#avalanche would also be bad from that pov

[getvalentined]

Biting my own fingers to keep from going off on too much scientific bullshit in this next chapter of Smoke and Mirrors because Nobody Needs All That and it breaks the pacing but also MAYBE I NEED TO EXPLAIN THAT GENESIS COPIES ARE JUST MEN WITH A DISEASE WHO WENT ALONG WILLINGLY—

[annamatix]

episode 1 of the jenny-anna taylor jurdan collab series YIPPEE (that's a mouthful we'll need to find a better name)

@viivdle did cardan's pov in two parts (linked at the bottom of this post) and i did jude's here

today’s topic: dancing with our hands tied (jurdan’s version)

“i, i loved you in secret” = jude didn’t tell a single soul that she had feelings for cardan

“first sight, yeah we love without reason” = after their first kiss she was super confused and didn’t understand why she was growing feeling for him, hence the ‘without reason’

“oh, 25 years old” = they weren’t 25, but they were very young so this could mean how literally the fate of the land fae was thrust into the hands of ‘kids’ (18?? 19??)

“oh, how were you to know, my love had been frozen. deep blue but you painted me golden” = in tcp jude clearly states that she is not interested in marrying or has feelings for anyone, but cardan kickstarted those feelings, clearly

“oh, and you held me close” = she was around cardan a lot, he kept her close to stead as seneschal and whatnot

“i could’ve spent forever with your hands in my pockets” = this could refer to the way cardan was slowly becoming more spy-like, learning from the roach (‘hands in my pockets’ = him stealing stuff, like her heart)

“picture of your face in an invisible locket” = 1) this is elfhame, so invisible lockets are totally normal, and 2) this could also mean how cardan was always on jude’s mind, like when he turned into a serpent she still imagined him sitting there, giving her pointers in his own sarcastic way

“you said there was nothing in the world that could stop it, i had a bad feeling” = the way when jude was seneschal, cardan would always say things like ‘what a shame not one of them knows who their real ruler is’ and jude always feeling like this power could slip out of her grasp soon

“and darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis” = smirk (sorry) basically this could be about when jude and cardan did something together and agreed on it, it was a rare moment, making it 'sacred'

“people starting talking putting us through our paces” = there’s lots of whispering in courts like elfhame’s and jurdan was definitely affected by them

“i knew there was no one in the world who could take it, i had a bad feeling” = jude crowned cardan against his will, and she had to bear so many responsibilities, so again she felt like the power could fall from her anytime soon

“but we were dancing, dancing with our hands tied, hands tied” = even though she was seneschal, jude felt powerless in many ways, frustrated that she couldn’t control cardan, hence the ‘hands tied’

“yeah we were dancing, like it was the first time, first time” = jude and cardan kept repressing their feelings for each other, and then whenever they felt something/did something, they were always surprised (‘like it was the first time’ = signaling even though they did it before, they were still shocked, like the first time they did it)

(skipping the rest of the chorus, it’s basically a repeat)

“i, i loved you in spite of, deep fears that the world would divide us” = painfully obvious, a mortal and a faerie?? jude duarte and the beloved high king of elfhame?? not even in your wildest dreams, right?

“so baby can we dance, through an avalanche” = jurdan has been through a LOT together, this somewhat symbolizes that

“and say, say that we got it, i’m a mess but i'm the mess that you wanted” = do i even have to say it? jude i-poison-myself-every-day-and-made-a-deal-with-prince-dain-who-made-me-stab-clean-through-my-hand-plus-i-did-a-shit-ton-of-other-insane-things duarte, and cardan is head over heels for this woman

“oh, cause it’s gravity, keeping you with me” = its so hard to keep cardan under her thumb, and also unbelievable he would do it on his own accord. this could also work romantically, its crazy to her that cardan actually loves her

(skipping the chorus cuz i already did it above)

“i’d kiss you as the lights went out, swaying as the room burned down. i’d hold you as the water rushes in, if i could dance with you again” = symbolizes the time when cardan was a serpent, jude didn’t care which type of cardan he would be, what would happen, or anything else, she just wanted him next to her again. girlie was highkey desperate

(the rest of the song is basically the chorus)

wow thank you for reading until here *bows*

sorry if its shallow jenny is the better analyzer between us two 🙏

cardan's pov part 1

cardan's pov part 2

[viivdle]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Jurdan's Version) with @annamatix<3

here is part two of my analysis, and don't forget to look at anna's version in jude's pov on her account!!

"And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis" fits cardan well. the most obvious reasons are that he calls jude "darling god" and he was never ashamed of his sexuality, he's open about his desires. but all he's done was try to fill the void that jude caused and would inevitably fill. she turned what was fun into something sacred.

"People started talking, putting us through our paces" the folk talk about them, it's inevitable. i think it takes a bigger toll on cardan than he'd ever admit. not because he doubts the strength of their love, but because he knows being mortal in elfhame already sets you up for failure, and how hard jude works to live up to standards and exceed them. being constantly brought down does something to you, even if you're used to it. he is the first to know it.

"I knew there was no one in the world who could take it" again, nobody can take the judging of *everyone* in elfhame without some help. he knows how strong jude is, but he also knows how she's shielded herself from the not-so-whispered whispers before. and he knows how he himself coped with it. if he can help jude ignore the small part of gossip that does get to her, he will.

"But we were dancing, dancing with our hands tied, hands tied" another example of the ability to take it literally. cardan's hands were tied through (almost) all of TWK. beside that, a lot of opportunities didn't present themselves to cardan, even though he was already the high king, because of the prophecy. all throughout the series we read about people looking down at him, this doesn't change after the coronation. it just makes other people weary of what could happen if they were to cut deals with a cursed king.

"Yeah we were dancing, like it was the first time, first time" the scheming of jude was nothing new to cardan, whenever it happened it simply followed a pattern he already knew. their whole story is so diverse but can be looked at from a certain perspective that shows it can all be watered down into the same/similar tropes. betrayal, hurt, anguish - nothing new to either of them.

"I, I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us" as mentioned before, cardan doesn't like it when jude throws herself into danger - and she does it over and over again. not only that, but there is always the chance of assassinations they can't control - we know they happen quite often as well. all those fears that are reasonable make *him* being the person to separate them even more ironic.

"So, baby, can we dance, oh, through an avalanche?" for me these lyrics fit the scene after balekin's murder when cardan asks jude to marry him. it's risky, not 100% thought through, and definitely not thought of because of rationality. but he had hopes of overcoming what had already divided them before with it.

"I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted" do i even need to explain? "shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous" says enough. i could go into a whole rant about it though.

"Oh, 'cause it's gravity, oh, keeping you with me" what else would keep bringing them together if not gravity and the force of the universe? they shouldn't work. they shouldn't. but only if you look at their dynamic and not the chemistry and emotions that actually make them, well, them. every story and song in elfhame is basically "mortals are bad" and "how could an immortal ever love a mortal" those things are buried in the roots of the kingdom's history. cardan tormented jude for ages, and even if you forgive that, it still wouldn't be healthy. but somehow both of their unhealthy personalities better one another. they work when everything speaks against it. gravity.

"I'd kiss you as the lights went out, swaying as the room burned down" is there a better lyric for the coronation scene than this? it all went to hell, it was a massacre. cardan got obliterated but after jude held him captive he somehow wasn't a total and utter wreck. yes, his family was complicated to say the least, but it was still family. but what was more important for some reason? jude.

"I'd hold you as the water rushes in" taken literally, this is about the time the undersea held jude captive. metaphorically, it's the same. he'd stay with her through it all, it was proven many times. again - he didn't know anything but jude when he was a serpent.

"If I could dance with you again" he was sure he had ultimately lost her when he exiled her, and we have evidence of his regrets and thoughts. he didn't even have the chance to properly enjoy being with her without it being part of a scheme before he banished her. before that, she was taken by the undersea and god knows what he thought during that time.

thank you so much for listening to my rant even though again, i doubt people read all this. i had so much fun writing this and having two different sides on it - anna's and mine. i hope you enjoyed and thank you so much anna, you're amazing<3

[crow-talks-hockey]

Killing Strangers - An Avalanche Mob AU from multiple POV's (Gabe's, Nate's, and Cale's) [part 4]

The sky was colored with deep reds, oranges, and pinks of sunset. The air was beginning to cool, the heat of the day starting to fade as the sun sank lower and lower into the sea. As the minutes ticked by, a blanket of near-black navy darkness covered the city in shadow and Gabe was alone. Gabe stared out at the sea, the dock beneath his feet swaying almost unnoticeably. He looked up into the sky, gazing at the few stars that were visible. The lights of the far away city danced on the still waters in swatches of red and blue and yellow. The moon was the barest sliver in the sky, and the golden bridge to the city was loud with the sound of cars even from this far away. 

Gabe and a select group of the others had moved to the furthest outskirts of the city for this job, keeping everything discreet as possible. The less people knew the better. This could be their only chance at not only finding Nate, but also at finally making an impactful move against the Lightning. If anything went askew, it could mean death or worse. The grainy sound of wheels on asphalt was what pulled Gabe from his thoughts. Cale’s car pulled into the port and the engine cut leaving only silence.

Gabe turned towards the twenty-four year old who was now striding towards him, an odd look of determination in his still boyish features. It was strange, seeing him like this, so stoic and silently driven. Gabe felt, so insistently, that Cale was not here to just watch. He knew the look of a man with a violent plan— he had seen it many times in a mirror— and Cale had that look. It was a dangerous look, something jarring to see so deeply engraved in Cale’s expression. Gabe couldn’t decide if he felt completely unnerved or if he was proud. It might have been a mix. 

Cale gave him a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” muttered Gabe quickly.

Gabe turned to return to the building behind him, but he was stopped by Cale’s hand on his arm. He pulled Gabe aside before letting him go. Gabe waited patiently for Cale to gather his thoughts. The night was quiet, the sun now fully set and the world ahead of them only lit with bright, artificial light. Noises from the city carried over the water, but here nothing stirred. It was just him and Cale staring out at the sea, unspeaking. “What if we don’t find him?” Cale broke the silence.

Gabe looked at his shoes and put his hands in his pockets. The question lingered in the air like the bad aftertaste of fake sugar. Gabe scratched at his beard, thinking of what would be best to say. Anyone else would have given him support, reassurance, but Cale didn’t want that from Gabe. He never had. Cale only ever wanted honesty. So, Gabe replied with the most painfully truthful answer he had, “I don’t know.” 

I don’t know, what a cruel joke. Gabe hated it. He hated being in the dark. He hated being vulnerable. His hand was being forced, and Gabe, for the first time in his life, was unsure of what to do. It terrified him.

Cale barely nodded in response before he turned on his heel and stormed away into the building behind him, his shattered watch glinting in the starlight. Gabe couldn’t tell why, but that almost felt final. This all felt… final. Gabe left the quiet splashing of the waves against black rock and followed Cale to what might be their end.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the idle chatting of the others filled the barely lit building. Gabe watched as Cale disappeared from the hall and turned into the large living room where his colleagues were. He stared at the wood panel wall, at the paintings hung slightly askew. Gabe slipped off his jacket and threw it against a flower-patterned armchair haphazardly before joining Cale in the elaborate, Victorian-esque room. Immediately, everyone went silent and turned their gaze to their boss. Gabe grinned, scanning over the men in their suits as they lounged on stools, couches, chairs, or whatever they could find and sipped on fancy glasses of whiskey.

“Well,” he began loudly, “what are you waiting for?”

Cale stood from where he’d been sitting on a tall stool at the room’s bar. He lifted his glass and dipped his head. Again, Gabe felt that strange sense of calm surety and promptly ignored it. Gabe pursed his lips, waiting a few moments longer. The silent excitement and unspoken possibility of violence was blood in water filled with sharks.

Cale was the one to finish Gabe’s words, short and bold, “Bring him in.”

Immediately, Val and Kurtis stood and exited the room. Cale took over, motioning— glass still in hand with a small amount of whiskey in the bottom— for some of the others to move away furniture. They obliged without complaint, everyone else sensing Cale’s determination just like Gabe had. No one dared acknowledge it. 

Mikko was the only one to say a word to the distressed twenty-four year old. He waved off Artturi and laid a hand on Cale’s shoulder, expression kind. “We’ll find him,” he promised.

Cale’s hardened features snapped up, and for a moment Gabe thought that Mikko was about to get his head bitten off. Instead, Cale’s furrowed brows softened and he exhaled, his entire body seeming to unwind. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Mikko nodded and took his seat on the couch— that now was pushed against the wall instead of in the middle of the room— next to Artturi. Gabe leaned against the wall, impressed and he laughed at himself. Cale appeared to be managing the situation better than Gabe had thought he would. He looked calm, sure of himself in ways Gabe had never seen before. It was starting to catch Gabe off-guard, though maybe that was just because he knew that was something he could never do. Gabe led with violence, but Cale managed to lead peacefully. Gabe would be lying if he said that was something that he did not envy.

It was the tripping and shuffling of feet that took Gabe out of his thoughts and back to the room. Val and Kurtis held a blindfolded and gagged man up and practically threw him into the chair in the middle of the room. Gabe hitched in a breath, finally noticing that Cale was standing next to him. When did he get there? Gabe refocused on the task at hand, glad that Cale didn’t seem to notice him startling. Gabe watched closely as Val and Kurtis tied the Bolt to the chair and removed his blindfold. 

He was a thin-faced man with a short sheaf of light brown hair. His jarring blue eyes shone with untouchable anger. Gabe wasn’t sure if he should be surprised at him not resisting anything. Men like him, men like Gabe, were raised cold. Val and Kurits moved away and took a seat once more, content to observe along with the others. Gabe searched the scrawny man’s features for any tells. He found none. Gabe cursed under his breath, this might be harder than he thought. 

Gabe started rolling up his sleeves and stepped forward. Cale’s hand stopped him and Gabe turned to look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. Cale's voice was quiet, but dark, as he leaned in and whispered, “Let me.”

Gabe’s face paled and dread sank like a stone in his chest. What? 

Cale did not wait for his response, he took Gabe’s stunned look as confirmation. He slipped off his plaid suit jacket and threw it across the room, eyes trained solely on the Bolt before him. That man had answers, and he was going to get them from him. Cale moved with swift, calm determination. Gently, he removed the tape from the Bolt's mouth and asked, “What’s your name?”

The man’s lips drew into a thin line as he debated giving Cale any satisfaction. A few tense moments passed, the two simply staring each other down. Finally, the man gave in and responded curtly, “Corey.”

“Corey,” mused Cale with a small nod. 

Cale looked at his wrist for a long moment, something sad and reminiscent written in his expression as if he were remembering a painful memory and moving past it. Then, to Gabe’s horror, Cale removed his broken watch. The clink it made as it hit the glass table beside him echoed in the silence. What the hell was the kid doing? 

Cale turned back to Corey as he flicked out his pocket knife, the steel glinted in the warm light. He stared at it curiously, dangerously. No one dared say a word. The room was so incredibly quiet that Gabe could hear the out of sync ticking of Cale’s watch, laying discarded on the coffee table. For the first time in his life, Gabe felt true fear for another. 

“Corey,” repeated Cale, his voice still kind like a mother trying to softly scold her child, “You’re going to tell me where they took Nate.”

Gabe wished he could forget the screaming that followed.

***

Nate was drenched with sweat, his nerves firing and his entire body stinging with unfamiliar pain. He could barely breathe, and everything seemed to be shaking. He could taste iron in his mouth as he bit back a scream and swore loudly. His hair was a mess, damp with perspiration and stuck in spots to his forehead. Finally, the round of electric shocks subsided and the constant pain ebbed away slowly. He panted heavily, trying to steady his voice as he looked up at the mix of Bolts and Red Wings before him, “What the hell do you want?”

The boss of the Lightning, who had short blonde hair with piercing blue eyes and was named Steven, folded his arms and smiled at Nate’s crazed state. Clearly he hadn’t expected Nate to be even more incensed and fired up at pain, but that really just showed that this was no personal matter. He wanted something from the Avalanche, and he knew that the best spot to strike would be right where they were strongest: Nate. It was a deadly smart move, Gabe had underestimated them. They all had.

Steven shrugged, explaining plainly, “The usual. Power, territory, money, a bit of glory. You have a reputation out west of the city, so we’re really just doing the other gangs around here a favor. Your ragtag group of nothings has been formidable, I’ll give you that...” Steven paused before continuing, “but, more than anything, you’ve been a nuisance. You raid warehouses of our allies like it's nothing. Those hold our possessions, the ones meant to be stored safely away and dispersed; and you take them or burn them without caring about the enemies you make. Your acts have cost us millions. All for what? More bloodshed.”

Nate grinned, his teeth red with blood. You’re just pissed off that in a matter of a few years we’ve become one of the most renowned gangs out there. Gabe’s going to tear you apart. I’m going to burn your organization to the ground.

Steven’s smile faded and he lunged forward, grabbing Nate by his collar. His cool eyes shone with anger, but Nate did not flinch. Tiredness and pain had made him careless, not talkative. Nate relished how much Steven clearly despised it. “You little prick,” the Lightning’s boss hissed.

He stepped away for a moment, breathing heavily. Then, he spun on his heel and struck Nate directly in his jaw. Nate’s vision blurred and he shook himself out of it. Steven paused for a moment, staring at Nate in disgust. 

“He’s durable,” mused Larkin from a dark corner of the room.

“You want to try your hand at it?” spat Steven.

Nate laughed, “You know I’m not telling you shit, right? You’ve been doing this for how long? A week? Two? And yet, nothing. If you honestly think you can make me suffer enough for me to rat out my own people, then people haven’t spread the right rumors about me.”

 Nate forced himself to smile as Steven struck him again and his nose began to bleed. He cracked tension from his neck, eyes glinting in the evening light that was filtering through the warehouse. Nate flexed his hands on the uncomfortable armrests of the chair. He wasn’t going to back down. He refused to. Not if there was still a chance at seeing the people he loved again. Nate filtered his pain, his want to give in, and forged it into sheer stubbornness. 

“I. Don’t. Break,” emphasized Nate.

