#and then just try to cram a bunch of that into the show when some get canceled

[tigirl-and-co]

being a writer is a fucking nothingburger. had an awesome idea for an au/fancontinuity but I'm not super interested in making a full Thing out of it. and like artists can do doodles and shit to get the point across but I can't even do THAT much

[loversandantiheroes]

Thought about Mando and went through like twelve stages of grief again.

[hannie-dul-set]

나비 / NABI — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, somehow also a christmas and new year’s au, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, rumors as a plot device, bullying, alcohol consumption, cheesy shit, a few makeout scenes WAHAHHAHA. WORD COUNT. 28k (out of 49k).

NOTE. whoa.....HAHHAHAHA. this was long overdue, so i saved up my yapping for the afterword. anyhow, here it finally is 😭😭😭 my blood, sweat, and tears. mostly tears. enjoy. please let me know what you think, and happy new year to all!

모기 / MOGI — ONE — TWO — THREE

#3: YOU STILL DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. Your title has changed from Choi Beomgyu’s girlfriend to Choi Beomgyu’s cheating girlfriend. Such an upgrade. It’s like you have a sign with that title label hovering and pointing to your head every time you pass through a decently crowded hallway, or enter an occupied area. Like Horangnabi, for example. You’re minding your own business, sipping on your iced mocha, and the people on the next table keep snagging glances at you.

Julie shows up with a loud cough, practically slamming your cinnamon waffle onto the table. The group snaps their eyes off of you and jumps into a sudden conversation. Julie rolls her eyes. “If I hear anyone talking crap, I’m kicking them out of the shop.”

“Are you even allowed to do that?” You’re pretty sure the cafe belongs to the school. And Julie seonbae is still a student here. 

“No one’s ever here to supervise. This is my store now,” is her logical response. She takes a seat in front of you. You’re also pretty sure she’s still on duty. “Anyway, how was your break, pretty? Did you get some rest?”

Last week was the rest week after midterms, so you were able to spend the last six days at home in Daegu. Beomgyu wasn’t able to join you because he and the coding club— and this was hard to believe at first— had decided to join a game development contest hosted by TXT Inc. Shocker, you know. You couldn’t believe your ears after hearing the news from Beomgyu. 

But he crushes your feeling of pride just as quickly as he triggered it. They’re not doing this entirely out of passion and willingness, he said. The extracurriculars office threatened to shut down their club if they fail to show any tangible results before the end of the semester. 

Well, you guess if there’s anything that can get a bunch of boys to actually start properly operating their club, a dissolution threat will work wonders. They scrambled to find something they could do— a proposal to improve the MIS, events, anything. Fortunately for them, the TXT Inc. competition advertisement showed up on Yeonjun’s feed right when they needed it. Unfortunately, the deadline for the contest is mid-December. It’s now the last week of October. They’ve got like two months to cram an entire game from scratch, so for the entirety of the one-week break, they’ve been in a self-imposed isolation in the clubroom. To say that they’re on a tight schedule is an understatement. 

Which is why you’re at Horangnabi right now. To buy a fuckload of coffee for those poor, sleep-deprived chumps. Another barista walks up to your table with a dozen cups of coffee, halved into two takeout containers, and you bid Julie farewell before heading out to make your way to the clubroom.

It’s concerning how they haven’t even locked the door. It’s even more concerning how you’re met with pitch darkness the moment you swing the door open— save for the singular glow of one computer screen on the opposite end of the room.

You flick the lightswitch on. Groans erupt. It’s like you’ve just revived the dead.

“Turn off the sun,” you hear Heeseung groan from below. He’s laid on the worn out couch by the door, shifting around underneath a blanket. Looking around, you see the other corpses strewn about. “Turn it off.”

“What a mess.” Navigating through the sleeping bags on the floor (sleeping bodies included), you notice that it’s littered with a distressing amount of plastic bottles and takeout boxes. You grimace. “I got you guys coffee. Come and get it.”

The first person to be revived is Yeonjun. The sound of the containers set on the table stir him up from the couch, next to Heeseung, and he stumbles over to you, finishing out an americano from the box. “Thanks,” he drawls out, patting you on the head before making a turn towards the door. “Ugh. I need to wash my face.”

“You go do that,” you say. “Everyone, come get your coffee then get out. This place is a biohazard. Go out and get some sunlight while I clean up.”

If they keep working in this environment, you’re pretty sure one or seven of them are gonna catch a disease. After a few more moments of coaxing and physical threats, most of them eventually evacuate from the clubroom. You had to physically kick Heeseung out before locking the door. The only one left is a certain Choi Beomgyu, still curled up on a chair against the half-wall. He’s stuck behind the table, one remaining cup of coffee left behind for him. Poor guy. He looks like absolute shit. You decide to pick up the crap on the floor first before kicking him out.

To get some more light in this damned cave, you pull open the curtains and turn on the lights in the back. Copious amounts of rustling and two full trash bags later, Beomgyu is still knocked out. You’re not surprised. He sleeps like a corpse.

You set the bag aside against the door, spraying some sanitizer into your hands before walking up to him, quietly wedging yourself behind the table because he’s still got his headphones glued to his ears. That can’t be healthy. You try to remove it from his head, sitting down on the chair next to him, carefully placing your hands on the sides of his face, but this stirs him awake.

Beomgyu grumbles and shifts in his seat. And then you hear him mumble out your name with a question mark at the end. “Morning, idiot,” you say, retracting your hands. “I got you coffee.”

“It’s...it’s morning?” he groans, barely coherent.

“It’s five past nine,” you tell him. “What time did you sleep?”

“I don’t know,” he grunts, pulling up his legs to the chair and scrunching himself up even more with a yawn. “I just decided to nap when my eyes couldn’t distinguish the ones from the zeroes anymore.”

You laugh. “Get some more rest,” you say, getting up from the chair. “I’ll close the curtains, hold on—”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re tugged back onto your seat, and you feel Beomgyu drop his head onto your shoulder. “I’m gonna—” he releases another yawn. “I need’ta get up in a bit anyway.”

A breath slips past your lips. His head is so god damned heavy and you struggle to squirm into a comfortable enough position, all while trying to make sure you’re not moving too much to keep his head steady on your abused shoulder. While you’re doing that, you hear a knock from the other side of the clubroom door. Which is weird, because none of those fuckers knock at all. They tend to just barge in whenever they want.

Beomgyu recognizes this anomaly as well. He jolts up, relieving you from his weight. “Ah, shit,” he remarks, and— for some reason— starts...crawling underneath the table? “Can you answer the door? If someone’s looking for me, tell them I’m not here.”

You’re more than a little confused. Beomgyu’s face wrinkles into a grunt when another round of door knocks echo into the space, and he ducks further under the table, shielded from whoever the hell is on the other side of the door in case they walk in. Despite not receiving any answers on an explanation, you do as he says. Opening the door, you’re immediately slapped in the face by a loud, over enthusiastic voice that you don’t recognize.

“Choi Beomgyu, you can’t keep running from us anym—”

The guy cuts himself off, eyes wide at the recognition that you are not his person of interest. You don’t recognize him, but he seems to recognize you, confirmed by how he coughs up your name with so much weariness that it almost feels like he’s wronged you somehow.

“Yes?” you say, brow raised. He gulps. Who is this man, how does he know you, and why is he scared of you?

“Oh, uh— Yeonjun told us Beomgyu would be here…?”

“He’s not,” you reply, crossing your arms and tilting your body to the doorframe, just to give your friend some extra coverage. “But I can send the message. What do you want from him?”

You’re very aware of the amount of attitude you’re expelling right now. “W—well, you know the autumn festival is next month, right?”

“Get to the point.”

He flinches out a nod. “I, uh, I came here to try and convince your boyfriend to join the Battle of the Bands competition for the festival. The ICT department still needs some vacant slots to fill, so...do you think...you can maybe…?”

Ah. Right. There’s that thing. The festival. Your seniors have been sending messages in the group chat about it and Heeseung did mention that off-handedly at one point. They scouted him for your department’s band, too, but he’s still on the fence about it because of the competition deadline they’re trying to catch. That doesn’t answer why Choi Beomgyu is currently hiding under the table though. “Who are you again?” you ask in an attempt to get some hints. This question sends the guy frozen and standing perfectly upright.

“S—sorry, I’m Choi Soobin,” he introduces. “I’m Beomgyu’s senior from the department.”

Your face stiffens. Well, god damn, you’ve just been totally rude to a senior. You clear your throat, brushing your embarrassment aside by inhaling a sharp breath. “I’ll see what I can do,” you simply say before shutting the door. Once the lock clicks, you immediately taunt Beomgyu out of his hiding spot. “You piece of shit, you could’ve at least told me I needed to be respectful!”

“Wow. You’re so brave for talking to someone older than you like that.” He snickers, shuffling out from under the table before grinning at you, now standing at full height. “Your temper has mellowed out lately. I forgot that you’re inherently Satan’s underling whose default setting is to be mean and cranky.”

“Shut it,” you roll your eyes, moving back over to the door to take a peek if Choi Soobin had already left the premises. He has. The hallway is more or less empty. You turn your head back, looking over your shoulder at Beomgyu, who has his hands in his pockets, face scrunched in a yawn. You can’t help but notice the bags underneath his eyes, the gaunt paleness of his skin. A sinking feeling hits you. “C’mon. All your clubmates have left. Let’s get you photosynthesized, fuckface.”

The both of you trek the relatively barren path from the ICT building to the courtyard, planning to circle all the way back because god knows when was the last time this guy had been able to do some exercise. Pace slow, you cock your head to eye Beomgyu. He’s silently sipping on the coffee you got him, the mid-autumn leaves crunching underneath the soles of his feet as more cascade down from the trees lining your path. When your gaze shifts up, Choi Beomgyu still looks as tired as ever underneath the sun. You frown, biting on the straw of your own drink. 

“Why didn’t you want to join the band thing, by the way? You usually say yes to these things.”

Beomgyu looks over at you. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” you start. “Last sem’s E-Sports Fest. The conference thing. Not to mention all throughout highschool, you’d never miss the opportunity to be the center of attention. I’m just a little surprised.”

He lets out a hum. “Well, my priorities have changed.” Beomgyu reaches out for the top of your head with his free hand, plucking out a stray orange leaf from one of the trees above before flicking it away. “I’m already busy with the game dev contest as is. I’d rather focus my time on the important things.”

“Wow. So mature. I’m gonna tell your mom her son is all grown up.” All he does is roll his eyes at you. You laugh.

Despite that conviction of his, however, Choi Beomgyu is pretty quick to change his mind.

The next day, you’re back at the clubroom again with another set of coffee orders. It looks a lot more livable than yesterday. You call out their orders one-by-one, “Heeseung, iced mocha,” and they come up to the table to snatch it from your hands.

“Thanks, dear friend of mine,” Heeseung says, tipping your service with a firm smack on the back.

“I spit in your drink,” you retort back. He ignores your threat and saunters over to his spot next to Beomgyu, who’s busy doing god knows what with the computer, aggressive keyboard noises filling the room. You have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you try to find out. The most help you can offer to these losers is being their coffee intern.

When you finish handing all of them their drinks, ready to disappear and head off to your own business for the day, Hyunjin’s voice perks up your ears. He announces something to the entire club, eyes glued to his phone like he’d just read something very interesting. “Hey,” he starts. “Apparently Jang Seung is the drummer for the econ department’s band. You know. For the festival next month.”

They all stop doing whatever they’re doing— all heads pivoting to Beomgyu’s corner, who has now stopped typing on the keyboard. 

Beomgyu promptly gets up. He marches over to the couch, near where you’re at, and fishes for his phone from the scattered bags on the cushion. “What are you doing?” asks Yeonjun. “I thought you won’t stop coding until nature starts calling the need for you to piss.” Beomgyu simply waves him off, successfully retrieving his phone. You watch as he taps and scrolls and taps and puts the device up to his ear. 

Everyone is looking at him. There’s a moment of silence before he finally says, “Hyung,” into the phone. You eye him curiously. He meets your gaze— a flicker of a second— before turning his head just a centimeter away. “You still haven’t found a singer and guitarist yet, have you?”

Your eyes widen. Holy shit.

“Cool. I’ll see you later.”

Beomgyu throws his phone back onto the pile. “You’ll be in the band?” you manage to quickly get in before he scuttles off into his station again.

He turns to you. A smile. “Yeah?” he says. “You’re gonna cheer for me again, right?”

“But I thought you said you didn’t want to—” you stop yourself. “Nevermind. I will cheer for you as long as I don’t have to wear an ugly tangerine cosplay again. Why do your department colors have to be orange?”

He laughs. “Wear whatever you want.”

The news finally settles into the rest of the club. “Oh my god. Oh my god, holy shit, fuck, wait— I’ll prepare the posters—” Heeseung frazzles. The rest of the idiots start freaking out too. Jeongin says he’s going to design a lightstick. Jesus christ. Beomgyu’s fanclub has greatly diminished since, well, the issue, but you’re amused to see that his biggest fanboys are still standing strong. You bid the coding club farewell as they prepare for their fanchants on top of having a deadline to catch. 

This changing of his mind just made seeing your friend’s face throughout the following weeks a lot more difficult. He gets home late almost everyday, sometimes not even coming home at all. You know this when there’s no invader unlocking your door and sauntering into your home at 11 p.m. just to complain about how tired he is. But he still texts you often. Too often, and he gets cranky when you don’t text him back even though all he sent is just a photo of his forehead with a sad face emoji, and you’re in the middle of taking notes for a class, and he gives you a call not long after to complain about his grievances out loud.

“Are you ignoring me?” You hear him huff over the phone. You’re on the way to leave campus now. Usually, you’d hitch a ride with Choi Beomgyu, but he’s been occupied lately, so it’s the bus for you today. The sun is setting. The moment you walk past the gates, there’s already a bus waiting for you.

“Cut to the chase,” you gripe, hopping onto the vehicle. “What do you want?

“Free up your schedule tonight,” he demands. Wow. Does he think you’re a pushover? “Band practice is finishing up early because of the Lantern Festival downtown. Let’s go check out the night market.”

“Sure,” you say. “If you’re late again, you have to pay for the equivalent of my wasted time.”

“I won’t be late! I promise, I’m gonna rush out as soon as—”

“Yeah, whatever,” you laugh. “See you later.”

Funny guy. Despite his packed schedule, he still manages to squeeze in some time to hang out with you. Whether it’s by knocking at your door at two in the morning for a sudden drive, or this. On holidays and special occasions. The Lantern Festival is celebrated annually in the city, matching the schedule of your own university’s autumn fest. It’s now early-mid November. You freshened up at your apartment before heading back out once the sun had fully set, waiting under the streams of brightly lit posts downtown. 

You look at Beomgyu’s last text saying that they’re finishing up and he’s gonna head out in a bit. That was twenty minutes ago. You begin counting his debt as you walk down the lantered streets lining the path towards Gwanghwamun Night Market, a thousand won every minute he’s late. There are countless stalls and pop-up bars, pitched up tents selling souvenirs and food and trinkets. There’s a lot of things to keep you busy while you wait for him.

Your eyes catch one particular stand upon closing into the area. On the table and display at the far end of the tent are countless second hand, vintage digicams for cheap. You walk up to it, fiddling with the displays before asking the store owner for his recommendations. He hands you a silver, retro looking camera, the Canon logo stamped on it, with its price tag dangling behind. It’s pretty affordable. You make the purchase, carefully storing it inside your tote bag just in time for your phone to buzz. 

A text from Choi Beomgyu. You whip your head around and stop the moment you see him looking lost amidst the crowded square, brows furrowed as he tries and fails to find you. You feel a laugh bubbling. You respond to his text. [eyes ahead, doofus] He follows your instructions, face brightening the moment he sees you. Beomgyu then quickly jogs up to your spot, a little sweaty and breathless and quite frankly disheveled. “Hey!” he calls out. “Sorry, there was traffic and I had to run away from my bandmates. They wanted to have dinner together, and, uh—”

“Thirty minutes.”

Your flat tone causes him to flinch. He presses his lips together, guilty. 

“I waited for thirty minutes,” you tell him. “You owe me thirty thousand won.”

Beomgyu lets out a grunt and an apology and starts towing you away. “Fine,” he whines. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.” You let him drag you to the lines and lines of street food stalls, quickly finding something to settle your appetite, and before you know it, he’s scammed you into filling his 30k quota on nothing but snacks.

You realize this just as you and he are standing in front of a stall, sticks of fishcakes in hand and you’ve already half chewn yours. “Cheater!” you exclaim the moment it hits you. “You made me use up all your debt in less than an hour!”

He mocks you with a close-mouthed smile, cheeks still filled with fishcakes and he waves his stick at you, taunting.“Cry about it,” he muses. You roll your eyes. “Why? Did you want me to buy you something? I might consider it if you say it nicely.”

The sounds of nighttime festivities fill your ears. It’s very bright for eight in the evening. You buy another two sticks from the vendor. “Yeah. I do,” you reply, handing one of the sticks to Beomgyu. He takes it and starts nibbling. “I wanted you to buy me a turntable.”

And then he coughs on the fishcake. “The fuck?” he leers at you. You cackle and enjoy your own food without choking on it. “That’s— five times more than thirty fucking thousand won. You don’t even own any records? Wait, where did this even come from, you’ve never been interested in this kind of stuff, what the he—”

“I was joking, doofus,” you roll your eyes, but your lips remain smiling. Smiling because he looks so appalled, it’s funny. He doesn’t share your sentiment— the corners of his mouth downturned into a frown with knitted brows, and you snort at his expression. You throw away the empty sticks, ask the vendor how much you both owe, pay the equivalent, and your eyes wander off to the sound of chatting and laughing passing you by, groups of people funneling into the direction of the stream nearby. “Hey,” you tap on Beomgyu’s arm, before taking the liberty to grab a fistful of his sleeve, tugging him closer. “Let’s go check out what’s going on.“

Beomgyu allows himself to be dragged along by you without much protest into the shuffling crowd. You manage to squeeze into a gap, not even being able to turn your head and check on him when the pace of the crowd pushes you forward, moving further away from the bright and warm stringed lights of the night market, now into a dimmer portion of the area that greets your cheeks with cold brushes of the wind.

The crowd fizzles out near the ledge overhanging the stream, allowing you to patter your steps across the pavement, running up to get a better view of what’s underneath with Beomgyu’s still in tow. On the water, you see a line of intricate floats slowly making their way downstream. Historical arches and buildings, dragons and folklore. You can even see a Doraemon float way back in the line if you squint and the air is knocked out of your lungs, from sheer awe and amazement. It’s so pretty. What catches your attention more is further down, there are people releasing their own orbs of light into the water, and some letting the lanterns loose into the sky. 

“Whoa,” you breathe out. “That’s so cool.”

You feel a nudge on your shoulder. You turn to see Beomgyu, engulfed in the cold evening light, and he cocks his head back into the direction of the market. There you see a tent filled with similar looking lanterns that everyone else was releasing, not too far away with people queuing up in rows. Your head snaps back to Beomgyu, eyes sparkling. He huffs out a smile and leads you to the tent, getting in line to have your own.

“Please wait for any available spots by the table to write your wishes down.”

“Thank you,” you smile at the stall attendant, a paper lotus lantern in hand with Beomgyu right next to you, and you take a spot on the table the moment it becomes vacant. 

It doesn’t take you long to ponder your wish. Good health. A fucking boyfriend. The works. Not that you’re superstitious, but it’s a cute idea. You peer over at Beomgyu, who’s still holding an unopened marker with a thoughtful expression. His brows are furrowed, lips pursed, and all of a sudden, he snaps down and quickly scribbles something you can’t see. Wow. He’s serious about this, you laugh a little. “Are you done?” He jolts, a little surprised before looking up at you.

“Oh, yeah.” Beomgyu sets down the marker, picking up the lantern from the table. “Are you?”

The both of you get off to get your lanterns lit up, and the once pink-tinted paper now burns a warm orange in your hands, toasting up your palms in spite of the cold weather. You head off back to the stream, all the way underneath the overhanging bridge to its shore. Carefully, you crouch down near the water, Beomgyu following your lead, and you look at him, the contours of his face tempered by an almost sunset-like glow amidst the frigid glimmer of the moon all around you.

“Do we just...drop them here?” he asks. You blink. You turn your head to the surface of the shimmering stream as it waits for your burning offering.

“I—I guess so,” you cough out. “Should we count?”

“You’re so lame,” he laughs. You glare at him. “Sure. On three. One—”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The lanterns escape from your grasps at the same time, pulled away from you by the current and the breeze. You watch as the two orange orbs slowly float away above the water, bumping into each other, drifting away from each other for a mere moment before colliding again, and remaining at that same proximity as they both follow the same current, pushed by the same breeze. 

You look at Beomgyu, who watches the two lanterns until they fully escape your line of sight. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask. 

His gaze shifts over to you. It’s heavy. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

“You can’t just ask those kinds of questions,” he jeers, bringing up a hand to your retreating face just to punch your nose. “That’s gonna nullify my wish. Stop trying to sabotage me.”

“I’m not! I was just curious!” You swat his hand away, annoyed. You two are still crouching by the stream, hands resting on your knees. There’s a lot of people around you too, also indulging in the festival tradition. At this point, your lanterns have been completely swallowed by the multitude of other glowing lotuses on the water. You’re pretty sure that the government is just gonna clean it all up come morning and throw them into the dump. So much for lantern wishes. Whimsy destroyed. Romanticism ruined.

Before your nihilism can completely take over, Beomgyu starts speaking again. “The game deadline is nearing,” he suddenly starts. “And the uni autumn festival is like, next week.” For some reason, you can hear a sigh in his voice. Poor idiot. He must be so tired. “I seriously can’t wait for everything to be over. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even been able to drive you home lately.”

You stare at the water. You feel a knot in your throat which you cough out, bumping your shoulder against his before your arms stretch out, fingers locking and elbows hitting your knees to release the tension in your muscles. “I can get home by myself, you know,” you tell him, allowing your hands to hang languidly in the air.

“I know,” he says, reaching out for your pinky finger, a jolt of warmth running down your spine as he plays around with the contours of the joint, tracing down to the tip of the finger when he continues, “It’s getting colder. We should go.”

Beomgyu pulls you up with him when he stands, fully enclosing his hand with yours.

He drives the both of you home that night. First time in a while, and the last time in an even longer while because he gets even busier. Band practice. Club meetings. Game dev contest on top of your also staggering amount of coursework. Most of your time is spent with Minjeong and Sungchan because Heeseung has also been swallowed by work. Poor pathetic guy number two. He deserves all of his misery.

It’s a weekday, and you’re at the library with Minjeong and Hanbin this time. He’s been liberated from coding duty because he has an exam tomorrow. These two have just been formally acquainted with each other, as far as you know, but while taking a bathroom break with Minjeong for a brief moment, she suddenly tells you, “I like him better than Beomgyu.”

You cock a brow at her through the mirror, shaking your wet hands over the sink. “Hanbin? What’s the point of comparison here?”

“Yeah,” she answers, retouching her lip gloss. “He doesn’t make fun of you and he’s less annoying. You should date him instead.”

A laugh leaves your lips. You walk over to dry your hands and once the restroom is relieved from the echoing whirs of the drying machine, you quip back. “Hanbin is nice, but he’s not my type. Just because I want to date doesn’t mean I’m just gonna try it with every decent guy I know,” you nag as you walk out the restroom and back into the library. “And I think he has eyes on someone else. And quit hating on Beomgyu. He annoys everyone he likes. If you think he’s annoying then you’ve fallen into his trap. Congratulations, you and he are friends.”

On the way back to your table, you notice a group of students eyeing you. While passing, you hear one of them whisper. But it’s too loud of a whisper. Like you were meant to hear it.

“I can’t believe she still has the guts to show her face on campus.”

Minjeong stops in her tracks. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Leave it be,” you sigh, tugging your friend away before she starts a cat fight in the library premises. Yeah. You’ve already been branded as a cheating whore. Maybe you should just give up dating altogether.

“Why do you keep letting these fuckers talk shit about you?! Let me at ‘em—”

It’s less of you being a pushover and more of you not wanting to waste energy, really. You’ve gone through this bullcrap in high school (though at a lighter degree). People believe what they want to believe and it doesn’t matter what you tell them. So, why bother. You have a group of nerds plus Minjeong and Sungchan behind your back, anyway. And of course, Choi Beomgyu, who got into a fight with his friends (former friends, he insists) that were involved with the anonymous post issue. The funny thing is, they all apologized to him with their foreheads scraping the ground not even a day after the event, but none of them even bothered trying to receive your forgiveness— until Beomgyu pointed it out and they eventually, reluctantly, came to your feet to mumble out incoherent sorrys.

It’s whatever. The post got taken down, but you still hear some snide remarks here and there like just now. Again, it’s whatever. It’s not gonna stop you from enjoying your uni life. Which is why you’re here, right now, at the uni autumn festival with a trove of nerds who are all arguably vitamin D deficient, all carrying banners and flags with Choi Beomgyu’s name in one way or another, waiting for the Battle of the Bands to start at the campus courtyard.

“Put this on!” Hyunjin shoves a bright, orange bandana into your hands with bold, white text text BAMTORIS 4 BEOMGYU on it. They came up with a fucking fanclub name. Your head rings. The bandana wrinkles in your hand as you shove it into your coat pocket, never to see the light of day.

“Hey, it’s starting!”

The large, heavy speakers boom through the crowd. Indeed, it is starting, and you already can’t wait to go home. But you persist. You’re going home after Choi Beomgyu’s stage. His text said they’ll be performing fourth, after the economics department. You can handle that much noise and chaos. Your social energy needs to last, else you’d have to coax a sulking dog tomorrow for ditching him. The host screams a welcoming spiel into the mic, and everyone else starts screaming. You wince. Yeah, you can deal with this.

When the performances started, you were actually able to vibe a little with the music. Having Heeseung shaking you around and screaming lyrics into your ear does help a bit. When the third band comes up however, you feel the mood around you shift. The coding club boys are so much louder now. No, they’re not cheering. They’re hell bent on sending an overpowering amount of boos and jeers at Jang Seung the moment he got up on stage.

The guy was so flustered at the non-cheers that he was offbeat for half the song. You’re thoroughly enjoying this. Heeseing continues yelling different iterations of, “Get off the stage! You suck!” until Jang Seung finally does with his bandmates drilling dirty looks at him. You laugh. Absolutely deserved.

The boys’ jeers shift again the moment the host calls out the ICT department onstage. They start cheering. Very loudly. Ferally, almost. You see Beomgyu walk his way into the center, electric guitar hanging from his neck as the lights focus on him. You hear nothing but yelling. Jesus fucking christ. It’s an assault at all fronts with Heeseung, Yeonjun, Jeongin, and Hyunjin surrounding you. Maybe...maybe you shouldn’t have joined these damned nerds.

It hushes down when Beomgyu grabs the mic to give an introduction of the band. Heeseung is still screeching, though. You grow concerned.

“Anyway, sing and dance along if you know the lyrics.”

Beomgyu’s hands grip the microphone as you hear his voice continue through the speakers, staring down at the crowd as if he’s looking for something. Then his eyes land on you. You’re taken aback for a moment. Just a moment, because you manage a smile. Good luck, you mouth, hands cupping your lips. 

He smiles back. “This song— is you.”

The instrumental is familiar. A guitar sings. Drum beats crash. You’ve heard this numerous times from Beomgyu’s playlist before. In his car. Along the streets. On the floor of his apartment at three in the morning after he called you out to do nothing in particular until you fall asleep on the couch. Then his voice resonates in the night, carried by the still familiar melody and you feel your heart thump along with the bass vibrating from the speakers. 

Time and time again, Choi Beomgyu proves to you that he’s always meant for the spotlight. He belongs there, to receive all the attention and adoration of everyone that catches sight of him. Seeing him up there brings an unconscious smile on your face. That is until you feel Heeseung shove his shoulder against you, prying your attention away from the blinding stage lights to the dim glow of your friend’s lightstick. “Hey, lovergirl,” he says, grinning widely. “He says he’s nothing without you.”

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, cheeks stretched by a flurry of heat. “It’s just a song.”

It’s over before you know it. You were able to snag a few shots of your friend at the near end there as per his request for his Instagram feed, but your plan to run away after their performance is ruined because the boys have decided to hold you hostage because, “There’s no way you’re missing tonight’s celebration!” as if the winners have already been announced. There’s like three bands left. Tonight, you suffer.

Still, your waiting and leg aches for standing too long aren’t wasted because when the winners are indeed announced, the ICT department are called as the victors, and the rest of the night is a blur of hoots and yells and many, many bars and clubs all throughout the city. 

Unfortunately for you, this is only the start of your series of night outs leading up to the end of the year. 

After finals, Sungchan dragged you and Minjeong out for another night out to celebrate. When TXT Inc. announced the winners for their game development competition not long after, you’re dragged to another night out since the boys managed to scrape by 3rd place and save their club from the threat of administrative shut-down.

You’re exhausted. Absolutely drained. You sleep the entire car ride home to Daegu with Beomgyu, recharging just enough for the joint Christmas eve dinner with your family and his. Your friend manages to notice your pitiful state and saves you from conversations by answering questions from the parents on your behalf over the meal.

“Ah, I heard from our daughter that you performed at your festival last month? Oh, how was it? You used to sing and dance during our village Christmas parties all the time when you were still in elementary school.”

“He was trying so hard to look cool, dad.” Regardless of your exhaustion, your system always has enough energy to jump at the opportunity to make fun of him. 

Beomgyu glares at you from across the table, and you feel a kick from underneath. “I was cool. We won, if you forgot. Just so you know, I only joined to put that Jang Seung back in his—” You kick him back. Beomgyu jolts, eyes widen. Oops, he sends you an apologetic look. You send him a silent warning in return.

“Who’s Jang Seung?” his mother asks, curious.

“Some annoying guy from our department. He likes to think he’s cooler than me and I needed to give him a reminder,” Beomyu responds. You release a silent sigh and sip on your drink. “Which I am. Proven by my victory during the competition.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

“Auntie! She’s being mean again!”

