#at least just to finally empty my drafts lol

[zebrafizz]

🍎

[cxtori]

Satoru Gojo ✭ Kiss Me Back

wc: basically 5k… it wasn’t meant to be lmao

summary: based off of this thought i posted a while ago

genre: angst, fluff, drunk “confession” but it gets misunderstood, friends to lovers, silly drunk Gojo

warnings: n/a

tori’s note: I finished this fic after having it in my drafts for almost a year. I kinda strayed from how my original prompt went lol. Idk how I feel about the second half of this, I’m not a huge fan of it but y’know, it be what it be. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Gojo doesn’t drink often. In fact, it’s more accurate to say he never drinks. He hates alcohol. The way it tastes, the way it burns, and especially how quickly it affects his system.

He’s always been a lightweight, it only taking a few shots before he was intoxicated. But for some reason, Shoko’s teasing pressure to get him to drink got to him a lot more tonight than usual. 

It was supposed to be only one shot, then just one more. But now, here he is, a couple hours later and 6 shots down, drunk and stumbling, leaning against you for support.

You grunt as you struggle to keep the tall man vertical and walk him down the street to your car. 

“You are amazing, Y/n,” Gojo slurs, wrapping his arm tighter around your neck. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that 3 times already,” you laugh lightly. Gojo trips over his own foot, causing you to stumble and almost fall. Thankfully, you catch yourself and keep the two of you from crashing into the concrete. 

“Jeez, Toru! Are you serious?” You ask, unbelieving that he was so intoxicated that he really couldn’t walk straight. Gojo only moans miserably in response. “We’re almost there,” you sigh.

You knew how much he hated the repercussions of drinking and tried to stop him before it was too late. But he seemed to be feeling a little self-destructive tonight, so your warnings fell on deaf ears, much to your annoyance. Even so, you still felt empathetic enough to take him home yourself, turning down Nanami’s kind offer to do so.

After another block of walking and stumbling, you finally make it to your car, opening the passenger side and awkwardly shuffling around as you try to help Gojo into the seat. It felt like he was purposefully doing everything he could to make this simple task as complicated as possible. Which, honestly, you wouldn’t put past him. 

You eventually get him and his lanky limbs into the vehicle and hold back a laugh when he groans and dramatically drapes himself over your center console, arms spilling into the driver’s seat. You walk around to the other side of the car, moving his arms carefully before sitting down and pushing him to lean against the window. 

“Okay, tough guy. You still have the water Nanami gave you?” You ask. Gojo clumsily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the water bottle he somehow managed to fit in there. Damn men’s pocket sizes.

“Good, I want it empty by the time I make it to your place,” you state, turning on the car and pulling into the street.

“The whole thing?” Gojo whines. You laugh breathily, finding amusement in his drunk demeanor.

“Yes, the whole thing. Gotta stay hydrated so drink up!” You encourage. 

The white-haired man mutters a complaint as he cracks open the bottle, and you watch dumbfounded as he drains it in seconds. 

“I didn’t mean drink it all at once…” you say. Gojo shrugs and sinks further into his seat. 

You drive in silence for a few minutes, the pale, orange street lights whizzing by and the soft, white noise of the tires rolling on the pavement making the ride a peaceful, comforting experience. At least it would be if Gojo wasn’t staring holes into the side of your face. 

In his drunkenness, he’d somehow managed to misplace his glasses and blindfold, much to your dismay. You adore those brilliant blue eyes, but damn, if they weren’t intimidating as hell when they were staring you down. You do your best to ignore it, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat when a cold, calloused finger presses gently against your temple before tracing your hairline, sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Gojo whispers, his words barely audible. Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. 

“O-oh, umm… I- th-thank you,” you stutter horribly. Gojo hums softly as though he’s satisfied with your reaction before laughing lightly. His hand leaves your quickly heating face as he turns back to the window, slumping against the cool glass. 

After what couldn’t have possibly even been a minute, you hear the faintest snore come from the man. You poke his arm, expecting some kind of reaction. But nope, he’s out.

You take a deep breath and start blasting the AC. It suddenly feels really stuffy in here.

You soon reach his house and pull into the driveway before parking the car and climbing out. You open the passenger door, being careful to not let Gojo dump out onto the ground. You shake his shoulders, whispering to him that he was home and needed to wake up. After some gentle-turned-vigorous shaking, the man wakes up bleary eyed and a bit confused. 

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” You tease, taking his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. He grunts, reluctantly swinging his feet out of the car and onto the ground. The moment he stands, he leans back against the car, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. 

“Shhhhit, why did I do that?” He slurs, the alcohol still screwing with his brain. At least he’s more coherent than 30 minutes ago. 

“Not to be like that, but I did try to stop you,” you joke.

“Shut up,” he groans. His eyes open and meet with yours, but instead of holding the annoyed glare you were expecting, they were soft, appreciative. His typically pale complexion was still dusted pink, though not nearly as flushed as earlier, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. 

He leans against you, his arms snaking around your waist in a loose hug, and his head resting heavily on your shoulder as he sighs. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Why don’t you thank me when I’ve gotten you inside!” You laugh awkwardly, pushing the large man off of you. 

Gojo pouts, his soft, pink lips protruding in a way that could only be described as borderline sensual. You tear your eyes away from him and link your arm in his to walk him into the house with much less stumbling this time.

You make it inside, Gojo dragging down the hall to his room while you dig in his kitchen cabinets in search of ibuprofen. Once you’ve found what you’re looking for, you grab a glass and fill it with water before making your way to Gojo’s room.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing through the cold, empty hallway. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears and you open the door. 

You step in and your eyes land on a half-naked Gojo sitting on his bed, stopping you in your tracks. He did say to come in, didn’t he?

He looks at you, a questioning expression written on his face. With everything he’s done this evening, it’s beginning to be hard to believe he’s not purposefully trying to fluster you.

You draw in a breath and walk over to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you nervous.

“Here, for the potential hangover,” you say, handing him the pills and water. He takes it gratefully, downing the meds and water quickly. He sets the glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk, and an odd silence follows after. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home now. G’night, Toru,” you say, turning on your heels and heading to the door. Your hand barely touches the doorknob when Gojo says your name.

“Y/n,” he calls quietly. You stop and turn to him with a questioning hum, but he doesn’t give any response back other than a waving hand, signaling for you to come back to him. You shuffle awkwardly to stand in front of him, confused about what he wants. 

He stands up, his chest almost bumping against yours as he does so. You begin to take a step back, but before you can, his hands are on your waist, holding you in place. You look up at him to ask what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment your eyes meet his.

Those bright, cerulean eyes that were so often hidden from the world, were looking at you with such care and fondness that it made your chest tighten. 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, his warm, soft lips are pressing tenderly against yours. 

Your tense muscles relax and eyes flutter shut as your lips push back against his. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him before one lifts the back of your shirt, fingers dragging slowly over your skin. 

You sigh into him, your own hands traveling up his arms, to his neck, eventually finding home in his silky hair. His other hand moves from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he deepens the kiss. 

His tongue darts out and sweeps across your lips and the faintest lingering taste of bitter alcohol bites your tastebuds, snapping you back to reality. It’s only then that you remember who you’re kissing, where you are, and how you got there. 

Your eyes fly open and hands move to his chest, pushing him away from you harshly. Gojo loses his balance, landing back into a sitting position on his bed, his once peaceful expression now shocked and confused. 

Your hand covers your mouth, surprised by your own actions. It’s only a second or two that you stay there, staring at each other before you decide that you should definitely leave.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” you say, wasting no time in leaving his room and ignoring his calls for you. You jump into your car and start the engine before your door is even closed.

What were you thinking? He’s the drunkest he’s been in ages, how could you let that happen? You curse yourself as you drive home, frustrated that you allowed such a thing when your friend was in such a vulnerable state.

 You make it home and park in the driveway, but you don’t leave. You sit in your car and stare blankly at the steering wheel as the full weight of regret begins to sink in. 

You’ve desperately wanted that man to kiss you for years now. But not like this! Not when he was intoxicated and most likely not thinking straight. You wanted a genuine kiss; one he gave you because he truly wanted to. Not because his drunk-self just wanted attention.

How are you supposed to keep your feelings for him under wraps after this?

You’ll just have to lie. You’ll tell him that it was just a slip up, that you were caught off guard. That he kissed you and- dammit, you kissed him back! And not only that, you were wrapping your arms around him. You can’t play off your feelings for him when you kissed him like that!

You groan painfully as you open your door and force yourself into your house, trudging your way to your room. You change your clothes and crawl into bed before plugging your phone in. The screen lights up with the red battery, which disappears quickly, revealing a missed call and several texts from Gojo.

I’m sorry Y/n. Can we please talk?

It wasn’t what you think

Y/n?

Hello?

He almost never texts you, let alone several times in a row. But you can’t find it in you to respond. You turn off your phone and stare at your ceiling for what feels like an eternity, the moment replaying in your mind on repeat. 

It wasn’t what you think? What is he assuming you think?

You raise a finger to your mouth, remembering how it felt to have his lips on yours as you trace over them. 

It was so warm, so sweet. The way he held you close to him, so strong yet gentle. The way his thumb stroked over your face so tenderly. Maybe… it was real.

No. You can’t allow yourself to believe it was genuine and get your hopes up, you can’t.

You roll over onto your side just as your screen lights up once more. You take a glance at it and find another text from Gojo. 

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please let me explain.

A new wave of anxiety washes over you when you realize you’ll have to see him tomorrow. You do work at the same school after all. You don’t have a few days to process this or even find a way to respond. 

You wrap tighter into yourself and painful tears fill your eyes, not taking long before they’re streaming down your face and soaking into your pillow. You just want the earth to open and swallow you. 

Your only comfort is in the slim possibility that he was still drunk enough to have a chance of not having clear memories the next day. Maybe he’d wake up, see the messages he’d sent you and not even remember what it was about. 

You know it’s a foolish hope. He wasn’t drunk enough during that kiss to have no recollection of it. Even so, it’s the only thought that calms you down enough to fall asleep. 

Okay, all you have to do is file a couple reports, meet with Ijichi and Nitta, and check in with Shoko on a new corpse. You don’t even have to be on campus the whole day, just do your few tasks and leave. 

You were not going to talk to Gojo today. You’re not sure your heart can handle it right now. You’ve barely even processed what happened last night. It’s like your mind is trying to convince you it was a dream. But the unanswered texts still sitting in your inbox say otherwise. 

You decided you would do your best to avoid the inevitable conversation. You’re sure that when he sees you, he’ll likely confront you about it. But, if you were with others, you knew he’d keep his mouth shut. You can’t hide from him, but you make damn sure he can’t catch you alone.

You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually, just not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Or the day after that.

You take a deep breath as you walk into the school and head for Yaga’s office. You’re not too worried about bumping into Gojo here as he usually avoids this part of the school simply because he’s afraid of running into Yaga and being asked to do something he doesn’t want to. 

You make it there without incident and knock on Yaga’s door before entering. Thankfully, your meeting doesn’t last long as you just have to turn in your reports and give him a quick rundown of your past week’s assignments.

Next was finding Ijichi and Nitta. Which meant going to the more common areas of the school. Which meant risking running into Gojo.

At this point, you were just hoping he decided to go MIA today as he typically did. Or maybe he’d be too hung over to even bother getting out of bed. Whatever the case may be, you just hoped he wouldn’t be behind the door to which you are about to enter.

You turn the doorknob quietly and poke your head in, finding no one but Ijichi sitting at a desk looking over a stack of papers, and you feel relieved. You step inside and Ijichi looks up, a small smile appearing once he sees it’s you.

“Ahh, Y/n. You’re a bit early,” he greets kindly. 

“Haha, yeah. My meeting with Yaga didn’t take as long as expected,” you laugh softly as you walk over to the desk and take a seat across from the man. “Where’s Nitta?”

“She’s currently out with the first years. They were sent to investigate the disturbance you reported a few days ago. Turns out it was just a few Grade 3 curses roaming around.” Ijichi replies.

He shuffles the papers spread out on the desk into a few separate piles before picking up each one, shaking them into neat stacks and paper clipping them together.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” you say with a smile. “So, you said you and Nitta needed something?”

“Oh, yes. We wanted your opinion on-”

“Gooood morning!” A familiar voice calls happily as the door swings open. You hunch over in your chair and glue your eyes to the papers in front of you, not daring to look at the man. You didn’t think you would run into him this soon.

“Oh, goodmorning, Gojo,” Ijichi says.

“Ijichi,” Gojo greets and nods to his co-worker.

He turns to you, your eyes still studying the reports laying in front of you. It was obvious you weren’t reading them though, considering they were upside down to you. “Y/n,” he says quietly.

You still refuse to look at him, mumbling a barely audible “good morning” in return.

Ijichi, sensing some tension, clears his throat and returns to the matter that brought you here in the first place. He only had a few questions, wanting your opinion on which recent cases should be assigned to which students. It wasn’t long before you had fulfilled your need and could leave.

You say your goodbyes, stand from the desk and make your way to the door, still having not spared Gojo, who was leaning against one of the couches, even a glance.

Despite hiding his eyes behind that dark blindfold of his, you could tell he’d been staring at you the whole time. You could practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin. But, just as you expected, he didn’t dare bring up anything about the previous night with Ijichi in the room.

You walk out the door, thankfully leaving Gojo behind it. But you weren’t sure how long he’d stay there. You make your way quickly through the halls as you head towards the morgue. You open the door and step inside, the cold air making your body shake with a chill. 

You walk through, but find no sign of Shoko. Deciding that she must be in the office, you turn and start making your way over, it being just a couple doors down the hall. 

You step outside of the morgue and about jump out of your skin when you’re met with blinding white hair. Gojo. Of course. You should’ve known he would catch up to you. 

You stand there for a moment, him standing in the doorway and therefore blocking your exit. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, not really, only giving him quick glances. It must be so easy for him to make “eye contact” when he doesn’t really have to.

“Can we talk?” He says, his voice taking on an unusually shaky and serious tone, and you suppress a sigh. Any hope you had of him not remembering last night shattered with those three words.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quietly, desperately wanting to avoid the impending conversation. 

“Y/n,” he says, his large hand reaching carefully for your arm. You move quickly, avoiding his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk,” you say and push past him, making it through the doorway. You speed walk down the hallway to the morgue office, thankful that it’s just a few doors down. Gojo begins to say something but before he can, you’re knocking on the door, shutting him up quickly.

Shoko opens the door only a moment after you’ve knocked, silently stepping aside to let you in once she sees it’s you. Her neutral expression breaks a bit when she sees who’s behind you.

“Gojo, wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she says, referring to the rough condition he was in last night.

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. He looks at you as he says this and you feel your face grow warm. Shoko walks over to her desk and shuffles through the various items in search of something.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t had that many drinks in a long time,” She asks curiously.

“I feel great actually. Y/n is a pretty good caretaker,” he says, once again looking over at you. “She’s the reason I’m not hungover.”

Yep, you certainly were. Maybe you should’ve skipped the water and ibuprofen. But that was before what happened. Past you had no idea that future you would be cursing that decision.

“He wasn’t too much trouble was he? Gojo’s always annoying when he’s drunk.” Like he’s not annoying when he isn’t drunk.

“He was fine,” you say plainly, wanting to move on from the topic.

“Fine is one way to put it,” Gojo says, an obnoxiously flirty smirk on his face. What happened to the serious and borderline nervous Gojo you had just a moment ago? Bring him back please.

“Maybe I should’ve let Nanami take you when he’d offered,” you mutter. Shoko turns back around to you, confused by the comments being made.

“Is that really what you would’ve wanted?” Gojo asks. 

“If it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, then yes.”

Shoko looks between the two of you, reading the looks on your faces and expertly deciphering that this was not a conversation she needed (or wanted) to be a part of.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Shoko mutters as she collects her things and quickly leaves the room, abandoning you in this anxiety-inducing situation. “We can meet later, Y/n.”

“Ah! Wait, Shoko!” You call, but she ignores you and walks out the door. Well, this certainly isn’t what you wanted to happen. Now you had no excuse to leave and apparently didn’t have anyone to have your back. You knew Shoko saw your plea for help in your eyes and she actively ignored it. But, it is Shoko. She always avoids getting involved in things that don’t concern her.

The silence that follows Shoko’s leaving is so incredibly deafening and you hope the ground will open up beneath you. You debate leaving, but you know that Gojo will just follow you. There was no escaping it now. Dammit, and you were so close to getting out without speaking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Y/n,” Gojo speaks softly. You refuse to look at him. You can’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do. “Y/n.” He steps closer to you and you sink further into yourself, feeling your throat tighten. “Let me explai-”

“What did you mean?” You close your eyes, finding yourself talking before you can even comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“What?” Gojo says, confused. You sigh, annoyed with yourself now for having said anything.

“Your text. You said it wasn’t what I thought it was. What did you mean?” Gojo looks at you. Well, you assume he’s looking at you. He could be looking at the wall behind you for all you knew.

“I…” Gojo starts but doesn’t finish. He sighs quietly and leans against the chair in front of you. He doesn’t attempt to speak again for a long moment and you begin to wonder if he even plans to. And you’re right, he doesn’t speak. But instead, his hand reaches for the dark blindfold hiding his eyes, and he pulls it down around his neck, his snow white hair falling into his face.

You tear your eyes away as soon as he does, not able to bear even the thought of looking at him directly in those blue irises. Luckily, you’re not tempted to as he keeps his head down, his hair shielding his eyes from your view.

“I remember everything from last night,” the man says finally. You feel your heart sink. You knew he remembered, but for some reason, hearing him say so only made your anxiety worsen. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye last night,” he says with a mild, teasing tone, though it was made with minimal effort, the tension in the room making it hard to joke playfully.

Your arms tighten around you and your throat burns, your eyes remaining focused on everything but him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be leaving in such a hurry either,” you say, risking your voice breaking into tears. Gojo chuckles.

“I thought you’d stay for a bit longer after the way you were kissing me,” He jokes, and this time it has his usual lightheartedness to it. Despite that, you feel your blood run hot through your body and for a moment you forget that you’re avoiding looking at him. Your eyes whip over to see him already looking at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Wha- you kissed me!” You whisper yell, afraid that someone outside may hear you. You can’t believe him. HE made a move on YOU, and yet he wants to talk about the way you were kissing HIM?

“Buuut, you kissed me back!” He says accusingly but airily. You close your mouth at this. He’s right, you did. And this is just what you were afraid of, him realizing that you kissing him back meant you actually enjoyed it if only a little. You couldn’t hide it.

“And I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You turn your gaze away just in time to miss the way Gojo’s face twitches and his smile drops. Before you can’t stop yourself, you continue to speak, the coil in your throat snapping and the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me to begin with. But please, I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. I know you were drunk and it was a mistake just… Please, don’t tell me that.” 

The silence that follows your statement is so quiet that you can hear Gojo’s uneven breaths alongside your own. You feel the urge to run, to walk out the doors and never turn back. To find a hole somewhere to bury yourself in, never to resurface.

“You think I made a mistake?” Gojo’s words barely reach your ears, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it. He looks at you, completely dejected. “Even if I did feel that way, do you think I’d come here to mock you for it? Do you think I’d be that cruel?” The hurt in his voice is so obvious that you can feel it yourself.

“I… I don’t know.” Truthfully, you did know. You knew he wouldn’t do something like that. He may be annoying, but he’s not cruel. It was out of your own fear of the outcome that you were avoiding this conversation. But then, two words in his statement stand out to you. 

Even if. 

Meaning even if it was a mistake. Meaning he didn’t think it was?

The tears welling in your eyes begin to fall when you dare to look up at him, his own already on you. But you don’t look away this time.

“Would you have kissed me if you were sober?” You ask quietly. Gojo’s shoulders slump and his face grows longer at your words. He takes a cautious step towards you, testing to see if you’ll back away. And you don’t.

“Y/n, I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. He takes another step forward, this time reaching out a hand to place on your arm, and you don’t pull away.

“That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t what you thought. I knew you figured it was an alcohol-influenced choice. And while the alcohol admittedly may have had something to do with it, that wasn’t why I did it.” Your vision blurs as you begin to cry, your tears feeling like rivers of fire as they flow down your cheeks.

“I did it because I wanted to, Y/n,” he admits. He lifts a hand to your face, wiping your tears as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.  “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. And one I don’t regret.”

You close your eyes, not being able to see with them open anyway. His other hand moves from your arm to swipe at your tears, both hands now cupping your face tenderly.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumble. You raise your hands to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your thumbs stroking over the back of his hands. You open your eyes, your vision clear enough to see him looking at you fondly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His soft lips that, in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking about all morning.

Your gaze must have lingered on his mouth for a moment too long as his smile widens. He comes closer to you, his head towering over yours and his hands guide your face to continue looking at him.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. But.” He leans his face to yours, his warm breath against your lips. “I would like to kiss you again. And I hope you won’t run away this time.” His voice lilts in that familiar, teasing tone and your heart twists.

“I won’t,” you say with a breathless laugh. 

His large hands continue to hold your head as he moves forward, wasting no time in putting his lips against yours in a passionate but tender kiss.

And this time, you let yourself kiss him back.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[golbrocklovely]

complicated // colby brock (pt. 2)

A/N: hilariously when i first drafted this, i was gonna make it a lot meaner/hate fucking like, with a lot of jealousy thrown in. but damnit, bridgerton has foiled my plans again and has really turned me into a lover lol so i made this a little bit softer than originally planned. hope yall like it regardless, and please let me know what you think :) see yall with another fic real soon !

prompt: time has passed since you and sam hooked up, and all seems well. except now… colby is upset with you for some unknown reason. || fem!reader x colby brock

trigger warning: SMUT, angst, jealous!colby, possessive!colby, he's still really sweet tho, you guys were out clubbing so... tipsy/drunk sex, mentions of: baby, good girl, darling, cursing, quasi-public sex, could almost get caught, lots of teasing (both sexually and non), mentions of colby having seen you and sam hooking up, sweet ending :)

word count: 3066

~~~~~~~

The morning after Sam and I had sex was awkward to say the least.

We both ignored each other, which was easy since Sam and Colby had many calls and business related things to do. And I, being their assistant, had my own tasks at hand for the following week to start.

But when Sam and I were finally able to sit down and talk about it, it went surprisingly well.

We came to two very important conclusions: one, while we had fun, we weren’t going to ever do it again. We cared too much about our friendship to let sex ruin it. Plus the spark really had only been there that night.

And two, we were to never tell Colby.

Everything seemed good for a while. Life got back into the swing of things; Sam and Colby were traveling, I was handling the business side while they were gone. Normal, boring life occurred.

But all the while, I had this strange feeling. Maybe it was due to the fact that Colby had grown cold towards me, almost standoffish. He sometimes would keep to himself, that wasn't unusual; but his demeanor around me became stiff, almost like he was upset at me.

I wanted to confront him, ask him what was wrong, but it never felt like the right time. When the right time finally did come, it was during a couple days stretch where the boys had off. One night when we went out and both came home empty handed, I decided to finally ask him.

His answer was not at all what I was expecting, but in a way it was the one I wanted to hear all along.

I wanted the truth and now I was finally getting it.

~~~~~~

“No way. I cannot believe you used to run away from cops for a living.” Nicole, Sam’s new… friend, said as we walked into Sam and Colby’s house.

