chan.." you start again, hoping he'll finally respond to you. You see him swallow and his hands tense up, clutching the steering wheel tighter now. 

His lower lip begins to tremble, but he tells himself he can't give in. This is what is best for you, he's sure of it. Just rip the bandaid off now, it'll be better that way. He can't make your life worse if he steps away now. He can't give himself false hope if he lets you go now. "Chan, I–" "Just go inside," he cuts you off, the pain evident in his voice despite how hard he's trying to mask it. 

"But I–" "Don't. Please don't. Just go." Tears well in your eyes, but you obliged, feeling like now isn't the time to push him on anything. Chan doesn't watch as you exit the car, nor does he acknowledge the way you look back at him one last time before you enter your dorm.

It's better this way. It's better this way. It's better this way. He lowers his head to the steering wheel, resting his forehead against his shaking hands. And for the first time in years, he really cries, knowing that you'll never look at him the same again. 

You woke up the next morning with the hopes that Chan was ready to talk to you. You texted him when you were in bed last night, telling him that you care about him and that you just want to talk to him, but he left you with no response.

You reasoned with yourself that he’d need more time; Jaehyung unveiling Chan’s deepest secret to you must have shaken him far more than you can imagine, and it makes sense that he’d need time to process. 

Chan led an undeniably hard life, you knew that well at this point; he lost his parents young, his adoptive family were terrible to him, and he dropped out and left them behind to try to make it on his own. He never shared any details about the things he had to do as a child to get by, just leaving it at simple statements that offered no further context.

And you weren’t deluded into expecting anything from him; regardless of details he did or didn’t share, you knew he had been through a lot and you weren’t going to ask anything of him that he wasn’t prepared to offer up himself. 

You figured that one day, when Chan had grown comfortable enough and was assured that you were a safe person to share the details of his life with, he’d break down his barriers on his own. All you had to do was be there for him, be consistent with your words and actions, and offer him a safe space to be his authentic self; whatever that self may be. 

And while this wasn’t the outcome you had expected, you hoped that all your efforts up until now had shown him that you were someone he could trust. You weren’t going to judge him, you weren’t going to abandon him, your opinion of him hadn’t changed with the truth. And you told him as much through messages, hoping that when he read them that he’d believe your words.

When he didn’t respond you were saddened, but it had only been a few hours since everything took place so you didn’t fault him. You were sure he just needed time, and you didn’t want to put any further pressure on him when he was clearly upset, so instead you just offered kind words to assure him everything was okay. 

However, as the days passed on, you began to lose hope that he’d ever respond. You did your best to stop the sadness encroaching in your heart, telling yourself that there could be a ton of reasons he isn’t speaking to you right now. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, there was surely a reasonable explanation.

His life didn’t revolve around you after all, and a small break in communication shouldn’t linger over you like this. You continued to comfort yourself with rational explanations as you went about your days, hoping with all your heart that you weren’t just deluding yourself.

Felix, who saw you most days due to your routine of coming into the cafe he worked at, could see the toll it was taking on you to have Chan not talk to you. He didn’t even know what exactly happened; Changbin said the two of you had a tiff, but that it should resolve itself after a bit since the two of you cared so much about each other.

But as time went on, with Chan so distant and holed up in his room unless he was working, he wasn’t so sure that whatever went on between you was something minor. And then when you stopped in one morning, you confirmed what Felix already feared; that Chan’s isolation didn’t extend to just them, but to you as well.

He wasn’t replying to any of your texts, and that made Felix’s concern for the two of you grow tenfold. So he talked about it with the others in the house, and the 3 of them agreed that you should come over to try and make whatever happened right. And besides, all of you were friends, so it only made sense to facilitate a resolution between you. 

They ask you over on a friendly pretense; it’s been a while since you all hung out together, and some fun seemed like it was much needed. You were nervous given the state of your friendship with Chan, but ultimately agreed because you really did miss them as well.

Changbin was the one to answer the door when you arrived at their house, smiling and easing your anxiety by making casual conversation with you. Hyunjin and Felix smiled as well when they saw you, greeting you warmly and offering you hugs before you sat down on the couch. 

Hyunjin sat next to you, while Changbin and Felix sat on the chairs nearby. “Is Chan here?” you asked, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you glanced toward the stairs. “Not yet, but he will be soon! While we wait, we should figure out dinner. Anything you want?” Felix suggests and you smile as you nod, feeling comforted by the fact that you have such good friends. 

Chan walks into the house not much later, freezing up once further inside and seeing you sitting there with his brothers. “Hey hyung, we’re just ordering some food before we have a movie night! You should join us,” Felix smiles, hoping that once Chan sees you all together, he can put aside whatever made him so upset and can go back to how things were before. 

Your heart breaks when you look at him, noticing that his dark circles are worse than before, hurt by the knowledge that he must’ve lost even more sleep than he already does, and it’s all your fault. He avoids your gaze, looking instead at his brothers; he knew this was bound to happen, you became friends with them just as much as him, after all.

And while Changbin knew the real reason behind Chan’s distance from you, the other 2 didn’t, so of course they’d invite you over to the house and try to rebuild the bridge that he’d burnt. But he couldn’t take it; the way all of you stared at him, expecting something from him.

You swallow, trying your best not to cry as you look at him, waiting for him to say something to ease all the sadness and anxiety within you. “..No, thanks,” he mutters, going quickly up the stairs and straight to his room, the sound of his door closing clearly heard once he’s reached it. Dejection settles in your gut, your heart shattering into more pieces than you could possibly count. 

Changbin, who is sitting directly across from you, is the first to see your crestfallen expression, and he tries to offer you words of consolation, but you can barely even hear them. You stare down at your lap, trying to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes. Would he never speak to you again? Did you irreparably damage his trust in you? Why wouldn’t he say anything to you?

He was the first person in your life to ever see what Jae was doing to you and help, and he brought with him the kindest people you had ever known. He supported you through your tears, he protected you from the people who wanted to hurt you most.

He listened to you as you talked about your life's worries, even when it was something silly like not wanting to do the night's homework. Chan became a constant in your life, truly living up to his promise to be there for you during any and everything, both good and bad. And now that same person was pulling away from you for reasons you couldn’t understand. 

The tears begin pouring before you can even try to stop them, falling to your lap and darkening the fabric of your pants where they fall. Hyunjin notices right away, and pulls you into a hug, trying his best to comfort you by assuring you that nothing happening was your fault.

“It is my fault,” you choke out between sobs, burying your face in Hyunjin’s shoulder as sobs escape you. Felix quickly moves in next to you as well, rubbing your back and offering just as much kindness as his brother. 

Changbin’s expression turns into a grimace as he listens to you sniffle and sob, how you blame yourself for everything that was happening despite his brother’s best efforts to calm your aching heart. What the fuck is Chan doing? 

Felix watches him stand, a look of concern painted on his features; nothing good happens when Changbin is angry. “I’ll be back,” he says with irritability clear in his voice, stepping away from the chair and to the stairs. 

He reaches Chan’s bedroom door in a matter of seconds, trying the door knob without hesitation and is pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. Good, so he didn’t have to pound at the door and make him come out then. He opens it swiftly, met with the sight of Chan simply sitting on his bed, doing not much of anything.

Chan frowns as he turns to his now open door, but isn’t all that surprised at this turn of events. He knew one of them would confront him eventually, and Changbin wasn’t one to hold his tongue if something was on his mind. It was only a matter of time before Chan got what he was anticipating.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Changbin questions, wasting no time at getting straight to the point. Chan expected that Changbin wouldn’t waste any time dancing around the subject, but he still wasn’t prepared to unearth the extent of his self loathing.

Was he really going to admit how pathetic he felt out loud? Admit to how much he hated himself? Admit to how he felt unworthy of anyone’s time? The silence only served to spur on Changbin’s annoyance, and he crosses his arms as he steps closer to Chan. “Are you really not going to say anything?” 

Chan looks up at Changbin from his seat, meeting his accusatory gaze. “It’s better this way.” he says and Changbin scoffs in response, clearly finding his answer unsatisfactory. “Oh yeah? Y/N crying her eyes out because you refuse to acknowledge her is better?”

Chan’s heart squeezes in his chest at hearing that you’re crying, but he still knew it was for the best. After the initial pain she’ll move on and forget about me like she should. She shouldn’t want someone like me. She shouldn’t support someone like me. I have nothing. I am nothing. 

“Yeah, it’s better.” Chan manages to force the words out. “What about what you promised her? Are you going to sit around and do nothing if Jae targets her again?” Changbin’s voice raises, not quite a yell but still louder than his previous speaking tone.

“She still has you and the others.” Chan frowns as he answers. It’s not like he was leaving you completely alone and defenseless; his friends were your friends too now, and he knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

“We’re not the ones she wants,” Changbin nearly shouts, and Chan tenses at this, the statement clearly striking a chord in him. “That’s the whole problem! I shouldn’t be the one she wants!” Chan shouts suddenly as he stands from his bed now, seemingly unable to control the sudden outburst.

He freezes after realizing he just said what he was thinking out loud for Changbin to hear; now he knows how pathetic and cowardly he truly is, and there would be no taking it back. Changbin’s brows furrow in bewilderment as he stares at Chan.

He understood that what Chan did to make money has risks, and he understood why he wouldn’t want you to be a part of that. What he couldn’t understand was why Chan was shutting you out now that you knew about it. Why was he needlessly subjecting you to pain when, in his opinion, you could simply talk it out? 

From Changbin’s perspective, everything would be okay. You clearly didn’t think negatively of him after the reveal, you were still seeking him out and wanting to be near him regardless of what you’d found out about him. And even if you did harbor some ill feeling about it that Changbin couldn’t notice, you were at least trying. 

You weren’t going to let something you cared about go over a single event, unlike Chan, who was acting like a fucking coward right now. He was throwing everything away, and for what? He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“You’re being a fucking idiot,” Changbin scowls. “You just don’t understand,” Chan counters and Changbin scoffs at the statement. “Then make me understand. What am I not getting here? I’d love to know.” Changbin challenged him, words dripping with frustration. 

You don’t understand that she’s too good for trash like me. What is there to love about me? What can I offer her that couldn’t be given by someone else? What kind of life can we live together with the things I've done? She’s smart, ambitious, beautiful..

She can strive for better life and a better person. Someone with high aspirations. Someone who has a better education. Someone who didn’t lead a dangerous life and could put her in danger just by association.  

But instead of saying all that he just averts his gaze, stepping down from Changbin’s challenge without a word. “Fine then, you can have fun with your pity party by yourself, cause I’m not staying to watch it,” Changbin bites as he swiftly turns his back to Chan, preparing to leave his room.

“You may be willing to treat a promise like it’s nothing, but don’t expect the rest of us to be okay with it.” He leaves as soon as he’s finished, slamming Chan’s door behind him as he goes.

Right. This is what he deserves. To have nothing and no one, just like before. Because why should he have anything good after what he’s done? He wanted to be the good person you saw him as, but he just isn’t.

He’s the worst kind of hypocrite, his virtue circumstantial and fleeting. The good things he did for the people he cared about didn’t cancel out all the bad that came before it, forever staining him no matter how many layers he scrubbed. 

He tried to comfort himself by saying he did it because he had to, because he had no other choice and couldn’t afford to live otherwise, but did it matter? Could he say he lived a life his parents would be proud of? No, but you made him want to try.

And he was trying, so, so hard; to leave all that bad shit behind, to be someone worth caring about, to be better. But there are some things that never change, some things that can’t be left behind or escaped from no matter what you do, and he supposes this is just another reminder of that lesson. 

The weeks that followed Chan’s refusal to see you were easily the most painful of your life. You’d never experienced a heartbreak like this before, any pain you thought you felt before paling in comparison to the utter anguish you felt from the loss of Chan in your life.

At least before, when you had become distant and separated from friends, you still had contact; you could message each other freely, you could meet up during school breaks or even weekends if time permitted, you still had your bond despite being in different places. But with Chan, it felt like he burnt every bridge he ever had with you. 

You gave up trying to talk to him all together, letting the amount of messages you’d send in a day fizzle more and more, until they inevitably reached zero. In your daily life, you still had the others, but it didn’t feel the same; you felt like an intruder now, like you were encroaching on their space.

You felt like you would just cause strife by being there, so eventually you stopped accepting invitations to hang out with them. Even when you saw them away from the house, you couldn’t meet their smiles the way you once had, because all it did was deepen the ache in your heart.

You wanted to appreciate it, to thank them for trying to keep your friendship alive, but every time it just served as a reminder that Chan wouldn't be there for you anymore. You also felt at fault for causing a rift between them.

Though you stopped staying around the group pretty soon after Chan made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you, you could tell things weren’t the same between them anymore. Changbin especially always seemed to be upset with him, calling him an idiot or a coward, making his distaste for what happened well known.

Hyunjin would continue to assure you that nothing was your fault, that Chan just had complicated feelings to work through, but despite his words, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling at fault regardless. If Chan had never helped you in the first place that day he saw Jae on you, their friendship wouldn’t be in this state.

If you were a stronger person back then, someone who could handle things by herself, then he wouldn’t have had to step in. And now even Felix makes an effort to comfort you all the time, going as far as to give you an extra cookie and discounting your coffee whenever you’re in his cafe.

They always showed you just how kind they were, compassionate beyond words and so patient (well, maybe except Changbin, who definitely was not patient.) Truly, you admired them, and Chan above all, who they credited for bringing them together and making them who they are in the first place.

But now that same person who you had quickly grown to admire so much was avoiding you on all fronts, leaving you with nothing else to do but move on or wait for him to come to terms with whatever he was struggling with.

And truthfully you didn’t want to move on, but waiting wasn’t becoming any easier. Despite the fact that he was within reach, there was nothing you could do. Every glimpse you caught of him or reminder of his absence from his friends left your heart aching in your chest. 

Before you realize it, your last class of the day has ended, and you sigh as you look down at your nonexistent notes. You found it difficult lately to focus on your work with your mind cycling through all its thoughts about Chan.

You used to find an escape in your school work; even if everything was crashing around you, you could pour your energy into your work, and find some satisfaction with the good grades you got in exchange for your efforts. But now even that was difficult for you, and you sighed as you knew you’d have to play catch up in your spare time if you wanted to maintain your grades. 

It was the first time in your life you’d ever felt so inadequate; even though it was merely a stress induced performance loss, it still tanked the confidence you had in your ability to succeed, which was the last thing you needed to add to your growing list of problems.

Your only saving grace at this point was that Changbin agreed to help you out, and that your professors were gracious enough to let you re-do assignments or get in some extra credit (which they only did because of the good track record you had before your personal life tanked.) 

Truthfully, you felt terrible requesting Changbin’s help to catch back up in your classes, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He thankfully agreed to study away from the house so you wouldn’t risk seeing Chan, and having your heart shatter again after having just managed to start picking up the pieces.

You text him now that your class has ended to make sure the study session is still on, and with his confirmation, you decide it’d be a good idea to head back to your room and prepare to meet up with him. It takes you no more than 15 minutes to get back to the dorms from where your last class was, and you spend a decent amount of time cramming your bag full of all the textbooks and supplementary materials you’ll need for the evening.

The plan was to study together at Sunshine Cafe, where the two of you could sprawl your belongings out on one of the coffee tables towards the back and sit on the comfort of the couch, while Felix would provide you with snacks and drinks to get you through the brain overload you’d certainly begin to feel. 

It’ll still be some time before Changbin meets up with you given that your class schedules don’t entirely align, but it’d still be good to head out and get some self study in until he gets there. And you could really use a change in secenery given that all you've done lately is go to you classes and then straight back to your dorm when they were over.

Once assured you have everything you need tucked in your bag, you sling it over your shoulders, letting your roommates know you might not be home till late before you head out. Walking to the cafe with all the extra weight on your back and shoulders certainly isn’t pleasant, but you’ll just have to deal with it if you want to make sure you do well on your catch-up assignments and upcoming exams.

And all in all, you actually feel pretty good right now; your friendship with Chan and emotional state might be in shambles, but at least you’re trying your best to pick yourself back up, and that’s what matters most, right? 

But all that positivity you feel is drained in an instant, when at the end of the street you’re on, you see Jae standing right in your path, looking at you with a smile once he notices you’re there. You curse, knowing you still have a few blocks to traverse before you reach your destination, and that anything could happen in the time it takes to get there. 

He starts to approach you, smirking as he does- you don’t know what he has planned when he reaches you, but you don’t want to find out. Did he know that Chan stopped being there for you? Does he think that now that Chan is out of your life he can do whatever he wants? Or was it a cruel coincidence that he saw you here, a coincidence that he now plans on taking advantage of? 

You still have the others, but it’s extremely possible that Jae either doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or is willing to risk it now that Chan being out of the picture takes away one of his biggest threats. There’s a slight hope that maybe he just wants to say something, rubbing salt in your wound by saying “I told you so,” and then he’d go on his way, but the look in his eyes tells you otherwise.

He has the same insidious look you saw every day when you were in school together, the twisted delight in his eyes that told you whatever you were in for wouldn’t be pleasant. You quickly turn the other direction, ducking into a side street you’d passed moments prior, hoping that you can either use the side streets to make it to the cafe or make Jae lose sight of you.

If you were lucky, you’d make it there with no problems, and Felix could shelter you in the cafe until Jae left on his own or Changbin showed up and made him leave. You hear Jae’s laugh behind you, and you panic as you notice that he’s catching up to you much quicker than you’d hoped, the weight of your countless textbooks and study materials definitely not doing you any favors. 

Shit- what do you do now? It becomes increasingly apparent that Jae catching up to you is inevitable, and there is nowhere for you to turn to escape him. As quickly as you can, you grab your phone from out of your bag, hoping that Jae doesn’t realize what you’re doing.

You needed to call Chan; you weren’t even sure if he’d uphold the promise he made to you at this point, but what other hope did you have? Chan was the person who said he’d always answer if you called him, and you wanted to believe that. No, you had to believe that. 

Not wasting any further time thinking about it, you send Chan a ping of your location before promptly pressing the call button on his name, haphazardly shoving your phone back in your bag and praying that Jae doesn’t notice as thing when he reaches you. 

Chan frowned as he sat on his couch, once again thinking about you despite his best efforts to get you off his mind. Despite how much he knew it was best to detach himself from you, he still found himself unable to do so easily.

Maybe it was his underlying selfishness that didn’t want to let you go, or that his feelings for you had just grown far too much to be quashed, but he couldn’t help but continue to worry about you every day. He felt stupid being so upset about a decision he made, that he truly felt was the right thing to do, but the right decisions are never the easy ones, or so the saying goes. 

But still, the gnawing feeling continued to eat away at him day after day. ”You’re seeing Y/N today right?” he couldn’t help himself from asking Changbin before he left for the day, and he rolled his eyes, giving Chan an incredulous look.

“So you care all of a sudden, huh? Heard me talking about it with Felix? Yeah, we’re meeting up when my classes are over. But don’t worry,” Changbin says with a mildly sarcastic tone before he continues, “I’ll do a good job of looking after her since you won’t.” 

Chan frowned at Changbin’s tone, but he knows it isn’t entirely undeserved given the circumstances. You’re their friend too after all, and he wouldn’t talk kindly to this either if the roles were reversed and it was someone else doing this to you.

“Binnie-hyung is still giving you a hard time, I see,” Hyunjin said as he stepped in from the kitchen, sitting next to Chan with his breakfast in hand. Chan just sighed in response, closing his eyes and letting his head hit the back of the couch. 

Was he really doing the right thing or was he just deluding himself into thinking so? Even putting aside the fact that he hasn’t loved himself a day in his life, isn't it just objectively true that you should want nothing to do with him? He knows you care about him, but it’s not exactly uncommon for good people to put their love in the wrong places, and Chan is definitely one of those wrong places.

“It’s not too late to make up with Y/N if you want to, you know,” Hyunjin spoke carefully, hoping that at the very least Chan would openly admit and talk about what went so wrong instead of keeping everything so bottled up inside. 

Time passed, and for a moment Hyunjin thought Chan wouldn't say anything at all, before he suddenly spoke up. “I.. don’t know about that. I’m not sure if I even want her to forgive me.”

“Why not?” Hyunjin asked, taken aback by the admission. Chan sighed again, self-doubt and anxiety making their presence obvious as they always did when he was dealing with complicated emotions. Truth be told, there was a lot of lingering doubt about his reaction towards you that Chan was scared to confront. 

Should he stop being so stubborn and talk to you or should he be assured in his decision and maintain his distance? He heard multiple times that he was an idiot for detaching himself in the first place (mostly from Changbin, who was the most outspoken with this thoughts), and though he felt like it was the right decision at the time given all his faults and self-doubt, he couldn’t fight the way he missed being around you every day.

He knew how much it would hurt to separate himself from you, but it’s what felt right at the time given the tirade of self-hatred that told him he had to. He knew the guys didn't agree, and he knew it hurt you just as much as it hurt him, but how was he supposed to explain to everyone how much he hated himself?

How much he loved you but knew he would just hold you back? You deserved better than to fall in love with a criminal for hire with no future ambitions. You deserved better than someone who was just coasting through life until the day no one needed him anymore and left him behind.

Not to mention that the only ones who knew the full extent of what he did in secrecy were Changbin, Minho, and now you. And he would've been okay with anyone else finding out the depths of terrible deeds, anyone of the other people he cared about but you. Just not you, anyone but you.

He used to not think at all about what it would be like to fall in love with someone; he assumed he could just figure it all out when the day came, even if it was years down the line. His mental health was in the gutter and life was hard, but when isn’t it? Aren’t most people unhappy?

Besides, he still had his friends, and that was good enough for him. And he didn’t want it to sound like he was never happy, or always miserable, but it wasn't until he spent more and more time with you that he realized how much he yearned for a deeper connection with someone.

Sure, being with his brothers made him happy, and the time he spent with them was valuable and irreplaceable to him, but what would happen in the future when they had their own lives? He barely sees half of them anymore, and soon the other half will move on too, following their dreams, meeting more and more new people, making new friends and building families.

And what would Chan have at the end of it all? Nothing, he had come to realize. He would have absolutely nothing. 

No goals, no ambitions, and nothing to offer other than the bare minimum. And he knew you well enough now to know you would say that it's enough, but he just couldn't agree; to Chan, it was nowhere near enough for you, enough for anyone.

Becoming your friend opened his eyes to how many mistakes he’d been making, made him confront the reality that feelings and wants you bury deep down will always resurface, and he knew he couldn’t avoid all the things he’d been trying to anymore. 

A lifetime’s worth of sadness, more regrets than he could count on his fingers, and a longing for connection with someone who would love him as he was, faults and all, and help him become better. He had that chance with you, and he blew it.

And then, instead of trying to make it right, he retreated back into the very shell he tried so hard to break out of. Instead of putting out the fire that had grown, he watched it burn, telling himself it was better to let everything become ash than risk the burns he would suffer from trying to salvage what little he had. 

In the end, it’s all excuses. He didn’t want to face the fact that he was scared, or admit how little his self-worth he really has. So he fled the scene, and when he was called out, his arguments rang hollow, because even Chan himself knew how little his words could actually be believed.

It was true that Chan didn’t believe he deserved anything good, but maybe it was okay to let people care about him regardless. Maybe he needed them to, so that he could finally allow himself to be happy. 

And so he talked to Hyunjin; he told him everything, about what he did, how he felt then and how he feels now, and about how much it hurts to be away from you when he’s so fucking obviously in love with you but feels too worthless to be around you. It was a lot of information to take in, but Hyunjin was truly happy he was finally doing something that was long overdue.