Steven shrugged his blue suit jacket into place and he smoothed down his tie after fixing the cuffs of his button-up. He’d stilled his features, but Nate could still sense the frustration radiating off him. Steven pushed back stray hands of his blonde hair and huffed, “We’ll see about that.” 

Two men moved to do their usual routine of putting Nate back in his cell, but Steven waved them off casually. “No, no. Leave him here. Every man breaks at some point or another, even him.” He eyed Nate with disdain and something close to pity. “And he’s not going to last much longer despite what he thinks. I just want to help him along. A long night of cold, starvation, thirst, and no sleep should do it.”

Nate’s face fell and he scowled. Steven only smiled pridefully back. 

“There it is! There’s the realization!” exclaimed Steven. “You’re alone here.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Nate threatened, ignoring how tired he was and how much he just wanted to stop and let himself die here. He couldn’t do that. If not for himself, then for Cale. Cale was why he needed to stay alive and fight; no matter how much he just wished they would stop and Nate could be freed from torture. The Lightning would just kill him if he told them anything, anyway. There was no good option but to wait.

Steven’s jaw ticked and his face went stern, no longer shadowed with fake pleasantry. “No you’re not,” he said plainly. 

Then, he turned, exited the warehouse and was gone. Larkin went back up to his office as the sound of car doors slamming and engines starting echoed through the old building. Nate sat, bloody and alone. His ears were ringing, his clothes still damp with sweat. He felt feverish and everything stung, as if even the barest movement of air was a needle to his skin. The weather was getting cooler as the afternoon soon became evening. He was freezing and he was hot all at once. His head was pounding so badly he couldn’t think. Nate hung his head and let unconsciousness take him.

. . .

Cale’s laugh was gentle and familiar, “What are you doing?”

Nate smiled, poking at him playfully. “Taunting you.”

Cale pushed him back, cheeks redder than usual. Nate studied him affectionately, taking in the moment. They were on top of an apartment building, trying to stake out some spots for Gabe. It had gone horribly. They were too distracted with each other to do much good. The night was warm, premonitioning summer. Green vines snaked up and over the concrete and brick walls of the apartment, the street below was lit with warm and artificial lamplight. Everything was perfect. Life was peaceful.

“You’re such a pest, we’re supposed to be working,” huffed Cale.

Nate pulled Cale close, sitting down with him wrapped up into his arms. Cale laid his head against Nate’s chest, staring up at the stars with an inquisitive look on his face. He was beautiful, everything about him was. Nate laid his head on Cale’s, content to stay here forever. “You must love pests then,” whispered Nate.

Cale paused briefly, lips pursed. He nodded a little and turned to face Nate, sitting up slightly. “I guess I do,” he admitted.

Nate grinned and pulled Cale in for a quick kiss, Cale obliged him easily. Nate closed his eyes, feeling the spiky and short hairs at the back of Cale’s neck and rubbing through them with his fingers. Cale moved instinctively forward, pressing himself firmer against Nate. So much for a “quick” kiss. Nate could taste the faint traces of whiskey on Cale’s lips, could smell his subtle cologne. Cedar and eucalyptus, Nate registered. Cale only wore that for him, usually on special occasions. Was he forgetting something?

Nate slowly drew away, brow furrowed slightly. A small sense of dread creeped into his heart. This didn’t make sense. Gabe rarely let them work on stakeouts together, they never focused and he’d learned that years ago. So what was the special exception? Anniversary? No. Birthday? Definitely no…

“What’s up?” Cale asked, head tilted as he peered at Nate as if he were trying to undo him piece by piece and figure out what he was thinking. 

Nate stammered, “N— nothing. I— huh. Am I forgetting something?”

“No,” laughed Cale. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just—” Nate looked down at his scarred hands, frowning deeply— “it’s just that you only ever wear that cologne for special occasions. Gabe only lets us be out on a job together for special occasions. So, what I mean is, why are we here? This is just normal. This is just… us.”

Cale smiled warmly, eyes wrinkling in a painfully familiar way. He brushed his hand against Nate’s cheek delicately, yet something in his touch lacked warmth. “We’re here because you wanted me to be. Don’t you know?” Cale’s voice was still soft, but saddened in a way Nate couldn’t understand. 

Pain began to bloom through Nate’s body, his joints feeling stiff and numb. He was missing something, but he couldn’t come up with what. Something told him he’d find out soon.

   “Know what?” Nate questioned, trying not to panic as the world started going dark and Cale began slipping away from his conscious.

Cale’s tone didn’t shift, it stayed kind as he admitted, “I’m not real.”

Nate was awake. Cale was gone.

***

Cale’s breathing was shaky as he stared at his broken watch on the coffee table. The room was tense, everyone just waiting for him to move. The knife in his hand was a steady weight, deadly and precise. He straightened and met eyes with Corey, who only looked at him with hatred and something close to pity.

“You’re a joke,” he scoffed, “I know the look of a boy who hasn’t killed before. You don’t have it in you. And I’m not telling you a thing, there is nothing in it for me.”

Cale bit the inside of his bottom lip and he hesitated for a moment. It was like Taylor’s ghost was floating in the corner, staring him down warningly. Don’t fall that far, Cale. We both know how this goes if you go through with this, the apparition taunted, Nate isn’t worth it anyway. In the end, that was all it took to send Cale over the edge. Taylor was lying. Nate was worth killing for.

He had stabbed in and out of Corey’s leg within the flash of a moment. Corey shrieked, clearly caught off guard. Cale pushed the blade against Corey’s forearm, leaning in close and keeping eye contact. He flexed his grip on the blade, testing it deeper into the Bolt’s skin as if to dare him. “You’re going to tell me where they took Nate,” he repeated, voice cold.

Corey only smirked, his eyes alive with spite. “You’re not going to find him, you’re too late,” the Bolt hissed. 

“Liar,” spat Cale, his anger slowly slipping from its leash.

Corey shook his head, seemingly unperturbed by the knife being driven through his arm, and he continued, “He should have watched what he was doing.”

“Nate isn’t dead, he can’t be,” said Cale through gritted teeth. He readjusted his grip on his blade, trying to steady his breathing. He looked away as if that would stave off this unfamiliar feeling.  “I know him better than that. He won’t die at the hands of people like you. He’s too damn stubborn.”

“Fine,” admitted Corey with a shuddering breath in, “but he is suffering.”

Cale struck him hard on the jaw and Corey spat out blood. The Bolt hung his head, shoulders shaking with giddy laughter. “We have him exactly where we want him, he’s close—”

White hot rage sparked and Cale made a quick slice through the pit of Corey’s left knee. He was unable to hold back an ear-piercing scream. Cale was horrified to find himself almost relishing the sound. Corey swore loudly and struggled in the chair, blood already pooling on the floor from his cut tendon. 

Through all this, Corey kept taunting further, pain and hatred loosening his tongue, “Larkin’s going to break him—!”

Cale stopped, stepping back abruptly and letting his blade clatter to the floor. 

Corey’s face lost all its color. Hope swelled in Cale’s chest. His hair was messy, his cheeks flushed, sweat was beading down his brow. The room was hot and the silence had turned expectant. Cale forced himself to smile and meet eyes with Corey, who had gone completely silent, his mouth slightly agape at his slip.

Larkin.

Cale watched him for a moment, noticing how fast the Bolt’s breathing was getting. He looked like a wild animal, trapped in a corner and hunted. Slowly, Cale reached to his hip and pulled out his gun. He could at least give him a quick death. Better that than bleed out.

“Cale, don’t,” Gabe’s voice began.

Cale paid his boss no heed. He cocked the gun, and without a word pulled the trigger. Corey went limp and Cale averted his eyes. He threw the gun to the table beside his watch, discarding it as if that would discard the crime, too. 

Taylor’s ghost had disappeared and Cale turned away. Gabe was watching him with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Disappointment, maybe. Pride, possibly. Cale wasn’t about to try and digest it. 

I’m not sorry, realized Cale. His brows furrowed. He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. Should he? He’d just killed a man, but now he had what he needed. There was still a chance to save Nate. He wasn’t going to let emotion for a man he didn’t know get in the way of this. Not yet. Cale walked away and slammed the door behind him, ignoring Gabe’s voice calling after him. He had to go, now.

The Red Wings had Nate, which meant there was only one place he could logically be. He’d be at the docks where they usually kept hostages. Cale almost laughed at the irony. He’d learned the Red Wings territory within his first year with Gabe. He’d wanted to know where the men that had killed his brother were, so Gabe had let him go undercover there. Cale practically knew the place like the back of his hand. For once it seemed like Cale was finally getting lucky. 

He beelined for his car but was stopped by Gabe running after him. “Cale!” Gabe shouted, sounding half-angry and half-urgent.

Cale spun to face him, eyes glinting with invisible flame. “I’m going to fucking find him, Gabe. I’m going and you aren’t going to stop me.”

Gabe paused, perplexed before his jaw set. “Cale, they’ll kill you.”

Cale shoved the realization of danger away. He straightened, hand lingering on the open car door. “No, they won’t,” refused Cale so plainly it was a promise.

Gabe let out a frustrated growl as he looked tensely away, “Cale—”

But he had already slammed the door, turned the keys in the ignition, and roared the engine to life. Cale was gone before his boss could protest any longer. He left Gabe at the docks.

[hana-recs]

this fic is in fact everything. i laughed and cried and also live reacted to it because i don't know how to shut up (sorry jo) but i LOVED it so much. i will be thinking about them forever!!!!!!!!!

As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat. ^ HA. they’re whispering. it’s a sign. but also — so much is done with that “as usual”. jo ur a genius and i love you.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations [7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever [7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers! [7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date? [7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!! [7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins [7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

^ your honor i love them already. their dynamic is written so WELL like already u can tell how much they know each other, and how it’s different from their other friendships.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad. 

^SCREAMS. screams so LOUD. this is so cute but after reading “my feet to follow” im a little. apprehensive. i think about that fic SO MUCH.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.” (…) “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

^this isn’t a jeonghan fic but my god i love him. roommate jeonghan does have my entire heart in his hand and he may do with it what he wills.

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

^ never mind. jeonghan and wonwoo have half of my heart each. (your characters are written so well and even in their small cameos they have so much presence and they don’t just feel like they’re there for no reason AGHH i love.)

…then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his.

^ouchie. also a few paragraphs down — the timing of the texts between her and daeyoung!!!! hello!!!!!!!! i love tiny details like this they really just. make the fic.

And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time.

^ so i would like to give her a hug. your main characters are always so likeable and relatable (😂🔫) and . yeah they just feel very human and i love it!!! but also; the significance of him and mingyu getting her flowers but mingyu knows her favourite 🥹 AND THE NOTE? “sunny flowers for sunny baby” okay well i’ll just cry myself to sleep or whatever.

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough - just for not being him.

^ user daechwitatamic i have tears in my eyes. this fic is written so beautifully. i could Eat this angst like i truly feel like i foul take a bite out of it. which doesn’t make sense but i’m trying to say that it’s delicious. and also it hurts.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothings else exists - in his wake.

^ this is just gorgeous fucking writing and i truly don’t know what to do with myself anymore. she’s so in love with him and to my outsider third party eyes it’s so clear to me that they’re idiots!!!!!! please kiss!!!!!!!!!!!!! but then i also think that the complications and the uncertainty are written so cleverly that you completely understand reader’s pov 🥹

oh my god jeonghan’s whole entire talk with her made me so emotional like. i love him so BAD he’s such a good friend. 

LOVE the part where she was communicating w daeyoung bc i was slightly terrified (he seems so nice!!) that something would go terribly wrong there. however i have trust issues and so i’m. not fully convinced of anything right now 😭😭 

ok so this fic is so engaging and investing. the tension during the games scenes where daeyoung comes over is SO palpable i feel like i’m there and experiencing the discomfort with everyone else. idk there’s a very immersive feel to your writing and i appreciate it SO much . 

ope and i had a feeling something was going to happen there with daeyoung. the story is getting painful. i am feeling pained. like yay they made up! but also this is a mingyu fic and so i can just sense that this is a dip before the fall (i think i just made that up i really don’t think that’s a saying)

july section — 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 nothing funny but i have to laugh or i’ll cry. the dialogue here is something else 🥹 yn finally expressing herself and u can truly feel the emotion pouring out of the words i’m truly in awe of this fic.

the text messages were so soft. yn is stronger than me i would’ve folded but also i’m so glad that she made him grovel. i personally think men should always grovel 

SCRWAMS. THEYRE KISSING THEYRE KISSING THEYRE KISSING happy days. i literally let out a sigh of relief. omg the rollercoaster of emotions this fic has taken me on. i’m so glad they got their happy ending 🥹 this whole fic was written so beautifully - the characters were so human and realistic and the words were just so perfect and brought everything to life in the most wonderful way. and the CHARACTERS !!!! all the different dynamics were everything and all the different personalities were so interesting and none of them felt flat or one dimensional at all (which is something i struggle with so i admire this so much.) user daechwitatamic i will be forwarding u my therapy bill but thank you SO much for writing this and i apologise for this insanely lengthy and repetitive essay. i missed reading your writing 💗

Cinnamon || KMG

banner by @sailorrhansol

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do their best to do better going forward, quick and prosey smut scene with piv penetration

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-inggggg iluuuuu

--

December

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

You grumble in response, eyes still mostly closed, as you make your way by muscle memory to your apartment’s barely-functioning coffee machine. Only once you’ve poured a mug, stirred in everything you need to make it palatable, and taken your first sip, do you speak actual words.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

Jeonghan, one of your three roommates, nods solemnly. “I have a nine o’clock meeting today, but I need to get some files together first, so I’m trying to be there by eight,” he tells you. You glance at the clock on the microwave - it’s already 7:20.

“You might want to get moving,” you warn him.

He makes a face that says, I know, but - and cocks his head towards the bathroom the four of you share. The door is closed and the light inside is on, which means it must be occupied. It’s not usually a problem, even with four of you - your schedules are just different enough that it works out.

You frown. “Wonwoo isn’t gone yet?” He’s usually the first one out of the house on weekdays since he’s got the longest commute.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but then the light clicks off and the door opens. A girl you’ve never seen before steps out cautiously, then pauses when she sees the kitchen isn’t empty.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Hi. Good morning. I’ll just -”

She gives you each a polite nod and slips quickly back through the nearest door - Mingyu’s bedroom.

You face Jeonghan again and roll your eyes. He gives you a bit of a grimace and gets up, hurrying into the now-empty bathroom.

You take his seat at the table, sip slowly at your coffee. Having three guys as roommates means this happens with relative regularity, though usually the guys keep their conquests to weekends and holidays. Mingyu must have really liked this girl to bring her home on a weeknight. You glance back at his closed door; you can faintly hear their voices, but not what they’re saying. She was pretty.

You tuck away whatever feelings you might have about this, just like you always do, wipe your heart as clean as a classroom chalkboard at the beginning of a new day. Jeonghan vacates the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, and you take his place, turning the shower on and praying that there’ll be enough hot water left to get you through. (There’s not.)

Later, as you sit on the train amidst a sea of other morning commuters, you check your phone.

Roomies 💕

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: i would like to issue a formal complaint

[8:07 am] wonuuu: i left plenty of coffee bro

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: not that

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: if this is a noise complaint… i’m sorry but also no i’m not

[8:09am] You: you’re disgusting

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: you love me

[8:10am] You: 🙄

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: so does the girl whose presence in our one (1) bathroom made me late this morning

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: if i get fired you’re covering my part of the rent

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: have fun defending that in small claims court

[8:11am] You: i am happy to be a witness on your behalf

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: et tu brutus?

[8:11am] You: my shower was lukewarm at best

[8:12am] You: you will be hearing from my counsel

[8:12am] You: thanks in advance wonwoo

[8:14am] wonuuu: for the millionth time… I cannot be your counsel. I’m not qualified yet.

[8:14am] You: yet ☝️

[8:17am] Cinnamingyu: let’s not ignore the real problem here… we need another bathroom

[8:21am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok great, tell me when you win the lottery so we can move out

Chuckling, you slide your phone back into your coat pocket as the train pulls into your stop. You hurry through the train station, tucking your chin into your coat collar as you speed through the icy December morning. It’s one of those dry cold days, where the air around you feels frozen, almost hurts to breathe. Everything is grey - sky above you, buildings around you, ground below you. Fast steps take you the three blocks to your office building, where you sigh in relief as the heated air hits your face, chasing away the chill.

You check your phone again as you hang your coat on your chair in your cubicle. As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat.

[8:31am] Cinnamingyu: sorry about the hot water :(

[8:38am] You: you should be. i shivered through my whole conditioning routine.

[8:38am] Cinnamingyu: poor sunny baby :( :( :( will you ever forgive me?

You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby.

It’s absolutely horrendous, unfathomable, deeply unfair that it works, that it makes you melt into goo when he uses it. Still, you try to hold strong.

[8:38am] You: don’t you Sunny Baby me Kim Mingyu, you have crimes to answer for!!!

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: ill cook for you tonight as penance. and then maybe a movie?

You frown. You wish you could take him up on the offer. Mingyu’s a great cook. One of the many things you love about him.

[8:39am] You: rain check. i won’t be home for dinner

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: what’s this? did you manage to bag a man????

[8:39am] You: i hate you so much

[8:39am] You: yes you absolute scrambled egg, i have a date

Mingyu sends you a gif of an old man suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, and you laugh out loud. Then you stash your phone behind your keyboard and get to work. But when you check it again a few hours later, after your first meeting of the day lets out, he’s texted you again.

[8:40am] Cinnamingyu: is it the same guy as last week? date number TWO?? 😮

[10:51am] You: yeeeeees 🤭

[10:51am] Cinnamingyu: wow, big moves for you. a second date! do we need to have The Talk?

[10:51am] You: blocked and reported

This is an ancient song and dance for you and Mingyu. When you’ve been friends as long as you have, some things just become routine. Like you, gracefully ignoring the handful of girls that you never see a second time. Like him, acting like it’s monumental when you actually give someone a chance.

He’s used to you giving no one a chance, ever. He knows it doesn’t happen much.

But you had a good first date with Daeyoung last week. A really good first date. You’d been texting a lot since then, too. He was funny - witty. And cute. So you’d thought to yourself… what the hell. Why not? Why not go out a second time? What else were you going to do tonight?