A playful look rested on Sam’s face as he nodded. “Yeah, and we did it pretty well.”

“Up until you got arrested.” I chimed in, smirking.

She gasped. “Oh my God, you got arrested? For what?”

“Breaking and entering. And fake ids.” Colby explained.

“Woah woah, the fake ids were just a you charge, Colby.” Sam replied defensively.

“And that was the first and last time Sam and Colby were separated ever again.” I quipped.

Colby turned to look at Sam, a faux-pained expression on his face. “I just can't quit you.”

“Me neither, brother.” Sam sniffled, pretending to hold back tears. The both placed hands on each others' shoulders, giving a tight squeeze.

Nicole glanced back and forth at Sam, Colby, and me, amused. “You guys are so funny. I have been having such a blast all night.”

“I'm happy to entertain you for as long as you'd like.” Sam lowered his voice to an almost sultry tone, moving to her side.

She bit her lip, looking into his eyes. “Maybe you could do that alone? Upstairs, perhaps?"

Sam gave a cheeky look at me and Colby, "I'll see you guys later."

Nicole giggled as she pulled Sam up the stairs, Sam following suit as he whispered something to her and snickered. I peered over at Colby, waiting for Sam's door to shut before speaking. "Well, she seems nice."

“Yeah she's sweet.” Colby agreed, pulling out his phone. He began to walk to the kitchen, and I followed him.

“So... what do you plan to do the rest of the night?” I asked.

He mumbled. “Might order some postmates, then call it a night.”

“Exciting.” I deadpanned, slightly annoyed at him. I changed the subject, thinking that was the cause, “That new club we went to was a lot of fun. The live music was so cool to hear.”

“Yeah it was.” Colby didn't look up, continuing to scroll through his phone.

I sighed, exhausted. “You know, you've been acting this way all night with me.”

“Like what?” He exhaled, finally looking up.

“Short. To the point.” I stated.

He shrugged. “I don't feel like being social.”

I scrunched my face at him, “It was your idea to go out tonight.”

“My social battery ran out really fast then.” Colby blinked, frowning.

“It's not just tonight though. You've been like this for over a week at this point. I thought maybe it was because of work, but....” I trailed off, unsure.

He pursed his lips, “What?”

“You're icing me out. What did I do?” I questioned, stepping towards him.

He moved back, shaking his head. “I don't want to talk about this.”

I followed him. “Well I do. So talk.”

“Okay, if you really want to talk…” He rubbed his eyes for a moment, finally speaking. “Do you have something to tell me?”

My heart stopped. “What?”

He repeated, his eyes icy. “Do you have something to tell me?”

I sucked my teeth, knowing exactly what Colby was referring to. “...I'm gonna kill Sam.”

He chuckled darkly, “Oh, no no. Don't get pissed at the guy that told me what happened.”

I huffed, “We promised each other not to tell you.”

“He folded real quick on that.” Colby crossed his arms, leaning against the counter.

I stared up at him, puzzled. “When did he tell you?”

“A couple days after it happened.” He informed.

I groaned, spinning to yell towards the stairs, “He really went behind my back and just flat out told you. What the fuck, Sam?!”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Colby argued.

I turned back, “Oh, c'mon Colby. You know why.”

“No please, do tell. I would love to hear why.” He jeered.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “Do you think I want to tell one of my best friends 'hey just so you know, me and your other best friend, who is also my friend, fucked'? Of course not!”

“Why? You shouldn't feel uncomfortable doing that. Since you did it so publicly, in this very room, might I add.” He shot back.

My eyes widened for a second. “He told you we fucked in the kitchen?”

“No. He's too nice for that.” Colby stepped towards me, almost looming over me. “Do you remember a couple months back when we thought someone was trying to break into the house, so we got extra security cameras installed?”

I crossed my arms defensively, “What does that have to do with this?”

“We didn't get the cameras installed just outside the house. We also got some installed in the common areas. One in the living room....” He leaned down, whispering. “And one in the kitchen.”

“You're kidding.” My breath hitched involuntarily. 

“Any and every movement that happens in these areas gets recorded. When Sam told me you two fucked, I thought he was joking. But I checked…” His voice fell off, an almost smirk coming to his face.

I stuttered, “Y-You-?”

“You really know how to put on a performance.” Colby spoke condescendingly, staring into my eyes with a mischievous glint.

I scoffed, putting space between us. “Fuck you.”

He rolled his eyes, “You wish.”

I glared, exhaling harshly. “You know, you're acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

“Really?” He sassed.

“Yeah. Why the fuck do you care if I slept with Sam? You've never cared about who he hooks up with. But you suddenly care when it's me?" I scowled.

“I care who he hooks up with.” He argued.

I placed my hands on my hips, “Name me literally one girl he's gotten with within the last month or two. Any of them.”

“Nicole is upstairs with him now.” He remarked sarcastically.

I narrowed my gaze, “She doesn't count.”

“Sorry I don't memorize all of their names. I don't need to really remember them since I'm not the one sleeping with them.” Colby bickered, turning away from me.

I thought for a moment, a realization appearing in my mind, “Any time I've almost hooked up with someone, you've always been so aggressive towards them afterwards. But now since it was Sam, you're angry with me.”

“I'm upset because you didn't tell me. Instead, you wanted to keep it a secret from me. That's why I'm pissed.” He rebutted, facing me once more.

“But what's the difference between Sam telling you or me telling you? You've known basically since it happened, why are you still holding it against me?” I sneered, “Unless, of course, you're jealous.”

He queried angrily, “Jealous of what, exactly?”

“You're jealous I didn't sleep with you.” I hissed.

He shook his head, his voice faltering. “Give me a break, Y/N.”

“No no, be honest Colby. Why else are you pissed? You found out a week ago, and have held it against me just because I wasn't the one that told you. You found out regardless, so what is there to be pissed about?” I searched his eyes, but he tilted his head away from my glare. “It's none of your fucking business who I sleep with, whether it's Sam, the guy down the street, or a random guy at the club. You're not my boyfriend. I'm allowed to fuck whoever I want to!”

I spun on my heel, but Colby's hand gripped my wrist, spinning me back to him. My eyes locked with his for a brief moment as he grabbed my face, kissing me deeply. I shuddered a breath, taken aback by how passionate the kiss was. Colby wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against him, as his other hand pulled on my hair lightly.

“You're right, Y/N. I hate how fucking right you always are.” He nipped at my lips, a low groan leaving his mouth. “Do you know how frustrating it is seeing you with other guys? Seeing them put their hands on you, when that's all I can think about doing?”

“Colby!” I gasped quietly, our mouths meeting again. He pressed me against the counter, the spot feeling eerily similar on my back.

Was this the same spot as-?

“I shouldn't have been a dick to you, I'm sorry. But I will never apologize for wanting you all to myself.” His voice came out in an almost growl, “I want you to be mine, and mine alone.”

My mouth fumbled over my words, my hands gliding up his back. “W-Why didn't you just say that? Why now?”

“Seeing you fuck Sam in here weirdly was the wake up call I needed,” he chuckled bitterly. “I thought that maybe all this time I was just overly protective but no... I am jealous. I don’t want to see you with anyone else ever again.”

Colby's hand lifted up my leg, wrapping it around his waist. He slowly inched his fingers higher and higher until he was under my dress, tickling the lining of my underwear. “Let me show you how badly I want you. Please.”

My knees almost buckled at the sound of his voice. The desperation. I nodded, unable to form words, and his hand slowly slid up more until he pressed his palm against my sex. I squeaked unintentionally, a smirk coming to his face. He rubbed slow circles into my clit, my back arching instantly.

“You're already soaking through your panties... Fuck me.” He grunted.

I bit my lip, “Seeing you jealous is honestly kind of a turn on.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh really? You like making me jealous? You like me being possessive of you?”

“I like hearing you admit you like me, so if that does the trick…” I trailed off, teasingly.

He pressed harder into my clit, a moan ripping through me when he did. He moved his mouth down, sucking on my neck in time with his movements.

My hands snaked down his torso, touching every muscle on my way to his belt. I clutched the buckle, loosening his belt from his pants. I slipped my hand inside, cupping his growing bulge. He gasped, grinding his cock into my hand.

He closed his eyes tightly, “Fuck baby, that feels so good.”

My cunt clenched at the sound of his voice, needing him deeply. “Please Colby. Fuck, I want you so badly.”

“I need you too, Y/N.” Colby exhaled harshly, “Spin around for me.”

I glanced at him for a moment, shocked by the hunger in his eyes. I turned around, placing my hands on the counter. The cool surface felt like ice against my hot skin, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I heard a package ripping, Colby sliding a condom on that he grabbed from his wallet. Suddenly his hands were on me, pulling the skirt of my dress up until it rested above my ass. He rolled my panties down, his hands massaging my thighs on their way back up.

“You ready for me?” His voice dripped with an aching need: me.

I breathlessly sighed, “Yes, please.”

He pushed my legs open, the tip of his cock teasing my entrance. I mewled at the feeling, backing my hips up until my ass hit his crotch. He groaned, his one hand gripping my hip while the other rested on my back.

Slowly he glided his cock inside of me, both of us holding our breaths as he did. I stretched around him, his size bigger than what I was used to. He filled me up more and more, my eyes fluttering in ecstasy. His body relaxed against mine once he was all the way in, a shuddering 'fuck' falling from his lips.

“Move, Colby. God, please!” I begged.

His hand moved around me to cover my mouth jokingly. "Shh, you can't be too loud. Don't want Sam and his girl to know what we're doing."

I rolled my eyes, knowing that they were lost in their own world and would give no shits about us fucking in here. Colby smirked against my skin, kissing and nibbling my neck and shoulders. His hand drifted back, running through my hair, tugging lightly. His hips began to move in low thrusts. I bit my lip to not moan loudly, but it was so hard. He felt like heaven, and way better than all of my dreams had imagined.

“God, you feel amazing, Y/N.” Colby whispered lightly, “So wet for me.”

I gripped the counter, holding myself into place as he bucked into me. I moved my hips in time with his, meeting him with each thrust.

His hands cupped my hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into them. “You are fucking gorgeous, baby.”

I hummed a moan, my head lulling back. Colby's hand collided with my ass quickly, slapping it. I let out a small shriek, surprised by the impact.

“Colby!” I giggled, looking over my shoulder at him.

He grinned, his dimples appearing briefly. “Can't help it. Wanted to do that for so long.”

“Really? So you've been staring at my ass all this time?” I questioned.

“Oh yeah. Every chance I get.” He raised his eyebrows smugly.

“Perv.” I joked.

Colby laughed, sliding all the way inside of me and stopping. He pressed me against the counter, his hand drifting down and rubbing my clit. “And you're just like me.”

My eyes almost rolled back into my head from the pleasure. “H-how?”

“You're letting me fuck you right in the same spot Sam fucked you in. They could come down any minute and catch us. You want that to happen, don't you?” He grunted, his voice sounding like pure sex.

His fingers on my clit made it hard to think, let alone respond. I stuttered out a curse. His lips were against my ear, “You're mine from now on, you hear me? No one will ever touch you like this again besides me. Say it. Say you're mine.”

“I-I'm yours.” I whimpered.

“Again.” His hips started back up, fucking me harder against the counter than ever before.

“'M yours.” I slurred, my orgasm growing closer and closer.

He slapped my ass again, “Tell me one more time, darling.” 

“I'm yours! Fuck Colby, I'm yours!” I exclaimed, unable to hold back.

“That's my good girl! Fuck yourself on my cock. Do it.” Colby demanded.

I bounced on his dick, his fingers still rubbing my clit over and over again. I was panting, unable to hold back any noises that escaped my throat. My hand slid down to his hand on my clit, pressing him more into me. I gripped his wrist, my nails digging in.

“You close baby? You gonna fucking come for me?” He cursed, his thrusts picking up speed.

I cried out, “Pleaseeee Colbyyy, I wanna come!”

His other hand wrapped around my throat, lightly squeezing for a second. He taunted, “Shhh, you can't scream, Y/N. Even though I know you want to."

Colby pounded into me harder, guttural moans and the sounds of our skin slapping together filling the room.

His voice was hoarse, hungry. “I'm close, darling. Ffffuck you feel so good!”

I desperately whined back, white knuckling the counter as my high grew near. "I'm gonna fucking-!"

“That's it, Y/N. Come for me. Soak my cock and come!” Colby thundered.

My body exploded into an orgasm, my vision blurring. I cried out in ecstasy and pleasure, my hips bucking helplessly around his cock. Colby picked up his pace, thrusting into me passionately. His husky groans echoed in my ear as he came. His hands dug into my skin, his fingers curved as he rubbed my clit through my orgasm. I shook against him, my body finally relaxing against the counter as my pleasure subsided a minute later.

He rested his forehead against my back, spreading lazy kisses and licks across my shoulders and neck. I smiled, catching my breath slowly. His hands moved, softly caressing my skin as he stood up. He picked me up off the counter, spinning me back to face him. Resting me back against it, his body still against mine. His eyes scanned my face, taking in every detail.

“Hi.” He whispered sweetly.

I grinned, “Hi.”

“You okay?” He asked, lightly brushing my hair out of my face.

“Never better. You?” I giggled.

“I'm great.” Colby pecked my lips, pausing briefly. “I wasn't kidding when I said all of that, you know."

"I believe you." I breathed.

"So... you're still mine, right?” He murmured.

“Of course." I lowered my gaze bashfully, "And you're mine?”

He nudged my face up, our eyes locking. “Absolutely.”

<< part one ||

[sungbeam]

OFF THE RECORD ▷ PART TWO (EP9-17)

nonidol!ji changmin x fem!reader

everyone thinks ji changmin is cute and harmless, but you know that's not who he really is.

▷ genre, part warnings. e2l, childhood friends gone bad, (extra) slow burn, fluff, angst, crying lol, mentions of childhood trauma and parental manipulation, arguing, bittersweet galore, nct ten is there for the sole purpose of being nosy like the rest of us or for being a 2nd male lead who knows!, swearing, hurt/comfort, kissing!, ji changmin dancing (need i go on), symptoms of panic/anxiety, a lot of non-tbz moments sorry i meant it when i said extra slow burn, im literally writing abt people who dance like gods but im a plebian w two left feet i have no idea what im looking at except for hips—, pining haha...ha (more subtle until the end), he's in a bathrobe near the end sorry children

▷ PART TWO WC. 17.6k

love in unity series m.list / otr part one

a/n: if u haven't read part one GO AWAY GO READ PART ONE ??? WHAT'RE U DOING HERE

EPISODE NINE: OFF THE AIR

IT was common knowledge that the week before finals week was referred to as the dreaded Dead Week. Campus was barren, coffee shops and libraries were packed, and almost everybody lived in some variation of sweats, hoodies, and eye bags. You were actually holed up in the research lab (yes, again) because your deadline to get this paper to your graduation advisor was literally looming over your shoulder, and though you were practically done, you were too paranoid of not catching some dumb typo before you turned it in.

Plus, the coffee in the lab break room was free and sponsored by your resident graduate student supervisor, and beloved older brother figure, Qian Kun. God rest his workaholic soul and empty pockets.

There weren't many people here this afternoon; most had retreated to their own homes or offices or wherever they dwelled during the Week of the Dead.

Then there was Ten.

"So do you guys just wither away here by yourselves?" Amongst the empty workbenches, his words seemed to unnecessarily resonate. From his perch in Kun's office, he spread his arms wide to gesture to all the empty space.

Kun pressed his fingers to the space between his eyes. "Yes, now let me wither in peace."

"No, I don't think I will."

You felt yourself smile. Ten had come in a few hours ago with lunch for both you and Kun. Supposedly, when he had heard that the two of you habitually ran on only coffee and dreams during Dead Week, he took it upon himself to swing by the nearest fast food restaurant and pick up a very belated lunch for you both. You’d chomped down on it with Kun in his office, but as soon as you were done, you retreated back to your desk.

The sky outside of the research laboratory was already beginning to bruise to a gray-blue-purple, the color of a dusty blueberry. Soon, you would have to surrender yourself to the night and head back home, but hopefully before that, you would decide that you were at least too tired to continue staring at these same seventeen pages for hours on end…

All three heads perked up at the sound of the laboratory building door opening and closing in the distance. None of you were exactly expecting anyone, especially when people usually indicated when they would come into work. You craned your neck from your workbench to see who had come in—

“I’ll only be a minute,” you heard and recognized your colleague Jacob Bae as he strode in from the outside corridor and into the main laboratory floor.

He met your eyes and smiled. “Hey, Yn.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

He let out a sigh as he jogged past your desk and headed toward a cupboard in the back corner. “I forgot that I left my—” His voice cut out as he ducked into the dark cupboard and withdrew a giant plastic tub. From the plastic innards filled with paper, he fished out a specific packet of paper shoved into a flimsy manila folder. “Forgot my thesis draft.”

You coughed out a laugh. “Dude.”

His grin was innocent and boyish, standard Jacob. “What? A guy’s gonna forget some things sometimes.”

“Is that what you tell your girlfriend?”

He sent you an unimpressed look. “Ha ha, Yn. Very funny. For your information, she’s more forgetful than me sometimes.” He stuck his tongue out at you as he passed by your workbench, and you, as the very mature person you were, stuck your tongue out back at him. It was only fair.

A cough sounded out from the entrance to the laboratory, and you turned your head to find Changmin, out of all people, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Peering out from behind the corner of the wall, however, was his friend Sunwoo from that other night. And yanking Sunwoo back behind the wall was Chanhee. Strange.

Someone (you suspected Chanhee) gave Changmin a firm shove into the laboratory, sending the latter stumbling in before he caught himself and regained his balance. He was swaddled in a dark colored puffer jacket and a red scarf, his red-tipped nose and cheeks bitten by the cold. For the first time, he looked smaller than he was, almost shy or nervous. You hadn’t encountered this Changmin in a long time.

He wasn’t one to look vulnerable out in the open like this.

As Jacob passed by Changmin, he clasped his shoulder in reassurance.

“Hi,” Changmin said slowly as he approached your workbench.

You were still a little dumbfounded that he was here again. “Uh, hi. What’re you doing here?” The argument the two of you had earlier in the week replayed in your mind, and you almost grimaced. You’d both said even more hurtful things, and you supposed you had just been so sensitive that your brain just automatically went into defense mode to protect yourself.

No, you hadn’t been there that night for him. You hadn’t expected to see anyone there at that time of night. That was the whole point of you going so late. You had been trying to get yourself to go into the practice room on your own, but the longer you had stood there, staring at the door, the more you realized you couldn’t do it. It still didn’t sit well with you, how affected you were by your mother’s past words.

Changmin kept his distance, but he came close enough that you could hear what he was trying to say without the others listening in too much. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

You blinked. “Talk? Like right now?” Your eyes darted to your computer screen and the practically finished paper displayed. It wasn’t like you wanted to keep working on it, but your heart beat startled at the sudden thought of having that very important conversation right now, when you weren’t ready.

He caught onto your movements though. “No, no—I mean,” he stammered, recovering with a quick swipe of his tongue over his lip, “just whenever. It doesn’t have to be now. I just figured it’d be best to get that… out in the air, you know?” I think it’s what we’ve been needing all this time. Something proper; no more yelling matches.

For a second, you thought you could see some of the old Changmin in this one. It wasn’t like he had changed, per se, it was more like he was finally showing that part of himself that you had been missing all along. You swallowed, nodding. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll, uhm, text you sometime tonight after I turn this paper in.”

He nodded back at you. “Yeah, cool.”

When you saw him begin to back away, a thought suddenly occurred to you. You called out to him to get him to stop, and you could have sworn that there was a gleam in his eyes then. “Changmin—about Sumin…” You inhaled deeply as you fought for the right words to express your next thoughts, “be gentle with her, okay?”

Even then there was a pang in your heart as you uttered those words. Sumin had texted you all about her interaction with Changmin a day or so ago regarding his “interview”, and she had been gushing about her crush on him. She had even asked you how much you knew about him and if you could give her a crash course in all things dance or even Changmin. Suffice to say, you felt trapped between a rock and hard place, but you didn’t want to let her down. (You’d always wanted to be a big sister; you didn’t want to push her away because of feelings that you were too petty to address.)

Changmin’s head tilted to the side as he made a confused face. “Huh?”

You sighed, “You seriously didn’t notice?”

“No, actually,” he quipped.

You pursed your lips; why weren’t you surprised? It wouldn’t be very cool of you to reveal Sumin’s crush on him if that wasn’t what she wanted. You would have to be subtle, but also not subtle, then. “Just—” you made a vague gesture with your hands, “—don’t be brash.”

“Brash?”

“Don’t be mean,” you amended.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You thought even Ten rolled his eyes from where he was in Kun’s office. “You’re hopeless, really.”

Changmin’s face pinched, and he was moving back closer to your workbench. “I’ll have you know that we’re both hopeless.”

You deadpanned. “Now I’m pretty sure we’re not even in the same ballpark,” you muttered in exasperation. “Whatever. Your friends are waiting for you, Changmin.”

His lips pressed into a line. He glanced quickly over his shoulder where his friends were pretending to not be eavesdropping, then looked back at you. “Okay, yeah. Just don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” you promised.

EPISODE TEN: OFF THE MARKET

CHANGMIN glanced up at the entrance to the coffee shop, matching the sign in the window to the one he had searched up on his GPS app. It seemed to match from what he saw.

Today was the Friday of Dead Week, a handful of days after he dipped out of his interview with Sumin and confronted you at the laboratory. He had consulted Chanhee that day, regarding his mess of feelings about the situation with you, and Chanhee had practically forced him to go with him and Jacob to the laboratory. (Sunwoo just happened to tag along because he, apparently, felt left out.) Changmin wondered how Chanhee could have possibly known that you would be there, but Chanhee dismissed his worries by assuring him that after he asked you, he would feel a lot better and less like a hot pile of shit.

Chanhee was right, as per usual. Not that Changmin was going to admit that aloud to him ever.

But today was important because of two things in particular, and they both had to do with things that occurred several days ago. The first item on the agenda was going into this cafe to finish up that un-started interview with Sumin. After he had given her his number that day, she was swift to send a greeting text to him to set up a time and place to meet. Changmin actually had yet to visit this coffee shop in particular, but then again, he was a bit partial to the one Jacob introduced to the group last quarter.

Your words of advice, or caution, rang in his ears like the bell that twinkled above the door as he walked into the building. Be gentle with her. Don’t be brash. Don’t be mean. What did all of that even mean? He liked being interviewed, especially when it was about dance, so why would you think he would be anything but well-behaved? Part of him thought it was based off of the two of your interactions for the past three years, but he knew you had the good sense to know he didn’t treat just anyone like he treated you.

The thought remained fresh in his mind even as he scanned the room for a familiar face.

Sumin was seated in a secluded booth in the corner of the coffee shop. When she saw him, she waved him over excitedly, slipping her compact into her purse. Her laptop was left on the table in front of her, but unopened. Huh, maybe she just got here, too.

Changmin slid into the booth across from her. “Hi, sorry, were you waiting long?” He asked as he shouldered his jacket off and set his bag on top of it.

Sumin perked up a little bit. “Oh, no! Don’t worry. Did you have a good week?”