Chan had spent so much of his life avoiding his feelings and keeping his thoughts to himself, that Hyunjin expected him to dance around it, but he hadn’t. It was proof of the positive effect you had on him, evidence that Chan needed you even more than you thought you needed him. 

Chan didn’t cry, though he certainly felt like he would at times, and Hyunjin truly was proud of him. Sure, he learned some things about Chan that definitely came as a shock, but he had hope that once Chan was done processing all his complicated feelings and getting himself out of the bad shit he no longer wanted to associate with, the two of you could go back to the friendship you once had. 

He’d left Chan alone after that, citing that he had commissions to work on, though really he just thought it would do Chan some good to have some time to himself. He needed to let his thoughts and feelings settle, and hopefully get another step closer to reconnecting with you.

Chan himself was still on the couch, thinking a lot about what he should do going forward. Why did everything always have to be so complicated? He’s there for a while, cycling between various thoughts related to you and his feelings, when his phone suddenly buzzes from within his pocket.

He pulls it out, immediately being met with a message from you, the first you've sent in weeks. But it’s… your location? You’ve never sent him it before, and the fact that you did so without any other context spreads worry through him.

And before he can even react to receiving the message, a call comes through, caller ID clearly displaying your name. Out of all the time you'd known him, this was the first time you were actually calling him. He swallows before he answers, nervous as all hell but knowing he shouldn’t hesitate if you need help. 

“Hello..?” Chan answers carefully, unsure if he should speak at full volume until he knows what kind of situation you’re in. His hand immediately clenches around his phone when he hears Jae’s voice clearly taunting you on the other end; it’s muffled, your phone’s speaker clearly blocked by something, but the voice Chan hears is unmistakable.

He curses under his breath as he moves the phone from his face to mute himself, not wanting to accidentally make Jae aware that you managed to call him. Chan refused to risk Jae finding out and ending the call before he can find out what exactly he’s doing to you. 

"Aww, crying already?" he hears Jae's voice patronizing you. Chan scowls, fully aware that there’s no time to waste. He gets his shoes on as quickly as possible, sprinting out of his front door and rushing down the street in a matter of seconds.

The location you sent him is on a side street not all too far away from the house, and he hopes that Jae hasn’t dragged you too far away from the spot you sent him. The city is huge when you’re in the heart of it after all, and there would be more possibilities than Chan can count as to where you would be if you’re no longer there. 

He runs as fast as his feet can possibly carry him, not wanting to waste even a single second in getting to you, or give Jae the opportunity to do something terrible. He holds the phone to his ear even as he runs, desperate for a sign that you’re doing okay despite whatever situation you’ve been put in.

“Chan taking you away from me really pissed me off. I like you a lot, you know,” Jae’s voice comes through the phone again, and his tone makes Chan grit his teeth. He wants to rain absolute hell on Jae, make him regret ever laying a single hand on you, but he knows he likely won’t get that chance.

Making sure you’re okay and getting you away is his priority, and as much as he wants to obliterate Jae, it will have to wait until after he takes care of you. No matter what Jae deserves, no matter how much he hates him, you are his one and only priority right now, and he will protect you. 

You stare up at the bright blue sky, eyes fixed on the fluffy, passing clouds above you, and you don’t react. You’re limp against the cold, unforgiving wall you’ve been pressed against, completely numb, blocking out everything around you.

You hear Jae’s voice but his words don’t register, his hand on your body but your skin no longer reacts to what it feels. Your vision has blurred from tears in your eyes that haven’t fallen, but you continue to stare upward, making no effort to blink them away. 

You had no words to describe the way you felt; it was a devastation so deep that it turned into nothingness, a void. You knew Chan wasn’t coming to help you and you shouldn’t have hoped for it.

All you did was set yourself up for the worst heartbreak of all, an incomparable feeling of betrayal and hopelessness, the solidification that this was your reality now, and you just had to face it instead of holding onto hope that it would be different. 

But despite it all, you can’t really blame Chan for not being here. You knew you were weak, and you knew you were a target, but that isn’t Chan’s fault or responsibility. It must be a burden to worry about you all the time, or annoying that you don’t stand up for yourself nearly as much as you should.

Your few moments of strength get reduced to nothing in mere seconds, and you always revert back to the scared person you’ve always been. And no matter how foolish it is to hope for, all you can think about is how you wish Chan was here.

You hoped he’d be here, hoped he’d reassure you. You wanted to feel his gentle embrace and hear his voice, knowing he’d console you with tender words and a soothing tone. And most of all, you really just missed him, missed him more than anything, so, so much.

The way he smiled at you, the way his expression changed when he was embarrassed or being teased, the way he cared for everyone and everything more than you’d ever think a person capable of. Though he certainly did bad things, his kindness towards you was radiant.

You didn’t want to define him by what you saw, because you knew him beyond that. You knew how sweet he is, how caring he is, how much he wanted to help others. He understood the value in a helping hand and offered it freely to anyone who needed it without a second thought.

You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel anything but compassion for him even with how alone you felt from his absence. Your glimpses into his life allowed you to see him for who he was beyond what his appearance would suggest. You knew there was more to him than you even learned, hidden parts of his past, his life, and his feelings that you hadn’t yet uncovered.

So even when he distanced himself from you, you couldn’t hate him. You knew there was a reason, knew there was something underneath that he was scared to share with you. Chan wasn’t the type to leave someone behind nor break a promise, you refused to believe that he was. 

You just wished he was here, wished that he’d share his thoughts and feelings with you. Wouldn’t things turn out differently if he had? You wanted to support him as much as he supported you. You wanted to encourage him and cheer him on.

Even with Jae’s words circling around you and his touch against your skin, your mind was consumed by Chan. At this point you felt you were crying more from his loss than from anything Jae was doing to you. He had just become a catalyst for your feelings to burst, his presence feeling almost nonexistent against the yearning you felt for Chan. 

You loved him. Truly, and above all else. And you knew that no matter what, it wouldn’t change. Chan’s presence in your life irrevocably changed you; he supported you when no one else had, and you loved his personality and his endearing smile.

You loved the contrast between his tough exterior and his sweet characteristics. He was simultaneously strong and gentle, both cold and warm, sunshine and rain wrapped into one person. And you loved him, for all that he was.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" You hear Chan's voice shout and you blink in confusion, allowing the tears that were stuck to fall. Is he really here? Or are you in so much pain that now your brain is tricking you, trying to comfort you with a lie? You don’t know, but you welcome it all the same, because even if it is just a trick, it’s the best one you’ll ever be given. 

Your body barely registers the feeling of Jae's weight being shifted off of you, Chan's voice having a chokehold on your senses. Your gaze shifts from the sky to the right; you see Jae, who has evidently fallen backwards onto the floor, the left side of his face a stark red from what you assume was an impact.

He’s clearly shocked, but the emotion quickly changes into one of pure hatred directed to the presence left of you. You swallow as you shift your gaze to the left, heart squeezing in your chest when you see Chan, more tears welling in your eyes. He's really here? He really came for you?

Chan's fists are clenched, gaze piercing into Jae with disgust and vitriol. He wants to fucking kill him if he's being honest, but he has to do his best to keep a level head for your sake. He has to get you out of here, keep you safe.

"You ever fucking touch her again, I promise you'll regret it," Chan spits at Jae, stepping closer to him and giving one more punch for good measure, assuring he'll stay down and not follow your exit. "Y/N, don't let go," Chan says as he turns to you, taking your hand in his.

The moment still feels surreal to you, but you do as he says, keeping your grip tight as he runs with you, leading you quickly away from Jae. You run for what feels like ages, but you surprisingly don’t feel tired; must be adrenaline coursing through you, or maybe the emotions you feel right now are preventing you from noticing any sort of ache in your legs. 

The next thing you know, you’re at his house, with him leading you up to the safety of his room. You collapse to his bed the minute you’re fully inside, trying to catch your breath after all the running as you still hold tightly to his hand.

“I’m just gonna close the door, okay? I’m not leaving,” he says when he notices the way your hand clings to him when he tries to separate, not wanting to let him go. You hesitate, hand trembling as you hold onto his. Everything still feels unreal, like if you let go he’ll vanish from your sight, and you’ll wake up in the same place you were before, with none of this having happened. 

You look at his face, taking in his soft but serious expression. You feel the warmth in his hand, see the care in his eyes, and you know– you’re okay now. You don't have to be scared anymore. So you eventually nod as you let go, watching as he closes the bedroom door before returning swiftly to your side.

He examines you carefully, scowling at the disheveled state of your clothes but overall relieved to see no injury. He steps away for just a moment to rifle through his drawers, pulling out a shirt and handing it carefully to you. 

“Here, put this on,” he says, and it prompts you to look down at yourself for the first time. The buttons at the top of your blouse are almost entirely undone, with some buttons completely missing and leaving your bra partially exposed.

You frown at the realization that with the buttons missing you won’t be able to button up your blouse again and it’s effectively ruined, but you’re thankful that Chan is offering you something to wear in its place. He turns his back to you to let you change in peace, and he doesn’t turn back around until you’ve made it clear that you’re done.

“Are you okay..?” he asks softly now as he kneels in front you, eyes fixed straight on you. You meet his gaze, lip trembling as you look at him. You feel overwhelmed, confused, relieved.. Where do you even begin? You look down, swallowing the lump in your throat as more emotion threatens to spill out from your eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he breaks the silence, and you look up, blinking away the tears in the corners of your eyes. "I– I should've been there for you. I shouldn't have let that happen to you.. I'm sorry," Chan tells you, voice shaky through his apology.

He feels so fucking guilty. He wished so badly he didn't let the voice in his head affect him, that he didn't self-destruct so badly and drag you down with him. "It's okay," you say, reaching your hand out to grab his, and Chan shakes his head, voice breaking as he talks to you.

"It's not okay, I– I broke my promise to you." "You didn't," you say with a small frown and Chan's brows furrow in response. "Yes I did, I–''

You shake your head, cutting him off with your own words, "Do you remember what you told me when we first became friends? When you put your number in my phone?" 

Chan swallows as he thinks back to nearly a year ago, when he found you cornered and vulnerable, Jae tormenting you and expecting to get away with it. "I.. told you to call me," he says after a short moment.

"Call me next time, I'll answer. If you call, I'll hear it. I'll come running," you quote him, the words having engraved themselves in your memory. They were probably small to Chan but they meant so much to you. You'd never experienced such kindness before, such an earnest care for your wellbeing, and from someone that was basically a stranger to you. 

That was your proof that he was a good person; someone who deserved kindness and appreciation just as much as anyone else. He was kind, caring, and selfless even to a fault. And you knew Chan didn't believe he was, didn't think anything he did was special but it was.

You want to repay all the care he's shown you, in any way you can. "That was your promise," you continue and Chan's breath hitches in his throat at your words, "I called and you came, just like you said you would, so.. You don't have to apologize. Not for that."

He curses, turning his face away from yours with a small chuckle of disbelief. "I should be the one comforting you right now," he says and you smile softly as you respond. "No matter what you might think, I'd never hate you. Never. And I forgive you." You squeeze his hand in reassurance, trying to convey the sincerity of your words.

"I.. don't think I deserve that," he whispers, swallowing as he tries to control the shakiness in his voice. You're forgiving him this easily? He hasn't earned that, doesn’t deserve it.. You should be furious with him, you should hate him. So why don't you? "I can't think of anyone who deserves it more than you, Chan," You say and his lip trembles, eyes squeezing shut as he tries not to embarrass himself by crying in front of you. 

He’d grown a thick skin in his life, built his walls sturdy and high– or at least he thought he had. But there you always are, tearing his barriers down so easily, prying open the confines of his heart with the simplest of words and actions. And that's the feeling of love and connection he'd been missing in his life, isn't it? The one he’d be yearning for despite all his doubts and concerns? 

All he can think about when he looks at you is how much he hopes you'll always be with him, even if it's just from afar. He wants to protect you, wants to hold you close, wants to laugh with you on good days and support you during the bad.

Even if he never gets the courage to tell you just how much he truly loves you, he'd be happy just being near you. And that’s why he owes it to you to be better, reaffirms his desire, his need, to be honest and open about everything.

“I should.. Be honest with you. About why I was avoiding you,” Chan says after a shaky exhale, and you nod, ready to hear him out. “I was.. Ashamed, when you saw me like that. I never wanted you to see it, you know? I was– I still am, trying to get out of it, and I hoped that when you did know about it, it’d be like.. A thing that happened in my past that you’d never have to worry about. So when you saw it, I just.. I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do, and so I just..” 

Oh no. He’s tearing up again, and the empathetic look in your eyes continues to chip at his walls. He almost can't take the way you look at him, the way you hold and squeeze his hand as he speaks, the way your eyes water with his, as if it’s just as emotional for you to experience as it is for him.

It probably is, to be fair; you cared a lot about him, cried a lot because of him, tried countless times to support him even when he was closed off, hesitant and scared to try. He’s still struggling to believe he deserves to receive your compassion and understanding, but he wants to accept it regardless.

He wants to let you care about him, to let you console him, to let you be his comfort, his home. And he’d be that for you, he’d give you back all you gave and more, all to make sure you would never cry because of his actions ever again. 

“I just-” Chan tries again, falling short as the words get stuck in his throat. You’re patient though, giving him all the time he needs to collect his thoughts and put the words he wants to say together. “I just.. Everything felt like it was caving in on me."

"When it started I was just a kid desperate for money, you know? No one wants to pay a livable wage to a 16 year old, they think you don’t need it, assume you still got your parents and a cushy bed to go home to. So when the offer came up for me to make some quick, good cash in exchange for a favor, I took it.”

“The favors.. What I’d do depended entirely on the person making the request, but they were never good. Usually it was something the person desperately wanted, but couldn't get their own hands dirty to get, and they look for someone to do it for them under the table. So I got mine dirty in their place, and got paid well doing it. And I truly fucking regret it,” Chan spills it all out for you- the woes of his life, his bad deeds and regrets, all for you to see and judge. 

But you don’t judge him; you never would, even if he deserved it. What he said is what you expected– that he wasn’t given a real choice, his circumstances unfair and the world before him too cruel. It hurt your heart to know someone as kind and caring as Chan was forced to do things he hated for money, things that plagued his mind with guilt and tanked his already low self-esteem to new depths.

This wasn’t a case of “ashamed only because he got caught”; his shame and guilt was true, the resentment he felt for himself complexly interwoven with his human nature to survive at all costs. It was a dilemma that no one should have to face, but that he was forced to time and time again. To say it was unfair felt like an understatement, but it was all you had to describe what life had offered him. 

And still, you admired him; you hear all the time how the circumstances of one’s life changes them, how good people can only tolerate so much pain before it warps them into someone unrecognizable. But through it all, he was still someone full of compassion, of tenderness, who was doing his best to make amends with himself and make up for what he’s done.

It wasn’t your place to tell anyone to forgive him, nor would you tell anyone affected by his actions that they should. But you hoped that one day Chan could be free of the shackles of that weighed him down, both physically and mentally. 

The world doesn’t exist in black and white; good people do bad things, make mistakes, and hurt others, often even without meaning to. What truly makes a person good isn’t whether or not they’ve never hurt someone before– it’s whether or not they’re truly sorry.

No one can exist without making mistakes, without hurting feelings and having theirs hurt in return, the human experience is far too complex and not meant to be perfected. No one is perfect, but imperfection is what allows you to grow. 

The things in your life that you regret, that make you feel embarrassed, ashamed, sorry– they make you human. They make you someone worth loving, someone deserving of compassion and empathy.

To be human is to love and forgive, to make mistakes and pick yourself back up and try again to be better, to connect with others and build a life with them that makes you happy and proud to be where you are. And it’s what Chan deserves to have a chance at, just as much as anyone else in the world does. 

“You can cry if you need to. I’m here for you, Channie,” you offer, holding your arms out for him to accept a hug if he wants one. It’s a promise, really. A promise that you’ll always be here for him, because he’s the person you love most.

“I might take you up on that,” he says as he accepts your hug, his tone the most light-hearted you’ve heard all evening, but you can tell he’s grateful. He squeezes you close, and you can feel his body start to release all its built up stress as he relaxes against you. 

He needed this; needed the reassurance that unconditional love is available to him and obtainable, that happiness was something he was allowed to have, that he wasn’t an irredeemable person doomed to endlessly suffer.

“There’s something else I should tell you,” he says after a few moments, voice soft and a bit timid, his arms still holding you firmly. You hum in acknowledgment, pulling back from his embrace just enough to look at him. “Whenever you’re ready,” you encourage him, and he smiles just a bit before taking a breath to steady himself. 

“I love you. And I didn’t want to tell you that until everything was behind me, because I thought you wouldn’t return my feelings if you knew about it. If it was just a part of my past, and not something I was actively involved in anymore, then maybe you could, but– I didn’t think you’d ever love me otherwise, so.. That’s the other reason why I freaked out.. I thought I ruined any chance I had at being with you.”

Oh. Did you hear him right? He loves you? He wanted to be with you? Wants to be with you? Romantically?

“You don’t have to return my feelings, I just.. Wanted you to know, because it played a big part in why I acted like I did to you. You didn’t deserve to be ignored just because I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, you know?” Chan elaborates, your silence making him increasingly nervous.

God, he hopes you respond soon, even if it's a rejection, because the silence is killing him. “You didn’t ruin your chances,” you finally say, a shy smile on your face that instantly fills Chan with relief. He smiles too, and you settle fully back into his embrace, your head against his chest as your arms hold him close.

You hear the thumping of his heart, the evidence that his feelings for you are indeed real- that he loves you. Maybe this happiness is more than Chan deserves, and maybe you’ll change your mind about him someday, but for now.. He’s happy, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Chan spent the rest of the evening glued to your side, the two of you only separating from each other if you had to. You canceled your study session with Changbin for the night as well; way too much happened today for you to be able to even remotely focus on school work. He understood completely though, and was more than relieved that you and Chan were talking again. 

You had dinner together, all of you, and you finally started to feel like your fractured relationships could be pieced back together. There were still lingering questions, a litany of things to still discuss together, but now that you knew you could, there was a sense of calm you felt; like no matter what happened going forward, everything would be okay because you had each other, and neither of you would let that change again. 

Even in a group, your eyes would always unconsciously find their way back to Chan, and he’d smile back at you. Not a big, toothy smile, but a small, soft one– a special one just for you. He loved you, and you felt it; and you knew without a doubt that this is where you belonged. In their group, among the kindest people you’d ever met, with Chan by your side.

When night settled in, he did everything possible to ensure you were comfortable, such as offering you another change of clothes if you wanted it, or to take you home if you’d prefer that. But honestly, you wanted to stay with Chan as long as possible, not just because of your desire to stay at his side, but because of how safe being with him always made you feel.

You always felt secure in his presence, like any problem you had just melted away when he was hugging you or holding your hand. And despite the good turn the day had taken, you could definitely still use his comfort. “Wait,” you called to him when he was going to turn to leave, his plan the same as the other times you stayed the night; he’d be on the couch, while you took the comfort of his bed.

“Did I forget something you need?” Chan asked, quickly surveying the bed; you had plenty of pillows, and you weren’t too in need of blankets given that it was approaching summer now, but he wouldn’t put it outside the realm of possibility to forget something you needed. 

“No, it’s not that,” you say, and you can see the gears turning in his head, mild confusion mixed with concern appearing on his features. “What’s wrong then?” he asks carefully, stepping away from the door and back to you.

“I.. want you to stay. Here, with me,” you mutter, shyly looking down at your lap and his face flushes as he tries to blink away the initial shock. “Like.. until you fall asleep, or..?”

“N-No,” you look at him, a bit hesitant to meet his gaze due to your nervousness but doing it anyway, “like.. Sleep with me..?” Fuck. He knows you don’t mean it like that but what the hell, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.

“Are you sure? You won’t be uncomfortable?” Another careful step closer, watching you closely for any sign of hesitation, wanting to make 100% sure that you really want him next to you all night. You nod, scooting to make space for him so he knows you mean it.

He swallows before he crawls in next to you, doing his best to settle in comfortably despite the way his body tenses from laying so close to you. What makes it even worse is that instead of laying with your back facing him like he expected, you’re turned towards him, looking straight at him. He’s never been this close to your face before, and he feels like his heart is going to erupt. 

“Don’t need Wolf Chan?” he asks after you’re settled, noting the fact that you don’t have him in your arms as you normally did when you spent the night. “Not when I have you,” you reply, and thank God he turned off the lights before he got into bed with you, because you definitely would’ve seen the blush on his face burn tenfold.

“Chan..” you breathe out, your voice slightly hesitant and tense, and though the room is dark, his eyes have adjusted enough to see you looking at him nervously. “Yeah..?” he asks softly, and carefully you reach out to him, your hand lingering on his arm.

“I want you to promise.. That you’ll keep trying to get away from the people who have you do bad things, and that you won’t do them anymore once you’re out,” you say, eyes still nervous and desperate to find reassurance. That’s exactly what he planned to keep doing anyway, but hearing you say it just reaffirms his choice– he’ll get out of it no matter what, for your sake. 

“I promise. You’ll be the first to know too, I promise,” he affirms, and you finally smile, fully believing in him. “I’ll make a promise too! That once everything is settled, I’ll officially be your girlfriend.” Chan chuckles at your statement, pulling you into a hug as he does.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he tells you, smiling at you fondly as he pulls you in closer. “If it’s okay.. Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, and you nod, heart racing in anticipation.

Your first kiss- soft and sweet, his touch light and gentle, your stomach erupting in butterflies. Again, again, and once more, both smiling when you pull back. You’ve never felt so warm, pure elation in your veins as he holds you close.

“I love you,” you tell him as you settle your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and basking in the joy and comfort you feel. “Love you more,” he says, landing a soft kiss on the top of your head, “Goodnight, Y/N, sweet dreams.” 

Was it okay for Chan to be this happy? Was it okay to have the things he dreamed of? Regardless of the answer, he was thankful. There were few things in this world that Chan allowed himself to crave selfishly, you being the most primary desire of them all.

Did he deserve you? Maybe not now, but he would someday soon– he’d make sure of that. He’d keep his promises, make sure he became someone worth being around for, someone that you could be proud to say is the person you love.

6 months since the day Chan told you he loved you and made you his girlfriend. Well, maybe not officially one might argue, since he still had a myriad of promises to uphold before then, but as far as Chan is concerned, it counts!

And to the credit of his point, you still acted like a couple most of the time, all sweet touches and bashful glances whenever he was near you. Neither of you could help it, really; how do you resist in that scenario? All he ever wanted to do was shower you with affection any chance he got, and why would you deny the opportunity to experience it? 

Chan’s duality also extended towards your romantic relationship, in ways that endlessly endeared and fascinated you. He adapted to the boyfriend role well all things considered, or maybe his kind hearted and compassionate nature made him naturally good at caring for you.

He was extremely open with his love for you, full of soft touches and charming words. That was always in private however; when around his friends he was much less.. Sauve, you could say. He was shy, simply put; his face and ears burning red whenever you kissed him for all to see, bashful giggles leaving his lips whenever you complimented him or told him you loved him so, so much.

You always loved seeing his cute dimples show up whenever he was happy, and knowing you were the person making it happen filled you with more joy than you could express in words. But the biggest display of his duality would always come when he felt the need to protect you– all his shyness would melt away, his desire to keep you safe and close much stronger than anything else.

Whether it was holding your hand as you walked through crowds of people, directing you away from the edge of the sidewalk when you walked together, or kept an arm snuggly around you when belligerent, overconfident men approached you at a party– he was your protector above all else, and he made that clear to everyone. 

He was perfect in every way, at least to you. It’s not to say that he was suddenly without fault, and he certainly wasn’t absolved of all the wrong he’d committed in his past, but his growth and earnest effort didn’t deserve to go unrecognized.