(Stay home and eat the food Mingyu cooks for you. Watch a movie together on the couch.)

And, sure, you do want to do those things. But going out with Daeyoung tonight won’t change a thing between you and Mingyu. He’ll grill you about it when you get home, maybe tease you a little, and you’ll do food and a movie another night.

Daeyoung takes you bowling. You weren’t sure how you’d feel about it, not having been in a bowling alley since you were a kid, and remembering them as vaguely sticky places. But it ends up being kind of cute, maybe even nostalgic. Daeyoung buys a pitcher of beer and sets it on your - yes - sticky table, and walks with you as you select a pink ball that is definitely meant for children. 

“You know that’s only six pounds, right?” he asks you, smiling playfully.

“Bold of you to think I could lift a heavier one,” you deadpan, and he laughs. You like his laugh - it’s easy, light, like he’s wholly uncomplicated. You could use some uncomplicated in your life. 

You're terrible at bowling - you score a 42 on your first game, the ball finding the gutter more times than it stays on the lane. Even so, you manage to have fun. Daeyoung doesn’t make you feel weird about it - in fact, he barely pays attention to the actual bowling. Instead he talks to you about your day, asks about your family, doesn't seem like he's freaked out that you live with three guy friends. He doesn’t even ask the very common, “so, has anything ever happened there?” for which you’re grateful. 

He’s got three sisters, you learn, and grew up with cats but still wants a dog someday. He graduated two years before you, has never traveled outside the country. 

You offer back your own resume of sorts - an older sister and a younger brother, no pets growing up and allergic to most mammals (perhaps humans included, as has been pointed out by Mingyu on many occasions, usually in the same conversation that he’s calling you Sunshine and pinching your cheeks like your attitude is cute). Graduated with Honors and haven’t traveled much either, though you’d love to when you have some money saved up.

Your phone lights up on the table every so often, and you check it while Daeyoung takes his turn on the lane. A few are Jeonghan and one of your co-workers, and one is your little brother asking how to get blood out of laundry which is super alarming - but the rest are from Mingyu.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever

[7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers!

[7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date?

[7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!!

[7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins

[7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

[7:43pm] Cinnamingyu: guess i’ll throw these leftovers out then

[8:12pm] Cinnamingyu: what time do you think youll be home?

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: sorry i didnt mean that like WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME YOUNG LADY

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: i was asking bc i was deciding if i want to start a movie or wait for you i wasnt trying to

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: you know

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: anyway. aim for the pins. wear protection. etc. see you later lol

[8:38pm] You: young lady 🙄 go away mingyu!!! 

[8:38pm] Cinnamingyu: you dont mean that

[8:38pm] You: i don’t 😘

[8:47pm] You: if you wanna save a movie for me… i should be home by 11

Daeyoung drives you home after the date, and you note that his car is clean, but not serial killer clean. A green flag. 

When he asks if he can see you again soon, as he's pulling the car up to your building, you tell him yes without hesitating. It’ll be your first third date in maybe ever, and you make a little note in your brain that you should probably talk to him about this, make sure he can be on the same page - that this is fun and you’ll keep going out as long as it’s a good time, but you aren’t really looking for serious.

When he pauses, leaning in a little closer, you feel yourself smile, and you let him. It’s a nice kiss.

He’s a nice guy.

There’s no reason you couldn’t follow through with this. There’s no giant problem with him, no personality quirk or inherent difference that makes him ineligible.

But. 

You push the thought away. “Thanks for tonight,” you tell him. “I had a good time.”

“You’d have a better time if you listened to my advice and used a heavier ball,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s teasing. “You can’t expect to knock down pins when they weigh more than what you’re throwing at them.”

“Sounds fake,” you joke, and hop out of the car. Before you shut the door, you pause. “See you next weekend?”

His smile unfurls, pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

You practically skip back into the apartment. You pause at the closet by the front door, pulling off your boots and hanging up your puffy winter coat. You can hear the tv on in the living room and water running in the kitchen.

You step into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Mingyu stands at the sink, his back to you, up to his elbow in suds. You bump him with your hips as you pass by, and he kicks at you and misses. You open the fridge and grab a can of seltzer. Mingyu smiles at you from the sink, and just like that, Daeyoung evaporates from your mind.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad. 

You’d met in your freshman year - he was puppy-dog cute, back then, not the chiseled sculpture of a man who takes up half your kitchen now. You’d been in the Arts and he’d been in the Sciences - something mathy - but you’d bonded in one of those godawful general requirement classes, and somehow the friendship had taken hold.

Mingyu holding your hand - metaphorically and literally - through your two required math classes and two required science labs was the only reason you’d even managed to graduate. Of course, you’d also written every single formal paper he had through the whole four years, so it evened out.

You complement each other that way, in every area. He’s outgoing and friendly, you’re cranky enough to be given the nickname Sunny in pure irony. Mingyu likes puzzles and problems he can work out, you like to turn the brain off for any and all hobbies. Mingyu is sunshine and big smiles, you are made of salt and sarcasm. 

But you love each other - have been best friends since almost the moment you met. There is nothing in your life you’d be willing to lose less than him.

You wander up to him and lean against his arm, mostly to be funny because he continues to wash dishes even as it jostles you around, and it becomes a little game of him trying to shake you off and you refusing to be shaken.

“How was your night?” he asks finally, reaching to turn off the water. You automatically pass him a dish towel to dry his hands. He takes it, drying, and then reaches around you to hang it back up near the oven. 

“Not as good as yours,” you snicker, noticing a purple blotch near his collar.

He flushes dark, slapping a hand over the spot. “Yah,” he complains. 

You laugh. “She was cute!”

“She’d be cuter if she spent less time in our bathroom!” Jeonghan’s disembodied voice floats from the living room.

“Alright, we get it!” Mingyu calls back hotly. “You’ve only been complaining about that for fifteen hours!”

Cackling, you follow him out into the living room. Jeonghan is sprawled sideways on the two-seater, a show you don’t recognize playing across the tv screen. Down the hallway, Wonwoo’s door is open about a foot, casting the hallway in flickering blue light that tells you he’s gaming and you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night. 

“So,” Jeonghan says dryly, without peeling his eyes from the tv, “I noticed your boyfriend’s car idling outside for quite a while before you came in. Were we necking?”

“Necking?” you splutter. Beside you, Mingyu is biting on his lips, trying not to laugh at your expense. “What year is this, 1950? And he’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”

You can’t help the defensive edge that creeps into your voice. From where he’s plopped on the couch, Mingyu reaches up for your hand, tugging. You let him pull you into the space next to him and he rubs a soothing hand across your shoulders before taking his hand away. It’s a silent, quick moment - easy to miss if you aren’t looking. But you are looking, always, and you wonder if he even knows he does this - reads your moods, rushes to fix you. 

Unbothered by your ruffled feathers, Jeonghan asks lightly, “So, are you seeing him again, or…?”

The bastard hasn’t even looked away from the television screen.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” you grumble at him.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Mingyu asks from next to you, eyebrows raised. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. You can tell the jackals are in a mood tonight.

Jeonghan’s face splits into a delighted grin. “A third date? My goodness.”

“We all know what happens on a third date,” Mingyu says sagely, and you punch him in the thigh, extra hard since you can only reach him and not Jeonghan too.

Wonwoo’s voice comes from down the hallway. “Leave Sunny alone, you guys.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Leave Sunny alone.”

Mingyu stretches over your lap to reach for the remote. It brings his torso almost flush against yours and you feel your face heat. 

“I was watching that,” Jeonghan complains before Mingyu even presses anything.

“Sunny and I are watching a movie,” Mingyu says flatly. “Go watch on your laptop if you care so much.”

Jeonghan reaches towards your couch lazily and slaps at the air like he can’t be assed to work any harder to hit his roommate. “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer him, just settles back next to you, his arm against yours, and starts scrolling through movie options.

He still hasn’t picked one when Wonwoo appears in the living room’s doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his LED headset looped around his neck and his eyes on his phone.

“What are we watching?” he asks absently.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jeonghan quips.

Beside you, Mingyu growls a little.

Unphased - this is so normal for them, it would be more alarming if they weren’t pissing each other off - you look up and Wonwoo and say, “I didn’t think you’d emerge tonight.”

“I’m heading right back in,” he admits. “Hydration break. Anyway - question. What’s everyone’s plans for the holidays?”

Mingyu stops scrolling, pausing to think. 

“I’ll be home,” Jeonghan says, meaning his hometown.

“Me, too,” Mingyu adds. “I’m leaving on Sunday. Next Sunday, I mean.”

Wonwoo lets out a little sigh. “Okay. My folks were asking when I was coming. Sunny, you’re going home, too?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you admit. “I was staying here.”

You feel rather than see your friends share a glance. 

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

“No,” you protest. “I’m perfectly fine being here by myself, you know that.”

“Sunny Baby is an indoor cat,” Mingyu notes, and you bump him with your elbow. 

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Plus, I think Daeyoung will be around, so I won’t be alone the whole time anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyes bore into the side of your face, but you don’t look at him; if it’s pity he’s leveling at you, you don’t want it. 

“If you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, and when you assure him you do, he vanishes into the kitchen and then back into his room. Mingyu clicks on a movie and you settle in, eventually getting sleepy and shifting sideways, your head resting comfortably on his unfairly sculpted shoulder. He shifts to let you get more comfortable, and the night passes as simply and pleasantly as hundreds before.

When the movie ends, you pick up the bottles and cans from the coffee table while Mingyu does a quick lap of the apartment, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. You meet outside the bathroom - occupied by Jeonghan - both waiting your turn to brush your teeth and whatever else before bed. 

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says softly, something tentative in his voice, and you look up at him, heart suddenly thumping. He’s looking at you earnestly in the dim light from the bedrooms down the hall, something you’re not sure you can name on his face. It’s almost pleading, but that doesn’t make sense. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me for the holidays? My family would love to have you - they’re obsessed with you, you know that.”

Your heart calms. “It’s really okay,” you promise. “But thanks for checking.”

The bathroom door opens and Jeonghan slips by, leaving a wave of toothpaste-mint in his wake. 

“You go ahead,” Mingyu says.

“You were in line first,” you argue.

He rolls his eyes but knows how stubborn you are, so he disappears into the bathroom. You lean your butt against the kitchen table and check your phone for the first time in a while.

Daeyoung had texted shortly after he drove away - probably as soon as he got home.

[11:24pm] Daeyoung: I had a really good time tonight. Looking forward to next week :]

[12:51am] You: me too ☺️

The bathroom door opens and you turn off your phone screen with a click, bidding Mingyu goodnight as you slide into the bathroom’s light.

–

January 

New Year’s Eve

Roomies 💕

[11:13pm] (jeong)Han Solo: sunny where’d you end up tonight?

[11:13pm] You: i’m with the girliesss!!! where are you guys

[11:13pm] Cinnamingyu: sunnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy baby baby baby

[11:13pm] You: yyyeeesssss??

[11:14pm] (jeong)Han Solo: we’re downtown. mingyu cant come to the phone right now but i think he wants you to come hang out with us

[11:14pm] You: lmao nooooo he didnt even make it to midnight??? thats sad, kim mingyu

[11:16pm] Wonuuu: u ever think about that phrase “can’t come to the phone”… from an era in which you had to walk to the family’s landline phone in the kitchen or whatever… none of us were even alive for that

[11:16pm] You: wow apparently you guys are having a much better time than me

[11:16pm] (jeong)Han Solo: only wonwoo lol ok be safe and have fun!! see you at home

–

[11:14pm] Cinnamingyu: come out!!

[11:14pm] You: i am out! Lol

[11:15am] Cinnamingyu: you know what i mean

[11:16am] You: im sorry :( but we’re across town and by the time we got there we’d miss the countdown

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: ok 🙁

[11:16am] You: don’t pout!!! i’ll see you at home tomorrow and we can hang out all day

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: not the same!

[11:17am] You: ok lets take a shot together!!

[11:17am] Cinnamingyu: ???

[11:17am] You: go order one and tell me when you’re ready!!

[11:18am] Cinnamingyu: lmao on it 🫡

[11:28am] Cinnamingyu: ok im ready

[11:28am] You: ok when you get this count to three and take your shot! 

[11:29am] You: geonbae or cheers or salute or whatever

[11:29am] Cinnamingyu: or whatever 🙄 

[11:29am] You: 😘

New Year’s Day

Roomies 💕

[12:00am] You: HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES OF MY LIFE LET THIS BE THE BESTEWT YEAR FOR US EVER EVER EVR!!!!!

[12:00am] Wonuuu: happy new year sunny 🙂

[12:00am] (jeong)Han Solo: happy new yearrr 😽

[4:09am] You: home safe ♥️ 

[10:33am] Wonuuu: i’ll be home tomorrow sunny

[12:42pm] (jeong)Han Solo: i’ll be back tonight but probably not until after dinner

[12:42pm] You: ok! i’ll be here

[3:17pm] (jeong)Han Solo: is mingyu alive???

[3:17pm] You: lol yeah he’s home. he’s just… not in the best shape asfjkasfhaio

[12:00am] Cinnamingyu: happy new year sunny baby 🩷

[12:01am] You: happy new year best friend!!!!!!! ily ily ily!!!!

[12:32am] Cinnamingyu: you kno you could still meet us out nw

[11:23am] Cinnamingyu: can u open the front door… my head hurts too bad to make the keys work

You stagger to the apartment’s front door, eyes squinting against the harsh daylight streaming into the living room and kitchen area. When you unlock and pull open the door, Mingyu almost collapses on top of you.

“Get up,” you groan, shuffling backwards. “You’re too heavy, I can’t hold you!”

“Shhhh,” he whispers, but rights himself to standing. 

You stand there for a minute, both of you just grappling with the horrible reality of being awake and upright and, god, very hungover.

“I need to lay down,” Mingyu says finally, very clearly, like he’s had a sudden burst of self-preservation.

“Come on,” you wave at him vaguely and make your way back to bed. You collapse right into the spot you’d vacated when he texted, pulling the blankets up to your ears and closing your eyes, waiting for the bed to dip beside you. 

It doesn’t.

You open your eyes again. “Mingyu?”

He appears wordlessly in your doorway, then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his. You have to stop thinking that way.

You’re puzzled, but then he leans over and presses a cold water bottle into your hand. Despite his whining, he was still trying to take care of you. 

“Did you take any pain killer?” you mumble. 

“Probably more than was actually advisable,” he admits, twisting his own water open and drinking noisily. You don’t see a problem with this - Mingyu is gigantic, and you can imagine his dosing needs would reflect it.

“Okay,” you say with a little sigh. “We’ll sleep for a while and then maybe we can try to eat.”

“God, don’t talk about food,” he moans, taking one of your extra pillows and covering his face.

You chuckle lightly, and then roll to hide your face somewhere near his bicep, breathing in his familiar cinnamon scent and matching your breaths to his until you slip back under. The millionth time you’ve fallen asleep next to your best friend, and you’re already eagerly looking ahead to a million and one.

You’re awakened by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom, clear on the other side of the apartment. You scrabble for and glance at your phone - hours have passed. The light in your bedroom has slipped closer to golden as mid-afternoon begins to wane. You sit up tentatively; this time there’s no wave of dizziness as a punishment for being vertical, though your head still pounds. 

You drink some of the water Mingyu brought you, answer a text from Jeonghan, then decide to go make sure Mingyu’s alive.

“You need anything?” you call through the door. You can hear the sink run, and the door opens. 

“A lobotomy,” he deadpans. He looks miserable, frown pronounced and eyes puffy. 

“Get back in bed,” you tell him gently, and he ambles off towards your room. You detour into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. It might not save him, but you could use some caffeine. 

While it brews, you poke your head into your bedroom. Mingyu is back in your bed, curled up pitifully, that pouting frown still prevalent on his face. 

“What time did you take something?” you ask him.

“Like ten thirty,” he mumbles into your pillow. 

You glance at the clock. “You can have more,” you tell him, and head back across the apartment to pilfer through the medicine cabinet. 

With the pill bottle in hand, you stop in the kitchen long enough to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Carefully balancing so as not to spill, you bring it into the bedroom, placing it carefully on your nightstand and then nudging Mingyu’s shoulder. 

He whines a response. 

“I have drugs for you,” you tell him, and he holds up an open palm without lifting his face.  

You drop the medicine into his hand and get comfy back in your spot, even though you think you’re done sleeping for now. Beside you, Mingyu takes the pills and settles back into sleep. He’s snoring before you can even choose a show to watch on your phone. 

You look over at him fondly, disaster that he is. Then you settle in deeper, content to let his warmth radiate over to you, content to be by his side.

–

[12:02am] Daeyoung: happy new year! wishing you luck and happiness ☺️

[4:23pm] You: thank you!!! to you as well!!

–

February

Valentine’s Day is an emotional minefield. You don’t know if you want to lean into the bitter and single thing, or if you want to go all Gal-entines and pamper your friends, or if you want to just keep your head down and treat the day like any other fuck-ass Tuesday in winter.

The universe surprises you with a secret fourth option. Or, rather, Daeyoung does. 

You’ve lost track counting your dates with him at this point - you are simply dating. Neither of you has pushed for a what is this conversation, and you’re relieved. You like Daeyoung, you like the time you spend together, and you’d be sad if things ended. But at the same time, you don’t feel things getting deeper, and if he pushed you to make this serious, to put parameters on it, you’re not sure how you’d feel. 

Something inside you keeps it light - enough so that you don’t even think of doing anything for him to celebrate the holiday.

Apparently, you’re an asshole. 

Sometime after ten, your office’s secretary calls you, asking you to come up to reception for a minute. You’re suspicious, but you don’t do the mental math about what day it is until you turn the corner and see the small vase of roses - three of them, arranged with some baby’s breath and a few other fillers you can’t name - sitting on the reception counter.

“These got delivered for you,” she tells you, and it’s clear on her face that she’s dying for you to spill. “Are they from that guy? The tall one who looks like a movie star?”

This would annoy you if you weren’t so used to it. Everyone asks you if you’re with Mingyu - they never understand why you’re not when you two are attached at the hip.