“Ah, as good as the week before finals can be, I suppose,” he chuckled, leaning back against the booth seat. His eyes darted to the unopened laptop still in the middle of the table and he cupped the back of his neck. “Did you wanna order anything to drink? Or have you ordered already?”

She shook her head, her hand reaching up to fidget with the end of one of her curled locks of hair. “Hm? No, I didn’t order yet! I was waiting for you so we could order something together—I mean, at the same time.”

“Cool, yeah,” he cleared his throat, signaling for one of the workers’ attention with a wave of his hand. “We can order and then get started.”

“Ah, ha, right.”

Once orders were taken, Sumin finally cracked open her laptop and got a couple things set up. Changmin patiently waited for her to get all settled, his eyes wandering about the shop and absentmindedly observing the workers behind the counter as they bustled about to prepare drinks and pastries.

Sumin coughed, “Okay, I figured that recording is a little unnecessary, so I’ll just be jotting some notes down on my laptop.”

Changmin bobbed his head. “Sounds good.”

She shifted in her seat, her posture straightening, as she figured out how exactly to start. “I hope you’ll be patient with me since I haven’t been doing this for a long time, but Yn gave me some pointers to start with,” she said sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No problem! I totally understand; take your time.” He cocked his head to the side unconsciously, “Yn didn’t offer to sit in for your interviews?”

“Oh! Uh, she did, but I insisted that I was feeling confident enough to do them on my own,” she laughed lightly. “Definitely a bit nerve-wracking, but I think the interviews with Juyeon and a few of the other dancers went well earlier in the week.”

“Hey, I mean, I admire your courage,” he said with what he hoped was an encouraging enough smile. “Just take your time with it, Sumin. We’ll make sure to get you all the info you need.” There. Was that what you meant by not being mean? Wasn’t this just being considerate, though?

His foot tapped against the ground absentmindedly as he thought about the next thing on his agenda after this interview: talking to you. It was weird, having to almost set an appointment to have this very needed talk, but as you had said, you texted him your availability and the two of you just happened to both have this evening free. He just needed to finish this interview… There was still plenty of time.

His words to Sumin seemed to make her shoulders relax a little bit, and she jumped right into her first question. Changmin would answer as thoughtfully as could, which wasn’t too difficult seeing as he was literally talking about one of the things he was most passionate about in this world. He could probably talk about dance and his love for dance for days on end. Sumin, in turn, would skillfully and naturally continue the conversation so it felt a lot less like an interview, and more like an interaction between friends about dance.

Perhaps he didn’t even realize when the questions became less about his experience about dance and more about him; when Sumin gradually stopped typing notes down on her laptop and instead leaned her chin onto her hands to watch him; or when she suddenly asked—

“Is that your ideal first date then?”

Record scratch.

The words on Changmin’s tongue died instantly, and his brain scrambled to process what she had just said. “Sorry?”

Sumin’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing. “I—I mean, you were talking about going to see live dance shows with your former partner and I just…” She shook her head with an embarrassed laugh, “Sorry, was that too forward?”

Changmin blinked once, twice; dear god, he must have been running his mouth without even realizing. “I was talking about Yn?”

That ripped Sumin right out of embarrassment—well, it was closer to mortification. The color on her cheeks had turned pale. “Yn is your ex?”

Fuck— “No, no, no! She’s not. She’s definitely not—”

Sumin covered her face with both of her palms in distress, a sentiment that was definitely shared between both parties in the booth. “Oh my god, and I’ve been telling her all about my crush on you, too. I must have looked so stupid.”

His eyes flew open. “Huh?!”

“Please, I’ve been so obvious, Changmin!”

Not to me, he thought. Jesus, was he really so blind? Was this what you meant this whole time? Changmin waved his hands around in an X formation, trying to reign the conversation into some level of sanity. “Sumin, I can assure you, that you definitely weren’t obvious until you literally just said it,” he began. “And so we’re clear, Yn is not my ex-girlfriend. She was my ex-dance partner and friend, but not a significant other.” As much as it sucked to admit that—

Sumin slowly lowered her hands from her face with the light reflected in her eyes wobbling. “Oh… okay, I guess that makes sense then.”

Changmin let out a haggard sigh, holding his hand to his head. “Yeah, well… I guess I should say that I’m sorry, but I don’t really share the same feelings for you?” He shook his head to himself, trying to rephrase: “What I mean is that I’m not exactly looking for a relationship. I’m kind of messed up right now.” Understatement of the century.

She pursed her lips, but nodded. “I get that. Thanks for being so cool about it.”

“Least I can do,” he said, clasping his hands together over the table.

“So,” she drawled with a wince, “I take it this interview is over?”

He brushed a hand through his hair. “If you have everything you need and there are no hard feelings?”

She inclined her head in the affirmative, and that was that.

— ✶

Even on a Friday evening, if it was the week before an exam season, the library study rooms were always packed, one occupier after the other. Attempting to score one was the equivalent of launching a stakeout, complete with charging cables, two cups of coffee, and a will of steel (to wait hours for a room to open up). Someone must have been looking out for you though as you managed to snatch a study room as soon as you arrived on the second floor of one of the main student libraries on campus. When you and Changmin had exchanged an, albeit brief, bit of texts, you both agreed that meeting somewhere that could serve as common ground would be good for the both of you. It had to be semi-private, as well, since neither of you wanted to let anyone else in on your private, personal problems.

The library study rooms were your solution, and maybe this was the universe’s sign that this discussion needed to happen.

As soon as the door closed gently behind you, you set yourself up in one of the chairs around the small, rectangular table at the center of the room. Changmin said he would be a couple minutes late because the bus had been late to pick up his stop and Chanhee was borrowing his car, so you texted him to let him know which room you were in.

While you waited, you attempted to ease your mind by scrolling through social media and flipping through emails and returning to social media, and wait, did you ever get a reply back from that one TA? All the while, your knee would bounce up and down ceaselessly, your fingers shaking and cold and numb. You were perhaps seconds away from your throat closing in on itself again, but then the door opened.

Changmin murmured a “hey” to you as he closed the door behind him and lowered himself into the seat across from you.

The room was quiet. “Hey,” you said back, clearing your throat.

You watched as his nostrils flared slightly as he exhaled. “What did you mean by ‘when did I stop caring’?”

You were a little startled that he decided to start right away, but on the other hand, relieved that he did. You wouldn’t have known how to begin anyway. “When did you stop caring?” You parroted in case you hadn’t heard him right. If you weren’t mistaken, he was referring to what you had said that night in front of the practice rooms.

He gave a nod. “Yeah, I was thinking about what you said…” He scratched his jaw, continuing lowly, “...y’know, on the bus ride over here. And I just don’t understand where in the world you got the idea that I ever stopped caring about you.” He met your eyes then, and you could see the tightness in his jaw, but the gleam in his irises.

This wasn't about being right anymore; it was about making things right.

"You—" you grappled for words, finding yourself pinned down by Changmin's relentlessly piercing gaze, "—I just got so much radio silence from you."

"You were giving me the same excuses."

"Because it was the same, exact problem," you fired back. "And, okay, so they were excuses, but god, Changmin. I could just see how with each passing day, you looked at me differently because I was late or I told you I couldn't make it. Didn't I give you reasons why? Just that disappointment and cold shoulder…" It broke my damn heart.

Changmin's arms were crossed over his chest as he considered your words, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. "I never," he began, "thought poorly of you, Yn." It sounded like he was struggling to piece together the right words, too, and he choked down a swallow. "I was going through a lot of shit around that time, and my patience was always paper thin by the time it was our usual practice time, y'know? It was never you specifically I was mad at."

He paused for a moment. His head hung, and he picked at a stray thread on his jacket cuff. "My parents said they wouldn't support me if I majored in dance."

Your heart stopped clean.

"They basically said I'd have to finance myself for all four years if I wanted to make dancing a career," he said with a flippant, helpless gesture. "I was given some scholarship money from the school, but it was nowhere near a full ride. So I was stressed the fuck out because I knew I needed to win those comps to get more money. They were cool with me dancing as, like, a hobby or a way to get into college, but as soon as I told them my intended major was dance?"

Well, shit.

Horror pooled in your gut, the kind that started up at your shoulders and spider-crawled down the length of your spine. "I'm so sorry, Changmin. That must have been so much pressure for you, oh my god."

This entire time, you'd been under the impression that his parents were fine and dandy with their son becoming a dancer. He'd always had a natural, prodigal talent for the art form. He was the absolute cream of the crop from your class, and you couldn't believe they could be anything but proud of having a son like him.

But you supposed you shouldn't have assumed. There was a cost to being a hypocrite.

Changmin nodded, but it wasn't very affirming. It was like he had heard it all before and had already accepted it all grimly and reluctantly. "Yeah, well… I won all those comps, but what did I lose in the process, y'know?"

He gestured to you. "I just thought I'd always have you to run back to, but you were going through your own stuff. I'm not trying to pin the blame on you—it's… just that… you were my best friend. My partner."

"It's funny you say that," you said then, drumming your fingers anxiously against your leg. "I thought I could rely on you, too. And I definitely drifted away from you, but it was because of my own reasons."

Changmin nodded, settling his hands on top of the table and leaning in slightly.

Still, every time you told someone, you could never get it right. But maybe you could get it right this time. "You know how my parents got divorced and I said that my mom had changed?"

His forehead creased then, and he nodded again.

"She started yelling a lot," you said. "Would always make me listen to her scream in my face about how dance was useless, how dance would never help me in the real world, how I was absolutely awful at it and that I should be focusing on something worth my time." You swallowed, continuing on, "And when I told you I couldn't make it or that I was late, it was because she started refusing to take me to practices and competitions and shows.

"And I mean—I tried really hard to keep going, Changmin, I really did." You raised your eyes to meet his and found him staring at you still, but this time you saw that glisten in his eyes again. The tension in his jaw had slackened, and had been replaced with that same dread you had while he was telling you what happened to him. "I thought that I could get past what my mom kept telling me, and that once I got to the practice room—I just needed to get to the practice room—it would all be worth it."

There was a stinging feeling in the back of your eyes, at your tear glands. Your vision was blurring and you blinked back the traitorous tears.

Changmin pursed his lips, his face contorting slightly as he too tried to contain the emotions welling up in him. "And then I shut you out."

"We shut each other out."

"Why—" he rasped, his hand coming up to cover part of his mouth, "—didn't you tell me? I would've—god, I would've—" He didn't know, actually, but all he knew was that he would've been better. Would he have though? Truly? Would you have?

"I didn't like talking about it," you confessed, sniffling. You were ashamed of yourself, both then and now. You raised your hand up to wipe the corner of your eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, fuck, don't apologize." He stood, arms opening and palms turning upward like an offering, "C'mere."

Both of you, teary-eyed messes, stumbled out of your chairs to close the distance in each other's arms. It was the feeling of finally holding each other after three years that made the two of you break down completely. The study room's quiet was filled with sounds of messy, blubbering sobs—hands grappling at the other's jacket, faces shoved into the warmth of a neck or shoulder.

Two pieces of a puzzle having finally been reunited.

This was where you belonged.

"This was all I wanted," you bawled into his shoulder.

It seemed to make his body tremble harder. "I would've given it to you—god, I would've given you anything. I'm so goddamn sorry."

"Hey," you mused half-heartedly, "if I'm not allowed to apologize, then neither are you."

He gave a watery chuckle. "Okay, fine." His wet eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes and tightened his hold around you. "That must have been awful, Yn. How…? Just how."

You rested your cheek against his toned shoulder. "Somehow… I don't really know. I'm proud of you, though, you know? I'm really proud of you."

"Thank you. I'm proud of you, too." He sniffled, mouth pressing against your shoulder. "All this time, I thought you hated dance and hated me."

"Oh, god no," you sniffled, sucking in a breath. "I—I knew I couldn't be strong anymore; I didn't want to disappoint you." And when you could no longer attend those practices, you had believed it would be better to not be there to drag him down. You thought that without having to wait on you every time, he would have been all the better. You see now that perhaps you were wrong in your logic.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the other's arms as words settled and feelings sunk in. The realization that this tension between the two of you was possibly over now was crazy.

"For the record," Changmin murmured, "you're a great dancer. No matter what your mom told you, you'll always be a great dancer."

You laughed a little, shaking your head. "Not anymore, I'm not."

"That's where you're wrong." He pulled away from you and you saw the tears staining his dimpled cheeks, but the smile he was giving you was something out of a dream. He gently, playfully punched your arm. "You're still my partner, after all."

EPISODE ELEVEN: OFF THE SHELF

EVER since Changmin, Chanhee, JC!Yn, and her roommate Kei decided to change the weekly grocery shopping session to Saturday mornings, Changmin had never been so grateful for such a change until now. It used to be on Sunday mornings during the fall quarter because JC!Yn volunteered at the local children’s club on Saturday mornings, but since the Sunny Side Up Club had begun closing its doors on the weekend until summer break, her Saturdays had suddenly freed up.

Kei, as usual, had waltzed off in search of her own shopping list items, leaving JC!Yn and Changmin with the shopping cart of groceries and Chanhee sitting in the middle of it, cross-legged and swaddled in a pink hoodie.

“That’s awful,” JC!Yn lamented as she slowly trailed after Changmin while pushing the cart. There was a frown etched into her face, as well as Chanhee’s, while and after Changmin had caught them up on the events of the previous day’s talk with you. “I mean, I know some parents are super strict about their kids studying, but…” She shook her head, “You’ve both been through a terrible amount of shit, man.”

Chanhee nodded his agreement, peering up at Changmin who was at the helm of the cart, staring at the label on a container of canned corn blankly. “Yeah, for sure. How’re you holding up, Changminnie?”

Changmin shrugged half-heartedly and rather mopey. “As well as I could be.”

“Well, are you guys good now?” JC!Yn asked. “Y’know, after clearing all the air?”

Changmin made a face at the canned corn, but handed it to Chanhee to place amongst the other things in the cart with him. “I mean, kind of? Not really?” He scratched the side of his head, and his two friends looked on at him, then exchanged worried glances. Usually Changmin was the one cracking jokes, but to see him in such a state… “It’s just a little awkward now because we’ve been on ice around each other for years. Going back to normal shouldn’t be easy, should it?”

Chanhee pursed his lips, his head tilting from side to side. “That’s true. When you guys were still in grudge era, you let all the angst between you do the talking.”

“Angst? I was not angsty, for your information.”

Both of his companions scoffed their disagreement. “Every single time her name was brought up around you, you gazed far off like some kind of angsty main hero,” Chanhee retorted. “Like Kevin at that one dinner when we were interrogating Eric.”

JC!Yn laughed. “That feels like so long ago.”

Changmin sent her a look, the corner of his lips tilting upward like the arch of his eyebrow. “That’s because you and Jacob act like you’ve been married for ten years.”

Her face heated at those words, but she held her chin up in pride. “I’m gonna pretend this is your jealousy talking.”

“Oh, please,” he quipped back and turned back to the shelves to hunt for any other familiar labels that would trigger his hunger. “If I wanted to be so grossly in love—”

“Then you’d go find Yn?”

“—Then I’d go find Y—HEY!” Changmin sputtered as his cheeks lit up like the can of roasted red bell peppers in his hand. Chanhee and JC!Yn exploded into equal fits of delighted cackles, the former extending his arm back so the latter could return his fistbump. Changmin scowled through his flustered haze. ��Whatever; taking advantage of my vulnerable state is not cool, guys.”

Chanhee beamed up at his best friend with the kind of smile that no one could be mad at. It was impish, adorable even. “Aw, it’s only ‘cause we love you.”

“Gross,” Changmin muttered, wrinkling his nose dramatically, then nudging his glasses up his nose.

As she stopped the cart behind Changmin, JC!Yn rested her arm against the bar and let her chin sit atop her fist as she and Chanhee watched Changmin scour the shelves again. “Didn’t you say you had feelings for her back then, Changmin-ah? Would you say they were still present or not?”

He sucked in a breath at the question as he let the question marinate in his brain. After yesterday’s world-altering talk with you, neither of you were able to stay too long afterward to catch up. You’d both, unfortunately, been called to your own separate summons. But this morning, when Changin had woken up with the information having been properly processed in his brain and given him room to overthink as he did… Truthfully, he had no idea where the two of you stood with one another. It wasn’t going to be the same, not like childhood and not like the past three years.

He didn’t exactly know what to say to you now, only that there was still that emptiness in his chest. He hadn’t expected the feeling to go away, but he also hadn’t expected it to remain. What was he supposed to do? He was pretty sure you didn’t even like him like that back then, so there was no way your feelings would have changed in that sense over the past three years. Some said that distance made the heart grow fonder, and while Changmin wasn’t one for cliche lines, he did feel an ache for you. He wanted to make up for lost time. Even if you didn’t feel the same way he had back then, it didn’t mean that he still felt the same… right?

“I think we lost him,” came Chanhee’s very loud stage whisper.

Changmin shook out of his mind and leveled a glare at his two friends. “I’ll think about it.”

“Didn’t you just think about it?”

“Hey, if JC!Yn-ie can take an entire quarter to tell Jacob-ssi her feelings, then you can give me like, five minutes to think about mine!” He squawked, waving his arms around in the air like one of those car-wash balloon people that flopped around in the wind. Except this one was high on emotions and his round lenses were slipping down his nose, adding to his overall mad man-like look.

JC!Yn deadpanned, shaking her head as she began pushing the cart after Changmin. She muttered under her breath, “He’s just astounded that he has feelings for someone, JC!Yn. Let him be touchy today.”

Chanhee, who had heard her speak to herself loud and clear, twisted around to grin and pat her arm reassuringly. “He’s just malfunctioning because he might actually have a chance now.”

“I can hear you!”

Chanhee chuckled, and the sound was villainous.

The three of them, as per routine, met up with Kei at the checkout lanes. There was one occasion where one of the workers was so tired that they tried to scan Chanhee and make them pay for him, but other than that, most people just offered him a sweet from the jar on the counter. As groceries were bagged up, and Kei was caught up on the situation at hand in verbal bullet point format, she took only a moment to suggest: “Why don’t you invite her to the dance showcase?”

All eyes went to Changmin, even as JC!Yn pushed the cart out with the group.

Changmin chewed his bottom lip. “I would, but... I dunno. I don’t want to trigger anything for her.” He winced to himself, “It would be really cool to have her there, of course! But I literally saw her in the practice room a week ago and she looked like she was seconds away from having a full-on panic attack.” As much as inviting you to watch him perform for the first time in three years thrilled him (and nearly sent him into cardiac arrest), he had seen you that day—blanched, struggling to breathe. He couldn’t imagine just what thoughts were running through your head then, especially after hearing what you had told him yesterday.

He was so—god, he was so angry at your mother. He knew about the divorce and the negative effect it had on her, but for her to practically take all that energy out on you? It was something simply unforgivable. His heart hurt for you.

Chanhee dipped his head in a slight nod, mouth curved down into a frown again. "That's fair. But I mean, it wouldn't hurt to ask, would it?"

"I just don't want to come off as insensitive, especially after three years of the cold shoulder." Your words from yesterday had penetrated him deeply—he hoped to never make you feel abandoned ever again.

Kei peered around at Changmin from the other side of JC!Yn. "If it counts, I don't think she'll take it as being insensitive, Changmin."

"She might feel better about getting, y'know, a personal invitation from you," JC!Yn chimed in. "Even if she isn't comfortable with going, she'll know you're thinking of her."

Changmin pressed his knuckles to his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. It was amusing, and perhaps a little concerning, for his friends to see him like this. He flapped the ends of his sweater sleeves in the air like he was hyping himself up. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll invite her to see me perform."

He raised an arm into the air toward the sky. "The next time I see her, that's what I'll—"

"Oh, look, she's right there," said Chanhee, pointing in the distance from his cart throne.

Changmin squeaked, "She's what?!" He slid behind JC!Yn in a very poor attempt to hide himself from the oncoming party.

Said party consisted of you, Yeri, Mark, and Ten—again. Except, instead of the coffee shop across the shopping mall, it was the parking lot on his friends' turf. Mark and Yeri were the first to see Changmin's friend group, both of them making unsubtle glances at Changmin. They passed by with friendly greetings, excusing themselves as they argued over the possibility of the store having watermelon (the answer was no; sorry Mark).

You and Ten lagged behind slightly, seemingly deep in conversation. The latter listened intently, but he felt eyes on him and looked up. His eyes twinkled as he made eye contact with Changmin—Changmin couldn't tell whether or not he liked that feeling.

You realized that he was looking outward and onward, and so you followed his gaze. Your eyes widened a tad at the sight of Changmin's friend group manifesting out of nowhere. "Hi guys," you said with an awkward smile when you and Ten met them in the middle.

"Hi Yn-ie," Chanhee giggled, turning around to wag his eyebrows at Changmin.

Changmin threw back a very unimpressed scowl. He let a smile grace his face just as he looked back at you. "Hey Yn, Ten."

JC!Yn unsubtly began pushing the cart to uncover Changmin. "Hey, you two. Changmin was actually just talking about you, Yn!"

Traitor! Changmin's jaw dropped.

Ten grinned. "That's really funny, 'cause Yn was just talking about you, Changmin."

You glared daggers at your friend with the same level of betrayal in your eyes as Changmin expressed. At least you were both getting thrown under the bus.

Kei nudged him. "Don't you have something to say to her?"

"We'll get out of your hair!" Chanhee chirped, patting the side of the cart as JC!Yn resumed her pushing on the cart past you and Ten. "See you at the car, Changminnie!"

As Changmin's last line of defense walked away with JC!Yn and the shopping cart prince, Ten inclined his head to you. "Should I stick around for this?"

You sighed under your breath. "Probably not. I'll see you inside?"

"Whatever suits your fancy," he mused, shrugging. As he passed by Changmin, he winked, then whistled some random tune as he went on his merry way.

"So what's up?" You asked him then. It seemed to be a cozy morning for you as you fidgeted with the ends of your big, woolen sweater. There was something delicate about the way the corners of your lips curled up into a smile.

Changmin cupped the nape of his neck. "Oh, uh, I know we had that whole talk yesterday, and I was wondering if you'd wanna come see my performance at the winter showcase on Friday?" He added quickly, "No pressure, of course. If you're uncomfortable, then you don't have to worry."

Your lips pursed together in a slight pucker. "I'd actually love to go. I mean—" you swallowed, "—I haven't gone to one since freshman year, but I'd love to."

"You can leave whenever you start feeling uncomfortable," he assured you, but he was smiling widely now. "It'll be cool to, y'know, have you in the audience."

"That means a lot, Changmin," you said earnestly, your smile sweet. It was almost weird to not have you frowning or glaring at him. It felt… good. It felt really good. “I will try my best.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked on his heels, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to suppress the eager grin threatening to come out. “That’s all I could ask for.”

EPISODE TWELVE: OFF THE CHARTS

YOU were late. You were extremely late, actually, and to be honest, if you had known the bus was going to break down in the middle of the stupid road, you would have gotten off and walked. But then again, you were practically buried in all of the bundles of flowers you wanted to bring for your friends performing tonight. There were four bundles in total that you bothered to pick out just about two hours ago, one for Minho, one for Jungwoo, one for Ten, and of course, you could not forget one for Changmin.