He was the sweetest, kindest person you’d ever known, and every day he showed his resilience and determination to make a better name for himself. That alone made him perfect to you. 

Chan worked hard to get away from what kept him connected to the dark underside of the city, and it didn’t come without its sacrifices, but he did his best to make it work and come out of it all ready to wash his hands clean of the past.

He made substantially less money now, but it was a fair exchange when you consider that the money he made going forward was through honest means. He agreed to share the burden as well, to accept help and not take on so much responsibility all on his own. 

He was used to taking the brunt of everything, shouldering it all for the sake of everyone else around him. He thought that's what made him useful, what made others want to be around him– what use did he have as a person if he wasn’t providing something for them? Chan was a pillar; one who didn’t want to acknowledge that his foundation was inherently broken, and not built on solid enough ground. 

Slowly but surely however, he began to see his worth beyond the material, and stopped seeing his friendships as ones that could easily be stripped away from him by superficial means. It’s not that he thought the people in his life were shallow either, it’s just..

When your self-esteem is so low, and all you’ve ever known is pain and sadness, where the people that were supposed to care for you were either gone or didn’t give a shit, it’s hard to see yourself in the same lens that the people who love you do.

It’s nearly impossible to shake doubt once it has its grip on you, hard to convince yourself people mean it when they say they care when you’ve only ever experienced the opposite. You can’t explain what it’s like to have a brain at war with itself, and he imagines that the only ones who would ever truly understand are the people like him, who have experienced it for themselves and truly know what it means to be lonely. 

But he had come to realize that he wasn’t as alone as he felt; he had countless good people in his life, and all he had to do was open the door and let them in. It wasn’t easy to unlearn all the things Chan had told himself over the years, and there were still many days where he struggled with his self-worth and having compassion for himself, but the people he loved made it worth trying his hardest. 

And you, the person Chan loved most of all, was the catalyst for the change he needed. You pushed him in the right direction, opened his eyes to all the feelings and wants he tried to push away and made him face them head on. He was endlessly grateful to you, and he wanted to show you just how much; which is why now, on your 6 month anniversary (which was actually more like 3, officially speaking), he wanted to do something special. 

But what should he get you? What would be good enough? He knew you’d appreciate the sentiment of his gift more than the price tag of it, but he still felt stuck when considering what would be best for you. He could take you out on a date, but what he really wants is the chance to be alone with you. As much as he loves his brothers, and loves that you’re all friends and get along well, if they interrupt or crash his alone time with you one more time he might burst a blood vessel. 

Theoretically he could do some research and find somewhere for the two of you to be one on one, but his career change didn’t leave him with much of a travel fund (or a gift fund, for that matter.) He could always ask the guys to make themselves vacant for a night, or to just please let him have some alone time with his girlfriend, but God, he could already picture how they’d tease him for asking. Or worse, ask him what his intentions are and make him embarrassed in the process. 

In the end however, Chan swallowed his pride, and asked his brothers kindly but firmly to let him have the house to himself so he could spend his anniversary alone with you. He did get some teasing and embarrassing questions, but overall not as bad as what he anticipated, thankfully.

Did he want to have sex with you? Yes, obviously. Was that the reason he was doing this? Absolutely not. That’s not to say he wouldn’t welcome it if it happened of course, but it was in no way his sole motivation.

He hadn’t done that with you yet, and though he wanted to, he was in no way going to rush you into it. Sure, it drove him a little crazy every time you stayed the night and he had you pressed up against him, but he was a gentleman above all else. He had self control.

What he didn’t know though, is that you were also being driven a little crazy by him. The first time he called you “baby”, your stomach did full on somersaults, and if he called you that before he kissed you? Your heart went absolutely crazy!

Then, the first time he removed his shirt to sleep you nearly had a heart attack. He was so toned, and well, you figured he was from how strong he appeared to be, but actually seeing it with your own eyes made your heart race unbelievably fast.

And then, one night when you were lying in his bed together, your back pressed against him as you watched a movie on his laptop, and he leaned forward to kiss you, but the kiss landed on your neck– oh, it was over for you. 

You bit your lip to stop yourself from making an embarrassing sound, face flushing and growing hot. And lately, you came to realize more and more how bad you wanted Chan more intimately. Every time his hand lingered on your waist, every time you felt his body pressed to yours when you hugged, every time you were laying together and he had his arm wrapped around you– you wanted him. 

But how do you go about admitting that? You’d never done this sort of thing before, nor had you been faced with such a strong desire to be intimate with someone before being with Chan.

But now, that it was your 6-more-like-3 month anniversary, you thought maybe now might be the right time to talk about it. It might be difficult to do so without getting shy or embarrassed but you definitely wanted to, and to find out if he ever thought about you in the same way.

Much to Chan’s delight and relief, you didn’t seem at all upset that his plans with you involved having a date at home. His gift to you was a cute, new wolf plush; and while it was certainly was no Wolf Chan, he hoped would comfort you when you weren’t with him. You loved it, instantly hugging him and promising that you’d sleep with Wolf Chan Jr. (as you promptly named it) every night that you weren’t with Chan. 

He put on a movie that you’d once said was a favorite of yours but that he had never seen, and it warmed your heart that he remembered and wanted to watch it with you. He ordered your favorite take out meal, spent the entire evening cuddled close to you and sweetly reminding you how much he loved you.

When night settled in and you began to grow tired, you changed into your pajamas separately before you went to his room. And still, the question was weighing on you– does he want you? Will you be able to tell him that you'd been giving having sex with him a lot of thought?

And then you walked into the room after finishing changing, and saw that he planned on only sleeping in some sweatpants, you internally lost your mind. No way would you be able to sleep if he was next to you looking that good and while your mind was plagued with less than innocent thoughts.

So when the lights were off, and you were laid next to him, you conjured all your bravery to speak your mind. “Chan.. can I ask you something?” He sat up a bit upon hearing you, finding your eyes in the darkness to give you his full attention.

“Of course, what is it?” He asks and you swallow, taking a moment to steady your voice before you come right out with it. “Do you ever.. think about having sex with me?” Holy fuck. That is the last thing he was expecting to hear.

“W-What? I-I– well–” he sputters nervously, his face growing hot within seconds. “I-I just.. I have so.. I thought I’d ask..?” you mutter shyly, hoping you won’t be faced with a mortifying rejection. 

Oh no. That admission makes his brain short circuit for a moment, mind reeling as he processes what you’ve just said. You’ve thought about it? With him? You want to… with him?

“O-Of course I have, I just didn’t know if you wanted to, a-and I didn’t want you to feel pressured if I instigated so..” he trails off, hoping that he didn’t unintentionally make you feel undesired by holding off on touching you more intimately. 

Relief rushes through you, happy to be reminded what a gentleman your boyfriend is and to know that he wants you too. “I-In that case.. do you want to tonight?” you ask, and you feel him suck in a breath before he answers.

“I– y-yeah, I want to,” he says, shy but honest as he seeks out your hand, “as long as you’re sure you’re ready.”

“I’m sure, I really want to,” you tell him, squeezing his hand and offering him a smile. Chan gets up from the bed to turn on some dim mood lighting, because he definitely doesn’t want his first time with you to be in complete darkness– he needs to see you.

You sit up, watching him in nervous excitement before he sits next to you. “I’ll– I’ll take care of you so.. Just let me know if I’m going too fast or you need to stop, okay?” he asks and you assure him that the minute you feel even slightly uncomfortable, you’ll let him know.

He smiles, a shy and cute one, guiding you to turn so both of your bodies are facing each other before he lets you know, “I’m going to kiss you now.” His hand rests just below your ear, fingers on your neck and his thumb tracing circles on your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

The kiss is slow– much slower than all the others you’ve shared with him until now. It’s sensual, each kiss soft and languid, pulling away for only a second before he connects his lips with yours again. You can feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach as he deepens the kiss, his other hand carefully landing on your waist. 

Your hands sit awkwardly in your lap at first, not quite sure what you should do with them and what’s okay. But to your surprise, the more Chan kisses you, the more you find yourself naturally following his lead, as if this isn’t something entirely new to you. He tilts you back, carefully guiding your back to the bed, his body finding its place between your legs. 

You bring your arms around his neck, urging him to press his body closer to yours and leave no free space between you. You want him as close as possible, to feel his weight on you, to be enveloped by him and feel him all over.

You’re so responsive to his touch that it drives Chan crazy with want; the way your body shivers when he runs his hand down your waist to your hip, the way goosebumps rises on your skin when his fingers linger near your waistband, the way your mouth opens for him when he licks your bottom lip– he loves it all. 

A soft sound escapes your throat when he lets his tongue in your mouth, your arms moving from around his neck to let your hands explore his body, running down his chest and feeling his abs under your fingertips.

Feeling his tongue circle around yours, his breath being shared with you and yours with him, it’s enough to make you dizzy already. You’ve never felt a desire like this before, this overwhelming want to have his hands explore every inch of your skin. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, wow, he’s breathless just from the sight of you. Your lips red and glossy, your eyes hazy with need, your hair having fallen around you like a halo; his angel– you’re forever his angel.

Chan caresses your lip with his thumb, wanting to stare at you for just a moment longer before he diverts his attention elsewhere. He smiles when you kiss his thumb, finding the action cute (and hot if he’s being honest, but he’ll explore that thought later.)

He lowers his head back down to you, giving you one more kiss before he leans towards your neck, kissing just under your ear before trailing hot, open mouthed kisses slowly down the expanse of your jaw and to your neck.

Some of them tickle, making you giggle softly in response, but he knows he’s found the right spot when instead of giggling, you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you tilt your head to the side, allowing him to have more access to your sweet spot. 

You can feel him smile against your skin before he resumes his wet kisses and licks, latching his mouth to the spot that makes you react the most and sucking gently. The noises that leave you are intoxicating and addictive, soft breathy little moans that almost get completely drowned out by the sound his kisses leave on your dampening skin.

His hands travel to the hem of your shirt, and he separates from your neck, looking at you for any sign that you want him to stop before he begins to pull it up. You look shy, maybe a little nervous, but not at all hesitant or scared of his touch. You welcome it, letting him strip you of your top and toss it to the floor.

You’re not wearing a bra, you never do when you go to bed, and while Chan suspected that to be the case, he never asked or commented on it, because admitting that he noticed a difference would also mean admitting that he’d look at your chest. But now, he'll be able to do so freely, to stare at you openly (and hopefully not be too embarrassed about it.)

The way he stares in awe of you makes you blush, and when he calls you beautiful on top of it, you almost want to cover your face from how shy you feel. He can’t compliment you while you’re exposed to him like this, you don’t think your heart can take it. Your reaction makes him smile, but he hopes you know that he means it; Chan isn’t saying you're beautiful just to say it, you truly are– the most beautiful person he’s ever met, both body and soul. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, hands lingering patiently near your breasts, not wanting to touch them until you give him clearly spoken permission. You nod, but he still hesitates until you say it, which you simultaneously appreciate but feel extremely embarrassed from. Chan rewards you with a kiss, another long one meant to ease away the embarrassment and put your focus entirely on enjoying the moment. 

Your breath hitches when he finally touches your breasts, your body quivering when his calloused thumbs brush over your nipples. He lingers on every kiss so sweetly, every touch of your body slow and careful, not just for your comfort but also to commit it to memory, to ensure that he always remembers what his first time with you was like. He kisses down your neck again, and you watch with bated breath as he draws closer to your chest. 

Chan takes his time fondling your breasts as he covers them in kisses, squeezing gently and listening intently to all the sounds he draws from you. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and spending some time softly sucking before giving the other an equal amount of attention.

The more attention he showers your breasts with, the wetter you become, your panties becoming increasingly drenched with your arousal. If he wasn’t between your legs, you’d be pressing them together in a desperate attempt to gain some relief, your pussy aching to be touched but at the same time wanting to let Chan take his time making you feel good.

He doesn’t separate from your chest until he’s satisfied, starting to trail kisses down your stomach, stopping to look up at you once he’s at the waistband of your shorts. “Still okay?” he asks and you nod (perhaps a bit too eagerly), lifting your hips up so he can easily pull your clothes down your legs. 

He hooks his fingers into your shorts and panties, hands slightly trembling as he pulls them down your thighs and then off your legs, discarding them off to the floor with your top. Now that he sees you fully exposed to him, Chan feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, his cock unceremoniously twitching as he stares at your body.

You can see how hard it’s grown from beneath his sweatpants, and God, you can already tell it’s big. You sit up, this time being the one to initiate a kiss as you tug at Chan’s sweatpants, not so subtly asking him to help you take them off.

It’s his turn to feel shy, face starting to burn to the tips of his ears as he separates from you to remove them more easily. The way you attentively watch him certainly doesn’t help, nor the way you overtly stare at his cock when it’s freed from his clothing. 

You look back to his face, and though he’s feeling shy, he offers you a smile, one that you return just as timidly. Another kiss before you lay back again, your heart racing as you watch him resume his earlier path, placing kisses to the soft expanse of your skin. From your cute tummy down to your thighs, it’s driving you crazy how close his face has gotten to your core without having given it any attention yet. 

He carefully spreads your legs further apart, swallowing when your pussy comes entirely into his view. So cute and dripping wet, all for him, because of him– God, you’re perfect. As he’s done with every inch of your body up to this point, his first course of action is to kiss. Your hips jolt when he kisses your clit, and when he flattens his tongue and licks, oh, you’re in heaven. 

You’ve never felt anything as good as this, your entire body shuddering as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. The slow pace he starts with drives you wild, taking his time familiarizing himself with the way you taste, the motions you like, and indulging in the pretty sound of your whimpers and moans.

Chan picks up the pace when he finds what you like, alternating from pushing his tongue as deep into your hole as it can go and then back to your clit. He uses his hands to keep your legs spread, can feel the way they tremble and twitch as your orgasm grows closer.

Your hands clutch at his bedsheet, desperate mewls growing in volume as the knot in your stomach builds. He directs all of his attention to your clit, keeping his pace steady as he squeezes your thighs in his hands, his eyes closed as he focuses entirely on getting you to cum all over his tongue. 

He can’t help but groan when your hands move to his head, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging just enough to cause a slight sting. “C-Close, so close-” you warn and he hums, ready and eager to taste your release.

You cum with a choked cry, your entire body trembling as the blinding white pleasure courses through your veins. Your heart pounds, chest heaving as you try to collect your breath, mind hazy from your post-orgasm bliss. 

You don’t even register that Chan has moved from his spot between your legs until he kisses you, tasting yourself on his tongue bringing you back to reality. Seeing you like this not only fills Chan with an insane amount of want, but also with pride, knowing that he’s the reason you’re in this state.

“Baby,” he calls to you, urging you to look at him. His face flushes when you do, cause fuck, you’re so pretty like this, but no use getting shy again now. “I– I want to get you ready to take me, i-is that okay?” Chan hates that he stutters a bit while asking, but he can’t help it when he’s this worked up and you’re laying there looking pretty beyond words.

“Y-Yeah, please,” you practically beg, and fuck, he’s weak for that. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to resist giving you whatever you want if you make begging like that a habit of yours. He carefully moves from between your legs to be next to you, kissing you sweetly as he rubs his fingers between your folds.

You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and leaking, his pre-cum smearing on the skin it touches. “C-Channie–” you call and he immediately comes to stop, looking at you in concern. “What’s wrong, angel? Change your mind?” he asks, brows furrowing in worry. 

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel any concern before you speak up again, “I want- Can I touch you too?” You can feel his cock twitch from your question, his face flaring and ears burning.

“Y-Yeah, of course,” he says, adjusting his position enough for his cock to be within reach of your hand. He can’t help but shudder and gasp when you bring your fingers to his flushed tip, coating your fingers in pre-cum and spreading it down the length of his shaft. 

Your hand is so much softer than his, so warm, and fingers barely able to wrap fully around due to how thick he is. He can’t help but get lost in watching for a moment, eyes transfixed on the way your hand slowly moves up and down. You look at Chan, watching the way his expression changes as he bites his lip– how does he look so gorgeous and sexy at once? 

Regaining his focus, he prods at your hole with his fingers before he slips the middle one inside. God, you’re so warm and wet and tight, that the thought alone of being inside you is enough to make Chan want to cum. He can’t wait to fuck you, to feel you squeezing him, and to find out what noises you’ll make when his cock is touching the deepest parts of you. 

But first, he needs to prep you well– so he starts by moving his finger in and out slowly and carefully until he’s sure you can take another. You whimper when he adds a second finger, your motions on his cock stopping for just a moment as you adjust to the new sensation you’re feeling. His fingers are much longer and thicker than your own, and it sends ripples of pleasure throughout your body with every move they make. 

You match the pace of your hand with that of his fingers, mirroring the slow movements, but adding pressure by squeezing your hand around him. When he picks up his pace, you do as well, and your stomach flips when he curses under his breath and groans.

You’re mesmerized when his head falls back for a moment, his breathing becoming heavier and his stomach and thighs flexing from the pleasure he feels. But when his fingers curl, your concentration breaks, the spot he touches making you see stars as loud a moan falls from your lips. 

It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, head falling back against the pillows and your eyes rolling back as he prods it over and over again. Your pace on his cock loses its rhythm, trying your best to keep steady through the immense pleasure you feel but failing at the task miserably.

Chan doesn’t mind in the slightest– in fact, he welcomes it, because he doesn’t want to cum before he's had the chance to be inside you. He brings his thumb to your clit, applying pressure as he draws circles over it, and that’s enough to make you entirely crumble. “Oh my god–” you gasp, your hand falling away from his cock as you succumb to what he gives you.

You’re cumming before you can even really process it, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your body trembles. He doesn’t stop until he’s sure you’ve come down from the high, carefully sliding his fingers out of you and licking them clean. 

Your eyes are closed, breath shaky as your heart pounds, and you feel so good. Chan carefully pushes the hair stuck on your face with sweat away, and you smile at him when you open your eyes. “Felt good, huh?” he asks with a shy smile of his own, “Do you still want to keep going? Not too tired?”

“Wanna keep going, wanna feel you inside me,” you answer, and you can feel him twitch against your thigh again, evidently excited by your words. He stands from the bed to rifle through his nightstand, pulling a condom from the drawer as you settle comfortably in the middle of the bed.

Chan takes his place between your legs, and you watch as he opens the package and rolls the condom on with no trouble (despite how much his hands are trembling from the anticipation.) He takes his cock in his hand, lining himself up with your entrance and then looking back to your face. 

“You’re still sure?” he asks, and you nod without hesitation. “Mhm, I love you so much Channie, wanna do this with you and only you,” you assure him, and wow, does that make him positively melt.

“Such an angel,” he tells you before he kisses you, happy beyond words, “my angel.” He slides inside with relative ease given how slick you are, the only resistance he meets being from how tight you still are even after having gotten his fingers. 

He watches you the entire time, stopping when he notices you wince, and only resuming his slow push when your body starts to release its tension. Chan kisses you, holds your hand and lets you squeeze as hard you need, not moving a single inch until you’re ready for it. To your surprise, it doesn’t take all that long for you to adjust to the stretch, and soon enough you find yourself eager for stimulation. 

You don’t verbally say it, but Chan can tell you’re ready by the pleasured whimper that pours into your kiss when you feel him twitch inside, and how you unconsciously move your hips to try and seek the friction you crave. He starts slow, for his sake as much as yours, because he’ll cum much sooner than he wishes to otherwise.

He’s still kissing you, swallowing your soft moans and letting you consume his low groans. It takes him a moment to find your spot with just his cock, but he can tell he’s got it when you loudly gasp and clench tightly around him. 

He moves his hands to your hips and then to your legs, holding them in his hands and using them for leverage when he starts to pick up his pace. Your hands are on his face, holding him close as you continue to kiss and muffle each other’s noises that are beginning to grow in volume. You’re glad Chan asked the guys to leave for the night, because with how good it feels you couldn’t possibly keep your voice down, even if you wanted to. 

“Fuck, baby, feel so good, ‘m gonna cum,” Chan tells you between breathy groans and your stomach flips, eager to find out what he looks and sounds like when he’s cumming inside you. He brings two fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles to ensure you cum again too and that he doesn’t leave you wanting. You whine, sensitive from all the attention you’ve received but still feeling way too good to ask him to stop. 

“Cum again for me, please angel, need you to so bad, please-” Oh, that really does it for you. You cum hard, making a mess of his fingers as you do, clutching tightly to his arms as your head falls back. Chan’s high follows close behind, his thrusts turning sloppy as he chases it, his cum spurting into the condom in quick bursts.

The two of you stay like that for a time, breathing heavily as you come down from your highs together. Chan pulls out slowly once he’s caught his breath, quickly removing the condom and tying it off, disposing of it in the trash can at the foot of his bed before he lays down next to you.

You immediately turn towards him, wrapping your arm around him and pulling him into a hug. “We should get cleaned up but.. Wanna cuddle first,” you say and Chan smiles, always finding it so cute when you’re clingy towards him, and even more so now after an intimate moment. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back and kisses the top of your head, watching you fondly as you yawn and snuggle as close to him as you can. “Baby, you’re gonna fall asleep if we stay like this too long. Let’s get you cleaned up before you get too cozy, yeah?” Chan reasons and you pout, knowing he’s right but not wanting to leave the comfortable, blissful place you’re in. He chuckles when you look at him with that pout, so adorable and cute in his eyes. 

“C’mon, won’t take long. And we’ll go straight to bed as soon as we’re done, promise,” he tries again and you reluctantly agree, begrudgingly tearing yourself away from your boyfriend's warm embrace.

Your legs are a bit wobbly, so Chan helps you stabilize yourself, walks you to the bathroom and helps you in the shower. He takes his time to dry you off well and get you dressed in fresh clothes, and helps you back into bed.

You yawn and snuggle into Chan as soon he’s settled next to you, eyes heavy and body beyond exhausted. You’re a little sore, but so happy, and Chan took such good care of you that you feel relaxed despite the aches.

He holds you close, whispering a soft ‘I love you’, smiling when you sleepily mumble it back. He’s so lucky to have you, so blessed to have you here in his arms, loving him in both his good moments and his bad, never giving up on him even when you likely should have. 

You saw how flawed of a person he was and loved him regardless, knew of his mistakes and regrets and supported him anyway, encouraging him every step of the way on his road to change. There were so many times he felt he didn’t deserve the love and compassion he received, so many times he felt worthless and miserable, and you graciously helped him to see that he was a person worth more than he gave himself credit for. 

It was still hard at times to have love and compassion for himself, to extend himself the care he freely offered to others, to believe it’s what he deserved, but he’d never stop trying. Until the day came where he could confidently say he loves himself, that he believes in his heart that he’s not someone worthless, he’ll keep trying.

And you’ll be there, holding his hand, giving him the safe space he needs to cry and to feel, your unconditional love giving him the reassurance and hope he needs to live a life he can be proud of– a life he promises to always share with you.

[distressed-devilsitter]

Apart

In which the brothers realize you're missing, and the events that follow. A prequel of sorts to Nightbringer.

Warnings: angst, gore, and minimal proofreading. Mild spoilers for Obey Me! Nightbringer. Implied Solodeus x Reader. As always, minors DNI. 🔞

Mammon

Mammon notices first. Your absence is an immediate, gaping void in his chest.

It feels like snipped string - a clean break. One moment, you're there, and the next...

Mammon's first instinct is to reach out with his pact - and when he's met with a cold, empty abyss, he panics.

Mammon's second instinct is to call Lucifer. The eldest is, after all, one of the most powerful demons in existence.

But there's nothing. No physical evidence, no trace of magic. It's like you vanished.

Mammon organizes search parties. He spents weeks trudging through the devildom (even the areas no human could survive) looking for you.