It had happened once - just a kiss at a frat party, in the middle of the dance floor. You’d both been drinking, of course, and pressed close together to dance, his chest against your back and his hands on your hips and then you’d turned and tipped your chin up and his sparkling eyes had gone molten before he’d kissed you and your whole world had been swept away -

And you’d been interrupted, had been literally pulled away to deal with some drama happening in the kitchen, and somehow… you’d never talked about it. It never happened again.

Sometimes, you wonder if you only dreamed it. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But, no. Your imagination is good, but it’s not good enough to come up with the minute details of how his pecs had felt under your hands, how his fingers had felt pressed into the small of your back, how he had almost sighed into your mouth when it opened for him, how he had tasted a bit like cinnamon, courtesy of the fireball shots the frat was giving out like candy.

Anyway. Life goes on, right?

“No,” you tell the secretary quickly, because you know the roses aren’t from Mingyu. Even if he’d done something today, as your friend, he knows you aren’t much of a roses girl. “We’re just friends.” You will the words to leave your mouth without leaving ashes in their wake.

You reach for the small card tied around the thinnest part of the vase to see who did send them. 

Thought you deserved something pretty today. Don’t freak out. :] - Daeyoung

The secretary is still watching you, harmlessly curious. 

“It’s just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you say. “It’s not serious.”

“Wow,” she says, eyeing the simple arrangement. “Looks like he thinks it’s a little serious - or that it could be.”

“That’s probably true,” you muse out loud, taking the arrangement back to your own cubicle and setting it on your desk. You snap a photo and text it to Daeyoung with a thank you and a row of sobbing emojis. Then you stand behind your chair, eyes on the red petals, your hand pressed to your mouth, processing.

You didn’t expect to feel like this. A fluttering, a rush of excitement. Even though you aren’t into roses, specifically, the thought is very nice. And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time. 

When you get home, the apartment is dark and empty. You wonder if any of the guys have dates tonight, or if they’re working late, or with family. You set the roses on the kitchen table, hang up your coat, and then shoot the grouptext a quick “where is everyone?”. Then you head into your room, eager to take a quick shower and change into something comfy.

You freeze when you flick on your bedroom light.

The clutter on your small desk has been pushed to the side, and a clear vase holds a thick bouquet of sunflowers - your favorite. 

You hear yourself gasp, the sound echoing through your head on a loop as you stare at the bright, yellow blooms. You step forward on shaky legs, reaching for the tiny card that’s slipped under the vase.

Sunny flowers for Sunny Baby. Love you. - M

The tears come with such unexpected force that you almost laugh through the third sob. You can barely see through the sudden stream of tears, can hear yourself struggling to inhale. You hurry to shut your bedroom door, locking it for good measure, and then those shaking legs of yours give up, and you sink to your knees and weep into your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, just in case anyone comes home.

You cry so hard it makes your abs hurt, makes the muscles in your face feel stretched, nearly makes you gag. You haven’t cried like this since undergrad.

Because he loves you, but he doesn’t love you, and even though you’ve been pretending for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing, it doesn’t shatter you any less. 

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough -  just for not being him.

Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you. 

And it’s a waste. It’s all for fucking nothing.

When the tears start to settle and you can breathe a little better, you push yourself back to your feet. You listen at your bedroom door and don’t hear anyone, so you hurry across the apartment and into the bathroom, where you blow your nose and splash your face with cold water. 

When you come out again, Jeonghan is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, his back to you. When he turns, he freezes, his face dropping. You must be puffy and red, still.

“Hey,” you reply meekly. 

“Oh, Sunny,” he says mournfully, stepping closer. “I told him he shouldn’t, but he asked why not, he’s your friend, and I couldn’t say -”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He watches you carefully, probably trying to gauge if you’re lying. Then he spots the roses and lights up. 

“Well, well,” he says, a sly smile showing up on his face. “Those are nice.”

“Yeah,” you say again, the only word in your arsenal. “They are. I, um, I think I’m gonna shower. Do you need the bathroom first?” 

Under the spray of hot water, you cry a little more, like an aftershock hit you. It’s quiet this time, and you try to shoulder through it as you condition your hair, ready to put this whole episode behind you once you step out into the chilly bathroom air again.

When you emerge, Jeonghan is on the couch. By the sounds coming from down the hallway, Wonwoo has just gotten home and is dumping the contents of his life onto his bedroom floor. Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something, but you lift a fluffy-bathrobe-clad arm and silently shush him. 

“It’s fine,” you say again, firmly. 

Jeonghan had been your friend first, back in undergrad. You’d brought him into the friend group the same way Mingyu had brought Wonwoo. The four of you had worked cohesively as a friend-and-roommate unit for a long time, but sometimes those old alliances seemed to matter more than others. Jeonghan would never cross the line without your permission, would never tell your secrets if you weren’t willing to tell them yourself. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was much more likely to open his mouth - especially if he thought he was helping. 

The front door bursts open, and Mingyu enters the apartment in a cacophony of noise and dropped items, oranges spilling from the bag in his arms and rolling across the floor. You move to pick a few up as he puts the bag of groceries down and pulls his boots off.

“Sunny!” he says, all excitement, eyes shining. “Did you like my gift?”

You can’t even look at Jeonghan, turning your back to him completely as you hold out the oranges you’d collected. Mingyu takes them, but watches you eagerly, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I loved it.”

His smile triples.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply. 

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu’s grumble responds, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once. 

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you. 

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you. 

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaeger bombs did you do? 

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed. 

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help. 

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembered saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…? 

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then - like on this fucking card with the sunflowers - he never said it like that, and you never pushed it. 

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed. 

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu wouldn’t kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protected from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better. 

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

-

March

March can’t make up its mind if it’s winter or spring. Warm days lull you into a false sense of security, and then a blistering cold rushes in just to call you a fool.

You’re the last one to get to the bar on Friday night after work, and you have to stand awkwardly next to the booth the guys have staked out and unwrap yourself - hat, scarf, gloves, puffer coat, big heavy sweater - before you can actually slide into the empty spot next to Mingyu.

“Hi bestie,” he says, immediately draping his arm behind your shoulders, resting on the back of the wooden bench. “How was your day?”

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” you answer.

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” your roommates all answer solemnly, because this is a common gripe. 

“Fireball and ginger ale it is, then,” Mingyu says, and climbs over you to head to the bar, his own empty beer glass in hand. When he slides the cocktail glass in front of you and scoots back to his original spot, you fill the guys in on Marcus’s Bullshit of the Day. 

“And then,” you finish the story, “I was like yeah, I know you did, Marcus, because she blind-copied me on her reply and you should have seen the color his face turned so I think it’s fair to say I won this round.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all scared of you,” Wonwoo remarks. 

“Marcus is,” you say, glowering at your now-empty cocktail glass. “That’s why he’s such a dick. He hates that he’s intimidated.”

Mingyu’s arm has slid down from the back of the bench and rests lightly across your shoulder by this point, and he gives you a playful squeeze into his side as he laughs. 

He starts telling a story next, and you listen as you slip your phone out and check your texts. Daeyoung had texted you a while ago, and you shoot him a quick answer that you’re out with your roommates for Friday drinks, and then dial back into the conversation. 

When Mingyu’s glass is empty again, you rise, taking the empties up to the bar and signalling for another of each. While you wait, elbows on the bar, you check your phone again. Daeyoung had texted back, asking where you guys were drinking.

You hesitate. The idea of incorporating Daeyoung into the group makes you nervous. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu yapping a thousand miles a minute, and Jeonghan’s distinctive heh heh heh in answer. It’s not that you don’t think the guys will be nice… it just feels like a big move. 

It might be nice to have him there, though - someone on your side when Jeonghan and Mingyu gang up on you and Wonwoo is too in his own world to be effective back-up, someone to hold your hand and get your drinks, someone to be in your own private little bubble with when the conversation ebbs and flows away from topics you can engage with. 

You send him back “just a little place by the apartment!” which is technically true, and then grab the refreshed drinks for you and Mingyu. 

The guys are getting up, making noise about a just-vacated darts board, so you swivel and turn to follow them, a cold drink in each hand.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu tells you, half an hour later, bending down low so he can talk close to your ear over the loud music, “you have to put more muscle into it. You have to throw it like you want to pierce it.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, actually!” you tell him cheerfully, and down the rest of your drink, pushing the empty glass into his giant hand. His turn. 

He shoots you a grin so sharp and devilish that it makes your whole body fight a shudder, and then he disappears off to the bar. 

You heckle Jeonghan through his turn (unsuccessfully - he’s way better at this than you) and then glance at the bar to see if the bartenders have gotten to Mingyu yet in the crowd. He’s facing you, his arms crossed, that same devilish smile on his face. He leans sideways on the bar, where your drink and his own beer sit sweating, forgotten. 

The girl he’s smiling at has her back to you, which is a miracle, because if she’d been able to see your face fall, she probably would have back-pedaled out of the conversation immediately - it would be impossible for her not to see that she was walking into a flashing neon sign screaming this situation is a mess!!!!

When she laughs, throwing her head back, and reaches a hand out to touch his forearm, you feel the whole bar swoop sideways around you. You’re fumbling for your phone, even as you hear Mingyu’s answering laugh cut through all the loud music and conversations filling the space, even as you watch through your periphery as he gives her a return nudge to the shoulder, playful, that smile only growing.

You’re going to be sick.

You shoot Daeyoung a text - sorry, I should have told you which bar. I’m leaving now though. Do you want to come get me? We could chill for a little? - and then you push your way through the bar, not even bothering to tell Jeonghan and Wonwoo goodbye. You make an extra effort to skirt the opposite wall as the bar, hoping you get out without Mingyu spotting you. 

There’s no way you could fake it right now. Zero chance. If he came after you, it would all be out in the open.

Daeyoung answers you almost immediately - no worries! sure, send me your location. you want to hang at my place? 

Outside, the cold air assaults you. You immediately hesitate, wishing you’d grabbed your coat. You’ll get pneumonia waiting for Daeyoung without it.

You’re saved the trouble of going back in - the door opens and someone comes out after you. But it isn’t Mingyu - it’s Jeonghan, giving you the heaviest side-eye you’ve ever seen from him, your coat in his hands.

“Thank you,” you breathe when he’s close enough, taking the coat and sliding it over your arms. “It’s freezing.”

“Sunny,” he says, and something in his voice makes you pause. “I think we should talk.”

You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed and spent and tired. “About what?” you ask flatly, just to buy yourself a second. You know the answer. Of course you do.

He levels you with a look. “This can’t continue,” he says firmly. “For you, or for him, or for me and Wonwoo.”

You scoff. “What do you two have to do with it?” 

You’ve never seen him this serious, and it scares you a little. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you get hurt?”

You lower your gaze to the ground and don’t answer this; it feels rhetorical. 

“But you’re right - it’s not about us. It’s about you. Something has to give,” he says gently. “Either face it and get your answer, or let it go.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue.

“Yes, it is that simple,” he retorts. “It’s just scary. But that’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t tell him,” you say, because it’s true. You can’t. You can’t. “What if it messed up everything for all of us?”

What if you lost him completely? What if he moved out? What if he stopped talking to you? 

Jeonghan doesn’t reply to this at first, he just watches you carefully, then tucks a long strand of dark hair behind his ear. 

“You can,” he says finally, still gentle. “But… if you won’t… then you have to let him go.”

Your stomach drops at the words, even though this is a truth you’ve been aware of for ages, have been doing your best to avoid. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper. And it’s true - loving Mingyu feels as instinctual as your heartbeat, intrinsically part of who you are. How can you separate it out, shut it down? 

“Stop sharing a bed with him,” Jeonghan suggests, and it’s so simple and straight-forward and correct that you can’t think of a single argument. “Quit texting him but ignoring everyone else. Stop cuddling with him on the couch after work. Quit-”

“Alright, I get it,” you snap, the defensiveness rising up again like muddy waters. 

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?”

Your throat is tight and sharp, and you blink quickly, eyes on the ground again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it like he aches. Maybe he means it. “You could talk to him, you could at least see what he says -”

“No,” you interrupt. “No. I can’t do that.”

He shrugs, big and exaggerated. “Then move on. There are other people in the world who’d be happy to love you the right way. You can’t give any of them a proper chance if you’re holding it against them that they aren’t Mingyu.”

Like the one you ignored all night, who is still on his way to pick your ass up right now… 

You push your hands against your eyes like you can block out the truth of what he’s saying, but you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “I’m gonna go back in,” he says, gentle again. “It’s freezing out here. Just… think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” you say dryly. 

He nods, then disappears back into the bar, the wave of sound crashing and fading as the door opens and closes. 

You stay outside and wait for Daeyoung’s car, your hands going numb from the cold. You run the whole thing over and over in your head, replay Jeonghan’s words, daydream a hundred conversations with Mingyu each with different endings. 

You think maybe you should take Jeonghan’s advice - put some physical distance between you and Mingyu, just as a starting point. 

You hate the idea of it. But you know he’s right.

When Daeyoung pulls up, you slide into the passenger seat and tell him thank you, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He smiles at you, all sweet, and then whisks you away. Halfway to his place, he glances over at you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and then instantly feel bad for it. “Just… argued with my roommate. I’m kind of cranky.”

He reaches out and squeezes your knee once, reassuringly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me,” he says, and when you whip around to look at him, he laughs. “I wasn’t being presumptuous. I just meant if you needed some space from them, you’re welcome. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” you repeat, settling back against the seat. “We’ll see.”

You keep your eyes on the window for the rest of the drive. 

You wonder if Mingyu brought that girl home, and then you shove that thought away, because you’re letting him go, starting tonight, and those thoughts aren’t going to serve you anymore.

And then you wonder the same thing again five minutes later.

–

April 

Winter softens, the temperature sturdies itself, and the season forms solidly into rain-logged spring. 

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu sings. Even on the greyest, soggiest days you turn to him like a plant turns to sun. “I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you quip. 

He drapes himself over you in retaliation, long arms and legs hanging heavy towards the floor as his torso smothers your face, drowning in you in his cinnamon-tinged scent.

You protest wordlessly and shove at him, and he laughs, his abs working near your chest with the motion.

“Entertain me,” he whines.

Things have been different - weird different, sometimes even bad different - for a few weeks now, all because of Jeonghan. You choose to blame him, anyway. 

What he said to you plays in your head on loop all day every day, and suddenly you don’t know how to act right with Mingyu, causing you to overcorrect and swerve wildly. Sometimes you’re spending the entire day with him, touching and talking and leaning into it - then you think about it too hard and you spend the next two days icing him out. 

It’s confusing for both of you. You can tell he notices, can tell he’s baffled by the change. More than once you’ve caught him looking at you like you’re a problem to solve - that face he makes when something isn’t working, or he’s got an equation of some sort to work out. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make you feel bad about it, doesn’t confront you, just takes what you’ll give him with a smile.

You haven’t gone to his room in the middle of the night since your talk with Jeonghan, either. It feels like quitting something. The withdrawal eats at your nerves, the cravings taking over until you can’t focus on anything else. More than one night since then you’ve laid awake, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding as you argue with yourself - just go, you’ll sleep and you’ll feel better waging war against Jeonghan’s you can’t keep pretending you’re together and then falling apart when he makes it clear that it isn’t real. 

Each time, you’d ended up staying in your own bed. Jeonghan is right. You knew it when he said it, and you know it now. You have to let go if you’re ever going to be happy. You can’t keep living in the shadows of Mingyu’s life, waiting for him to come give you just a slice of himself and pretending to be sated by it.

“I can’t entertain you, you pain in my ass,” you say, as he allows you to roll his heavy body off of yours and onto the other side of your bed. “I have a date with Daeyoung in like an hour. I need to go shampoo.”

“Booooo,” he complains. Then he props himself up on one elbow and gives you that familiar look again - the math problem look. Not calculating, exactly, but definitely evaluating. “You’ve been seeing him for a while,” he remarks, and you can hear the effort to keep his tone casual, which makes you wonder what he’s hiding.

“Like four months,” you say, not sure if this is agreeing with him or not.

He nods, then rolls to face your ceiling, arms behind his head. It does disgusting things to his biceps, and you look away, sitting up and reaching for your phone to check the time.

“How’s that going?” he asks, still all casual. 

“Good,” you say airily, still not looking at him.

“Sunny,” he says, a bit more seriously, and it’s enough to make you glance his way. He’s facing you, arms still behind his head, but watching. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

Ice flows through your veins so quickly that you have the urge to blow on your fingers to warm them. Talk to me about it. You take a calming breath, remind yourself that he’s asking about Daeyoung, not about your feelings in general.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Just feels weird.” 

“It didn’t used to,” he says, and you know exactly what he means. You’d always talked to him about anything - including boys and crushes. 

He doesn’t ask so what’s different now, but you know the answer anyway. You’re afraid you’ll say anything, and Mingyu - who knows you better than anyone else - will hear everything you aren’t trying to say. How you feel about him, how you’ve been trying to create distance and boundaries, how it’s been unsuccessful because you have no sense of consistency, how you can’t seem to accept that you don’t get to have him, how Daeyoung is so nice and fun and cute but still can’t silence the urge behind your ribs that screams for Mingyu.

“Yeah,” you sigh, acknowledging that he’s right - that you used to tell him everything. “I don’t know, Mingyu. It’s good. I like him. Like… I don’t necessarily think he’s The One or anything, but I’d be upset if we broke up?” 

Mingyu nods, something complicated on his face. “Well,” he says finally, “That’s good. I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve it.”

There’s something flat in his voice, and you stand because you can’t just sit there next to him right now. 

“Thanks,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Well… I’m gonna go shower so I’m not late.” You grab the few things you need from your room and pause in your doorway. He’s pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping slowly and his eyes on the screen, and you carry on across the hallway, leaving him behind.

The way you need to. The way you’re trying to. 

Daeyoung takes you to dinner, making you laugh so hard you have to wipe under your eyes, and listening intently when you bitch about work (and, yes, Marcus in Accounting). 

After, as you walk along the river, looking out at the lights, Daeyoung reaches for your hand, and you link fingers. 

This is what you need - to lean into it with someone, to really try with someone. Maybe that will ease this process of shifting Mingyu to the background. Maybe you just need to try.