When Changmin had personally invited you to come see his performance tonight earlier in the week, you couldn’t deny that the feeling made your chest warm and fuzzy. Even as you trudged your way up the stairs to the front of the performing arts building, you were filled with adrenaline and antsy energy. You’d waited so long for this, hadn’t you?

The last time you had come to see the winter showcase was in freshman year, the year the Daily asked you to write a review piece on one of the performers debuting that year, and even that had been enough of dance for the years following. It would be nice to know, this time, that you were wanted in the audience. (Changmin would have wanted you in the audience all this time, but you didn’t know that.)

Because you were unquestionably late, the doors to the hall would be closed shut now.

That was why having a friend like Boo Seungkwan was paramount.

“Thank you,” you gasped as one of the doors to the performance hall burst open and allowed you into the warmth of the lobby. You could hear the bass of whatever song was on and the audience’s cheers from here.

Seungkwan swept half of the bouquets from your arms with a click of his tongue. “Yah, you’re insane for taking the bus all the time. Yeri even asked to pick you up!”

“I know, I know!” You cried, the two of you scurrying over to one of the doors in the hall. “I panicked at the last second to get flowers and then I had to go all the way to the shop on fifth! By the way, did you know they’re open until 11?”

Both of your voices quieted as you slipped into the darkened auditorium. The stage was the only part illuminated in blinding, searing hot spotlights. You had just walked in on a brief break between acts as performers switched on and off stage. Seungkwan led you to one of the rows of seats in the nosebleeds that was relatively in the middle.

All of your friends practically occupied the entire row, and they lit up in delight at the sight of you.

“Yo Yn!” Mark whispered as he leaned over Yeri. “You’re actually here!”

Yeri reached over to squeeze your hand as you took the open seat next to her, and Seungkwan took the last seat in the aisle. “I’m so happy you’re here, Yn-ie.”

Doyoung and Kun peered out from around Mark, and you recognized a couple others from the NCT frat and RVE sorority further down the row. “Hey guys,” you said quietly to them as you wrangled your purse into your lap and adjusted the flowers in your arms, “how much did I miss?”

“Not much at all," Doyoung replied. "It's just been a few of the first years."

"We've got a little while until the older batch," Kun said with a wave of the program in his hands.

You nodded your understanding and settled into your seat to get comfortable. The performances went on one after the other. There was a mix of all different genres, ranging from contemporary ballet to tap and popping. Because everyone in the final winter showcase were in some kind of dance course on campus, a lot of the acts displayed a ton of experience already, even as first-years.

The longer the night went on, the less you believed your antsiness was a result of a nervous tick, but rather the bottled up adrenaline building up from watching all the performances. At some point, you realized you weren't even analyzing the performances anymore, but rather, sitting in awe of each one.

When a brief intermission was announced, Yeri and one of her sorority sisters squeezed past to head to the restroom while a few others from the row headed out to stretch their limbs and find some other friends. You and Seungkwan lingered in your seats, discussing your favorite performances so far, as well as how your finals weeks had gone for each of you.

"I'm just so glad we have spring break now," he groaned, his head hanging with exhaustion. "I might have skipped tonight if that meant I could sleep early."

"You would have regretted it though," you pointed out to him.

He gestured with his hand. "Right, you are." He let out a sigh as he raised his head and met your smile with a tired one of his own. "Well, Yn, you did it. You're watching your first full winter showcase. How do you feel?"

Your gaze flickered back to the stage. The house lights had come on for intermission, leaving the stage drenched in darkness. You could have sworn you saw the heavy red curtains shudder as if someone had poked their head out to view the audience. You remembered when you and Changmin used to do that when you were kids.

You turned back to Seungkwan. "I feel surprisingly okay," you confessed. "I was a little nervous before, but I think that I'm doing good."

He nodded. "Good. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, Kwan." You exhaled. "I didn't fully realize how long this was gonna be," you mused.

Seungkwan raised a brow at you. "Well, didn't you only stay for like, Changmin's performance last time you were here?"

"Well, yeah—"

The house lights suddenly shuttered off, and people rushed back to their seats. Your friends who were coming back squeezed past you and Seungkwan, effectively cutting off your conversation from before. The last half of the night would be handed over to the students who were majoring in dance and had been a part of the program for over two years.

You were properly in awe of the next performances. They had decided to put Ten out first, dancing to a song called Baby Don't Stop. He had mentioned the song to you once, but you hadn't really thought much about it until now. It was a side of Ten you hadn't seen yet since you had never seen him dance properly, but… you were definitely going to need to gush about this to him afterward.

You were pretty sure the crowd didn't quiet down for five performers in a row, as crazy-talented dancers such as Minho and Jungwoo followed after.

Each performance was incomparable to the next, and soon, you were sucking in a breath to the sound of Changmin's name being announced.

You slapped your hands onto Seungkwan's and Yeri's on either side of you, both of whom squeezed and shook your hands back as the curtain rose.

The lighting began a deep, electric purple, painting Changmin to look like a dark silhouette on stage. You almost couldn't make out the details of his white and black suit-like uniform. It was dynamic and unique with the suit cut outs and gloves, and he paired it all with an eye look that made his eyes feel darker and smokier.

He was still at first—until a set of horns, like trumpets, blared from the speaker's and he began striding forward.

You heard Mark gasp from two seats over. "Holy shit, he's dancing to Action Figure."

You vaguely recognized the title, but if you were thinking of the right song, then the room was about to get a lot louder. Unconsciously, you squeezed Seungkwan and Yeri's hands as you leaned forward and lingered on the edge of your seat.

The performance was everything you expected and more. Changmin was, as you had expressed before, the absolute cream of the crop. Each movement was brought with sharp precision, like the blade of a knife. Even during the slower bridge portion, he somehow executed the legato-like movements with a crispness of 4K HDR quality.

Everyone in the room held their breath (or screamed it out) with each sultry gaze, each lick of his lips, each smirk—a great dancer, a great performer; he would forever be one of the greats. That, you were very certain of.

When the song came to an end and he raised his head to peer at the audience through his bangs, you and everyone else erupted into applause, whistles, yelling—all the works. Your heart palpitated so hard in your chest that you thought it was trying to mimic his own dance. You were practically shaking from all of the bottled energy, and…

"Wow," you breathed out as you leaned back in your seat as the stage was reset for the next act. Your knee began bouncing fervently, sending the flowers in your lap up and down as well.

Seungkwan murmured his agreement, "Whew. I can't tell if I'm attracted or intimidated."

You snorted, patting his hand with your palm. "Both?"

"Probably."

You laughed, your hand lifting up to absentmindedly press against the base of your throat and sternum.

You couldn't help but think about what Changmin had revealed to you that day. How could a pair of parents not be absolutely floored to have a son as talented as Ji Changmin? It was so unbelievable to you, but you couldn't imagine how it might have felt to suddenly have all that support be ripped out from beneath your feet like his support had been.

The performances following would finish off those of the solo category. Afterwards, a handful of groups performed, including repeats of a few performers. Minho and Jungwoo had performed a stage together (Finesse, if you weren't mistaken), while Changmin and Juyeon made a return to the stage with another sultry hit by the name of Light a Flame.

By the end of the night, you were eager to head backstage to see your friends who had just performed their hearts out.

Plus, the bouquets were wilting.

Once the house lights had thunked to life, and the crowd was beginning to lessen, the row you were seated in with your friends stood together. Some of them were going to head straight home, but a few others planned to stay back to congratulate the performers on a night well done.

"You guys ready to head back?" Mark asked while nodding toward the stage with his hands shoved into the pockets of his puffer vest.

The high you were on was gradually fading out, and you had to clear your throat. "Can I meet you guys back there? I think I'm gonna take a quick breather and then just go in through the backdoor."

They were more than okay with accommodating you, encouraging you to take as long as you needed. Mark and Yeri both took the remaining two bouquets from your arms as Seungkwan ushered you out the door to take that breather.

As you hit the cool, early-March air, you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself and inhaled deeply. All around you, people lingered and chatted with each other, gushing about their favorite performances and reenacting the most memorable parts. You smiled to yourself when you overheard a group of boys near you talking about Changmin's tasteful choice in music, as well as the cohesion of his entire performance, ranging from not only the music choice, but down to the costuming as well. (And the choreography, of course. Everything about his performance, as emphasized, was breathtaking.)

With a sigh, you began rounding the building toward the back entrance.

Now that you had the space to deconstruct your thoughts, you realized that although you felt an indescribable amount of pride for your friends, you couldn't help the pit forming in the bottom of your stomach. In a way, you envied the performers onstage. You wished you had held on a little longer; maybe then, you could have been one of the people on stage tonight like you had wanted when you were just a teen.

When you reached the back door, you managed to gather your strength and let yourself in.

Like that day you had taken Sumin backstage, it was all hustle and bustle, but ten times that. Pandemonium erupted as performers raced past you left and right trying to find their friends, fellow performers, and even the location of their hairspray. (They should have put their name on it, you thought cheekily, but even then, it might not have worked still, you supposed.)

You kept your arms crossed over your chest as you squeezed past people toward where you were hoping to find your friends. As you walked into the dressing room corridor, you nearly collided with a silky dress shirt.

"Yn! I can't believe I found you," Ten chuckled.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him in an affectionate embrace. "Ten! I can't believe you found me either. It's a madhouse here." You scanned the faces and bodies buzzing about for any sign of your friends. "Have Mark, Yeri, or Seungkwan found you yet? They have the flowers I was gonna give you."

Ten's lips curled up into a smile as he pressed a hand to his chest. "Gasp, you got me flowers?"

"Yes, and please never say 'gasp' aloud ever again," you winced.

That only made his smile grow. "No promises. But what'd you think of the show tonight? I'm glad you stayed the whole time."

"It was incredible! You were incredible," you amended with your eyes likely the shape of stars. "Who gave you the absolute audacity to be so talented, sir! I swear I heard some girl faint a couple rows behind me," you joked.

His eyes narrowed into sly, little crescents. "Oh? And did you faint for mine, too? Or did you save that reaction for another special someone?"

You flushed, your eyes averting to anywhere but the nosy feline before you.

Ten threw his head back in a loud guffaw. "Okay, okay. I see how it is. He's been looking for you, by the way."

Your eyes went wide. "And you wait until now to tell me?"

"I wanted my dose of Yn affection, too," he shrugged, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Plus, the look on your face was well worth it."

"Sometimes I hate you."

"Some is not all," he pointed out.

"—you said she was over here? Yn!"

Yours and Ten's heads turned and you watched as Changmin's eyes found yours in the crowded room. He began pushing his way toward you, sweat still dampening the strands of hair and falling into the collar of the dark blazer he wore for Light a Flame.

Ten snickered under his breath. "Well, I'm gonna go find Mark to get my flowers. Text me later, 'kay? Okay!"

Before you could blink, Ten had disappeared into the masses. You swore that man was so slippery sometimes.

You glanced back in the direction that you saw Changmin coming from,but when you couldn't find him, you frowned. It really was awfully hard to find people in here…

"Boo!"

You swore your soul left your body for five seconds. You whirled around, glaring daggers at the impish squirrel man who somehow ended up behind you. "You're such a menace."

Changmin grinned so wide it looked like even his dimples were strained. "Sorry," he wheezed, not sounding sorry at all. "The opportunity presented itself on a gold-plated platter."

"You should feel very lucky that I wasn't holding lemonade this time."

"Okay, but why were you drinking that without a cap on the cup? Did they not give you a plastic lid or something?"

You felt the corner of your mouth lift. How was it so easy to recall these things? "It's just the universe telling you to end your pranks."

He shrugged helplessly. "I can't help that you are so easy to sneak up on."

"You're gonna say that when I somehow heard you asking if I was in here from across the room?"

"That's because I let you hear that; there's a difference," he said, leaning against the corridor wall next to you. He looked you up and down, tongue darting out for a moment. "Thanks for coming tonight."

You leaned your shoulder against the wall next to him. "I enjoyed myself," you said in reply. "You did really well tonight though, Changmin. It was a great performance."

He grinned, and his tongue had to poke the inside of his cheek. "Just great?"

You raised your eyebrows at him and decided to bypass that question for the moment. "Did my friends give you your flowers?"

Changmin showed his empty hands and you deadpanned.

"What?" He giggled. "I'm just stating the obvious."

"You're so infuriating sometimes."

He gently bumped your shoulder with his. "Nothing new."

Nothing new, indeed. It was strange, actually, falling into this kind of easygoing, light-hearted banter. You'd seen how easy it was that night in the lab, but this was nice, you had to admit. Banter and arguing were two different things, you learned, and the latter always took such a toll on those involved.

How did the two of you stay away for so long? Maybe you were both too prideful, too afraid to break the ice.

Changmin's expression sobered a little as he observed your expression. "What're you thinking about?"

You blinked, glancing over at him. "Nothing, just…" Your voice lowered to something like a whisper, "I missed this." I missed you.

And as you met his eyes again, you knew that he had heard you. He swallowed, roughly. "Me too."

EPISODE THIRTEEN: OFF THE CUFF

THE quad was in bloom with the coming of spring and spring break. It was tradition at your university to take pictures and to take a stroll through the freshly bloomed cherry blossom trees lining the rectangular lawn. Only in spring did the trees reveal their beautiful, baby pink flowers, so it was optimal to go frolic amongst them while they were full.

Changmin had been dragged out by Chanhee. Well, he liked to say that Chanhee forced him outside, but in reality, Changmin had put just as much effort into his appearance today as Chanhee did, just not as formal. And luckily, it wasn't just the two best friends who were out with them among the crowd of people, but also the entirety of their friend group—plus the significant others, too.

"I hate this more than Valentine's Day," Sunwoo grumbled as he blew a curl out of his eyes. He was referring to the couples all around them taking pictures and holding hands and kissing.

"You're telling me," Kevin sighed as he messed with the settings on his camera for the pictures he wanted to take of the scenery. "At least on Valentine's Day, people won't photobomb you."

Sangyeon had his phone out and was already taking photos of the blooming flowers around him and in the trees. He suddenly turned his phone around, set at point five zoom. "Hey guys, look here and smile!"

Everyone in the shot (all the singles: Chanhee, Changmin, Sunwoo, Kevin, Juyeon, and Hyunjae) slapped smiles onto their faces. As soon as Sangyeon put the phone down, their smiles dropped.

"Who was that for?" Juyeon asked as he slung an arm around Sangyeon's shoulder to peer at the eldest's phone screen. He made a groaning noise before peeling away. "Ahhhh, 'The Girlfriend'. I see."

Sangyeon cocked a brow at him. "Have you finally accepted that I have a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

Sangyeon's eyes looked up and away in exasperation, before he shook his head and returned to doing whatever he was doing.

Changmin surveyed the crowded quad with disinterest. He scanned all of the faces present around him; too many to count that was for sure. Jacob and JC!Yn had separated from them almost immediately; Eric and his girlfriend were off being cute or something; Younghoon and his partner hadn't even traveled here with most of them; but at least Haknyeon and his significant other stayed with them for the first five minutes to make conversation about the dance showcase a few nights ago.

He sighed. That was how long ago it had been since he last saw you. (My god, he sounded like some kind of lovesick teenager, waiting by the landline for his lover to ring him up—)

On the other side of the quad, you and your friends had just arrived to do the same exact thing Changmin's friends were. But as soon as you saw the crowd, you were five seconds from simply giving up.

"We'd get like, one flower, and that's it," Seungkwan argued to Yeri who was trudging forward despite the load of people around.

Yeri huffed. "Not if you don't try, Boo Seungkwan."

He made a noise of disgruntlement, his head lifting up and nostrils flaring. "Oh my god—"

"Yn, my wife, defend my honor!"

You snapped up straight, tuning back into the conversation. Mark and Jungwoo trailed somewhere behind the three of you and if you weren't careful, you'd lose them, too. "Huh? Oh, well, Seungkwan…" Your voice trailed off, and your eyes wandered to a specific gathering of trees further down the lawn from where you currently were.

It was unfair how he was framed like a K-Drama shot: the slow motion pink petals drifting around him, his lithe body gracefully leaning against the dark bark of the cherry blossom tree, the green sweater vest layered over a white shirt and pants. You gulped—he looked way too pretty to just be standing there—

"—hello? Earth to Yn?" A hand was waving in front of your face and someone was poking your shoulder.

You shook away from them, eyes wide like a child with your hand caught in the cookie jar. "Huh?"

Seungkwan and Yeri sent you curious looks. "You were staring at Changmin," said Yeri, arms crossing over her chest.

Seungkwan let out a dramatically wistful, little sigh as he scratched the side of his head. "You're so lucky that Ten's not here; we are so very merciful compared to him."

You rolled your eyes, even though they were right. "I wasn't staring! I just—I couldn't tell if it was really him or not."

"Because I'm just so breathtakingly beautiful?"

"Definitely n—what the fuck," you yelped, nearly leaping out of your skin again at the right of Changmin's dimpled smile as he seemingly appeared out of thin air right next to you.

Changmin erupted into howling laughter, folding over onto his knees as he slapped his leg once, twice—

"You're not even that funny," you grumbled, side-eyeing both him and your friends. (Guess you really did lose Mark and Jungwoo…)

Seungkwan and Yeri did not hide their own laughs very well, but they definitely weren't knee-slapping themselves.

"How'd you even cover so much ground that fast?" You queried, whirling back on Changmin.

He lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, his hands resting in the pockets of pants as he stood in a relaxed posture. His skin was unfairly pretty in this lighting, like his smile. "I harnessed my inner squirrel."

"You mean your inner furry?"

Seungkwan and Yeri chose this moment to slip away, calling out something like "we're just gonna go walk a tree" before bowing out. Changmin feigned an expression of offense, pressing a hand to his chest. "Rude! It's called athleticism."

You wrinkled your nose. "Like you know what athleticism is."

"I'll race you to the stairs over there right now—HEY, CHEATER! I DIDN'T SAY GO—" Despite his indignant squawk, Changmin's cheeks hurt from how hard he grinned as he raced after you toward the stairs at the other end of the lawn.

— ✶

"So… no Ten today?"

After a daring race, you and Changmin settled on top of the stairs overlooking the entire lawn. The sun hung at golden hour position and painted the landscape and people below in beautiful, buttery gold wash. You even swore you saw Chanhee chasing after Sunwoo with a handful of loose cherry blossom petals, no doubt to dump into the latter's hair.

You looked over to where Changmin was leaning back onto his palms next to you. "This again?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, I mean," he drawled, "you guys are pretty close. I just figured you'd do this kind of thing together."

"That's fair," you conceded. "Uh, he's actually on a trip with a couple of his frat brothers this week. Something like backpacking in Switzerland."

Changmin gave an indulgent nod of his head. "Wow. Switzerland."

"I know, right?"

He peered out into the distance, eyes squinting against the strength of the sun, but he looked like an art piece nonetheless. “You and Ten aren’t, like, together? Are you?”

You tilted your head to the side. Interesting question. “No, we’re friends. I think in the beginning it might have felt like something on that level, but we’ve both—I think we’re both on the same page where we stand with each other.” You didn’t know why you were telling him so much; he’d only asked you a question. But speaking of being together with someone… You coughed, “Sumin told me what happened during the interview a couple weeks ago.”

Changmin smiled sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Oh, ha, she did? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

“You really didn’t know?”

“That she liked me? No,” he laughed with a shake of his head. He leaned forward onto his knees then, turning his head to the side to look at you with his fingers laced over his knees. “Who do you take me for, hm? I couldn’t just assume she had a crush on me.”

You feigned a look of disagreement, and he gasped, shoving your upper arm playfully. “I’m not that bad!” He exclaimed.

“You could be that bad,” you teased.

You watched as his expression cooled and the air around the two of you shifted. There was an earnestness in his eyes now, emphasized by the brilliance of the setting sun reflecting across his smooth lines of his face. “Have you ever thought about, you know, like trying to dance again?”

You weren’t sure what prompted this change in subject, but you gave it a thought. “I definitely have,” you said honestly, “I just can’t really step into a practice room without getting nervous.” You picked at a stray thread on your pants as you spoke and felt his gaze on you. “That night—the one when you saw me in front of the performing arts hall really late at night—I was trying to get myself to go in. To at least… try, y’know. Maybe prove to myself that I could work up the courage to go in, but I couldn’t.”

Changmin was quiet for a moment. His knees angled themselves toward you, and he leaned forward so his chest practically laid over his legs. “I said a lot of bad things to you in senior year,” he said lowly. “They were stupid—I was stupid. And—and if your anxiety with practice rooms comes from me, then—”

“Changmin,” you interrupted and captured his attention. You shifted to mimic his body positioning, so your eyes were level and you were both just as small as the other. “I said really shitty things to you, too.”

“I told you that you should quit,” he rasped. He had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see the silver pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Yn; I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

You heard his sniffle over all of the chatter from the lawn below and you moved closer to him until your legs and arms were pressed together. You wrapped an arm around him, only for him to raise himself up and practically drape himself over you, his arms looped around your upper body and his face tucked into the side of your neck. Your heart tripped over itself in surprise, but you let yourself lean into his body heat.

“I’m sorry, too. I know you didn’t mean any of it. I didn’t mean any of what I said either.” You breathed for a moment and sighed, simply allowing him to stay in your arms for however long he needed. “I think,” you started, “even after three years, I still blame myself for letting all of that get to me. Sometimes, I want to go back in time and slap some sense into myself; maybe tell myself that I shouldn’t have let what my mom said bury itself so deep inside me. I mean… where would I be now had I not listened to her?”

Changmin pulled away then, resting his forearms on his legs again, but he didn’t back away from you. “You were just a kid, Yn. You can’t blame yourself.”

You rested your cheek against your fist. “I know. It’s hard not to, though.”

“I know.” He took another look at you, and you felt his eyes really take you in for a moment. The corner of his lips lifted. “Are you happy?”

“With?”

“With how you turned out? Where you ended up?”

You held your breath. It was a good question, and as you turned to search yourself inwardly, you came to a couple of conclusions. “In a way, I am. It’s probably just bitterness and regret I feel when I wonder what could have been, but maybe things happen for a reason.”

He nodded, his hand reaching up to pick out a stray leaf that had fallen into your hair. “We can always make up for lost time now,” he said. “We never did get to finish that duet.”

EPISODE FOURTEEN: [GET] OFF THE GROUND

THE next day, you found yourself standing outside the back door to the performing arts building. Because it was spring break, a large helping of the student population had abandoned campus as soon as their finals were over, leaving the place barren except for the area with the cherry blossoms. You stood next to Changmin, the latter holding his bag by the strap over his shoulder. You had been staring at the door for more than a minute now, trying to slow the palpitations of your heart.

“We can leave whenever you want to,” he murmured to you, the back of his hand nudging yours. “Let’s just try.”

You got yourself to nod.

The hallways were uncharacteristically quiet compared to the previous couple of times you had been back here. Since there was no one else here, you and Changmin got to pick whichever practice room you wanted. The largest one was the winner, and the lights flickered on to wash the shadows away. You immediately moved to one side of the room to set your things down, and Changmin went to his corner by the speaker. He was already hooking up his phone to the aux cord, but kept one eagle-eye on you as you inhaled the sight of the empty room around you.