But, as the days wear on, it becomes clear that you're gone. Possibly for good.

Mammon tries to fill the void with whatever he can - money, gambling: his usual vices. But nothing can replace you.

In the early hours of the morning, when the house is still and the moon has barely crested the horizon, he sneaks into your room. He wraps himself in your sheets and clings to your fading scent.

Mammon never gives up on you. He 100% believes that it's only a matter of time before you return.

Until then, he's waiting. He'll always wait for you.

Leviathan

Levi is the second brother to notice your absence.

His anxiety spikes. Your disapperance is marked by this quiet feeling of unease. Of inherent wrong.

Levi's first reaction is to call you. And when his call goes to voicemail not once or twice, but ten times, he spirals.

While Mammon covers dark, wooded forests and cloud-filled skies, Leviathan find his way to the ocean.

Beaches - especially the ones located in the farthest reaches of the devildom - are dangerous for humans. They're filled with ancient horrors: things with far too many eyes and too many teeth.

Being here brings back memories of the celestial war. But, he'll brave them. For you.

And when it becomes clear that you're not coming back? That you may never return?

Leviathan isolates himself. He's made great progress over the years - joining his brothers on excursions into town, venturing into the foyer when guests visit - but he regresses when you're gone.

He spends most of his days gaming. His brothers rarely see him, even for meals.

His figurines are gathering dust. The newest issues of TSL sits on his desk, unopened.

Without you, Leviathan becomes a ghost of his former self - just another specter that roams the house of lamentation.

Satan

Asmodeus once said that if the Avatar of Wrath became truly angry, the world would end. It's a chilling thought - that the wrath he displays isn't full extent of his power.

When you disappear, Satan is waiting for you at the library. It's a calm day - students in red and black uniforms drag feathered quills over curled parchment, while the librarian tends to his stack of books.

Then, someone whispers, and a book slams shut -

And that's all it takes to set him off.

The Avatar of Wrath succumbs to a rage he hasn't felt since the earliest days of his existance. His anger burns - and he takes it out on those around him.

There's blood under his nails and dust on his clothes. And Satan, like some lesser demon, revels in the destruction. He pulls himself from the wreckage and stalks towards the town.

He tears down forests. He razes cities. His reach is endless and his wrath, unending.

It takes Lucifer, Barbatos, and Diavolo to capture him.

While you're gone, Satan is under house arrest.

Everyday, he loses more of himself to his sin - and eventually, his brothers wonder if there's anything left of him at all.

Asmodeus

It's Asmo who bullys pursuades Solomon to follow you into the past.

Now two of the most important people in his life are gone.

In public, Asmo pretends like nothing has happened. He attends classes, hosts livestreams, and holds several Asmo gatherings per week.

In private? He's a wreck.

Asmo has lost the two people whom he values the most - the humans who know that Asmo is both deeply insecure and intrinsically flawed - but choose to love him anyway.

Asmo spends much of his time at the Fall. He loses himself to sharp taste of demonus on his tounge and the heavy, repetitive music. Hands reach out to grab him, and the avatar reaches back.

In the morning, Asmodeus wakes up in an unfamiliar room next to a stranger. They have the shape of your face and the same color hair.

Quietly, Asmodeus gathers his things and leaves. His makeup is smudged and he feels volatile- like a supernova before it implodes.

Beelzebub & Belphegor

It's Beel who finds your D.D.D. in an alleyway way. The screen is cracked and he smells blood.

From there, the twins have vastly different responses:

To cope with your absence, Belphie sleeps.

The avatar prefers his dreams to reality. Nestled in the soft embrace of sleep, he sees you again.

He tells you everything. How he cares. That he misses you. That he's sorry.

Beel, on the other hand, can't sleep.

He also dreams of you: sometimes, they start out normally. Maybe it's movie night at the HoL, maybe he's on a picnic. But they always end the same: you, broken and bloody, at his feet.

He awakes with a start. Normally, after a nightmare, he'd seek you out. But you're not there. Instead, Beel clings to his twin and cries.

For once, Beel loses his appetite. Food doesn't taste as good when you're not around.

If When you return, he'll treat you to all your favorite foods. Just come back soon. Please?

Lucifer

Father must be laughing at him. No matter how hard he tries, his family keeps falling apart.

Out of all his brothers, Lucifer has the hardest time adjusting. Everything reminds him of you - the unopened bags of acidic coffee in the cabinets, the poison apples you'd bring to his study.

At night, he pours two glasses of demonus. (It's an old habit, from the days when you sought comfort at his side. He'd open one of his finest bottles and listen to you troubles). Still, he's loathe to let a good spirit go to waste. He drinks both, and toasts to your memory.

EDIT: I am a fool who forgot the taglist. 🫣

@simpinginthecorner @dreamingaboutyousworld @celyn-12 @iwanttodieplz @solomonslostsock @silveredwood

[daughterofcain-67]

🅦hαt 🅞ncє 🅦αs 🅜ínє

(Dean Winchester x Reader)

(Part 2) (Part 3)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Dean have been close for the past couple of years but you have hunting with them for the past few. You notice that he has seemed off when he came back from Purgatory and all you wanted to do was help. After an argument breaks out- you leave for about a year with a secret you can’t afford to tell.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: some spoilers - some may be MAJOR spoilers, read at your own risk (seasons 6-8, I believe: MAY NOT BE ACCURATE), a brief mention of a night of intimacy but no graphic detail. This story does not follow along with any specific episode

Your heart raced with adrenaline from the last hunt you were on with the Winchester brothers. It was a tough one too and it didn't help that you had been worried about Dean the entire time. You had been with the Winchesters for the past three years. However, there was a shift between the two of you ever since he came back from Purgatory.

You noticed that he had become lost in a way - especially since Cass was gone. You knew that Purgatory was almost like a Hell for Dean since he seemed to feel a sort of guilt. But he wouldn't talk to you about it and you couldn't read his mind. You felt like you were drifting apart.

You remembered the night that Dean finally came back. You knew that Sam had moved on and tried to make a life for himself. But you couldn't move on so easily. You knew at the time he had just moved on from Lisa, then the job got busier and busier with the Leviathan. Then the next thing you knew he was in Purgatory for so long and you never got to tell him how you truly felt.

At least, not until the night that he finally came back.

You remembered the way he looked all roughed up after he came back. How handsome he was, but maybe it was just because you were just so glad that he was back. One thing lead to another and you ended up spending a passionate night together and it was a night you could never forget.

Even if at this moment you were trying so hard not to, especially considering the current circumstances you were in personally. For the past several weeks you were carrying Dean's child. You didn't know how to tell him and a part of you knew he couldn't handle it with everything going on.

"Dean, what the hell is going on with you? I know you went through a lot of crap in Purgatory, and I know you must be missing Cass a hell of a lot right now. We all do! But if you can't get your head on straight or at least talk to somebody, you might end up getting yourself killed one day because you can't focus!" You tried your best to explain.

"Don't act like you know how the hell I handle what's in my head, Y/N." He stated with a growl. "You don't know half the shit I've been through. You weren't there when I was in Hell. You weren't there when Lucifer took over Sam's mind. I know what I'm doing so why don't you stay the hell out of it!?"

"I can't stay out of it because I care about you! Sam cares about you! You know if Cass were here, he'd-"

"Don't you dare bring him up. You know, I should have just listened to Sam when you first came onto the scene." He said and rolled his eyes before he poured himself another glass of whisky.

"Listened to Sam? What was it that he said? Dean, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're nothing but a liability! You do nothing but get in the way! We should have never brought you on that very first hunt!" His words broke you to pieces. How long had he felt this way towards you? And everything you went through, did all of this mean nothing to him? You had done your best to be there for him and he just thought you were in the way the whole time?

You saw the instant regret on Dean's face after he said what he did but it was too late. You looked away from him and your eyes started to burn with tears that were starting to form

"Y/N, wait, I didn't mean-"

"Forget it, Dean. You want me gone, then I'll leave. I won't be in your way. You want to self destruct, fine. You have Sam to worry about you."

Then you packed your bags and left.

*************************************************

All of that happened about a year ago.

For a year you went through a pregnancy and a birth alone. You didn't have all of the answers. You didn't know how the hell you were supposed to take care of your little girl on your own. But you were doing everything you could by taking it one day at a time. That was all you could really do at this point.

Throughout the pregnancy you were working at a Walgreen's and you were living in a small apartment and trying your best to get by. You were doing well for the most part though. Better than living on the road and hopping from one hotel room to another.

Luckily, tonight you were able to have your day off. So you spent your time with your beloved daughter, Y/C/N. She had Dean's forest-green eyes and your hair color. She was only about three months old but you wanted to protect her from everything that was out there, especially since you knew what dangers were out there. If any demon, angel or monster found out there was a little Winchester- who knew what kind of horror would be after the last piece of Dean you had.

Once you had finished giving your baby girl her bath and gotten her dress on, you noticed some lights flickering in the room. That was instantly a red flag in your mind. Of course you knew all the ins and outs of hunting and keeping your home safe because of your experience with the Winchesters. And there were some occasions when it really was just a blown fuse and there was no sulfur left behind. But you were always cautious, and understandably so.

You held the baby close as you went to your room and you watched as the lights started to flicker again. You took the can of salt on your dresser and used your free hand to open it up and you put it on your windowsills, beneath the door, anywhere to prevent demons from coming in. And even if they did, you had a rug in front of your bedroom door that had a devil's trap beneath it so it wouldn't get to you or your daughter.

Suddenly, you hear your apartment door bust open and you start hearing all kinds of commotion like a fight was happening only for a demonic cry to be heard. You covered Y/C/N's ears and held onto her and you wondered what the hell was happening out there. Soon, though, you started hearing voices.

"I think that's all of them. Let's get back so I can be ready for work at the station by Monday." Was that Jodi? What are was she doing all the way out here.

"We have to see if she's here though. Who knows what can be out there looking for her." That sounded like Castiel. When did he come back? How did he come back!? Your mind was swirling with so many questions.

You slowly got out of the bed and walked over to the door. When you opened it you saw Cass and Jodi look towards your direction and you watched Jodi's eyes light up and a smile showed on her face.

"Y/N! You're safe! It's so good to see you." She said as she walked over and that was when she saw your little bundle of joy in your arms, "And who's this precious thing?"

"Jodi, Cass! It's really good to see you guys! This is Y/C/N. She's mu daughter." You introduced.

"Daughter? When did that happen? Do you have a boyfriend here?" Jodi began to ask and you shook your head at the last question.

"No boyfriend, and I found out about a year ago, and Half Pint here is three months. I've just been here trying to lay low so nothing finds us." You explained and you could feel the angel's gaze. When you glanced over, you knew he could tell what happened. And who knew what Dean told him when he came back. If he even went to Dean that is.

"Does Dean know?" It was an inevitable, and reasonable, question that you knew was bound to come up from Castiel. He knew of your feelings for the older brother, and he knew there seemed to be something unspoken between you two for a while before he went to Purgatory. Other than that, you didn't know if Dean filled him in on anything else.

"I didn't get the chance to tell him. I left after a fight we had. Something about how he shouldn't have let me tag along on the first hunt." You felt a soft hand on your shoulder and knew that it was Jodi.

"Why don't you both come and stay with me? It'll be a lot safer that way and at least you won't be on your own. Plus you wouldn't have to worry so much about monsters coming in without backup." The sheriff said and motioned to the salt on the windowsills.

You thought about it for a few moments and looked down at your daughter who was rubbing her eyes like she was tired. You had to think of what was best for her. You knew she didn't need a mom who was stretched thin with work then having to worry about hunting. It would be great to have the help. No one said that being a single mom was easy.

"Yeah, that would be great, Jodi. I appreciate it." You nodded

~

So much had been going on since you've left and it was like Sam and Dean couldn't get a rest. After Kevin took a Word of God from Crowley and have him translate the tablets to Sam having to complete certain trials that Dean knew he shouldn't be doing anyway. And that was the current thing on the Winchesters' agenda.

Too much has been going on and Dean was already getting so tired of all of it. There seemed to be no end to it but he knew he had to stay determined through all of it at least for his brother's sake. He's pretty much left behind the idea of retiring from this gig. He tried that once and of course the Apple Pie life fell through for him.

What sucks about it is that Dean didn't have you in his back corner anymore. You weren't there to be his 'new eyes' on a situation or bring some kind of positive to a situation. You weren't there to have little drinking competitions with him, remark on crappy television with him, you weren't there to take his mind off this job he was raised in.

And pushing you away was another item on his never-ending list of regret.

But of course, with all of the things he had on his plate and having to save the world yet again, he couldn't exactly showed just how much he had been thinking about you even if you've never left Dean's mind. And Sam knew it too.

Dean was sitting at one of the tables in the Bunker since that's where he and Sam have been living. He knew if you were here you'd probably make it a little more home-y. Lately he had been focusing on the trials that Sam had to face. He passed the first one but he knew this was going to take a toll on Sam. If he could trade places than he would, but Sam could be just as stubborn as Dean sometimes.

Dean looked over at the bottle of whisky before he picked it up and poured himself another glass before he opened up his laptop to do some research outside of these books. The first trial that Sam completes was bathe in hell hound blood. The next one was saving a soul from Hell. The final was to cure a demon and that would be a whole other ball game when the time came up. One thing at a time. He wasn't sure how his brother was supposed to do the next trial but he knew that Cass said Sam's health would decrease almost at a subatomic level.

While Dean was deep in his thoughts of this trial business, his phone started to ring unexpectedly.

Dean glanced over at his phone and saw Jodi's name and picture show up on his screen. An odd surprise since it's been a while since he had heard from her but he picked up the phone wondering if something was wrong and she needed some kind of help.

"Jodi? What's up?" He asked and took a sip of his whisky before setting the glass down on the table.

"Dean? It's Y/N... we need to talk."

Thank you all for reading!

This is my 1st mini series for Dean Winchester so thank you for taking am interest in reading this! If you liked this little story please feel free to comment or like it! Especially if you’d like to see a second part to this story to see if the reader will tell Dean about their daughter in the midst of what’s going on. 🖤

Tag List:

@chriszgirl92 @wildernessflora

[angelstate]

“Understood and Seen”

Miserable!Ghost x Miserable!Reader

Loneliness was something he was used to, the weight of years of social isolation had managed to tame him enough that seeking a lover seemed to be an action he rather not do, he appreciated too much the quietness at night, the ability to walk away from somewhere and not be missed, not having to worry about leaving someone behind if he were to die in the battlefield.

it brought a sense of peace in a way, a sadistic and destructive one in the long run, destined to forever be desolated, to perish with no one holding his hand as he takes his last breath. It was a miserable ending, as Johnny made him see.

Then you came along, pretty smile and the touch of a pristine and unblemished angel, unaware of the torture that could be being a human, like you were created for the sole purpose of bringing peace to the disturbed people roaming the earth like himself.

it would’ve been stupid to let you go, to not let his claws sink into your skin, no matter how much he wanted to leave you untouched and well like when he first met you. What’s another sin under his name? if he is destined to burn in hell for having touch you, then he would endure infinite torture just for the opportunity to hold your hand.

It was cruel truly, the way you could never seem to stop gifting feathers from your wings till you couldn’t fly away from the greedy hands of miserable people, trying to snatch your bones and limbs to suffice themselves.

he felt bad at times, your struggle was visible even when you tried to hide it behind kind smiles, gentle touches and soft hearted worry. giving and being stolen from while thanking those who took, comforting them if they felt awful about grabbing more than they needed.

Sometimes kindness took opportunities away from you more than it gave them, you were a clear example that sometimes being a good person gets you nowhere, he should know, his family was killed when he chose to be good.

quietness didn’t suit you, that’s what simon believed after knowing you for almost two years. The beaming energy is always present even when you are just sitting on a chair with a book in your hands. A sort of joy was always there, a faint hum always leaving your lips, like you couldn’t stand the quietness in any way.

therefore, the sight in front of him is weird to say the least, you were sitting in your usual chair, no book in hand, eyes opened as you stared out the window, there was no one outside, the heavy rain had stopped the ability of trainees and other soldiers to go outside and do their normal schedules.

so what were you looking at? he couldn’t exactly tell, maybe the rain? but then again, you weren’t one to get hung up on sad aspects of life, the way rains interrupts the flow of your life, takes away opportunities of doing things out in nature because risking your health is something you rather not do, knowing you were too needed to compromise something so important for your own enjoyment, you can “fill your enrichment time doing other things after all” or that’s what you always told him.

you closed the doors that opened for you every time you could, not taking opportunities if it meant you couldn’t give one to another person, being selfless is a step away from being self destructive, Simon believed you had already walked past the distance though.

far too gone for your own good, but what can he do, when he is the type to walk away every time life asks for more than he’s willing to give, and you are only able to walk impossibly closer to give more than life asks you to hand over.

He's too different to understand you, it’s futile to try and adopt your perspective. He doesn’t spend time doing rotten work, not even for himself, although he allows himself to sympathize with you.

“enjoying the rain?” he asks suddenly, breaking you out of your chain of thoughts.with a harsh soop, sometimes you wished he wasn’t so good at gathering your attention.

you hummed in confirmation at his words, eyes briefly looking towards him, gaze with a dimmed glee in it. something was missing, he could sense it in his every bone, every fiber of his being buzzed as a signal there was a thing out of place, interrupting the usual peace and joy that circulated all around you.

“reminds me of home” you muttered softly, and if it wasn’t for the otherwise quiet and empty room he wouldn’t have been able to hear you. your words ring loudly on his ears and he doesn’t know what to do, for what feels like an eternity of desolation.

home is a word that he doesn’t hear often, people tend to avoid the word like it’s a curse when he’s around, pretending that the existence of a place to go after work is nonexistent. He is grateful sometimes for the quietness in regards to the topic of belonging somewhere but it’s also disheartening.

your answer doesn’t taste bitter in his mouth, it is rather sour and sweet. a complex mix of feelings he is used to experience but still finds overwhelming all the same as the first time he felt them. even without meaning to, you’re able to carve a way into his heart.

it’s like you’re threatening to prove to him that there’s more to life than what he has experienced so far, it terrifies him in a way he would never indulge or admit out loud.

“homesick?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, it wasn’t something unusual for soldiers to experience, even he, with nowhere to go back to, sometimes also felt homesick, the idea of a home most of all but it still counted in his book.

“something like that…rain just made it a bit more painful” you responded to his question, tone so somber that he could feel some of the sadness seep into his skin. today you didn’t feel like being chirpy and he couldn’t really blame you.

you took a deep breath, eyes looking towards him and away from the window, like your mind had finally processed you were talking to someone and not solely focused on pleasing them. Simon watched as you twisted in your seat to face him, a smile on your lips he knew was just part of your routine rather than a sign of your actual feelings.

Everyone gets through life in a different way, he could only imagine how exhausting it must be to try and make everything positive when you’re clearly struggling to float in an ocean of emotions that most people chose to just sink to the bottom and drown.

“sorry..i shouldn’t be gloomy, rain is amazing for the plants” you said apologetically, a red tint in your cheeks he knew was because of embarrassment.

you felt stupid being upset about something so simple, the rain and a home was something a lot of people didn’t have in their lives and yet you believed you had the right to be sad about something that should be appreciated.

even without meaning to, you were selfish. selfish…God, what would your mother think about the way you were behaving if she was here right now?

your mind taunts you with whispers, as if the smallest of memories carried the weight of years of pain “don’t be a disappointment, make her proud…for the love of God make her at least not regret having you.”

It feels ridiculous and you question yourself a second too long, maybe you should go to therapy like captain price had suggested all those months ago, no shame in asking for help, you cannot always survive on your own, one way or another you will find yourself also needing things from people to be happy.

“I hate the bloody rain…disturbs combat sessions” Simon said, trying to somehow make you feel less conscious about hating some aspects of life. Everyone is entitled to feel a certain way about things and it's time you understand that.

He wished he could bring himself to say more, a thought in the back of his head that told him you deserved to be one of the people he let into his life after seeing you consistently be present and helpful in every way you can. Maybe he was taking advantage of the situation.

But how could he not do so, you dedicated every ounce of energy running through your veins to comfort the disturbed, like it would fix the people who were born broken, shattered from the womb, welcomed into the world with death and violence.

“that’s a valid reason…yeah” you answered more to yourself than to him, his words replaying in your mind like a broken record, what wouldn’t you give to allow yourself to hate something so openly, to say you hated something and not hear your mother on the back of your head telling you to be grateful, that you were too selfish for hating things people liked and needed.

Simon shrugged, he didn’t need a valid reason to hate the rain, he guessed you were just talking through him, the need to have a valid point to dislike something seemed to be very important to you, almost anguishly so.

“It doesn't need to be valid love…you can have an opinion about the bloody rain without having a reason” he commented, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch for a longer period of time as the conversation went on with great difficulty, the both of you communicating because you thought the other needed it.

two helpless souls who cope in different ways, you were like the embodiment of trying to save people from drowning while not knowing how to swim yourself, and he was the water, taking down every living thing that he let into his space, killing without meaning to, almost unaware of the danger that lie within himself, a graveyard with not memory of the people he buried in it.

you understand his point of view, why he speaks what he does, but it doesn’t help you to accept that having a lack of reasoning isn’t in itself a death sentence to your worth. that you’re allowed to live happily hating something as insignificant as the rain and not be a bad person for it.

this goes beyond the simple rain though, you know it, he knows it but neither of you is ready to recognize it, cowardly so, but you’re not even worthy to criticize even your own behavior so you keep your mouth shut as time continues to pass.

some things are meant to change, the universe cannot continue its flow if they don’t. you should know that, it isn’t healthy to stay behind while pushing everyone to move forwards, wanting the past for yourself, to drown in memories of people who will not return, trying to change situations that already happened, there is no saving them, there is no saving yourself from experience it.

Moving on is a type of love, a love you have been neglecting yourself from.

Simon believes in a lot of things, God isn’t one of them, but he finds himself speaking to God more often than he cared to admit, suggesting him to give you some type of mercy, to give your mind the ability of forgiving and forgetting.

He knows it’s forlorn, that if God exists he isn't the person who God would choose to answer their prayers to, but the effort, as futile as it is, doesn't get lost on him. for once in his life he finds himself trying to seek help, not for his well being directly, but if you're fine, he will be too.

This time he doesn’t mind doing rotten work, not if it is for you.

You knew sooner or later life would catch up to you, that moving fastly wasn’t the right measure, especially when you struggled so greatly moving on from the past. It is conflicting and torturous to be pulled back and forwards constantly, your limbs cannot stand the tugging.

You're not made of rubber, the resistance will not last forever, one day you'll fall and not be able to get up. Caring for yourself is a decision you have to make, there’s no other choice but to tend after your wounds. Bleeding out is not an option.

“this is nice…” you mumbled, tracing your fingers on the hardcover of a book you had bought recently. It wasn’t often you allowed yourself to spend money on things you enjoyed, always buying things for others, the ones you believed deserved nice things more than you did.

It was a small action, one that set a mindset that you too, had the right to be a priority on your list of important things. your mother would be furious if she were by your side right now. Thankfully, sometimes death is kind, not to the people who pass, but to the people who get to live after the loss of someone who harmed them more than they took care of them.

“good to see you taking care of yourself” a voice said from behind you, spanning you out of your thoughts and bringing you back down to earth. It would have been nice to stay in your bubble for a bit longer but you're given the time you're given for now and hope to gain more in the future.

you hum, turning around and the figure of simon coming into view, your grip in the book tightens for a second before loosening in a relaxed manner, no need to bear the claws that you keep hidden to someone who is not set to harm you. not that you would hurt people that do.

you're a dog that doesn’t bark or bite, too domesticated to let instinct take over. wanting to please people more than the want to survive, dying in a pool of your own blood, proud of not bearing your teeth to someone who deserved even the slightest growl.