Like he can read your mind, Daeyoung slows, turning to look at you. He says your name hesitantly, and you match his slowed pace, waiting.

“We’ve been doing this for a while,” he says, kind of hesitantly, “and I kind of wanted to see if we’re on the same page.”

When you just look at him, he forges ahead, the words rushing out of him now. “I really like you, and I really like this… and I was wondering how you’d feel about… maybe being more official?”

You feel yourself flush, a smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He smiles back, relief washing over his face. “Yeah,” he says, much more confident now. “Yes, I am.”

You lick your lips, suddenly unsure. “Daeyoung,” you say, and you watch his face fall. You hurry to amend - “No, I’m not saying no! It’s just… I don’t know… I feel like we’ve kept things pretty… light. And I just worry that if we get more serious and you see more of me… you might…”

You trail off. He watches you intently, and then finishes for you, “Change my mind?”

You nod meekly. What if you can’t do it - what if you can’t push Mingyu out of your head and heart, what if you can’t start fresh with someone? Daeyoung has been wonderful to you. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be second choice, doesn’t deserve to be a consolation prize. 

You can’t say yes if that’s what this will be. You need to be sure you’re all in, you need to be sure you want him and not just the fresh start he represents.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say instead, quietly. 

He considers this, watching you carefully. “Why do you think you will?”

It’s a fair question. “I’m… trying to get over someone,” you force yourself to say. He deserves to know what he’s walking into. 

You watch his face for any change in expression. His expression does ripple a little, and then he licks his lips and asks, “And how’s that going?”

You scuff the toe of one shoe absently along the pavement. “Goes better when you’re around,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be… like… using you, I guess? It feels… unfair.”

He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says, looking away from you, at the river. He’s quiet for a while and then asks, “Are you into this? With me?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically, because despite the Mingyu of it all, it’s true. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets.”

He smiles kind of ruefully. “Thanks for being honest,” he says, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper. You really hope you aren’t breaking up right now, but you wouldn’t blame him if he called it off.

He lets out a long breath, very slowly, measured. “I’m thinking that no one can make promises at the beginning of a relationship.”

Your stomach jolts, terrified, at the word. He continues, oblivious.

“But,” he says, “you just take it a day at a time. That’s all I’m asking for - just a day. And then maybe another. We can go from there.”

You consider this, that tiny smile returning. He waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Yeah. If you’re sure you want that, then… yes.”

“Yes?” he repeats, like he needs to be sure. He’s already grinning, despite the turn the conversation had taken on the way here.

You laugh, feeling suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yes.”

He kisses you next to the singing river, and later you take a selfie together beside a food cart. You post it to social media with a blue heart emoji for the caption. 

You swallow hard and swipe roughly to remove the notification when Mingyu likes the picture minutes later. 

–

May

“Kim Mingyu!” you bellow, scooping up an armload of shirts and socks from the living room floor. “Get your gross, sweaty clothes off of our shared couch! The hamper is like three feet away!”

“Yah,” he complains, coming to take the offending pile from you. “You never cared before!”

“Well now her boyfriend is coming over,” Jeonghan says, somehow making the word sound sleezy. “She wants it to be pretty in here.”

“I hate you both,” you say. “I only like Wonwoo. He’s my only friend. Wonwoo, you’re my only friend.”

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch. 

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is kind of right. 

You’ve mostly spent time out with Daeyoung or at his place - mostly because he lives alone and you live with a cast of clowns. But he has come over a handful of times. Sometimes he’s only there long enough to stand awkwardly by the front door while you finish putting on jewelry and shoes before whisking you away; other times he’s stayed to eat take-away and watch a movie as the aforementioned clowns filter in and out, leaving snappy comments like use protection in their wake. 

Tonight’s the first time that the plan is for everyone to hang out. To say you’re nervous is an understatement, as evidenced by the uncharacteristic way you pace the house, adjusting items Daeyoung has already seen out of place as if it makes any difference.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu finally says, coming up and putting his hands on your shoulders, trying to still you. You pull back from his touch as gently as you can, trying to make that space with some subtly. “Why are you freaking out? He’s been here before.”

“Yeah, you’re right, why would I be nervous?” you ask sarcastically. “Why would I be nervous to have my boyfriend come over for games and movies with three notoriously very nice people who never make trouble?”

“Rude,” Wonwoo remarks from the couch.

“Not you, Wonwoo, you’re my only friend,” you tell him without even turning your head. You hear Jeonghan snort.

“You said three,” Mingyu points out seriously, stepping back from you like he silently got the memo about space. “That includes Wonwoo.”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Two people who make trouble, and then one person who knows how to be normal sometimes.”

A knock on the door interrupts you before anyone can push your buttons any further.

“Be nice,” you tell them sternly as you head to open the door. “Be normal. For the love of god, at least try.”

“She has no faith in us,” Jeonghan says sadly behind you. 

“We probably shouldn’t try Monopoly tonight,” Mingyu remarks, and you hate that he’s right. 

You all almost broke up over Monopoly, once. You never played again. 

“Yeah, put that one away,” you agree, as you pull the door open.

Daeyoung greets you with a smile and a small bouquet of flowers - nothing too fancy, just a little something. You pay for them with a smile and a kiss, lifting onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Awwww, so cute,” Jeonghan coos from across the apartment.

“Jeonghan,” you say sharply. “What did we talk about?”

Daeyoung feigns a pout. “You don’t think we’re cute?”

You slap at his arm playfully and step back to let him in. You head to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers, listening as the men all exchange heys and how’ve you beens. 

You all settle for a variation of Rummy, sitting around the kitchen table with a smattering of snacks and drinks, chatting easily as you play.

At the end of the second hand, you ask, “Wait, what does that put me at?”

“Sixty-two,” Daeyoung says, just as Mingyu says, “Sixty-three.”

You look at them both blankly. You and numbers don’t vibe. 

Jeonghan looks at the little note on his phone where he was tallying scores. “Sixty-three,” he confirms.

“Whoops,” Daeyoung says apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to short you on points, sweetheart.”

All three of your roommates stiffen, and you feel your face heat. “No worries,” you say quickly, reaching to cut the deck for the next hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Be normal, be normal, be normal, you mentally beg the clowns. 

“I think it’s mine, sweetie-pie,” Jeonghan deadpans. You kick him ferociously under the table, not even trying to be subtle, and he swears.

“Knock it off,” you growl.

“You’re upsetting pookie, hyung,” Mingyu says somberly. 

“I hate all of you,” you whine. And then, on instinct, “Not you, Wonwoo.”

Daeyoung looks around the table, amused. “Is this always how it is around here?”

“Basically,” Wonwoo admits. “Just usually with a lot more -” He stops short, coughing, and reaches for his drink. You all wait, your heart thrumming nervously. You’re sure he’d been about to drop a crack about you and Mingyu’s physical affection. “A lot more yelling,” he finishes. “This is everyone on their best behavior, because Sunny threatened us.”

Daeyoung laughs, and you pray that the moment went unnoticed. You can tell Mingyu is a bit still on your other side, and if it was a month ago you would have reached over to him already, soothed a hand down his arm or pressed your cheek to his shoulder until he untensed. You rest your hands in your lap, instead, eyes on your cards.

After Rummy, which Jeonghan wins by a landslide, you all head to the couches for a movie.  Your roommates and you have always had unspoken “spots”, but Daeyoung’s presence throws the balance off entirely. Normally you’d be next to Mingyu but he takes Jeonghan’s spot, leaving the other guys to buffer as they try to figure out a new arrangement.

“Here,” Daeyoung says, tugging on your wrist until you settle on his lap, legs hanging just off the side of his own, “we can make room.”

Jeonghan tosses you a small blanket and a wink and settles in on the far side of your couch, giving the two of you lots of room. Wonwoo flicks off the overhead lights and settles next to Mingyu, the two of them awkwardly squished on the two-seater. But, blessedly, no one complains as the opening score emanates from the sound bar. 

As the movie begins, you relax, leaning sideways against Daeyoung’s chest, his arms looped around you. You stomp down on the intrusive thought that wants to compare how comfortable this is to how comfortable you’d been with Mingyu for past movie nights, internally hissing at your own brain for the unwelcome thought. 

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low, only for you, one hand rubbing the small of your back lightly.

“Mhm,” you assure him, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw, the only bit of him that you can reach comfortably. He smiles down at you, endeared, and then turns his attention to the television again. You can feel someone’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look, refuse to give attention to whoever is trying to heckle you right now. They can’t just let you live, huh?

Halfway through the movie, Mingyu stands, moving out of the way of the screen quickly and heading to the kitchen. You don’t lift your head from Daeyoung’s check, just watching him go through the corners of your eyes. 

“Anyone need a drink?” he calls from the kitchen. “Hyung? Sunny Baby?”

Daeyoung physically recoils, his head snapping back so he can look at you, wide-eyed. You look back at him the same way, feeling like you’ve been caught at something. 

“It’s just habit,” you say, quietly, and Jeonghan turns away, shifting awkwardly next to you two. “Old nickname from a million years ago.”

Daeyoung nods, but his face is still a bit stricken.

“Hello?” Mingyu calls from the kitchen. “Beer? Anyone?”

“No, thanks!” you call back, trying to force your voice to come out cheerful. 

When he returns, flopping unceremoniously into his spot next to Wonwoo, Daeyoung’s arms tighten around you. 

You close your eyes, frustrated. You hope you can salvage this. You’d been afraid from the jump that the Mingyu factor - even with the changes you’ve been purposely making, all that space - would damage what you have with Daeyoung, as effective as a drop of ink in a bucket of water. 

When the movie ends, Wonwoo gives a polite goodbye and vanishes into his lair and you lead Daeyoung back towards the front door. Behind you, you can hear the tell-tale clicks of bottles as Jeonghan and Mingyu start picking up the food and drinks. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, as soon as you have some semblance of privacy in the entryway. “I knew hanging out here was going to be a mess.”

Daeyoung manages a smile. “It wasn’t a mess,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how close you all were.”

He’s being too nice. You feel terrible. 

“I think we might get less close very soon if they can’t get their shit together,” you grumble, which makes him laugh, some of the tension alleviating. 

“Well,” Daeyoung says, suddenly turning conspiratory, “while your place was very fun… what would you say to some fun at my place now?”

You giggle. “I wouldn’t hate that plan,” you say coyly, smiling up at him. “Quieter, there. Fewer clowns.”

He laughs again, even as he reaches to tilt your jaw up, shuffling you backwards against the entryway wall as his lips find yours. 

As the kiss warms you, your hands finding the front of his shirt and bunching it into your fists, heat beginning to trickle out of hiding in your belly, you hear footsteps and an abrupt, “Oh - shit - sorry - my bad -”

“Your place,” you say against Daeyoung’s lips as Mingyu retreats back to the kitchen. You can practically feel through the wall how red his ears are. 

Daeyoung lets you out of his embrace and you hurry to your room to toss a few things together - toothbrush, phone charger, clothes - and come to get your jacket. 

“Bye, idiots!” you call through the apartment. Then, “Not you, Wonwoo!” and you close the door behind you with a giggle, following Daeyoung down the stairs.

On the other side of the wall, safely hidden in the kitchen, Mingyu stands staring blankly at the pantry, one hand over his mouth, still as a statue. What is this feeling churning in his gut? He feels sick, and he can’t put a name to it but he hates how it crawls through his system. 

Jeonghan appears next to him, placing two more dirty cups in the sink. He lets out a single, wry laugh when he sees Mingyu standing there.

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

–

June

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unfurling with distant thunder and a smattering of fireflies lazily drifting through the trees beyond the garden. His arm brushes yours and you can hear his breathing as he exhales slowly.

You feel happy - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those distant cracks of ferocious thunder. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your joy has to burst from you, just like the clouds on the horizon. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You wake up with faint tear-tracks on your cheeks, and you growl out a frustrated breath. 

“I need a lobotomy,” you grumble, wiping at your cheeks and trying to get comfortable again, hoping to go back to sleep - with less ridiculous dreams. 

It doesn’t happen. You flop from side to side over the course of half an hour, and then give up. You reach for your nightstand to see if you have any water, but there’s nothing but your phone and the lamp. With a sigh, you push yourself out from under the blankets and pad into the kitchen.

You’re letting a glass fill with tap water when you hear one of the other doors down the hallway open. You turn, peering through the moonlit living room, to see who else is up. The clock above the stove says it’s four in the morning.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says, his voice rough with sleep. His hair is sticking up in the back. Your stomach lurches with the sick desire to smooth it down. “Why are you up?”

“Had a bad dream,” you lie. It was a good dream. Nothing bad about it until you wake up and feel guilty because of Daeyoung, and angry because your brain and heart are holding you fucking hostage. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.” That part’s true. 

“Poor Sunny Baby,” he croons, coming closer, the darkness making his form seem even bigger. “Come on - we’ll get comfy.” Just like we used to, he doesn’t say.

Your heart slams against your chest. “Oh,” you say softly. Because, yeah, a few months ago you wouldn’t have even needed him to invite you - you would have been there already, snuggling into the space next to his ribs, breathing him in until sleep returns to you. “Mingyu, I can’t.”

The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy. 

“Because I want to respect my relationship?” you correct gently. “Yes, that’s why. It wouldn’t be right, and you know it.”

You stand in silence for a moment, barely able to see each other across the darkened space, at an impasse. Then, he scoffs again, lighter this time. 

“Fine,” he says, moving past you towards the bathroom - probably the reason he was up in the first place. “Suit yourself.”

When he passes back through the living room on his way back to bed, you’re curled up on the couch under one of the blankets, the tv on with the sound turned low. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns down the hall and shuts his bedroom door behind him. You hear the lock click. You press your hands to your face and will yourself to breathe deep. Crying over him while asleep is one thing. Doing it while awake feels like a betrayal. 

Just one more you can add to your list.

–

“Hey!” you yell across the noisy room. Mingyu turns from where he’s standing near your bedroom door, talking to a few guys who you’ve seen around here but whose names you forget. Seok… something. The other one might be a Chan, you’re not sure. Mingyu lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever request you’re going to shout at him. 

“Can you get the door for me?” you call, trying to be louder than the music and chatter. Your apartment is bursting with people as Mingyu’s annual summer bash is well underway. You’re at the pong table - your kitchen table, shoved halfway into the living room - a slightly sticky plastic ball in hand. “Daeyoung is here, I can feel my phone going off.”

Mingyu gives you a wordless salute and shuffles off towards the front door, and you close one eye, lean forward as far as the others will let you without calling a foul, and line up your shot.

You sink it just seconds before you feel someone’s hands on your hips. You straighten up and turn to greet Daeyoung with a kiss, firm and confident courtesy of many drinks. The party’s been going for a few hours already, and you and the guys pregamed before the guests started showing up.

“Hi!” you chirp when you part. “Glad you made it!” 

“This is a lot of people,” he says back, looking around your living room and kitchen a bit incredulously. “You said you guys do this every year?”

You nod seriously. “We bribe our neighbors. I mean, they’re all invited of course, but we also try to do something nice to make up for the one night of noise. Last year I baked cookies. This year we just went straight to cash.”

He laughs, and you lead him through the throng of people into the kitchen for a drink. 

“I’m glad you came,” you say again, as he stands before the open fridge, scanning beer bottle labels for something palatable. He sends you a smile over his shoulder, then picks a bottle and turns. You place the opener into his waiting hand.

“You look good tonight,” he tells you, all glinty, looking at you sideways. You pretend to preen.

“Sunny always looks good,” Jeonghan asserts, breezing in behind you holding a bowl full of chips. 

“Are you sharing those?” you demand. “You can’t gatekeep the good ones, Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this.”

“Gatekeep, girlboss, whatever the third one is!” he replies, zipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d come. 

Out in the living room, you hear the familiar sound of the karaoke machine booting up. There’s a telltale scraping - the pong table being shoved against the far wall to make more room for jumping around while aiming for that perfect score. 

When you and Daeyoung make it into the living room again, Mingyu and one of the friends whose names you forgot are singing together. Mingyu’s all irony, eyes closed in mock passion as he clutches his mic with both hands, but his friend is actually good, voice sailing over the higher notes without error.

“Wow,” you say. “That guy can actually sing.”

One of your friends, a girl you lovingly call Ethel because of the style of grandma glasses she favors, stops in front of you, pushing little plastic shot glasses into your hands.

“Are you the boyfriend?” she asks Daeyoung, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been dying to actually meet you. She’s been keeping you a secret.”

“I have not!” you reply hotly, as Daeyoung laughs, introducing himself. 

“It’s nice to meet her other friends,” he says, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I know, it’s hard to separate her from these guys,” she says. “They deserve a sitcom.”

“I’m standing right here,” you protest. 

Jeonghan appears behind you, too close. “We have a little problem in the kitchen,” he whispers.

You excuse yourself, leaving Daeyoung with Ethel - who will hopefully say nothing too incriminating about you and Mingyu’s blurry-lined friendship. 

In the kitchen, Wonwoo is kneeling on the floor, his upper body hidden in the cupboard under the sink. When he shuffles back out, the front of his shirt is wet. You can see a bit of water starting to pool on the boards below the cleaning supplies.

“Uh oh,” you say.

Mingyu appears to your left, solid and warm against your arm. Then he crouches, peering under the sink. 

“Can I have someone’s phone?” he asks, and you pass him yours. He turns on the flashlight and shines it at the pipes. You watch his face do that thing - that calculating look, the problem-solving look. 

“It’s this one,” he says, pointing to something you can’t see under there. “Where’s our toolbox?”

“Great question,” Wonwoo says, mouth twisting as he tries to remember. “Laundry room?”

“I think so,” you say. “I think it’s on the shelf in there.”

Mingyu scoots out from under the sink and disappears into the little nook you all graciously call a laundry room, since it does have a functional door, then reappears with two tools in hand. You don’t know what they are - you’ve never needed to.

You and Jeonghan and Wonwoo stand around him, worried, like you’re waiting for a doctor to emerge through hospital doors to report on the status of a loved one. When Mingyu backs out of the cabinet again, it’s with an air of smugness. 

“All set,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking proudly. 

“Our hero,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“This is why we keep you around,” you tell him.