As usual, your throat began closing in on itself, and you coaxed yourself into taking deep breaths.

You started out on the floor in front of the mirror, your legs crossed over each other and Changmin’s phone in your hands. Changmin had shouldered off his white athletic jacket, and began stretching as you swiped through the selection of music on his phone. The two of you collectively agreed for you to start off just watching. Once you were comfortable in the practice room environment, and if you wanted to dance, you would join him whenever you were ready. If you were never ready, then you could continue to just watch him and cheer him on during the practice.

You watched him card a hand through his hair as he peered at himself in the mirror behind you. “I always thought this mirror made you vain,” you chuckled, your hand having settled into your lap instead of at the base of your throat.

He furrowed his brows at you. His hands rested on his hips, the muscle in his forearms emboldening from the action. “Rude. I think you were the one who made me vain.”

“The fuck? How so?” You challenged.

“You always said you admired my facial expressions and my pretty smile,” he grinned at your reaction, snickering to himself. “Did you pick a song yet?”

You watched him dance. For the first few songs that played on shuffle, he was simply warming up his body and freestyling to whatever he heard. You knew Changmin was no stranger to people watching him dance, but there was something still so intimate about watching him in this space. You could watch him create things like magic, as well as watch him fumble and laugh at his own misgivings. Except, instead of doing it all by himself, his eyes would find yours and smile.

Next quarter, Changmin was supposedly signed on to be a TA for one of the dance courses, so he asked for your opinion on a few of his ideas for choreographies he could teach.

After showing you his second idea, he gestured to you then looked back at himself in the mirror. “What do you think? I’m not sure if writing something for each nuance in the beat would be a bit too much or if it’s something that should be used as a challenge routine.”

You hummed in understanding. “Well, if it’s an intermediate dance course, then I think it could be worked up to. Are these people dance majors or… maybe minoring in dance?”

He nodded when you said the latter. “Supposedly, they aren’t necessarily dance majors. But yeah, I agree—it could probably be brought out later in the quarter instead.” He made a motion with his hand as he backpedaled a couple steps to give himself more room between you and him. “Could you rewind to the first verse again? I wanna see something.”

You obliged him and rewinded the song to his desired timestamp. He tried out another possible set of choreo, but ended up stopping halfway through the chorus.

Again and again, you rewinded the song for him to try something new, but each time, he was met with his own dissatisfaction.

You suddenly stood, setting his phone on the ground with the song having been rewinded just slightly before the intended timestamp. Your hands were shaky and your heart was probably beating at an unhealthy speed, but you needed to try out something.

Changmin’s eyes opened wide as you came to stand next to him, but he said nothing. Instead, he let you loosely show him what you had concocted in your head while watching him go through trial after trial.

Before you knew what was happening, the two of you were weaving your ideas together, taking pieces of his original choreography and amending it with yours. You had watched him from the beginning so many times that you didn’t need long to pick up on the rest. By the end, the two of you had danced the entirety of the song together, your chest rising and falling fast with the speed of your breath.

Changmin released an exclamatory yell, thrusting his fist to the ceiling, then clasping your hand with his. “Let’s go! I really like that, Yn,” he said with his face split by a shit-eating grin.

Your heart was bursting again, not with nerves, but something you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. You brushed the hair from your eyes, a satisfied beam set on your face. “I like it, too.”

There was a sheen akin to pride in his eyes. “I wanna show you something,” he said, walking over to his phone with a skip in his step. “Stay there! I wanna teach you this bit of choreo that’s been living in my head for a while now.”

And so, you followed Changmin’s instructions as he put on a groovy-type beat. The routine was simple enough—looks-wise. But if you knew anything about the things Changmin choreographed, the difficulty was all in the subtlety and technique. When you were younger, the appeal between you and Changmin as partners were that you were practically foils for each other. While Changmin ruled the arena of sharp, focused isolations and movements, your area of expertise laid in bigger, fuller movements like that of a brushstroke. When you had watched Juyeon and Changmin’s performance during the winter showcase, you supposed that was why they were able to complement each other well. It was essentially what you and Changmin were, in combination.

The longer you and Changmin danced, the more your chest filled with air and warmth and love and happiness. The guilt and fear from before had melted away to reveal this suppressed portion of you that had been hidden for a long time.

At some point, the two of you were just messing around, and ended up sprawled on the polished wood floor of the practice room clutching your stomachs while choking on laughter.

Changmin rolled onto his side, eyes still squinted in delight as he tried to get a grip of his breathing. “Is your back okay?” He managed to wheeze between gasps and howls.

You wiped a tear that crept out from your eye. “No! I just tried carrying a fifty-something-kg man on my back. Do you think I’m okay?”

“In my defense,” he said, peering down at you as he rose into a sitting position and leaned back onto his palms, “you claimed you were stronger than me and could be the base.”

“A warning would have been nice!” You exclaimed. You rolled onto your stomach, laying your chin over your arms. “No one in their right mind just jumpscares people like that.”

“Have you met me?”

“Fair enough.”

A remnant of that merriment remained on his lips as he felt around the floor around him for where his phone had fallen out of his pants pocket. He caught a glimpse of the time, sighing, then raking a hand through his hair. “It’s already one o’clock. Are you hungry? Wanna get lunch or something?”

“Sure, what do you feel like?” You asked, eyes following his movements as he clambered up to his feet and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

He pressed his lips together in thought, humming, “Dunno. Fast food maybe?”

You rolled into a sitting position, similar to the one he had been in just moments before. “Okay.”

“Come on; let’s get up then.” He offered a hand out to you, and you clasped his forearm tightly.

In one fell motion, Changmin swept you upright and to your feet—but he used a little too much pulling force, and you were stumbling into him, palms pressed flat against his chest, and his arms coming around your waist. You held your breath as the two of you fought to stabilize the other.

“Shit, sorry about that,” he muttered from above you with a low chuckle.

You opened your mouth to reply, but as you raised your head to meet his eyes and not just his Adam’s apple, you lost all your breath. There was barely a hairsbreadth distance between your face and his. Changmin came to the same determination as you had and his eyes went wide.

A curious thing happened. His pupils dilated, and his eyes darted down to your mouth and his tongue swiped over his own to dampen them.

Your breath as you exhaled was as unsteady as your heart rate.

You felt his hold on your tighten slightly; his Adam’s apple bobbed. And then he was leaning forward, his eyes fluttering closed—

He kissed you then.

His lips were soft over your own with the slightest bit of pressure, nose nudging the side of your cheek.

Your hands moved up the plane of his chest to grasp his toned shoulders; he shifted his left hand to cradle the back of your head.

Wait, what is happening—

You both pulled away, as if the same thought had echoed through both of your heads at the same time.

Panic leapt into the two of you and you jolted away when the distinct sound of Boss by some group called Neo Culture Technology blasted throughout the quiet practice room.

"Fuck," you swore. You glanced back at Changmin and saw the question, the uncertainty, the—you couldn't even tell. Your mind was everywhere and nowhere at once. You could still feel his mouth on yours. "That—that's Doyoung's ringtone. I have to take this."

"Okay," he whispered inaudibly, and you slipped out from his hold.

With your back to him, he rubbed his hands down his face and an indescribable emotion seized his chest. He rubbed a thumb over his lips…

"Doyoung, you need to calm down," you said as Doyoung's voice quite literally rambled at lightspeed into your ear.

You heard your friend take one deep breath, then repeat, "I think one of these final draft files are corrupted. I'm freaking the fuck out right now, and I know you're not out of town, so if you could please—for the sake of my sanity—come to the office and help me!" He was pleading, begging, and Kim Doyoung did not beg. He sounded like one hair-pull from dropping down to his knees.

In any other context, you would have wanted to record this for the history books. Any other context.

Your eyes darted over to Changmin who was still standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked into his pockets, and gaze pinned to you.

You couldn't just—leave? Could you? Not after that—

Then you caught Changmin nodding his head in the direction of the door, his head cocking to the side in silent question. Do you need to go? He mouthed.

You pursed your lips with a reluctant nod. Something's wrong with the paper.

Then go. We'll talk after.

Talk. Yup. You started grabbing your things and you squeezed your phone between your ear and shoulder. "—okay okay, Doyoung. Can you stop wasting your energy for me, and tell me exactly what the screen is telling you?"

You began making your way to the door, but halted in the doorway. You hesitated, turning back to look at Changmin. You really shouldn't leave—but you had to.

"Yn."

You grabbed your phone and pressed the speaker into your shoulder. "Yes?" It sounded breathless.

Desperation gleamed like silver in his eyes. One did not often see that emotion from Ji Changmin. "Don't shut me out."

EPISODE FIFTEEN: OFF THE BOOKS

THE first person that came to mind was Choi Chanhee. "What—"

"I kissed her!" Changmin blurted, hand slapping over his mouth.

"You what?!"

— ✶

You were breathless, brain muddled, a hot mess of a shitshow, when you got to the Daily. The rest of the Board members were on break, including your resident tech expert, so you had assured Doyoung that you were free if he needed anything. (If you weren't deeply regretting that now though.)

You had fast walked all the way from the performing arts center to the Daily's newsroom, effectively cutting travel time down from ten minutes to seven, even with your bag of items. Though, it definitely didn't help your headspace. You could hardly think about Changmin, the kiss, and a corrupted file all at the same time. Not to mention, you finally managed to wrangle Doyoung off the phone with you so he could go splash water on his face to calm the fuck down.

The newsroom was dark when you got there, but you saw the light from Doyoung's office shining down the corridor. He was seated behind his desk, his expression a lot more calm than he sounded from the phone, but his face and bangs were a bit damp, meaning he had actually gone to wash his face. Good.

He saw you trudging down the hall, your baby hairs flying everywhere, and your breath coming out in pants. He noticed the bag slung over your shoulder and had the nerve to ask, "Oh, were you on the way somewhere?"

You sent him a pained stare and collapsed into the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

"You look stressed."

"Changmin and I kissed."

Doyoung's eyes nearly fell out of his head and his body was half an inch from falling out of his chair. "HUH?"

Your head craned back against the back of the chair. "I know."

"Girl, why are you here then?"

"You said it was an emergency!" You cried, straightening. You didn't even acknowledge the fact that Doyoung had just called you "girl". "Now, let's work this file situation out."

Doyoung moved his laptop further away from you. "Oh, nuh-uh, Missy. You're gonna just send me your copy, and then you're gonna go on your merry way back to Mr. Dancer Man and kiss him again."

Your face scrunched up. "Hello?" What was in the sink water in this building…

"Did you talk about it? Are you two dating now?"

"Doyoung," you whined, scrubbing a hand over your face, "you literally called right after we kissed."

Doyoung made a noise of disappointment. "Damn, I'm never gonna live this down."

"Seungkwan's gonna call you a cockblocker for the rest of your life," you muttered in agreement.

He snorted. "You said it, not me." He sobered then, closing the lid of his laptop so he could lace his fingers over it and fix you with a serious expression. "So how do you feel? Tell me what happened."

You twisted and dropped your bag to the ground by your feet, moving your chair closer to the desk so you could drape your upper half on top of the cool surface. "We were dancing—"

"Really?"

"Mhm," you hummed against the table. "It was… it was really nice, Doie. I actually had fun. And then we just—I don't even know—we played around a little and he was helping me up off the ground, and suddenly we were kissing."

Doyoung's brows furrowed together. "Ah, I see. Did he kiss you or did you kiss him?"

"He kissed me, but I didn't stop him." You could recall the look in his eyes with a striking amount of clarity. "I… I don't really know what it all means, or what it means to me. I'm a little confused, if I'm honest."

He sighed. "And that's okay. I think this is something you definitely need to go back and talk to him about though, hm?"

"Yeah."

"But Yn," he continued, reaching over to rub the top of your head and get you to look up, "did you ever have feelings for the guy?"

You slowly raised yourself up from the table with a frown on your face. "When I was a kid, I didn't really see anyone else but him," you confessed, almost unconsciously. You hadn't known what the feeling you harbored for him was back then, but maybe you could seek to understand it now.

Doyoung made a vague gesture with his hand as he sat back in his chair. "Well, that's a start for sure. But you and he have been on rocky terrain for years now. You're not kids anymore and a lot of things have changed." He was right, in some sense. You and Changmin had spent three years convincing yourselves you didn't need each other. Perhaps it had been the opposite the entire time, but what did it all mean?

"I'm glad to have him in my life again," you said quietly. "I think I've always felt… different about Changmin than any other friend I've had before, y'know? It was just unconscious in a way."

"Would you want to act on that then? See where it goes?"

You let his questions resonate around your head for a minute. But the more you thought about it, the more certain you became of your answer.

— ✶

The back corridors of the performing arts hall were just as dark as it was when you had left. For a moment, you were afraid that Changmin had left. But as you neared the practice room from earlier, you could make out the sounds of voices drifting from the cracked open door of the room.

You strained your ears—who was that with Changmin?

You reached the door, quietly pressing yourself against the wall to peer in through the cracked doorway. There, sitting opposite Changmin on the practice room floor, was Chanhee.

"—think about it, Changmin," said Chanhee as he dropped his friend by the shoulders to keep him from sulking. "She kissed you back. Don't you think that means something?"

"She could've just been caught up in the moment," Changmin countered. "She could've—" He made a frustrated noise and threw his hands out in front of him, "Maybe I just don't want to be disappointed."

Chanhee frowned. "Disappointed… that she doesn't return your feelings? Changmin, can you be honest with me for a second?"

He gave a solemn nod.

"Those feelings you had for her when you were a kid—have they ever gone away?"

You had to back away from the door and press your palm against your mouth. But because of that, you weren't able to catch Changmin's answer. Your heart slammed against your ribcage, your hands shaking as your thoughts raced in your head. You had to open the door now. You'd already intruded when you eavesdropped on their conversation.

Sucking in a breath, you pushed the door open wider. No going back now.

Changmin and Chanhee were both frozen in place when you poked your head into the room. The former paled in the warm-toned practice room lights, and you saw him gulp.

"Yn!" Chanhee laughed nervously as he and his friend both scrambled to their feet. His car keys jangled noisily from where they hung on a clip from his belt loop. "Uhm, I think I should leave," he said, clearing his throat and brushing past you.

You grabbed your arm as you shuffled into the room and gently kicked the door closed behind you.

Changmin cupped the back of his neck. "How much did you hear?" He asked, not even bothering to hide the open glisten in his eyes, the pure vulnerability lying stark on his face. It felt like you were seventeen again, standing alone together in the practice room, not really sure what the other person would say or do or feel.

"What did Chanhee mean by you having feelings for me when we were kids?" You asked.

The silence was palpable. "You really didn't know?"

No, you shook your head, definitely not. "I—I mean, no. Not really. I guess I always thought… I don't know what I thought."

He braced both hands behind his head now, his eyes tilted back toward the ceiling. "Yn," he said before looking you in the eyes again, "every time I saw you, I saw someone who put the fucking stars in the sky. If you watch any of our videos from back then—" He pushed out a haggard breath from his mouth. "I could never not care for you, could never stop caring for you. It hurt a lot when we stopped being us because I thought I…"

His hands fell to his sides, helpless. "I thought I lost you. And then it felt like you hated me, so I tried to hate you, too. And then we worked shit out. And then…" Changmin brushed his bangs back and was unable to look you in the eyes for longer than a second with each glance. "I'm sorry I kissed you. I don't want to lose you again, Yn."

Your heart thundered in your ears so loud that you almost thought he could hear it, even from so far away. You got yourself to take a step forward, and then another.

Changmin waited as you walked closer to him, his lips pressed together.

You inhaled. "Changmin, I can't say for sure what I felt for you back then, and I definitely can't articulate my feelings for you as well as you just did—" His eyes clashed with yours, that energy colliding, "—but I'm not sorry you kissed me, or that I kissed you."

You thought you heard his breath hitch for a moment.

"I don't want to lose you again, either," you said and tentatively reached for his hands. Never in your years of knowing him had you known a moment where his fingers trembled like they did now. "And I—I really want to see where this goes. Would you want to see where this goes with me?"

His fingers curled around yours as he nodded. "Yes."

EPISODE SIXTEEN: OFF [MY] FACE

"WHAT about that one?"

"Don't touch that one."

"Will it burn my skin off?" Changmin asked in a sleepy daze as one hand rubbed his eye and the other reached for the gallon of liquid that sat behind a locked cabinet with a clearly marked DO NOT TOUCH. DANGER. plastered on the side.

"Yes," you said without looking up from your organic chemistry textbook.

Changmin's hand dropped immediately and he turned to send a look your way. "Well, that's not very safe."

His hoodie-covered head began bumbling back over to you through the maze of workbenches. It was the first week back to school from spring break, thus, the very first week of the spring quarter. You and Changmin were currently in your regular lab space that you unofficially dubbed your study area. Kun was in the break room probably half asleep over a bag of shrimp chips, and Ten… Ten was somewhere around here. Maybe he got lost down the hallway looking for the bathroom or something.

Changmin had come to hang out with you though, even though he was practically a walking baby giraffe as drowsiness possessed his whole being. But he insisted on staying until you went home.

"It's actually just distilled water," you said with a chuckle. "The lab professors just don't want people using it because for some reason, the convenience stores around here are always out, and they don't want to go hunting for more."

You felt him drape over your back with a fwump. "I love when you talk dirty to me," he said through a rather large yawn.

You grinned to yourself, shaking your head. "Okay, I think we need to get you home."

"Not before you take me to dinner first."

"Are you sure you're not drunk?"

You packed your things up quickly, especially when you saw Changmin nodding off while standing upright. It was already around nine o'clock by the time you said good night to Kun and located Ten (yeah, he'd gone looking for the bathroom and almost gotten locked in a supply closet instead).

Changmin tried to convince you he was okay to drive, but by the way he couldn't even figure out that his keys were hanging on his belt loop, it was safe to say that you were driving tonight. The drive over to Changmin and Chanhee's apartment was an easy one since they lived in the university district and the streets were quite barren at this point. You helped him up to the apartment, greeting Chanhee who was in a fluffy pink robe and matching headband.

"Hi Chanhee," you sighed as you pushed Changmin into the bathroom to shower.

Chanhee looked on in ill-concealed amusement. "He'll be much better after he showers," he reassured you from his perch on the couch. You saw the page-long math problems spread out on the coffee table and held in a gag.

"Dear god, I hope so."

Chanhee directed you to where Changmin's room was and you dumped both yours and his backpacks on the floor by his desk. You actually had yet to step foot in here until now, so while Changmin was doing his thing in the bathroom, you let your eyes roam all around the room. It was relatively clean (emphasis on relatively) with walls that were minimally decorated. There was a whole separate rack of shirts and jackets left outside the small wardrobe, and you recognized a couple of them.

You leaned over his desk to see what he had posted on the wall above it. There were a couple dozen printed photographs of him and his friends, as well as an award or two that were big in name and no doubt special to him. You felt yourself smile; you didn't have to be up here, but you liked seeing his smile in all of these pictures.

And then you saw it.

There was a printed copy of a review pinned amongst the pandemonium of memorabilia. The layout of the page was incredibly familiar, and with widened eyes, you realized that it was a review from the Daily's Opera Glasses.

In fact, as you squinted and skimmed, it was your review from freshman year. It was your (anonymous) review about his debut winter showcase performance.

Wow.

You barely registered Changmin shuffling into the room in slippers and a bathrobe of his own, his dark hair still dripping with water.

He passed you a glance while heading for his wardrobe. "Hey, do you wanna stay over?"

You definitely weren't prepared for that question. "Stay over?" You parroted dumbly. "Also, you have an Opera Glasses review printed out?" Your hand gestured to the sheet of paper pinned to the wall.

Changmin's head turned and he abandoned the wardrobe to walk over to you and his desk. You pressed yourself against the wall to the side to give him space to look. "Ah," he said with a boyish grin, "that was yours, wasn't it?"

"How the hell could you tell?"

He leaned in close to you, bracing an arm above your head. The smell of his shampoo was strong and you came to the realization that he was still in a bathrobe. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "You don't think I could tell what your writing voice sounded like?" He asked, his voice suddenly lowered.

You inched forward, a dare. "Are you gonna get dressed, Changmin?"

His smile widened. "I could," he teased.

"Hey! Can you guys close the door or keep it down? Some of us are single and have math homework!"

Both you and Changmin laughed at Chanhee's outburst even though your face was definitely heated up.

Changmin took advantage of your unassuming state and pressed his mouth to yours, tasting your laughter on his tongue until you could only taste his in return. It was a dizzying sort of kiss, his arm still above you and his other curled around your waist.

When he pulled away, he bit his lip around a smirk. "I'll get changed now."

Criminal. Absolutely criminal.

He indeed got changed. And so did you. Apparently, he was being serious about you staying the night, and soon enough, you found yourself buried beneath his covers and swept in his very clingy arms. Not that you were complaining; he smelled nice.

You and Changmin laid facing each other in the darkness of his room. Round spectacles sat awkwardly on his nose bridge since the side of his face was pressed against the pillow, but he said he wouldn't take them off until he was just about to drift off.

"Yn-ie."

"Hm?"

He giggled, turning over and reaching over the side of his bed for something. You were about to question what he was doing until he quite literally shoved his wretched Chucky doll into your face.

"What the flying fuck—" You glared at the toy and its creepy stitched face. You had been startled by it, but you had grown used to it after having to deal with his obsession with the damn thing in the last two years of high school.

Changmin hugged the abomination to his chest as he snickered loudly.

"I thought you got rid of that thing."

"You clearly don't know me well enough."

You began to sit up and make a show of throwing off the covers. "I'm leaving—"

"Wait, wait, wait!" He blubbered, grabbing your upper arm and yanking you back down onto the bed next to him.

He leaned over you, his Chucky doll still tucked in the crook of his arm, as Changmin pouted. The glasses were practically sliding off his nose and his hair was sticking up in the back. What a duality. "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not cuddling with Chucky, Changmin."

"But—"

"I will go ask Chanhee for an extra blanket."

Changmin's pout contorted into a scowl. "I'll murder him."

You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of this conversation. "I think you need to go to sleep."

He flopped back onto the bed next to you, reluctantly setting Chucky back down on the floor next to the bed where the wretched thing had been hiding this whole time. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally able to breathe easy, you settled back into Changmin's arms. He tucked you against his chest, his chin settled on top of your head. You felt him shift as he took his glasses off and reached behind him to set them on the nightstand.

You were just drifting off to sleep to the melody of his heart beat when: "Yn?"

"Hm?"

His lips pressed to the crown of your head. "I missed you."

You knew what he meant. You pressed a kiss to his chest and heard the shuddering breath that fell from his lips. "I missed you, too."

EPISODE SEVENTEEN (EPILOGUE): [ON OUR TERMS]

THE problem with the restaurant was that it reminded you of something like the word "home". The sign above the door was made with some common font that one could find on Microsoft Word and you were pretty sure they only took cash, too. There was a reason you had chosen this restaurant in particular, and it was because you thought that eating at a place with your comfort foods would, well, comfort you. But you had been staring at the front for a minute or two now, and you weren't sure it was working.

From beside you, you felt someone take your hand in his. "We don't have to go in," said Changmin, his expression blank and reserved as he looked at the eatery, but softened a considerable amount when he looked over at you.