“is just a book” you replied as humbly as you can bring yourself to be at the moment, part of you believed you owed the biggest cordiality and humbleness to Simon, he was the one who had brought you to the point of being able to buy a book and feel half the guilt you would have experienced otherwise.

and this, in a world full of misfortune, pain and misery can only be described as an overdramatic motion to something as simple as shame to claim written pieces of paper as your own, but is difficult to not see it as the end of the world when you have never been able to even think that your suicide note is of your ownership.

Simon doesn't know the context of your so-called humbleness but he can shoot a guess in the dark and find the target quickly as everyone who cared to give you the slightest bit of attention did.

that was humiliating of course, and he knew better than to bring it up and throw you into a pool of more shame than you could survive in, drowning by the minute, unaware there was no bottom to sink to, just an eternity of feeling unwelcome into your own body and life.

“I have books too” he tries to approach the subject in a way you would,with carefulness and gentleness palpable but he is the furthest thing away from a cautious person when it came to feelings, not indulging in them the same way other people did, barely able to feel any at all most of the time.

So he ends up sounding as stupid as you often feel when speaking to people in the same tone, he cringes at his lack of ability to show he cares in a loving and indirect way, the gentleness of showing you care with more than overused words and phrases.

“What type of books do you read?” you ask, trying to find a crevice to slip through in his life as you always did, but every corner seemed to be sealed shut.

oh how much he wished you would just notice the door he opened just for you to walk in and never leave again.

This is stupid, that much is clear on his mind and yet at the same time the intimate tone of the conversation leaves him starving for more of you, a connection more profound than the care and worry you feel towards him who you think is forced to stand by your side.

“Philosophy” he responds, muttering gruffly his answer like the word feels heavy on his tongue, letting himself be known and seen by someone he feels may just be as rogue as him.

“Lovely…philosophy feeds the soul and kills it in the same motion” you comment, head tilted and eyes focused on the twitch his eyebrows do every few seconds, like it is the only way his emotions can manifest without being shut down by him.

“or my uncle used to say that, it can be false…i don't really read philosophy” yet again you find yourself explaining your words, fumbling over everything that could be said to give a reason to what leaves your mouth.

Do you give meaning to your words, or does the person who hears them?

Is tragic really, it is as if you can't help but run in circles around the idea that Simon would misunderstand you and walk away.

but you guess that the fear is to some degree acceptable, when all your life you've focused on understanding others, at the mere sight of someone trying to understand you you panic, worrying that what you are isn't pretty, worrying they won't understand the ugliness they might find.

All that is left is to let go, Can you let go?

The willingness to live and not just survive is something you have to find within yourself, and walking that path alone is not something you have to do.

Simons stands by your side, an understanding that whatever it is that weighs you down and attached you to your past is worth loving if it means to bring peace to a restless soul.

He wasn't wrong when he first met you, you are an angel who brings peace to the disturbed people roaming the earth, he just wishes the disturbance wasn't a disease.

he wished he had kept you pristine and unaware, no angelical being deserves to experience being a human, you did not deserve the torture that it is to be mortal, to lose and to be hurt.

[momma-pixel]

A Journey Can't Begin Until You Take The First Step, And Then There's No Telling What Will Happen.

[Content Warning: A single mention of drugs, alcohol, suicide. Lots of discussion about depression and mental illness.] This is my 3rd attempt at transitioning and I swear to whatever high atop the thing if this attempt fails I'm gonna absolutely lose my shit. I didn't know it at the time but the route I took from there to here would be wrought with chaos and pain.

My first attempt was an abject failure. Back then we had to follow the Harry Benjamin Standards and go through a Real Life Test in order to start hormone therapy. Unless you were really lucky or had sympathetic doctors you had to deal with the Gatekeepers who wanted receipts, and living in the deep south at the time made this all even worse. This would lead to my final attempt at shedding my mortal coil and boxing her up in the deepest corner of my mental closet.

This is where I danced a downward spiral and gave absolutely no fucks. Drugs and alcohol. A long path of broken hearts from relationships I kept sabotaging. Excessive eating. A day that ended in -y meant the plan was the same - lets make some bad decisions and self-destruct. I was damaging myself physically, mentally, emotionally, and I didn't care. I wasn't looking to the future because I didn't plan on having one, I didn't look to the past either because it only led to blaming myself even more. I looked at the here and now simultaneously damaging myself and doing damage control. It was exhausting!

I had a fight with myself that sort of stopped this. I was in the midst of a manic episode and just riding its wake, coming up on day 3 of no sleep and was working on getting pretty well sloshed. I was alone and just pacing around my house in the dark saying some very awful things to myself and then it happened - I saw my reflection in the mirror and absolutely loathed it! I wanted to recoil from it but instead I got angry. Really angry. Hulk angry. What commenced was a rage-fueled screaming match with myself of hurricane proportions. I can't tell you exactly what was said nor how long it lasted for, but I seems I managed to sleep as when I came to again I was in bed. The brain fog was heavy and deep which was normal, but I would eventually notice a note I wrote myself on my hand that said "I forgive you". I remembered, sort of. The memories were (and still are) hazy, but I remembered just enough to be numb. This was an absolute vast improvement that can't be understated. Its like being negative 5million and suddenly being at 0.

Reconstruction takes time. Current damage has to be assessed and additional damage mitigated. I'd gained a ton of weight, had either burned down or set fire to numerous social bridges, and had a few new health issues that needed to be repaired. A few years later I eventually considered the repair project complete and I was very much a blank slate. I didn't know who I was or what I wanted - it was a pure existential crisis. It made perfect sense at the time and hindsight (and my therapist) says it was absolutely the wrong thing to do, but I said fuck it and built a new me. I frankensteined a new person and would proceed to alter and replace pieces as needed. Write this down kids, this is called an unhealthy coping mechanism.

This invariably leads to the second attempt at transitioning. New me found themself in a new state with new friends, a new path in life, and a new opportunity. Planned Parenthood was now offering transitioning services! No gatekeeping. They said "you know you better than we ever could, as long as you know the risks and are prepared for the changes we can help". This was a warp speed steamroller event. I dug deep into that closet and pulled that box out, letting her out and unabashedly parading her around. Got my hormones, got new clothes, got my own place, and had all the amazing safe and consensual sex I could (sane was not welcome, because this girl had time to make up for!). It was intoxicating! Living, working, shopping, dating as the true me. In this whirlwind I lost friends and family but didn't realize it. I created a hollow existence that had no actual meaning or substance. Sure, my body was starting to look the way I always wanted it to, I was living the life she always wanted to, and there was no one there to stop me.

So that's the thing - there was no one there. It was chistmas day and I was sitting alone in my apartment eating ramen and cold pizza. No text messages or calls, no visitors or invites. The only gift I received that day was from myself, an epiphany. I had once again blown up my life. You see, when you take something out of storage and intend to use it you need to make sure it's still fit for function. She wasn't. She was a battered and bruised beast from a much earlier part of my life that I just kept feeding and had lost control. I had such terrible tunnel vision that I mistook the light of an oncoming freight train for the light at the end of the tunnel.

I detransitioned. I guess you could say I also detoxed. But this time I did not do it alone, I had a good therapist and a good friend that moved in with me. We examined the deepest parts of me, of her, of I. It was tough. The toughest and hardest thing I ever had to do, but it HAD to be done. This civilization I had built was done on the rubble and ruined remains of the last one, which makes for a very poor foundation. It was doomed to fail. My friend sort of acted like a sponsor. She was there to help guide me and make sure I didn't relapse. She helped me sell or give away what I had to, and by the end I had a clean and empty plot of land. Maybe something would grow there, or maybe something would be built there. But no matter what happened, I had to stay vigilant. I had to protect this land because this land was me. I was the sole resident, caretaker, gardener, builder, guardian.

My wife is my world. She knows my entire history, the battles and wars I've fought, the mental and emotional challenges I face every day, and she takes it all with open arms and never complains. When we talked about having kids we didn't know what would happen - between my own biological issues and the changes from the hormones it was a huge question as to whether I even could father a child. We talked about doing all the medical tests my doctor wanted to do as a kid, but when we really thought about it, what would the results change? Would knowing I was intersex, or had some kind of biological irregularity change anything for us? I already had a somewhat clean bill of health from my last checkup. So we said fuck it. It took quite a long time (and not for lack of effort or trying) but we eventually had our first daughter. We also inadvertently sparked something in me.

My therapist didn't know it, my wife didn't know it, and I didn't know it but the birth of my daughter was the trigger for a cascading series of events. As much as I had tried, using all the tools available, I could not keep denying my transgenderedness. Transness? It had always been there, in a quiet and overlooked part of my land, dormant but with just enough life to keep existing. Having a child and becoming a parent was the trigger needed to spark it back to life. Slowly, silently, it grew and stretched out its roots all the while causing emotional and mental issues. My depressive episodes were coming more frequent, but we didn't notice it was depression. My dysphoria was coming back with a vengeance but we thought it was from other sources. My egg was cracking open.

All it took was a simple, innocent, statement and everything changed. My daughter had tripped and fell, started crying, and as I picked her up I said "Come to mommy, baby". My wife noticed what I said, I noticed what I said, and the egg fully cracked open. It would be a series of conversations, large and small, over a few years. It would be 2 steps back and one step forward and jumping in place. We eventually would have the final conversation and determine that yes, I needed to transition. This part of me cannot be denied, ignored, or buried. When I asked what it would mean for our marriage, I said losing you wasn't worth it. She said I married the person, not the gender. We would have our second and last child before starting down this path.

So here we are in my third transition attempt. She has been an integral part from day one. We've explored what I want from this, what can be obtained and what can't, what needs to adjust in our marriage and how we can do it successfully. She gives me my weekly E shots and comes with me to every appointment. This change has also given her the ability to not only explore her own bisexuality, but also gender. We consider our friendship, relationship, and marriage even stronger than before. Our own little family unit is building quite the home on my land. My girls flip/flop between calling me mommy or daddy, but we don't mind since they always call me she or her or even ma'am. My eldest daughter always tells me how pretty I look or how she likes my dress or jewelry. Thanks to an obsession the youngest one had with the movie Coraline, father's day has been celebrated as Other Mother's Day.

Life isn't perfect though, nor should I expect it to be. This journey has also she light on how just how my own mental illnesses have been impacting me and the decisions I've made (if my biography is ever written a copy of the DSM V will need to be packaged with it for reference). Despite my vigilance things do sneak past and I've only just started climbing out of the deepest depression hole I've ever been in and this episode started 4months ago, but my wife has been loving, understanding, and supportive which helped immensely in pulling myself out.

I've socially transitioned at home, at work, and in the world at large. I'm medically transitioning and will soon legally transition. While I mourn that she never got to experience this in it's purest form, I do take solace in knowing she would have approved.

I've received my share of flak from people before, saying that I shouldn't transition because of my mental illness or that my history gives other trans people a bad name. Some bolder individuals have even said that because I detransitioned that means I was never trans to begin with. It hurts for a bit, but the haters are gonna hate and sometimes bitches just be trippin. From the time I started that Real Life Test to now it has taken me 21 years, a herculean task if there ever was one, and I have earned every. little. inch. This victory was earned with blood, sweat, and tears. Want to devalue that? Want to invalidate that? Want to take that away? Well, you'll need to pry it from my cold, dead, fabulously-manicured hands.

If you've read this far and you're struggling with your own transition, know that I understand and I support you. You aren't the first, you aren't alone, and you are heard. I love you!

A man is walking down the road and falls into a hole. He tries and tries but he can't climb out. A doctor passes by and he yells out "Hey doc, I fell in this hole and I can't get out! Can you help?" and the doctor looks down, writes a script, and sends it down saying "This should help!" and walks away. The next passerby is a priest and he yells out "Hey padre, I fell in this hole and I can't get out! Can you help?" and the priest says "Yes! I'll pray for you!" and walks away. The next person is his friend, Joe. "Hey Joe, I fell in this hole and I can't get out! Can you help?", Joe looks down, see's his friend, and jumps in the hole with him. "Joe, what the hell are you doing? Now we're both stuck down here!" he says. Joe replies "Yeah, but I've been here before and I know the way out".

[athanza]

“Shell” (Part 1)

Eric Coulter X fem reader

Tags: Enemies to lovers (sort of??), hurt/comfort, slow burn, a touch of fluff.

TW: Fighting (canon violence), blood, knives, angst, abusive past, self-destructive behaviour, crying.

((Author’s note: Hi, I don’t write much on here, especially fics, but I needed to write some Eric content so bad. I hope you enjoy ^-^))

(Note: Initiates are aged up for this story)

Thank you @duramater97 for inspiring me :3

Part 2 Part 3

Despite being from Candor you were quiet, at least once you got to Dauntless. You were in over your head and were asking yourself every day why the hell you chose this faction when you could have lived a happy life in Amity? You supposed anything was better than home, but you still found yourself wishing you could just run away. Your trainer, and leader, was a tall piece of work named Eric Coulter. You wanted to punch him in the throat sometimes but you had to restrain yourself, you needed to pass the training, you needed to.

It was nearing the end of your training and you had slowly but steadily risen your way near the top, the top 3 in fact. You were a shy, lost little girl when you started despite being 23. You had fuck-all muscle tone and although your aim wasn’t too bad your endurance was terrible, but now, now you were strong; you worked hard, training for long hours throughout the day and on your days off, you ate better, and soon you pushed past the others. Your desperation to stay and prove yourself, not just to others, had pushed you past your limits to a place you never thought you’d ever be. You felt good, you felt ready, but knew you still needed to push through the last round before you could relax, before you could call yourself Dauntless.

“Faster!” Eric shouted over the beats of fists on the line of punching bags. “Remember, it’s not all about how hard you can punch! You can be as powerful as you like but if you’re slow you’re not gonna get far in a fight with someone faster than you!”

You breathed heavy through your teeth as you punched through the combinations despite your throat hurting from breathing so hard.

Eric walked past you and watched your technique intently. “Good, initiate.” He said before continuing.

A ping of confidence hit you but you didn’t let it phase you, you just kept going, not losing concentration.

“Time!” Eric yelled and everyone stopped, replacing the sound of thumping fists with heavy, desperate breathing.

One guy ran as far as he could to the side before throwing up. No one cared, they were just too exhausted.

“As you know, next week is the final round of your training, the fear landscape. Some of you have exceeded my expectations, I’ll admit, but some of you need to step it up before the test, you know who you are. You’ll have free time from now until Friday but I’d suggest you use that time to train. Dismissed.”

You didn’t want a week of free time, you wanted the test to be yesterday but you knew you needed at least one day to prepare your mind for the fear landscape. And you were right, you trained all week until the day before and spent the whole time going through every possibility that the simulation could possibly throw at you…there was just one that worried you. Deep water and claustrophobia you could push through but the third one you were afraid might break you despite what you had accomplished.

When Friday came and you waited outside the simulation room, watching one person after another either walk out crying or have to be carried out, you started to get nervous, the first time you had been nervous since you caught up on the scoring board. But when your name was called your mind almost stopped for a moment before being drowned with noise of fear and what ifs. The only sign you showed of being anxious was your picking at the skin on your thumb with your index finger. Four noticed this, the last time he had seen you do it was when you first arrived.

“You’ll be fine.” He said. You were comforted by the hint of compassion in his voice and you smiled a fraction before Eric yapped at you to hurry up and sit down. You didn’t bother looking at him, you just sat down and let them set you up.

“You’ll be seeing this?” You asked, looking at the monitor on the only table in the room.

“Yes.” Said Four, not making eye contact.

You put your head back and took a deep breath. You only just noticed you were shaking a little and before you knew it both Four and Eric were gone and the room began flooding with water through the door.

[maskeddeucelover]

Can you please talk about your thoughts on the toxicity in the relationship between Ace and Deuce? I'd love to see someone speak on this topic

ohhhh boy this is my biggest thing about deuace my white whale so let’s get into it

due to ace’s god awful self worth he lives every day likes it’s his last, he does what he wants without a care to anyone because he knows that his flame isn’t going to burn forever. kind of a phénix in that way where he’s reborn into sabo’s power (more thoughts for later) which is all good and dandy but of corse the suicidal guy gains an extremely dedicated fanclub with his endless charm and leading that fan club is deuce. a man who was reborn through meeting ace and leaving sixis with him. before leaving to become a writter deuce felt worthless, maybe even undeserving of life but he finds his drive to live again through his enternal loyalty to his new captain and partner ace.

the duality of them is so glorious and beautiful and yet so sad. as deuce spends everyday dedicated to following ace, protecting ace, loving ace, ace himself spends every day self destructing and destroying all of the work deuce has done to build him up. it’s an oroborous of sorts of self destruction and love. deuce never wanted to be a pirate, never wanted to fight anyone, never wanted to sail, anything like that! but when someone who shines as bright as ace comes along there’s nothing to do but follow, and that deuce does. he names himself after him, joins his crew, chases him around every town they stop in, has his back in ever fight, and sure he gets to write while he’s there but he mostly stays to be around ace. then ace and jinbe fight and deuce starts to notice that ace is starting to go farther than deuce can bring him self to. they get defeated by the white beard pirates and join them and deuce gets put right back to where he started, a doctors office.

everything he had done for the past years goes away but he hangs on, hoping ace will come back and things will go back to normal. ace vists him occasionally, but those vists become less and less frequent as ace builds his friendships with the white beard pirates and moves on from his old crew. then the only time deuce gets to see ace is when he has depleted himself entirely. deuce only gets to see the man he dedicated his life to when he’s hurt in need of his help then he leaves to go hurt himself again. then eventually deuce hears the news that ace went on a suicide mission. he waits and the mondaine starts to take over, he’s right back where he started no ace, no friends, in a career he’s no good at waiting for something to change. then finally the thing that changes is the corse heading right for marine ford.

deuce watches his partner, friend, captain kill himself for someone else, leave deuce alone again, and so he leaves.

ace’s constant selfishness and disbelief that anyone could care for him leads him to abandon and hurt all of his loved ones in only the worst way, watching him die.

he brakes apart every group he joins, asl, spade pirates, strawhats, and whitebeards, due to his inability to just care for himself a little bit.

deuce is loyal to a fault, when he finds the first person he feels at home around he clings on and clings on hard. and despite being burned and burned again he keeps holding on until the thing he is holding onto is no more.

i’m gonna put some post marineford thoughts on a different post but i love these two even tho i also hate them

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

No Children (The Mountain Goats)

I hope that our few remaining friends/Give up on trying to save us/I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot/To piss off the dumb few that forgave us/I hope the fences we mended/Fall down beneath their own weight/And I hope we hang on past the last exit/I hope it’s already too late

I hope it stays dark forever/I hope the worst isn't over....And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out/You'd stay the hell out of my way

I am drowning/There is no sign of land/You are coming down with me/Hand in unlovable hand

And I hope you die/I hope we both die

"The song of all time. It's the soundtrack for countless bad vibes ships (affectionate). The phrase 'hand in unlovable hand' has immutably altered the brain chemistry of thousands with its underlying sentiment and launched a hundred accompanying memes. 'I hope you die, I hope we both die' crams such incredible rawness and depth of feeling into all of nine words. It also makes for a great singalong."

"I need to leave. I need to LEAVE. I need to get out of this situation and I'd hope that if i found the strength to walk out, you'd stay the hell out of my way. I need to leave. Please. Let me out. HAND IN UN FUCKING LOVABLE HAND"

"Just. Man. These two are so broken. They want to be in love. They aren't. They hate each other so much. They are the only ones who understand each other. They wish that they weren't so close but all they can taste is ash when they think of leaving each other. Just, mutually assured destruction tastes so sweet when you can taste the blood on their tongue."

"It's No Children."

"goddd man this song is about being an irredeemable freak with another irredeemable freak and i think that's beautiful. there's something so fuck you up ish about the person you hate and despise the most in the world also being the only other person who is like you, who gets you. im going down, but youre going down too. we can be terrible people together... even if i hate you... even if you're the fucking worst. because we don't have anyone else. there's always a sort of comfort in knowing that there's someone out there who's as terrible as you are, and maybe you only hate them because you see yourself in them a little, too. anyway clay and bloberta from moral orel"

"The sheer emotion packed into the way it’s sung, the lyrics themselves, all of it just screams ‘clinging desperately to someone you hate because you don’t have anyone else and you burned those bridges yourself’ and I find that painfully relatable"

"It's a song about both virulent self-hatred and virulent hatred of someone else and yet you see yourself intertwined with that hated person forever."

Poll runner: Do I even have to add anything? This was the tournament's most submitted song.

Agree to Stay (Liquido)

You held my hand, I slipped away/We'd sleep beneath the stars/How I hate being scared/The more I think the more I do. Still anything reminds me of yo/I smell your hair/I hear your voice/I feel you.

"Okay look for this one I have to give a little more context but... so worth it. There's this fic. Absolutely HEARTBREAKING angsty fic featuring Major Character Death that has been living rent free in my brain since I first read it. And it's UNCANNY how well the lyrics of this song fit that fic and they just make each other's effect SO MUCH WORSE (affectionate). OKAY SO. The fic. The main characters (two brothers) have been kidnapped and one has been poisoned in order to extort information from the other (which he doesn't have). The fic follows them as one gets increasingly sicker and the other increasingly worried and scared ("How I hate being scared, the more I think the more I do"). They are kept in a windowless room and they talk about how they miss the sun and how they'd sit outside in the rain and have huge windows if they ever get out ("A brick of light reveals the day", "We'd sleep beneath the stars"). They reminisce about their childhood, how they would hide from monsters in their pillow forts and now the monsters have become real ("I wish we knew a place to play, where no one could find us"). The sick one keeps trying really hard to reassure the other, even as they lose hope ("you lied to me the other day, don't keep it all inside"), the other is really scared they won't get out in time, BUT THEN when they realise the sick one hasn't got long left, his brother starts telling HIM all the reassuring lies he's been told the days before, and the LAST WORDS the sick one says as he dies, his brother holding his hand ("You held my hand, I slipped away"), are "I'm really scared, brother" ( AGAIN "How I hate being scared", but this time UNO REVERSE). Second half of the fic deals with the surviving brother trying to cope with the loss as he's eventually rescued, just a bit too late. ("How I wish I was free, the more I think the more I do. Still anything reminds me of you. I smell your hair, I hear your voice, I feel you.") JUST. WHY DO YOU HURT ME IN THIS WAY. (I made a podfic of that fic and used this song as Intro/Outro music because FUCK if I have to suffer like this so does everyone else)"

No Children submitted by @leovaldezdefender + @diogenescynic2288 + many others

[romvnova]

Introduction & Chapter One: Destruction

Kerry Eurodyne. Bisexual Icon. Night City native. A rock legend world renowned.

…Yet, he is haunted by loneliness. Plagued by a trail of failed relationships weighing him down like chains of his past. From his never-was boyfriend Samurai leadman Johnny Silverhand, to his ex-wife to a slew of on again, off again boyfriends and girlfriends.

Until he meets Atlantia Bakker, of whom he hired to be his personal assistant; still trying to fill that black hole of a void ever present in his chest.

Desperate to feel anything close to resembling friendship ….at best, a business companion.

Desperate to feel anything at all.

Her friends all told her not to take the job. But you don't just turn down a job offer by Kerry Eurodyne … and you especially don't if you're a closeted Samurai fangirl.

Atlantia is given the opportunity of a lifetime but Kerry is determined to wreak havoc on the pedestal she's put him on. To show her all the sides of him: the good, the bad and the ugly.

A slow burn as to which where it'll go? Nobody truly knows.