“Get the man a shot,” Jeonghan says, swiveling to the collection of bottles on the counter. 

Daeyoung finds you on the kitchen floor, using a rag to wipe up any bits of water. Wonwoo and Mingyu both disappeared to change into dry shirts, you think. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, wiping one last spot and leaning up on your knees to look around for any areas you might have missed. The last thing you need is for someone to slip in here. “The sink broke. It’s okay now, Mingyu fixed it.”

“Well, thank god for Mingyu,” he says, and you look up at him, not sure if you’re imagining the edge in his voice. Are you? Did you project that?

“Well,” you say, “kind of! Because four of us live here, and only one person could solve the problem.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I can fix a sink,” he says, a bit of a pout in his voice.

You stand, returning the rag to the counter. “I’ll make sure to ask you first next time,” you say, leaning up to brush your lips teasingly across his. “I just thought the rent-payer should handle the problem before the guests.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he allows, smiling bigger. 

A while later, you find yourself in Wonwoo’s room, leaning against the wall watching somewhat absently as he and one of his friends play a POV shooter game, their brows furrowed in concentration and fingers flying on the controls. 

Daeyoung had been with you only moments ago, reporting into your ear on the game’s happening like a sports commentator to make you laugh, but he’d gone to get you each a new drink. Mingyu appears in his absence, and you can tell immediately that he’s sloppy.

“Sunny Baby,” he sings, draping an arm over your shoulders. 

You can’t help but smile, even as you try to shift out from under his arm. “Yes?” you sing back teasingly. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “You can stay just like this.” He wraps his other arm around you, and you laugh, pushing very gently at his chest.

“Mingyu,” you protest, laughing. “Get off me.”

“I will in one second,” he says, smiling cheekily. “You haven’t let me hug you in a hundred years, I have to take advantage now that your defenses are weakened by cheap vodka.”

“Mingyu!” you laugh again. 

And then you see Daeyoung in the doorway behind him, face unreadable. 

“Mingyu,” you say again, deadly serious now. “Let go.” 

Daeyoung slowly reaches to put the two beers on Wonwoo’s dresser and turns, wordlessly retreating down the hallway.

“Damn it, Mingyu,” you hiss, extracting yourself and hurrying to follow him. Daeyoung makes it clear outside and down the front steps before you catch him.

“Daeyoung, wait!” you call, and he finally slows, turning to face you. You jog to catch up, a bit breathless. You’ve had way too much to drink for this kind of confrontation, but you try to get your shit together enough to defend yourself. Or apologize. Or both.

He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits.

“Don’t -” you start, and then switch tracks quickly. “That was nothing. He’s like that when he’s had too much to drink. He’s just being silly.”

Daeyoung laughs once, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t lie to me,” he says flatly. 

“I’m not!” you protest. “It’s true.”

He shakes his head, swipes his thumb across his phone screen and taps around. 

“Don’t leave,” you beg. “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell him to let go.”

He twists his mouth, refusing to look at you. At the far end of the street, you can see approaching headlights. He’s ordered a ride home. 

“When you said you were trying to get over someone I didn't pry,” he says flatly, “but I guess I should have. You could’ve had the decency to tell me that you live with him.”

The slam of the car door feels final, the sound passing over you like shrapnel. 

The blink of red taillights has just vanished around the corner when strong arms wrap around you. Mingyu must have followed, must have been watching from the door, must have seen it happen. 

You’ve been trying to make space, you’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re buzzed and you’re sad and you’re weak. So, you turn in his arms, burying your face in his shirt and letting yourself cry. 

He holds you through it, doesn’t say anything to you, just holds on tight until you can breathe again. 

“I don’t want you to see this,” you sniffle finally, and he lets his arms drop, stepping back so he can look at you. “This shouldn’t be you.”

“That’s fair,” he murmurs, sounding much more sober than he had inside. “But I’m the one who’s here. Tell me you want me to go, and I will.”

Your heart cracks. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper. 

“Okay,” he says, wrapping you up again, leaning his chin on the top of your head and swaying you a little bit. “Then I won’t.”

Eventually, you both lay in the grass. You don’t want to go inside, and Mingyu says he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the front yard. Instead, you lay side by side, far enough away that you’d have to stretch to touch. It feels like that night in undergrad, but also completely opposite. In your memories of that night, you felt warm and good like your place in the universe was guaranteed, your cog in the great machine fitting perfectly and spinning without difficulty. Tonight, you feel off, cold and angry, like your piece has been displaced and can’t fit anywhere anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to make problems for you guys.”

“I know you didn’t,” you allow. 

“It was just us being us,” he says, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think that was the problem.”

He has nothing to say to that. 

Daeyoung calls you, much later, when you’re back inside and tucked in your bed. 

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

“Of course not,” you say. “I’m lying awake agonizing over you storming out on me.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel hope bloom behind your ribs. Is this salvageable?

“I might have overreacted,” he admits. “It’s easy to be intimidated by that guy.”

That guy again. What is it with these two? 

“You shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “He’s an idiot.”

Daeyoung laughs again. “So am I,” he says.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” you say. “I’ve been really trying to adjust the boundaries of our friendship, and it’s a big change from how we used to be. Usually we do better… Like I said earlier, he was drunk. He just forgot himself, went back to how things used to be.”

Daeyoung is quiet for a second. “I should have let you explain yourself before I left,” he says evenly.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place,” you counter. “I didn’t mean to. I’m in this with you, Daeyoung. I promise.”

“I know,” he admits. “I know you are.”

You smile into the phone. “Our first fight.”

He laughs again. “Hopefully not one of many.”

“Eh,” you say. “It’s normal. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I would have been a mess waiting to hear from you. Might have embarrassed myself blowing your phone up.”

“Maybe I should have let you embarrass yourself,” he teases. 

“It’s like that, huh?” you joke.

“Yes,” he sniffs. “Until I feel better.”

When you finally hang up, you creep through the apartment to pee before trying to sleep. You notice Mingyu’s light is on, though his door is shut. You pause, looking at that sliver of light, and then continue on back to your own bed. 

–

July

“Move over!” you giggle, using your hips to scoot Daeyoung out of your way, a wooden spoon in your hand. The simmering stew on the stovetop smells delectable, and you give it a stir, make sure nothing is stuck to the bottom of the pot. 

“Ask nicely!” he retorts, but he’s smiling. 

Mingyu watches the scene covertly from the couch, trying to keep his face neutral, trying to keep his face tilted towards the tv so he doesn’t get caught watching. Or worse, caught sulking.

You and Daeyoung eat and wash up most of what you used to cook, offer the leftovers to anyone around to hear you (so, just Mingyu), and then leave, giggles and flirting dissipating and leaving Mingyu in a quiet that he absolutely can’t stand. 

When you return the next day, trying to look nonchalant with your overnight bag clutched in your hands, Mingyu is at the kitchen table, eating some of the leftovers and watching videos on his phone. 

“Hey,” he greets you, pausing the video.

You give your overnight bag a light toss; it lands with a thump over near the couch. “Hey yourself,” you say, heading into the kitchen for a drink. “The food’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Your man can cook, huh?”

“Hey!” you object. “I did most of the work!”

“Hmm,” he says, rising and coming into the kitchen to rinse his plate. 

You cross your arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm what?”

He shrugs teasingly. “We’ve lived together a long time, Sunny. I have a hard time believing you’re the chef in that relationship. You never helped me cook anything.”

Your eyes narrow even more. “You never asked me to,” you retort, suddenly defensive. “There’s a lot of things I do with Daeyoung because you never asked me to.”

Silence falls on the kitchen like a rockslide. 

Mingyu takes one very careful step backwards. “Because I never asked you to?” he echoes, his voice shaking just slightly.

Your pulse races, and you fight a wave of nausea. A Freudian slip if there ever was one. 

“That you never asked me to,” you amend firmly.

Mingyu hesitates. Then, “I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

That defensiveness moves inside you like a thing alive, your temper flaring in an effort to protect you. 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, suddenly pissed. 

Mingyu doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t match your temper at all. Calm and steady, he says, “So then you tell me. How do you feel, Sunny?”

That rockslide hits you. You can’t breathe, too bruised by the onslaught. All the years of secrets and feelings and broken rules and truths that you knew but pretended not to spill around you, impossible to escape.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you hiss at him. “Not now. That’s not fair.”

His calm cracks, just slightly, his tone going hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Why now, Mingyu?” you demand. “Why now, when I have someone? Why not any of the years before now, when I was only yours?” 

You’re breathing hard, having spat the words like they’re venom, and you wait him out. He blusters, splutters, has nothing to say to this.

Your temper pulls you like a wave, a momentum you can’t fight.

“You don’t know the answer?” you ask sarcastically. “That’s fine - I can tell you: because you had me. You had me, and you didn’t need to share me, and you could still do whatever - or whoever! - you wanted and I’d still fucking be here afterward.”

You know exactly the moment you start crying through the words, because Mingyu’s body jolts, like he instinctively moved to touch you but remembered to stay back.

“And now?” you continue, because you’re on a roll, everything you’ve held in for years finally bursting from you with the fury of a cracked dam. “Now that’s changed. So, what is it? You want your toy back now that someone else is playing with it?”

“Of course not-”

“Fuck you, Mingyu! You sat me on the shelf for too long. I don’t deserve that.”

“Sunny, no,” he tries again. “It isn’t like that. I lo-”

“Yes, it is!” you shout. You’ve never shouted at him in your life, and it actually shuts him up. Tears are still streaming down your face, but you ignore them. “It is, and until you see that, I can’t expect you to change it or fix it.”

You start to storm past him, but you whirl on him, a finger pointed in his direction. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you love me!” you add furiously. “No you don’t. Not the right way, not like this.”

And then you slam out of the apartment, barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook as you go.

–

[5:22pm] You: if i send you a list of what i need, can you please put a bag together for me and leave it in the hall

[5:22pm] (jeong)Han Solo: :( sunny

[5:22pm] You: hannie please??? i can’t go inside. i really can’t.

[5:23pm] (jeong)Han Solo: he’s a fucking wreck 

[5:23pm] You: i don’t care

[5:24pm] You: i mean of course i fucking care that’s the whole problem

[5:24pm] You: please? my things?

–

August

August 3

[10:02am] Mingyu: sunny please talk to me

[12:17pm] Mingyu: please let me apologize to you

[12:17pm] Mingyu: i dont want to do it over text but you wont answer my calls and no one seems to know where you are

[12:22pm] Mingyu: you were right. about all of it.

[12:22pm] Mingyu: and you were right that you dont deserve it

[12:22pm] Mingyu: please call me back or come home so i can say this to your face

[5:38pm] Mingyu: there’s one part you were wrong about

[5:38pm] Mingyu: i do love you. the right way. maybe it took losing you to someone to get my ass moving but i loved you way before he was in the picture

[5:38pm] Mingyu: dont ever question that again

[11:04pm] Mingyu: god, sunny, answer your phone!

August 4

[7:43am] Mingyu: you’re killing me

[7:43am] Mingyu: are you happy sunshine???? KILLING ME!!!

[1:36pm] Mingyu: come home

[1:36pm] Mingyu: please

[8:02pm] Mingyu: we HAVE to talk about this, sunny

[11:51pm] Mingyu: i’m not going to give up

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: are you staying with daeyoung for a while?

[10:23am] You: no. my mom’s. 

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok. im glad you’re with someone who can care for you.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: we miss you :(

August 5

[8:00am] Mingyu: fine, i’ll say everything over text like an asshole

[8:00am] Mingyu: just know you made me do this!

[8:04am] Mingyu: i fell in love with you in undergrad when you had to take that statistics class that you almost failed. when you saw your midterm score was passing you told me i love you for the first time and i swear to god i almost proposed to you right there. And it never went away. It was never less.

[8:08am] Mingyu: i love you because you wield your attitude like both sword and shield. I love you because you can barely count but you make me feel so stupid sometimes with how clever you are. I love you because you’re beautiful and funny and empathetic and you make me want to be better than i am. I want to be more competent for you, to be able to take care of you and provide for you when you need it. I love you because when i’m sick you take care of me and you let me take care of you when you’re down too. I love you because when i’m with you i feel like someone’s GOT me, someone understands me and has my back. 

[8:09am] Mingyu: i cant believe youre making me say this all in TEXT i hate this!

[8:10am] Mingyu: i have more. I have a hundred more reasons. 

[8:10am] Mingyu: come home so i can tell you

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunny baby. Please come home soon.

You show up to Daeyoung’s unannounced. His face is grim when he opens the door; you haven’t answered his calls or texts in a few days, either. He probably knows what this is. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping backwards to make room for you in his doorway. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry I vanished,” you tell him. “Something happened. I’ve been at my mom’s.”

He eyes you warily, like he’s not sure if this is a I got in a car accident kind of something, or a I cheated on you kind of something, and he doesn’t want to react for the wrong one. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“Daeyoung,” you say, after taking a breath to steel yourself, “I care about you, and I like you, and I have real feelings for you.” 

“I sense a but,” he says dryly. 

You smile sadly. “But I dont think this is fair to you. I shouldn’t be with someone - anyone - until I’m over him or he’s out of my life… and I can’t seem to make either of those things happen.” You don’t need to say which him. You both know. “I wanted to. I wanted to do it right and I thought I was… but I was wrong.” 

He shrugs, face blank. “Okay.” 

“Daeyoung.” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, frustration seeping into his tone. “I can't argue with any of that. I can’t change it for you. I can’t be better than him, I can't become him. You’re right, you shouldn’t be with someone else if what you really want is that guy.”

That guy. Again.

“You’re right,” you whisper, looking at your feet.

He lets out a breath. “So, it’s done then?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Daeyoung. I hope someday you can believe that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. You deserve better.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t let you go out with any optimism. You and your misery trudge back to your mother’s, fall asleep in your childhood bed.

August 6

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i have more things to say today

[8:00am] Mingyu: i will give you two 2️⃣ minutes to respond or you get it all thru text AGAIN

[8:00am] Mingyu: and you know how i feel about that.

[8:03am] Mingyu: fine.

[8:03am] Mingyu: you’ve always been so fucking stubborn sunny. just let me apologize to you!

[8:05am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i kept you on hold

[8:05am] Mingyu: you’re right. that’s what was happening. but i didn’t MEAN it like that.

[8:05am] Mingyu: idk if you believe me bc i can’t see your face 🙄

[8:06am] Mingyu: but its true. I just… liked how things were. Youre right… i counted on you always being there waiting for me. 

[8:06am] Mingyu: i thought it was okay though… i thought if you wanted it to change you had the power to change it

[8:07am] Mingyu: like, you could have said something to me.

[8:07am] Mingyu: and i dont mean that like its your fault or anything, it was just how i rationalized it to myself. Like if you werent complaining then it must be fine?

[8:09am] Mingyu: i’m an idiot

[8:14am] Mingyu: but i’m an idiot who loves you, and misses you, and wants to do better

[11:59pm] Mingyu: please come home

[12:32pm] You: i broke up with him.

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: are you okay???

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: come home so we can take care of you!!

[12:58pm] You: i cant face him. not yet. im not ready

August 7

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i took you for granted. even if we walk out of this only trying to repair the friendship, i swear i’ll never let it happen again.

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunshine. I love you.

August 8

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont work too hard today

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont take any shit from marcus in accounting

[12:12pm] Mingyu: having lunch. call me if you want? it doesnt have to be heavy. Just hello.

[12:39pm] Mingyu: i need you back sunny. in whatever capacity youll let me have.

[11:57pm] Mingyu: hope you had a good day. Goodnight, i love you.

August 9

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny

[11:58pm] Mingyu: please. Please come home.

–

When you return home, a week after you left, it’s nearly dawn, the light from outside the living room just turning blue enough that you can see the outlines of the couches as you close the door as quietly as you can.

You step lightly, avoiding the spots you know will creak and groan when you step over them. You peer down the hallway to see that the guys’ doors are all shut, no lights on - not even the blues of Wonwoo’s computer monitor. 

You open your door and look around; your room looks exactly how you left it, down to the glass of water on the nightstand, now nearly empty. Except… the blankets on the bed are wrong. You set your bag down gently next to your dresser and creep closer, squinting through the dimly lit room.

A dark head of hair peeks out from under your comforter.

You can’t help it - you smile to yourself. For all the things Mingyu is - intelligent, funny, athletic, competent - he’s also a big baby. And he’s sleeping in your bed, because he misses you, and it comforts him.

It makes you want to forgive him for every wrong, press your lips to his sleepy forehead, listen to him lisp out Sunny Baby. 

He hurt you, it’s true. But you believe it that he was lying to himself, pretending things were fine. Weren’t you doing the exact same thing? You can’t hope Daeyoung will forgive you for your mistakes if you aren’t willing to do the same, too. 

You close your bedroom door and approach your bed. Mingyu stirs, making cricket legs under the blanket and stretching one arm towards the empty side. Towards you, though he doesn’t know it yet.

Then he freezes. His voice comes out paper thin. “Sunny?” he asks, pushing himself to sitting.

“This is not your bed,” you tell him, and he launches himself across the mattress, scrambling to reach you.

You allow him to wrap his gangly arms around your middle, pulling you to him as apologies pour over his lips so fast that he’s nearly babbling.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing at his shoulders. You back away and he follows like he’s tethered to you, clambering from the bed and standing before you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other through the thick blue of encroaching dawn.

And then he says your name.

Not Sunny. Not Sunny Baby. Your real name.

“I am so sorry - for everything,” he says, the ache in his voice clear and open. Then he drops his voice to a pained whisper. “Please. Tell me I can fix it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. He looks awful - like he hasn’t slept much, or been eating well. You feel a little bad that you stayed away for so long, but you’d needed the time by yourself. You’d needed the clarity of being alone to figure out what you want.

“I think we can,” you whisper back, since the rest of the apartment is still sleeping. We, because this was on both of you. 

He crushes you in a hug, surrounding you in the smell of cinnamon, his cheek pressed to your head. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me try and do better.”

“I broke up with Daeyoung,” you respond, and he snaps his mouth shut, stepping backwards to stare at you. 

“Why?” he asks finally, hoarse, like he can barely get the word out. 