Your mother was waiting for you in there, somewhere. You wanted to finally talk to her—maybe make some peace with yourself. You'd told Changmin about it, and he insisted on coming as moral support.

You squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. "I can't just not go, Changmin."

His touch was gentle as his thumb grazed over the back of your knuckles, just as gentle as his voice was, "You don't owe her anything, Yn. You deserve an apology from her and you deserve closure, but you don't owe her anything. Not after what she put you through."

You were quiet for a moment and your free hand brushed over the hollow of your throat where the tightening sensation was.

Changmin added, "I'll support whatever decision you come to."

You considered the restaurant again. It had always held a great amount of significance and comfort for you. Did you want to ruin that with a potentially sour conversation? For all you knew, this could end incredibly poorly.

But… there were some things that needed to be done.

You steeled your resolve. "Ready?"

Changmin, all dapper in his dress shirt and pants and styled hair, flashed you a dimpled smile. "Whenever you are."

a/n: wow ... anyways lol thanks for getting through that madness, and hope u enjoyed!! pls do consider reblogging, commenting, or sending an ask to my inbox teehee i would really appreciate it ! now, onto hyunjae's ! >:)

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[shimmerwindow]

I Never Really

Part Eleven

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None!

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag list: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper

Thanksgiving break had arrived, a welcome reprieve from the constant stress of classes. Everything had been ramping up lately on the climb to finals season, as your mental health had started to dwindle. Your world was crumbling, piece by piece, and you were desperately trying to get all those pieces back into place as the weight of life held you down. You hoped that finally getting some time alone would be helpful.

Loneliness had always been your closest friend, though it felt harder to cope with now that you’d gotten a taste of actual friendship. It had been tainted with love and lust, but it was friendship nonetheless, and you missed it dearly. This time of year in particular was always difficult. You could never afford the holiday travel cost to get back home, so you’d always just stay in the dorms, alone.

It was harder now, watching your fellow classmates in the hallways. Some looked ecstatic, smiles gracing their faces as they held their phones to their ears with one hand, the other hooked around the handle of a suitcase. Others looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes as they shuffled their tired feet down the hall.

Being here with so few others had its perks. The showers were much cleaner, and on a few lucky occasions, you were the only person in the room. You kept yourself busy, finally cleaning the garbage heap that was once your dorm, and putting the finishing touches on your projects that would be due in the coming weeks. Through it all, though, a lingering feeling of sadness loomed over you like a dark cloud.

It was only the third day of the week-long respite, and you couldn’t take the feeling anymore. You drafted a text. One to Sam. Your last correspondence had been weeks ago, now, and something in your heart ached when you saw the date next to the messages. We don’t talk anymore, you thought, and that was the loneliest feeling in the world, for so many reasons.

hey, wondering if you and the guys are around/busy? bored and stuck in the dorms lol

You hadn’t even managed to close the app before you saw the tiny text of read appear under your message. It was almost instant.

back home for the week! maybe we can hang when we’re back? hope you've been well

You didn’t bother replying. What was the use, with all the unspoken words behind every sentence? You gave his message a heart, and put your phone back in your lap.

This was a situation you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. You tried to think of how far back you would go if given the chance. If you knew then what you knew now, would you never go up to the roof that night? Maybe you’d quit smoking altogether. You barely smoked these days, only when you were particularly stressed. The smell reminded you too much of him. As did everything else, in all honesty.

The light was quickly disappearing from the sky, stormy clouds obscuring the rising moon. Maybe a walk would ease your nerves. You shrugged on your coat and slipped your feet into your shoes, heading out into the chilly air. You hated Sam for so many things now, so many things that were not his fault. You could no longer take your favorite path down the least-traveled side of campus, not since you spotted his car there.

Your mind began to unravel in the solitude. Campus was empty, with a dead air to it that made you the slightest bit uncomfortable. Normally, a lack of people would be everything you’d hoped for, but it was no longer comforting to you.

An array of paths sprawled out in front of you in your mind. There seemed to be no way forward given your current position. You’d tried to take the advice of Josh and Jake and talk to Sam, but you couldn't find the words. Everything you wanted to say just felt wrong when you would practice it in the mirror. And, on top of that, you weren't sure if you would be able to hold your composure when he actually gave you a response. Would you be able to keep a poker face if he told you he was dating this girl? You had no idea, and didn’t feel like finding out the hard way.

Visions of Sam danced in front of your eyes as your feet naturally quickened their pace. You didn’t have time for this. There was already enough weighing on your mind, the added stress of all this was too much. You feared that you’d made a terrible mistake, choosing to sleep with Jake. It was an action that had been deliberately calculated to sever your tie with Sam, whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not. You’d told Jake he was not part of a revenge scheme, but that had been a lie, you now realized.

You said it wasn’t about Sam. But it had always been about him. Everything you did revolved around Sam. He was now the center of your world. This was more than a crush. You started walking faster. This was more than just finding him cute. You started jogging. This was more than wanting to be close friends with him. You started sprinting across the grass, your shoes leaving trails in the damp grass.

You couldn’t outrun him. You couldn’t the last time you’d been here, running across campus, trying to get away from him, hoping you could exhaust yourself out of being able to think. It wasn’t possible, not anymore. As you collapsed into the grass under a tree, your head spun, every word Sam had ever said to you running through your mind all at once, his image brighter in your mind than ever before.

The last of the leaves shuddered off the tree one by one in the light breeze. The dying grass tickled the palms of your hands when you laid them flat on the ground, your chest heaving. Tears ran down the sides of your face and all of this felt all too familiar. You hadn’t been able to say it back then, but you couldn’t hide from it anymore.

You loved him. You were deeply, desperately, unshakably in love with Sam.

The first flakes of snow began to fall. Delicately, small white flakes drifted down to you, landing on your blazing cheeks and collecting in your hair. Winter was here. Just as you decided to stop lying to yourself. Soon, the semester would end. You would be alone once again. You wouldn’t see Sam every morning, and you could free yourself of his constant influence. It was all so indescribably perfect and terrible, every feeling you had about him so painfully unresolved.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to dream. To fantasize about him in the ways you had always repressed so deeply. The calluses on his fingers, would they be rough against the soft skin of your cheek? What would it feel like to have your lips against his neck, your fingers running through his hair? It hurt so beautifully to let all of it in, two months of emotions washing over you all at once in a bittersweet haze.

Jake had meant nothing, when you got right down to it. But you’d put yourself in a precarious situation, now. Social dynamics you didn’t quite understand swirled in your head, confusing you, you couldn’t even remember all the details at this point. All you knew was that you’d taken what was offered, at the cost of losing what you needed most. Above all, you were scared. Nothing would be the same now, and you'd ruined something that could have been so beautiful – you were sure of it.

* * *

In some ways, it was nice to finally say it out loud. The rest of Thanksgiving break passed by like molasses, each day dragging on longer than the next. You’d done nothing but wallow in the agony of unrequited love, but it was somewhat easier now that you could say it. Love. When the semester resumed, you put on a brave face in front of Sam, though you were sure it was written all over you. There was no real use hiding it anymore. If he didn’t know then, he knew now, in the way you stared at him at the end of every class.

It was the final week of your regular schedule, and you felt a kind of nostalgia walking into the lecture hall for the last time. It would be a work day, the professor announced.

“Well!” Sam said, stretching his arms above his head and turning to you. “I think we’ve got this in the bag.”

Indeed, you did. The two of you had worked rather seamlessly together, more than you’d expected. “Yeah, I think it’s done.”

“Wanna turn it in together?” He gave you that smile, the one you had every inch of memorized.

“I think we only need to submit it once. You can do it, if you want.”

“No, together!” He pulled up the submission screen and added the finished file, neatly titled with your full names. Seeing them next to each other like that was strangely jarring. Before you could protest, he snatched your hand off the desk in front of you and brought it over to the mouse on his laptop. That warm, rough hand stayed on top of yours, pushing your fingers down to click the mouse button once.

And just like that, it was over. The class that had originally drawn the two of you together was done, it was all over. Nothing tethered you to him anymore but the fraying social ties you’d so carefully neglected. Pondering it for too long made you feel tears threatening to well up in the corners of your eyes.

“Finally done.” His voice broke you from your reverie, his hand sliding off of yours. “You wanna come over some time soon?”

You didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you could ever be alone in a room with Sam ever again. You recalled the words of his brothers, though. You needed to talk to him. Even if it was only to find closure, to be given the opportunity to truly cut him out of your life without guilt. “Sure, if I’ve got time. Finals, y’know.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” he chuckled. “I’m in the same boat. And I have to move all my shit back to the house, too.”

He did look much more exhausted than usual. Those eyes, that already had an air of tired behind them, seemed heavy. Dark circles adorned the spaces below them. His hair was pulled back, and had lost some of its usual luster.

“Maybe once I’m done with everything I’ll text you." Maybe.

He looked at you, and closed his laptop with a finger. “Sweet. I’ve been missing you.”

“Really?” The word slipped out in shock.

“Of course. What’s a sky without the sun and moon?” He gave you a little shove and a grin. Unbearably endearing, to the point you almost felt embarrassment over it.

“Will you ever stop being so cheesy?”

“Don’t think it’s physically possible, actually.”

“So you’re not staying in your dorm?” You asked.

“No, isn’t the place closed during break?” He looked at you, confused. "You're staying there, though, I'm guessing?"

You nodded. “Normally, yeah. They let some people stay over the break. Like, international students, or people who can’t go home.”

“Can’t…go home?” He looked at you like he was treading on very treacherous ground.

You waved a hand at him, giving a sheepish grin. “Oh, it's not like that. My parents are just really far away. And they downsized recently, so I don’t have a room there anymore. It’s smarter for me to just stay here.”

“Oh, right, right.” He propped his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek against his palm. He looked utterly captivated by even dull talk. “Seems like it would get lonely in there this time of year.”

“Doesn’t bug me much. You get used to it.”

“Probably nice to finally have some peace and quiet, huh?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

“Hoping I’ll finally get some of that at the house. The guy in the room next to me, I don’t think he's spent a single night alone the whole semester. Loud as fuck, too.”

You laughed at that, immediately picking up what he was laying down. “God, that sounds obnoxious.”

“I’m worried it won’t be much better at the house. It never is.”

There was something behind his eyes when he said that, something that made your palms start to sweat and your eyes take in a bit more light. Fear, regret, something in the middle of the two. All that ran through your mind was thoughts of Jake, how you would have to stop. You’d need to quit all of them, that entire family.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat and spoke over your silence. “I’m gonna run, if we’re done here.”

You nodded, suddenly struck by the feeling that you might cry at any moment. “Sounds good. I’ve got some shit to do, anyway.”

The two of you parted ways, and you were both burdened and light as a feather as you headed to the library to kill time before your next class. You didn’t have anything to do, in reality, but you needed time to center yourself.

Walking into the library did you no favors. You could see the quiet corner where you and Sam had sat together; that was months ago now. You sat as far away from that spot as you could, but your eyes lingered on it. If you could go back to that moment, would you change a thing? Would you have given up the blissful joy of being in love to avoid the way you now felt shattered to pieces?

A small part of you thought that, perhaps, it had all been worth it. Just to know him, during this time, had been enough. Maybe in your next life, you would meet him again, and he would point out the stars to you with his arm draped around your shoulder while you wore his sweater. The one you loved, the one that complimented his eyes. Maybe it would look just as good on you.

[sariel626]

I read your platonic dad Poe fic. Could you do another one where Poe has to run to the office and brings his kid for a few minutes and they meet Fitzgerald for the first time. He tries to keep his little detective quiet lol

AAAAAAA! My first request!!! This is so exciting!!!

Note: Fitzgerald did meet reader under different circumstances in the other Poe work, so we’ll have reader’s memory be foggy of him.

TW: possible OOC characters

———————————————————————

Emergency Meeting!🚨🚨🚨

Poe grabbed his phone and noticed it was Francis calling, so he answered the call while motioning for (Reader) to be quiet, “Hello boss, is there something you need? Ah yes, the plans for the new buildings have been drafted. I can bring them in a couple hours for review- 15 minutes?! N-No, it’s not a problem, but my daughter, she can’t be left alone yet. I promise she won’t be a bother! Thank you!”

Immediately after hanging up Poe started to gather his things. (Reader) had cleaned up her crayons and papers after figuring out she would probably be going somewhere with her dad. “Dad, are you going to work?” Poe sighed, “Yes, there’s a meeting I have to go to and unfortunately, you’ll be coming with me this time.” He recalled the last time (Reader) was at the office and shivered at the thought of the experience repeating. Poe grabbed his bag and began leading her out the door. The young girl whined at this, “Why can’t I stay with Uncle Ranpo? It’s Saturday, he’s not gonna be at work!” “I have to be there in less than fifteen minutes. That isn’t anywhere near enough time to drop you off with Ranpo. Did you grab some books? Colors and notebooks?” The girl hummed in response, pouting about having to go to her dad’s work on the weekend.

Living about 7 minutes away made it slightly easier for the stressed architect and young girl to arrive in time by speed walking. There were many times when a bookstore or sweet shop would catch little (Reader)’s eye and almost distract her, but Poe was determined to get him and his daughter to and through this meeting as soon as possible.

Once they arrived at the entrance of the guild, (Reader) felt a sense of deja vu wash over her. She grabbed Poe’s hand and he looked down at her. “I think I’ve been here before…and something bad happened. I don’t wanna go.” Her father’s expression immediately grew worried. Was she having traumatic flashbacks? Was he going to lose his daughter because of this important meeting? Karl jumped off Poe’s shoulders onto his daughter’s, which seemed to help calm the small girl’s nerves a bit. “It’ll only be one short meeting, then we’ll leave, I promise” Poe gave (Reader) a reassuring smile. “…Ok, but then we have to get ice cream!” “Deal!”

After passing through what seemed like 50 empty hallways, they finally made it to their destination with a minute to spare. Knocking on the door, they hear a “Come in” and both enter the lavish room, coming face to face with Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald himself and Louisa Alcott by his side, as per usual. Seeing Poe now here, Francis smiled and checked his watch, “Poe! You’re just in time! Let’s take a look at what you’ve drawn up.” Ignoring the presence of Poe’s daughter, he watched Poe take out the files for each plan and set them on his desk. “The new firm will require at least $690,000,000 to build…”

Meanwhile, (Reader) had moved from behind Poe to behind the couch he was sitting on. She felt uncomfortable upon seeing the blonde CEO, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly that gave her that feeling. Taking out the crayons from her bag, the girl continued working on her picture for Uncle Ranpo. Sifting through the box to find a black crayon, because he always has to have his signature glasses at the scene, she noticed her red crayon fall out and roll around the corner of the couch. Of course, this did not go unnoticed by Francis. Amusement spread across his face as he spoke, “Poe, did you let in a rat?” Knowing full well who was there. The tousle haired writer tried to maintain his composure and picked it up, “I-It must’ve fallen out o-of my pocket from earlier.” Francis laughed, “I didn’t know you used crayons to draw up your plans for new structures.” This only raised Poe’s anxiety of the situation. Will Francis see his daughter and force him to get rid of her? Will he kill her?! “O-Occasionally I do, t-to avoid smearing in my drafts…” Hearing the poor excuse, Francis decided to see how far Poe would go to hide the girl’s presence. “I suppose that’s reasonable. Now, you were saying?”

The writer let out a sigh of relief internally and continued with the meeting. He couldn’t help but notice Louisa glancing next to him, almost as if she were trying to see behind the couch. At this point, (Reader) had finished her initial drawing and flipped her drawing notebook paper. Coincidentally, this was done almost in sync with her father, but she was slightly louder which caught the attention of the Guild’s strategist. The young girl, pondering what to draw next, glanced around the room before freezing up as she looked at the space between Fitzgerald’s desk and the door (like where Atsushi was before he escaped and took the doll to Dazai). Her pupils shrunk and (Reader)’s hand instinctively started moving to draw a familiar, yet forgotten memory…

As she was drawing, the small artist had built up the urge to sneeze and sneeze she did. The room fell silent for a few moments before Francis said, “Poe, please refrain from bringing anyone to Guild meetings again. You may come out from hiding.” (Reader) peeked her head out, still feeling a bit uncomfortable around the businessman. Francis would’ve been lying if he said he was surprised by the girl’s appearance. He had expected someone much older and taller. Clearing his voice without breaking eye contact, he asks Louisa to take the young girl to another room until he and Poe are finished.

Cleaning up her crayons again, and getting the red one from her father, (Reader) follows the loyal woman to a room nearby. “Miss Louisa? Can I call you that?” Louisa looked down at the kid, “Louisa or Alcott is fine.” “Do you have to go back?” “I do…but I don’t want to interrupt Lord Francis’s meeting…” The small girl pondered this, “Do you want to play double double this this?” Louisa was taken by surprise at the girl’s offer. Didn’t this kid remember her just watching Lord Francis killing her parents and almost her a few years ago? Why would she want to play a game with her? Unless it’s a trap! “—ouisa? Miss Louisa? You can say no, it’s ok.” A tiny hand was waving in front of Louisa’s face to snap her out of her thoughts. “S-Sorry, I don’t know how to play so I’ll just review my work. Can you please be completely quiet so I can work?” “I’ll try my best to be as quiet as possible!” Louisa smiled at the young detective’s determination, but immediately sweat dropped when (Reader) pulled out four adult mystery novels.

Soon enough, the meeting was over and the girl had solved three mysteries before reaching the end of the books. Louisa brought (Reader) back to Francis’s office, the room still making the young detective uneasy. Karl was the first of the three to notice the two enter, and he jumped onto the familiar child’s shoulder. This alerted both Poe and Francis of the two girls’ arrival. “Welcome back little one, I’m sure you were much better for Miss Louisa than you were during the meeting?” Poe sighed, “I-I’m so sorry sir…I j-just couldn’t find a-anyone to watch her.” Louisa interjected, “She was very good and polite. I asked her to stay quiet so I could work and she didn’t make a sound.”

The nervous girl who had been hiding behind Louisa with Karl on her shoulders came out, knowing that she had to apologize for causing trouble for her father. Fidgeting with the ends of her shirt, she bowed her head in shame, “I-I’m sorry for making so much noise during your meeting…and being a problem…” Francis patted her head and chuckled, “Just don’t let it happen again.” He pulled his hand back, “You’re exactly like your father, appearances aside. Run along now, I’m sure you two had plans today.” Poe and (Reader) said their goodbyes and quickly rushed out.

Once they were gone, Francis frowned and continued staring at the door, “Miss Louisa.” “Y-Yes Lord Francis?” He turned towards her, “Don’t you think that girl resembled Eliza Haywood and Damien Lewis a bit too much?” Louisa noticed this too, but she didn’t expect her boss to ask her about it so soon. “I do…but are we still going to kill her? Poe seemed really attached to her…” “He was told to kill her if he saw her back then, that means he disobeyed an order.” Francis sighed and sat down in his chair at his desk, “But this could bear fruit for us if we play our cards right, let’s leave her be for now. I’m sure her father will help hone whatever gift that girl has.” “Should I retrieve the files on her biological parents?” “No, please continue putting together the next strategy.”

Meanwhile, after having left Francis’s office, Poe began scolding his daughter. “You can’t cause more problems for Mr. Fitzgerald like that. He’s busy enough as is with his businesses and running the Guild. He had to call me in on a day off because of his schedule being so packed. Please don’t let that happen again, especially when you can be quieter for other people.” There was a moment of silence as the little (Reader) let his words sink in. “ Oh, Why were you so nervous around him? I mean, I don’t blame you since he could easily fire me or kill m-“ The girl stopped in her tracks the moment he said ‘kill’ with a terrified expression on her face. Poe saw this and immediately grew worried, he hadn’t seen that look since he first took her in. The writer, not knowing what to do, reached out his hand like he did so long ago and asked, “Would you like to go to those sweet shops we passed on our way here? We could also s-stop by the bookstore if it’s still open?” Trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. Karl nuzzled her cheek, both gestures making the child snap out of her trance. She shakily grabbed her dad’s hand and the three left to fulfill Poe’s offer to his daughter.

———————————————————————

YOU CAN’T BEAT THE POWER OF ENERGY DRINKS AND OVERWORKING MYSELF WRITER’S BLOCK! I GOT THE POWER OF CHILD READER ON MY SIDE!

I’m so sorry if you’re not happy with how this turned out. I tried to keep it consistent with the how (Reader) was adopted story. Please feel free to give feedback, it is much appreciated.

Fun Fact: Eliza Haywood and Damien Lewis are also writers irl.

[pascalispinkkkk]

joel miller x reader

word count: 2.5k

Note: This is my first tlou fic. English is not my mother tongue. This is mostly just a mildly edited draft as I wrote it in under a day so I'm sorry lol. I suddenly hyper-fixated on the idea and didn't want it to go anywhere. I'm not a writer so don't expect much loll. I've read a handful of fanfics here and just based this one on how most of them are formatted. I initially wanted it to be an "x male reader" thing, but I decided against it.

Joel x You (GN)

Joel and GN Reader are in an established platonic relationship.

Reader is curiously seeing Joel in a new light.

Tess and Joel were never a 'thing'.

Altered some details so the fic makes sense (kinda).

Some erotic scenes.

Setting: Jackson. After the Firefly Massacre.

"How much truth did you tell Ellie?” You stick your eighth cigarette through the pile of cigar butts on the oak wood table in front of you. Joel stares blankly at the clock across the dimly lit living room. He does not go into detail about what happened in Salt Lake City. You know as he's visibly tense. A deer caught in headlights. He shakes his head dismissively, his face stoic. The usual. You purse your lips as his eyes dart everywhere but you.

You let out a deep and defeated sigh. Joel puts both his hands on his knees. In your mind, that's the first sign he's about to say something. You study him a bit as silence drags on. It's been two days since they came back from Utah. But it doesn't look like he slept even a blink. You decide he needs more rest. So, you nod, partly just to drop it.

Joel uncorks the bottle of whiskey in front of him, filling his glass with yet another shot. He puts it down as his other hand hastily swipes for the glass in sync. "What's your plan?” You press as he throws his head back. He slaps the glass back down as soon as he empties it. You're surprised it does not break.

“I'll stick with the truth,” he finally says after a few beats. His dark brown orbs search yours as he adds "My truth". There's an array of currents that sizzle through your nerves. You recognize it as dismay. But, then warmth crawls through where the currents have been. Because you understand. How could you not? You search his face once more.

It seems like he zoomed through time three years ahead.

Under the pale moonlight, the scars and scabs along his neck and his forehead are visible. His skin is a bit drier. Wrinkles have formed where it used to be smooth. His cheeks have sunken, making his dimples look more visible. You take note of those two bald areas on his greying beard. How can they be in the same spot on each side of his face? You follow the swooping curve of his hooked nose. And then you’re staring at his eyes. Those dark brown orbs you've known for five springs. You reminisce how they’ve gradually softened through the years as he's come to know you. How he almost always talked to you through them. How they haunted you in your dreams for the past four months they weren't around.

Four months. You were left alone for four agonizing months. In Jackson. You insisted you wanted to tag along that morning after the movies. But Joel countered that you stayed. You were badly wounded from the run with Tess and Ellie, he retorted. You were needed here more. Tommy said something about the resources being scarce. It made you sneer. When the dreaded time came, you were left alone at the stables to sulk. Or so you thought. Because Joel walked right back in. He shuffled rather slowly. One foot after the other. He stopped when he was at least a good arm's length from where you were slumped.