( A shameless Wattpad link because updates will be posted on Wattpad first. )

TRIGGER WARNINGS: vulgar language, subtle hints at suicide, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual themes ( in later chapters ) and mentions of violence. Please read at your own discretion.

Today we mark the anniversary of the attack on Arasaka Tower and remember the lives lost in this tragedy. Carried out by rockerboy, self fashioned rebellion and terrorist Johnny Silverhand —

With a small half angry grunt, Kerry reaches for the remote and switches the channel on the TV, going back to his concoction of alcohol — a mixture of several different hard liquors, his goal to get blasted drunk and having no consideration to how awful the flavors would mix ( if it didn't burn his gold plated throat on the way down he didn't fucking want it ) — and an assortment of neon colored pills.

One for ... well, he didn't know.

Or maybe he did know but couldn't be bothered to care.

Ariel'd left them the last time he'd spent the night.

A quick study of the muddied drink, the smell strong even in his disgruntled state, lifting the glass.

"To Johnny fucking Silverhand. May the bastard rest well in cyber hell!" Kerry declares, rising the glass in toast. The clips of Samurai flash, causing nostalgia to coil tight in his stomach and his breath to stutter in his throat. "...my best friend." He murmurs; quieter still. A breathy whisper, as if he spoke it at any more of a volume the ghost of Silverhand would hear him.

He brings the glass to his lips and downs it in a one swift swig. He does not taste but the alcohol warms and then burns.

"Ah, fuck, that's disgusting." He slams the glass down on his bar, the empty house echoing his own voice above the din of the vids of Samurai's last gig crackling thru the houses' speakers.

He grabs another round of liquor bottles and pours another random and haphazard slew into his glass.

The vids pause and Kerry's concentration is broken, fingers absently curling 'round the assortment of neon colored pills as his holo feed rolls from the front gate of his house.

"Mr. Eurodyne?" A face shows up, at first distorted before she takes a few steps back. Not the voice that matches the tentativeness in her soft, lilting voice. Aphrodite pretty. No, that was too fucking cliche.

Helen of Troy pretty. Siren-esque facial features, eyeliner sharp enough to cut a man, hair a mixture of neon and pastel pink, pilled into a sloppy bun on her head.

"Eh? Wha-what? Who're you? Whaddya want?" He asks, finding that the strong mixture of alcohols — the highest proofs he could find — have muddled his thought process. If there was any sort of familiarity in her face it was heavily addled. Mixed up with the swim of the world 'round him.

It's a struggle to focus on her facial features, watching as her body posture shifts from confident to uncertain; the soft bite of her teeth on her bottom lip.

It was meant to accompany the soft furrow of confusion in her brows, a soft birdlike cant to her head, straying tendrils of her hair wound out from the bun brushing her neck in the hot north oak breeze.

But fuck if Kerry didn't feel it stir something within him. A small spark of arousal and ... something else. Something just as equally as primal.

The first time he'd felt much of ... anything ( similar or otherwise ) in so very long. It lends a moment of clarity, as brief as a hummingbird's lifespan, but enough to allow recognition to dawn as she speaks, "It's Atlantia. Atlantia Bakker. Your new personal assistant?"

His personal assistant.

Another attempt to fill the empty, echoing loneliness that haunts his every fucking moment. In this house. In Night City.

Ariel had been a whim decision too and that decision had bit him in the ass. Betrayal. Differences that could not be worked out. A good fucking riddance where ache was supposed to be.

Kerry gives a grunt in lieu of a verbal response, fingers tightening 'round the neon pills; deliberating.

"I believe you had suggested that I start today?" She offers it like a suggestion, a question; pinning it on herself instead of pointing out that he'd forgotten. He appreciates it, even if it doesn't the lessen the feeling like he was an ass.

"Right. Right. Buzzin' you in." He leans against the bar, leather Moto jeans feeling a bit too tight, fussing with the wrinkles in his white tank top; fighting the swim in his mind. His thoughts race 'round and any attempt to catch even one of them is met with a disappearing act like smoke slithering thru his fingers.

"Hey, you wanna a drink?" He asks, turning to face her as the sound of her footfalls grows louder, quickly chucking the neon pills he'd had cradled in the cup of his palm into the trashcan under the bar.

She was dressed what Kerry would've called 'office casual' in his day: black straight legged slacks and a burnt orange silk blouse and black ballet flats. Over her shoulder is a black leather strap of a small backpack which she deposits upon the right side of his couch as he gestures for her to take a seat and tells her to make herself comfortable.

The data pad she clutches to her chest as if it were her lifeline makes Kerry wonder if she was nervous.

It feeds the monster of his ego and he clears his throat as he reminds his hazy brain to keep this business and not act in any way that might give her the wrong idea.

Though she was fucking pretty. He'd have to be a utter gonk not to see it. Not to admire subtly, at the least.

She declines his drink offer politely; spurring within him the thought that Johnny would've immediately pinned her as a corporat and would've hated her prim and proper mannerisms.

"I know we've, uh, discussed starting today ... but let's make tomorrow your official start day, yeah? Today's a bit fucked." Kerry takes a seat across from her, staring at the sloshing muddied liquor in his glass; leaning forward to sit it on the coffee table between them.

His desire to down it has quickly dissipated.

"Ok," Atlantia agrees, which causes Kerry to shift uncomfortably in the leather couch. Of course she agreed with him: he was her boss. But ... that wasn't what he wanted. Not really. He yearned for companionship in a desperate attempt to fill the giant fucking crater left inside him with the death of Johnny.

"Hey, uh. I know I'm your boss but ... none of that yes, sir gonk shit, ok? Just be honest with me." Kerry watches as she nods in agreement, fighting the sinking feeling that she wasn't going to.

An awkward silence stretches and the more it yawns on, the more Kerry dreads that she's going to quit. That she'll decide that this is ... that he is so much more than she signed up for. She could've been a PR for any celebrity and yet, she'd chose to apply for to his ad.

More and more, he feels his fingers itching to down the alcohol.

"Tell me about Samurai," Atlantia says suddenly, her attention trained on the vids, still paused. She looks at him, the unnatural gold of her Kiroshi optics startling. She pauses when he doesn't reply immediately, watching as she shifts in the leather, leaning towards him slightly. "Tell me about your time in Samurai. About you. Whatever you're comfortable sharing."

The change is almost dizzying. No, it was dizzying.

Or maybe that was the copious amounts of alcohol Kerry'd already consumed prior to her arrival.

He hated everything about this fucking day and if he could drink himself to sleep before the shit hit the fan: the better.

"You can learn anything you want about me in the scream sheets." He reminds her.

"No," She offers a wiry smile; mirthless. "I want to know the real Kerry Eurodyne. Not the one the scream sheets have made up."

For a moment, Kerry feels something inside him slip; words bubbling up his gold plated throat, threatening to spill from his lips. He stops them. He does not let her honeyed words, the unyielding pierce of her gaze lure him into spilling his guts to her.

His image was perfectly and meticulously curated and he didn't know her at all. Certainly no where close enough to let his guard down.

"Ask me tomorrow. Maybe then I'll tell ya." It was a lie as it slips betwixt Kerry's lips; but to his relief it appears to have appeased her.

At least for the day, for she dutifully does not bring it up again, not even when he walks her out to the front gate, an exchange of holo numbers given and a promise that he would be in touch.

A lie too.

[koheletgirl]

HI BELOVED okay so ive hurt my head by listening to smoke signals and thinking of zukka too much (s/o to your zukka playlist its amazing-) and now I HAVE to know your musings, rambling & thoughts on it- like you were so right its them!!!! OUGH!!!!going crazy as we speak <3

💖💖💖

ok first of all TY FOR LIKING MY PLAYLIST! this means the world honestly.

oh my god okay. okay. so. smoke signals

so the first thing that feels so zukka to me is the imagery from the chorus - "sending smoke signals / pelicans circling / burning trash out on the beach". it's the fire/water, the smoke/beach, but it's also the beauty and the ugly, the serenity and the destruction.... it's about how their love is beautiful but tainted with so much history and circumstances and choices they have made in the past and still have to make. it's about how they see each other, and how they see themselves.

i started from the chorus so i'll keep going. "you must have been looking for me" - because they were both so lost, because they still are. because they lose and find each other, and themselves. over and over again. it's you must have been looking for me and i wasn't there, but also you must have been looking for me and you hadn't known until you found me. sending smoke signals, as a call for help, or just trying to get their attention. signaling for someone who would know the signs and come.

ok well so another thing i like to think about with this song is that each of the first 2 verses is from a different perspective. like that's just how i read it in this context. and it works pretty literally, with the way each verse starts: "I went with you up to the place you grew up and we spent a week in the cold" // "one of your eyes is always half shut something happened when you were a kid". lol.

there is something so peaceful and so sad about the verses. there's something grounded, simple, about it, like it's a stream of consciousness of sorts and love is weaved into it almost as an afterthought. like it's a given, that it's there. "[...] it’s a love song about waking up to your reality, in a way" (<- quote from phoebe). there's still pain and trauma and death and boredom and overthinking and self-doubt, but there's peace and there's hope and there's growth and there's that familiarity you feel with someone who truly sees you.

the chorus and the last verses are from a shared perspective, i believe. the 3rd verse is about wanting to run away from your responsibilities, from everything life entails, just to be with this person and forget the rest of the world. it's a lovely sentiment, but it's very obviously unrealistic. and the lyrics are just so them, in a way im not sure i can explain but i really enjoy rotating in my mind.

ok i talked enough so let's get to the last verse.

"i buried a hatchet, it's comin up lavender / the future's unwritten, the past is a corridor / i'm at the exit, lookin' back through the hall / you are anonymous, I am a concrete wall"

KEYSMASH it's about trying to make peace with your past, with the people you've hurt, with the people who've hurt you, with yourself. trying to accept that you can't change what's happened and you can't control what will happen. and it's about how they both try so hard to hide themselves, to pretend they dont care, to act like no one can truly know them. these facades they both try to maintain, of someone who doesnt feel or doesn't show their emotions, of someone who's unreachable or beyond help. and how they see this in each other, recognize this, and see right through it. im driving myself crazy

thank you peng for letting me ramble about this here's the zukka playlist

[greengrungeemo]

A Message About Masculine Toxicity

I acknowledge I have been part of the problem.

It bothers me still to this day, this moment, of what I had not realized, in how I affected others negatively and destructively.

For me, and this is a big message to any other guy out there to take heed and self-reflect, my “logical” rationale at the time, or excuse in my own words today was that, “I care about them, I want what’s best for them, so I’ll make sure I let them know what is best for them”. DON’T.

While it may seem like a noble or honorable thing at first, it can fester into something ugly and devastating real quick. Suggestions are fine (with careful consideration), but what to avoid is the “You should”s. I mansplained more than I’d like to admit, and it’s embarrassing. That mansplaining perpetuated into being controlling and abusive. It’s so easy to get wrapped up into that from something I call, “the man initiative”. Just spring into action thinking you know what you’re doing when you’re actually making things all the worse.

On top of that, for the longest time, I thought I was a neurotypical, so for my neurodivergent friends or friends with autism, I ignorantly believed I was doing them a favor by letting them know what’s the best way to think, or act, or behave. That made them uncomfortable or anxious or paranoid about their own actions or what they could say or do around me, and I guarantee that’s what happens to any man or neurotypical out there that does this. I wasn’t educated on the matter, and I was the ignorant one. That is undoubtedly ableist behavior. You have to be careful and you have to be mindful! I never knew what ableism was until I wanted to be informed! I keep in contact with one friend who was victim to this, but for all the rest, IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT for ANYTHING you ever said or did, it’s mine. It’s all my fault. I put so much blame on others around me, and nowadays, it burns at my core to this day. Today, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near my past self.

So please, do educate yourselves on how to make everyone feel welcome and happy around you such as: people with autism, neurodivergent people, people suffering from depression/anxiety. It’s IMPORTANT. This should have been obvious to me, but I was delusional. Clearly. These groups of individuals already know what’s best for them when it comes to what they like, what they’re comfortable with doing/knowing, etc etc etc.

It’s not up to us to tell these amazing people what they should be informed about, we should be informed instead. It’s that simple.

I used to be someone who identifies as realistic versus optimistic, but I learned that it’s far better to live and let live. If someone needs advice, they’ll seek it out. If you generate a positive energy and comforting aura around you, they might even ask from you, but to “let them know” without asking just becomes irritating and uncomfortable. As a man, I’m ashamed that I did any of that, among other horrible things.

It’s all stuff I feel like I should have known from the very start! I’ve learned a lot since those few years ago, and I actually learned from one of my amazing emo friends that I am neurodivergent as well (and then later my doctor). How ironic right? I was the stupid one the whole time, without question. After a date we had together in 2021, she asked me one simple question, “So... Are you neurodivergent?” I asked, “Why, what’s that?” and they explained through my mannerisms, behavior, and what I talked about, that I seemed very much so. I’ll make a post in the future going more in-depth about that, but it put everything into perspective:

We don’t always know something with absolute certainty. So be careful with your words, and men, keep those you care about in mind before you open your damn mouth! You can easily risk losing them. So prioritize them before it’s too late.

Sorry about the vent. This sort of stuff just sticks to me and it bothers me so much, about what I did, and about what others continue to do. I wish the entire male population could be informed and to care about things like this.

[fleetinglotus]

Teaser Analysis

Do note that everything is subjective, everything is what i really see from Wanderer’s teaser video. This is my personal opinion on things, do not reblog this post, you’ve been warn.

The Gnosis

He was created, moreso meant to house the Electro Gnosis, something that never truly escaped his mind, even after feeling discarded and having both his initial purpose, existence reduced to little. It all but explain the grown obsession in wanting it for himself, to rightfully house what was meant to be his ‘heart’. And yet, not once, but twice, it was taken away. 

Though shattered by this loss, after going to so much trouble for the Gnosis, there comes a time, within his journey as the wanderer, to eventually learn to let go and become the ‘heart’ himself. 

The plush figurine purpose

Foreshadowing, put in simply, it is a foreshadow sign. Unlike what is first seen from connecting with Haypasia’s consciousness, regarding his past, the little doll seems to simply be there but upon closer look, it holds a purpose indeed. Even if said purpose can be considered pointless, there is a tear shape near one of its eyes.

What i am saying is, it ties with the fact that he shed tears, expressed feelings ‘pon creation and did so in his Teaser, the exact same eye as the one to be found onto the small doll left behind by whomst had his childhood, his future taken away.

The child’s last words

‘‘What if, if hearts can be born from ashes’’, to me, i do not feel like its meant as a suggestion, a question. To me alone, for Wanderer alone, this implies forwards to a journey of self discovery, it doesn’t suits me to view this as redemption. To me, it is him, at present time, moving towards the future while also settling it once and all, with the past. 

Yes, in one way, due to where it is to be found, the Anemo Vision could be what had been once lost but i see more to this as well. The Vision is more meant to soothe such a loss, to guide Scaramouche forwards but to also confront past memories. If one would remember, Venti did mention how he can use the wind in the form of old memories and carry them, given this is how Razor was able to see the very family he once had, to know his parents were from the Adventurers Guild.

Him, finding a permanent heart, is not him taking a better turn. He has all rights to remain a brat while finally seeking back his original purpose in the ways he wants to, where he doesn’t feel like owing it to the world nor to the gods. Wheter alone or nay, he shall rise anew, become his own person after feeling unwanted for so long, feeling bitter & alone all this time. 

Symbolism behind the fire

The spiritual symbolism behind Fire, holds many meanings in different cultures. The most common is rebirth/resurrection, the history behind a Pheonix says it all. If the pheonix must burn to re-emerge once again, so too should he burn bright and free from everything that held him back for so long. Fire is generally a force of destruction, but with its destructive behavior comes a more mellow approach if learnt to be used safely.

Though a symbol of strenght and desire, the concept of purification is to be noted. In which case, like the Lotus Symbolism, i believe Wanderer will push forwards no matter what should lie ahead.

Also a ball of fire is what is seen being ripped from his body, a life force of sorts, a way for him to disconnect with his past self, or so i am to believe. 

Fire, in the end, is another form of Eternity, atleast on what i researched does it mentions that.

Ballerina’s reference

You can disagree for all you want because, again, this is all subjective from me but the ballerina is Lumine. 

Lumine is from the stars beyond, stars are typically known as guides amidst the darkest nights. Wanderer is the toy soldier, Lumine is the ballerina, a light to pull him from the shadows, wheter he likes it or not. Though he is bound to not admit it easily, he can finally turn to someone other than Nahida. Should he want to turn to others, its all on him, really.

Moreover, the child says how the toy soldier still had his eyes set on the other figurine. To me, it hints at how, since first encountering the Traveler, he actually kept tabs on the twins, but then again to say Lumine would make more sense but thats just my personal opinion.

Confrontation with the past

By the end of the Teaser, we eventually see him taking a step forwards and confronting what is left of the past, his past that continues to be a thorn on his side now. Albeit that freeing himself from the old times does not wipe clean what he has done all these years and that he does not have to seek apologies. 

To say sorry and claim to turning over a new leaf, far from suits a character like Scaramouche. He has no actual reason to apologize, any reasons to completely, utterly change himself. 

After all, its not like anyone is bound to ignore the many atrocities he commited. I think rather than being asked to apologize amount to nothing, would hardly mean anything to him. There is no benefit to be add from admitting his wrongdoings, for he does not have to owe anyone, what has the world owed him after all?.

What i am really saying is, this is a journey to self discovery, to unlatch finally from the past, to actually find a ‘heart’. I’m putting it down again, Redemption doesn’t sit with me right, every time i hear it, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Rebirth is not Redemption.

[just-a-new-gi-writer]

Creator Reforged: Building God Chapter 1

A/N: Going to try having shorter posts; hopefully that inspires me to write more. Let me know what you guys think, and especially let me know if you can make a cleverer title than I.

Word count: 989

Warnings: dead bodies (mutilated and dismembered, semi-graphic)

Masterpost

First Next

Teyvat was ill at ease, and the horror that suffused the air seemed to suffocate all who lived within. The skies above tore and withered away into an open maw on the horizon, leaving a sable void hanging above their heads. Perhaps it would have been a comfort if the earth devoured them or the sky swallowed them completely- at least then, the finality of destruction would come as a relief.

But the world hung in some sort of cursed half-balance. The sun was a pale reflection of its past self, a pale hole in the expanse above that occasionally forgot to inch across the sky, sometimes noticeably lurching to where it was supposed to be. The air felt thinner, the light and winds weaker. Each breath felt labored, each sight dimmer, each sound dampened. Waters receded, fires struggled to burn, the ground beneath one’s feet felt dusty and ready to crumble. There was nowhere to turn to, no way to escape the constant horrors.

Diluc gripped the reins of his horse in one hand and kept an iron grip on the rosary he took from the church in the other. He recited a prayer under his breath, one he had learned as a child but hadn’t needed to use for years. The ride to Rominten was a long one, and he didn’t want to spend it idly. The Knights had approached him, asking him to follow up on a lead they had. Jean had admitted the reason behind the mission was anemic, but it was one of the precious few leads they had to go on and all the other knights were busy with other engagements.

He agreed to the task and set out immediately. It was foolish to sit idle while the world was seemingly dying around them. Mondstadt City nearly fell to the madness above them on the first day like some of the surrounding farming communes did. The soldiers that were sent in to restore order found wild, frantic, desperate cultists willing to turn on their own kind to reclaim any glimmer of hope.

And it wasn’t just the humble masses that were touched by the disaster. Word had reached Diluc’s ears that several far-flung adventuring parties had gone mad, and in some instances were trying to foment and direct cults. The same could be said of several Fatui agents, though thankfully their numbers seemed to prefer to flee and fend for themselves. Even the hillichurls and beasts were attacking each other and acting erratically.

Diluc recited the final words of the prayer, shifted a bead up the rosary, then started the prayer again. This trip had been quiet lately, far too quiet. Come to think of it, the forest here should have been alive- if not for the sounds of nature, he should have heard the village ahead bustling with activity of some sort. But the only sounds came from his wary horse and his murmured prayers.

When Rominten came into view- or what was supposed to be the village- he suddenly understood why everything had been silent.

The village was empty. The front doors of most buildings on the main road swung loose and open. A number of personal objects littered the street, forgotten possessions discarded in haste. There was just a sense of… emptiness. His eyes drifted over to the statues in town, dedicated to the Anemo Archon and the Creator laid side by side. He wasn’t surprised to see the offerings arrayed in front of the two, with more for the latter than the former; but two things stood out from the valuables, food, and flowers. Diluc dismounted, hitched his horse, and moved to investigate.

The more interesting of the two sat further away from the shrines. A bloodied, slumped-over corpse was being picked at by a vulture and a few crows, who all fled as he approached. The sickly stench of decay hit him full-force as he knelt down to examine the body. It was a bloodied mess, being torn at by the scavengers and bearing extensive signs of assailants- the eyes were gouged out, several teeth were missing, deep lacerations and bruises covered the body in an unsettling patchwork of brutality.

His mind immediately went to sacrifice- with being set down in front of the statue to the Creator like this, it was the obvious takeaway, but all other sacrifices he had heard reports about were damaged as little as possible. So why present this body to Them as such?

A sound shook him from his thoughts. He paused, trying to identify it and where it came from. After a second, he heard it again: a quiet, subdued thmp off to his side. Diluc rose and stepped away from the corpse to investigate the other notable object, where the noise was apparently coming from.

Diluc had seen his share of covered bodies- their form was not unfamiliar to him, but this was the first time he had seen a torso, sans head and legs, wrapped up so delicately in a stark white, unstained bedsheet. He heard the thump again as he knelt down and peeled the sheet away, revealing the body, untouched by decay, scavengers, and… blood? Every discovery he made raised more questions. Who had dismembered this body and why? Why were the clothes so bloodless? Why was the body otherwise intact? Why did the clothes look so unfamiliar? Diluc set his hand on its chest to confirm something. Why was it still so warm?

B-thmp

…And why was its heart still beating?

Diluc set his jaw. It was unlikely that he was going to discover any answers. Jean had sent him to find out what happened here, if the rumors about this town held any truth, and to bring back any news or further leads. He re-wrapped the torso, hefted it up, and returned back to his horse. Might as well try and puzzle things out in company.

---

Next

[inkykeiji]

you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later. 

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince. 

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new. 

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to. 

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most. 

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out. 

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion. 

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom. 

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn���t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.

[onecanonlife]

where to find a silver lining (as the mercury keeps rising)

In which Sam finally gets around to moving the Egg, and this results in the worst kind of disaster. None of that is relevant to Wilbur, though; all he knows is that he's injured, he can't find anyone else on this server, and the strange red vines everywhere are probably bad news.

And then, he finds a baby zombie piglin, and though he knows himself to be the worst sort of villain, he's not about to abandon this child to die.

(Or: Wilbur, Michael_Beloved, and the Worst Roadtrip Ever.)

content warnings for semi-graphic description of injury, illness, fever, vomiting, hallucinations, minor violence, body horror, c!wilbur-typical self-loathing, references to past death/suicide, mentioned dissociation, and mentioned past (unintentional) self harm

word count: 10,132

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

On the fifth day of the apocalypse, Wilbur picks up a fever and a child, in that order.

Whatever the fuck happened to this server, it isn’t his fault, and there’s a strange sort of vindication in that. That he hasn’t done anything yet to earn the fear he sees in their eyes. The watching, the waiting, the eagerness for the fall. He hasn’t snapped; something or someone else has, and whatever went down, it’s left the server strewn with red vines and the iron tang of blood lingering in the too-hot air, and not a person in sight. It’s been five days, and he hasn’t run into a single living soul.

Fitting, perhaps. But he doesn’t particularly enjoy isolation.