By the time you reach your apartment building, the clock at around eleven at night, you are barely alive. The rest are walking ahead of you. You are but a bamboo stick getting brushed along by the wind and Choi Beomgyu’s stops you from falling face flat into the floor because you bump into him.

“Idiot,” he scolds, balancing you by the shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ll be your navigator up the stairs, you withering stick of bamboo.”

“Wait,” you protest (verbally, because you have no strength left in your body and could not physically stand your ground). Beomgyu eyes you, halting from bodying you all the way up the apartment. You look over his shoulder to yell at your parents up ahead. “You go in first! I’m gonna talk to Beomgyu for a sec!”

“It’s late,” your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Can’t you two talk tomorrow?”

“It’s—it’s important,” you stammer. You look at Beomgyu. He raises a brow, confused and suspicious.

You step on his foot. He gapes his mouth and lets out a silent swear. You make a face. He makes a face back before letting out a defeated grunt, spinning his heels to confirm your initial sentiments. “We won’t be long. Mom, you can toss the keys to me. I’ll lock up.”

Not long after, you and Choi Beomgyu are left alone at the foot of your apartment building. He stuffs his apartment keys into his pockets, swirling around to look at you with a face stoned by disapproval. “What is it?” he gnaws. “You’re about to pass out any second. What could be more important than getting some sleep right now?”

You ignore his nagging. “Come to the playground with me,” is your unrelated response. His face jitters— disapproval churning into a shock of anxiety, but he attempts to brush it off.

“You’re not gonna ask me to do something along the lines of pretending like we don’t know each other, righ—”

“No! Fuck off! I’ll go alone if you don’t want to.”

“I’m coming,” he sternly says, trailing behind your heated steps to a corner of the apartment square, on the way to the playground at the back of the building. “At least tell me what you want to talk about first.”

“It’s—it’s nothing bad.”

“You’re being suspicious.”

“I’m not!”

Your foot stomps over the dirt of the playground, pressing your lips together as you scramble out your phone to check the time. 11:13 p.m. Dammit. Your coat pocket feels heavy, the thing inside snuggled deep and concealed. How do you distract him for forty-seven more minutes? He’s already yawning. Your eyes flicker around— the spring riders catching your attention first. “Come here,” you say stiffly, just as mechanically hopping onto what you assume is a duck on the spring. 

Beomgyu is evidently weirded out by you, but he follows you anyway, unquestioning whenever you lead him from one equipment and ride in the playground to the next— the swings, spinners, monkey bars, tubes, slides, even the fucking climbers that probably can’t handle your weight. It’s not the most appropriate age and weather to be doing this, but you needed something to kill the time.

The only thing left untouched are the seesaws. It’s 11:55. God damn it. You’ve been willfully avoiding this contraption in case it reawakens your moment of shame and weakness, but having been caught in the pattern you’ve started, Beomgyu is already plopping down on one of the ends.

You bite your tongue. You follow and take your spot on the other end, quiet. The both of you see and saw in silence, most likely carrying the same thing in your minds.

The moment your feet hit the ground again, you stay there. You flip open your phone. Three more minutes. Beomgyu springs you up in the air. You’re brought back down.

“Whatever you’re planning on saying—” he starts, from above. “Don’t say it.”

“It’s not what you think!” you argue. Two more minutes. “Stop moving. Hold on a sec.”

You and Beomgyu are on both ends, both on the ground. One more minute. He eyes you suspiciously, maybe even nervously and you don’t blame him. You dig into your coat pocket, feeling the crumple of the smooth fabric of the pouch you pocketed before leaving for dinner earlier, the item hard in your hand.

“Choi Beomgyu, you’ve been working hard all semester.” Your phone alarm rings. Fucking finally. You pull the pouch out of your pocket. “I thought maybe you deserve a treat.”

You toss it at him. He lets go of the seesaw handle to catch it.

“Merry Christmas, fuckface.”

The pouch lands in his hands. He just stares at it for a moment, eyes wide in surprise and your heart rattles. Why are you nervous right now? You begin to palpitate even further when he actually pulls the strings open, revealing the vintage digicam you bought during the lantern festival. From the moment you saw the stall, you knew the sentimental idiot would like one of these. It’s been waiting in your drawer for this occasion. You start to feel even more self conscious every second he takes to examine it.

“I—I know it’s a bit cheap,” you stammer. “But I already spent so much money on your birthday gift, so don’t you even dare—”

Click!

You look up to see the camera in front of Beomgyu’s face. You blink. He puts it down, tinkering with the buttons with a smile on his face. “I like it,” he says, flashing his eyes at you. “It’s pretty.”

Without a second to waste, you jump off the fucking seesaw and Choi Beomgyu’s ass lands on the ground. “Hey, delete that!”

“Nuh-uh! No way!” he fends you off, swatting away your hands as you straddle him on the dirt ground. “You gave it to me so this is mine! I can do whatever I want with it!”

“My portrait rights! You’re violating the law!”

“Ow! That hu— owww! Fine! Okay, fine—”

It’s Christmas, and the both of you are on the dusty ground of your apartment complex’s playground, a little breathless from squabbling. Beomgyu has one forearm shielding himself from your attacks, the other keeping the camera safe to his chest.

“I’ll delete it! I’ll delete it on one condition.”

You slump back, already tired. “What?” you wheeze. 

He grunts and picks himself up, dusting his clothes and you follow not long after once you’ve caught your breath. “Come to my place for a sec.”

This time, you’re the one eyeing him with suspicion. Still, he humored you tonight, so you shall humor him too. You follow him into the building, up the flights of stairs until you reach your floor. Beomgyu grumbles out a few swears under his breath as he puts more effort than necessary to unlock the door to his place. “Need a little help doing simple movements there, buddy?”

“Shut your mouth,” he grunts, finally managing to unlock it. 

Their festive living room greets you upon entry. The rug is different from what you remember. The curtains shielding the interior from the moonlight have gingerbreads and snowmen on them. Beomgyu leads you up to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, painted with tinsel and ornaments and stars. He sits down on the carpet, patting on the spot next to him without looking at you and you gingerly cross your legs down. He digs into the mix of real and fake gift boxes for decoration. You know because some have names, some are blank.

“I didn’t expect you to throw me a gift right at midnight. That was an unprompted attack.” He finally leans back with a pretty big box in hand, setting it down on the floor right in front of you. “Still. I refuse to lose. Here.”

There’s a name on it. Yours. From your pretty and handsome and amazing most favorite person, Choi Beomgyu. You snort.

“Open it,” he nudges.

“Now?”

“Duh.”

He’s annoying, but you let him off. Carefully, you unwrap the ribbon, a pang of nervous anticipation hitting your bones as your hands hover over the box lid. 

You open the present.

You see the gift.

Your hands instinctively jerk back down to fucking close it.

“Choi Beomgyu! I said it was a joke! Why would you—” you hiss out, a quiet scream as you throw your head around to look at him, only for the words to fizzle out your throat upon seeing the expectant look on his face. His eyes are big and sparkly and looking at you with so much expectation. Your face grows hot, the burn even more palpable amidst the December weather, and you suck in a deep breath, looking down in acceptance and defeat. “A fucking turntable. You’re insane. Why would you get me this? You said it yourself that I don’t even own any records or LPs or whatever you use for this. What’s wrong with you?”

“You said you wanted one.” He’s grinning. He’s grinning very proudly. “Merry Christmas, dipshit. Now, we’re even.”

Ah. God damn it. He really is insane.

“He got you a what?”

Within the last week of December, you and Beomgyu return back to Seoul. There’s some crap to do at uni regarding your scheduling and classes, and Jung Sungchan is throwing yet another party to celebrate the incoming new year. Not at his parent’s place this time because he got an earful after the previous party. He’s hosting it in his apartment, so the invitation list is smaller. More bearable, because you and Minjeong are forced to attend again. 

“Girl, you don’t even own any records.” Minejeong’s head pops up from the other side of the clothes rack, looking both appalled and amazed from the information she’d just received from you. “Have you even used it yet?”

“No!” you remark in response. “The thing has been catching dust in my apartment and I’m starting to feel bad. Is it okay if we stop by a record store after this?”

Which is why you and she are out shopping right now to buy a cute new year’s outfit to match Sungchan’s black and gold party theme. You don’t understand why he has to have a theme, but it’s a good excuse to treat yourself to some new clothes. You and your friend have been thrifting and boutique hopping, spending a good chunk of your holiday money for a one-day millionaire spree. 

A few shopping bags in hand, a bell jangles when you push open the door to a vintage record store you saw in passing earlier, in between thrift stores. The scent of rubber, dusty wood, and pressed vinyl hit your senses, along with the dull hum of music from the store’s speakers from the background. You walk in with no plan on what the fuck you should buy, so needless to say you are overwhelmed by the gigantic selection on display.

“Hey, how may I help you?”

The singular employee present in the store has probably noticed your swirling eyeballs trying to take in everything. “Oh, I’m just looking around,” you say with a smile. The store clerk smiles back, telling you to feel free to browse, and you thank him. He’s tall, presumably college-aged with sandy hair, and your mind wanders around the idea that it would be nice to find another part-time job for extra allowance. But your break is almost over. And you’d have to look for somewhere else because it won’t be a great idea to work at Horangnabi again and deal with the rest of the studentry considering your current, uh, reputation.

But you’re not here to dwell on that. You’re here to finally put Choi Beomgyu’s fucking gift to good use. Minjeong stays by the door with her phone while you walk further into the store with the clerk trailing behind you. As you run your hands over a few familiar covers, familiar names and titles, he shoots you a few questions here and there— are you looking for a specific artist? What kind of music do you like? I can give you some recommendations if you’d like? Clearly, there’s something more than customer service going on here. 

As you check out a selection of two records (because holy shit, these are expensive), it dawns on you that it’s almost the end of the year, and you still have yet to find a god damned boyfriend. Granted, you don’t believe doing so will help salvage your image in any way at all, but it kind of sucks to think that you’ll be spending another new year single and lonely.

“Come again any time.”

Well, maybe not too lonely because you won’t have time to think about any nihilistic bullshit at Jung Sungchan’s party. Minjeong scolds you as you walk out the store with a new paper bag and no new number in your contacts. “He was clearly trying to hit on you,” she says.

“He’s not my type,” you deflect back. She clicks her tongue and nags you that every shot you don’t take is a miss, and you simply brush her off with a laugh. But she has a point. Maybe you’re the reason why you’ve been single this entire time. Perhaps the universal false assumption that you and Choi Beomgyu have been dating for the past one-hundred years has nothing to do with it.

Lee Heeseung agrees with this new speculation of yours. “You’re too prickly,” he says over brunch at a local bed-and-breakfast. You and Minjeong meet up with him right after your shopping spree because he just happened to be in the area. “And a little scary. Everyone from the club used to be afraid of you at first because you’re so mean.”

“You nerds are just losers,” Minjeong defends you. 

“Wow. Two bullets in one shot,” you say in between enjoying your bacon, fried rice, and eggs.

“Hey, you have no right to say anything. You’re single too.” Heeseung points his fork at her. “It can’t be helped. This is unsalvageable. It seems like I must share this secret trick I found on TikTok to solve all of your problems.” 

“That source sounds very credible,” you snort.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Heeseung proceeds to explain the secret trick: eat twelve grapes under the table within the minutes passing into the new year, and your wish will be granted. You nearly cough out your brunch. Minjeong bursts out laughing right next to you. You can’t even begin to imagine how Heeseung managed to land himself into that side of the app.

“Incredible,” she chortles out. “What do you plan on wishing for, Hee? For you to get back together with—”

“No!” he screeches out. “No way. That era of my life is over now. I’m gonna get accepted at HYBE Inc. for my fucking internship.”

“Wow,” you gape, taking a sip from your iced tea. “You’re maturing.”

“Right? This is crazy.”

Heeseung’s outburst melts down, and the redness slowly starts seeping out from his cheeks. He looks at you, a little proud and rubs a finger under his nose with a grin. “Heh. It’s nothing.”

“You’ve got some rice on your face, Mr. Maturity.” You hear an ‘oh shit,’ from across the table as you look down to your lit up phone from a message notification coming in. Your eyes narrow, letting your utensils clatter on your plate to make a few taps on the phone screen. “You asked Beomgyu to come?” you ask, looking back up at Heeseung. “Why is the idiot telling me he’s on the way here?”

Specifically, it was a shot of him from the eyes up and a bus ceiling with [omw 2 u 🛵🛵] plastered on his forehead. “Oh, he’s coming?” Heeseung responds, unsurprised. “He asked if I wanted to hit the PC room with him. I told him I’m still with you two and sent him my location.”

“Ah, fuck me. Now I have to change seats.” You watch in slight confusion as Minjeong pushes her food over to Heeseung’s side of the table before following suit, leaving the space next to you cold and barren and empty, and your look of confusion muddles into betrayal. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Beomgyu always follows you around like a puppy with severe attachment issues and I don’t really want to be caught in between the both of you.”

“He does not!” you defend, your fist bouncing on the table with a clatter, just in time for your eyes to flicker off to the direction of the restaurant door opening, welcoming a Choi Beomgyu, who’s whipping his head around to look for you three, inside.

“Hey, dude, over here!”

Unfortunately, he proves Minjeong correct. Beomgyu turns his head to you at the recognition of Heeseung’s voice, blank face shifting into an easy smile. His next set of movements are programmed right into his system: he walks up to you, he plops down right next you, and he dips his head down to take a long sip from your iced tea, right before releasing a refreshed lip-smack and sigh with his shit-eating grin, directed right at you. “Thanks for the treat.” His hand meets the top of your head, utterly ruining your hair. 

“Fuck off. No one even invited you here.” You wrestle him off with your elbow. Beomgyu retreats by letting his arm stretch behind your back, causing the cushion of the booth seats to sink down while he calls a waiter for the menu. You feel your throat dry. You reach for the ice tea Choi Beomgyu just drank a third of to rinse down the dryness. Minjeong’s eyes are on you. Heeseung is pressing his mouth together, and his face is pissing you off.

“Do you want me to find another table then? I see you’re almost done with your meals.” The bitch is trying to play victim. You give him a look of aversion. He’s unfazed, looking at Heeseung with a subtle quirk of his lips inching towards victory, because the latter took his bait.

“I’m ordering another meal,” Heeseung announces. “You. Sit. We’re hitting the PC room after this.”

“Sure thing.” All you can do is sigh while Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. “Quit grumbling,” he snarks. “And quit acting like you don’t want me around. Didn’t you say it yourself? Should I give you a refresher? Ahem, what makes you think I can’t live without—”

“Moving on!” 

Your face is now hot. Beomgyu is still grinning like a bastard, but he doesn’t finish the statement. You can still see the amusement on the corners of his lips even when he leans down to sip from your iced tea again. “I hate being here,” Minjeong breathes out, gulping down the last of her drink before slamming the glass down onto the table.

Beomgyu’s order arrives. “Why are you two so moody today?” He points a pair of chopsticks at Minjeong before stabbing them into his salad. “Did your shopping trip go badly or some shit?”

“For your information, our day was going great until you showed up,” you glare at him.

“Yeah,” Minjeong doubles down. Heeseung’s second meal also arrives. He ignores the squabbles and starts happily digging in. “Our shopping trip was great. You should see the dress she bought for the party. It’s really pretty.”

At that mention, Beomgyu’s head tilts, eyes flickering over to your direction. “Is it?” 

There’s something in the tone of his voice that forces you to swallow something down. “Mind your own business, buster,” you hiss at him. He shrugs and continues eating. “What the hell is Jung Sungchan thinking dress coding a college party, anyway? It’s not like he’d kick me out if I end up wearing bright green.”

“Is the dress you bought bright green?” Beomgyu chimes in. “Now I’m even more curious.”

You look at him, face scrunched up. “If you want to wear my dress, just say so.”

“Hey, I think I’d body it.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Indeed, no one gets kicked out for wearing the wrong thing. The moment you walk into Jung Sungchan’s blasted apartment, you see red, pink, purple, maroon amidst the gold foil decorations and fuzzy warping lights. No, Choi Beomgyu did not show up in your dress. He’s in a beige wool blazer, white undershirt, and lazy black trousers with a beer can in hand, waiting for your arrival by the door. “Oh, hey.” You do not recall beige being in the goddamned dress code. At least his pants are black and his necklace is gold. “You’re here.”

“I wish I weren’t,” you grunt, wiggling out of your coat because although it’s currently the cold season, Sungchan’s apartment is humid. Though it’s significantly less people than his house party last summer, it’s still thirty people more than to your liking. You grimace, hanging the garment on your forearm. “Where is he? Where’s the host of this shithole?”

You point up your chin, looking around for Sungchan, but to no avail. Maybe he’s at the balcony, but your friend over here isn’t answering you.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” You whip your head back to Beomgyu. He hasn’t left, no. He’s just standing there, a faint buzz tinting his cheeks. You peer at the drink he’s holding. You click your tongue, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello?”

Luckily, he isn’t fully checked out yet. He swats your hand away and clears his throat. “I think he’s on the balcony. C’mon.”

Sungchan greets you with a barreling hug and nearly bulldozes you into the floor because he’s a dramatic bastard who hasn’t seen you since finals week. “Now that you’re here, we can officially start the party!” he yells, as if it hadn’t already started, and drags your limp body back to the living room. Right now, it’s around ten in the evening. Minjeong clocks in not long after you and gets roped into the mess of drinking games happening on Sungchan’s carpeted floor, already a few rounds in.

In between all the yelling and the music and the chants to chug, chug, chug it, Heeseung stands up with a microphone in hand. You have no idea where he got that from, but he has it, and has decided that it would be a great idea to start singing your hearts out. 

“Sing or drink! Sing or drink!”

Yeah, no. You’re downing that fucking shot.

“Boo! You’re no fun!” Heeseung jeers at you. You toss him the now red solo cup with the droplets of whatever the fuck they mixed into that, gagging slightly. The microphone eventually gets snatched by a very drunk Yeonjun, who already got his necktie wrapped around his head. This is a big mess. Yeonjun gets his solo moment. He starts singing Through the Fire by Chaka Khan.

“Yeonjun hyung! Yeonjun hyung!”

“Hyung, why do you have to graduate?!”

“Hyung, I’ll miss you!”

You’re definitely not drunk enough for this. By eleven-thirty, you’re already fucking exhausted, so you ready to escape to the kitchen. A lot of people have left, the ones remaining consisting mostly of Sungchan’s close friends. Minjeong sees you escaping and runs after you. “Going down for a bit. I need some fresh fucking air.”

“Don’t die,” you hum, patting her out the door.

“You don’t die.” She nudges back at the directions of the living room, where the boys are gathered in a sudden emotional huddle. Choi Beomgyu included. The year’s coming to an end. Meaning a few of them are gonna be graduating from uni soon like Yeonjun. You swear you can hear someone wailing. “I don’t want to deal with that. Good luck. Hide safe, soldier.”

She salutes you off, marching out the door. You turn back to look at the mess of the apartment. Sungchan’s prettily hung gold foil have either been ripped off, their remnants tattered on the floor, or barely strewn. There’s still music playing, the bass thrumming through the walls. Cups and plastic and confetti and a few pairs of shoes are scattered all over the floor. You grimace and walk over a wet spot, heading over to the kitchen to help yourself with whatever wine’s still left over.

Pouring yourself a glass, you can’t help but notice what’s left on the moderately sized dining table. Jung Sungchan put an effort to drape it with a pretty sheet of fabric stitched with metallic gold, serving as a bed for the display of various round fruits at the center. A single melon. A bowl of oranges and kiwis beside the bed of green and red apples. You huff out a small laugh, teeth clinking against the rim of the wine glass. Even Jung Sungchan is a little superstitious. You’ve heard about the round fruits for good luck on new year’s before. It’s a miracle none of these were massacred. Save maybe for the half-eaten apple abandoned right by the sink.

Your eyes notice the package of untouched shine muscat grapes sitting soundly on the table, still covered in plastic wrap. You check the time on your phone. 11:45 p.m. Heeseung’s dumb voice echoes in your brain. Twelve grapes. Wishes. Good luck. Superstitions. God, this shit has been haunting you since November.

“Hyung! Promise me you’ll still visit the club even after you graduate, okay? Promise that you’ll—”

“Dude, you have to learn to let go! If you love someone, let them go!”

“No! I don’t want to let Yeonjun hyung go!”

Still. Just like the paper lanterns last month. Just like the damned alarm you have on your phone that rings every night when the clock strikes eleven-eleven, you find yourself falling for this bullshit again.

This is fine, right? No harm in humoring the teeniest-tiniest possibility that these affirmations will hold true? Before you know it, you have the grapes in your person, the tablecloth flung open for a glimpse of a second, and ten minutes before the new year, a singular thought runs laps inside the pitch darkness of your head in the form of the question— can you get any more fucking pathetic?

“What...what the hell are you doing?”

You wince, light leaking into your safe space under the dining table, at the same time as the intrusion of Choi Beomgyu’s voice. You look up at him. He has peeled back the tablecloth— your cover— and honestly you’re not even offended by the look of pure and absolute judgment littering his face right now. You’re judging yourself too for listening to Heeseung’s fucking stupid trick, crawling underneath the table at new year’s party for god’s sake, sitting on a dirty ass floor, a bowl of grapes on your lap, a glass of wine next to your folded up legs, and an expression not befitting the holiday spirit because you’re looking up at him like you want to die.

“I’m—I’m manifesting,” you say petulantly with a squeak, cheeks burning and refusing to explain any further for the sake of your shame and pride. It’s eleven-fifty. You hope he’d politely fuck off before midnight so you can do your business in peace.

Your eyes should be sending the message right now. Beomgyu continues to stare at you with a less than amused expression, a contemplative pause that you hope is a sign that he’s going to leave you alone. But, no. Your message does not come across because Beomgyu decides to plop down, cross-legged, right in front of you. 

“That doesn’t explain anything,” he says. Why can’t he just mind his own business? He should leave you and your grapes alone. “Sungchan’s looking for you and before I left the living room, he picked up a megaphone. Tell me what you’re scheming or else I’ll rat you out.”

“You, bitch!”

Eleven fifty-five. Shit. Choi Beomgyu doesn’t seem like he’s going to budge any time soon. His lips are pursed and he’s got the base of his palm holding up his chin. You bite down your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, taking in a sharp inhale before airing out your pathetic desperation in its rawest form.

“Like I said. I’m manifesting.”

His eyes narrow, brows furrowed. “Manifesting what exactly.”

“A fucking boyfriend.”

Whatever. Fuck it. He can make fun of you all he wants.

“Heeseung said if you eat twelve grapes from eleven fifty-nine to twelve o’one on new year’s, your wish will be granted. I—I—I looked it up because it sounded stupid, but—” You pause. You take a half a second glance at Beomgyu’s expression and decide that you are unable to look him in the eye. “Listen, Beomgyu, I’m desperate. I’m grasping at the straws here. I’m sick and tired of being single and misunderstood by all those damned fucking rumors and I know you’re nowhere near responsible, but I’m very annoyed right now, okay? So, if you’re just gonna make fun of me, please leave because there’s only, like three minutes left before twelve, and I really don’t want you deliberately ruining my chances this time, Choi Beomgyu.”

You breathe in. That. That took you an entire minute to say. Maybe you drank a little too much. Maybe you were rattling on like a maniac just now, but you can’t quite decipher Beomgyu’s reaction to your insanity. 

Is he judging you? Is he weirded out? Pitying you? Because you sure are pitying yourself right now, but you don’t fucking know because all he’s doing is looking at you dead in the eye, face unmoving, totally blank expression, and you gulp. What the hell is he getting at?

Two minutes left. You hear the premature hiss of fireworks outside. “Scoot over,” he finally says. “I can’t believe you’re doing something stupid by yourself and leaving me out.”

“Wh—what are you doing?!”

The tablecloth falls. Your vision is darkened. Choi Beomygyu is wedged right next to you underneath Sungchan’s dining table, on the dirty kitchen floor of his apartment, two minutes before the start of a new year. A new point in history. And here you are, with your friend of over twenty years who’s plucked a shiny green grape from the stem, rolling it between his fingers with an unsure look. “Twelve? We have to eat twelve of these?”

“You don’t have to do it if you’re just gonna make fun—”

Beomgyu pops the grape into his mouth. 

“How many minutes do we have again?”

You pause a little, staring into space before coughing out, “Th—three.” You put a handful of grapes into the cup of your palm to toss it all in there in one shot. It’s twelve fifty-fine. “Three minutes. Starting now.”

“Got it.”

Now, you can’t even begin to fathom the absurdity of this scene. You can hear the boys making a ruckus from the other room, yelling into the megaphone, counting down while you continue to shovel the fruit into your mouth. Eight. You have eight left. 

“Woohoo! Happy new year!”

Fireworks are bursting, music is blaring.

“Six! Five!”

Four. Four grapes left in your hands. The juice spurts into your mouth. You glance up at Beomgyu. His brows are knitted together, counting the remaining grapes he has to swallow down before the time is up. 

“Two!”

You seriously can’t believe you two are doing this. You’re about to choke, stuffing the remaining grapes into your cheeks and god forbid your obituary say that you died asphyxiating on round fruit on December 31, 11:59 p.m. Seriously. How did you get so pathetic? You swallow down the last bit of fruit while the rest of your friends are having fun outside. So single, so desperate, so pathetic. You’re never gonna eat another grape again.

“One!”

And the thought hits you 

“Happy new year!”

If you’re so single, so desperate, and so pathetic, then—

“Done!”

Beomgyu’s sudden voice causes you to jump and bump your head against the table. His eyes widen, and firm hands clasp your shoulders to pull you in. “Sorry, are you okay?” he sputters out, little panicked while one hand travels up to the top of your head— where he’d usually ruffle, tousle to ruin your hair and annoy you, but this time Beomgyu’s touch is gentle, checking to see if he’s caused any damage, while your face remains pushed down, eyes trained on the ground where your tight knuckles are pressed into. 

The fireworks haven’t stopped. There’s still a lot of noise outside, but Beomgyu’s soft voice manages to ripple through everything you hear. 

“Nothing hurts, right? You’re good?” 

He guides you to look at him, hands gingerly placed on the sides of your head, and you can feel his index fingers grazing the helix of your ears. You look at him. His former blank, judgemental stare softened with a concern that almost sounds like he’s carrying the weight of the whole universe on his shoulders, as if accidentally causing you to bump your head against the table would endanger the fate of the world.

You’re so single, so desperate, so pathetic, and also so, so stupid because why did you even waste your wishes on that paper lantern, those twelve grapes, and all the countless eleven-elevens these past months when the answer to your wish has been right in fucking front of you this entire time?

“At this point, we should just start dating.”

You gasp.

You cover your mouth, jolting up. Your voice was a little louder than you thought, and your heart sinks down into your stomach as you try to focus your rattled gaze at Beomgyu— at his face, his expression, but you don’t get to do any of that. You don’t get to laugh it off, take it back, say it was just a joke. A joke. Because just as when you open your mouth, the words threatening to jump out of your throat—

“You’re right.”

Beomgyu says something first, and none of it comes out.

“We should just do that.”

You’re not sure what you’re feeling, but it’s like your heart that got dropped right into the pits of your stomach just burst into a million, fluttering pieces.

Your breathing is ragged. Your eyes flit back up to Beomgyu. Your face flushes. Why isn’t he laughing? Why isn’t he saying it’s just a joke?

“Jesus christ—! There you two are! What the hell are you doing— oh my god, were you hooking up under the table?!”

“It’s new year’s, baby! Everyone, get crazy!”

You can’t feel your legs. You’re fished out from down there and into the mess of noises and singing and firecrackers bursting and you never get to clarify anything to Beomgyu, because he’s tugged along by Heeseung and Hyunjin for a group photo with the boys, and Sungchan and Minjeong are asking you a million questions that you can’t hear over the unfamiliar sound of your heartbeat. What...what is this? What the fuck is going on?

“Don’t tell me you actually did Heeseung’s stupid fucking trick.” 

And then it hits you.

Butterflies. There are butterflies in your stomach.

This cannot be normal. You douse them all dead with a shitload of alcohol. 

“Whoa, holy shit, that was half the bottle!”

That ought to kill the fluttering and buzzing insects. Only temporarily because the next morning, you’re hit with a different kind of buzzing.

Your head is ringing— buzzing— brain fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you’re no longer in the mess of Jung Sungchan’s apartment. You’re in yours. In your bed. Still wearing your dress from last night under the covers. You have no idea how you got here. 

It takes a moment for your mind to settle. You groan, vision swaying when you lean over to the bedside desk to feel around for your phone. You don’t feel it. But you do feel your purse that has your phone in it. What the fuck. Seriously, how did you get home? When you turn it on, you see on your lock screen message notifications from Heeseung and Sungchan, asking if you got home safe, pictures from last night. Some of the events caught on camera, you remember happening. Some, you definitely don’t remember happening and you grow all the more concerned.

One text in particular pulls in the only memory you need to remember, though. It’s from Minjeong, saying [choi beomgyu hauled your ass home in case you’re wondering btw HAHAHHAHA i never saw you drink that much before. jesus christ].

And you freeze, the blood draining from your face as you recall just what happened during the new year’s countdown.

You might have asked out your friend of twenty years.

And he might have said yes.

Your face drops into the plush of your pillow, lurching over to let out a long, distressed scream. That fucking grape trick was more effective than you hoped. Instantaneous. Heeseung should’ve warned you of its effects, what the fuck. Your moment is ruined by the sound of dull knocking, which you can locate coming all the way from your front door. 

You pause, face still muffled into your pillow. The knocking is followed by a short pause. Then the sound of your door code beeping. Then your door unlocking.

Motherfucker, shit, fucking crap.

You throw your covers over yourself. You’re buried underneath. Choi Beomgyu can’t hurt you from down here. Maybe. God damn it, you don’t know what to do, you haven’t had the chance to think yet. The sound of footsteps from outside your room causes you to jitter. It’s still pretty far off, shuffling into the kitchen, you think, and they stop for a moment. Cupboards draw open. The sink turns on then stops. Footsteps resume. They enter your open bedroom door and you bite down a swear. Fuck it all, you’re so fucking fucked.