You look up at him. “Because it wasn’t right to be with him. It wasn’t right to be with him when I’ve been in love with someone else the whole time.”

He closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sag. 

“I forgive you,” you say quietly, “and I do believe that things will be better now. If we talk about it - if we’re working together to make it better.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, desperately. “I will - I’ll do whatever I need to -”

“Both of us,” you say again, emphatically. “You were right, this wasn’t just your fault. I let this go on for… years. I counted marks against you but I never once spoke up.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “It was my fault, Sunny, I took it for granted and I should have been loving you, spoiling you -”

You laugh. “I mean, maybe,” you say. “But if I’d talked to you… maybe you would have been.”

“I want to now,” he says. “Can I? Will you let me?”

You smile up at him, and he grins back, taking your smile as an answer.

You reach up and touch his eye-tooth gently with a fingertip. “Your stupid fang is so fucking cute,” you whisper. “It is truly unfair how cute it is.”

He pretends to scowl at you. “We’re having a serious moment, here, Sunshine.”

You smile again, gentler this time. “I love you,” you tell him. “If you want to prove you can do this right… then I’m all in.”

He whispers your name again, then looks at you.

His eyes are molten again, the way they were the night you’d had your only kiss. It’s almost hypnotizing, the strength of his gaze on you, pulling you in wordlessly until your body is flush with his. You look up at him, breathless. 

“I’ll start proving it now,” he murmurs, so low you barely catch it, and then his mouth snags on yours, forceful, his hands cupping your jaw gently, a juxtaposition.

He touches you so tenderly, his fingers feather-light against the skin they uncover as you undress each other in hushed silence. It feels holy, somehow. 

He licks spices and heat into your mouth, trails calloused fingers down your bare arms, pulls your hips into his as his teeth trace down your jaw, makes sure you feel his want for you.

You slide your hands from his waist up his stomach and over his pecs, revelling in how he hisses and leans into the touch. 

“Wanted to do this for years,” he grumbles, like he’s complaining, before lowering his lips to your chest, sucking on supple skin to see how you like it, then doing it harder when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gasping at the sensation.

“Should’ve,” you scold, even as your eyes close and your head tilts back. “Could’ve been.”

But you aren’t thinking about your wasted time when he kneads both hands in the meat of your ass, or when you slide a flat palm up the length of him, delighting in the weight and heat you find straining against his Calvins. You’re thinking about how his hands are searing, about how you want to taste him but maybe not yet, not this first time. You’re thinking about his fingers sliding between your legs and the belly-deep rumble he makes when he feels how ready you are for him.

And when you finally come together, his mouth pressed to yours as he lays you back on the bed you’ve shared countless times, you’re only thinking about him and his beautiful smile and molten eyes and infectious laugh and empathetic heart. When he’s pushed as far into you as your bodies will allow, his hips tight against you and a whine slipping between his lips, you’re overcome with emotion. As you adjust to him, his eyes trace your face, and he reads what’s there with perfect clarity.

“Love you, Sunny Baby,” he whispers into the crook of your neck. 

You swallow against the thick rise of feelings and run your fingers through his hair. “Move for me,” you beg. And when he does, it’s just as perfect as the rest of him. 

You press your forehead to his when you come, his thumb rough on your clit and his mouth gasping broken breaths against your lips, pulsing around him in waves so dizzying you think they trigger even more. His hair sticks to his forehead as he presses deep inside you, and he shelters you between mountainous arms as he finally lets go.

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night. 

He’s perfect. He’s perfect, and you love him, and finally you can have him. 

You lay in his arms, heartbeat slowing bit by bit, and feel wholly at peace - like everything finally settled into place, everything landed exactly as it was meant to. Your cog in the universe, spinning correctly at last, grooves fitted perfectly to Kim Mingyu’s. 

The peace lasts…. until you check your phone. 

[8:26am] (jeong)Han Solo: when you two are DONE…. we went out for breakfast if you want to join 🙄

—

November

“Baby,” Mingyu says, but it’s stern. “Quit fixing the pillows.”

“It has to be perfect in here!” you whine. 

Mingyu wraps his arms around you like a cage, squeezing until you’re laughing too hard and drop the throw pillow from your hand.

“They lived with us for years,” he says, entirely too rationally. “You can’t fool them.” 

He releases his hold on you so you can turn and pout at him. You’re about to protest - argue that it’s Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s first time visiting you and Mingyu’s new place, that this is momentous, a special occasion - but you’re cut off by an obnoxiously outlandish knock on the front door. 

“I’ve got it,” Mingyu tells you. “You just try to relax.” 

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon.

--

thank you so much for reading!!!!

[rocketmuse]

I thought I'd share my playlist for the anniversary of the boathouse kiss. :)

Song translations, MANY thoughts, and timeline under the break.

Noise warning for song 19, Hinahanap-Hanap Kita. 4:23 to the end. Loud high pitched beeps.

YouTube music version to be made soon.

Translations for foreign songs:

Ewan [Dunno] — Apo Hiking Society — Filipino/Tagalog

Amour plastique [Plastic love] — Videoclub — French

Panalangin [Prayer] — Apo Hiking Society/Moonstar88 — Filipino/Tagalog

Hinahanap-Hanap Kita [I'm Looking For You] — Rivermaya — Filipino/Tagalog

This is a collaborative playlist made with my friend.

Thought Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy would be a good starter song. Something about the music. Represents a good start of Alec persuing Maurice, like, hey, I can be yours... Whatcha doin'?

I added Puppy Princess because of the chorus but I know some people don't like that song so... You can skip if you'd like. KISS MEEEEE KIISS ME WITH YIIR EYESSS CLOSED . ALL I WANT IS YOU YEAH YOU. TELL ME I'M NOT FUNNY TELL ME I'M LEGIIIIT

Ewan. OH MY GOD this song is so them. Alec cares for Maurice, and doesn't like not being taken seriously or being treated badly and brushed off.

"I don't know why you're like that, you're difficult to talk to and you're a snob" COME ON IS THAT NOT THEM — Just a smile from you, and I'll be in heaven. Please give me a response, anything but "No idea"... What a perfect representation of Alec's continuous persuit of Maurice, always talking, always trying...

I could go on with every lyric.

Edit: I just realised this song fits so well for Alec's letters and meeting at the museum. Must resist the urge to add the same exact track twice.

So about Touch Me... Some of the lyrics apply better in other versions. Spotify just has this version tho. Touch me, just like that.

All I've Ever Known. Maurice discovered so much that night about touch and sharing and being with someone. He wants to be with Alec. "All I've ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you too. [Hold you close, I don't wanna ever have to let you go. Hold you tight, I don't wanna to back to the lonely life.]" Alec opened up his eyes and he'll never be the same.

Can't Help Falling in Love With You. 'Did you ever dream you'd a friend, Alec? ... Someone to last your whole life...' 'Alec, you're a dear fellow and we've been very happy.'

I'd Like To Walk Around In Your Mind was added from Maurice's perspective. Perhaps it fits Alec too...

I think Love At First Sight has the double meaning of the literal title, as well as "wouldn't you like to kiss her" perhaps being... Something Maurice would hear.

I Don't Dance. Based on this post/edit. Please watch this video oh my God.

Pink in the Night. Alec yearns for Maurice in the boathouse. He hasn't come. He hears his heart breaking tonight.

Every lyric is perhaps pulled straight from Alec's brain, to be honest. I remember seeing a post with this song in other contexts with them too. So yes, a few meanings.

Amour plastique. Alec reminiscences on the night in the Russet room. Why hasn't he come?

In my mind, everything goes wild. I lose myself in your eyes. I drown myself in the vagueness of your loving gaze.

And at night I cry tears that stream down my cheeks. I think of you only when the days ends, only when my sad demons descend upon my mind, into the bottomless abyss.

Waiting in the boathouse at night, when the day ends.

I ring out in kisses all down your chest. Lost in the avalanche of my heart astray. Who are you? Where are you?

The moments of then repeat in his mind. Where is Maurice?

I suppose Hopelessly Devoted To You and I'm A Fool To Want You are self explanatory. Maurice should really come... Alec really toughed it out, 2 days he spent in the boathouse, really wanted to see Maurice, really knew they had something, and doesn't want to be treated like a dog. Generally, his 1st letter.

Moon Song. My friend said they added it as a general love song. — Why do you treat me like this? Why didn't you come to the boathouse? — Alec's 2nd letter as a whole. Plus bits of 1st.

And you pushed me in, and now my feet can't touch the bottom of you. ... So I will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door.

Ewan would fit here tbh.

Panalangin. My only prayer in this lifetime: to be beside you, to be together with you, that's my prayer.

"I since cricket match do long to ... place both arms round you and share with you, the above now seems sweeter than words can say."

And this heart won't allow if you will be away from me, my love, please listen.

It also fits the end of museum.

I Want You. Maurice, can you come to the boathouse already? Alec has no power to teleport you there. I hold one card that I can't use.

I found you. I found the door, but when I stepped through, there was no floor. He found Maurice, bit he's not being here for Alec.

You're coming back And it's the end of the world We're starting over And I love you, darling And I am done, dear

Alec wishes this would happen. Also, he does come back later and they love again over, and "it is finished".

Credit for suggesting the next two songs goes to @beatle-capaldi!!! He also wrote was in quotations!

English Summer Rain

The Most Radical Thing To Do

Hinahanap-Hanap Kita. 1st letter, he's looking for Maurice. Thinking about them together.

In my thoughts and dreams, in every turn of destiny, I look for you. Also applies to that hotel/post-hotel feeling. I look for you, even if I try to forget you, saying goodbye, looking back...

Wildest Dreams. They think a lot of each other. They share once more. But they must say goodbye. Alec saw this coming. Maurice hopes that Alec will remember him like this.

I Hear a Symphony. Alec truly opened up Maurice's eyes. Maurice was meant to be with him. He helped Maurice, changed his life. But now Alec is leaving on ship... Or is he? The symphony leads into...

An orchestral sountrack. The Boathouse. Unfortunately the Maurice soundtrack is not on spotify. It's on my personal YouTube music version. I added it because it just captures the boathouse the only way the sountrack itself can.

The Word of Your Body (Reprise). MLM people have moment of romantic tension, which culminates in confessions of love. Just had to add it. "Haven't you heard the word of your body?" perfectly describes Alec gifting and showing Maurice the wonder of truest physical affection and love. He lets Maurice be okay with himself, and again, changes everything. Every lyric is perfect.

Also, sorry JBW, I like other versions more... Too bad Spotify is mean.

I See The Light. Yeah. Every lyric. Maurice is Rapunzel. Movie Blond too. Both the morning at Russet room and the museum. And the world has somehow shifted. All at once everything is different, now that I see you. "By now they were in love with each other consciously."...

Suddenly Seymour. Suddenly see more, yeah? Clive = ass and someone gives him affection for once, wow! Sidenote, I want to sing this with them and their accents... Suddenly SCUDDER...

Helpless. Musical theatre songs seem to be good retellings of their love story. It's why they belong in post boathouse. Summaries and retellings. They're also good at conveying love they'd feel for each other in general, all times ever. Like loving men, retelling a story.

I'll Cover You. Cute love song feat. gays. I like to imagine them dancing around, declaring their love and devotion for each other. Walking and dancing around like in the original scene, sometime post canon. In my own imagination, I thought of Alec as Angel and Maurice (Christopher) as Collins.

Video Games. They must love spending time together. I thought this to be Maurice POV. Only worth living if somebody is loving you I mean, come on.

It's you, it's you, it's all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time, heaven is a place on Earth with you.

Un sospiro. I headcanon that Maurice picks up the piano and plays for Alec. Perhaps he picked it up bc of/after Clive, but now can play it for someone who gives a shit.

Something about the melody reminds me of them. And then it gets more intense... A bit like the passions of love, showing up in sharing and touch and more, too.

Liebestraum. I mean, it means love dream/dream of love. I just had to. Also I just like Liszt.

Take Me Up With You, Dearie. This song is just so sweet... So soft... Edwardian to boot... I love how quintessentially 1909 it is. Discovered it in a YT video. The thought of them getting married makes me cry. This song in general makes me want to cry, it's so romantic, tender, and exudes my favourite era...

Let us float, float, float through the clouds, and just have a lot of fun. We'll go up, up, up as two and then come down as one.

Put Your Head on My Shoulder. We Belong Together. I always imagine Maurice and Alec slowdancing to songs that come on the radio together, when the 1950s hits... Alec probably rests his head on his shoulder as this plays and they dance...

I'm using a lot of ellipses, am I secretly Rupert Graves?

Welcome to the 70s and 80s. They love dancing together and being with each other. Now, Panalangin can be a happy song. My only prayer for this lifetime ... To be together with you. And this heart won't allow if you will be away from me.

Just the Two of Us. What a nice, vibey song. Great title, great scenario of them dancing to this...

Tiny Dancer. Your Song. MLM people in the 70s + Radio, being happy and in love with each other. — I just thought I should add some Elton. A different friend, and I, like him. Maurice sings to Alec, "And you can tell everybody this is your song." That I put down in words how wonderful life is with you in the world.

Electric Love. Fun fact: this song got me to share the playlist. Got me thinking about them and their anniversary again. The funky busy instrumental describes well their passionate love. The highs of electric LOOOOOOVE describe the intensity of them.

Alt text continued: themselves together under and the love. And the love. The song has its own tension and it perfectly pictures their own tension. So yeah, this is THEIR song quite literally.

Sorry if my music taste is perhaps basic. I just made it for when I hear songs that are Them.

Falling for Ya. Alec falls for Maurice. "I saw you when you first drove up, Mr Hall..." Something about Maurice, right? Plus really nice vintage vibes with the music. The bit about Into your arms and it's a secure sure sounds like Maurice. Awh, they're falling for *each other*...

Rainbow Connections. Gay and bi people. Marriage. Everything that Maurice and Alec went through to get here, where they were meant to be. Clive. Working for Clive. Leading up to now.

All the things that had to go right, all the things that had to go wrong, that lead us to the place where we were going all along.

On the YT version there's a soft/jazzy cover of Panalangin here. Because they're old and spending time together and being happy. What a throwback, a defined meaning in their lives over time.

Still Into You. After all these decades... Old and grown, together... True soulmates... Two men can defy the world... Maurice and Alec still roam the greenwood. Imagine Maurice meeting Alec's mom in this context. If only.

Postmodern Jukebox cover, because they are a quintessentially 20th century couple. They exude vintage.

Some piano playing for Alec. Soft, tender, romantic, emotional, true. Feels like nighttime. Feels like Maurice and Alec. And a throwback to the pre 1914 world as well. Claire de Lune feels like... A credits of life piece. Time spent in the early 1980s. Nocturne feels like that too, but more romantic. Smidge less nighttime. Ah yes, Gymnopédies. The truest credits feel of them all. None of these actually are credits for Maurice and Alec, but I struggle to find the word for this feeling. But yeah. These all have Them vibes to me. Piano of the time just does I suppose. Glad to be reminded of them at any time.

What a long playlist. Like going through almost their whole lives together. 1:52 hrs. Almost like a movie. Imagine that. A full movie of THEIR lives... But leaving to the imagination was a good thing. Led to this such action. Thank you E.M. Forster.

Timeline:

1. Pendersleigh

4. & 5. Russet Room. Night, then Morning

9. Cricket

10. Boathouse Nights

18. The Museum

20. The Hotel

21. After

23. The Boathouse

24. They Still Roam the Greenwood

I just like to imagine them dancing to songs on the radio, for decades to come...

[thegreatimpersonator]

hi sarah!! please can you help me?? 🙏 I know it's a delicate question so if you'd rather not answer just ignore this. I thought I should try as people tag you in a lot of things so you may have dealt with it before (or I'm wrong) but anyway: let's say hypothetically. someone tags you on their edit but it comes from a blog you don't sympathise with or the edit involves something you don't personally agree with. like an invasion of privacy, shipping real people, etc. it's not that it's a bad edit or anything, it just rises an eyebrow because you don't share that pov so you don't want it in your blog. makes sense? what would you do then... reblog it anyway? only like it or saying something in the notes? would you contact the person privately and let them know why you haven't reblogged it? or simply pretend you didn't see it and move on?... the thing is my tag isn't as filled as yours and I'm reblogging the rest of edits so I can't do that without it being obvious. whatever I end up doing I'm gonna feel bad ig 😓 also sorry for being on anon, I don't want that blog or anyone to feel it's about them. but thank you so much even if you just read this! 💕

oh i definitely understand and have dealt with this for sure! if i get tagged in something i don't personally align with i just don't reblog it. at then end of the day one reblog won't stand out to them as much as you think it will. you know that saying 'people arent paying as much attention to you as you think they are'? it's kinda like that. it probably won't stand out to them as much as your anxiety is saying it will.

it's important to remember that at the end of the day it's your blog. i completely understand the struggle of wanting to support editors and wanting to reblog as many things as possible, but also not wanting certain things on your blog and not supporting some ideas. your blog is essectially a display of things you like and want to be vocal about, so why would you have somehting that is the opposite of that on your blog?

if you reblog this one thing, other people might see you supporting it and tag you in other related things as well, it might cause an avalanche affect too. i even don't reblog edits of shows i don't watch or celebrities i don't know, because why would i want something on my blog i don't know?

this is just a good exercise of trying to just subtly stand your ground and not compromise your morals in order to make others happy. they tagged you in something, which is amazing and sweet, but it is not a command at which you have to follow. they had the choice of tagging you, but you have the choice to not reblog it. kinda reminds of of someone asking you out and you know you don't like them, but you feel an urge to make them happy because society tells you to be flattered but it would just be a waste of time for the both you if you accepted something you know you dont want.... that kind of thing...

[thebigoblin]

📓!!!

Hi! Sorry this is kinda late, but the WIP I wanted to talk about was on MS-Word unlike the others and now is when I got the time to find it in my debris of WIPs. Seriously, it's an avalanche out there!

Okay, so I am doing the Bad Things Happen Bingo (card will be under the cut if anyone is interested) but I haven't done any yet. I'll probably do them in the coming Summer. Still, this is the one fic I've started for it, and my notes for it are just:

BTHB-Held at gunpoint. Sheriff Stilinski stumbles upon the Hale Pack versus Hunters fight in the Preserve and learns the truth.