"I'll be fine,” he said. "Promise me you will be, too,” there was a long pause. You heard him shuffling again. Before you knew it, he dropped his brown leather jacket beside you. "It's freezing. Wear that when you walk home,” he said in a monotonous voice. Not a word escaped your lips. You could only muster up a meek nod. Wordlessly, Joel started waltzing away. Very Joel, you internally scoffed. You kept your eyes on the leather jacket that he left. Eventually, his footsteps faded out.

In your mind, you ran after him and turn him around to face you. You let the rightful urge within you to make you punch his face repeatedly as you scream every curse word there was. But instead, you pathetically sat where you at. You couldn’t care less about the hay getting in your pants. Or the sudden sharp pain in your right leg. Letting him see this side of yours would be the last thing you'd want, you thought. But deep down, you knew you just didn't have the courage.

And so, after silently crying for a good hour, you aimlessly walked to the house you were assigned to. Feeling a little lost and betrayed. Why—of all muscles around here—does it have to be Joel, you thought. You were anxious about not knowing if they'll make it and when.

In the months that came, however, Tommy and Maria took good care of you. They saw how you had to lock yourself up for days on end as anxiety devastated even the tiniest last bits of your soul in your fingertips. Tommy gave you some linen and antiseptics that could last you several weeks. You insisted you can tend to your own wounds. There was a small window to your kitchen where Maria left the meals she carefully made for you. Most days, they were left there cold. Sometimes, you ate a portion. And then, on the 9th day, you noticed a hideous orange cat trying to pry open the Tupperware Maria had left you.

You named him Wes, anyway. You took him in. But he always hissed at you. He probably thought you were stealing the food Maria was making him. You started giving him some. A chicken wing. Some rabbit legs. Or a portion of your grilled cattle meat. He started warming up to you. And then eventually, you started making food for him. And yourself. The hissing stopped.

On the fourth week, you and he were cozying up on your bed. You figured you liked some warmth as the entire town turned into a tundra and the air became crisper and unforgiving.

Slowly, you came back. Your wounds were fully healed. Tommy had to bust the door open one cold morning. He sat you down beside the kitchen island. The scent of coffee wafted in the air from the mug set in front of you. A fork and bread knife rested beside the plated French toast Tommy made.

“You know Joel,” Tommy said "I know him. They're gonna make it.” But even he can't hide the slightest doubt from his voice. He took a swig from his now half-empty cup. “They’re gonna be fine.” Wes was curled up beneath your feet. You were drawing circles with your toes against his furry neck. "I know,” your voice was hoarse. You were both silent, just listening to the soft music you put on the phonograph. There was a pulse of wariness that started in your chest. But then Wes purred. And the anxiety almost instantly vanished.

“I see the way you look at my old brother,”

Your world stood still. You were thankful that the air was freezing. You hoped that it could somehow explain the sudden gush of heat in your cheeks. You dared to look at Tommy’s eyes. He was looking at his cup, the corners of his lips slightly curled upwards. “I uh…yea—"

“Just be careful,” he finally looked at you. “He uh, he’s been through a lot. He’s tough,” a long, cumbersome pause ensued.

“But that’s not the only reason I'm here,” Tommy’s piercing gaze now made you feel somewhat apprehended. “The town medic needs a hand. Joel mentioned you helped take care of the sick back in QZ,” there was a hint of hope in his voice. He sounded somewhat desperate, too.

“It could…take your mind off of some things for a while,” You gave him a side glance. Your hands trembled from the sudden wisp of cold air coming from the open window. After finishing breakfast, Tommy insisted he’d do the dishes. He talked to you about the offer once more saying, “Think about it,” before he went home.

So, the next day, you met with the town physician.

You went through the remaining months. Depressed. Functioning just because you needed to. Day by day. In the mornings, you went to the clinic. Saw a few patients with the doctor. Went home just as the sky started to take a warmer hue. Made food for you and Wes. Went to bed at night but never really sleeping. Everyday. Every Week. But there was just that one empty spot somewhere in that small thorax of yours. You can’t comprehend how it ached. Why it ached differently. How it turned into an empty limbo as you stared blankly at your tattered bedroom ceiling in the cold evenings. You can’t imagine how many times you’ve drawn Joel’s face along the cracks of that ceiling. Or that stained wall directly across your bed. How, one morning, you imagined that you’ll come down to the kitchen. See him waiting for you to join him at breakfast. What was Joel to you? You asked yourself. What were you to him?

One night, you startled Wes.

You shot straight up from bed, panting frantically. Wes screeched as he bolted out through the crack of your door. You were sweaty, even when the room was freezing. You saw them at the back of your eyelids. Joel’s brown eyes. Burning as they looked into your eyes through his lush eyebrows. He was smirking at you. “Oh, Joel,” you heaved.

You closed your eyes and let your delusions take over. He ran his coarse fingertips up your legs as he planted soft kisses on your neck. He made a wet trail with his tongue from the base of your neck up to the back of your ear. You can smell his sweat. That musky, leathery wood scent that made you squirm every time he walked past you. “Fuck, Joel…”

You finished that night, tired. Your mind was filled with haze. You can certainly feel your sleepiness. But your eyes stayed wide open. What have you done? You thought. Joel. You thought of the years that you’ve known each other. How you've gradually become comfortable but somewhat still uneasy around each other. You remembered the way you follow his every move with your prying gaze when you know he wasn’t looking. Or how you’d catch him looking at you when you turned your head.

You've known love. Now, you're not so sure. Because every man that you've been with throughout the years had never made you feel as clueless as you were with the man that was Joel.

You were unsure if you were drawn because he was who he was. Or because you imagine who he could be with you. What's it like to be able to run your fingers freely through that scruffy hair of his? How would it feel to sleep beside him? Your head on his chest. Your legs in a tangled mess. What would it be like waking up to those big brown eyes, guessing what was on his mind?

Now is the time, you think. You’ve lost him for almost half a year. Knowing you had to endure it without being able to finally say what you always wanted to say. How you felt for him. You are not going to waste one moment again, you internally swear. You'll never know when he's going to be taken away from you.

Joel uncorks the bottle of whisky once more. But before he can pour himself another round, you take the bottle away from his hand. “The fuck is your problem?” He drawls. Clearly mildly intoxicated. He stands up and reaches down for the bottle in your hands. He anchors his right elbow against the oak wood table. In a split second, he loses his footing. A tincture of emotions flashes in his features as he stumbles over. You struggle helplessly to help him keep his balance. There's a loud crash. Of the glasses breaking and the table toppling over and two bodies coming together.

There’s a lump in your throat as soon as you open your eyes. They are enthralling. Those brown orbs of his. The rest of the room turns black and white against the brown hues of his cow eyes. You can see the crinkles by the corners of them. They're a bit more sunken than they previously were. But the effect they have on you stays the same. You can feel your own heartbeat. And his through his chest as his weight pressed down on you. The sweet scent of whiskey invades your nose with every wisp of air he exhales. You realize he's looking at you. All over your face. As if you were a countryside map and he wanted to memorize every landmark he could before he explored you. Your eyes lock. He closes his. But you keep yours open.

You can taste him now. The shots of whiskey he's been downing. The cigarettes you shared. The pure flavor of his mouth. You open your lips just slightly wider. You want to know him. Good and bad. And so when he licks your bottom lip with his tongue, you let him in. The once tender kiss turns into an open-mouthed battle for dominion. If he was just longing for intimate contact for reasons other than what you're hoping for, you don't want to know. What's important now is he's here. On you.

His slightly overgrown beard brushes your chin as he angles his face to gain more access to his treat. He humps. You gasp. Your legs involuntarily part. There's a tent in his crotch. A whimper escapes your lips. He grumbles.

“Jesus, fuck, look at you,” he bites his now plumper lips. "You've missed me that much huh?"

A tear brims just in the corner of your eye. "You have no idea, Joel," you think as you take in his face. How imperfect he is. But beautiful.

His brown eyes are sinfully hooded. You have to pray to the gods that you’d never die of a heart attack. A small droplet lands in the corner of your mouth. You realize he is sweating. Not long after, you’re reaching out to that spot with the tip of your tongue. His salty, slightly sweet taste fires up something inside the compartment of your chest. The burning desire. The pent-up longing for such magnetic force of a man that is Joel Miller. Your head becomes clouded as you come undone. You hear him snivel. And then you notice you’re digging your fingernails into his enormous back. The familiar scent of his body wreaks havoc as it makes its way into your brain. That musky, leathery scent. The scent that makes you want to do unspeakable things. Your hands search for the buttons of his plaid shirt. He beats you to it as he straightens up and rips it open like a wet piece of paper. Just when you thought you wouldn't go even crazier. He leans in at an agonizing pace. His breath fans over your face as he whispers, "Shall we go to bed,” looking straight into your soul.

Joel puts his arms under your knees and around your torso. You let him lift you up. You can feel your arms snaking up around his exposed back. Your hands stop at the back of his neck. Then you are carried out of the kitchen. To the narrow hall of your house. To the dingy but quaint staircase. And finally, to your bed. His eyes never leave yours. Yours never leave his.

And as the night becomes deeper and all of Jackson falls into a bottomless slumber, it hits you.

You are in love.

[sodascribbles]

WANING MOON – 1. STREET RAT

So, that stray dog that's been terrorizing dumpsters across the neighborhood? Yeah, it's not a dog.

content: young (teenageish) whumpee. abandoned pet whumpee. reluctant caretaker. past starvation. no beta we die like salem's sanity. swearing.

notes: FINALLY STARTING ON THIS BINGO CARD LOL. i mean actually i have several drafts. but actually POSTING something !! also gestures wildly to Moony!! yayy whump series time!!

"Of course," Salem grumbles, her umbrella springing to life above her. Thunder rumbles off in the distance, lightning skittering across the streets. "Of fucking course."

On the one day Asher couldn't give her a ride, she has to walk in the rain. Story of her life.

She spends most of the walk grumbling to herself, stomping through puddles. The chill in the air seeps straight into her bones, even though her hoodie; she scowls, jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.

A block from her apartment, she passes by the infamous Creepy Guy Alley— at least, infamous to her and her friends. Salem herself had nearly gotten stabbed here. When a dumpster topples over as she passes, she assumes it's just another titular Creepy Guy, and lays a hand on the pepper spray in her pocket.

There's no creepy guy. Just frantic scuffling. Maybe that dumb stray dog that Asher had been complaining about.

Salem stands there for a few seconds longer than she should, letting the cold sink into her bones. A stray out here in the rain... poor thing was probably starving...

She sighs through her nose and ruffles through her bag. "Hey, little guy," she coos, fishing out her half-finished lunch. The sounds stop short. "Hungry, little buddy?"

Salem scoots forward, carefully waving the sandwich. "Please don't be a raccoon," she says, in that same bright puppy-dog tone.

She reaches the edge of the dumpster, and holds the sandwich out a little further. She clicks her tongue a few times, shuffling forward just a little further—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

A pair of mismatched eyes stare up at her from a dirty, shivering lump of torn fabric. That's a person. He looks younger than her. Oh fuck, she echoes internally.

"You're not a dog," she whispers. Her arm is still outstretched, steadily soaking. "Oh, God." The 'stray dog' has been terrorizing their trash for weeks. This kid's been out here for weeks? She stammers for a few dumb moments, but eventually manages; "Where the hell are your parents?"

The kid blinks at her, wide-eyed, terrified. He's shivering head to toe. Slowly, his eyes unfocusing as he thinks, he shakes his head. Salem's brows furrow.

"O-kay," she mumbles, finally lowering her arm. "No shit. You've been out here for ages." She chews on her bottom lip. "Let's get you out of the trash. Come here, buddy, let's—"

Salem hardly sees him move, but suddenly he's standing in front of her. He's five foot even, maybe, hunched over like some kind of animal. He kinda smells like an animal. Everybody thought he was an animal.

Oh God, the animal in their trash was actually a kid. Fuck.

She shifts the umbrella to cover them both. "Here," she says, handing him the sandwich. "Let's, uh, let's start with that."

He stares at her expectantly. There are bags under his mismatched eyes so dark they look like bruises. His cheeks are sunken. He looks like somebody hollowed him out and filled the empty space with nothing but terror. His teeth are chattering so hard she's certain Asher can hear it from here.

He doesn't eat.

Stammering uselessly for a few moments, Salem nudges his hand again. "That's— that's food, buddy. I'm sorry I tried to give it to you like a dog, but— it's, uh, fair game." He scarves it down like he hasn't eaten in weeks. She tries not to be too freaked out. "Okay," she whispers again.

"My— my apartment is, like, a block that way," she explains, shrugging her jacket from her shoulders. When she reaches to wrap it around him, he flinches so hard he nearly topples over. "Shit— fuck. Sorry. You're shaking like a leaf. This is— well, okay, it's kinda damp. But it'll probably be warmer than—" she gestures to his scrappy sweater, hanging off of him— "that."

He carefully pulls it on. She takes his hand— carefully, trying not to startle him again— and the two of them start off.

. . .

She half-carries him up the stairs, both of them dripping wet. He shakes against her; she rattles from the force of it.

"Stay here for a second," Salem mumbles, sliding her shoes off at the door. "I'm gonna get you something nice and warm to change into. You got a color preference?"

He stares at her like she's grown an extra head.

"I'll take that as a no."

She gets halfway down the hall and stops, turning right back around. The poor kid looks at her like a deer in headlights. He hadn't moved a muscle.

"You..." Salem pauses. He smells like a wet garbage rat, because that's effectively what he was. "You should probably take a shower."

He inches forward. There's something wrong about the way he moves, but Salem can't figure out what exactly it is. She holds out her hand, and he shakily takes it. (It's like holding an ice cube.)

"I'll get the water started and then pop out to get you some clothes. Okay?"

He nods slowly, spacily. "Yes ma'am," he whispers. So he could talk. That would make things easier.

She doesn't make the shower as hot as she normally would. Salem's no medical expert, but she's pretty sure she's read somewhere that putting a cold person into hot water did more harm than good— why was eluding her, but...

"My name is Salem," she says, waiting for the water to warm. "You got a name, kid?"

His arms waver awkwardly and finally settle wrapped around himself. For a long moment, he doesn't respond.

"Moony, ma'am," he manages, finally. Salem decides not to judge.

"Okay, Moony." She very firmly decides not to judge, even though it sounds like something a ten year old would name a dog. Living on the streets had made him physically animalistic, sure, but the name?

She keeps her face carefully neutral. "That warm enough, bud?"

Moony sticks his arm out and tests the water, nodding slowly. "Yes'm."

Salem stands, sighing through her nose. "Alright. I'm gonna go get you some clothes. You can use whatever you want in there, towels are—" She opens a cupboard, only to find it empty. "I'll bring you a towel."

She leaves him to it, clicking the door shut behind her, and sighs. "Fuck," she whispers.

The front door unlocks and swings open. Asher drops his backpack off without even glancing up.

Salem groans. "Double fuck."

[martyreasemymind]

for the WIP tag game: more on BS please

(because it reminded me of drafting sideways before it had a name and the doc was called BS which obv stood for billy/steve but nevertheless my brain autocorrected it on sight, given the usual acronym, until it came time to post and i realized i couldn't actually name my fic bullshit)

i won't go TOO into this one b/c it's very old and a mess (yes the bs stands for bullshit lol)

this was an original work about a family of shapeshifters trying to care for two of their children who escaped from government captivity/experimentation/military use.

Llena, the younger sister, is traumatized but generally able to function.

Jay, the older brother, yo-yo's between being fragile and being completed dissociated due to his experience with scientists/military forcing transformations and causing him to lose his identity and connection with reality.

the ki'd family had been dysfunctional and bordering on abusive before their abduction, and completely unraveled after. at the beginning of the story there has been a degree of recovery due to the remaining kids being removed and the parents receiving treatment.

the story is told primarily from the perspective of the eldest brother, Coda.

Excerpts:

-

He felt the anxiety in his gut twist into hate. Like a house fire. The kind you have to douse for hours to really get rid of. To kill.

Arlo stood behind him, watched him dig his forehead into the harsh bark. Wordless. 

It was a strange feeling to be seen like this. Flayed open. Like he’d been caught.

When he turned and settled on the ground she joined him. Looking at the stars, he felt her head rest on his shoulder.

-

“Is there any chance he won’t make it?”

“No. Not unless something catastrophic happens.”

Catastrophe is relative. It could be anything. Five years ago it was Pela breaking a plate.

“Get out of your own head. You’re not helping anyone.”

Nessar stood in the open threshold of the hospital room.

“You probably shouldn’t be hanging out here either.”

Nothing.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You know he can pick up on your stress”

He didn’t like this version of her. Doctor-Aunt. Emotionally detached but close enough to get under his skin.

“Thought you said he’d be fine.”

“Being fine and being not dead are two different things.”

He looked at her. Gave her his best pleading look as a final grab for sympathy.

“It’s not good for you to be here.”

Goddammit.

“Look,”

Her eyes went away from him.

“It’s been a week and he’s doing fine. The hardest part is over”

She shrugged.

“Physically”

Fuck you.

“And I know you wanna be here and look after him but it isn’t healthy for you. Mentally. You should get back to class and get your mind on something else. Or at least try to.”

He turned back to his unconscious brother.

“Have you spoken to either of your parents in the last week?”

He scoffed.

“What? To make me less stressed?”

Nessar’s fingers went to her temples.

“Fine. You all wanna be stubborn shits and refuse to talk to each other, fine. But just think about what you’re leaving him to wake up to.”

He scowled, but rose from his seat when she stepped out.

-

“Oh.”

Coda sat at the breakfast table. Didn’t look at his father standing in the doorway. Couldn’t.

“Is there something wrong?”

He felt the anger crackle inside of him, the familiar thump of blood in his ears that heralded an outburst.

Communicate. State your feelings.

“I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you.”

He could see his father’s shoulders lean back in shock from the corner of his eye.

“I’m still…”

His mouth twisted into a sour grimace. 

Try again.

“I’m still...angry”

His father looked on but Coda didn’t see him. It was easier to pretend he wasn’t there. To pretend he was alone in his room, screwing his eyes shut and whispering threats and promises into the empty space and truly believing that it would hold them forever. That it could.

I’ll kill you

I’ll kill you

I’ll kill you

I’ll kill you

“And I’m angry...that I’m still angry.”

Asil tilted his head. Eyes soft.

“Coda...If this is about me getting my feelings hurt-”

“It’s not. It’s… We need to be together for when-”

His teeth tug into his bottom lip.

“For when he wakes up.”

There was a silence, both considering.

“I understand, and I appreciate you taking that stance,”

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. To his father being calm and rational and compassionate. He still doesn’t.

“But I don’t want you to feel like any anger you have towards me needs to go away just because there’s a bigger issue at hand.”

Tears stung behind his eyes. He hated this, he hated falling apart in front of the person he was always supposed to be better than.

He felt his father make an abortive step forward. The desire, the duty, to stay stoic and quiet and grown ground against the protean need to be comforted. The fist against the open palm.

The chair scraped against the wood floor as he stood up and trudged outside. Don’t run. Not from him.

[centrally-unplanned]

I'm curious about the 'mythical “mid-production pivot” theory' that you mention Eva fans surmising. I'm given to understand that Anno took a darker and more psychological tack around episode 16, after reading a book of poetry about depression, and certainly the show's original proposal and the first draft of episode 24 seem to bear this out: Tokyo 3's destruction and Asuka's depression seem to have been later additions. Am I wrong or are you referring to something else?

You aren't wrong per se, it just wasn't nearly as dramatic a turn as these stories tended to suggest. By episode 24, for example, you already had Episode 16 full diversion-into-Shinji's mind; you already even have Episode 4's focus on Shinji's depression and 'auteur' delivery approach. So while there would be individual back-and-forth about individual episodes, and the show got edgier over time, it wasn't a large shift from the initial plan.

The specific draft of episode 24 you can see here; it was written by Akio Satsukawa, and most importantly never reviewed or approved by Anno. So its tonal shift isn't a directorial choice, instead just another creator's vision of the project, and one that was scrapped. I don't think it reflects strongly a debate about the show's direction - instead it can be viewed as bit of a leaked, unofficial document.

The poetry book you are referring to is Bessatsu Takarajima's "Understanding Mental Disease" - you can see some details on it here. The cited Newtype November 1996 interview I think really gets at how this was used:

Anno: I was stuck on Rei's monologue in the recap episode. One day, my friend lent me a psychology special of Bessatsu Takarajima. I was shocked by poems from that book. I was blown away. They switched my mind. Rei's monologue suddenly came to my mind.

It isn't really a depressed man trying to find solace that incidentally changed his work; he was hunting for inspiration for the show actively. So sure, reading this book 'changed' the direction in a certain sense; but only because the direction wasn't known and Anno was doing creative research, not because he was depressed and decided to change things up based on his own his turmoil.

Anno's depression was a bit more over the *production*, not his own mental health per se. He trying to Make It Work as an artist and hitting huge roadblocks at the end. Episodes 25 and 26 are absolutely different from the intended vision - but due to physical inability to complete that vision resulting from production delays, not a mood swing. He was at his most depressed after the completion of the show due to this, feeling it has drained him; his most famous "depression" comments are actually about that period:

After the television broadcast finished, I became worse and worse, and went to see a doctor. I even seriously contemplated death. It's like [I] was empty, with no meaning to [my] existence. Without the slightest exaggeration, I had put everything I had [into Evangelion]. Really. After that finished I realized that there was nothing [left] inside of me. When I asked [the doctor?] about it afterwards, [he said?] "Ah, that is an 'identity crisis'

There is also an interview with longtime Gainax staffer Evangelion producer Hiroyuki Yamaga where he pretty-much says Anno was exaggerating the drama in interviews for clout, lol:

On Anno’s severe depression, his “crisis of the soul,” as a motive in the development of Evangelion. YAMAGA: Well, I think Anno may have appeared in the Japanese media as you suggest; he’s made comments about wanting to die, and so forth, but at least from my perspective, things were never as serious as they appeared in the press. [LAUGHS]

Finally, and I don't have like one link or anything for this, but its just when you go through what we know of the production history, you can't really find a break point like this (outside of episode 25), there doesn't seem to be a turning point. All the themes are there from the beginning. Evangelion changed a ton during production, don't get me wrong, but here - look at the 1993 Evangelion Proposal document. The summary for episode 24 is:

Rei breaks down. Her secrets are revealed. At last awakened, the twelve strongest Apostolos descend from the Moon. Both Eva Unit-06 and the American continent vanish completely. Humans acknowledge their helplessness in the face of the Apostolos' crushing power. The promised time, when people will return to nothing, approaches. A human drama in the depths of despair.

Here is part of Shinji's character summary:

The young protagonist believes he can do nothing by himself, but, as new experiences change him and he is able to look reality in the face, he learns and grows as a person.

Naturally, we believe adults must give children self-purpose and the strength to act on their own, for the cause of passing on knowledge and technology. However, today's children can be found by themselves in front of the television, not interacting as part of a group. Other issues such as substance abuse, and never doing anything manually, leave children not knowing what they should do.