The desk chair behind you is pulled out, the sound of its legs screeching against the floorboards, ending with a quiet clatter. You hear a second clunk. Then the voice of someone sitting right behind your curled up and pathetic, vulnerable frame.

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck. Fuck everything.

“C’mon, get up. It’s past two in the afternoon. I can’t believe I woke up earlier than you.”

Begrudgingly, you peel yourself out from under the covers, and just as hesitantly turn yourself around to face the face you aren’t quite ready to see at the moment with squinting eyes from the bright sunlight. You hear Beomgyu let out a sigh. “You drank way too much last night. Or this morning. Whatever.” Instead of looking directly at his face, you choose to look at whatever he’s brought to your desk instead. A tray. A tray with oatmeal, aspirin, and a glass of water. Your stomach is starting to act up again. You’re not sure if it’s whatever the fuck you drank last night, or something else. “How’s your head?”

Not well, thank you very much. You can’t even manage to verbalize your comeback. Shit, just how much have you fallen after just one slip-up. Why isn’t he bringing it up anyway? Why is he acting so normal? You grunt as you sit up from your bed, head still ringing as the aftermath of last night, and set the tray right onto your lap.

You drink your water, eat your meal, and take your medicine in silence. Beomgyu doesn’t do anything to bother you. All he does is watch you with steady eyes, gaze following the movements of your hand especially when you bring the water to your lips, leaned slightly forward as if he’s ready to jump in in case you drop it because your hands are shaking a little. 

Thankfully, you don’t do that. When everything’s done, Beomgyu gets up and ducks down to get the tray off your lap, and— much to the demise of your entire nervous system— you’re forced to look at his face in such a close proximity, that you hiccup and jump back into the headboard.

Beomgyu turns up to look at you, still hunched over you. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Th—thanks?”

His eyes are fixed. His nose scrunches a little before setting the tray back down and returning to his seat. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you, asshole,” you correct, getting riled up. He’s fucking smiling. Seriously, why is he being so normal? “Now, leave. I’m gonna wash up so I look less like shit.”

“Sure,” he laughs. “I’ll come get you at around four?”

You look up. “Why?”

“To take some pretty photos around the city.” He’s up again, tray in his hands to return to the kitchen. 

“Why?” you continue to squint at him.

“Why not? I didn’t bring the camera at the party because some of the guys might’ve used it as a ping pong ball, so I wasn’t able to take any photos for the new year. But it’s still the first day of the year today. Let’s go make the most out of it.”

Cheesy as hell, but you’re already all dressed and ready to go out when he barges into your apartment again. He makes an impressed holler upon seeing you, saying that you look like a human being again, and you land a kick on his shin before locking up your door, Choi Beomgyu trailing behind you with an anguished yelp.

It’s late afternoon, the streets of downtown Seoul are uncharacteristically free. Most are probably still behind the shutters, nursing their post-new year’s hangover. Some are probably back in their hometowns for the holidays. You and Beomgyu trail down the walkway. Your hands are stuffed into your pockets, him holding up the digital camera to his chest while he whips his head around, probably looking for a pretty scene to capture. You laugh, racing up your steps as you walk ahead of him. “Pick up the pace, loser,” you call out, turning half-around to provoke him with a snicker.

Your lips quirk just in time for the sound of a click to stop your backwards walk. Beomgyu has the camera up to his face. He puts it down, grinning. 

“Hey!” You’ve halted in your steps, stomping down a single foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Like I said.” Beomgyu hums and looks down at the shot he just took, a satisfied look on his face upon inspection before flicking his eyes back up to you. “Taking pretty photos. Let’s go near the crosswalk. I think a shot would be nice there.”

You thought you were just going to accompany him on this excursion but somehow, you got roped into being a subject in the countless photos he’s taking. On the sidewalk. By a tree in the park. In the arcade. In the middle of walking into the facade of a cafe. Most of his shots are taken without warning, causing you to throw a mini-tantrum immediately after the taunting sound of the shutter. But all he does is laugh and shield the camera from you, assuring you that you look fine, that it’s pretty, that you guys should hurry off because the evening is nearing, and you’d just have to huff and and surrender and move on, else he’d notice the warmth on your cheeks and the stirring in your stomach.

“Ah, I want to try the mocha cake.”

“Then order it?”

“Now, I don’t want to because you’re telling me to.”

“You’re ten years old.”

“Nyenye, you’re ten years— hi! We’d like an iced matcha latte, iced americano, and a coffee mocha cake, please. Dine in, yes. Thanks.”

The things he’s always done that seemed so, so natural that you never even put a second thought to them suddenly linger in the forefront of your thoughts. The way he puts his lips on your straw even though you know he hates matcha just to annoy you. The way your hands rest on the table, his fingers tapping on your knuckles while droning on a rant about some game you don’t even know the name of. The way he naturally brushes a crumb off your face, shares a dessert with you, holds up the last bit of cake and icing on the fork in front of your mouth for you to have. Really, nothing has changed. Nothing has, but it feels like your entire life just got turned upside down thanks to the event of last night— of which neither of you are even addressing.

You still show up to each other’s places unannounced. You still go to 7-Eleven ice cream runs at three in the morning. You still shove your face into his arm while watching horror movies and screaming bloody murder, but nothing happens beyond that. 

Not once have you brought up the conversation you had under the table at the strike of the new year. Not even after a month has passed since then. 

It’s now the beginning of February, and you’re on campus to register for your classes next month. While there, you’re forced into the coding club room by the pest named Lee Heeseung. He rattles into your ear on the way there, talking about how they’re currently polishing the game they submitted to TXT Inc. (Which won. He never fails to emphasize that). When you get there, you’re jumped by three more boys wanting you to try out the said winning game. 

“C’mon, just give it a shot!” Hyunjin bulldozes you into the computer corner.

“We’ll walk you through!” Yeonjun chimes in right after. 

“I’m not— I’m not interested in your—” Jeongin sits you down on the seat. Heeseung is covering your path to escape. Yeonjun and Hyunjin are on the other side. God damn it. Where’s Hanbin? Where’s the only normal person here? Heeseung is messing with keyboard and mouse, the screen immediately loading, and you’re greeted by what appears to be a first person shooter game that honestly looks...pretty good? Wow. They actually worked hard on this. 

“What are you guys doing?”

All five of you turn your heads back to the door. It’s Beomgyu. He’s got a backpack on him, which he tosses off to the sofa before walking up to your huddle. “Great! You’re here!” Hyunjin welcomes him in. Beomgyu finds a spot in between Heeseung and Jeongin, curious eyes glancing down at you. “We’re trying to get her to play our game!”

“Oh?” Beomgyu hums, leaning down against the back of your chair. “Sounds fun. Go ahead. I want to see this too.”

Do they enjoy fucking with you this much? Is this their favorite hobby? For some reason, clicking start is making you more nervous than you expected. Your hand is literally shaking on the mouse and you can hear Heeseung snorting at the way your other hand is positioned on the keyboard. “I hate all of you,” you announce, the stage loading. “I really hate all of you.”

“This is gonna be fun,” Jeongin assures from behind you. “The controls are simple. You just—”

“No, let her figure things out by herself.”

“Okay, it’s start—”

“Go, go, go! Run! Start shooting!”

“What?! Shoot what?!”

“The enemies! No, no, you’re going the wrong way don’t—”

“What is this?! What’s going on?!”

“Oh my god, this is hilarious.”

“Am I dead? Is it over?”

“Dude,” Heeseung lurches over, laughing and wheezing. “You’re so bad. You suck.”

Beomgyu is also laughing with them. You give him a side-eye. He immediately shuts up, clearing his throat, but obviously still smiling in avid amusement. “Let’s try that again,” he says. “I’ll help you this time.”

He cracks his knuckles, teiling Jeongin to scoot over so he’s the one directly behind you now. No, you don’t want to try again. You start turning around, but are immediately stopped with a quiet squeak because Beomgyu leans forward, pushing the office chair further into the desk, and you stiffen when his arms stretch out to cage you in. “What—what are you doing?” you sputter. 

“These guys aren’t gonna leave you alone until you finish a level,” he simply says. His hands rest over yours on the keyboard, on the mouse. He’s pressed up against your upper back, your shoulders. He’s way too fucking close. 

“Awh. This is way less fun.”

At this point, your eyes aren’t even registering the screen, and Beomgyu is basically playing the game himself. The shooting noises and fighting sounds from the speakers run dull. Dizzy. You feel dizzy. “Nice! Good job,” he says. His low voice is a rumble right into your ears. “Hey, you’re doing it. Nice shot.”

You shoot up, nearly headbutting him in the process.

“What’s up?”

“Restroom,” you squeak out. “I need to go to the restroom.”

The cold splash of water against your face is very effective. You’re at the restroom, hands gripping the edges of the sink as you stare at your drenched face at the mirror. There are things that you can’t ignore anymore. You two should address what’s up as soon as possible. Otherwise, you’re going to go insane.

“Choi Beomgyu.”

Not now, though. You...you just haven’t gathered enough courage yet to talk to him about it yet.

“Pass me the pillow.”

Right now, you’re on your living room floor, the aftermath of your takeout lunch on the coffee table, and Beomgyu grabs a cushion from behind him on the couch and pats it down onto your laps, eyes glued to your laptop screen, a dog grooming YouTube video playing.

There’s still a little bit less than a month before the semester starts. Beomgyu is supposed to leave for Daegu in a bit. The Chois have a family event back home, and they invited you as well, but you promised to accompany Jung Sungchan for a seminar later this afternoon, so you had to decline. Beomgyu’s brother is in the city, so he doesn’t have to drive or commute all the way there. He’s gonna get picked up in like, thirty minutes, so he decided to wait around and loiter at your place for the time being.

The entire time he’s been here, seemingly unbothered and unchanged even after the new year’s thing, you’ve been trying to get your shit together and just clear the air. What the fuck are you two now? Does he even remember what happened? Or is he just trying to sweep it under the rug? Is he overthinking about it just as much as you are right now? What the hell is going on?

“What are you thinking about?”

The video he’s watching has ended. His attention is now completely on you.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Yeon—Yeonjun seonbae is the only graduating student from the club, right?”

“Ah. Yeah,” he hums in affirmation. He twists his body a bit, crossed-legs slightly turned towards you, and he places an arm on the sofa seat, head resting on the knuckles of his hand. “The guys are planning on throwing a party this weekend to celebrate. To, you know, send him off.”

“He’s probably gonna end up crying again, isn’t he.” You attempt to dissuade your brain for now. 

“Oh, definitely,” he laughs. “We’re gonna set up cameras in the clubroom. He won’t be safe.”

Bzzt bzzt. The both of you look at his vibrating phone on the table, right next to your laptop. Beomgyu grunts in annoyance (and slight back pain), pulling himself up to grab the device. You silently watch while he takes the call. He looks so annoyed. You’d be making fun of him right now if your brain wasn’t in so much of a mess.

“Hyung,” Beomgyu whines into the phone. “What do you mean meet you at the gas station? That’s so inconvenient. Ugh, fine. What time are you gonna be there?” You shoot him a thumbs up. He pushes it down, hand enclosing the back of your fist, and he continues complaining into the phone. “Just text me before you start driving. Yeah, she’s here. Do you wanna say hi?”

He hands you his phone. You clear your throat and put it up to your ear with your free hand. “Hi, hyung, how have you been? Yeah, he’s at my place again. A freeloader— exactly!” Beomgyu squeezes your knuckles at that remark, visibly pouting and offended. You brush him off. “Ah, yeah. Sorry I can’t join you guys. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Beomgyu snatches the phone back. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wait for you there. Bye, hyung. Later.”

The end of the call signals that you two should maybe start cleaning up. You throw out the boxes, wash the dishes and cups you used and tidy up the living room floor and couch. Beomgyu is grumbling the entire time, asking if you really have to attend the stupid seminar later. “I’m not gonna flake on my friends, Beomgyu.” You lean against the doorway with your arms crossed, seeing him out. He frowns. “You’re gonna be gone for three days right?” 

“Yeah,” he responds, audibly deflated. 

A huff of air blows past your lips. Three days. You should just talk to him once he gets back. “Have you packed already? Need any help?”

“No, I already took care of everything last night.”

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed. “That’s so unlike you. You’re well prepared for once.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond to your jab with the same energy. “I didn’t want to spend the entire morning packing when I can use it to spend a bit more time with you.” 

Instead, he decides to be sweet. Honest. 

You feel your rib cage rattle, your stomach stir. “O—oh,” you rasp out. “Um.”

“What’s with the look?” he laughs a little, taking a step forward. Your back is still pressed against the doorframe. Beomgyu’s arm reaches up further above your head, pushing himself closer. “I thought that much was obvious when I knocked at your door at nine in the morning.”

When you follow his gaze, you can tell that his eyes are tracing the lines on your lips, eyelids heavy. Your breath hitches in your throat. Shit. Oh my god. Is he going to kiss you? Is he leaning it to kiss you? You’re about to freak the fuck out and Beomgyu seems to notice that. He pulls back, allowing the air to circulate back into your lungs, and he lets out a sigh. 

His arm falls down to his side. “You can still take it back,” he says. You look at him, brows furrowed. What? Take what back? Beomgyu waits for you to answer, and when you don’t, he decides that it’s best to be more clear. “We can pretend like what happened on new year’s didn’t happen— uh, remain with what we’re used to if you’re not fine with this. If you think we’re better off as friends like we’ve always been, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh. Oh. You weren’t ready to talk about this yet. You planned to talk about this three days later, but when did your plans ever work? Never. 

Beomgyu attempts a smile and starts heading back to his apartment. “We can talk more once I get back so you can think about it. I’ll go get my—”

“No, wait.”

You grab hold of his arm. Beomgyu turns back, surprised. 

“I’ve al—already been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking a lot.” Crap. Your throat is dry. You didn’t plan any of this. You weren’t expecting to say this to him right now at all. “What I’m saying is—”

Choi Beomgyu looks a little expectant. You suck in a sharp breath. This feels weird. It’s like there’s something jittering at the base of your stomach. Many things, fluttering all the way up to your ribcage and throat and causing your cheeks to flare up.

“We...we can give it a try.”

There. You said it. You finally fucking said it and you can breathe again. Your gaze focuses on Beomgyu, heart racing, and his expression is yet again indecipherable.

He takes a step towards you. Your nerves jolt when you feel his touch on the arch of your spine, pulling you in even closer. “You sure?” 

You let out a squeak. “Tech—technically, I was the one who asked you out, so shouldn’t I— shouldn’t I take responsibility…?”

Beomgyu takes a moment’s pause at your resolution. You’re nervous. You’re so nervous right now that you might have severely fucked up. He looks at you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to avert your eyes, face flushed from the heat of the moment, only for him to release the tension with a big laugh, fully embracing you by the waist, and dropping his head down onto your shoulder before lifting it back up to look at you with a wide smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.”

This time, when he leans in again, doesn’t draw back midway. 

You feel his lips on yours and your eyes flutter wide open, heart rate spiking up and up and up until your lips part, him kissing you deeper, until you can’t keep them open anymore. Beomgyu’s hold around your waist loosens, one hand traveling up to the back of your head before it could collide with the doorframe when you stumble back as you lose the strength in your knees, and before you know it, you’ve got your hands tangled in his hair, dizzy and short-winded and making you think that this— this isn’t so bad.

He draws his lips back with a heavy exhale. “God,” he sighs out as the heat of his breath hits your skin. Your foreheads are pressed together, eyes hazy and cloudy when he leans in again, mumbling into your mouth, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

The reverie ends when a jolt of self-consciousness hits you belatedly. Your hands travel down to his chest, barely pushing off in a surge of sudden panic. Your face is burning, your lips feel fuzzy, and Beomgyu looks both surprised and disappointed which makes the churning in your stomach even worse. “A—a—aren’t you supposed to go now?” you stutter out, still a little breathless. Holy shit. That just happened. 

“You’re right,” Beomgyu responds. “I should go now.” But his body language isn’t showing any signs of leaving. You wait for him to budge. He doesn’t.

Somehow, you manage to push him off you and finally drag him out of the building with his backpack in tow, much to his whines and protests. His brother has been endlessly calling him with all calls left unanswered except for this one. “I’m going! I’m almost there.” He is not. He’s at the bottom steps of the apartment building. 

“Text me when you arrive,” you tell him, ready to head back inside. Beomgyu pockets his phone, looking more alive than ever and it’s annoying you a little.

“Mhm,” he hums in response. His eyes flicker down, debating whether or not to put whatever he’s thinking about with that into action, but decides against it and settles for a rough pat and a ruffle on your head instead, pressing out a small smile. “See you when I get back.” You wave him goodbye as he disappears out into the road. He sends you a text the moment he meets up with his brother.

It’s still a little awkward. You still can’t wrap your mind around this change after being nothing more than just two good friends for two decades. You’re just glad he isn’t trying to rush it. What doesn’t change is his incessantly annoying texts every goddamned hour throughout the three days he’s away. 

And indeed, you do see him when he gets back. He’s supposed to go shopping for the Yeonjun farewell party tomorrow anyway, so you decide to meet him at the station and just proceed to the store immediately after. When he departs from the train and sees you waiting amidst the crowd, he immediately comes rushing over like a puppy. Christ, Minjeong was right. 

Admittedly, you can’t get used to this yet. He’s always been touchy, but they’ve always been subtle. Devouring you into a bone crushing embrace to the point where all you can see and feel with your face is the fur of his jacket isn’t exactly subtle. The sounds of trains zipping, people chatting flood your senses. You quite frankly, cannot breathe. “Hey, chill out. It’s literally been only three days.”

“Bleh, whatever. Chill out, fuck off. Just let me have this.”

Your attempts to wrestle your way out of this good-natured suffocation is fruitless. You used to be able to push him around like nothing back in middle school. How far you have fallen.

“We still have errands to run,” you grunt out, managing to at the very least pop your head out from being smothered into his chest. He looks down at you, bitterly clicking his tongue and loosening his grip a bit. “Jeez, do you like me or something?”

That was supposed to be a joke. Beomgyu doesn’t find it very funny because he suddenly draws back, arms crossed and expression utterly exasperated. “Are you serious? Are you an idiot?”

“I was just pushing your buttons, stupid,” you shoot him a glare, taking advantage of your freedom to start walking ahead and out of the station.

“You’re stupid.”

There isn’t a day where Beomgyu doesn’t decide to irritate the crap out of you. He’s walking behind you. He’s stepping on the back of your shoes and bumping into you like a sixth grader. “Quit it!”

“Make me.”

He’s so annoying. He continues being annoying even at the event supplies stores downtown, where you’re picking up some streamers and party hats for tomorrow. You and he debate between hot pink and baby pink for the color theming. Rock paper scissors declare hot pink the winner and you get paper plates and cups in matching colors. “By the way,” Beomgyu starts, putting in two party poppers into the basket once you’re done loading up the utensils. “I met up with some of the guys from highschool yesterday. You know. Seungmin and Jimin. They were back in town for the holidays as well.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember them,” you respond, not very enthusiastically. The memory still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth like a permanent carpet burn. Beomgyu notices you shooting daggers at the innocent, inflated teddy bear balloon right in front of you. He tugs on your hand and leads you to the checkout counter before you can vent your temper at the poor balloon. “Anyway, how are they? Did you guys hang out?”

“Same old. We hit up the PC room for old times sake,” he hums, waiting as the cashier buzzes your items. “Actually, our high school batch is apparently planning a small reunion or get together of some sorts here in Seoul. They’re asking if we wanted to attend too.”

Well. You don’t exactly want to mingle with a bunch of kids that you weren’t even close with back then. And your social battery is already beyond depleted and has had no chance of ever getting a full recovery after all the events from December to January.

You mull it over while the counter finishes bagging your things. The both of you decide to make a pitstop at a nearby cafe. After ordering, you two pick a table on the outside porch because the weather is nice out. Beomgyu drags the metal chair from across so that he’s sitting next to you. Again, Kim Minjeong might’ve been onto something when she called him a puppy with severe attachment issues. The server comes by with your order. Your caffeine intake has been atrocious so you opted for a lychee drink instead, and he settles with a regular latte. Beomgyu hums out a tune while stirring his coffee, playfully hooking his opposite leg with yours underneath the table.

“About the reunion thing,” you chime up. “Will Chaeryoung be there?” 

“How should I know,” he grimaces after trying out your drink. At this point, you think he’s faking it. “She’s your friend, not mine.”

He just keeps pushing your buttons today. “Hey, jerk.” You snatch back the drink from under his chin, visibly provoked. “Why have you gotten even more annoying now that we’re— we’re. We’re—”

Your initial attitude is immediately gone. You choke on your words, one left unsaid because at this point it’s still a little fucking embarrasing, especially with how Choi Beomgyu’s is eyeing you with a shit eating expression while taking a sip from his coffee.

“Now that we’re what?” he hums in provocation, smiling that annoying smile of his with twinkling eyes. “C’mon. Say it.”

“Fuck you, nevermind—”

“No, I want to hear this! Now what we’re what?” Suddenly, he’s twisting over his chair to directly face you. You groan and quickly jerk away when you notice he’s enjoying this a little too much. You seriously want to sock him in the face. “Do you want me to stop being annoying? Hey! Hey, look at me!”

You let out a squeak when you feel his palms on your warm cheeks, turning your head to face him in bewilderment and you panic and hold onto your chair. “What the hell are you—”

“Tell me,” he interrupts. “What do you want me to do?”

This bastard wants to kill you via heart failure. Any ability to speak coherently has completely left your body.. “I, uh, well—”

“Hm?” he touts even further. “What was that?”

You hate him. You hate him so much. You want to hide and bury your face into the ground, and he’s just visibly laughing at you like a sick freak.

Beomgyu finally releases his hold on your face to snatch both of your hands instead. He pulls them towards his chest, but his eyes remain on you, the sheer amusement never leaving his gaze. “Do you want me to be sweeter?” he hums, tracing his thumbs over your knuckles before pressing a light kiss in between the narrow gap. “I can do that.”

His eyes are still trained on you, almost taunting.

“Baby?”

Then the sun spits on your face and you feel the primal instinct to book it and run away.

“Sweetie?” He tugs you forward, pulling your forearms into his chest, just in time for him to land a peck on your nose. “Darling?”

But you can’t run away. No. Because Choi Beomgyu has you hostage while he attacks you with an onslaught of cringey endearments and butterfly kisses on the face to remind you that he is, in fact, strong now, and you can’t do anything about it. Had you known he was going to torment you like this, you should’ve just taken it all back.

“Ow! Why are you hitting me, I’m just doing what you wanted me to do— ow! Then again, dipshit does suit you better than—ow! This is assault!” 

“You’re assault!” you screech out, finally managing to retrieve your bearings and you immediately cross your arms over the table, next to your barely touched lychee drink, and bury your face, never to see the light of day ever again. You hear Beomgyu having the time of his life next to you, laughing like an asshole. You send a blind kick in his direction. It hits. His cackling stops and he makes another pained noise.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry,” you hear him say. Then you hear the squeak of the chair, a bump on your elbow, and you peek out to see him laying his head on his crossed arms on the table as well, facing you. “I was just happy to see you again.”

You stare at him. How the fuck are you supposed to keep protesting when he’s being like this. “Beomgyu, you were gone for three days.”

“Three days too long,” he whines, muffling himself into his sleeves. “I’m with you every single day. I was suffering from withdrawals especially when my parents and your parents kept asking me why I didn’t bring you this year.” He tosses his head back up, suddenly looking at you with narrowed eyes and petulantly pursed lips. “And to think that when I got back, all I’ve been getting are swears and punches and rejection and— ah, my heart is wounded. I won’t ever recover from this. Never, ever, not even in a million— mmph!”

Choi Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, the tips of his fingers lifted up to his slightly parted mouth after you’d just shot up to shut up his never ending yapping by kissing him. There’s a heavy blush on his cheeks and even though yours are a little warm too, the corner of your lips involuntarily quirk upward. Holy shit. So, this is how it feels to be on the attacking end. Choi Beomgyu, you can eat shit and die. “Hah. Two can play it that game, fuckf—”

“Oh my god?!”

Your victory is cut short. Your blood runs cold. You should’ve remembered that you’re on the outside deck of a cafe right now, where people can just freely pass by and see you. You two are, in fact, seen, not just by any people. 

With the creaks of hesitance in your joints, you turn to the sound of the very appalled, very alarmed, very familiar voice. There, you see Kim Minjeong and Sung Hanbin standing with shopping bags, some of which have fallen on the floor, all of which are for what you assume is Yeonjun’s farewell party. The former looks at you in horror. The latter is just smiling and waving. “What the fuck did I just see?” Minjeong croaks out. “Tell me, what the fuck did I just see?”

“I—I can explain!” you quickly sputter out. You turn to Beomgyu for help, but the fucker is still lost in a lovestruck daze. Oh my god. You want to die.

“Congratulations,” Hanbin happily remarks. You want to die very much. Maybe at the hands of Minjeong because she’s marching up the deck and her eyes are on fire. 

Somehow, you manage to smooth things over. You fill them in with what happened on new year, and Minjeong says she saw this coming but still can’t accept it because you’re way too good for Beomgyu, which snaps him out of it and they get into a squabble. “So you approved of Jang Seung but not me?!” Hanbin is all smiles, though, and he promised to keep it a secret from the rest of the coding club guys for now because you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if they find out. Heeseung especially. Oh god. It’s going to be a disaster.

The disaster comes not even twenty-four hours later, at Yeonjun’s farewell party. 

Most of the morning, you all spend the time to decorate the clubroom and set up all the cameras to record Yeonjun’s inevitable sobfest. Hot pink and white streamers are hung around and about. There are balloons on the wall spelling CONGRATULATIONS, Y3ONJUN! because there weren’t any letter E’s available. The boxes of pizza and chicken arrive. Jeongin walks in with a cake. You’re all decked out in party hats and birthday trumpets while waiting for the man of the hour to arrive.

“Pink or brighter pink?” Beomgyu asks, holding up the two cones for your perusal. You’re both wedged in a corner in the room, slightly detached from the rest of the group scuttling by the door.

“First one,” you hum, and he draws the string down, tapping the cone cap on the crown of your head while he slowly lets go of the string once it’s set underneath your chin. Beomgyu takes a step back, examining his work, before nodding into a satisfied smile and putting his own party hat on himself.

He’s. He’s so dumb. You brush off a smile with the shake of your head, and in doing so you inadvertently lock eyes with Heeseung, who seems to have witnessed the entire exchange and is now squinting at you— like he’s trying to understand something. Clearing your throat, you look away before he can take your eye contact as an invitation to talk, and Heeseung is just about to approach when the clubroom door clatters open, a series of party poppers go off, confetti shoots out, right in time for Yeonjun to step in, eyes wide in half-fear, half-surprise.

“Wh—whoa, what? Hey, what’s going on?”

In a matter of seconds, things escalate. Congratulations are yelled out. Some happy birthdays (whatever makes them happy). The pink graduation cake is released. It takes a moment for Yeonjun to let it all sink in, and when it does, the boys’ predictions are ultimately proven correct because he tries to play it off that he’s definitely, absolutely not crying (he is). 

They laugh at him, make fun of him, and group hugs are shared. It’s all very silly and very cute. You’re on photo taking duty until Hyunjin pulls you into their mess of limbs and yelling and sobs until you’re finally able to wiggle out back into your corner. 

Beomgyu returns to your corner with a slice of cake on a paper plate, two forks, and a dollop of icing on the tip of his nose. 

“Is that a new look you’re trying?” you laugh, taking one of the forks on the plate.

“What are you talking about?” His brows are furrowed. You tap on your nose. Beomgyu mirrors your movement, still confused until he feels the smudge of icing, and he draws his hand away with disgust. “God damn it. Jeongin, that rat.” Despite his desire for revenge, Choi Beomgyu doesn’t leave the corner. He stays there with you, watching all the rest of the boys making a mess as you share your cake, plucking off a crumb from the corner of your mouth while you wheeze at Heeseung trying and failing to pin the tail on the Yeonjun-donkey. 

“Idiot, to your left! Left! That’s not your—”

“Hey, hold still for a sec—”

“Are you directionally— oh!”

Lee Heeseung rips off his blindfold— ready to whine at you— but that intention immediately simmers down to something else when he snaps his head just in time for him to witness Beomgyu touching your face and getting away with it unscathed. You jolt. Heeseung’s eyes are narrowed at you. “Hey, what’s going—”

“We got a noise complaint! ICT publication from next door!”

“Ugh, party poopers.”

“Choi Beomgyu, go deal with it.”

Thank god for that interruption. The man in question doesn’t seem as happy about it, though. “What? Why me?” he groans in protest. You see Heeseung pause mid-stride towards the both of you.

“Because we need someone with charisma to make sure we don’t get in trouble and Yeonjun hyung is useless right now.” Hyunjin reasons. Cut to Yeonjun who’s still sobbing his eyes out at the paper roll of messages you guys wrote for him. He really is useless. Beomgyu sees the waterworks and lets out another grunt.

“Ugh.” Pouting, Beomgyu turns back to you, handing you the plate and finishing it off by messing up your hair. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Quit acting like you won’t miss me, meanie.”

You stick your tongue out. Beomgyu rolls his eyes and heads off with Hyunjin outside to deal with the complaint, hooking the latter by the neck with his arm. You’re about to finish up your cake when Heeseung replaces Beomgyu’s spot. You nearly choke on the damn thing when he suddenly bolts up saying, “Hey. Why the fuck are you two acting so weird?”

“Jesus fucking—” you cough. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The look of suspicion never leaves Heeseung’s face. You can feel it— cold sweat breaking. Shit. Is this it? Is this the end of your peace and quiet? “Beomgyu has been all up in your space since we started preparing and at this point, you would’ve sworn at him at least two dozen times already,” he starts. “I haven’t heard your unrecyclable mouth utter even a shit or damn. There hasn’t even been any bickering and it’s freaking me out.”