The burger van is the first place he checks, after the ground starts to shake and the code itself seems to distort and scream. He finds the van abandoned, and Las Nevadas burning. For an uncomfortable moment, he wonders if this was on him, if the TNT he had Ranboo place went off somehow, and that isn’t a pleasant thought, because he didn’t want anything to explode accidentally, without purpose, without his explicit say so. But he knows TNT intimately, and he knows that he didn’t give Ranboo nearly enough to cause that much destruction.

The next place he checks is Tommy’s house. Tommy isn’t there. The hill stands deserted, and red vines tunnel through the earth. And there is no one at the crater of L’Manberg. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised, but it doesn’t sit right. None of this does.

He keeps looking. Those vines keep spreading. He has a bad feeling about letting them catch him, so he doesn’t, and for the first few days, he does well enough, and he lets himself believe that he’ll run into someone in no time, because this server isn’t that big. It even crosses his mind to stop by the prison, to see about Dream, but Dream is a wild card, no matter the debt he owes to his hero, and he won’t be so foolish as to introduce wild elements to a situation that’s already so confusing.

Then on the third day, he realizes that there’s something wrong with the mobs. He realizes this by way of getting shot by a skeleton with red eyes. Not precisely normal, that. There seems to be a bit of a theme running. Red. The red is bad, evidently. A pity; he used to associate the color with better things.

He’s pretty good at hiding. The months in Pogtopia taught him how to sneak and how to skulk and how to stick to the shadows and be a thing that light would reject. He steers clear of mobs after it’s imparted to him how dangerous they are.

But the wound the skeleton dealt him, a puncture wound right in his side, goes untreated. The placement shouldn’t be lethal, wouldn’t be under normal circumstances, but he can’t stop to let it heal, doesn’t have any potions and doesn’t dare linger in the more civilized areas, can’t go rifling through other people’s things for what he needs like he normally would. And it keeps leaking blood, keeps pulsing with a bright, hot pain, and on the fifth day, he wakes from an uneasy rest and finds that he’s shaking rather badly, sweat dripping from his forehead even though he feels freezing, and though his thoughts are clouded, muddy, he knows what that means.

And it means he’s in trouble.

He limps through the woods. He’s not actually sure where he is. These woods look like a lot of other woods on this server. But if he picks a direction and sticks to it, his thought is that he’ll either find somebody, or he’ll eventually hit a village. And there, maybe he’ll be able to rest up, if those red vines haven’t reached it first.

That’s a big if. He’s reaching. He’s perhaps a little bit desperate. But he doesn’t have any other options.

And then, something rustles in the undergrowth in front of him. His hand goes for a sword that he doesn’t have.

It’s light out. But the foliage is thick enough that there might still be mobs. Another hit and he’s done for, he thinks, and while the concept of living is one that he’s developed mixed feelings toward, since that first, euphoric day, he doesn’t want to die. He can’t die. He can’t go back there. He held onto some semblance of sanity through sheer force of will the first time around, and he thinks that if he were put back there again, he’d shatter like porcelain in the first hour. He’s been broken and remade himself too many times to believe that the remaking is strong enough to hold.

So he stumbles back, clumsy and uncoordinated, and is halfway through turning to run when the thing stumbles out.

He stops. Blinks, trying to clear his fuzzy vision, which doesn’t quite work, but it’s not so fuzzy that he can’t see what’s in front of him.

It’s a zombie piglin. A zombie piglin child. A zombie piglin child wearing a striped sweater and overalls, and while the clothes are ripped and torn, that’s not nether-make. Definitely overworld clothing. Which means that this child lives with someone who gave them those. This child belongs to somebody. This child is cared for.

The child blinks up at him. They only have one eye. The other is just open skull. It doesn’t seem to be bothering them all that much, so hopefully that means their caretakers managed to stop the rot before it progressed fatally far.

“Uh,” he says, voice a hoarse croak. It occurs to him that he hasn’t spoken aloud for quite some time, after the initial screaming when he found Las Navadas burning. Ranboo didn’t answer him, and neither did Quackity, and he hasn’t called for anyone since he found Tommy’s house empty too. “Hello.”

The piglin huffs, and then says a few words in Piglin that he thinks roughly equate to, “Who are you?”

It was a very long time ago, that Technoblade taught him how to speak Piglin. He hasn’t used the knowledge in almost fourteen years, and his throat was never quite able to wrap around the phonemes anyway. So he slowly puts a hand on his chest, and hopes that the kid will understand him.

“I’m Wilbur,” he says. “I’m sorry, I don’t—I can understand you better than I can speak. Um.” He’ll try. He’ll give it a try. So, in Piglin: “Who are you?” He immediately winces; the words don’t sit in the right place, and he’s certain they aren’t comprehensible. But the kid’s ear perks up.

“Michael!” the kid says, enunciating very carefully in one of the more common Player dialects. “I am Michael!”

“Michael,” he repeats. An overworld name, not even a translation of a nether one, like Techno’s is. “Okay. Hello, Michael, it’s nice to meet you.” He repeats the same in Piglin, just in case, or tries to, but the kid seems to get it well enough. He creeps closer, hesitant, but losing some of that initial wariness. “Um. Do you know where you are? Or where your parents are?”

That seems to be the key question. Michael’s eye wells up with tears, and the whole story comes spilling out in a mixture of Player and Piglin, all with a small child’s vocabulary, and Wilbur’s pretty sure that he understands maybe half of what the kid is saying. But apparently, he lives in a house, in a snowy place, and then people wanted to hurt him so someone came to take him somewhere else, and then vines started growing in the place he was so he ran away but can’t find anyone.

He thinks that’s the gist. Asking who his parents are gets him nowhere—which he supposes is to be expected. He claims they’re called ‘Boo’ and ‘Bo,’ obviously nicknames of some kind. No small child knows what their parents’ names are, and asking how old Michael is reveals that he’s not quite three yet, so basically an infant.

And something becomes increasingly clear. The kid’s coming with him. Because he’s a villain and a liar and a terrible person, but he’s not leaving a toddler to fend for himself in the middle of an apocalypse. He is a monster and a harbinger of destruction and a man who has ruined everything he has ever touched, but—he will not be that kind of monster. He will not abandon this child. He will find who this child belongs to, and keep him safe in the meantime.

He kneels in front of Michael, and for a second, all the blood rushes to his head. His ears ring. His side throbs. If he looked, the edges of the wound would be angry and inflamed. He knows it’s infected.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asks, before trying to repeat the same in Piglin. “I’ll try to keep you safe, and we can try to find your—your parents.”

Michael regards him for a very long moment. There is something in his eye that does not quite belong there. Wilbur thinks that perhaps this is a child that knows something of the world, and how it works.

And then, Michael makes a huffing, snorting noise, and flings himself forward. Wilbur catches him, startled, and sucks in a breath at the way his injury is jostled—he will not scream in front of this child—and gently places his hands on Michael’s back. So gingerly, so tenderly, because he is so good at breaking things and it has been so, so very long since he was presented with a child this small, and he will not hurt this child. But Michael buries his face in his coat, even though it can’t smell particularly pleasant at this point, and he has held a child before. He has comforted a child before. There was a child that once was his, that was once this small, that once came to him like this, looking for comfort.

He’s a monster and a villain, but some part of him still remembers this, no matter the decades that have passed.

“I’ll protect you,” he says. “Promise.”

He breaks promises as easily as plucking flowers by the stem. But he’ll keep this one.

---

Michael points out the direction he came from. So he decides to take the opposite way. No point in retracing steps, if Michael hasn’t encountered anyone either.

The kid becomes a familiar weight in his arms. It’s not long before his muscles begin to burn, but he experiments with different ways to hold him. Michael seems to like being carried against his chest the best, but he doesn’t mind sitting on his shoulder, and piggybacking also works, though the kid is slightly too small for it to be effective. The joke is also not lost on him. Piggybacking. Heh.

The fever’s getting worse. He’s made the executive decision to ignore that as best he can. It’s not like there’s anything to be done about it. He can still move, can still be on his guard enough to protect Michael. That’s the priority. And it’s not like it’s a conflict. Michael needs to find people. He needs to find people. If he finds Michael his people, he can hopefully get treatment and not die. He’s hardly being sacrificial. That’s not in his nature.

He’s not sure he’s walking in a straight line.

Michael talks to him a lot. He tells him about his parents. Evidently, one is very tall and the other is short, and they both have markings on their faces, and they both hug him and play with him and take him for walks and read him bedtime stories. Michael also mentions meeting someone with wings, once, and that can only be one person. It’s reassuring, in a way, that Wilbur recognizes at least one person who knows this child, who might be able to look after him.

He listens to Michael babble. Nods and makes encouraging sounds and appropriate exclamations. This is familiar.

He spends the rest of the fifth day walking, and then, by the end, staggering, his breaths coming out in harsh pants. He climbs the tallest tree he can locate, and stays awake the whole night, listening to the mobs clatter and groan beneath him. It’ll be luck that determines whether a spider chooses this tree to scurry up, or whether another stray shot finds him. So he curls himself around Michael, holds him close and hopes that his breathing will soothe him to sleep.

Eventually, it does. And they get lucky. The morning comes, and brings with it a pounding headache and fingers that refuse to stop trembling and legs that want to fold like cards underneath him. The wound feels like ants are crawling beneath his skin, biting him; a quick check before Michael wakes shows that it is swollen, leaking pus, and the veins all around it are red, weblike.

He exhales through his teeth. He doesn’t even have bandages. He’s been pressing his sweater against it, trying to stop the bleeding. It’s only sort of worked. And on top of that, he feels disgusting, dirty; he hasn’t gone this long without a shower in months, and he’s not enjoying the experience.

He does have food though, mostly stale hamburger buns, but it’s better than nothing, and Michael seems to agree by the way he chows down. They spend the morning of the sixth day heading in what he hopes is the same direction. Michael insists on walking for a little while, and he lets him; he’s loath to admit that he’s too drained to carry a toddler, but his strength is flagging. He knows that much. He’s dizzy, and sometimes he lurches and tilts like he’s drunk, only far less fun. Far less fun. And the wound sends stabbing pains across his abdomen with every step. His head is foggy.

And then, Michael tugs on his arm.

“Wibbur,” he says, voice small. “Bad red.” And then, in Piglin, “Danger, it’s danger.”

He stops.

“Shit,” he whispers, and then, “Don’t repeat that.”

“Shit,” Michael says solemnly.

There are red vines in the forest ahead of them. They hang in the air, waving and swaying in a nonexistent wind, and they curl from the ground like grasping question marks. They wrap around the trees, choking them, and all of the grass is brown, dead. They continue on for as far as he can see. He inhales, and his lungs fill with tepid air, metallic and bitter.

“Okay,” he says. “Michael, I’m gonna pick you up. And we’re gonna go far around. We’re gonna go far around.” In Piglin, he adds, “We’ll avoid. Go around.”

He hoists Michael into his arms, gritting his teeth against the strain. He backtracks until the vines are a distant splotch of red through the trees, and then he tries to do as he’s said he would, and go around. Far around. The scent sticks with him, and Michael can smell it too, he knows, and probably far better. Before too long, Michael is trying to bury his nose in his shoulder, chuffing softly.

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s alright.”

His foot hits a tree root. He almost goes down, but turns it into a mere teeter, stays upright. His head throbs.

Michael whimpers.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he says. He doesn’t dare speak any louder than a whisper, a murmur, the barest suggestion of voice. His chest feels tight, his mouth dry. He keeps stepping on dry leaves. It’s autumn, now. He remembers another autumn, long ago. He didn’t see the following winter. He might not see this one.

It takes the rest of the day to get far enough away from the cluster of vines that the scent fades, and by that time, it’s a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. He’s panting and shivering, and the trees in front of him seem to sway back and forth, and the sky above is darkening, which means time to stop for the night. He hasn’t covered as much ground as he wanted. He doesn’t know how fast the vines grow, whether they can reach this far. He doesn’t know what will happen to them if they get caught. Nothing good. He’s sure of that.

“Wibbur,” Michael whispers. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” he manages. Maybe if he stands still for long enough, the world will right itself. He doesn’t have long enough. The light is going. Mobs will be spawning. Stars above, but his side hurts. “We’re gonna climb another tree, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael says, and his grip on him tightens. He has such small fingers. Small hands. He remembers when Fund—

He climbs a tree. Pulls the foliage around him as best he can. Lets Michael rest against his chest and listens to the first moans from below, the shuffling and shambling. There is no god that he believes in, no god that he will pray to, no god that deserves his respect, but he sends a wish out into the uncaring universe anyway. If not for his sake, then for the kid’s.

Michael huddles closer to him. Grips at his sweater, and pulls it in such a way that it tugs against the fabric that’s plastered against the hole in his side. He bites back a groan. Holds Michael just a little bit closer.

His voice is crackling, when he begins to hum. He thinks that maybe his voice doesn’t remember how to carry a tune, and certainly not this one, certainly not something so gentle, so sweet. There is no room for any of that in him, and has not been for a very long time. But there is a song that his father sang to him when he was young, and that he sang to Fundy when he was young, young enough for things like songs and being sung to sleep, and it is a song about stars and rocking waves and something that calls from far away, from behind the moon and past the world’s open horizon. He didn’t think he knew the tune anymore, didn’t think of it at all, really. He’s surprised that limbo didn’t take this from him, too.

He hums the tune, and he doesn’t think it’s a very nice sound, and he shouldn’t be humming at all. Shouldn’t risk drawing anything near. But his common sense hasn’t caught up to the rest of him, maybe, or perhaps he’s just starting to get delirious.

And Michael falls asleep.

Sometime before morning, he does too.

---

He wakes on the seventh day, mouth full of cotton and side aflame. He wakes on the seventh day, and for a minute, he can’t move. Every inch of him aches and his lungs feel constricted and nausea rolls in his stomach and dark spots flicker in his vision, and he can barely think—

But Michael is shaking him, snout scrunched, eye large and round.

He sits up. Closes his eyes against the tilt and the whirl. Swings his legs over the side of the bit of trunk he’s leveraged himself against, misjudges, and falls to the ground.

He thinks he blacks out for a moment.

When he pries his eyes back open, Michael is hovering over him, one eye teary and the other a black socket. He must have climbed down himself. Good kid. Resourceful kid. He’s proud of him.

He tries to pat Michael on the head. He misses. That’s probably not good.

“I’m okay,” he says, and his words are definitely slurring. His tongue feels thick, his mouth clumsy. His stomach flips over, and then flips over again, and oh, he knows what’s about to happen, and it’s enough motivation to sit up, to twist around, so that the bile doesn’t get on the kid. There’s not much for his stomach to empty out, so it doesn’t take very long, and he winces at the taste in his mouth, wiping away strings of saliva with the back of his hand.

“You threw up,” Michael informs him.

He tries to smile. “I did,” he says. “Silly of me, isn’t it?”

“Means you’re sick,” Michael says. And then he says something in Piglin that he doesn’t quite catch, but he thinks has something to do with a sounder, and being taken care of. His heart wrenches.

“I don’t, ah,” he says. “I don’t exactly have a sounder.” Which is the wrong thing to say. He’d have known that if he were thinking more clearly. Michael makes a sound of pure distress, lunging forward and holding onto his arm for dear life. “No, no, ‘s okay! I don’t, um—don’t need one, me, and I’ve still got—’ve got a dad, and I’ve got a friend, so that’s all I—‘s okay, ’m okay.”

Michael just clings harder. He sighs.

“Here, let’s just—we’ll keep on, and we’ll, we’ll find your sounder, and you c’n—you c’n introduce me,” he says, and that, at least, gets Michael to draw back a little, nodding firmly. It’s cute. It’s—

It’s time for him to stand up.

So he does. He can’t prevent the gasp from slipping through his teeth, but he does hold steady against the second bout of nausea, and he manages to remain upright despite the way that everything spins. He’s drenched in sweat. But he’s cold, shivering. Almost numb. He doesn’t like being numb. It happens, sometimes, even now that he’s alive again, when all the sights and all the sounds press in around him and become far too much, when his mind goes far away or retreats deep inside of himself and he can’t do anything but curl up and slap his hands over his ears and hope for it to stop. His body goes numb, sometimes, and then, he’s glad of it. But not most of the time. Because when he’s numb, it’s easy to forget that he’s alive.

He shudders. It’s almost a convulsion. A hand slips into his, and he looks down to see Michael staring up at him.

This toddler is worried about him. Obviously, he’s in dire straits.

He resists the urge to laugh. If he started, he thinks he wouldn’t stop. But the laugh is still there, a hysterical surge beneath his collarbone.

They need to—they need to keep moving.

He starts walking. Michael does too.

Time passes. He barely marks it. Before too long, he has to direct all his attention toward putting one foot in front of the other. Michael insists on walking himself, too, rebuffs his attempts to carry him. For the best, probably. The irony is not lost on him, that the small child is handling this walking better than he is. He ought to be better. Ought to push through. The wound only flares up at intervals, now, and the rest of the time, he barely feels his body at all.

He’s hot, though. Or maybe cold. He’s walking through fire. He’s made of ice.

He blinks, and Tommy’s in front of him. Frowning disapprovingly. Staring fearfully. The reflection of every mistake he’s ever made. He blinks, and Tommy is gone. He’s stopped walking. When did he stop walking? Michael is tugging on his sleeve.

He starts walking.

He has to stop to vomit again. Nothing comes up but stomach acid, and then it devolves into dry heaving. He braces himself against a tree. The tree is covered in red vines. The tree is nothing but brown bark. The tree isn’t there at all, and he’s walking, stumbling, and there’s no one there to steady him and hasn’t been in a long, long time.

“Wibbur,” Michael says.

“It’ll be alright,” he says. Or thinks. Or whispers, or shouts. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he speaks, or if he’s just dreaming.

His foot catches. He can’t rebalance himself in time, and he goes sprawling, autumn leaves crackling beneath him. The jolt seems to remind the wound that it exists, and agony spikes through him, and he thinks he makes a noise, something high-pitched and keening. He’s so hot. He’s so cold. He feels sticky, dirty, unclean. It’s difficult to breathe. He’s got a mouthful of dirt.

Something is pulling on him. Little paws, familiar paws. Paws that fit neatly in the palm of his hand, precious, protected, the whole world twice over, right here.

“Dad, c’mon,” Fundy says, voice high and piping. “You said we’d go walking, you promised!”

“I did,” he says. “Gimme a—gimme a second. I’ll get up.”

“No, we have to go now,” Fundy says. He’s so small. So young. Baby fat clings to his cheeks. His lips are pursed in a pout. His hair is messy. There’s a twig in it. Several leaves. He needs a bath. It’s always so difficult, wrestling Fundy into a bath, and even worse trying to catch him to dry him off afterward. He’s not looking forward to it. Fundy’s eyes are crimson.

“Okay,” he says. He pushes himself up to his hands and knees, then to just his knees. The trees swirl and spin; Fundy wavers in and out of focus. Sometimes, Fundy is only a shadow, a shadow in the wrong shape. Sometimes Fundy only has one eye. He hurts. He doesn’t remember why. He’d like it to stop. He’s hot. He’s cold. “I’m coming. Lead the way.”

He stands. It’s difficult. His heartbeat roars in his ears, and it sounds like a threat.

Fundy holds his hand. It’s such a tiny paw. It’s not a paw. It doesn’t feel right. Fundy leads the way. He follows Fundy. Follows his son. He’d give anything for his son. His child, more precious to him than anything else, any riches or any musics or any stars. His child. He’s lost his child. He has his child.

He’s lost. He stumbles. Falls again. There are shadows all around. The shadows have teeth and horns. One has wings and a sword, and bears down on him, and he hears recriminations in Tommy’s voice. He has killed Tommy.

Fundy isn’t holding his hand. He doesn’t know where Fundy has gone. He thinks he will never have Fundy again. He thinks it is his fault.

He is on the ground. There are stars exploding in him. Stardust is shrapnel, deadly as fireworks. Fireworks burst. He couldn’t save him. He wouldn’t have been able to. Tubbo stares at him accusingly. It’s his fault. Fireworks. Stardust. They’re all made of stars, but the stars didn’t want him back. He wishes that they did. He can’t close his eyes without seeing the trains. He would rather have been with the stars.

He’s in pain.

When awareness returns, or returns enough, at least, he’s on the ground, curled on his side, the side that’s not bleeding. His mouth is full of blood; further investigation imparts the fact that he’s bitten the side of his cheek. He used to do that, when he was president. His mouth was full of self-inflicted sores. A bad habit. One of many. He was always so stressed. He feels so stressed.

No. He’s awake. He has to stay awake.

There is a small body curled up against him, uncomfortably warm. Piglins run so hot. He used to like to snuggle up to Techno as a kid. Techno grumbled, but he let him. Techno used to love him. He used to love Techno.

Piglin. Right. Michael. Michael’s still here.

“Michael?” he says, voice barely even a rasp, and Michael raises his head. His eye is bloodshot. He’s been crying. That must be his fault, too. He made the baby cry. That sounds about par the course.

“You fell,” Michael whispers. “You didn’t geddup.” And then, something in Piglin, something jumbled, scrambled, like Michael’s attempting something a little too complex for a young child to actually manage. Something about gold, and bones, and lava, he thinks.

“I’m awake now,” he says. Slurs. It’s all the same thing, now. It’s still daylight, but dimmer. Late afternoon, maybe. Or maybe his vision is going. He’s in trouble. Real trouble. They need to find someone soon. “‘M sorry. Did—you see where Fundy went?”

Michael just stares at him. Uncomprehending.

“He was here,” he says. “My li’l—my li’l champ. Champion. My—my son.”

But Fundy is grown. Fundy cast him aside. Fundy burnt the flag. Fundy doesn’t want him, and after everything he did, who could blame him? Fundy is grown now, and so he could not have been here, with his little paws that slot so neatly into his hands.

He feels like crying.

“Wibbur, please,” Michael says. It sounds more like pwease. Adorable. Fundy used to—no. “Be okay?”

“Be okay,” he agrees. It’s time to get up again. If he doesn’t, he’ll die here. That’s motivation enough. He may wish for the stars to keep him, but he knows better, now. There are no stars where he will go, and there is no peace and no absolution. So he cannot die. He cannot die, and he cannot let Michael die, and that means he has to get up.

So he does.

---

He can’t climb a tree. That’s beyond him, now. So he finds a hill, digs them a hollow at the base, and packs the dirt back in place, leaving the smallest of windows to see the sky, to get fresh air. The mobs know they’re here. They cluster around, making their death noises. But they cannot get in. They haven’t the minds for that. Michael trembles against him, and they are both silent. Quiet like mice, like ghosts.

He wishes ghosts were quiet.

He sleeps fitfully. There are shadows in his dreams, his nightmares. Philza kills him, even though he tries to tell him he doesn’t want to go this time. Trains sweep by, past him and over him, and he cannot get on. His fingers are bones. His bones crumble to dust, but he’s forced to keep existing. He’s freezing. He’s numb. His side throbs. There’s something growing in it, in his flesh. Squirming.

Dawn comes. He doesn’t remember what day it is. He digs them back out of the hill.

They walk. And then Michael screams, and he falls, and when he raises his head, there’s a zombie there, flesh a horrid, putrid brown, patches of red dotting its carapace, its eyes the color of blood and its nails sharp. The tree cover. It’s too dense. It’s not burning. He needs to get back up.

Michael is standing between him and the zombie. Michael has a little golden sword. Where the fuck did he get that.