Children stuck in a reality wrought with pressures are left unable to act on their own. Are things really okay the way they are?

Its all there, right? Instrumentality, depression, commentary-on-otaku, etc. It was always the intent of the show.

I think this myth as I call it comes from the fact that episode 16 can seem jarring to audiences - but I don't think its jarring *thematically*, its jarring directorially. Some of that is the production getting a little stretched at that point; the abstract, introspective approach does require less animation cuts. But when Anno is asked about the dive-into-Shinji's-mind choice for the episode:

Anno: As far as that goes, I thought it was fine, but then when [the angel] speaks Japanese that was the end [of my initial conception]. Kaworu-kun had been prepared as a “human type” [angel] from the start, and I wanted to hold on to the idea of [an angel] conversing in human language until then. When I wondered, well, what will [Shinji] do after he gets taken into the angel, I wondered if this might be [his] chance for self-reflection. Episode��16’s “inner space”-like environment was the first [of that sort]. That went relatively smoothly.

Its like "oh yeah i was gonna have him talk to an angel, but I thought oh crap that will impact Kaworu's reveal too harshly, so what to do....ah, what about Shinji talks with himself?" This isn't a depression-pivot, this is just the creative process, the team was learning and experimenting as they went.

[flowers-shouldnt-die]

For all the shippers who don't ship what I ship, and I made them uncomfortable. Sorry about that.

This is my heartfelt apology for all the Yennaia shippers. A snippet of the fic I'm trying to write, it's almost a first draft so it might need some editing and all. I changed a few things so you'd like it. This is just a tiny part of that stupid scene, and what I imagine Tissaia might have felt. (I mean I kinda know, like been there done that lol)

Anyway, hope you enjoy it.^^

She lifted her pipe to her lips and drew in a long, slow breath of the fragrant smoke. It offered a momentary reprieve from the torment of her thoughts, but it was a fleeting distraction. Numbness had become her constant companion, a shroud that cloaked her in apathy. The world had lost its colors, its vibrancy, and she, in turn, had lost herself. The coup, his betrayal, the weight of everything she had endured had left her hollow, an empty vessel adrift in a sea of despair. There was a hollowness in her chest that no amount of magic could fill. It was as though she had become drained of all purpose and meaning. The weight of her failures bore down on her shoulders, a heavy burden she could no longer bear. There was nothing left in her. Her hand trembled as she held the freshly penned letter to Yennefer, but it felt like an empty gesture in the grand scheme of things. A final message of love and regret. She knew that her actions would leave scars on the young sorceress, but she believed it was for the best.

"Sometimes a flower is just a flower, and the best thing it can do for us is to die." she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. She believed that her time had come to wither away. She knew what she had to do. In this world, she felt she had nothing left to give, nothing left to take. Her gaze fell upon the knife, an instrument of both liberation and finality. She could feel the emptiness seeping through the broken shards of her heart. She longed for the flames that had consumed her during the battle. At least in the midst of that chaos, she had felt something, even if it was pain. Now, there was only the harsh, unforgiving emptiness. Her trembling hand reached for the knife that lay on the table before her. She traced its edge with her finger, her mind drifting through memories and regrets.

"You weren't taking control. You were losing it." - decades ago, she told her. Was this also how she felt? Or rather, how she did not feel. What an irony, she thought, that her journey with Yennefer had begun with pain and now would end in pain. She had waited too long to allow herself to feel what she felt for Yennefer, and now it was too late.

[doublegoblin]

Last Line Tag

A big McThankies to @catchingbigfish (Always happy to see your name pop back up on my feed) and @asterhaze (Same to ya lol) for the tag. This actually got me to write a little more of my book to get out of the creative slump.

“Alright then, it’s been a pleasure, let me see you out.” Grabbing the chain of the desk lamp they give us a half hearted salute as they pull the chain. Click With a final flicker of the light bulb we find ourselves once again outside the old rusted door of maintenance. Peter had not traveled with his seat, the low thud of his rear landing on the ragged carpet echoed through the otherwise empty space. With some agitated vocalizations he stood and brushed the dust off his legs. I wait a moment to ensure he is alright before we turn back to the expanding hall. While mostly the same, the deep purple accent along the lower edge of the wall was the indicator of our travel. A glance behind us was returned only with the blank wall of the hall's end. Fishing the keys out of my robe they hummed in the palm of my hand. We were at least on the right floor.

no pressure tagging for @garthcelyn @stanrendipity @tisiphonewolfe (I know you just finished your first draft) @gummybugg

[queenburd]

hmm i am also thinkin abt the curator line “they need each other” …. something something, can a narrator survive without his stanley? just like a human can’t survive without food/water.. quotes in the skip button ending:

“One single thing I need -…- is to know that someone else is taking it in.”

“When you press that button,… the emptiness folds itself outward in between the two of us, and I am suspended in its unyielding quietness. I can feel the edges of my reality curdling inward and decaying. I can tell that I am becoming less and less real.”

so in the same way.. i assume that all of those narrators banding together would provide some kind of support, but. they’re all so busy trying to be heard, they don’t actually listen to each other. it’s just a big game of giving water to the man starved of food. each others’ company is enough to sustain, but it won’t be for forever.

which is why they go after stan’s narrator; they’re not 100% certain what he’s been doing, but surely he’s hoarding all of these stanleys to himself, right? why would he not hold onto them? where is he hiding them?

but there are some narrators too, that read the room and say “what the hell. the only people here selfish enough to hoard stanleys are the ones suggesting this.” and they form their own coalition which isn’t an echo chamber. they all spent their parables making assumptions on themselves and on their stanleys. this was cruel, yes, and basically a death sentence, but they recognize the self-loathing faster than a counselor in the foster care system. and some of them are still in denial about how they treated their stanleys. but they all recognize that We Need To Hear This Guy Out.

and obviously there’s a lot of infighting from both groups. it’s a high-stress situation, who wouldn’t be stressed out by the end of their life suddenly being a thing that is real and also is approaching rapidly. and there are plenty that just give up and let themselves melt away out of guilt or hopelessness.

so the hate group finally gets this guy. and he gives 0 fucks about them. which is frustrating since they did their best to strip him of his power, but he’s been heard by so many stanleys and they haven’t, so they’re still substantially weaker than him.

the sensible group of narrators aren’t able to even get a look at him. and so they’re busy scheming, but less than the hate group. so when the stanleys come to save the narrator, they notice sooner and they make a break for it. “there’s a lot to discuss, but first we want to help save your narrator.” “there isn’t much time before the others notice.” “we’re trying to hide your presence as long as possible.” “do what you do best—tune them out when they want you to listen.” “yes and that punch was deserved. i deserved that.”

the stanleys are suspicious. who are these fuckers with feelings and what have you done to our original narrators lol???? but they’re willing to go with it. how else would they have escaped their parables without trusting an unexpected offer for help?

you said you didn’t have a lot of thoughts but luckily i did ❤️ i might write smth about this au or the original au. still deciding. but my drafts folder is still overflowing so i probably won’t start until there’s a little more stanley stuff fleshed out. ok it’s my bedtime

THE PUBLIC NEEDS TO SEE THIS. I HAVE LITTLE TO ADD TO THIS GEM other than I have genuinely begun to wonder if any of the narrators, having seen this fellow, who theyve been trying to BREAK, just refusing to be broken, begin to.... wonder.

because again, and again, he just keeps telling them "you didn't take care of him. he only had you and you only had him and YOU DIDNT TAKE CARE OF HIM." and he's relentless.

"I dont get to be with my Stanley either, but god, at least in the time I had him I appreciated him. Our story was supposed to be about him finding happiness, and you all forgot that."

I absolutely can see some of them, who werent the cruel ones but were more invested in their story and in their art, starting to wonder "....was he right? did I forget why this was so important? did I--"

YOU HAVE SOMETHING HERE.

[fivewholeminutes]

i am in fact the same TMBTE anon both times (sorry!! 😭). again, such a cool analysis!!! i'm new to ST and IMMEDIATELY got invested. i haven't seen an artist do something like this before, so it's really amazing trying to connect the dots based on what everyone thinks. and yes, i do think it's the same girl in the music videos, which is interesting because of the whole "he planned everything from the start" theory. then i wonder about what the music videos mean (though i do agree that the vision shifted a little after TLYW)! i loooveee the idea that Sleep is coming from within Vessel, cause he's literally a host as in an empty holding vessel. and the white mask thing omg......so crazy cool......cause then it goes into after being "taken hostage", they change their masks as like some sort of acceptance (which kind of mirrors Vessel's black body paint transformation cause the current masks are black too?). idk, i do think that sometimes we/the fans stretch things, but that's also the fun of it. always love hearing the Think™

and in true sleep token fashion, i think i'll remain anon - 🪼

Hello again, Anon!! Sorry this one took so much time! I am stuck in a car now, so I can finally finish it. The editing on mobile is an absolute fucking nightmare though

Don't be sorry for being the same Anon! I was just listing all possibilities and now, knowing it was you all the time, I hereby pronounce you My Beloved Anon. No take backsies. (Kidding, if you're not comfortable with this title, let me know!)

Alright! Let's make a list:

Immediately getting invested in ST? HIGH FIVE, this is what happens to approx. 98% of us (at least here on tumblr). And everybody agrees that there is Something about them. And nobody knows what that is, only that it works. So we're actually in a cult, sorry everyone!

Ok, no, it's not entirely true that we don't know, people have hinted that their uniqueness might be in a. extreme fucking talent, obviously and b. letting the audience fill in the gaps that lack of the band members' identities provides with whatever suits everyone's needs best.

The videos switch their vibe dramatically, don't they? The early ones feel more... I don't know, based in reality (maybe except for the Fields of Elation), while TPWBYT ones feel more like they are set in those dreamlands Vessel mentions in The Apparition. Okay, TLYW is more dreamland-ish, Alkaline looks like it's set on Earth/waking world, but Vessel gets too much power from Sleep and needs to be stopped by the ancient-gods-slash-eldrich-horror-hunting version of Ghostbusters. So the older videos seem more human to me, you know what I mean? Maybe they wanted to show that with time, Vessel looses more and more of his humanity. But we can't rule out the "they just had more money for the videos, so they went off" possibility. Also, I think they don't make much videos to not let the fans think there is some "canon" here?? Or they just don't like making them lol

EXCELLENT IDEA with that whole hostage mask situation - I've just had a loose thought they looked like sacks, but i haven't connected it to the lore, thank you, Anon!!!!! Now, as usual, it made me Think™. Cause we have interpretations floating around (which i love, btw) with the other Vessels being "drafted" into the band to relieve the first Vessel from the toll Sleep's power has on him, cause after all, his human body cannot manage it by itself when Sleep grows in power from all the worship. BUT what if they didn't join voluntarily? They weren't persuaded to join the cult, but they were kidnapped instead. Carefully chosen, to fulfill the plan of greatness. Hence the hostage-looking-masks. And then stockholm syndrome kicked in (i know, i know, the term is not exactly correct anymore, but for the lack of a better one 🤷‍♀️) and they were like "ye, you know what. That's actually better than a 9-5 job" and the masks changed. They have embraced the dark side. (I am cataloguing this under "unhinged theories", btw. But yeah, it's just a thought, possibility, me fucking around etc. That's a long-ish car trip, I gotta do something with myself, you know.)

Oh and we absolutely DO stretch things (see point 4, for example)! See things that aren't there. Make 2648585 interpretations. It's fun (when we remember not to involve the real people behind the masks in the mix)!

Anon, i respect you deciding to stay on Anon so much. You're making the band proud, probably!

[okthatsgreat]

12, 13, 24, 25, 26, 29, 43, 74

For fanfic ask game because brain still go brrr about your work a lot :D

JORDANNNNNN SHAKING YOU GRABBING YOU SHAKING YOU

this ones gonna be LONG lol GONNA PUT THIS UNDER READ MORE :]

12. do you outline your fics?  if yes, how detailed are your outlines?  how far do you stray from them?

i try to lmfaoooo!!!! for opddmh for example, ive got the basic outline of how i want everybodys arcs to end, the climax of the story, and a vague idea of a few of the plot beats all written out in an empty discord server i use to keep track of things!! i also put in loose scraps of dialogues i daydream up even if im not quite sure where theyll fit in yet, just so if im really stuck i can scroll through and see if anything rings a bell!! there are QUITE a few emotional scenes already written out and ready to go

nothing is super detailed tho!! quite a bit of it is still on a chapter to chapter basis. while i have an outline its not always set in stone, for example there were a LOT of scenes i had scribbled down for odietlg and lgowab that didnt make the final cut!! i dont have the notes for odietlg but i do have them for lgowab bc theyre archived in that empty discord server i mentioned earlier lol. one idea from that story that got scrapped were all of the different endings coming from different peoples point of views (for example korekiyos pov, tenkos pov, kaedes pov) but that got scrapped bc i thought itd lessen the impact a bit. ALSO in one of the earlier drafts of lgowab a LOT more v3 kids were gonna be ahl members including tenko, but i thought it was more important to keep their numbers down to really emphasise how much danganronpa is dramatising their threat level lol! off the top of my head there were bits and pieces i scrapped from odietlg too but i wont go on and on about that LOLOL

oh and also there is an entire channel dedicated to miu that i still go back to sometimes LMFAOO

13. do you listen to music while you write?  if yes, what have you been listening to recently?

oh my god i cant listen to music while i write LMFAOO or at least not music with lyrics. if i really really need to write i will pull myself up by my pants sit down at my desk and stare at my screen in total silence until eventually my adhd meds wear off and i go to sleep

im mostly kidding LMFAO if i really need something in the background ill put on this playlist! if i need inspo sometimes i go to the fic playlists ive got on spotify :]

24. how do you choose whose POV to write in?

i choose based on who i think will tell an interesting story! going to be flat out honest with you, sometimes the povs i write from arent my favorite characters, but i think that their personal story would be a really good fit in what im trying to convey! tenko is probably one of the only exceptions considering the entire story is based around her surviving LMFAO even then that was mostly because i wanted to dissect her under a microscope for 42 chapters. emma and maki are like this too considering mask of my own face/run from your demons are oneshots :]

himiko and miu got chosen for lgowab mostly based on the fact that they had completely different stories to tell and i didnt want to choose two protags who were going through the same thing!! himiko strived for selflessness while miu struggled with morality and paranoia and i thought they would contrast well :] and oh my god let me tell you i did not expect to bring miu back for a whole other fic but i got ATTACHED shes such a mess.

everybody in opddmh were selected because they brought a range of different lifestyles/coping mechanisms to a post-game universe and they all have stories i wanted to explore!! makoto and being the poster child for hope and struggling with how others perceive him, mikans debate with her own morality and growing bitterness towards the company, and then of course akanes total refusal to be worried at all costs. byakuyas brief povs are to supply a more pessimistic view of their situation that parallels miu, which is why theyre always together during it. ive mentioned this in another ask from kozuelovemail but the v3 kids that stay alongside each pov were selected because they parallel the older participants in some way!!

and then of course. probably goes without saying but i do tend to choose female povs lmfaooo not only because I Am One but also because theyre just soooo criminally unexplored

25. what’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

well i can say its NOT editing LMFAOOOO this bitch does not edit!!!!!!!!!!!!! which you can probably tell!!!! i mean i give it a good glance and then send it off usually a lot of the edits are made when i wake up in the morning read over the chapter again and go "what the hell was i trying to say here"

brainstorming maybe???? i love Thinking. a lot of the times stories come to me in various scenes rather than one linear storyline and ive gotta grab them all from inside my head and mash them together. i also love brainstorming characters arcs and what their Deal is gonna be throughout it

and then writing of course. love writing. ive had to teach myself to kinda just type out a draft at first and to stop going back to edit, and then once i finish i go back and add extra or remove anything that sounds silly. writing on a good day is lots of fun!!!! ESPECIALLY when its scenes that im excited for/are high drama. like. those high drama scenes that ive been waiting to get down onto google docs dot com...... hell yea

26. what’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

PFFT WHOOPS already answered probably editing! its difficult for me to sit there and read over everything meticulously cuz my brain just does not want to thoroughly go through something especially if ive just completed it. which. most of the time as soon as i complete it and have gone back to add in extra/remove the silly bits i consider it done and i send it through LMFAO. thats on me for updating weekly tho!!! there are gonna be mistakes!!!!!!!!!! and yknow what ive learned to live with that this is a fanfiction i write for fun and i do this cuz i love writing :]

29. what’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

hgfdjkgshdk i always feel so bad like. praising my writing yknow? theres always going to be parts of it id change or want to go back on but if i had to choose something id probably say the characterisation? i try to put in a lot of effort in making these people feel more human and not as "larger than life" as they usually are, and i want every pov i write from to have flaws and things theyre good at and little quirks that make each of them stand out from each other. when i write characters i try to keep in mind the little things about them, like himiko twitching her nose or mikan having acne shes self conscious about, miu twirling her hair or makoto using novelty mugs instead of the more aesthetically pleasing ones. just tiny things that round them out as people :]

43. is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

ouhghggh..... not sure! im so so focused on opddmh rn if i think about anything else ill totally spiral away from it (im already doing that with the rp im in LMFAOOOO erin on the brain). there are a few things im excited to write for but thatd be spoiling >:)

73. do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

not really!!!! i know its such a corny fucking answer but genuinely people have been so so lovely on all of my fics. like some of the kindest people. and also people who have stuck around for a very long time!! theres one commenter mythgirl02 who has literally given me a comment on every single chapter on every single fic ive published mythgirl if youre out there..... i love you. and even if they dont comment on every chapter ive gotten commenters who have actually brought me tears YOU FUCKING INCLUDED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and also lily if shes reading this their comments are always so so sweet

i write bc ive got stories i wanna get out of my brain and share!!!!!!! its fantastic that people click on them to read along!!!!! i really try not to worry too much about kudos or reads or anything like that, but the support has been very very lovely and its led me to some awesome communities :]]

JORDAN I FUCKING LOVE YOU FOR THIS <333 THANK YOU SM AND SORRY ITS SO LONG I LIKE TALKING

fanfiction ask game!

[i-am-beckyu]

boo! serenity time! :D i'm sure you've heard of this a few times but never in detail. so finally i can talk about it!!! i actually have started a playlist for it asw! some of the more romance-heavy songs are just /p obv but i think that much was obvious lol

also PLEEEASE ignore my placeholder names for realms! i am slooowly working on digging up old words and trying to develop some languages for this fic. it'll take a while lol

OKAY into the good stuff (without spoiling the backstory ofc)

there are four (well)known realms: the overworld, the realm of the spirits, the mortal realm, and the underworld. tommy lives in the overworld, but he can't exactly say he likes it much.

he's lucky he's getting out! for a bit, at least. tommy is a younger resident, meaning that before he can earn any proper respect or get a real overworld job, he will need to complete a life trial, meaning he's going to be sent to the mortal realm to collect a certain amount of ingredients to prove his worth.

his mentor, dream, a higher-up in the overworld government, volunteers to make the potion that'll safely transport him to the mortal realm, with the helpful addition of keep him disguised as a mortal.

when the potion goes into play, he faints and wakes up in a new place, somewhere that almost doesn't feel right. which is exactly right, he is in the spirit realm, the easiest realm to reach from the overworld, seeing as they're connected by miles of bridge. he's not there permanently--it's just the in-between, where he waits for a train to guide him to the mortal realm.

when said train arrives and he gets on, he's in an empty car. almost empty. there's a lady sitting in the very corner, her hands folded in her lap and looking small. tommy makes a move immediately to talk to her. to his dismay, the woman is lady life, sister to lady death and here to offer her comfort while tommy makes the switch between realms.

once he does, he's in an alleyway. and he finds himself considerably smaller. at first, he considered if it was because humans were just smaller than the people in the overworld, but as he catches his first glimpse of them walking past the alley, towering over him, he holds his hands out to come to a terrifying conclusion that he's young. so, so young.

the day passes and night arrives, which tommy barely acknowledges due to his exploration of everything, and by the time he wakes up on his second day, he's being talked to. already! the man he speaks to has shoulder-length bleached blond hair and is looking at him with concern.

days come and go, and the man--phil--has been building trust up with tommy by visiting him every day on his way to and fro work.

// ok like weeklong timeskip sahdefs

phil eventually takes tommy home with him after hanging out with him a bit. tommy is eager to, because hell, if he's going to be here for a while, a life would be a good thing to get started, right? and he's young, he can't do much in the mortal realm. he learned that the hard way.

when he gets to phils house, one of his sons (the only one home), wilbur, is very judgmental of him. they do not get along at all, wilbur keeps trying to pick a fight with him. frankly, it's both funny and irritating, so he lets it happen quietly. (i have some good young crimebois scenes in this fic all written up as a draft. i'll give them to you for a price >:3)

// oh yeah also like random thingy that i can't rlly write,,, tommy when he first gets to the overworld is just like he was when he was in the overworld, he still is mature (as mature as tommy can be) and can comprehend the things he's learned in his life. but, as time goes on, he slowly falls more into the mindset of a child. by six (he spawns into the mortal realm as 5) he is almost completely lost in kid-like thoughts. WHICH SPARKS THE CRIMEBOIS SCENE!!! >:3333 but this also comes at a cost. how much longer can he go clinging onto his overworld life if he's not going to have a clear mindset until he lives life for the second time?

that following night, tommy gets a look at the night sky for the first time, and meets techno, who is returning from a sleepover. // random yes ik wtv JDDJS

anyways, years pass and tommy is now sixteen! he's met tubbo and ranboo and is easily into the domesticated family dynamic. he has weird dreams sometimes, especially this one repeating nightmare. but otherwise, things are completely normal. until, of course, he finds a small piece of paper folded neatly on his desk, a letter underneath, a stack of gold-speckled paper to it's side, and a golden pencil nestled between everything.

// that's basically as much as i'm willing to give rn! there's also a lot more,, i have SOME major events pretty planned out and gods i've spent hours upon days daydreaming about the beginning/early middle, but the late-middle and ending are the hardest, yk? hopefully some inspo strikes soon,, worst-case-scenario i type and see where it goes,,,

there's also some fun things w this! liiiike a lot of allium duo bonding, techno killing tommy but they turn it into a game, a memory book (not ranboo's), a fun milk-related crisis (think think think, what could that possibly entail? :D) uhhh and just sooo much other stuff

ANYWAYS lmk what you think and if you want more!

YESSSS HOORAY!!! DETAILS!!!

Okay one, thank you for the playlist!!! Def gonna listen to this!

This is so wonderfully cool! Are people in the overworld like angels or gods? Because they sound so fancy smancy but have jobs! But like I assume there more magical jobs and such.

And he’s five when he gets sent there?!? Oh that is so adorable because he still had his overworld memories and AHHH I can just imagine the whole “I’m not a child” scenario so well!

And she’s basically just been adopted and now he’s not going to wanna leave! But Dreams def sent the message and I wanna know MORE!!! Like I need more! You always allure to stuff on it but I want more world building and detail!!!

So now to sell my soul for the young crime boi draft fic. What do you desire Brick in exchange for it?

just MMMMM I WANT MORE AND I LOVE THIS!!!

Side note: I checked your blog for a serenity Au tag but there wasn’t one so gonna pop that I’m the tags. I can remove it if you want tho