Of all times, why does he decide to be perceptive now? You can’t even muster up a response. Thank god he’s a yapper because he fills in the silence himself.

“Well, whatever,” Heeseung simply shrugs. “I guess that’s a good thing because my ears are spared from your potty mouth just for today.” 

He’s perceptive but not sharp. Today, you are saved. “Go suck a dick.”

“That’s the spirit. Back to normal.” Your friend grins and gives you a thumbs up. You shoot him a glare and he blocks your punch with his palm. “But did something happen? The vibe between you and he is a little different. How do I put it?” You struggle to remove your fist from the bastard’s grip, but he doesn’t let you budge while he continues to ponder. “It’s like you’re a couple of high schoolers who just started dating or some shit, haha. Something like that.”

You rip your hand away and press it close to your chest.

“Yo, what’s with the face?”

Turns out, your good for nothing friend has been speaking a little too loud that it’s gotten quiet. Quiet in anticipation because everyone in the room is looking at you right now— including Beomgyu, who’d just gotten back with Hyunjin after their successful mission. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asks. You gulp. You look at Beomgyu, who’s a little taken aback by what’s going down. Oh, you’re so fucking screwed.

“Wait, why aren’t you denying it?”

How could you when Choi Beomgyu is looking straight at you? Sure, you don’t want them to find out, but you don’t have the heart to deny it and make Beomgyu upset, either! You remain quiet for five, sixe seconds— several seconds too late because they construe your silence as a yes, and Heeseung’s eyes start beaming, and it gets loud again, and your face is starting to grow way too hot for you to handle

“Oh my god? Oh my fucking god? Oh my god, my biggest wish is finally happening— guys! Guys!”

That’s it. It’s over. It’s all over. The news spreads like wildfire, but it’s all Heeseung’s hearsay until a confirmation comes out from either of you two’s mouths. Heeseung is shaking you by the shoulders. Yeonjun is crying even more. Hanbin is watching everything with a smile and he sends you an assuring thumbs up, but you don’t feel assured at all. From the corner of your eye, you can also see Beomgyu getting assaulted. He’s got Hyunjin and Jeongin yelling at him from both sides. He looks like he’s getting a migraine.

“Is it true?! Did you two really decide to date?”

“No way! Not with how adamantly she’s been against—”

“Wait, this isn’t our business, we shouldn’t—”

“Who asked who out? C’mon, you gotta tell us!”

Despite it all, Beomgyu’s usually loud mouth remains quiet. He says nothing to them. Instead, he meets eyes with you from across the room— a cock of his head, a slight raise of his brow as if to say just give me the signal, what do you want me to do? 

You feel as though you’ve already been asking him for too many favors this year. You suck in a sharp inhale, and, while ignoring Heeseung’s vigorous shaking of your person, answer Hyunjin’s question in his stead. “I did,” you said. “I asked him. On new year’s. Under the table.”

Heeseung suddenly freezes. You squeeze your eyes shut and look down, cheeks burning. Then you hear a scream.

“You?! You?!”

“This is crazy. What the fuck, I don’t believe it.”

“I knew it! I knew something big happened then! Gosh, I fucking knew it!”

“You were barely conscious then, how could you know—”

“About time, really.”

“Hey, I’m so happy for you two,” Yeonjun suddenly saunters up to you, eyes red and threatening to spill again. He sniffles and pulls you into a hug. “I’m just so...so—”

And your shoulder is wet. You give him a few pats on the bag as you watch Beomgyu fed off his rabid fans from jumping him while he attempts to move closer to you. He manages to succeed by announcing that he needs to talk to you in private and then go crazy. He doesn’t succeed as much in prying Yeonjun off of you, though. You’re both suffocated in a group hug and best wishes from the soon-to-graduate club member. 

“Hey, I hope none of you have forgotten who this party is actually for,” you raise in the hopes of dissuading the situation. Which works. Somehow. You’re in no position to question a blessing from the skies.

“Sideshow over! Time to watch the message video—”

“Where’s the cord? Whose laptop are we using again?”

“Hey, nobody leaves until we clean everything up! Jeongin, I’m looking at you.”

Regardless, Heeseung wouldn’t leave you alone until you fess everything up to him. Even after the party, he kept texting and calling you to tell him the how, what, where, and why. Mostly because he wanted to confirm that he has all the credit of introducing you both through that blind date. It was very funny to see his entire world shatter when you told him that you and Beomgyu had known each other since forever. He stopped bothering you after that and decided it’s not fun anymore to tease you.

Unfortunately, the rest of his club members haven’t tired themselves out yet. When Beomgyu told them he wasn’t gonna join their night out this weekend because you guys had the high school reunion thing he mentioned to you the other day, they refused to believe him and that he was just making an excuse to spend time with you. You owe Hwang Hyunjin a punch to the gut. He must’ve forgotten that there was a reason he was scared of you the first time you met.

Anyhow, those headaches are set aside because you have a different headache to deal with— that is, the impending hell of meeting your high school classmates again. You contacted Chaeryoung the other day, asking if she’s also attending and she responded with a sudden call, which turned into a two-hour catching up session. Needless to say, you have no choice but to show up now. 

It’s the day of, and you’re getting ready inside the bedroom apartment. There’s soft music humming through the turntable Beomgyu gave you as a Christmas gift, loaded with the record you bought last month. It’s the same song he played onstage two months ago. The room is dimmed, the bronze ceiling light the only thing illuminating the walls, floor, the bedsheet you’re sinking into and the mess of makeup items scattered about, as well as Choi Beomgyu’s face that’s inches away from yours— a focused look of concentration etched on his pursed lips as he brings up a brush up to your cheekbone.

“Hey, stop that! It tickles!” you laugh, albeit unwillingly, as you swat his hand away. “If you mess up I’m gonna have to wipe my entire face off and start over.” You feel your phone vibrating next to your hand that’s pressed into the mattress. Must be from Chaeryoung. You look down to grab it, but Beomgyu taps on the side of your jaw, lifting your face up to look at him.

“Who cares? We’re already late anyway.” His brows are all knitted up in concentration, wielding your lipstick wand like it’s a scalpel and he’s about to perform open heart surgery. Why is he taking this so seriously? He barged in while you were putting on makeup earlier and bragged that he could actually be pretty good at this, and you egged him on to prove it. So far, he’s been all talk, sweating after tapping on barely any product on your cheeks with your blush brush. “Stay still, dipshit. Unless you want to end up looking like a clown.”

“I’ll kill you if you mess up.”

“Then maybe shut your mouth for a sec.”

“Nyeye, then maybe shut your mouth for a—”

“Shush! I’m concentrating!”

You muffle down a laugh, seeing him try so hard. You can see the sweat bead trailing down his forehead as he lifts up your chin with one hand and now brings a shade of lipstick to your lips with the other. There’s a jitter of hesitation the moment you feel the product brush against your lips— a light press and a pause. You look up at his eyes but he’s not looking at yours. And then you watch as Beomgyu’s takes a deep breath while clumsily applying the product in a rush, mumbling something you can’t quite hear under his breath, and he twists the wand back into its container before tossing it onto your bed.

“What was that?” you ask, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. You can see him even under this dim light. You can see just how red his ears are. You fight back the urge to laugh and make fun of him outright. You need a different strategy to win against him. “What did you say?”

Beomgyu is still not looking at you. He’s not fighting against your grip, but the heat has traveled down to his neck as he continues to look away. “I said pretty,” he coughs out, then repeats, “your lips are pretty.” Your grip loosens. He takes this as an opportunity to peek at you once more. Which proves to be the wrong move. “No, your entire face is pretty. What the hell? How am I supposed to make fun of you now? This is pissing me off.”

You don’t recall giving him any blush, but Choi Beomgyu is blushing red when he stomps out of your room in a fit. You’re flustered yourself, but your annoyance and confusion overtakes any other emotion as you quickly gather your purse and phone and wallet to catch up to him and his sudden tantrum.

“Now, why the fuck would that piss you off, you dick?!”

You’re both in your living room now. Beomgyu is throwing on his coat when he snarks back, “See! Because it doesn’t match your vulgar mouth and nasty personality!”

“You talk as if you’re any better than me, fuckface.” Somehow, you’re both on your way out now, walking down the hallway and down the stairs to the lobby as your…civilized conversation continues. “In fact, your mouth is way worse than mine.”

“Lies!” he barks back. You’re both out of the building now. “Statistically speaking, you swear exponentially more times than me.”

“You failed our statistics and probability final in ninth grade. Don’t get smart with me. And should I show you the voice recordings Heeseung sends me whenever you two are playing a game? Your mother would cry if she heard them.”

“I can’t believe you’re using my own strategy against me.” Now, you’re walking to the parking lot and even while he’s ranting, Beomgyu manages to lead you right to his car. “And mind you, those are exceptional circumstances. In general and on average, you are the worst offender of all. There isn’t a day where you don’t tell me to fuck off or eat shit, and I’m not the only victim. There’s Heeseung. There’s Sungchan. There’s—”

His throat holds his words hostage. You are being held hostage in between him and his car when he leans in to open the passenger door for you, hand already on the handle, but Beomgyu remains unmoving. His lips are pressed tightly, together and a wrinkle creases the space between his eyebrows.

Then, he breathes out a swear.

“Dammit.”

His grip leaves the door, cups your cheeks, and lunges in for a kiss like a crazy person.

The first moment, you’re shocked and wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck is this idiot trying to pull. The next moment, you find yourself getting swept up in his insanity, wide eyes fluttering close with your arms around his neck, securing another five minutes of tardiness to the event, and the five minutes end with his exhaled breaths warming up your lips amidst the cold evening. “I swear to god, Choi Beomgyu,” you grunt, barely shoving him away. What was the point of his whole make-up guru charade earlier? What was the point if he was gonna smudge it all off anyway? “There’s seriously something wrong with you.”

Your complaint is met by a pout and him retaliating by pulling you in with one arm, and his free hand finding its way to your face. “Is this your way of breaking up with me?”

He’s insufferable. “You wish.”

“No, I don’t,” is his quick reply. It almost made your heart stutter— even more so when he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your lips with the disappointed click of his tongue. “Sorry I ruined your lipstick. I’ll fix it in the car.”

You smack his hand away, covering your face with the back of your hand. “It was ruined the moment you put it on!” You quickly whisk yourself into the car, finally. Beomgyu follows into the driver’s seat not long after, but not without yelling out his self-defense.

“Hey, I did a pretty good job! I just need a bit more practice!”

Sometime in the middle of the car ride, the argument fizzled out and got replaced by his playlist, and a conversation on when you’d be coming back home to Daegu before the semester starts since your mom wants to show off the new sofa set she bought. It’s very cozy, she says, with the only downside being the fact that it’s too cozy to the point that your dad’s evening naps have become more frequent.

It’s just mindless meandering on the way to the venue— a karaoke room at Grand Hyatt Hotel that you and the rest of your attending batchmates chipped in to book. Of the thirty students from your batch, twenty-three confirmed attendance including Beomgyu and yourself. Of the other twenty-one people, you’re only close with one of them.

Maybe your endless prattling about your mom’s new cushions and throw pillows to distract yourself from why you even volunteered yourself to attend. Maybe you’re just using Chaeryeong as an excuse to validate yourself and witness exactly how much you’ve and everyone else has changed since highschool in spite of your vocalized disinterest. 

“You good?” 

The car engine has stopped humming. The streetlight road has been replaced by a dim hotel parking lot, and you turn to see the dim image of Choi Beomgyu’s blurry face eyeing you in concern. You recall his initial surprise when you voiced out your intent on coming with him this evening. Not that he’d stopped you, but you figure even his dummy self could put your initial reservations, and the confession you dropped a few months ago when you made up after your fight. I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always been around you and nothing else. I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you. 

It still makes you cringe whenever that memory would creep into your brain like a rat at two in the morning when you’re trying to sleep. Sure, things are different now, but you felt that way at a time when your world consisted of nothing more than your town back in Daegu, and eighty percent of your life was spent in high school. You’re stepping back into that world right now, where you’re nothing but Choi Beomgyu’s friend, acquaintance, something— never had been just yourself. 

And you know Beomgyu knows that this is exactly what you’re thinking about right now. Which is why he doesn’t get out of the car yet, and instead asks, “Do you wanna just ditch and go hang out somewhere else?”

You let out a laugh. He’s such a dork. “No way. Chaeryeong’s gonna sulk if I don’t see her today, and I could use a few drinks, you know.” You have no intention of stripping him the opportunity to hang out with his old friends again. You’ve seen how much his phone has been buzzing on the way here. Why does he have so many clingy male friends? You’ll never understand. Choi Beomgyu is just some guy.

That some guy stares at you for a bit as he mulls over your answer. “If you say so. But if you wanna leave early, just tell me.”

Seriously. It’s not like he treats them like this, for them to go crazy over hum. Then again, maybe this guy just has the inherent knack of drawing people in. You’ve been a witness of that phenomenon for the past two decades, and you’re witnessing it again tonight, counting down from the moment you two leave the car and enter the building, enter the karaoke lounge, and despite Choi Beomgyu (and you) interrupting an ongoing performance by Seungmin and Jimin on the machine, the response to his entrance is, quite frankly, a bit over the top.

“Look who’s finally here.”

“Man, what took you so long?”

“Woohoo! Time to get the party started!”

Neon lights are already lighting up the dim room. Beer bottles have already been cracked open on the tables. You watch as he gets whisked away by his old high school friend group, stifling your laughter because maybe Choi Beomgyu has changed because he looks a little overwhelmed and taken aback by the assault of attention. Surprisingly, it’s a very funny sight. He turns back to you while Jiwoong hooks him by the neck and ushers him into the lounge as if he’s asking for help. Which draws attention to you, obviously. His friends turn around. The first one to greet you is Seungmin. “Oh, hey!” he exclaims, leaning in for a quick half-hug. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

“I’ve been stuck at the door for the past few minutes due to the traffic you idiots are causing, thank you very much for asking,” you respond after pulling back, smiling.

“You still have an attitude,” he snarks. “And you two are still joint at the hip. Did you arrive together?”

“Yup. I’m getting sick of him, so I’d appreciate it if you take him away from me now.”

“You can bet on it.”

Before Beomgyu could protest, he’s already been handed the mic and had been fed a shot glass. The rest of the guys follow suit in giving you quick greetings, how are you’s, how have you been’s. You still haven’t seen Chaeryeong around so you shoot her a text. She responds with exclamation marks and the text, [WAIT A SECOND. BATHROOM. BE THERE IN A BIT], and she emerges through the door not long after to greet you with the gift of suffocation. “Oh my god, I missed you so much,” she wheezes out. “Why haven’t we made plans even once since starting uni? I know we talked a bit last time but how have you been? Has Choi Beomgyu been treat—”

You prompt shut her mouth with your hand. You did keep her posted over the phone last time, but you don’t intend on sharing the status update between you and Choi Beomgyu to your whole class that had been under the assumption that you’ve been together, anyway. It’s none of their business— and definitely not the business of the girl that had been staring at you the whole goddamn time since you arrived here.

Among the twenty-one people that came today is Haena. Haena, the girl that invited you to hang out with her friends for coffee around a year ago. Haena, the girl who kept grilling you about your relationship with Beomgyu, just to ask if you could help her get together with him. Haena and her friends, Bora and Seohyun, who’d been drilling holes into the back of your head for the past fifteen or so minutes. Last you’ve heard of her, she’s studying nursing at DSU. 

You’ve never told Beomgyu about the little incident because it never escalated into anything more than dirty looks in the hallway and the classroom and the proliferation of gossip about you and Choi Beomgyu. And since nearly a whole year had passed, you were hoping that that was all water under the bridge now, but apparently it’s not. Jesus, what does she want?

“Okay, okay, let’s stop the singing for now since everyone’s already here and raise our drinks up! To the class of 20XX!”

You’ve no intention of letting that bother the rest of your night. Yet Haena wasn’t the only bitter aftertaste of that period of your life. An hour or so into the evening, you get out of the karaoke lounge to get a breather in the lobby. Choi Beomgyu is still trapped inside thanks to his ten million fanboys-slash-friends. Chaeryeong wanted to come with you but she got roped into a drinking game and has shown no signs of escaping. Which leaves you some time to recharge a bit before the inevitable agenda of reminiscence once everyone’s gotten a bit too drunk and loose-lipped.

On the way to the hotel lobby, you bump into Jiwoong— that guy, ex-crush, who rejected you in the rain two years back, maybe. So much for water under the bridge because just looking at him makes you feel mortified. He greets you with a nod and a smile before walking past you back into the lounge. God, that was an embarrassing moment. You shake your head and race into the hall leading up to the carpeted lobby.

Unfortunately for you, you weren’t the only one with the same idea.

There, sitting defeated and exhausted on one of the plush seats is Lim Jimin. Embarrassing encounter number two. He notices you. You two make eye contact. Fuck. Yes, you two exchanged awkward hello’s earlier, but seeing his face just makes you recount the humiliation you felt when you expected a confession from him.

“O—oh, hi.”

He’s the one that greets you first, and it sounds a lot more agonizing than if you’d been the one to do it. Did Choi Beomgyu say something to this guy? Why does he look just as uncomfortable as you?

“Uh, hey.” You quickly squeeze out a response. “It’s getting stuffy inside, right? Haha, enjoy your alone time. I’ll be doing the same outs—”

“W—wait!” The last thing you expected was for Jimin to say something to you. You preemptively stop walking, and the momentum causes you to jerk a bit, giving him the opportunity to jump off his seat and keep talking. “This…this is a bit long overdue, and this may sound stupid, but I feel like I owe you an apology.” 

An apology? Your brows furrow. You regain your balance, resting a hand on the backrest of the sofa beside you. “For what?”

He struggles a bit. “Um…do you remember when I asked you a favor last year? To convince Beomgyu to help me rank up in League?” You can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing your cheeks again. God dammit, why can’t he be like Jiwoong who just smiled and walked past you like nothing happened? “You stormed off after that, and I couldn’t help but feel really guilty that I did something wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d be angry no matter how much I thought about it.”

Somehow, your hands find themselves covering your face, head down. “Ah,” you exhale a disgruntled breath, then force an inhale. You bring your head up. You look at the boy who’s looking guilty when he shouldn’t be. “You did nothing wrong, Jimin. I was just worked up that day and sort of lost my cool. I should be the one who’s sorry.” This is so ridiculous. At least with this, you think you can finally be over it. “Gosh. I can’t believe you’ve been stressing about that.”

Jimin brings his arms to a cross and rubs his palms against his sleeves, still looking down and sorry. “I felt really bad, okay? I really thought I said something wrong, especially to my friend’s girlfriend.”

You feel a twitch in your temple. Here’s another misunderstanding to clear. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to help you anyway. I wasn’t his girlfriend back then.”

This causes him to jolt his eyes up to look at you. “Huh? Really?” His widened eyes blink rapidly. “Back then? Then does that mean you’re—”

An interruption in the form of your name being called out arrives.

You turn your head back— back into the direction of the hall that led into the karaoke lounge. “Beomgyu,” you acknowledge, padding up to him upon his arrival. You figure he managed to listen in on the last part of that conversation, considering the fact he welcomes your arrival with a snug arm around you. Like Minjeong says, Choi Beomgyu acts like a puppy with attachment issues, but he hasn’t been committing any heinous acts of public affection the entire reunion event. You haven’t even said anything. He knows you a little too well. “What’s up? Got sick of all your friends’ love and attention already?”

“That’s one reason,” he grunts “But the guys wanted to gather everyone around for something. What were you two doing out here?”

The question seems to be pointed at Jimin, and the man in question struggles to come up with a response. You lightly elbow Choi Beomgyu. “We were just clearing up some misunderstandings,” you say, which Jimin echoes, and then you give Beomgyu a whispered reminder. “You know. The fake secret admirer incident last year. Looking back, that was also half your fault for planting ideas in my head.”

“Oh, yeah. That incident,” Beomgyu snorts upon recollection. “Damn. You never fail at being embarrassing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You elbow him again. Less lightly this time. Telling him about the whole confession misunderstanding on your part will forever be one of the greatest regrets of your life. “Jimin, We’ll head in first.”

“Sure thing. Tell the others I’ll be there in a sec.”

With that, you shuffle back into the hallway, and upon getting closer to the lounge, Beomgyu slowly paces away a considerable distance between the both of you. The last thing he lets go of is his gentle hold on your wrist as he led you down the hallway. He used that same hand to open up the door, announcing your re-arrival— which elicits a different reaction from the first time you two arrived. “Oooh, here they are. The lovebirds are finally here.”

Even though they aren’t misunderstanding your relationship this time around, it still is really fucking annoying.

“C’mon, sit down, sit down! We’ve already started playing truth or dare while you guys were out. Where’s Jimin?”

It doesn’t feel right to deny it. “He’s still out.” But it doesn’t feel right to just let them keep goading you either. “Said he’ll join us later. If you ask any weird questions, I’m out.” 

“Lighten up! We’re all just curious to find out what everyone’s been up to this past year.” The two long tables in the venue have been pressed together to form one big square where everyone is sitting around. With Beomgyu following behind you and seated to your left, you take the spot Chaeryeong has been saving, quickly filling you in with the revelations you’d missed, but it’s hard to keep up with her once the group got the ball rolling again by spinning an empty beer bottle in the middle of the square time after time, round after round. 

You all found out Seungmin was the one who put fake cockroaches in the faculty office. Jimin joined the table after that round. Your poor friend Chaeryeong had to chug down a terrible excuse of a drink for refusing to answer a question. She’s now mumbling incoherencies into your shoulder as you watch the botte spin for the nth time— spinning, spinning, spinning, slowly losing speed until it ultimately stops and points at you.

“Alright, alright! Truth or dare?”

Well, shit.

“Ah. Truth, I guess,” you grant. You’ve already had enough embarrassing moments involving your high school cohort. You need not add another one, and considering how everyone’s interest about you revolves around Choi Beomgyu and Choi Beomgyu only, you figured that the poor idiot next to you should be more scared of the question than you in case his friends want to ask about his deepest, darkest secrets.

“Oh, there’s something I’d like to know!”

The person who decides that you should be the one on the chopping block is Kim Bora, who’s grinning at you from across the table, right in between Haena and Seohyun. Ah. You have a feeling where this is going. You suck in a deep breath and muster up all the patience in the world.

“How did you and Beomgyu manage to stay strong after all these years?”

Unfortunately, that amount of patience is very thin. Very thin indeed. Even more thinned out with the number of voices doubling, tripling it down.

“Oooh, I wanna hear too!”

“Yeah, what’s your secret, man? All my relationships end after three months, I feel like there’s something I’m doing wrong.”

“Tell us your secret!”

“What are you guys—”

That last voice came from Beomgyu, who you promptly stopped with the squeeze of his hand. Don’t say anything, don’t stop them, you say to him with narrowed eyes. He gives you a conflicted look, but he relents anyway, settling back down, but you can tell he’s worked up. Well, you just want to know how far they’re gonna take this. You want to know how much you can bite your tongue. You know you’ve always been prone to outbursts and impulse, but after all the shit you’ve been through these past two semesters, mindless, nose-digging gossip like this is nothing.

More than that, you want to know what this girl Haena is planning with how much she’s been giggling for the past minute and a half.  

“What are you saying, Bora? You’re so silly! Don’t you remember what we talked about with her before? They’ve never dated!”

And there it is.

“Huh?”

Haena’s statement drops a blanket of confused silence over the table. “What are you talking about?” one of your old classmates asks, and you want to echo the same sentiments because what exactly is she trying to achieve with this?

“C’mon,” Haena waves the silence off, still grinning, still sneaking glances at you. “You didn’t know? You guys were all being judgmental for assuming a boy and girl are dating just because they’re really close friends. Well, it’s not like they ever denied it. Oh, well but the truth is they were never dating. You two were never dating, right? Right?”

Ah. This is kind of pissing you off.

“Hey, that’s enough—”

Is this because you wouldn’t set her up with Beomgyu? Jesus, isn’t she over that already? Is she trying to frame you as some attention-seeker who thrived off the misunderstanding that you and your childhood friend have something more going on? Well, too bad. You’ve already been branded as a cheater and a whore. This is so juvenile that it’s starting to prick at the patience you’ve worked so hard to build up.

“Damn, seriously? So I stopped myself from confessing over nothing? If you two weren’t dating, how come neither of you said a thing?”

“That’s what I’m saying! Kinda crazy that they just let everyone misunderstand!” 

“Jesus, why are we even talking about this?” Seungmin attempts to dissuade the conversation, but the misfortune that comes after is Jimin accidentally adding fuel to the fire by letting slip the information you’d shared to him just moments ago.

“Right? Why does it even matter if they were dating or not back then? What’s important is that they’re both happily dating now!”

Another blanket of silence mops the table.

At this point, you just wanna go home.

“Ha!” A noise of disbelief rips out of Haena’s throat as sneers at you from across. “I can’t believe this! You kept saying and acting like you weren’t interested in him when you’d end up taking the opportunity, anyway! Wow, you acted so high and mighty back then, bragging that you didn’t have any feelings for him as if it made you better than the rest of us. If it’d end up like this, you should’ve just hooked up and gone after him ages ag—”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve heard enough.”

The table rattles. Your eyes widen, snapping up to your left to see Choi Beomgyu who had stood up, who— for the first time in the years you’ve known him— looks mad. Angrier than when you two fought last year. Angrier than you think you’d ever been, even with your horrid short-temper.

His knuckles are tight. He’s seething. You’re too caught off guard to react in time and stop the damage he intends on making.

“Seriously. Why the fuck do you keep running your mouth about something that’s completely out of your business?”

It’s not only you. It seems that everyone is surprised to find the always easygoing, always friendly and outgoing Choi Beomgyu suddenly acting like this— acting like this on your behalf. “So what if we started dating? What’s it to you? What’s it to any of you?” You’re stunned. He draws his fingers to his hair. He shakes it off with an incensed breath. “Jesus christ. If you guys aren’t interested in talking about anything else other than our relationship, then I guess the both of us should just leave so that you can gossip more, yeah? Enjoy the rest of the damned night, assholes.”

When his head drops and his eyes make contact with yours, his gaze immediately softens. Let’s go, he mouths with a smile. You feel a lump in your throat. Beomgyu whisks you away before you can even acknowledge it.

“Whoa, that was scary.”

“Was he always like this?”

“You were the ones who crossed the line. What were you guys thinking?”

At some point, Beomgyu has completely dragged you out of the karaoke lounge, out of the hall, out of the hotel lobby, and into the dimly lit parking lot with nothing but a handful of streetlights illuminating the chalky pavement. You hadn’t even realized you’d been running until he stopped underneath the dancing particles of the ilt-up post, brightening up the empty parking space right next to his car. You hadn’t even realized you’d been catching your breath until he points it out for you

“Seriously, what the hell was wrong with people? Why can’t everyone just mind their own business and leave us—” The tempo of his rant fizzles out immediately. Beomgyu bites down a frown and pulls you in, brushing through the unkempt strands of your hair from the wind. “Sorry, was I running too fast? I just wanted to get you out of there as quickly as I can.”

Choi Beomgyu had confronted your old inhibitions on your behalf. He’d done the same thing with Jang Seung last semester. He’d done the same with his former friends that were talking shit about you and even got into a fight because of it. And it seems like the same thing is going to happen now.

It’s always him who does things for you. He was the one who took the first step in your reconciliation last year. He was the one who’d always put the entirety of his soft, tender feelings into the palm of his hands and handed them off to you without even expecting anything in return. 

Maybe it’s about time for you to do the same.

Maybe it’s about time for you to confront the one thing you’ve been confining in the back of your mind for god knows how long.

“Beomgyu.”

It’s always been there— since you were, what? Fourteen? Sixteen? Since he’d made you watch that stupid scary movie in middle school and your heart jumped out of your ribcage for the first time and all you could do was hold onto him for your dear life while you screamed bloody murder? You don’t know when these kind of thoughts started entering your head, but you never dwelled on them knowing and fearing that even considering them, acknowledging them in any way, shape, or form would open up a pandora’s box of emotions you’d have to sift through and organize alongside the fact that he’s just your friend, your friend for as long as you can remember, and you weren’t ready for it yet— even after what happened under the table on new year.

For your entire life, Choi Beomgyu has been a friend. A neighbor. An annoyance. Someone you care about. Someone you can’t live without.

And experiencing firsthand a life without his annoying presence always hovering around you cemented the fact that you really can’t risk losing him from your life again. And the likelihood of things going wrong, things getting tangled to the point where you’d have to cut each other off is less when he’s just your friend— just a neighbor, just an annoyance— than when he’s someone more than that.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me to intervene.”

Which is why you feared that if you’d ever admit to yourself that you had feelings for him, that if you’d stopped brushing those feelings away, that risk of losing him would become more than you could handle.

“I just got too angry hearing them talk all that crap.”

But now—

“Ugh. Even thinking about it is making me mad. C’mon, let’s just go.”

You don’t have to keep lying to yourseff anymore. Because who gives a shit about what other people say? Because who gives a shit about risks and fears that are nothing but debris floating around your head?

“Let’s just go home, okay? Let’s head to car, and then—” He stops himself. He lets go of your hand to cup your cheeks, drying up the tears with the warmth of his fingertips. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Nothing is wrong. Because the only thing you give a shit about right now is the fact that the opportunity to love and be loved by Choi Beomgyu only comes once in a lifetime—

“C’mon. You should just forget what Haena and the rest of them said. They’re all nonsense.”

—and spending the entirety of it in denial would just be ridiculous.

“Oh, and now you’re laughing. You’re laughing and crying. Wow, you must’ve gone insane.

Stupid.

“What should I go? Go back? Should I teach them a lesson?”

Pointless.

“Stay here. I’ll go back and—”

Downright impossible.

“Hey, fuckface.”

You tug on his sleeve to stop him from leaving. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you.”