Zombies ignore zombie piglins. But Michael is attacking, swinging his blade wildly. He needs to get back up, because the zombie is looking at Michael, reaching for Michael and its eyes are burning, burning unholy hellfire, dripping blood, and he has to get up, because he cannot let this happen, he cannot—

Strength fills him, from some unknown reserve. He lurches to his feet. Throws himself at the zombie. Michael shrieks. There’s a sharp pain in his shoulder. They hit the ground, the zombie below, him on top. He doesn’t have a weapon. He has his fists. He uses them. He’s lucky, because the zombie’s at too awkward a position to fight back. Eventually, it stops moving, dissolves back into the code like all mobs do.

The forest is alive with clattering, groaning, skittering. It’s too dark here.

He stands. Sways, then plants his feet. Michael’s mouth is agape, but he doesn’t look afraid. Not of him. That’s good.

He scoops Michael into his arms. And he runs. Crashes through undergrowth, regardless of sound. Swerves, makes his path jagged, zigzags because he has no other choice, because there are patches of vines everywhere, entire chunks of them lying in wait, clearings where nothing lives except for the invasion, and there were not so many a few days ago, so it has spread. Is spreading. Faster than they’ve been walking. But they’re running now. He’s running, and he barely feels the ache in his side, the bite in his shoulder, the various other cuts and scrapes he’s accumulated. Michael clings to him with one hand, the other still holding the golden sword. Seriously, where the fuck was he keeping that?

There are mobs. Spiders lunge, skeletons shoot. An arrow traces a line of fire across his thigh. He stumbles. Keeps going.

Keeps running, until he can’t anymore, until he falls. All he can do is tuck Michael close, turn it into a roll, and try not to land on him.

He succeeds in that, at least.

When his vision clears, Michael is hovering over him again. This is becoming a familiar pattern. And above Michael, there is bright blue sky. They’ve cleared the forest.

“Are you hurt?” he tries to ask, except it comes out as, “‘urt?”

“You hurt,” Michael says. “Make not hurt?”

“Not your job,” he manages. They’ve made it to a different biome. His vision is blurring too much to make out details. He doesn’t see any swathes of red, at least. So they keep going. They have to keep going.

He needs a minute.

When he wakes, Michael is humming. The same song he hummed to him. Barely recognizable, half the notes wrong, but it’s almost enough to drag a sob from him. Children are like that. Children are trusting. He is a monster and a villain, and it has been a very long time since anyone sang to him, but Michael wouldn’t know any of that. Michael only knows that he’s hurt, and that he doesn’t know how to fix it. But he wants to fix it, because he is a kind child, so he’s humming instead. Doing what Wilbur tried to do to comfort him.

“You’re a good—good kid,” he whispers.

And he gets up.

It’s one foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the other.

He’s cold. He’s hot. Something is following him. When he turns back, there is nothing. Sometimes he looks to the distance and sees a fox, sitting, watching, stare hard and pitiless. The fox never moves, and never gets any closer. The sun moves. They’re losing daylight. Losing time.

He doesn’t know how much.

He loses time. He closes his eyes, and opens them somewhere different, still staggering along. He closes his eyes and opens them on the ground and doesn’t remember falling. His limbs are clunky, weighty. Gravity is heavy. His blood is running thick and slow. He hasn’t the heart to check the wound. Either of them. Any of them. He thinks he might be rotting away. Sometimes his chest burns with phantom pain. Sometimes he thinks he feels his blood spilling out, his ribs opening up. He could offer up his heart and it would never be enough.

His body is on fire. Shrapnel and stardust.

There is something growing in his side, and it’s going to eat him alive.

One foot in front of the other.

Michael talks to him, childish babble, much of it unintelligible. Sometimes it’s not Michael. Sometimes it’s Tommy. Tubbo. Phil. Even Technoblade. He hears words, once, that he recognizes. An invitation. Hearth and home. Words that every piglin grows up knowing. Michael invites him into his sounder. Michael doesn’t know all the phrases, probably couldn’t say them even if he did, but he tries, and it is Techno’s voice that overlays his, Techno’s voice as he spoke to him so long ago, Techno’s voice as he said the rites and made the offer and brought him into his family. He thinks he replies. He is drowning in a river of dust. The river is bearing him away from home. But the home is no longer his. The home is glad to see him go. The home would have preferred it if he never came back.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot. And then the next.

The train will be coming soon. He can hear it.

One foot. Foot on grass, then foot in sand.

He looks up.

The light is fading. Afternoon darkens to dusk. There is a desert stretched out before them, and in the desert, there are lights.

Michael says something in Piglin. He doesn’t understand.

Lights mean people. They’ve found someone. Someone in the desert. Who lives in the desert? Only fools. And only fools make them. Though sometimes fools are pretty, and clever. Clever fools, all of them.

Michael doesn’t have any shoes. All this way, and he’s only just now noticing that Michael doesn’t have any shoes. He has hooves, of course. Will hot sand burn his hooves? It might. He can’t risk it. Wilbur is already burning. He can’t let Michael burn, too.

He picks Michael up. Michael squirms a bit, but settles quickly.

Sand is difficult to walk through. He falls to his knees. Again, and again. He gets back up. He keeps going. He falls.

The lights. Closer. Taking up all his vision. Streaks of light like comet trails. Or fireworks. Or the passing train. The engine rumbles loudly, insistently. A monster. Eating all in its path. Eating the grass and the sky and even the stars. He does not want to get on. He keeps walking. Michael is in his arms.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

The voice is known. The voice is hated. The voice must be real, because he would not imagine that voice calling out to him. Not like this, not these words. Not wary, questioning. In his arms, Michael suddenly squirms.

“Ret,” he says. “It’s Ret. Wibbur, it’s Ret.”

There is a shadow. The shadow is large, but most of that shadow is a cloak. Rich red. He doesn’t like the color. Who wears a cloak in a desert? Only idiots. Only traitors. He walks forward, because there is nowhere else to walk, even if he would rather not. He is marching into the lion’s den. Perhaps he ought to be running. Can he be sure that Michael will not be harmed? Once, he thought the shadow would never harm him, thought the voice welcoming, comforting, friendly, but he was wrong about that. Wrong about that, and so many other things.

“State your business before you get any closer, if you please,” the voice calls out. They are still only a shadow, backlit by light.

“Ret!” Michael calls back. “It’s me!” Cheerful, bright, fearless. Michael knows the voice, too, and Michael trusts it. But Michael is a child. Michael doesn’t know any better. Michael has the excuse of youth, where he did not, where he had no excuse at all. He should have seen the snake coiled in wait, should have seen the traitor’s heart. Something is glowing white in the darkness. There is bile rising in the back of his throat.

Wilbur stops walking.

For a moment, the voice does not reply. And then, the voice calls out, “Michael?” And the voice is disbelieving, shocked, relieved, and the shadow gets closer, and sand crunches and Wilbur is having a bit of difficulty breathing.

The shadow solidifies. The face is Eret’s.

“Oh gods, you found—Wilbur?”

Eret has stopped up short. He doesn’t know why. And then Eret does take a step closer, and he flinches, because Eret is going to kill him, except he realizes a moment later that there is no weapon in Eret’s hand, and Eret has stopped again, mouth slack.

“You’re alive,” Eret whispers. “Fuck, you’re alive. And you found—”

“Did everyone know this child except for me?” he tries to ask, but knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that maybe a third of them actually come out like he intended. Eret’s brows draw together, and then he blinks, and Eret is right there, is far, far too close to him, and he jerks away, and the world becomes a kaleidoscope, and when reality returns he’s still standing, but Eret has their hand on one of his shoulders. The one that’s not bleeding. He doesn’t like it. The touch makes his skin crawl. He can’t seem to move.

He still has Michael. Michael is quiet.

“We thought you were dead,” Eret says. “Or at least, we feared the worst. But you’re hurt, aren’t you?”

Do they think he’s a fool? He’s not going to admit to that.

“Alright,” Eret says. “Alright, we’ll—come on, let me get you inside. We’ve still got some medical supplies left, we can—someone can get that treated. It’s—it is good to see you, Wilbur. Can you walk?”

He’s been walking all this way. He can get his legs working again, in a moment.

“I can take Michael,” Eret says. Their voice has gone very soft. “You probably shouldn’t be putting strain on that shoulder. We were so scared that he was—”

He’s not listening. Eret is trying to take Michael from him. Suddenly, he can move again. He wrenches himself away. Backs up, nearly trips, doesn’t. Eret jolts, startled, but he doesn’t care, because he is not going to let Eret take this child. He’s come so far.

“Don’t touch him,” he hisses, and the message there should be clear.

Eret slowly raises their hands. “I’m not going to harm him,” they say. “I give you my word.” They grimace. “For as much as it’s worth. I understand that it wouldn’t mean a lot, to you. But, listen, Wilbur, let’s just get further in. Everyone’s here, and Tub—”

“‘M not giving him to you,” he says. “‘M not, I’ve come so far, an’ I promised him, I promised, I promised I’d find his parents, I’m not, I can’t, I won’t give him to you, I won’t—”

“I won’t take him,” Eret says. They sound—scared, but that cannot be right. “I swear to you, I won’t take him. You can keep holding him, but please, just let me help you. Both of you.” They pause, and then add, carefully, “His parents are here, Wilbur. You did it. You can take him to them. But come into the temple?”

Oh. Oh. Michael’s parents are here?

“Wibbur?” Michael says. “With Ret? We go?” He sounds confused.

Wilbur feels confused. His head is pounding. His head is miles away from his feet, from his hands, from all of him. The body doesn’t belong to him. The body fits wrong. The body is younger than it should be. The body feels numb. The pain is almost completely gone. There is something growing.

He nods. Eret sighs. It sounds like relief.

“Great,” they say. “Come on, I’ll just—”

Wilbur doesn’t want them to touch him. But the first step he takes sends him pitching forward, has Michael letting out a startled squeal, and Eret catches him, stops him from falling, and he has to admit that maybe, if he’s going to keep walking, having someone there to steady him might not be a bad idea. Even if it’s this someone. But Eret doesn’t try to take Michael from him again, and Eret takes more and more of his weight as they go further into this base, until they are basically holding him up by the elbows and his breaths are labored, wheezing. Michael makes a sound, curls further into him. He tries to tighten his grip. He can’t really feel his arms.

“It’s alright,” Eret says. “It’s alright, we’re nearly there. I’m sorry. Everyone’s inside, it’s protected in there.”

This base—a temple, did Eret say? He doesn’t want to pray, and he’ll say so, if they make him—is very large. He can’t make out details. There’s a lot of gold. Mosaics. Pillars. Sandstone. Torches driving the night away.

And then he is inside. There are people, blurry impressions in a room that’s too large and too bright. They are talking, a hum and a jumble and a babble, and he stands there, gasping for breath, Eret at his elbow and Michael tucked into his chest.

“I need potions and bandages,” Eret says, and their voice cuts across the noise like a knife against the throat. It took him thirty seconds to die when Punz slashed his. “Right now.”

There is silence. There is silence. Silence is all there is. Are there people in here? He thinks there are. He sees shapes that might be people, that must be people.

And then—

“Michael?” someone says. “Holy fuck.” And that is followed by someone else saying, “Wilbur?” and someone else saying, “Wil?” and someone else saying, “Oh my god, Michael,” and too many people are saying things and too many people are moving toward him and he doesn’t know where Michael is supposed to go and he doesn’t even know where he is, but suddenly, Michael is squirming in his arms and saying, “Boo! Boo, Bo!”

So he lets Michael down. Focuses his gaze on him, so he sees where he runs to, sees that he doesn’t head straight into danger, sees that he totters across the floor and into someone’s arms, someone who is kneeling, hands outstretched, and that someone is—

Tubbo.

And next to Tubbo, Ranboo.

He—has no idea what to make of that. And also, the world is swaying.

“Wilbur, what the fuck?” Tommy says. He has appeared very suddenly, right next to him. “What the fuck, man, where have you been? You weren’t—you weren’t fucking anywhere, man, we thought that the Egg got you or some shit. What the hell? And where’d you find—fuck, man. I thought you were dead.”

He sounds frazzled. But fine. Wilbur wonders if he’s real.

“I would’ve thought you’d like that,” he says. “Y’might get Ghostbur back, that way.”

Tommy stares at him. His face contorts. He opens his mouth.

Wilbur leans over and throws up.

“Oh, fuck,” Tommy says, “fuck, ew, that is disgusting, that is the grossest shit I have seen in my life, what the hell, Wilbur, I can’t believe you would come in here, and, and on my shoes! I don’t have any spare shoes!”

His legs can’t hold him up. His shoulder burns. His side burns. Flares, twists. Hot. Cold. His bones are trying to break out of his body. He can’t blame them. Get out while the going is good. Bones. Goodbye, bones.

There are hands on him. He’s being lowered. Now he’s on the floor, tile against his back.

“Where the fuck are those pots?” someone is saying.

“He’s hurt? Fuck, wait, no, how bad is it—”

“His shoulder, I think—no. Wait.”

Someone tries to peel his skin off. He screams. Tries to thrash. It’s an ambush, maybe. Dream and his people have found them in the dead of night. He should have known better than to allow his guard to drop. But this wasn’t supposed to be what it was. This was supposed to be a land of freedom and peace. None of this was supposed to happen. And now look what he’s led his people into.

Someone swears.

“Oh, that’s not—that is not good, someone get Ponk—”

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, fucking stop it, let me see, let me, let me do something, you can’t just—”

“Is he—is he okay? Is he alright?”

“—and holy water, however much we have left—”

“Wil? Let me fucking through, that’s my—Wil!”

There are shadows above him. Shadows below. The train is roaring in his ears, tearing up the countryside, a monster approaching, implacable, with burning red eyes. He wonders, sometimes, if his own eyes show it. He looks in the mirror every now and again and sees the same brown that they have always been, but still he wonders. He wonders, and sometimes does not recognize himself. He ought not to look the way that he does. The face is too young. The train is coming.

He can’t do this again.

There is a little hand in his. But he must be imagining it. Fundy is not so small. Fundy has not been so small for a very long time, and he would not hold him. He would not. And Wilbur cannot feel his hand anyway.

He turns his head to the side. He cannot see.

“Fundy?” he asks. Or perhaps he doesn’t.

In shrapnel and stardust and the engine’s roaring and the vines’ slow sprouting, the world falls away.

---

There are voices. The voices call him, sometimes, where he drifts. Like in water, like in the clouds. The train is above him, or below him, or to the side, but he is not on it, and there is no firm ground beneath his feet. As long as he does not stop drifting, he’ll be alright.

The voices speak words that he does not understand. That he does not care to understand. They are only words, after all, and what are words to one who is drifting?

He hurts, sometimes. He stops drifting, sometimes, but only because the drifting is replaced with fire and ice, in his shoulder, in his side, and he is pulled back to a body, solid and aching and aflame, and he does not like it, so he struggles when he can and lays still when he cannot, and sometimes there are people that he cannot see holding his limbs down. And sometimes they are stabbing his side again, or sometimes burning it with acid, or sometimes he thinks that they are reaching in and pulling something out, puling his muscles and veins and organs, but whenever he feels that, it’s easy to drift again. To remove himself from it all. And there’s no pain when he’s drifting.

He likes drifting.

Sometimes, he does know what’s said. Someone whispers in his ear, says, “You better not die, you bastard,” and the voice is familiar, and he doesn’t understand, not really, but he’ll do his best.

Sometimes, someone says, “Thank you for saving him.” Over and over, repeated like a mantra. That voice is familiar too. He does not know what he is being thanked for.

He drifts. Sometimes he feels. Mostly, he does not. He likes it better when he does not, so long as the pain stays away.

Drifting is like floating, a bit. He remembers the first time he flew, cradled in his father’s arms as his father showed him the open sky. He wasn’t scared. He knew that his father would not let him fall. And that even if he did, he would catch him again. He liked it up there, among the stars, liked to pretend that he had wings himself. He does not have wings.

Now, he is drifting, and he doesn’t need to be caught, but it might be nice. Nice to have a place to land, at long last.

He drifts, and sometimes he dreams. He dreams of an open field, covered in dandelions and poppies, and there is a woman there, who regards him with lips upturned and brow arched, a gleam in her eyes. She speaks to him, and he retains none of the words, but he thinks she’s making fun of him. But gently. He likes her. She listens to his music, and when the train gets too close, she doesn’t scold him for stopping, for trembling, for shaking himself apart. And she does not leave. She knows he does not want to be alone. She tells him she is glad that he knows that, now. She says she is sorry she couldn’t help him before. She also calls him names. But fondly.

She says she doesn’t think it’s his time again. Not yet.

He drifts. The dream fades. He forgets.

He dreams of a van, and of fire. The van is on fire, like it always is. There is fire on the ground, too, and in the forest. A campfire. He’s singing again. His fingers twist around the guitar strings, and his fingers are suited for it once more. His fingers remember this instead of the crossbow’s weight, instead of the shape of the button and the bitten-off nails and the fabric of Phil’s shirt as he gasped his last. He remembers the guitar, and music, and the time of possibility. Tommy is here. Tubbo is here. Fundy is here. They are smiling. They are happy. It is a very nice dream.

He dreams of red. Slashing, creeping, crawling through everything. Filling his vision, even where he drifts. Calling him, beckoning him closer. The vines are poised, waiting. They want to eat him whole. They have already begun. There are roots in his heart. He can hear—

“Do something,” someone says. “I’m trying, damn it, give me space!” someone else says. “Don’t you fucking die,” someone else says.

They are tearing him apart. They are holding him down. He is at the mercy of wolves. And shrapnel, and stardust.

And then, it goes away again, and he drifts.

He dreams of a little boy, with hands small enough to fit in his. Orange fur, dark eyes wide with delight, as he and the boy’s mother go to sit on the pier. They watch the fish swimming, circling below, close enough to touch, and Fundy tries, pouting when they dart out of his grasp. Sally laughs at him, voice low and rough and melodious. She smiles at Fundy, and at him, and he brushes some of her hair behind her ear. Puts a flower there that he picked just for this purpose. Fundy kicks his feet back and forth, growing bored. It is calm. It is peaceful. They are home, and this is right.

The water laps below them. The sea sings its song, and he tries to sing back, the words of the lullaby that Phil sang to him and that he will now sing to Fundy and that maybe someday Fundy will sing to another. It is peaceful. They are home. And this is right.

“Dad, please,” he hears someone say. Just once. Just once, but is is almost enough to bring him out of his drifting. Almost, almost. Anything to see his boy. But his boy does not want to see him. He must remember that.

He drifts. He dreams.

There are shadows, and the shadows do not touch him. He drifts, and he rests, and is floating, and the stars whisper, and the universe watches.

He wakes.

His eyelids feel heavy, thick, glued shut. He wrenches them open, slowly, every millimeter a struggle. Awareness of his body filters through gradually; he is lying on something soft, a hard surface beneath, and his side and shoulder ache, but there is no feverish haze, no ice and no fire. Only the thick mud of waking from deep sleep. He is content to let that remain. He feels very tired.

There are people near.

He turns his head to the side. Anything more seems impossible. He is in a large space, on the ground, though there are blankets beneath him and over him, a pillow tucked under his head. It is dark, dimly lit by flickering torchlight. The walls are sandstone and gold, the ceiling high. He does not recognize this place.

There are people near him. They seem to be sleeping too, a several huddles of blankets and pillows. There’s Tommy, brow creased. There’s Ranboo, and Tubbo right next to him. There are people further off that he can’t see. He thinks he hears whispering. There are black feathers dotting the ground. Only a few, but enough to know who else has been here, at the very least.

They are safe. He was wondering where they were, and they are here, wherever that is. They are safe. He didn’t know he remembered how to feel relief this strongly.

Something shifts. Something squirms out from between where Tubbo and Ranboo are resting, and then someone hovers over his face.

“Wibbur up,” Michael says, in a whisper that’s not really a whisper. “Feel better?”

He blinks. Swallows, or tries too; his mouth is dry.

“Yes,” he says. He can’t manage more than a rasp. Perhaps that’s for the best; he doesn’t want to wake anyone. “Feel better. Are you okay?”

“Found Boo,” Michael says. “And Bo. It’s good!”

Michael’s hands pat his cheeks. He blinks again.

“That’s—those are your parents, right?” he says. He has to be sure. Has to be sure that he’s gotten Michael to safety.

“Boo and Bo,” Michael repeats, and points directly at where Ranboo and Tubbo are sleeping, almost curled around each other but not quite. And—oh. Oh, alright. He’s not sure that that makes any kind of sense at all, because he has no idea when Tubbo or Ranboo would have taken in a child, much less with each other, and he figured they knew each other but not that they were close enough for someone like that, and actually, it does sort of hurt, a little bit, that no one would have bothered to tell him, or perhaps didn’t trust him enough to tell him, but—

He’s tired. He’s tired and Michael is safe. He’s tired, and Michael is safe, and he’s not in too much pain, and he thinks he’s going to live, and Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo are all right there, for some reason, but he’ll take it.

Maybe he’ll have a bigger reaction to this revelation later. When thinking clearly isn’t such a chore.

“They were sad,” Michael says. “You hurt. But now better!” Michael pats his cheek again.

“Oh,” he says. “Well. Yes. I’m better now.” He feels unconsciousness tugging at him. He’s so exhausted.

“Michael?” someone says, and Ranboo lifts his head up. He has a truly remarkable case of bed head. His eyes are bleary, though Wilbur tries not to look directly into them for too long. “Michael, where—oh!” Beside him, Tubbo stirs, and as if that’s a trigger for something, Tommy grumbles under his breath, shifting, and then jerking awake. Which was not his intention. Better for them to sleep. He’s not going to be able to talk to them, won’t be able to answer the questions they must have. He can feel himself slipping, can see darkness on the edges of his vision.

But no trains.

“Wilbur,” Tommy says. Just that. Nothing else.

“Hi,” he says. “Think I’m—‘m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Pussy,” Tommy says, voice thick. Only because he’s sleepy too, no doubt, just woke up, and for no good reason, too. That always makes Tommy grouchy. “Fine, go back to sleep then. Dunno why you’re trying to be awake in the first place.”

They’re all looking at him, the three of them. He feels the urge to explain himself. To make sure they know what happened, and that he looked after Michael as best he could. He’s a monster in their eyes—except for Ranboo’s, he supposes, because Ranboo is very nice to him and Ranboo believes he’s capable of change—but not that kind of monster. He’s never wanted to be. He’d just like to be a person again.

“He’s safe,” he says. “I kept him safe.” That’s all he can manage. It comes out desperate. Begging for understanding.

Ranboo frowns. “Of course,” he says. “Of course you did. Are you okay, Wilbur?”

He sounds worried about him. He doesn’t know if he can answer properly, at the moment, but it means a good bit that Ranboo is asking. And then, Tubbo scoots a little closer.

“We know, boss man,” Tubbo says. It’s been a good while since Tubbo called him that. “We know. We didn’t think you did anything less. Thank you so much”—His voice cracks, a little—“for bringing him back to us. Thank you, Wilbur.”

They believe him. He’s done it, and they believe him. So that’s alright, for now. Michael is still patting his cheeks. He doesn’t mind. It’s cute. It’ll probably be annoying later, but for now, it’s cute.

“You should get some more sleep,” Ranboo says softly, so he lets his eyes slip closed.

He drifts again. Another shadow falls on the back of his eyelids.

“Was he awake?” someone says.

“Just for a second.” A pause. “You’re a fucking coward, y’know. Just as bad as he is.”

“Shut up, I’m not—I’ll talk to him later.”

The voice is familiar. The voice is known to him. For now, it’s enough that the voice is there at all. If he’s not imagining it. But this time, he doesn’t think he is. It is a dangerous thing, to hope, but he is weary of being hopeless.

So Wilbur lets himself sleep, and knows that he’ll wake up in the morning, and that for the moment, everything is okay.