And it feels like air is entering your lungs for the first like, as though twenty years worth of heavy leaden weight has been lifted off your chest. But unlike you, Beomgyo looks like he’s having troube breathing. “Oh,” is all he says, wide-eyed and surprised. Almost as if he’d never been expecting it. Like it had never even crossed his mind that you’d ever say it to him. You, of all people. “W—well—”

“Choi Beomgyu.” You interrupt him befre he could say anything, smacking your palms on both sides of cheeks before the adrenailne leaves your system. Before you could even think twice about anything at all. “I’m sorry I’ve never said it outright before even after we started dating. But you should know that you mean the world to me, you idiot. I’m so in love with you, it makes me stupid. I’m nothing without you.”

This time, it’s him who starts crying.

You let him sink into your arms and bury his face into your shoulder. He drapes himself over while keeping steady around your waist. You hear him sniffle a little. Gross. “Seriously, you’re such a crybaby.”

Beomgyu mumbles an annoyed grunt against your shirt. “And you’re such a meanie for ruining the moment.” He’s glaring at you when he pulls himself up, eyes narrowed and stained red with tears. “Say it again, dipshit.”

“Say what again?”

He frowns. “You know what!”

God. What could you have done in your past life to have been tied together with think punk since the beginning of this one? You roll your eyes and kiss his face. “I’m in love with you, loser. You’re so annoying.”

He grins and lands another one on your lips. “I’m nothing without you, too.”

The streetlight continues to sprinkle its light over the both of you. Choi Beomgyu continues to stay in your life, and he’d keep staying there for as long as this life would let him.

OKAY. MAYBE YOU DO LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. As annoying as he is for wasting your time with how often he calls you up at four in the morning for an impulsive fast food run because he wants some company, for injuring your pride by forcing you to play another one of the games the coding club developed and obliterating your ass in the process, you still like him— beyond understanding or comprehension. 

Even when he’s being such a clingy idiot so early in the morning, in the first day of the semester, after he’d just finished being announcing to the entire campus via the anonymous student board gone un-anonymous that you hadn’t been cheating on him since at that time you weren’t even dating, but you are now, and that you’re in love, and that Jang Seung is just a whiney little bitch who made up rumors because he couldn’t stand being rejected.

“You’re crazy! Why the hell would you do that?!”

Choi Beomgyu rubs his nose while you scold his ears off. When you finish, he simply says. “He made another post about you last night. I think it’s because he saw us on a date the other day. What a loser. Hey, look. That’s him over there.”

Indeed, you do spot Jang Seung while you trace down the hallway, on the way to Horangnabi to spend your vacant period in between your next set of classes.

“Ugh. Just what I needed to make my morning worse.”

He’s with a group, and the group contains Eunseok, the guy you went on a blind date with once and got roped into your whole cheating rumor. He looks greatly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because Jang Seung is talking shit about you and how the both of them got played by you (you did not) when you’ve been going out with Beomgyu this entire time (you were not). Eunseok knows the truth. You talked it out with him before the semester started and he figured you weren’t that kind of person anyway. 

Poor guy wants to leave already.

But Jang Seung seems determined to paint you as a crazy, cheating, boy-crazy whore. Did ignoring his texts for one night injure his ego that much? And here you thought you were prideful. You know that things have died down and at this point people have either forgotten about the whole thing or just don’t care anymore, but the small crowd Seung managed to collect still seemed to be thriving in all the overinflated gossip.

“I mean, if she wasn’t all that into me, she could’ve said so, you know? Still, can you believe she picked that guy over me or you? And the poor cuck even has the guts to publicly announce their relationship like some idiot after she’d been hooking up with his friends.”

“Damn. How are they still together?”

“Quit spreading lies, dude. ”

“Hey, how can you just trust everything she tells you?”

“I still can’t believe that those two are still together, much less even started dating in the first place.”

Normally, you’d just ignore this. But you’ve gotten a bit sick and tired of biting your tongue and behaving as of late.

You march up to them. Eunseok spurs out a greeting. You give all of them a smile— mostly directed at Jang Seung, who’s been relishing the fact that you never gave him the light of day since the stunt he pulled. Until today, at least.

“Hi,” you start. The guy flinches at your delivery. “As much as it surprises you, yes I’m dating Choi Beomgyu. Yes, we’re fucking together, and I never cheated on him with a some half-baked, second-string loser like this bastard who resorts to high school tactics of spreading gossip because his fragile ego couldn’t handle being left on delivered for one night because I had a hospital emergency. Unfortunately, someone like that isn’t my type at all.”

Jang Seung’s face flushes scarlet. His jaw clenches and he barks out, “Hey, what the fuck—” until Eunseok fixes him on the spot by the shoulder. 

“But just to clarify things. No, I have not been cheating on him and you’d think that if I had, he would say so, wouldn’t he? How the fuck could I have cheated on him last year when he only started dating on January first?” 

Okay. You’re getting a little heated. Jang Seung and his group are now staring at you like you’re a crazy person. Beyond them, other people in the hallway have started to pay attention to the ruckus you’re causing.

Now, when a fuse is lit, it’s not easy to kill it.

So you continue talking. For better or for worse.

“Yes. Yes, I’m now dating Choi Beomgyu— are you all satisfied? Are you happy now? You’ve all been up in my fucking business since the first fucking semester asking if I knew him, if he and I were dating, so here’s your god damned answer! Do you want me to tell you how it happened, too? Give you a play by play of how I met him, knew, him and fell for him because you’re all so fucking curious? Should I do that? In fact, why don’t I keep you guys posted! I should just text every single god damned person who knows not how to mind their business to update you whenever, each and every single time we fucking—”

“Whoa, easy there.”

You’re yanked back by Choi Beomgyu, who has one arm hooked in front of your collar shoulders and safely pressing you close to his torso. His free hand is covering the muffled noises coming out of your mouth as you struggle out of his grip.

Beomgyu simply lets you struggle in vain. He looks ahead, smiling at Jang Seung and the rest of the people in the group. “As much as I wanted to continue listening to her, I don’t really want any more people anonymously talking shit about my girlfriend in the forum just for living her own life and minding her own business.” You’re still squirming in his grip. This fucking bastard. “Anyway, we’re off. Eunseok, see you around.”

It’s only when you two have managed to leave the building that Beomgyu decides it’s time to release you. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you jerk?” you yell, yanking him down by the backpack strap.

“What do you think? Saving your ass from any more rumors, stupid,” he answers while shaking you off. “We should really work on your temper.”

It’s a pleasant walk to Horangnabi. You haven’t been here again in ages.

“I have been working on it! Today was an exemption, so go fuck yourself off.”

“This is exactly what I mean,” he sighs and shakes his head, opening the cafe door for you to enter first, and he follows immediately after. “Potty mouth and a nasty personality. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your mother must have had a hard time raising you.”

“Quit bringing up my mother every single time you want to win an argument.”

You two find some empty seats right by the window in the right wing of the store. You sit down and set your things on the empty seats. “I can’t just give up on my cheat code, you know,” Beomgyu hums, smiling insufferably as slides the menu down from the table surface. “So, do I win? What’s my prize?”

“Hey, no PDA within store premises! I’ll blacklist you two!”

The both of you turn your heads to see Heeseung, who’s holding a notepad and wearing the employee apron as a uniform. He started working part-time at Horangnabi sometime last month. Extra pocket money, he says. You know it’s because he started seeing someone from the arts department and needed the date funds. Usually, he’d be happy to see you, but something’s gotten in his panties in a twist today. You snicker, about to egg him on, but to your surprise, someone else answers your curiosities.

“He’s just salty because he got dumped over the break.”

Your eyes brighten. You beam out a smile. “Julie!” 

She arrives with a pat on a grumbling Heeseung’s back as she mirrors your expression. “Hi, pretty girl. How was your break?” She moves on from Heeseung to coddle you with attention, hugging you from behind your chair. Have you considered working for us again? I started missing you more ever since this guy started working with us again.”

“Must be bad at the job,” Beomgyu snorts. Heeseung’s protests are left unheard. “Hey, when are you gonna take our order?”

“Ugh. I set you two up together and this is how you repay me?”

Heeseung takes your orders— an americano for him, a matcha latte for you, and a butterscotch croissant for you two to share. While waiting, Beomgyu takes out some of his notebooks from his bags and starts highlighting the pages based on the syllabus his professor handed them earlier. Wow, he’s become diligent, whereas you’re busying yourself with your phone in the midst of a conversation with Chaeryeong. She was so sorry for passing out in the middle of the reunion incident a few ago, and it was Seungmin who filled her in on what happened. She says gonna treat you to dinner this weekend to make up for it. You smile and text her that you look forward to it.

“Iced americano, matcha latte and butterscotch croissant.”

Hanbin is the one who delivers your orders. You thank him with a smile and he leaves with a pat on your head, telling you to come visit the clubroom later. 

“Stop smiling at him like that.”

You turn your attention back to the person sitting in front of you— Choi Beomgyu, with his arms crossed over the books scattered on his table, coupled with a pout and furrowed brows. “Ew, are you jealous?” you snark, picking up your latte from the table and taking a sip. “Wipe that look off your face. It doesn’t suit you. And Hanbin is way too nice and normal to be my type. Unfortunately, god made me like guys who are the slightest bit insane.”

“I keep your life interesting,” he hums out with a proud grin, satisfied with your answer. You set your drink back down, a thought entering your head. It’s quiet in Horangnabi. You two are the only customers at the moment, and soft music siphons through the speakers.

Ever since that day in the beginning of the year, not much has changed between you and him. He’s still calling you names. He’s still annoyingly hooking your feet underneath the table with his so that you’d have a hard time getting up.

It makes you wonder when exactly did he start seeing you differently.

“Beomgyu,” you start. He perks up, a curious expression on his face. “What if I tell you I’ve sort of already had the idea that you’ve had feelings for me since, I don’t know— when we made up after our fight last year?”

He blinks at you, curious expression replaced by something unreadable. You start to grow a little nervous. Then he drops the bomb.

“What if I tell you these feelings have been around since middle school?”

Well, damn.

“That...that would make a lot of sense.”

He only laughs in response, reorganizing his books and setting them aside. “But if you’ve known since then, then wooow— I can’t believe you’ve been leading me on for that long.” He’s shaking his head and clicking his tongue. You groan and cover your face guiltily. He laughs once more. “I’m kidding. It’s not like I didn’t put any effort into hiding it. I know how uncomfortable you got because of all the people gossiping about our relationship. I’d just make things even harder for you if I suddenly confessed.”

With the table now cleared, he slides down the untouched pastry to your side of the table.

“So, I just decided to try and hide it and wait for the right time. If that time ever would ever come, that is,” he continues. “But since you’ve known, I guess I wasn’t exactly doing a good job in hiding how I feel.” 

Your eyes linger at the crescent roll. You take the fork and knife and reply, “Yeah, you’re not very slick.”

“Hey, it was very hard for me, you know!” he huffs, pouting. You slice into the croissant and stab the smaller piece with the fork. “I felt like dying whenever you mentioned that bastard Seung or Song, or whatever. And you even asked me to set me up with my friends. You’re so mean—”

You reach an arm over the table. Beomgyu stares at your offering— a little surprised, a little flustered, but he clears his throat and leans forward, taking a bite from the pastry before wiping his mouth with a napkin, eyes down, face flushed.

He can be cute sometimes. You set the fork back down on the plate. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“T—tsk. I’m just cool like that, you know?” Still insufferable. You roll your eyes and grab a piece of the pastry yourself, but while the mood is still high, Beomgyu takes the opportunity to speak his own mind too, bringing up one more thing that had been lingering in the back of both of your minds. “That night— you know, on new year’s when you said that we should just start dating— I knew you just said it in the heat of the moment.” The pastry gets stuck in your throat. “And I knew at that moment that you’d end up taking it back as a joke and laugh it all off. I didn’t really want to hear that. So I just...decided to speak before you could take it back.”

Ah. Your face is getting hot. You swipe your drink from the table to swallow your emotions down. But Choi Beomgyu manages to snatch your hand before you could do that.

“And you didn’t take it back.”

Your flustered gaze flashes up at him. His eyes remain on you.

“So you just have no choice but to deal with all of this.”

He presses a kiss onto the back of your palm. You yelp and snatch your hand back, cheeks burning and heart racing. He’s grinning like a madman.

“Stop it! We’re in public. God, I hate you, you’re such a dweeb—”

You say you hate him, but he knows you don’t mean it. You’ve been saying all these years that you don’t like him, that he’s just an annoyance, destined to bother you until the end of time— but he’s come to know that none of that is true.

“No one’s here anyway! Heeseung doesn’t count as a person!”

You don’t have to keep pretending that you don’t like Choi Beomgyu. Because in fact, you kind of, really, do.

AFTERWORD. hello….whoo whee this was quite a ride wasn’t it HAHAHAHHAHA. 49k words of choi beomgyu being the only man ever 😞😞😞 anyhow, i hope you all enjoyed what i believe is my best piece yet!!! writing this was both extremely easy and difficult because hannie-dul-set enjoyers know that my brand is usually silly stupid fics, but the emotional weight of this one did make it a bit difficult for me to write sometimes since i’m a mood writer, even though none of the themes are inherently sad? just very very emotional HHAHAHAHA. two of the most challenging parts too in the planning process was how…i’d be able to depict a change in their relationship after the new year’s scene, while also making sure that beomgyu and mc’s dynamic is still…them, you know? it wouldn’t be them if they just became gross and lovey dovey overnight. it wouldn’t be them if they still didn’t call each other names and swore at each other’s faces despite being horrendously in love. but i think i managed to reconcile these two aspects pretty well in the fic.

the other challenging thing i had to tackle might have been a point of frustration for you guys— making sure that mc’s narration and monologue is completely devoid of any acknowledgement about her feelings for beomgyu and vice versa HAHHAHAHAHHA. but it was necessary because she herself didn’t want to acknowledge, even after they started dating, and the entire thing is written in her pov.

speaking of pov….i think a spin-off written in beomgyu’s pov would be nice after all of this. we only got some bits and pieces of how he’d been feeling all throughout and though i believe the limited information i’ve given is enough to give the idea on how beomgyu was faring all throughout, it would also be interesting to delve into his psyche, all the way from mogi to nabi.

anyhow, those are just empty plans for now HAHAHAHAHAH i hope you enjoyed all three parts of nabi— a sequel i never even intended to write in the first place, but ended up being one of my works that’s closest to my heart. please please do send in your thoughts in the comments, asks, dm’s, wherever!

happy new year! love you all!

나비 / NABI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[misfits-in-motion]

pluck my strings

(ray toro x reader)

☾ — not proofread, not word counted, this is RAW everyone. first public story in years. crazy guys. trying to keep it gender neutral for my folks but,,, i am but a molar — ☾

summary: you're a guitarist coming into the 2000s emo scene. much like many others, you have just a basic knowledge of guitar. thus, feeling a little bold, you contact your friend with the most knowledge. and,,, yeah, maybe you just wanted an excuse to see him. when you finally do make it to the studio, you can't help but let your mind wander. can anyone blame you? he's just so close....

tw?: uhhhhmm not that i can think of. sliiiiight smut if you squint. really just suggestive and tense.

☾-☾-☾

⠀Your band had come in with a fever. One second, you were working job to job, trying to desperately cram your hobbies into your free time whilst also managing friendships and your ever-crumbling dating life. Then, one half-slurred, half-mumbled, half-thought hangout idea spewed by one of your close friends led to this moment. You had a show in exactly two weeks, and still only knew maybe five or so chords. Sure, you could switch between them pretty fast and come up with decent riffs and progressions, but nothing that would sound like more than a dead kennedys knock off on stage.

⠀While my chemical romance was making their way up the ranks, they still held you and your band in close regard. You and the guys had been tight since early 2002, and you even witnessed a lot of bullets being made. which, to say the least, showed off their talents. Out of the bunch, you tended to lean toward Ray for a number of reasons. He was quiet, but not terribly quiet. Quiet outwardly, but not in an introverted sense. Ray just reserved his words for when they mattered. You could appreciate that, along with his utterly charming smile, insanely good taste in movies, appreciation for music, among other things.

⠀It seemed everyone but Ray knew you had a total thing for him. Even when you called him up in the middle of your friend's mom's house, they snickered and made obscene gestures toward you deserving of a middle finger from hell, that of which you gave to them in full.

⠀Now, standing outside the recording studio, your previous idea felt a bit more ominous. Just as you were heading in, Frank was heading out. You bumped shoulders, that unmistakeable little laugh coming from the other guitarist.

⠀"Gotcha!" Frank grinned, turning to face you as you turned simultaneously. "Knew you were coming. Ray won't shut up about it."

⠀"Oh?" He'd piqued your interest. You couldn't help the smile on your lips, your head tilted a bit to the side as you watched Frank. Maybe you'd entertain this. "How are you so sure?"

⠀Frank playfully glanced off into the sky, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels with an excited little smile. "Oh, you knoooow," He shrugged, "Just the way he instantly got up and started making sure everything was juuust right for your arrival. I can recite it verbatim, dude. 'you know who called-? yeah! yeah. gonna help 'em with some guitar stuff- hey, do you remember where that one amp is-?'. Gay." Frank shook his head with a laugh.

⠀The image in your mind brought some warmth to your chest. He was that excited just to see you?

⠀"You guys are so gay. Look at that fuckin' smile on your face. Unbelieveable. Well, don't let me keep you from your date."

⠀Before you could protest, Frank had already turned and raised a hand in goodbye, leaving you outside the doors of the studio in the brisk air.

⠀You turned, looking at the doors with slightly wider eyes than a few moments before. Figuring the last thing you wanted to do was keep Ray waiting, you pulled open the door and walked inside.

⠀As usual, the smell hit you first. Wood, metal, a bit of sweaty musk, and a certain "clean" smell, but clean the way carpets are. It was warmer inside, but only warm enough to keep everyone from shivering considering the instruments and equipment were top priority. You walked down the hall, finally finding the recording room Ray was settled in. As if on cue, he looked up to see you through the window in the door. You smiled, and waved enthusiastically.

⠀Ray returned the smile, and you opened the door to realize there was no one else but him. Well of course there was no one else but him, but still it was a bit jarring to be alone with him. It was always a bit difficult to come to terms with the fact that you had the fattest crush on Ray. It was obvious to a pathetic point, hence the embarrassment.

"Glad you could make it. I mean, I was getting a little worried, y'know."

"Oh- pff, yeah. I had to walk here... No car, and all..."

"What-!?"

⠀The way Ray's jaw dropped made you nearly shrink.

"You walked here? Dude-! I-..." He let out a small laugh of disbelief, "I could have come picked you up. It's way too cold outside to be walking. Besides, what if someone kidnapped you?" Ray shook his head as he pulled two chairs close together, facing each other.

"I mean, I didn't want to bother you-"

"Oh shut up! You can always bother me. Always. Takes only a little gas to get to you. And if it meant you were gonna be warm, then that's what I would have opted for."

⠀Again, that same little smile crept up your lips along with a certain warm flush to your face. It was nice for him to worry so much. For him to care. It almost gave you a liiiiittle spark of hope that he felt the same.

⠀You pulled off your jacket, which Ray was quick to take. Just for a moment, his finger tips brushed along your biceps. The ghostly sensation was enough to raise instant goosebumps along your arms. And oddly enough, you couldn't help but think about how warm his touch was despite it being barely there. You wondered what it'd feel like for him to hold you with purpose. With his hands placed strategically, with meaning. Just for a second, you wondered what that warmth would feel like on the more private areas of your body. How would his hand feel clasping the back of your neck? Cradling the underside of your thighs snaking further up until he could cradle your ass in his palms? Would he be gentle? No. No, Ray would be gentle in theory. But he'd want to grab you. Hold you. Make sure you fit just right in his hands, slotted together like pieces of a puzzle.

"You ready?"

⠀You turned quickly. "Yeah! Yeah, sorry. Lot on my mind, I totally zoned out."

"All good... You okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

⠀You could have laughed if you weren't so tensed with both embarrassment and anxiety. Paralyzed with the realization that was now setting in: the man you had dumbly imagined a future with, sex with, dates with, and intimacy with was now going to be mere inches away from you while your mind strayed and tried to come up with every last sexual situation this moment could lead to. What a set up.

"No! No, it's nothing like that!" You gave a nervous laugh, waving your hand as you finally convinced your feet to move and walk you to the chair beside him. "Just... Nervous I guess. It'll be my first time playing on stage like that. I don't think high school band and choir count." You laughed again, softer this time. What you didn't see was the way Ray's lips curled up slightly at your more genuine laugh. The sound was sweet, no matter how much you tried to deny it. He loved it.

"That's okay. Here, we'll start simple? Okay? Just nailing down some scales and stuff? You gotta remember scales from band and all, right? These'll be your base blocks."

⠀You gave a few nods and desperately tried to focus on the guitar he placed in your hands. It only took a few seconds to realize it was one of his personal electrics. Ray carefully reached forward and guided your fingers into position. Again, you felt that same rush of heat. His hands were larger than yours, and now closely studying them, you wondered what they'd feel like in your hair. Running through it, or perhaps holding it tightly. Maybe even tugging on it.

"My fingers go here?" You quickly tried to end run your thoughts by paying attention, which was most likely important considering these lessons were meant to help you get ready for being in a proper band.

"Yeah. Just like that. See? You're already catching on."

⠀The little amount of praise nearly made your stomach jump into your chest. It was practically like he was trying to give your mind ammunition to fluster you with.

"Alright. You've done picking before, right?"

"Just some. I'm not too good, if I'm being honest."

"Don't say that. I'm sure you're great, but don't put yourself down. Try picking top string to bottom string. That's your low E to high E."

⠀You did as he instructed, and for a little while it was just that. Ray told you what to do, showing you little tips and tricks along with some position corrections and adjustments while you desperately tried to fight everything off in your mind. Now wasn't the time to debate whether Ray was into you. Now wasn't the time to question if Ray found you just as attractive as you found him. Attractive didn't even cut it.

⠀It seemed everyone knew about your 'thing with Ray', so you had spoken to your friends about it in the past. And boy, could you gush. Between his eyes that seemed to twinkle and shine whenever he was interested in something, to his smile that creased up his eyes in the most adorable way, and then there were his lips which were so plush and perfect looking. They paired perfectly with his cut jaw, which led down to an oddly hot-looking neck, and don't even get started on his broad shoulders-

"Are you really okay?"

You nearly jumped three feet in the air.

"Fine! Sorry, I'm so sorry... I think I'm just ready to move on. If you think I'm ready, that is."

"Yeah, I'd say you're pretty good on scales for now. I mean, if it comes down to it I can just give you another lesson. Meet back here again and polish everything, you know?"

"I... I'd really appreciate that, yeah."

"Great. Then we'll meet again for lessons. Until then, why don't we move on to some chord progressions?"

"Sounds good to me."

⠀Ray explained a few shapes, but it was a bit difficult considering he didn't have a guitar in his hands, too. He was moreso explaining them to you, guiding your fingers, and then having you strum. And for the simpler chords, it worked. But as they grew more complex, you could feel the gears slowing in your brain. Not to mention, being able to smell Ray's shampoo, deodorant, and cologne didn't help. You were growing desperate. Fast. You wanted to smell like him. Be so close, so enveloped in him, that your skin took to his cologne. Your skin smelled like his skin.

"Okay, this obviously isn't going amazingly, so let's try something a little different. I'm gonna move you, okay?"

⠀You nearly got up before you felt your chair move with you on it. Ray had tugged your chair over directly in front of his. So close you could see his shoes beside your chair. Then, his arms came from behind you. One of his hands settled on your waist, the other wrapped around your hand on the fret board. You could scream.

⠀He was so close. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. Hold me. Hold me, not the guitar. Say whatever you'd like, just hold me, please. I want your arms to squeeze me.

⠀You decided to royally fuck any mental restraint now. You wouldn't feed into it physically, but there was no point restraining your thoughts now. God, this had to be purposeful. Friends don't hold each other gently by the waist, thumb absentmindedly stroking back and forth along the fabric of your shirt. He had to be moving in on you, and you weren't complaining a bit.

"Here. Your index, or first finger, goes here, second here, third here, and your pinky goes here. Hold that, and strum a few times."

⠀His voice had dropped lower. Slightly softer, but richer. He was speaking just to you. Just for you. Saying words he only wanted you to here. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly around your side made your breath hitch slightly. You assumed it was because you strummed the chord beautifully.

"Sorry, is this okay?" Ray asked gently, his voice carrying a slight gravelly undertone from being lowered.

⠀Realizing what he meant, you flashed a reassuring smile. "You're okay." You nodded a few times.

"Good."

⠀Ray's hand shifted a bit lower, his grip hugging the side of your thigh as he moved in closer. His head was over your shoulder and you could feel his chest pressed against your back. If it weren't for the stupid fucking chair, you'd be able to be perfectly snug against his figure. And, fuck, did you want to be.

"Let's try another chord. You're doing great."

⠀Ray's lips nearly brushed along your ear. You could feel his breath warming your skin, even feeling his chest rise and fall. If you paid any closer attention, you would be able to tell that his heart was racing the same way yours was. Being so close to you was a blessing for Ray. One you didn't exactly know about, but could guess by now. His fingers guided yours again, and made a different chord. You strummed, and and a string buzzed obnoxiously, as if wanting to be seen.

"That's okay, I think it's your pinky. Shift it a little to the right. Strum again?"

You did as he directed.

"Perfect." Along with his praise, he gave a small rub and squeeze to the side of your thigh. There was a small, trapped sound that caught in your throat, whether out of surprise or enjoyment. Either way, you didn't see the smile plastered on Ray's face.

⠀Just as Ray was about to say something else, his phone buzzed in his back pocket and played a Bauhaus song.

"Shit- sorry. One second."

⠀Just as his warmth had wrapped around you, it was gone twice as fast. He had pulled away and gotten up, answering the phone in the corner of the room. If you listened close enough, you would be able to make out whatever he was saying. You opted to pluck mindlessly at the guitar, even practicing a few of the picking patterns Ray had taught you.

"Okay, sorry about that. Gerard called, wanted to know if I would be down to practice with everyone else. Which, in Gerard talk, means everyone else wants to practice and needs me too. But, uh, I wanted to ask you, first." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Ask me..?"

"If you didn't mind ending this lesson here. But not forever-! Just... For now. How does same time tomorrow sound?"

⠀You stood, leaning over to switch off the amp before you unplugged the cable and guitar. You handed the guitar over to Ray with a sweet smile, that of which he returned. It wasn't hard to see you were both seeing each other as newer people.

"It sounds perfect to me."

"Perfect. So I'll... Come pick you up, too?"

"I dunno. Maybe I'll... Walk here again. Just so that you'll have to do whatever you did back there to warm me up."

⠀Ray faltered for a moment, then laughed as he registered you addressing the moment. "Right. I'll do you one better. I'll pick you up a little early and make sure you're nice and warm in my car, yeah?" Ray took the guitar from you and put it away, safely in its case. He then grabbed your jacket, and held it open for you to slip your arms into.

"I don't think I can argue with that one." You grinned.

"Good. It's settled." Ray helped your coat on, then rested his hands on your biceps. He leaned down beside your shoulder again. "See you tomorrow?"

⠀Your face flushed again, this time, you turned slightly so that your lips were a few inches from his own.

"See you tomorrow."

☾ — mueheheheeeee i hope this was good. any comments are greatly appreciated, positive or constructive critcism, either way i'm down. ermmm debating a part two?? but idk it feels kinda finished to me ',:|. either way, hope u liked ittttt tags n shiz below but yeah :3 — ☾

[itgirlgyu]

HOW TO GET BACK AT MIDDLE-SCHOOLERS.

₍ sum.₎ after experiencing some bullying from middle schoolers, and getting swindled out of the last bit of his money, he instills your help, his best friend, to get back his money as well as honour. but you soon find out that he was not telling the entire truth... would you still find him despite finding his dirty little secret? yeonjun x fem!reader. ft! cashier!soobin. warning!!! some cussing, mean kids, weird adults, age shaming. :( WC! 3.9k+.

“how the fuck do you get scammed by middle schoolers?” you spat the words with the contempt to bruise whatever ego yeonjun had left—if any—after getting deceived by a bunch of school going kids and instead of taking action by himself to sleep better at night with the assurance that he wasn't such a major pushover, he had come crying to you; begging you to avenge him whilst you were busy trying to prepare to crack the examination of your recent job interview.

“aren't they like 12?!”

“15!” yeonjun, suddenly growing a backbone corrected the little error in your data, “they are in their third year!”

“you look like you are in your third reincarnation!” she shot back, “the bags under your eyes could hold up to 15 kgs of your own bullshit so just own up to your carelessness”.

yeonjun opened his mouth to defend himself, controlling the urge to take out his phone to check out the state of the durable eye bags he was carrying under his eyes,”i thought this concealer was ultra coverage with skin like finish,” yeonjun murmured to himself.

yeonjun and you were huddled together under a shrub in the afternoon–when you should be cramming down job questionnaires–waiting for the group of kids who had mercilessly robbed your friend of his last 50 dollars of the week and seek the revenge; the barely legal sort, kissing the lethal of edge of ‘if it ever got out–neither of you would be able to show face in the community for a while. not glossing over the fact that you two were hiding into the shadow like a pair of perverts waiting to spring forth and scar the futures of the nation irrevocably. “quit yapping to yourself’ you snarled, quickly snapping your neck to check up on yeonjun, “ so what's the plan”

you both were blinking at each other for a good few seconds before it all registered in his head and he managed to face without lifting his butt even once. despite his pitiful morality to be fooled at the drop of a hat, if there was one thing he didn’t disappoint in–it was his core strength. you sometimes wish the same could have been said for his mental strength. all it took for you was to let out a sigh for him to remember the plan that he had crafted all weekend long.

“we confront them,’ he began before the expression in his face to display the crucial detail which he was failing to recall had finally graced the lacking department of his memory, “you confront them.”

you could have seen this coming from a mile away and that is exactly why you had arrived at the rendezvous for the reprisal against the middle schoolers that had wronged yeonjun.

“deal with your own shit.”

it took yeonjun less than a second to almost throw himself at your feet to stop you from abandoning him. you hadn’t even gotten to fully straighten your back before he came to his senses and decided to follow your version of the plan; the rational kind.

“we throw water at them and then we run.”

“thats your rational plan?” yeonjun retaliated, the glimmer of hope swimming in his head drowning as soon as the rational plan you had come up with was verbalized.

“i thought of it all day yesterday after you told me.”

bare-faced lies; you didn’t spare a single thought on his matter, and you were not even guilty about it. rather than keeping the promise you had been thrown into haphazardly. yeonjun, in fact, had to wake you up from a nap to come out with him to execute the little mission to reclaim his honor back.

“no we can't do that,” yeonjun spoke solemnly. the wrinkle of consequences settling deep within his non-existent pores as he averted his gaze rather shamefully. his footsteps taking like steps to aid him in facing away in his rather compact position, “my cousin is one of them.”

yeonjun added the last bit of the sentence timidly; his teeth were almost chattering out of fear.

amidst all these elaborate ruse to gain one's honor back, yeonjun had forgotten to relay one tiny crucial piece of information to you; it was his cousin and his annoying friend group who had swindled the money out of him, and the only reason he wants revenge, or something like that, was to gain back the authority one must possess as one of the eldest sons in the family: a position that he accidentally let stumble, also the money.

“why can't we do that?” you repeated your question, the annoyance slipping back through the crevice of the words letting yeonjun know of your irritation and the lack of willingness to be there any longer.

yeonjun thanked his stars for your poor sense of hearing, and his soft vocals to keep the secret remain as one, because god forbid you catch the whiff of it—yeonjun would not contemplate much to figure out the amount of money you'd extort out of him for wasting your time over a topic that could be solved in a family function. even if he does not gain back the respect he deserves, he can not let you figure out the truth if he wishes to carry on his life without a nose revision job.

“jail!” yeonjun blurted out, “we might end up in jail for harassing minors.”

“wait yeah,” you concurred, the repercussions of having hands on punishment over quite literally children finally dawning into your foggy alley of judgment, “you're right.”

“so we confront them.” yeonjun revised his earlier plan, at last deciding to go with you version, he had just to make sure his cousin does not get a word in and end up spilling water over the entire bit he had planned out—in the moment right now. if he had realized this in that time when he was overwhelmed with the humiliation and fear leading him to vent to his best friend—you—and convince you to partake in his zany revenge on children; one of which is his actual cousin. whilst this all may seem juvenile he did want to gain back the respect over the younglings in the family so perhaps this little mission was not that of a bad idea as yeonjun might have concluded it to be as it approached closer.

“i didn't think you'd be actually smart enough to foresee the consequences,” you ended up complimenting yeonjun, despite not wanting to. you hadn't always gotten a sense of caution and logic from him but at times when he did excel your set expectations of him you couldn't help but praise the man.

whilst the two of you were busy commemorating the acute common sense yeonjun possessed and decided to marvel at time of need, there was a sudden disruption into the bush you two were inhabiting. it was a football and a toddler; followed by a teenager who had come to collect both the ball and the toddler and had been very verbally freaked out to see two adults crouching down whilst having a heart to heart conversation. the look of shock and mild disgust etched on the face of the teenager had you springing up to your feet and trying to come up with a good enough reason that would not result in both of you spending a night in the jail cell.

“it's not what it looks like!”

“su-” the boy dragged his words, with his eyes glued to you as he snatched the balls and the toddler, making sure you didn't get any time to surprise attack them. without providing any time to put forth any semblance of appeal from your side the boy has scurried away, leaving you to be the epitome of “stranger danger” as well as the weird person to steer clear away from.

“this is all because of you!” the rage taking over you upon the realization that you had just ruined your perception on some random people that you will never meet again and manifesting in the kick that you had bestowed upon yeonjun's knees causing him to tumble on the side like a singular pin in the bowling alley.

“how is it because of me?” yeonjun hissed in pain, his hands quickly reaching out to grab the knee you had slightly grazed over—the real reason why he had fell over was of course his poor posture and the need to incorporate dramatics in every aspect of his life but he did not need to tell you that, and you did not need to know it either—you were already aware of this peculiar aspect of his personality as a result of the long-standing friendship, “my knees! my knees!”

you rolled your eyes and stepped away; and kept stepping away until you were almost out of the bush and he alone looked like a man who had done too much day drinking.

“when the hell are they coming?” you squint your eyes in displeasure from waiting, letting the sobriety clutch your shoulders and shake you into remembering that you are two adults waiting to ambush a bunch of kids—albeit the kids stole from your friend first, so the guilt did ease itself a little.

yeonjun shook the dust off his pants, “right about now?” scanning through the myriad of teenagers bunched together getting out of after school classes looking for the familiar faces within them, “there!” yeonjun pointed his finger towards them, pinpointing the lil posse of delinquents. your eyes followed suit and stopped at a group of three boys and two girls at a feasible distance, seemingly heading towards the convenience store.

“It's game time,” you cracked your neck, readying yourself to not get fatally wounded by the expected brashness of those brats—skillfully ignoring the look of adoration from yeonjun that followed after the declaration of gusto. strengthening the spirits as adrenaline began to rush through your veins, providing you with enough bravery to whizz out at the kids and come out as victorious if it ended within fifteen minutes: the chances of this going very wrong after the set time was dangling somewhere around 90 to 98%. if you were going to do it, you shall do it with your all.

“welcome!” the part time behind the counter greeted you and yeonjun with a sort of monotone that itself felt like it was forced out of the larynx of the unwilling worker, but you weren't here to critique the work ethic of a barely paid man; or to reciprocate the forced etiquettes. instead you let your hawk gaze zero on the pesky group that you both had followed into the store blissfully, and noisily loitering around the ramen isle.

“and i said that peanut flavored ramen would give you gyatt issues.”

“you mean gut issue—”

“hey you peanuts!”

confronting a bunch of teenagers was no easy feat, and with the so-called victim slowly stepping back with the means of becoming one with the various packets of chips was another thing but the war had been waged. in simpler words, it would be very embarrassing to not get through to the end of it.

“you bullied my friend over here,” you moved your head vaguely to point at yeonjun’s disintegrating presence, “and stole from him didn't you all?”

“what friend are you talking about?” one of the kids spoke up, “ and who you calling bullies ahjumma?”

“ahjumma?” you patience had already started strip away, pulling your facial muscles tighter, and freezing your face into an expression would make anyone's blood run cold with one glance, the only sign of life left within your eyebrows as they twitched due to the time bomb whose reverse countdown had began since the utterance of the forsaken word.

“please, any battery assault on minors if intended must be carried outside this property!” the cashier sprung into action faster than anyone, deftfully stepping up to protect his minimum wage job but the apathy had still been seeping out of his words without a hitch, sneaking stealing a glance at the cctv overlooking the entire situation to make sure his warning had been captured into the camera to ensure his participation in making sure whatever that would transpire, he had indeed tried to stop it.

perhaps, it was soobin, the cashier who had brought yeonjun back to the reality and the really ugly scenario that was about to take place if he put himself first and ran off, bidding adieu to his self respect, the money and the friendship or he could see the anger that happened to be radiating off your body because he had appeared instantaneously from the lucrative hiding spot he had found for himself within the layers of jellies, “are you okay?” the worry was evident in his voice although anyone would be a fool to not recognize the undertone of fear layered underneath the cadence of his voice.

“hyung?!”

yeonjun stiffened up—his gig was up. it happened sooner than he had expected, honestly but the little humiliation was miles better than you getting into an actual physical altercation with the kids where one of them was the son of his aunt. he was willing to sacrifice as much—amazingly enough forgetting that he was the one to rope you into this mess in the first place.

“hyung what are you doing here?” the kid queried once again, inching closer to get a better look at yeonjun’s guilty ass that even his full coverage concealer couldn't cover up.

“i-”

“hyung?” you repeated incredulously, gazing back and forth between the accused and the accuser; the so-called victim and the perpetrator, “why is he calling you hyung?”

“that's cause he is my cousin,” the accused #4 deadpanned, “wait was it because we asked for money from you like yesterday?!”

“asked? more like you guys surrounded me and wouldn't stop peer pressing me into giving you the money, so you did bully it out of me and that's not cool. “ yeonjun sighed, confessing what he had truly felt, “ so i want you to give me the money back and never do this again, that is not how you were raised.”

“wait a fucking second!” you spoke up interrupting the life lesson from older brother to younger brother, fanning away the smoke that was coming out of your nostrils at the utter betrayal from the man you had been foolishly calling your best friend for all these years, “your cousin took the money from you not some random middle schoolers?!?”

accused #4 who had been shamefully hanging his head low—proof of the choi genes aren't as rotten as yeonjun had thought it to be because once publicly shamed and given the right lesson, they do indeed listen like real men!—sensed the upcoming tsunami, and backed away, letting his cousin take the blow which he rightfully deserved.

yeonjun opened his mouth to defend himself but decided not to dig himself a deeper hole, and nodded. his new game plan was to take the verbal beating and then speak up once the physical one begins, “but you see this was needed.”

of course he couldn't help himself but speak out the truth regardless of his decision to stick to taking it instead of sticking up for himself. it is not like he has stood up with any of his choices through and through and he wasn't going to start today as well; every plan could be revised according to the situation and yeonjun quite prides himself in his flexibility. although his regard about himself might just be a little skewed to himself according to on-lookers.

“please, any attempted murder should be carried outside!” soobin the cashier intervened once more.

“dude!” yeonjun cried out, snapping his head around to find the name tag on the cashier's chest to build a closer relationship to stop him from giving his already furious best-friend—now steaming like an overheated engine—ideas on how to handle the situation. yeonjun could very well buy a new nose but how would he buy his life out from a grim reaper?

“soobin please!” the cashier, soobin, shrugged with an utmost look of languor before going back to doing nothing behind the counter, yet appearing very unavailable to be involved in further chumminess with a bunch of unpaying and troublesome customer in the store.

accused #4, who was better at reading the room than his obtuse cousin,had been quietly gathering his friends to take a run from the painful showdown that was taking place at an excruciating pace. in spite of the skilled attempt to make a run, they were stopped when you raised your voice after you finished analyzing the situation and what to do in a stupid situation like this. murder was still somewhere in the mental notepad, although not right now. you could somehow make out why yeonjun would instill your help after getting bullied by his own cousin and friends. more than his money, he wanted the respect back and you were still willing to help the man—who betrayed your trust, ruined your evening, made you seem like a pervert in the park, got you to hear a bunch of middle schoolers refer to you as an old woman and made you appear like a homicidal freak to the cashier—because he was your best friend. not for long though.

“you heard him,” you crossed your arms against your chest, the cold stealth back in your voice to scare the kids, “cough of the money and apologize to your cousin. “

yeonjun was touched; he could cry in that moment; unaware that the tears had already started to pathetically stream down his cheeks until soobin, the cashier with whom he now built a closer relationship with once he figured out that no potential crime is going to be committed in his work place, passed him the tissue to dab away the tears.

after the initial moaning and groaning, with the kids huddled in a circle to gather cash for the rightful return. they came up with 25 dollars and a few cents, the first installment as they had called it smugly.

“hyung! you have to give me a family discount!* accused #4 pleaded to your surprise, and to much bigger surprise (not really), yeonjun gave in to the entitled demand. disgracefully accepting the measly twenty five dollars and the few cents of the whole fifty that was taken away from him with an ear to ear proud grin plastered on his face, watching the presumptuous entourage of middle schoolers.

“im so glad you decided to forgive me. “ you wanted to snap in middle and shove his little gesture into his own bottoms but you resisted; clenching your teeths, your lips were pulled into a tight line to to ensure no harsh words just magically slip past and ruin the beautiful tension you were building up before you hit him with the news after he was done yapping.

“i would forgive you if you were my best friend,” you smiled, ignoring the smile that slowly disappeared off his face, “that's why you're no longer my friend. “

“consider that twenty five dollars your parting gift.” you added. your expression still taut on your face whilst yeonjun’s facial muscles started to twitch like the tectonic plates under earth's crust as he processed the sudden break up. opening his mouth like a fish coming out of water before sinking back in with the visual representation of his beak obvious in the way he appeared, clutching the twenty five dollars and the few cents in his sweaty palm.

“what?” yeonjun finally found his voice. you nodded, reiterating what you had just expressed to him, “ but you helped me out there”

“parting gift!” you called out just as soon, your attention now used to pick out the flavor of ramen you wanted to eat since you had come to the store anyway, “and for our parting dinner, pay this off” you held up the cup that you had chosen before going back to

“can't I just just pay for this and call it even?” yeonjun pleaded, hurriedly picking up the flavor he preferred and tailed you to the microwave. the impatience reflecting in the restless in his foot as he waited for your reply like a little child, making an unfair deal.

“nope!” you replied, closing the microwave and turning to look him in the eyes as you say it, “you humiliated me.”

yeonjun appeared apologetic. he was no selfish person who would put other people in such positions and derive joy from it. he wouldn't even think of asking of such favors from other than you but you felt a rage sail within you because of the fact that he had hidden the real motive beneath the silly request he made, and you had come with it despite how juvenile it might have sounded; along with the consequences if it were to turn ugly in some way

“i know i'm sorry, but you were the only one who could have helped me,” yeonjun apologized once more,“and you see how well that went. “

“no can do, grow a backbone.”

yeonjun placed his bowl after you took yours out as you were occupying the only working one.

“please!”

“nope!”

“well… “ yeonjun was growing even more restless; the rhythm of his foot tapping against the ground relaying the disorder of the folders of his mind as he fished for a suitable reason to keep the friendship,“ you don't even have other friends.”

the gasp that followed was involuntary as you sealed the packet with the wooden chopsticks with a renewed flash of anger coursing through your veins, “I'll make new!”

yeonjun finally eased a little. the smirk was slowly beginning to appear back on his face and it was looking quite smug to be owned by a man who was to be abandoned by a friend, and was supposed to be apologetic.

“hey…” you looked at the cashier, catching his attention before reading the tag on his vest, “soobin will you be my friend? ill make this convenience store my regular”

“this is already your go-to convenience store.“

your enticing smile faltered at the embarrassing attempt to make your first friend after the fall out with the best friend five minutes ago, and worse—it happened in front of him!

“oh… you must be new then?” you narrowed your eyes to analyze his features to figure out any other time you had seen him at this store, although the face felt unfamiliar but the attitude he was giving did not seem to support the conclusion you were coming to, “you're not.”

“exactly.” soobin smiled, taunting a dimple at you before putting on his deadpan expression back on.

“your best bet is me,” yeonjun, now with his hot ramen in his hand, sat next to you in front. of the window, blocking the view of soobin with his big head which had grown a few more sizes after watching you get rejected in real time,“we are the only ones who can handle each other. say if we are 30 and have a hard time finding a spouse we settle together.”

“shut the fuck up and eat your ramen.” you sulk, blowing onto the portion that was wrapped around your chopsticks before shoving it into your mouth.

“does this mean you forgave me?” the child-like lilt was back into voice and you couldn't help but roll your eyes and leave him. hanging. the silence—save for the slurps of the noodles—giving the answer he needed to feel at ease and gleefully chomp onto his sausage.

©ITGIRLGYU 2022-24. ₍ finally a proper comeback yay! ₎

PERM' TAGLIST: @bamtorin @ox1-lovesick @jisungsdaydreamer @wonioml @1921choi @forever-in-the-sky2 @beoms-sugar @gyuletters

[seat-safety-switch]

I love my fireworks, say all my neighbours as they cram a flimsy plastic tube full of low-yield explosives. Surely everyone in my community will also appreciate them. If not, they are some kind of Grumpy Gus and are not invited to the block party cookout. Friends, I can tell you this right now: I am not going to that barbecue.

As you might have imagined, the residents of my area of the world like to shoot off a bunch of Roman candles when they feel like it. Sure, fireworks are fun and all, but I feel like if you're burning three or four hundred dollars worth of illegal noise-and-light generators every couple of weeks, you might as well just take up smoking again.

At first, it was a lot of fun. Very festive. It helped the community spirit, even if all the dogs were constantly terrified and kept trying to chew through a fence to escape. Ol' Ray down the block lost a finger trying to grab onto what he called a "Winky Sprinkler," though, and then everything changed.

Once there was a scent of blood in the air, it became a competition. Ray needed to "make it worth" his sacrifice, so he started amping up his production. Bigger shows. Coordinated by electronics. More frequently. This drew the ire of another rich asshole (Bob Winsome, who used to own the Ford dealership) with poor impulse disorder, and soon the two of them were getting up to a night-time artillery show that the police were not equipped to stop, mostly because they were at the doughnut store or trying to knock over a casino for some quick cash in the retirement fund at the time.

Nearly every night became a terror of pop-pop-pop. although I am very good at ignoring troublesome noises, those noises are usually generated by my own car while I'm driving them. Not constantly happening while I'm trying to focus on my usual problems: things like "why is this bolt stripped," and "where did this pile of wires I just cut through go to?"

As the Constitution says, though: "fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." After one particularly rough night of having exploding munitions going off directly over my head while I was trying to find the origin of some faint valve clatter, I decided to respond in kind. A friend of mine, who will be called Millie Teri for reasons that are about to become clear, loaned me a couple pieces from her private collection. I had myself a patriotic parade that night. Courtesy, of course, of some army bases didn't really pay too close attention to what they listed on eBay. That's what they call "taxpayer value," even if I did have to technically buy the low-shrapnel M107 flash shells twice.

I had expected to draw a truce after demonstrating my superior firepower, much like how French tourists can shut down any discussion of cheese. After bombarding both rich pricks' homes, however, it soon became apparent that the dickheads blamed each other for the massive destruction wrought on their properties, and refused to believe that a belligerent third party could have done such a thing to them just for "several months of sleepless nights courtesy of constant 120dB outside noise."

After the mutually-assured destruction finished, though, I never saw or heard another fireworks display from Ol' Ray or Bob Winsome. If they ever find an identifiable chunk of either of their bodies, we'll probably have a pretty cool tribute at the funeral using up whatever unexploded fireworks they have still left in the scorched remnants of their family homes.

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of all Saiyans

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Masterlist

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I'm back yet again. Tbh, this chapter was pushed out entirely by just trying to occupy myself. Boe, my childhood cat of 16 years, just recently passed away. So, this chapter is entirely dedicated to her. I've had Boe practically my entire life, so it's def been rough. But I'm glad to finally get a chapter out for you all! This chapter is also a bit shorter than usual due to how I wanna start the next chapter. As always, DM's/Comments are always open if you have any comments, questions, or concerns. Thanks for all the support!

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Chapter 17

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You glide through the air, observing the destruction of the planet beneath you. Demolishing a planet was always your favorite part of the job when you were working under Frieza. It was always the most exciting part. Though, watching a planet burn is not as fun when your life is in imminent danger. Who knew?

This entire situation is difficult for you. This retreat is tactical, for sure. But... running away with your tail between your legs... to Earth of all planets. It's sickening. It goes against every single one of your instincts and every lesson you've ever been taught. Daily life would be much simpler without the damn Saiyan pride flowing through your veins. At points, it feels more like an anchor weighing you down. 

You spot a familiar figure in the distance, with a much larger one slung over his shoulders. You pick up speed, quickly outpacing him. "Huh?" The boy looks up, calling out your name. "You're safe!"

"Yeah, yeah. No need to throw a party." You scoff. "This planet is still a ticking time bomb." The two of you keep flying, not saying much to each other as you travel the distance. Before you speak up again. "Any idea how far this damn ship is?" Gohan shrugs, so the brat's as clueless as you are. "Great. Just great." You mumble sarcastically, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

Now you're on a wild goose chase of Kakarot's making. Some coordinates would've been nice. Not far from here isn't precisely quality directions. You'd take a simple cardinal direction at this point. And with the way this planet is crumbling, the ship might not even be functioning by now. 

"Hey!" Gohan calls out to you. "Look down there!" Your gaze trails downward. You make a subtle landing, dropping in front of the ship's doors. Wow, it's actually in one piece. It also has the same logo from that cave where you visited Raditz to inform him about the true fate of your people. Must be some sort of brand. 

"How the hell do you even open this thing?" You stare at the doors of the dome-shaped ship. Times like this, you miss the technology you've grown accustomed to under Frieza's command. Gohan moves over to you; he pushes a camouflage button, the door spinning open immediately. You enter the vessel first. It's small but larger than what you're used to. You still have nightmares about those damn pods you were crammed into. Sardines in a can have more room than you did. 

Gohan places the Namekian on the ground before turning to you. "Stay here with Piccolo. I'll go out and find Bulma."

"Do you really need to? Like, would anyone miss her?" From your brief encounters, you know two things about the Earth woman. She's incredibly irritating and she has awful taste in men.

"She's our... well, she's my friend. Of course, we can't leave her behind…" Gohan trails. Memories of when Vegeta ruthlessly killed Nappa flood his brain. He remembers the aloof expression on your face. The way your lips met in a thin line, not even showing an ounce of empathy. It still sends a shiver down his spine when he thinks about it. "So maybe you wouldn't exactly get it." He laughs nervously. "But it's the right thing to do."

"How do you know the Earth woman is even alive?" From what you've noticed, earthlings aren't the most durable creatures. And your knowledge stems from the strongest of the bunch.  So it's a reasonable question.

"Well, I have to try! I can't just leave her out there." He takes a deep breath, collecting himself before continuing. "And I'm the only one who can. Piccolo is out of it. And you're pretty banged up, Y/N. I'll be back as soon as possible. Promise." He extends his arm out to you, holding out his pinky.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a pinky promise." You look at the boy as if he has two heads. To be honest, a two-headed creature would probably be less peculiar to you. Gohan sighs. "It's just another way to make a promise... like a handshake, only with your pinkies.

"You earthlings and your bizarre customs." You shake your head in disbelief, but Gohan doesn't move an inch, still extending the digit to you. "Fine, Fine." You interlock your pinky with his briefly before pulling away. Gohan smiles brightly at you. You place your hands on your hips, sighing quite loudly. "If you're not back within thirty minutes. I'm leaving the Namekian and dragging you back by force. Understand?"

The boy gulps before nodding rapidly. And with that, he takes off. His small frame disappears from your view. Well, at least things are quiet... with the amount of irritation you've been subjected to, you forgot how much you dread silence. You slide down against what you can only assume is the navigation system. You bang your head against the cool metal. Taking in the situation before you. Everything will get worse before it gets better. You just know it. 

---

The ground beneath you shakes violently. "Fucking low-class Earth machinery." You quickly come to realize that the ship itself isn't moving… it's the planet's surface. You spring to your feet, the rocking pushing you back and forth as you make your way to the entrance. You peek your head out, a luminous beam of light coming from the direction you just came from. "Well, that can't be good…" With another violent rumble, you lose your footing, sending you tumbling. Your back slams against the ship's walls with a notable thud. 

You groan, picking yourself up off the floor. What the hell just happened? Your balance has changed; it's like gravity has significantly altered. You shift your gaze around the ship, looking for irregularities. The foundation now has an arch to it. You can still feel the ground underneath you slipping. Oh shit, the land underneath you must be concaving. 

With your remaining energy, you fly up into the air, picking up the Namekian with a scowl crossing your features. You can't believe you're fucking doing this. You don't save the weak… and you don't spare the injured. So what the hell are you doing? You could just take this damn ship, toss the Namekian out, and leave the boy and the Earth woman for dead. Or at least you could've let the Namekian plummet and slam into the wall. Sure, it could've killed him, but that's not your problem. You don't give a damn about the Dragon Balls or the lives of the pathetic deceased earthlings. All you care about now is spiting Frieza. You're losing your edge. The longer you spend with these people, the softer you get. It's vile. 

Before your subconscious can voice any more displeasure, the lights flicker, the entire ship going dim. The only light coming from the entrance. Great, just great; now you can barely see shit. What else could possibly go wrong? Once the ship has suspended, you place the Namekian back on the floor. The gravity is a bit off due to the angle you're on, but he should be fine. You find a new place to sit, one that's less sunken into the ground. You slide on the wall right beside the opening of the ship. You're getting far too soft for your liking.

After a bit more time passes, you can hear voices approaching. Two distinct voices, to be exact. You open your eyes, knowing immediately that it's them. Much to your surprise, the Earth woman somehow survived. Good thing you didn't bet money on it. Gohan enters the ship first, a big grin on his face. "Fucking finally," You stand back up, crossing your arms. 

"I told you I'd find her." The boy boasts.

"I'm so overjoyed." You reply with a deadpan look on your features.

"Gohan?" Bulma, on shaky legs, enters the ship. "Where are you-" As soon as her eyes land on you, she shrieks. "What is she doing here?"

"It's alright, Bulma. She's with us." Gohan assures her.

"But she's insane! You saw what she did to---" You clear your throat, reminding her of your presence. She looks at you, fear evident in her eyes. "Well, you know what. The more the merrier." She laughs nervously. Once Bulma calms herself down, she looks around the ship. "Hmm? It's so dark in here. I wonder if there was some sort of malfunction."

"That's weird." Gohan's brows furrow. "The lights were on when I left." The pair turn to you.

"The ship slid a bit." You shrug nonchalantly. 

"Well, why didn't you---" You cut the woman off. 

"I'm not familiar with your low-class Earth machinery. I could have just made everything worse!" Before Bulma can retort, she slips, plunging right into the control panel. You let out a brash chuckle, watching her struggle. 

She stands back up, finding her footing. She leans over the panel, fiddling with the buttons. "I'm not familiar with this machine model." She continues to mess with the controls.

After a few more seconds, the lights turn on. Maybe the Earth woman is more competent than she lets on. Cause she fixed that rather fast. "Phew. All better." She takes a few steps back before stepping on something squishy. Unbeknownst to her, she just tripped up on the Namekian. Bulma's eyes dart downward; as soon as she sees the green man, she somehow shrieks even louder than when she noticed you. You're almost offended. She jumps into the air before scurrying behind Gohan. "Is that Piccolo, or am I losing it?" Her voice shakes.

Gohan nods. "Yep, that's him, alright."

She extends her neck, taking a second glimpse at the Namekian. "What's he even doing here? Bulma observes the man carefully, taking a mental note that he still hasn't risen. There's something clearly wrong with him. The gears turn in her brain, briskly making an educated guess that Piccolo is injured. Well, it's that, along with his grueling appearance. "Look at him. He's a mess! Does he really have to tag along?" Gohan turns to her, shooting the woman a disapproving look. "I mean, this is his home planet after all…" 

That's odd. From what you've understood, the Namekian is a part of the band of buffoons. He helped kill Cado. He trained the half-breed. He was there when you invaded Earth. And showed up here to get himself killed. Sounds like he's a core member of Kakarot's idiots to you. But from the Earth woman's reaction, you have to second guess that theory. Maybe they aren't allies after all? Possibly, they just share common goals? You've been in several situations similar to that in the past.

"We can't just leave him! He saved us. I owe him. We all do! So he's coming back to Earth with us no matter what!"

"That's sweet of you…" Bulma places her hand on Gohan's shoulder. "But we don't know if he would've wanted that." You raise an eyebrow. The man is clearly breathing. So why is she talking in the past tense like you have a corpse aboard? Aren't these humans supposed to be selfless and empathetic? Or have you only met the irritating ones? If the Earth woman keeps this behavior up, you could be more on board with her. "I think he would've wanted to be buried here, on his home planet."

Gohan's brows furrow, looking at the woman with a frown. You roll your eyes. "He's not dead, you lunatic…." You say as if you weren't just making the same argument for the Earth woman only a short while ago. Maybe we should leave her. It would make the journey back more tolerable. "But, hey, if you're so insistent. You wanna bury him here… you dig the hole."

"Fine." Bulma huffs. "He can come with us."

"How generous of you." You scoff. Before you can make another snarky comment, the aircraft shifts again, sinking further inwards towards the planet's core. A few more cracks in the surface of this planet and the four of you are going to die a very excruciating death.  

"This entire place is falling apart!" The woman exclaims. "We need to take off. Now!" You can't believe you're saying this, but you're actually in agreement with the Earth woman. Talk about a plot twist. Bulma rushes back to the panel and starts fiddling with the buttons again. 

"Wait!" Gohan shouts, stopping the woman dead in her tracks. "We can't leave yet! We have to wait for my dad!"

"He'll be okay, Gohan." Bulma's eyes soften. "If anyone can find a way out of here, it's Goku… he always does." She stares off into the distance as if having some sort of dream sequence. It's mildly disturbing. 

"No, we can't!" The boy starts to tear up. "There's still time, lots of it." Considering you have a high level of expertise in the destruction of planets. You know, this rock has maybe an hour left maximum. And that's being incredibly generous.

 You groan. "I hate to agree with the Earth woman, but she's right. I've seen the destruction of more planets than you could probably imagine. Now, most of them were by my own hands, but that's irrelevant. The point is, your father wants you off this planet. And I think you should adhere to his wishes."

"Please…" Gohan looks between the two of you with big eyes. "Just a few more minutes."

"Gohan…" Bulma smiles weekly at him. "I think-" She's cut off. By the ship once again sinking further into the ground.

You rub your temples, your frustration growing rapidly. You can't believe this is even a discussion. What needs to happen is clear. Maybe to everyone but the brat. "I've had enough! This isn't the time to play selfless hero like your moronic father. Let me put this in the simplest terms I can. If we don't get the Namekian off this planet, everyone dies! There's no second chances. There's no more wishes. And that means-" You cut yourself off. Stopping yourself from saying something unnecessarily cruel. You're trying to persuade him, not make him weep.

The planet's destruction continues to form around you. This discussion is clearly going nowhere. You don't see why a child should decide all of your fates. "This is bad!" Bulma struggles to maintain balance due to the quaking beneath her. "We only have a few minutes left before planet Namek is nothing but dust!" Gohan isn't even paying attention to anything other than the direction of the battle. It's like everything both you and Bulma say goes in one ear and out the other. You're seconds away from knocking the boy out, so you can descend with no hiccups. 

Gohan's face falls before you can even set a plan in motion. You focus your energy in the direction of the battle. And you sense exactly the same thing. You sigh, feeling slight empathy for the boy. You know how that feels. You've lived through that experience. It's certainly not a positive one. "Dad's energy." He chokes up. "It's just… gone." Bulma gasps. 

"Does that mean?" Gohan nods, his sad expression quickly evolving into one of determination. 

"Start preparing the ship for launch. And take Piccolo back to Earth with you. I'm staying here." Perfect, just what you need. A loose cannon on your hands. The option of knocking him out is growing more appealing by the second. The boy moves to the door, standing right in front of it.

"Woah! Hey there! Slow down!" Panic rises in Bulma's voice. "Gohan! No! You can't just go back out there!" Gohan presses a button, causing the door to slowly open. "Gohan, don't do this."

"I'm my father's son, Bulma." Well, that's clear to you. He clearly got his lack of preservation from somewhere. Moron must be genetic. "I have to finish what he started. It's my duty."

"Gohan…" Bulma rushes over to him. "You can't. It's too dangerous." 

The boy shakes his head. "I have to try. Piccolo would understand." From your brief interactions with the Namekian, you doubt that's true. "It's what he and dad would've wanted." And now you know for a fact that it's untrue. Your hypothesis has to be correct. Moron is undoubtedly genetic.

It's time for some intervention. You know for a fact the Earth woman is no match for the half-breed. Words can only get you so far. You slowly walk over to them, your boots making a notable clink against the metal floor, the sound growing closer with each step. Right until you're standing directly in front of Gohan. The last barricade between him and the outside world. You chuckle mischievously. "Absolutely not, brat."

 "I have to do this, Y/N." He looks you dead in the eyes, not even displaying an ounce of fear.

"Why's that? So Frieza can slaughter three generations of your bloodline rather than two?" You roll your eyes. "Your father asked me to look out for you, and I intend to. No matter how aggravating it is."

"But…"

"But nothing! Were we even on the same battlefield?" You place your hands on your hips, your eyes narrowing into slits. "You genuinely think this is what your father would've wanted? He was screaming at you to leave. He basically ordered you to. A father looks out for their child… he doesn't throw them into the lion's den!"

"I can do this. I can't just let Frieza get away with this!" Gohans' attempts at persuasion are futile. You could easily out-stubborn him any day of the week.

"Think about this logically! If you go out there. Frieza will kill you. It'll be quick. You're no match for him. He'll probably be insulted that you'd even try. The battle doesn't just end… the entire fight will! If we return to Earth, you can rest up… prepare a bit. I know Frieza. And I assure you he will be gunning for Earth next. He wants that wish. And what Frieza wants, he tends to get it." 

Now, you're doing some logical thinking of your own. If the Namekian dies… there's no more wishes. You could step on his neck right now. End his pathetic life. You'd put a stop to Frieza's mission. He'd never be able to get his hands on immortality. Sure, there'd be a few unhappy faces, but it would be the wise thing to do. You can't believe this thought hasn't crossed your mind before. You quickly shake that idea out of your head. It's a fantastic plan. It's far more logical than your current one. You'll keep it in your pocket. "If you care about your planet… your people. You'll stay on this ship and go home."

You're running out of ways to convince him. If only he hadn't inherited a stubborn Saiyan nature. This is the first time you've wished he behaved more like an Earthling and less like a Saiyan. "I have to do this!"

You know what. You're done arguing with him. It's time to use something that works much better. Threats. "Oh, you wanna go out there?" You extend your hand outwards toward the outside. "Be my guest… but you'll have to go through me first."

Gohan's hands ball up into fists. "That's not fair!"

You scoff. "Please, if you think you can face Frieza, then I should be a piece of cake." You're about to take it even further. But before you can, you feel a familiar powerful level in the distance… and then another. Your head darts in that direction. What the hell? That's not possible. Are you imagining things again? As you're distracted, the brat runs past you, making a break for it. He takes off before you can even move a muscle. "God damn it!"

Huh. There are chunks of energy everywhere. Small and pathetic levels, but they exist. There's life… how the hell is there life? Wait… does that mean. You weren't imagining things. You really did sense Vegeta and Raditz. But… how? You quite vividly remember their deaths. You see it every time you close your eyes. There's a serious mind fuck going on. Your brain is scrambling.

The Earth woman shakes her head, snapping out of her dazed expression. "Why'd you let him get away?" She shouts at you. 

"I–" You're at a loss for words. You don't understand how this is happening. "There's energy levels all over this planet."

"I don't know what the hell that means!" Her brows furrow. "I don't speak fighter."

You roll your eyes. "Let me dumb it down for you. Before, there was no life left on this planet. Now, there's a lot. I'm assuming there was somehow a mass resurrection of some kind… I just don't know how."

Bulmas ears perk up. "The Dragon Balls. The Earth ones! Someone back home must've made a wish!" That makes sense… and with the Namekian alive, the set on Earth is intact. But that's so many people. The limit must not be as small as you were led to believe. Because that many lives is a massive job. But wait. What's the point?

"Well, why the hell would they do that? This planet is about to blow. Everyone here will just die again. What a waste of a wish." You know the earthlings lack brain cells, but this is a new level. Unless there's another aspect of it that you're just not regarding. Before you can say anything else the sky grows dark. "What the hell?" You poke your head outside. This planet doesn't have a night. There's something about this that's oddly familiar. A strong sense of deja vu flooding your mind. You just can't quite place it.

"Wait." The woman moves closer to you, poking her head out the other side of the door. "I know what's happening. This same thing happens back on Earth when you make a wish." That's it. The Dragon Balls. That must mean the Grand Elder is alive. All that energy you were sensing is the people of Namek, including the elderly one. That must be the plan. To make a second, even larger wish with the Namek ones. But who's even gonna make that wish?

Oh fuck. Frieza can easily take that for himself. All he'd need is one Namekian, which would now be incredibly easy to attain. He only needs a singular feeble hostage to gain his greatest desire. Damn. You turn to the Earth Woman. "I have to go."

"What happened to thinking about things logically?"

"I am. If Frieza gets his wish for immortality, then everything is over." 

"But…You can't just leave me here all--" Without a word, you take off, leaving the Earth woman in your dust. "Why does everyone always abandon me on strange planets!"

Okay, all you have to do is get there before Frieza can. Or do you go to Vegeta and Raditz first? No, wish first, reunions second. You soar, picking up the pace; you don't think you've ever flown this fast. This is the only thing that matters to you. You detest Frieza with every bone in your body. You'll ruin this for him. Just like he ruined everything for you. You'll do whatever it takes. As you formulate a strategy, a bright light surrounds your body. "What the fuck?" You slowly fade out before disappearing entirely.

[luveline]

Hi! Could you please write a daddy-daughter day with Roan and Eddie? Like Eddie and Roan listening to Eddie's music, going to Wayne's, and just doing cute things like when Reader went out with her friends please?

hi sweetheart yes I can, I loved this idea, tyty! dad!eddie x fem!reader, 3k (cw reader is tipsy at the end)

"Okie-smokie," you say, standing at the door with two options. "Ro, pink or silver?" 

You show Roan your earrings. Eddie crams his foot into his sneaker and ties the laces, listening as Roan deliberates your two choices. "I think you should wear the pink ones because you have pink gems on your bracelet." 

He can hear your smile. "I think so too. Thank you, lovely girl." 

"Roan, you have your shoes on still?" Eddie asks, toeing into his second shoe. He stands tall when he's done and brushes down his jeans. "Coat?" 

"I don't know where my coat is," she says. 

"I'll get it," you say. "It's in our room." 

"Okay. You have your purse?" Eddie asks. 

You laugh as you run up the stairs. "Stop doing your dad checklist! We have everything." 

Roan waits by the door in what Eddie believes to be her nicest outfit ever. He's been experimenting with elaborate hairstyles, and this one takes the cake. 

He'd woken her up early for a shower and washed her hair, some tactile bonding to start what's looking to be a great day. She'd nearly fallen back asleep, and again when he was drying it with the cold diffuser. After that he sectioned it and pulled two triangular sections from the front backward, and with the help of four rubber bands and a little bit of hair mousse, he secured it out of her face, curled and pretty. 

She's wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt under stiff black dungarees with black sneakers. You suggested white sneakers, but Eddie joked that he wouldn't make her look too perfect (her white sneakers are full of mud from when they went looking for frogs last weekend, and he hasn't told you yet). 

"Hey, can you get her, uh, her blue jacket? The navy one? I think her vinyl coat will be too uncomfortable with the short sleeves." 

You appear on the top step already holding it. "I'm psychic." 

Once Roan has been helped into her coat and Eddie's made sure you both have money and water, he locks the door to your (his) house with his key. It took him a long time to start calling it his house. Not that he ever thought you'd shoot him out of it. So far, there hasn't been a day since you got together where he worried it wouldn't last. 

And here the kissing begins. 

You might pretend otherwise, but Eddie knows you're jealous of today. Not in a cruel way, the envy isn't eating you alive or anything, but he knows you wishes you could come, and he also knows you know that's not how these kinds of days work. If you're with them, Eddie would have to share his attention. Alone with Roan, he can pour it all in. You're not so codependent as to resent that, and you're happy for them. But again, you're jealous. 

"Why did I make plans?" you ask him, your hands bunched in his t-shirt. 

"Because you'll have fun," he says, dipping his head down to kiss you. 

You smile and lift one shoulder. "I will. You have fun too, okay?" You bend at the waist to kiss Roan's cheek. After a moment, you kiss the other. "My big girl, you look so grown up today, we should've taken more photos." 

"I think ten was enough," Roan says.

"It wasn't," you and Eddie say at the same time. You sigh morosely, though it's not entirely genuine. 

"Okay, I love you both. Say hi to Uncle Wayne for me." 

"We love you," Eddie says. You pout and get in your car. You've parked behind him, so they stand waving at you as you leave. "She loves you so much," Eddie says to Roan. 

Roan shrugs her shoulders, pleased and trying to be humble about it. "Dad," she grumbles. 

He puts Roan in her car seat and they drive to Uncle Wayne's for lunch. It's not far, but it's enough to listen to Roan's tape, featuring her current favourite song, a nonsensical rock song called 'She Don't Use Jelly' by The Flaming Lips. It's not Eddie's taste but it's worth it just to listen to Roan shouting along to the song, her building excitement before she gets to sing, "He uses maaaa-gazines!" 

After that is Sheryl Crow. Eddie wants to switch the tape to something harder but Roan's already singing, and it's so funny to hear her sing 'All I Wanna Do' that he can't make himself change it. He rolls down the windows so she can feel the wind on her face and she dances in her seat, tripping over the words with gusto. 

Sheryl Crow is all your influence. As soon as the song ends he pops the tape and drives the car at a crawl. He's had Roan's favourite, and then yours, but now it's time for real music. He isn't raising no prep. 

Roan is more than used to rock music. She loves it most of the time, though her taste complicates as she ages. Eddie puts on a tape you made him painstakingly at Christmastime full of ripped live performances, the sort of music you can't find on CD yet. The very first song is 'Sad But True', Metallica live from Mexico, '93. Roan bobs her head up and down with the beat. Eddie literally could not be more proud, better when she pulls out her air guitar and challenges him on who's best. 

After almost crashing the car into the picnic bench on Wayne's front yard, Eddie pulls Roan out, and grins as she races up the steps to the door. She doesn't knock —Wayne's home is Eddie's home is her home. 

"Uncle Wayne!" she bellows. 

The smell of sausages and fried onions is inescapable. Eddie loves Wayne, and he loves his extra special hotdogs, but he can already sense the mess Roan's about to make. Ketchup stains have defeated half her wardrobe over the years. 

Wayne's turning from the stove with a huge grin. He wipes his hands on a rag and chucks it at the counter, bending down with his arms opening to catch Roan as she sprints at him. 

"Oh," he groans, "Hi, Roanie. Where have you been? I told your dad eleven thirty, and it's almost twelve." 

"We had to help Y/N find her nice pants," she says, wrapping her arms around Wayne's neck. 

Wayne gives her a grandfatherly squeeze, adoring but nonchalant. 

"We didn't have to help," Eddie says, "but she made breakfast, so it would've been mean to not help." 

"Still sounds like dad's fault," Wayne says. "Yeah?" 

"Yes," Roan says, turning in Wayne's arms to beam at her betrayed father. 

Wayne kisses her head and puts her down. He asks how you are, to which Eddie can answer honestly. You're good, and you're very happy lately making wedding arrangements even though you don't know what you're doing for lots of it. Roan is still torn on whether she wants to be the best man or the maid of honour. You'd been winning, until Eddie told her she could still wear a dress as best man. 

The hotdogs are ready for eating straight away. Unlike Eddie, Wayne is prepared for Roan's mess. He pins a bib around her that he's had since she was two with a rabbit on the front. It should've been trashed a while ago, but in a show of quiet love, Wayne scrubs it spotless every single time she wears it. The white background is still a bright white. 

They eat hot dogs and talk about nothing. Wayne and Eddie see each other every single day, but Wayne and Roan definitely don't. Now that she's getting older, there's been talks of consistent sleepovers. Eddie doesn't want Wayne to spend all week in work and then have her on the weekend because, while she is an absolute delight, Roan is also hard work, and especially on Fridays when she's tired. But Wayne wants to have her, and Roan loves him more than anything, so sooner or later Eddie's going to have to say yes. 

He won't lie, he could use the break. But not tonight. 

"Dad," Roan says, fried onions and bread falling down her front and back onto her plate.

"Yes, my rude girl?" 

She licks her lips. Wayne tilts her head back to wipe her mouth clean with a paper towel. "Thank you, Uncle Wayne. Dad, can we get a movie tonight?" 

"Yeah, babe, we can get a movie, but I thought you wanted to go to the Hawk?" 

"There's no space for talking in the Hawk." 

"And you want to talk to me," he summarises. 

"Duh. Wayne, can I have more smustard, please?" she asks through chews. 

Wayne meets Eddie's eyes as he squirts mustard on her hotdog. It's a look Eddie didn't know he wanted to see until Wayne started giving it, a mixture of she's funny and you're raising a good one, kid. 

Eddie cleans up the hotdog mess before Wayne can stop him and they dawdle, not wanting to leave but with things to do. They're ten minutes late for their manicure appointments. 

The Hawkins manicurists are slightly judgemental middle-aged women who love Roan. They've seen her a couple of times, once when Eddie had been on a few dates with you but was far from your boyfriend, and Roan wanted, "Pretty nails, like Y/N," after she'd seen your painted nails for a wedding, and then a couple of times after with you, but it's been a while since he was here, and the new young nail technician surprises Eddie. 

"Hi," she says, smiling at Roan, "I know you, don't I? You and your mom came in a couple of weeks ago. How did your gems last?" 

"They came off when we went waterfall walking," Roan says, sounding exuberantly pleased by this. 

"Wow, waterfall walking, that sounds fun!"

"Yes!" 

Eddie grabs Roan under the armpits to help her into the tall chair. "It was fun until her wellies split. She had cold feet." 

"Oh no. What do we want today, miss adventurer? The same as last time, or are we trying something new?" 

Roan looks up at Eddie. He takes a seat beside her, her coat in his lap. "Whatever you want, Ro. No, um, extensions though." 

"No, I wouldn't suggest it," says the nail tech. "Maybe I can show you some pictures and you can see if you like something? I can do whatever you want me to." 

Roan ends up asking for nails that look like the ocean. The nail technician is an artist, creating a beautiful illusion of real water on her nails, and colourful sea creatures on the nails big enough to accommodate them. 

"Are you bringing your wife back soon?" the nail tech asks, covering Roan's skin with her hand as her nails cure under a UV lamp. 

"She's not married, yet," Roan says. 

"She's my fiancé," Eddie says mildly. He kind of liked wife better. "And she doesn't let me spoil her often, so probably not." 

"She couldn't stop talking about you," the nail tech says. "And you," —she nods at Roan— "I was kind of jealous. I'm still jealous. I hope my baby comes out as pretty as you." 

"You're having a baby?" Roan asks, gasping, almost knocking over the UV lamp. 

"I am! Yeah, I am, she's not coming anytime soon though. But by Christmas I'll have her." The nail tech brings a buffing file to Roan's pinky finger and sands against the edge gently. "She better be as nice as you, miss adventurer." 

"I think Ro might be one of a kind," Eddie says. 

Roan smiles at him as though he's hung the moon. 

They visit the video store after the nail salon, hand in hand. Roan is more than ecstatic at the aquarium on her nails, and it's making her sweet. She walks as close to Eddie as she can without stepping on his shoes, and doesn't let go for anything. Or, almost anything. 

"Steve!" she shouts when she sees him, Harrington himself bent over the kids aisle arranging movies. 

"Oh, no," he groans. Roan runs full pelt at him and he pretends to almost fall over. Roan laughs and tugs him back up, and he says thank you with a short hug. "Hi, Roan." He looks up to see Eddie, and glares with a mock disdain. "You. Where's my spirit level?" 

"Your–" Eddie's lips part, and then snap shut. "My bad, Stevie. I still have it, I swear."

"Well give it back, I want to mount my new TV on the wall and I can't because you never answer the phone." 

"I do," Eddie protests. 

"No, you don't, I think I've spoken more to Y/N since you moved in with her than I've spoken to you. Which, actually, I prefer her. And I want you to invite her to my housewarming party next week." 

"Am I invited, too?" Roan asks. 

Steve smiles at her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Of course you are. Robin's going to bring Mr. Stink too." 

Mr. Stink is Robin's big fat tabby cat. Roan loves him so much she cries every time she has to say goodbye to him.

Eddie and Steve hug and only pat each other on the back once, which is progress. Having guessed why they're there, Steve pulls them into the backroom to show her all the new kids movies, and lets Roan pick as many as she wants to put on his account. Despite his hug and his party invitation, Of course you're invited too, Steve glares at Eddie fiercely from across the checkout counter. "Do not bring them back late, Munson. You cost me six dollars, last time." 

"And I tried to give it back to you," Eddie says, the bag of movies hanging from his elbow, Roan the other. 

"Don't insult me. Bye, my favourite Munson, make sure you bring me a nice drawing for my new fridge," Steve says. He speaks much more kindly to Roan than he does Eddie, but Eddie doesn't think for a moment that Steve doesn't like him. They've just always been like this. 

"Okay! Tell Robin I miss her, please, and Mr. Stinky." 

"Anything for you. Bye, bye," he calls. 

Eddie waves at him and they stroll out of the video store like kings, Eddie with all their movies and Roan with one of the huge bags of ready popped popcorn. She's walking on sunshine with every step, nearly skipping by the time they reach the car. 

He doesn't understand it. Eddie's just Eddie. He doesn't get it, but he has a moment when he's strapping her back into her third car seat, knowing one day she's gonna be so tall they can get away with a booster seat. One day she won't need a car seat at all. He just loves her so much he can’t handle it. 

"Show me those nails again, babe," he says. 

She pulls her wrist up, her fingers hanging down, and says, "Lookit." 

He loves her. She learned it from you. You'd done it as a joke, Roan does it because it makes her feel cool. 

"Gorgeous." He pulls her hands into his. "What else do you want to do today?" 

She shrugs. Eddie strokes down a crop of windblown baby hairs with a licked thumb, waiting for her to decide, but she must get distracted. She reaches out to do the same to him, moving his hair behind his ear. 

"That's for me," she says, looking at the little 'R' behind his ear. 

"Yeah, that's for you. I was going to get your full name, but I couldn't take the pain," he lies. 

Her nose wrinkles in amusement. "Then how did you get the big ones on your arms?" 

"I was less of a crybaby when I had those ones." 

"You're not a crybaby, dad," Roan says, giggling.

He pouts and sniffles at her. "You really mean that?" he asks tearfully. 

Roan pushes his shoulder lightly. 

"Did you decide what you want to do?" 

She nods vehemently. When she tells him what she wants, Eddie really could burst into tears. 

You're a little tiny bit tipsy when you come home that night. You try not to show it, but Eddie knows you better than he knows the back of his own hand, and as soon as you sit down he's taking big sniffs of you to make sure you know you've been found out. 

"Stop, you're like a puppy," you grumble fondly. "Wait, where's my Ro?" 

"Bathroom. Come here, let me take your shoes off." 

You lift a tired foot into his lap. "I had, uh, a margarita. And a cosmo, too. It was happy hour!" 

"Sweetheart, I couldn't care less what hour it was as long as you had fun." 

You preen, your face swinging into his shoulder. One of your earrings jabs his bicep. "Did you have a good day with Roan?" 

"We had a great day." He struggles to get your shoe off as you slide down his arm. "Maybe my favourite day with her I've ever had that wasn't with you." 

"Really? I'm so happy. Oh, wow, what? Nice nails, handsome." 

You pull his hands into your lap. They're painted in a uniform black, but there's a clownfish painted on his thumbnail. "They're super goth," you say. 

"You think so?" 

"The clownfish is a choice. Can I get one too?" 

Eddie kisses your flushed cheek. "Yeah, babe. The nail tech tried to get me to have a seahorse–" 

"Bit on the nose." 

"Exactly," he laughs. "Exactly. But our day was awesome. She was such an angel, and she must've made everyone smile everywhere we went, she–" Eddie sits up, speaking with pride in every word. "We went to Wayne's, and the nail salon, and the video store because she said the movies aren't good for talking and she wanted to talk to me, and I asked her if she wanted to do anything else, and she said," —Eddie squeezes your thigh— "she'd do anything as long as we could have a hug." 

"She has you in the palm of her hand," you laugh, looking up at him with eyes nearly closed. 

Roan skips into the room, hands dripping water, and catapults herself over the armrest back into Eddie's lap. Without asking, she dries her hands on his t-shirt. 

"Hello, princess," you say. 

Roan drags the half-eaten bag of popcorn over to your side. "Hi. I saved you some." 

You take a handful of popcorn and promptly spill it down the front of your shirt. Roan helps you by picking them off of you and eating them, cramming her mouth until her cheeks have chipmunked. 

"Don't do that, you'll choke," Eddie says.

"I won't," she says, little bits of popcorn spraying him. 

"Ro," he laughs, his hand held over her mouth, laughing so hard it wobbles her in his lap. 

[katnissmellarkkk]

as per @rosegardeninwinter’s request that “someone (@katnissmellarkkk) needs to make a bookcomb of all the times Peeta feeds Katniss or orchestrates food being given to her or gives her direction on when to eat because reasons” 🤗

-

The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn’t even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him.

-

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

-

“No, it’s good. You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon,” I say.

“Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.”

I don’t really seem to have much choice. Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

-

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Peeta’s voice stops me. “We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn’t even starving then.”

“You’re right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!” I say regretfully. But I don’t. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls — they even sent us silverware and plates — savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. “I want more.”

“Me too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving,” Peeta says.

-

“It’s just . . . if we didn’t win . . . I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Peeta. “But this means we’re one step closer to District Twelve.” He nudges a plate of food into my hands. “Eat. It’s still warm.”

I take a bite of the stew to show I don’t really care, but it’s like glue in my mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow.

-

When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He’s holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. “Don’t be mad,” he says. “I had to eat again. Here’s your half.”

-

Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch’s knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It’s not until he’s handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. “Would you like a piece?”

-

He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. “Lovely. Your mother made these?”

“Peeta.” And for the first time, I find I can’t hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie.

“Peeta. How is the love of your life?” he asks.

“Good,” I say.

-

“I want to taste everything in the room,” I tell Peeta.

I can see him trying to read my expression, to figure out my transformation. Since he doesn’t know that President Snow thinks I have failed, he can only assume that I think we have succeeded. Perhaps even that I have some genuine happiness at our engagement. His eyes reflect his puzzlement but only briefly, because we’re on camera. “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says.

“Okay, no more than one bite of each dish,” I say.

-

Since Mags seems to have no ill effects from the nuts, Peeta collects bunches of them and fries them by bouncing them off the force field. He methodically peels off the shells, piling the meats on a leaf. I stand guard, fidgety and hot and raw with the emotions of the day.

[…]

Mags has also plaited several bowls that Peeta has filled with roasted nuts.

-

“Can we eat [the 🐀]?” Peeta asks.

“I don’t know for sure. But his meat doesn’t look that different from a squirrel’s. He ought to be cooked. . . .” […]

Peeta has another idea. He takes a cube of rodent meat, skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick, and lets it fall into the force field. There’s a sharp sizzle and the stick flies back. The chunk of meat is blackened on the outside but well cooked inside. We give him a round of applause, then quickly stop, remembering where we are.

-

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.”

I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave. “Thanks.” I pop open the top. “It even has dried plums.” I bend the lid and use it as a makeshift spoon, scooping a bit into my mouth. Now this place tastes like the arena, too.

-

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

-

[flower-boi16]

Helluva Boss: A Show For "Mature" Audiences That Isn't Very Mature

Something that's very funny to me is how Helluva Boss is an adult show, meaning that its supposed to be mature, and more mature than a kids show. However, the show really isn't that mature when you really think about it; sure, it's supposed to be viewed for mature audiences, and It by no means is for kids at all but...HB is really just the superficial version of mature. The show constantly crams in gore, swears and sex jokes all the damn time as a way to just appear edgy. It's not mature as in "it has mature and deep messages and themes" its the superficial version of mature, the type of mature that's just "let's shove in a bunch of swears and sex jokes into this show so people can KNOW its for adults!".

The show feels like its trying so damn hard to be edgy and crams swears and sex jokes into its dialogue because its an "adult" show. 70% of the dialogue in this show is awful because of the amount times it feels the need to shove in swears and sex jokes into every single line the characters say. It feels like the show is just..trying to be edgy with no substance to it. The only really mature theme HB has is Stolas's sexual desires for Blitz...but now its just completely dropped as Stolitz is suppoused to be seen as a healthy reletionship for some reason.

A majority of the villains are very one-dimensional Saturday morning cartoon villains too. HB feels like a show that's just overly obsessed with being edgy so it can come across as "mature". And while you can technically say that HB is mature as the show isn't exactly for kids and is aimed towards adults, again, its only the superficial version of mature, the show isn't really that mature in terms of its actual writing.

But here's the REAL kicker here; the shows I primarily enjoy watching are kids shows on Disney Channel, and...well, lets take a look at the themes and messages of these shows aimed towards kids that I've seen, shall we?

Gravity Falls: Tells a story about growing up, and how, while growing up may seem hard, you don't have to grow up alone, and that even when you grow up, that doesn't mean you have to let go

Amphibia: Tells a story about three girls who are all heavily flawed people in a toxic friendship. Ends with a message about change and how while it may be hard, sometimes; things change, and you need to accept that.

The Owl House: Tells a story about a girl who was ostracized for her whole life who was able to make real connections with others and find a place where she truely belongs.

Ducktales: Has an old man rediscover the value of family after pushing away his loved ones after losing his niece

Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur: Has an episode where the main message is that you should stand up for your community, and how you can make your voice be heard no matter what.

The Ghost and Molly Mcgee (SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE): Final episode has a beautiful and mature message about how you should spend your life to the fullest, take risks and not be afraid or play it safe, and has a character go and spend his life to the fullest when he becomes human again

These "kids shows" have more mature and thoughtful messages and themes as well as better writing than this "adult" show. Helluva Boss has me groaning and getting frustrated at all the bad writing and wasted potential in its second season. Meanwhile, Amphibia's second season almost gets me to cry not once, but twice. These shows have more compelling and nuanced characters than HB, they don't constantly try to coddle them and absolve them of their mistakes, rather for some of them, they make the characters actually grow as people, something HB has NOT done at all.

Helluva Boss is an adult show, yet these kids' shows not only have more nuanced characters than it, but they are also unironically more mature than HB despite being shows targeted towards a younger audience. Its extremely funny to me how Viv said that HB is "Bojack Horseman with demons" when HB is less mature than kids' shows that aired on the Disney Channel.

Helluva Boss isn't a mature show, it's just an overly edgy one.

[slylock-syl]

Hey Syllll! Long time, no chat! I just wanted to get this off my chest before i go ham trying to figure out what i wanna commission from you soon.

I have been reading Undersource for years now, and i think we've both come a long way since then! God, that feels weird to say, i'm not even old enough to drink yet lmao. But! I am old enough to spend my money responsibly now, which is nuts given that my responsible spending is now aimed at getting art of my blorbos LOL.

You've grown as an artist so much since i first started reading- i think that was around... the pirate arc? Not sure! But i do remember the early days of me having discord, during the EKD server category era. But anyways, i know the way you drew our favorite skeletons was different back then, and it's all gotten so much smoother in that time. You're also (at least seemingly) taking way better care of yourself! You've set boundaries, you've set more time for yourself and not the blog, and you're still happily chugging along, after all these years. Not to mention you're working on this side story now, which i'm fairly certain you've been looking forward to for a while.

How's that sleeping though? Do you still have the sleep cycle of an austalian? Can't say i'm any better, im slowly becoming nocturnal again lol. Some things NEVER change.

Anyways. All this to say: im really proud to have been part of this little community for so long. To see the comic and its artist come so far. Even if im not a diehard fan anymore, im glad i can still take a little time every weekend to realize "OH, U/S shoulda updated!" and run over here. Thanks for giving me a good starting point of community on this god damned hellsite.

(Here's to sleepy 5 am "you're great" asks LMAO)

sjksdhLKSDJFHG THIS IS SUCH A SWEET MESSAGE OMG-

Hi Azzy! :D I'm glad you still like my work even after all this time! Thank you for sticking around! :D

I have been taking better care of myself these days! I'm (only sometimes begrudgingly XD) going on daily walks (Pikmin Bloom is really helping with that, I love Pikmin they're so cute), and made some new friends! When I first started this blog I was convinced I had to constantly/frequently produce content, and I time went on I slowly realized that wasn't really viable, so I slowly trimmed down the workloads for better manageability, I'd say it's helped a lot! Even if it may not look like it sometimes XD

There was a point before I adjusted my work schedule where I figured out that I may have been riding a creative burnout for a long while, as when I looked back it felt like my work had begun to visually stagnate. I think at the time I was cramming working on the comic update across only 3 or 4 days (Wednesday/Thursday to Saturday mornings, sometimes down to the wire), with several hours of just constant work (plus any distractions and 3 daily asks) because I was procrastinating so badly X'D I'm still recovering from the visual stagnation, but I'm definitely trying to experiment where I can! I may not be the best at it but I hope I'm improving at least ksjdghLSDGH My current schedule is MUCH more spaced out and much more manageable, spanning Sunday to Friday and broken down into stages for each day, and Saturdays are my designated day off~

As for the side story, it's one I've had around for quite a while and have been excited to finally show off! There were a few people who were interested in it when it was first teased, though I've no idea if they're still around, if they are I hope they're enjoying the story so far as well! 💜

Oddly enough my sleep schedule is no longer on Cthulhu Standard Time SKSDJGHDLG We had a TON of construction going on in the house the past few months and it was way too awkward to sleep with a bunch of strangers either being in or near my room, as well as making a LOT of noise sjkdhgLKSDJG There was a brief section of time where I'd actually go to bed at a "normal" time and get up at like, 9 or 10 am X'D Though it's slowly sneaking it's way into afternoons to 3 or 4 AM after I feed the kitties, kinda like my old college schedule XD

Thank you again for liking my work and sticking around! I really appreciate it!! :D

I may not be anywhere near whatever my "peak" was a few years ago, but I'm still happy to keep going for those who still come around! 💜

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

If no one asked yet, why is it hard to enjoy Relat//ivi//ty F//alls content? Is it just the premise?

I am genuinely curious so if you want to rant feel free to do so!

Okay anon so im gonna say there are 2 main reasons why i find it so hard to enjoy r*lativity f*lls fan work even tho i LOVE the premise of the au. one of them is incredibly petty and the other i think is more reasonable

reason 1 and the really really petty one... i really, really do not fucking like how popular fiddleford is as a character IN GENERAL

which isnt to say he doesnt deserve it, god knows out of the important side characters (him, gideon, pacifica and robbie) he's by far the best written of the bunch and has so many funny as hell gags. and i do absolutely really like his character!! hes really interesting and funny and his backstory is tragic and fuck i love his character!!

i absolutely despise the fandom obsession with him LMFAO i hate "m*stery trio" ideas so god damn much (ik this exists with the younger twins + pacifica too but this isnt about that and i give this more leeway because mabel and dipper arent highly codependent like the stan twins are) because there ISNT a m*stery trio. theres a reason why soos says "so youre like mystery twins." why dipper said "mystery twins?" mabel: "i thought you hated that" dipper: "its growing on me". why the cryptogram at the end of Not What He Seems emphasizes that stan and ford are the ORIGINAL mystery twins.

i cannot stress enough how much it annoys me when people try to shove another person into stan and ford's dynamic (anyone who isnt bill who serves as an antagonistic force), as both someone who loves both the platonic and the incestious interpretations of their relationships— and 99% of the time its going to be fiddleford. when i talk about soostanwich or rickstanwich i mostly keep it in the bounds of it being a sex thing or an ot3 where theres a very clear divide between the twins and their 3rd, some kind of awareness that dissappears wheni look at anything involving fiddleford instead

and this extends to SO many aus. believe it or not r*lativity f*lls fiddleford is probably the least offensive for me, hes mostly just a friend of the twins, and is essentially like wendy and pacifica combined in one (ford has a crush on him, anyone who actually respects stan as a character will at least portray him as being kind of antagonistic towards him like that one art i reblogged). r*lativity f*lls is on the better end of their use of him. you do NOT want me ranting about other ford centered aus ive seen where i see fiddleford utilized WAY more than STAN is— stan who is fords brother!!! and the person ford loves the most!!! the character who ford was literally created for!!

like im sorry i feel bad for being so petty because its completely harmless and its not like people are wrong for liking his character and wanting him involved especially since most ship him w either ford or stan, but sometimes i just feel like theres a certain kind of irony in how in a show that emphasizes that theres no one stan and ford need other than each other, theres just this guy being crammed in. and ive mentioned sm times before i love f*ddauth*r and cant stand the popular interpretation of f*ddlest*n but thats kinda irrelevant to my feelings on this imo

im literally just being bitter for no reason but hey anon you gave me the go ahead to rant so i might as well— plus it leads me to my 2nd and way more reasonable point:

i dont think people really know what to do these characters when it comes to this au 😭

and i have to clarify: thats fine!! this is mostly for fun, and if people just want to draw older D and M and younger stans, then you know! go hog wild. that being said, i feel like theres just SO MUCH missed potential in this au and i feel like the most common interpretations can be fun, they only really utilize just very few characters. and swap aus are supposed to be entirely designed around the swapped around cast (one of the best swap aus imo is undersw*p, an undertle swap au that flips around its main cast perfectly). RF, since its more of a community au, has sm different versions that also unfortunately feel kinda the samey?

like i mentioned earlier, outside of the pines twins, the most common swap youre gonna see is of pacifica and fiddleford. and i actually kinda like that— put fiddleford as someone who is in close proximity to the twins then literally who else than the girl dipper and mabel are both frequently shipped with, make tate be a bad dad to him. and pacifica, despite being a beach blonde valley girl stereotype, isnt ever implied to be stupid and is said by dipper (lost legends) that shes smart. if you wanna push the idea that a rich girl like her can be super smart, be an inventor, i say go for it. shes got the genes of an inventor in her anyway (TBOB) and like, yeah i like that.

and the other most common swap is... absolutely none. that is literally it💀 does anyone know where soos is?? wendy??? gideon?? like should i even ask where robbie is, because all ik is he got NOTHING here (and mind you i dont even care about him THAT much, i include him because hes in the zodiac which is my base for the cast). you can tell me to look hard for them, but thats emblematic of one of the reasons its hard to enjoy the most common interpretations of the au then imo

i feel bad for saying this but i think the main reason why sm RF fails is because its not about swapping characters who you see fit to swap, its about filling certain roles in the plot and in fandom cultute. you see sm of the F and P swap not because anyone actually thinks this is an interesting way of putting them in each others positions, but because fiddleford and pacifica are the most commonly shipped with the stan twins and d/m twins respectively. and hey im a sucker for d*pcif*ca as f*ddauth*r, being cute nerds together fucking slaps and i love them, but i think people just resort to these cus its EASY. and i feel like it sucks that soos, someone who is SO important to the Pines family gets kinda erased in the narrative from what ive seen. wendy, well she was already done dirty in canon so i cant blame the fandom for not gaf about her, but yeah you hardly see her too. gideon was the MAIN ANTAGONIST of s1 man, youd think he would have some kind of noteworthy role in a swap AU where he gets to be an adult. but ig its kind of the price of him not being a blurbo like fiddleford and pacifica. mind you i love pacifica to pieces and im happy she gets sm love but yeah its kinda odd i think

i think the best RF pacificas ive seen is her being swapped w lazy susan actually, considering her actual conclusion is her working in the greasy diner after all (plus dipper being a deadbeat dbdudhdu). GIGANTIC fan of that, because its not about her having to be involved in portal work the way fiddleford was but still clearly involved in some kind of personal drama w the twins.

anyway at the end it doesnt actually matter that i feel this way. most people who are doing these aus are doing it for themselves and their own satisfaction and thats great. im not satisfied because im not them and im not th e target audience, the people who make the art/fic are their own audience and i respect it. i just personally cant enjoy it much, hence why its hard to enjoy popular interpretations of the au for me. i think im just HELLA picky when it comes to this (and sm aus... god knows r*verse p*rtal aus also kinda peeve me off on how ford is characterized), and maybe one day ill just draw/write my own RF version thats all catered exactly for me <3

also if anyone is asking who soos should be swapped with jts obviously fiddleford. like mcgucket is an inventor and soos is the handyman, i think this is actually incredibly obvious shbsusbshs

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super Manga Ch. 94-96

We're still reading the Super Hero adaptation! It's not great!

Things continue pretty much like they did in the movie, although it's a little awkward how Chapter 94 opens with Pan waiting to get picked up from school, just like she was in Chapter 91, because Toyotaro wanted to show Piccolo doing a "normal" kindergarten pickup as a prelude to the story. And that might have seemed like a good idea on paper. You know, contrast a routine encounter with the zany scene we got in the movie. The problem is that it undermines the zany scene when we finally get to it. The whole point is that a "normal" version isn't that interesting to see, which is why they didn't show Gohan cooking breakfast or Dr. Hedo brushing his teeth in the movie.

Anyway, you read chapter 91 and it feels like they skipped to the middle of the movie because Pan's waiting at kindergarten. Then you get to Chapter 94 and you see Pan waiting at kindergarten again and think the story is starting over. Or was it preschool? The manga version has a sign over the property that reads "kindergarten", but Pan's only three so I don't know. Piccolo knocked her into a bunch of rocks earlier in the day, and now he's taking her home with a layover at Red Ribbon HQ, so the point of all of this is that nothing is really ever "normal" with Dragon Ball.

Back to the manga, Toyotaro drags out this scene by having a cop take notice of the Red Ribbon aircraft, but he immediately decides it's okay once he finds out it's for Mr. Satan's granddaughter. This might be the same cop who helped Goku find Bulma's house for the first time in the original Red Ribbon Army Saga, but I'm not interested in looking it up.

So once again, Toyotaro seems determined to cram in new material to this story, but it's always designed to be as dull as possible, answering questions no one asked. Why didn't Piccolo get a ticket for the aircraft being parked on the street? For the zero people who were concerned about this, Toyotaro heroically includes a traffic cop whose sole purpose is to remind us that it doesn't actually matter.

Chapter 94 continues up to the first leg of the Gohan/Gamma 1 fight. There's some changes to the fight choreography, but I'm not gonna do a side-by-side analysis or anything. It pretty much has to be different because of the medium involved. I'm pretty sure Gohan firing a Kamehameha is new, as is Gamma 1 shooting at him to counterattack. But I could be wrong.

While Gohan powers up to his Ultimate/Mystic/Elder Kai Unlock form, Krillin's family is just getting out of the movie theater where they watched Cleangod 2. I mentioned this scene before, but now that we're here, this is Teen Marron's only appearance in Dragon Ball Super, and here's the big pitch for the character: She's a huge fan of Cleangod. Just like Goten! And Trunks. And... Dr. Hedo. I'm not impressed.

Krillin senses Gohan fighting, then he gets a call from Police HQ.

For some reason, Krillin runs off and hides while he takes the call? Are people not supposed to know he's a cop? Everyone keeps staring at him the whole time, so if he's trying to keep this a secret, he's doing a lousy job of it. Also, when 18 asks him who he's talking to, she doesn't seem to believe his answer, so she insists on tagging along with him. Does... 18 not know Krillin's a cop? What is going on here?

The dumbest part of all of this is that Nutz is calling Krillin to tell him about the battle at the Red Ribbon Army base. Remember how she had Krillin follow Magenta and Hedo in Chapter 91? Because they knew Magenta had a secret base but they didn't know where it was? And then Krillin lost them before he could find it?

Okay, so apparently the police had suspected that it was in that crater lake, camouflaged by a hologram. In fact, they've suspected this for so long that they've been monitoring the lake with cameras, and when Gohan went ultimate he disrupted the hologram and revealed the base. Now they want Krillin to reconnoiter the area before they send in a bunch of guys.

This is just really dumb. I mean, if the police suspected the base was inside the lake, why didn't they just send Krillin to check it out in the first place? He could have gone there months ago, and if it was just a lake, the worst thing that would have happened is he'd get wet. But if it was a secret mercenary base, he could have just snuck in and out as easily as Piccolo did in this story. It would have been even easier, since Krillin's less conspicuous than Piccolo, and the Red Ribbon wouldn't have had Hedo's androids for support. Hell, Krillin could have taken out the entire base by himself, and all they had to do was send him to the lake that they were already monitoring.

Also, why is it the West City Police Department's job to bust the Red Ribbon Army? Isn't that a job for the Royal Military? None of this makes any sense. I mean, the purpose is to add more Krillin content to the story, but it's so forced that it becomes nonsensical. The movie makes so much more sense without the police involved at all. Again, it's another question that no one asked. "Why didn't the police find the Red Ribbon Army's hidden base?" Because it's a hidden base, that's why not!

Toyotaro seems almost desperate to give these fictional cops a chance to save face. Well they were trying very hard to locate the base, but they just couldn't find it before Piccolo did. Except his depiction of their efforts just makes them look worse. Sergeant Nutz seems to know everything about the Red Ribbon Army. She knew Magenta was secretly rebuilding it, she knew he was planning to contact Dr. Hedo, and when he would do it. She was even pretty sure where the Red Ribbon base was. Yet despite all this inside information, she still couldn't figure out how to respond to it.

All of this makes it look like a set up to explain Krillin showing up at the end of the movie, except, no, that's not what happens. He shows up at the end because Bulma calls him and tells him what's happening. Toyotaro saw the movie and thought: "No! That's not enough! We need three reasons for Krillin to go to the lake!"

1. He senses Gohan's ki from the battle. 2. Sgt. Nutz calls him and tells him to go check out the base. 3. Bulma calls him and tells him Piccolo is at the base.

Is that enough? Does Krillin have sufficient motivation to go yet? I'm not sure, let's throw in some more reasons.

4. Krillin is visited by the ghost of the pirates from that underwater cave. The ghost tells him that the Red Ribbon stole his treasure and hid it in the lake, so he pleads with Krillin to recover it so the pirates can rest in peace. 5. Marron really wants to check out the crater lake, becuase Cleangod 2 had a scene that was filmed there. 6. Vegeta briefly pops in using his manga-only Instant Transmission. He asks Krillin to check on a three-layer cake he ordered from the bakery, but Krillin mishears him and thinks he said "crater lake". 7. The Supreme Kai of Time deputizes Krillin into the Time Patrol and informs him of a temporal anomaly at the crater lake. 8. Krillin was going there anyway because it's on his way home.

Back to the fight, not much is different, although there's a brief moment where Piccolo coaches Gohan before they resume fighting their respective opponents. This is kind of redundant, because they both already understood they were fighting androids, and they're already in their strongest forms (as far as they know), so Piccolo is just stating the obvious here. At least he isn't telepathically summoning Krillin to get his butt over here. Piccolo actually trusts the plot of this movie.

The Gammas aren't quite as powerful in this version, so 2 has to give a little assist to 1, then they consider double-teaming Piccolo to improve their chances. This doesn't last long, though, since it's not like Gohan was just going to stand there and let Piccolo get beat down.

At Capsule Corp, Bulma starts assembling a squad to help Piccolo, and is surprised to learn that Trunks already knows about Dr. Hedo. She asks him why he never mentioned any of this before, and finally, finally, Toyotaro has come up with a question someone might have actually asked. Why didn't Trunks tell Bulma about all of this? Because he would have gotten in trouble for playing superhero, and also because Bulma wouldn't have taken his story seriously even if he had said anything.

So Bulma admits that she goofed, but now she ungrounds Trunks (and Goten, since he just showed up), and she wants them to join Piccolo in battle.

But she immediately regrets it, because Goten and Trunks can't pinpoint Piccolo's location with their ki senses. And this is Big Goten in a nutshell. The boys are eager to get in on the action, but they lack the skill and focus to be effective. They're basically the opposite of what Gohan was in his childhood. Gohan was constantly caught between adventure and study, and he ended up excelling in both things. But Goten and Trunks really don't get pushed hard in either direction. They don't have much motivation to study, and they're not very good at adventure stuff either. Bulma's giving them a chance to be heroes and they're blowing it.

Anyway, she calls Piccolo, and when he doesn't answer, she calls Krillin, which is the canonical reason they all show up together at the end of the story.

Oh, and here's an awesome shot of Cell Max. I can't stress this enough: The art in this thing is tremendous, but the writing is just dull as can be. Everything's either a rerun or a pointless filler scene.

When Cell Max crawls out to fight all the good guys, Goten and Trunks offer to give Piccolo and Gohan a breather, and they switch to their Saiyaman X-1 and X-2 suits. Pan's into it, but everyone else find it dumb. I guess Marron should have come along and maybe she'd enjoy this...

[mysticdragon3art]

Faebruary 2024, days 1-9. Experiments in learning to draw chibi Ballister Boldheart fairy.

2 days ago, I finally remembered the Faebruary drawing challenge, which I always look forward to (because I like drawing butterfly fairies), but I always forget (because it's February). So I tried to cram in a bunch of catch-up drawings.

Every Faebruary, I draw chibi butterfly fairies of my current OTPs. This year, it's Goldenheart.

But I still need to learn to draw both Ballister and Ambrosius. And I'm still testing out which of my Copic colors to use for them. I'm especially having trouble drawing Ballister's hair, from a front point of view. I keep wanting to draw the upturn at the back of his hair, even though it's not visible when he is facing directly straight ahead. It's really hard to not draw the upturn, after those years of drawing Claude von Riegan.

This time, I've chosen real life butterfly wings to base theirs off of, instead of making up my own designs. Because Ballister's comic book name is "Blackheart", I'm basing his wings off the "Uranothauma nubifer" or "black heart" butterfly. Ambrosius Goldenloin's wings will be based on the "Wallace's golden birdwing" butterfly, because that was the first butterfly with the word "golden" in its name that appeared in Google search.

The problem is that I think I might have referenced the wrong pictures for the "black heart" butterfly. A Google search shows many different looking "black heart" butterflies. It's difficult to know which pic to reference. I initially went with Wikispecies's pic, since it was specifically labelled "Uranothauma nubifer". But it's also labelled "Uranotauma nubifer, as Lycaena nubifer Trimen", so it might be a different variation of that butterfly. Maybe??? I went with the mostly solid brown wing from Wikispecies's reference, since that would be easier to draw/color. But I later found several other websites specifically labelling photos of the "black heart" butterfly, which look completely different from Wikispecies's mostly solid brown wings. They're mostly gray and tan speckles on white. So I tried to stylize a design based on the more speckled "black heart" butterfly wings. I'm still trying to simplify it in a way that is easy to draw. And I'm still trying to figure out colors that don't get confusing when juxtaposed by Ballister's skin or clothing.

I usually draw my fairies without shoes, but I wanted to practice drawing Ballister's (and Ambrosius's) full outfits, since I'm just starting to learn to draw them. Also, their regular clothes are close enough to the "medieval fantasy"-inspired fashion that I usually draw my fairies in.

I was unsure about adding Ballister's cybernetic arm. How would a fairy get a tiny cybernetic arm? Does their hidden fairy society in the woods, have a whole system of technological equipment and supplies? Does a human use magnifying glass spectacles and miniature cybernetics to make a tiny robot arm for him??? So I skipped the whole subject by not drawing his robot arm.

2/8-10/2024. No pencil underdrawings. Platinum Preppy fountain pen, using Noodler's Ink. Colored with Copic markers and a Daiso Fluently marker. Some corrections made with white-out, Gelly Roll white gel pen, and digitally with Krita.

[hyugaruma]

House Party (Nakagoshi x Reader)

♡

re: you have a bit of a crush on your friend…

me and my headcanon that nakaoka would have an average businessman older brother

♡

The reverberations of the deep bass shuttered the old, wooden infrastructure of the house, frames creaking as if in protest. The music was too loud to decipher what song was playing; you had to wonder if the neighbors wouldn’t have something to say about it. When Nakaoka went around inviting a bunch of Oya High’s first- and second-years to a party over the weekend, you hadn’t expected to find yourself crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in a traditional Japanese minka house of all places.

“It’s my older brother’s,” Nakaoka explained when you’d first arrived. “He’s a businessman.”

Now, you found yourself hovering at the edge of the room, trying your best to slink as far into the shadows and away from the drunk, dancing crowds as possible. When Nakaoka had mentioned the party to you, you were expecting something small, likely consisting of Nakaoka and Nakagoshi’s closest Oya goons. But this far exceeded your expectations. There was a fair number of women there too, which came as a surprise to you because it seemed that the brawlers of Oya High were far more interested in fighting than courting. Nakagoshi, of course, had been the one to talk you into going to Nakaoka’s “little” party. Otherwise, you would have been perfectly content spending your Saturday night catching up on your shows and snacking on junk food in the comfort of your home. But no, “It’ll be fun,” Nakagoshi had sworn to you. And now, said male was nowhere to be found, and you were left alone hiding at the fray of the party. You could’ve strangled him.

In desperate need for some personal space, you squeezed your way through the crowd of partygoers, somehow managing to navigate yourself out onto the veranda. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the heat of the bodies inside the home. However, it seemed a plethora of other people had had the same idea as you; the backyard was nearly just as noisy as inside. A group of guys took turns batting a baseball into the wooden fence surrounding the garden, guffawing loudly at every thunk it made. Scads of people milled about on the porch, swaying to the beat of the music echoing from beyond the walls. Several of them toked on cigarettes, plumes of smoke suffocating the air. Just on the lawn was a table where another group was playing an alcohol party game that seemingly had no discernible rules from which you could tell. Somebody bumped your shoulder as they squeezed past you to join the others on the lawn. You huffed, and contemplated just heading home to your pajamas and bed.

Just as the thought tempted you, you felt an arm snake its way over your shoulders. You turned to see that damned smiling face, if only it wasn’t so charming. Nakagoshi.

“Come out here for the fresh air?” He asked.

You squinted your eyes at him. You had half the mind of telling him off for making you think this was some sort of “small” get-together, but you couldn’t. You never could, not with that smile he’d send your way. “Something like that,” you replied, eyes scanning over the people spread out over the backyard. “It’s not really much better, though.”

Another drunken body knocked into yours as they ambled down the veranda. As you tried to glare after the guy who had just bumped you, your eyes caught a couple making out, dimly illuminated by the porch lights. Your eyes widened, and you averted them.

Nakagoshi turned to look, catching sight of what you had noticed. He chuckled at your fluster, giving you a little shake with his hand on your shoulder. You tried to nudge him off, but he didn’t budge. “Come on,” he said. “I think the front is a little quieter.”

You and Nakagoshi weaved your way through the throngs of people inside, making it back outside to the front porch this time. You both took a seat on the porch ledge. You pulled your knees to your chest to insulate against the cool, breezy evening air. Nakagoshi let his legs dangle off the edge, leaning back with one hand supporting him from behind. Spring crickets just barely made themselves heard over the sound of the party music, like they decided to play along. You let out a deep breath, finally able to relax amidst the frenzy of the night.

Nakagoshi eyed you from the corner of his eye. “I really did think it’d be something small.” He tugged awkwardly at the headband secured around his head. You could tell by his tone that he felt bad. You and Nakagoshi were close; he knew you well enough to know that this wasn’t your typical scene. Though, knowing that, you weren’t quite sure why he decided to convince you to attend the party in the first place.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not so bad. Just a bit overwhelming.”

“Think he just got a bit overexcited knowing he had his brother’s place to himself for the whole weekend.” Nakagoshi leaned his shoulder against the support beam he sat next to, turning his body slightly to face you.

You gave a small smile. “Sounds like him.” A lightning bug floated lazily just past your nose, and you watched it as it flickered off into the distance. The music playing from inside abruptly changed to the next song, and you wondered if somebody complained about what was playing.

Nakagoshi stretched his legs out in front of him, looking around to scout out any people hanging around the front porch. The few that had been milling about when you two first walked out had seemingly headed back inside to regroup with the party. It was just the two of you now. Nakagoshi cleared his throat, trying to be casual but clearly failing with the way you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing,” he laughed, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Just clearing my throat.”

“You can go back inside to the party,” you offered. You felt bad that you pulled him away from his fun Saturday night. Nakagoshi’s friends were probably looking for him right about now. “I really don’t mind. I came, I saw you. I’ll probably head home soon.”

His response came instantly. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you assured him. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun. I don’t want to be a killjoy.”

Nakagoshi pulled a knee up and rested his arm on it. He had a serious look on his face as he studied you. You could feel your cheeks growing hot with the way he looked so intensely at you. You wondered if it was obvious how he made you feel. It felt obvious, at least, all the little internal and external reactions you had at anything he said or did. Maybe he did notice, and he just didn’t feel the same. That thought made your stomach twist. It wasn’t like you wanted to risk your friendship with him by outing your feelings.

“You’re not a killjoy,” he finally responded after what seemed like some consideration. “I asked you to come because I wanted to spend time with you.”

You felt your heart jump at his words. You stuffed those thoughts and feelings back down. “I just don’t think I’m as fun as your other friends.”

Nakagoshi laughed. You couldn’t help but to admire the way his face crinkled when he laughed, that boyish attraction that seemed to alight his features. It felt magnetic, and you couldn’t help the way you leaned forward ever so slightly towards him. It was like you needed to be closer to him. You swallowed hard. Again, Nakagoshi didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on you. Maybe it was better that way.

“You’re joking?” He pushed his hand through his messy hair, just for it to flop back down over his headband again. “They’re not half as fun to be around than you are.”

“You’re joking,” your brows knitted together disbelievingly at his words. “They like to go out and fight and drink and make music and do things. I like to… stay at home. I’m boring.”

Nakagoshi snorted and rolled his eyes. This time it was his turn to lean in towards you. You felt nervousness creeping up your spine. Your body almost leaned back in panicked response, but you held steady, soaking in any amount of closeness you could get to him. God, if only he knew how crazy he drove you. Damn him. “I don’t think you have any idea…” he said, a challenging smirk hinting at his lips. His eyes looked dark, even in the glow of the moonlight. Your eyes flickered to his lips for all but half a second. All you could think about was kissing him. He plopped a heavy hand on top of your head. “Not any idea about yourself, do you?”

You were taken aback. “Huh? What does that mean?”

“I mean,” he emphasized, pulling his hand back and giving you a grin worth damning. “You’re way too hard on yourself. You think I try so hard to hang out with you all the time, because, what? Because you’re boring?” Nakagoshi shook his head. “I asked you to come because I wanted to see you. Because I like hanging out with you—“

Before he could even finish his sentence, your lips were on his. It happened so fast it took you a second to realize it had happened. And it was over quicker than it started as you pulled yourself away. Nakagoshi’s eyed widened, but yours were wider.

“Oh shit,” you muttered. You could feel your cheeks were on fire. You had really, truly fucked it now. “I’m so sorry,” you started, feeling the words tumbling abashedly from your lips. “I didn’t mean to do that and I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking and then the stuff you were saying and before I even knew it I just kissed you and, oh fuck, I’m really, really—“

Nakagoshi quickly cut you off by grabbing your face gently between his hands and pulling you back again, this time him initiating the way your lips oh-so-perfectly melded together. You felt your heart swell with all the emotions you had tried so hard to hold back. He was kissing you, Nakagoshi was kissing you. If it was a dream you would have been satisfied with never waking up. But, it wasn’t. And you realized that you should probably kiss him back. Your hands snaked up to grip his black t-shirt like it was the only thing that could tether you to this reality. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, leaning tenderly into the hand which cupped your cheek. His lips were soft, chapped, sweet, everything you had imagined they’d be. You could’ve gotten drunk through kissing him alone.

Your noses faintly grazed each other as you both pulled back. The distance in which you held was small, but felt monumental in comparison to what you had just shared. His eyes were lidded and glossy, like he could’ve kissed you again… And he did kiss you again. Once. Twice. Three more times, like he, too, couldn’t reach his fill of you. You could feel your heart pound with each kiss, and you briefly wondered if it was possible to keel over from too much bliss.

He finally pulled back, really pulled back this time, much to your dismay. Then, he was sending that damn smile your way again. You smacked him lightly on the chest.

“What was that for?” He laughed.

“You—,” you didn’t even know what to say. “You know why!”

“You kissed me first,” he jokingly defended. “Gotta admit, kind of surprised me.”

You let out a huff of a breath, crossing your arms over your chest in mock indignation. Not that you could have been mad about anything in that moment. You felt like you were soaring above the clouds. But it’s not like you were going to let that get to his head. “Surprised myself.”

“I liked it though.”

“Shut up…”

Without warning, Nakagoshi slung a lazy arm over your shoulders and pulled you against his side. “We should do that again sometime. Like next weekend? What do you say, how ‘bout a ‘boring’ weekend next week? Your place?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the way you leaned into his side. A small smile ticked at your lips. “Sounds like my kind of weekend.”

[irkimatsu]

All I can think about is complaining to Husk after you've drank too much that no one eats pussy good these days. He's gotta prove that there are still people that eat pussy like a pro.

Best wishes,

a very sleep deprived

Icarus.

Hee, I love this~

Your relationship with Husk hasn't gone anywhere physical yet, but the two of you have been so flirty that the sexual tension has been driving certain other hotel residents insane. Tonight is more of the same, as a few too many cocktails have driven you to bitch to Husk about your love life with perhaps a little too much information.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone eat me out?" you say before taking another large gulp of your drink. "Guys are so fucking selfish! You let him cram his dick down your throat until you're about to puke, but the instant you ask him to return the favor? 'Nope, sorry, babe, I'm not into that'! Won't even fucking try!" You drain your glass and slam it down onto the counter with an exasperated sigh.

"Sounds like you've been sleeping with a bunch of immature boys," Husk says as he takes your glass and begins mixing you a new drink. "A real man wouldn't see eating out as some sort of favor. Not only should a good partner give a fuck about his lover's pleasure, there are plenty of guys out there who love eating pussy. You just gotta find 'em."

"Yeah?" You take a sip of your drink as soon as Husk hands it over, gazing at him over the rim of the glass for your entire sip. "Wish I knew where to find one... "

Husk returns your gaze, and with a smirk, he leans on the bar top with his arms folded. "What would you do if you found a guy willing to teach you a thing or two?"

Your face is heating, and you're certain it's not just the alcohol. "If he proved he could do it right, I'd do anything he wanted. But where am I going to find such a considerate guy in Hell?" With the way you're returning his gaze, you obviously have a pretty good idea of where you should be looking...

Husk lets out a dark chuckle that shoots straight down to your gut. "Why don't you come up to my room after I close up down here? I'll show you what a real man can do when he actually gives a shit about you..."

(RIP to whoever shares a wall with Husk. They're going to have to put up with your screaming for hours.)