Scene 2: Noah gets up, Stiles and Derek talk things through with him, and Noah catches on to one more hidden truth aka that Sterek is a thing

Very Detailed, I know, right? xD.

Anyways, my idea for this fic was basically just "Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out The Truth" and The Hale Pack being BAMF. Also it was interesting to write from the Sheriff's POV.

I'm done with scene 1, so I'll copy/paste a few lines below.

*

Noah relives that day more time than he can count. He misses her. He misses the him that he used to be, young and in love and optimistic, feet planted at the beginning of a path that couldn’t have any sorrow laid on it. That would have led to a family of three, maybe more, and at the end of it there would only have been happiness.

But that’s not the path he’s walking.

He isn’t strong. Stiles keeps lying to him and Claudia isn’t here with him, and he has work to do. So, he goes to work.

Uniform on, he feels less guilty about not being a good father to Stiles; he knew he wouldn’t be the best father, he knew that even before he knew he was going to marry Claudia, but he used to think, once, that he’d be close to his children. Would be trustworthy enough.

He leaves these thoughts outside the police station. He has deputies to put to work and a town to protect. If the only way he can be a good father is to protect the town his son lives in, then he’ll do that. He’ll do that, and he’ll do it good.

*

Many Angsty Sheriff Feels are Abound! But I think I love the way I write his thoughts. Weaved in with present feeling of failing his son and the constant, if dimmed (but not gone) grief of losing the love of his life is very interesting to write and makes me feel like I'm a good writer lol.

I'm doing this thing | Ask Me!

Should I take prompts for these? Would anyone be interested in that? If the answer is yes, then head on over to @whenwordsmakesense! Not now tho. If there's enough interest I'll be open to taking prompts (my asks are always open, so make sure to check with me before sending in a prompt), but like, in April? Maybe. Post March or something. Definitely not now lol.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Faith, Trust and a Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Title:  Faith, Trust and a Little Bit of Pixie Dust

Summary: It’s cold in the cellar, but then if it isn’t cold it’d defeat the whole purpose of a cellar. This coldness had been fine at first, but the longer Logan and his little brother Virgil stay, the more it worsens. Logan just hopes his mother’s temper wears off soon or else the cold could get fatal. 

The last thing Logan expects is for his father, who he hasn’t seen in years, to show up through golden portal (a magic portal, which should be impossible!) to save the day as if he hadn’t abandoned them to this fate by leaving all those years ago.

Pairings: Brotherly Analogical, Parental Loceit

Word-Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Magic, Child Abuse, Physical & Emotional Abuse, Unhealthy Romantic Relationship, Hypothermia, Alcohol, Death Mention, Morally Grey Janus, Crying, Angst With a Happy Ending

This fic was at times both frustrating and fun to write. I have no plans to continue this fic, but you can ask me questions regarding the ‘verse and I’ll answer them. Janus has good intentions in this fic he’s just bad at expressing them and we’re also seeing this from Logan’s pov.

--

It was cold in the cellar. Then again, it would be rather alarming were it the opposite case. Cellars were historically used to store perishable items such as vegetables and meats in a time before refrigerators existed. Still prolonged exposure to such an absence of heat wasn’t good for any human being. Not without proper clothing or heating methods. Something both Logan and his young brother unfortunately lacked. 

At first with just a t-shirt and jeans it’d been fine. A bit chilly but fine. What Logan hadn’t accounted for was a cold front to settle in unexpectedly. Within an hour, it dropped by forty degrees. His little brother Virgil wasn’t fond of physical touch. Yet the young child clung to Logan for warmth. It wasn’t enough. His skinny frame still trembled, his lips turning blue. Logan himself felt the effects of his body trying uselessly to warm the cold environment around them. Still his bit his lips from shivering, desperate to attempt staying strong for Virgil.

“I-I-I’m s-s-scared.” Virgil cried, digging his head into Logan’s shirt.

I...I know.” Logan said, stroking his brother’s hair gently, “Things are...things will be alright.”

Logan had repeated this statement many times already to Virgil. Each time he grew less sure of it. However, he knew he had to remain strong for his brother’s sake. Ever since his brother was a baby, Logan had to grow up faster. Much faster than even before. Sometimes he resented this fact, but never for long. It was simply the way things were.

“C-c-c-can you tell me a story?” Virgil asked, and of course Logan obliged. For he knew the unspoken words in that request: I’m still scared. Can you make it less scary? 

A story, for both the listener and teller, would be a beneficial distraction. Even though Logan was not a good storyteller. Once he did a short story assignment in middle school and received a C. His heart metaphorically sank at the sight of it and he dreaded going home that day. Virgil always seemed to appreciate his stories. Although praise from a kindergartener wasn’t worth much in the literary world.

Through frozen lips, he told a meandering story to his little brother. Sometimes his brother would ask questions or offer suggestions, abruptly changing the direction of the story. Logan himself barely remembered what it was about. It was as if someone else spoke through him as his mind drifted to other ideas.

It’d been dark for a long, long while. Usually his mother would’ve unlocked the door by now. She’d insist he’d make dinner while complaining of a terrible headache.

 It was an unending cycle. His mother would do her best to stay sober and function as an adult for a few weeks. Then her mood would increasingly sour, little things piling up into an avalanche. It was hard to tell at times what would be the trigger. The one thing that made her slam open the alcohol cabinet and drown a whole bottle of vodka. 

She wasn’t a nice person when drunk; hence the whole being-locked-in-the-cellar. Eventually after a few days of heavy drinking, his mother would come to her senses. She’d lock the alcohol cabinet and claim she’d never drink again. A lie nobody believed but herself.

Perhaps the lie was done in good intentions. His mother always insisted she cared for her children, in ways their father never could. 

“He’s a snake, Logan,” She hissed once, banging her beer heavily onto a coaster, “A dirty, no-good deceiving snake.”

Logan said nothing. He had only a few memories of the man. Once, when Logan was nine years old, he showed up on their doorstep. He held a bouquet of roses for Mother and a much belated birthday present for Logan. It’d been one of the happiest he’d seen Mother. He stayed with them for a few days. He listened to Logan, complimenting him on his extensive knowledge about dinosaurs. The three of them went to a carnival together. For a fleeting moment, Logan had what the others kids at his school had; a family. 

Then it ended with tears, arguing, door slams. Mother yanking him by the arm and leaving everything behind. Nine months later, Virgil was born. His father wasn’t there. Nor did he ever show his face again. A bitter, festering part of Logan despised him for that.

Mother acted like she cared at times. She’d purchase Virgil and Logan expensive gifts. Things she couldn’t afford without a credit card. She treated them to ice cream and insisted on giving them hugs. She never understood that Virgil found tactical touch without permission distressing. She’d brush it off, making remarks he simply needed to get used to it. 

At times Logan allowed himself to pretend these niceties would last. He pretended his mother was a flawed human being who mostly did good by her children. He pretended the slapping and hair-pulling didn’t exist, that the cellar was just a cellar and not a place to fear. It was hard to pretend these things were true, when the reality became increasingly harder to ignore.

Virgil fell asleep in the midst of this. Logan hadn’t realized this at first. His tired mind plunged on, continuing the nonsensical story.

“Then Batsy the Bat escaped the Witch’s dungeon. He flew as fast he could, to warn his friends...ah. Virgil what do you think their names should be?” Logan squinted, the dim light making it hard to see if his brother’s eyes were closed or not, “Virgil?”

His brother slumped against him, his breaths long and labored. Logan frowned, shaking his shoulder, “Virgil?!”

Virgil made a grumbling noise, “What?”

“You need to stay awake. You--you can’t fall asleep right now.”

“I’m tireeeed,” Virgil complained.

“I--I know, but please. It--it isn’t good to sleep right now.”

“Why?”

Logan’s throat constricted, “Be--because well. I haven’t finished the story yet.”

It was a lie. The truth was that sleeping could be a dangerous thing for a hypothermia victim. Sleeping could lead to death. He couldn’t tell his brother that. He refused to let Virgil experience more fright than he already had in his short life.

“Okaaay.” Virgil said.

Logan continued with the story, pulling all his concentration into it. Yet it wasn’t enough to keep Virgil awake. He kept drifting off, unable to keep his eyes open. At one point his brother down crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He sobbed, repeating the words over and over.

“It’s alright, you’re okay, everything is gonna be--gonna be,” Logan stammered, struggling to force the word out, “okay.”

It was then that Logan knew they couldn’t remain in the cellar any longer. He’d have to overcome his one true fear for the sake of their safety and survival. What he feared even more than his mother, was losing Virgil. Logan was smart. He knew the odds of a kindergartener and a high school sophomore staying together in the foster system was slim.

He had been selfish to allow his mother to continue tormenting Virgil. It was wrong. Now both him and his brother were paying for it.

Logan could fix this. He just had to pull out his phone and call emergency services. He had to call and resist his foolish fears of his mother and separation from his brother. With one arm still tucked around his brother, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. A battered, beaten thing he’d purchased with his first paycheck. His mother was completely unaware of its existence. 

He pressed the power button on as he gathered up the courage to call. Except the screen remained completely blank. He pressed it again, this time harder, hoping it’d been a fluke. It wasn’t. Again and again, he kept pressing the button, irrationally hoping for a different result. 

“No,” Logan swallowed heavily, “no, no, no this cannot be happening--” “Logey?” Virgil hiccuped, his big glassy eyes staring up as his older brother with concern.

“It’s okay, Virgil,” Logan murmured, “It’s okay, It’ll be okay--”

He couldn’t say the words any longer. Not when a sob wracked his throat, his vision turning hazy with tears. He couldn’t be strong any longer. He was weak. His heart beat faster, the chasm in his stomach deepening. His little brother said something, but he couldn’t hear it. All he heard was his mind mocking his failure. Shrill and scorching like his mother.

StUpID DiD yOU ThINK ThAT wAS GOING TO WORK?

You and your little brother are going to die and it’s all yOUR FAuLt

UsEleSS

Not EVEn YoUR OwN FATHER WAntED YOU--

“Hello? Whoever is contacting me at this hour better not have a good reason.”

Logan’s thoughts jolted to a halt. What? He glanced down at his phone, but it was still battered and dead. Virgil looked just as confused and lost as he felt. He hid his face in Logan’s shirt, whimpering softly.

“Who...are you?” Logan croaked, doing a poor disguise of covering up his breakdown moments before.

“I think that is perhaps a question I should be asking you.” The strange voice replied. It was definitely emanating from the phone, but how Logan had no clue. It made no logical sense.

“I--I don’t know.”

“You don’t know your name?”

“No! I mean of course I know my name! I mean, you can’t be real--I must be hallucinating.”

“Oh?” The voice responded with a touch of some unidentifiable emotion, “this must be your first time then.”

“First time what?” Logan snapped, a headache starting to take form. He regretted raising his voice when Virgil let out a cry. He murmured a soft apology to him, attempting to ignore how cold his brother felt.

“Is there someone else with you?” 

“No,” Logan said, before hesitating, “I mean perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“You still haven’t responded to my question from before.”

“Let me broker a deal then. I’ll answer your question, if you tell me who you and your companion are.”

“Okay,” Logan shakes his head, wanting to laugh hysterically. What in Newton’s three laws of gravity was going on? Surely, he died. He died and this was some last minutes of brain activity occurring. Scientists after all, know very little what happens in one’s last moments of life. Nothing could quite prepare him for the answer the voice gave him, however.

“Well then, to quote a popular misguided piece of media, ‘you’re a wizard, Harry!’” The voice said, the verbal jazz hands evident in the voice’s dripping, dry wit. Something about it was painfully familiar.

“What.”

“You asked, I answered,” The voice chuckled, “now it’s your turn.”

“My--my name is Logan,” He said, blinking rapidly, “and my little brother..ahhh...oh! Vi-Virgil is here with me.”

“Logan, that’s your name? You’re sure?”

Logan frowned at that. Of course he was sure. Or was he? It was getting rather harder to focus. Or to breathe even. The crisp cold air hurt his lungs. Virgil slumped heavily against him, complete dead weight in his unconsciousness. Oh. That was bad. He knew that was bad. 

“Logan?!” The voice yelled. Hmm, it sounded like they’ve been yelling at him for awhile now. He should acknowledge them. He nodded before pausing. Wait. He needed to respond verbally.

“Y-yes?” 

“Finally. You seem like you’re doing absolutely fantastic,” The voice told him. 

“Do I?” Logan asked, “I do not think I’m doing ‘fantastic’.”

“Where are you?”

Logan rattled off the address. Then he very casually added, “We’re locked in the cellar.”

“WHAT?!”

“It’s-s-s-s a punishment,” Logan shivered, his eyelids drooping against his will, “it’sssokay.”

“Yes, because all parenting books recommend disciplining your children by locking them in a cellar.” Maybe it was just Logan, but he got the impression the voice was being sarcastic. 

“I need to cut the invocation call. I’ll be there soon.”

“Wh--how-hy?” Logan said, trying to speak three words at once. The voice didn’t respond. He tried shaking his battered phone as if that would do anything. It did not do anything.

The air frizzled in front of Logan. A golden spark appeared, expanding until it was one big golden shimmery oval. Logan stared at it, blinking rapidly. This was absurd. He most definitely had to be hallucinating. The golden oval ripples as a black fedora emerged from it, followed by a face and then a whole body.

“F--father?” Logan managed.

The man before him was older and dressed in strange clothing. Slivers of silver hair poked out from his hat, nestled among the chestnut hair. An unfamiliar gruesome scar ran alongside the left side of his face. But he recognized those hazel eyes anywhere. He stared at them at the mirror every morning.

He didn’t respond to Logan. He took a few steps before collapsing beside the huddled forms of Logan and Virgil. His gloved hands reached out, but he did not touch them. His mouth opened, but no sound came out of him. Then his gloves covered his face as he inhaled deeply. He removed them from his face, his expression carefully blank.

“I’m here.” He told Logan, extending a hand towards him, “and I won’t leave you or your brother this time.”

Logan stared at the yellow gloved hand before sluggishly panning his gaze up at his father. He didn’t know if he could trust him, let alone if he could trust that this was reality. But god, he wanted it to be real. 

So cradling Virgil close to his chest with one arm, he took hold of his father’s hand. And then, with a bright flash of light, the cellar was empty.

-

Logan felt warm. A drizzling, dribbling, dripping like maple syrup down a fresh stack of buttermilk pancakes type of warmth. He should be alarmed by this for some reason, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be. Instead he made a contented noise, shifting closer to it. Someone chuckled, running a calloused hand through his hair. Logan stilled at the touch, the warmth evaporating from his veins. He waited for the fingers to grow taunt around a tuft of hair. For the harsh cacophony of his mother’s voice to rain down on him like hail. Nothing.

“Are you asleep, Little Tesla?” 

The air in his lungs evaporated. Only one person had called him that and it certainly wasn’t his mother. As much as she expected him to receive good grades, she hadn’t been one to nurture his interests in 20th century scientists.

“Father?” Logan whispered.

“I’m here, I didn’t leave, just like I said I would.”

He opened his eyes to find his father was indeed there. Sitting on a wooden chair with sunken eyes as if he’d been awake for hours. Logan laid on a bed with silky sheets and an impossibly warm comforter. He had just barely enough to cover him--most of the blankets had been stolen by another small figure. Virgil. His little baby brother was with him, asleep and curled up in a small ball.

“Wha--” Logan started to say, until everything hit him. The cellar. The strange bodiless voice. The gleaming gold portal. Father. Darkness.

“Yes, yes, I know it’s not at all a lot to take in, but you have magic. And you found me again, just like I’d hope you would.”

“Found you?” Logan asked, a hardness to his tone, “Assuming this isn’t a hallucination, you left me with h-her, you never came back and suddenly because I possess magic, I’m what? Worth something?”

“Yes, no!” His father cried out with a frustrated growl, “Listen, Logan. My relationship with your mother was extremely healthy, as I’m sure you can agree. Not unhealthy in the slightest. When it ended, your mother left a lovely parting gift.”

Here, he rubs a hand against the facial scar almost absent-mindedly, “I wanted to find you, I searched everywhere, but your mother is smart and covers her tracks well. I’m...sorry I couldn’t find you or your brother sooner. You’re important to me, magic or no magic.”

“How can I trust you?” Logan asked, “How can I trust that you’re not anything like her?”

He expected his father to be upset by the accusation, but instead he just smirked.

“You’re good to be suspicious. It’s a good trait, don’t ever lose it,” He said, adjusting his gloves, “I can tell you, that I will not harm you or your brother. I can say I will teach you magic, if you desire. I can let you know that I will let you walk out the door with your brother, and you won’t ever have to see me or your mother again. But you have no true way of trusting a man that has, from what you know, abandoned you completely until just now. 

“You have two options. Either accept you cannot completely trust what I say is true and proceed with caution, or you can leave with your brother, find a way to support the two of you. You’re smart, Logan. I trust you could figure it out.”

Logan swallowed. He was indeed smart--or knowledgeable enough to know there was little choice in the matter. He was just fifteen. He can’t support Virgil and him--not legally anyway. It’d be difficult to cover it up. Child Protection Services would be on them in a matter of weeks, if not days. 

Good case scenario, they stayed together in the foster system. Bad case scenario, they ended up separated. Worst case scenario? They ended up back at their mother’s, because they don’t believe either of Logan’s or Virgil’s claims and the cycle continues without end.

So, his father. He was the only option, and he knew it. As much bitterness as Logan held for the man, there’s also yearning in equal spades. He used to spend nights crying for him with his mother yelling at him to shut up. Sometimes she’d beat him for it, telling him his father was never coming back. Then he’d snap back that she was wrong and he’d prove Logan right by coming back. Until little by little, he stopped. 

He couldn’t trust his father, the man even admitted it. He just had to hope it’d be better, even though apparently the man believed in magic. Logan was doing his best at the moment to deny it existed. It couldn’t exist, last night had to be a fluke of some sort and even if it wasn’t, it was too much for him to focus on at the moment. 

“As long as I have your word that you won’t intentionally hurt Virgil and I, we will stay with you.” Logan says, before offering his hand towards his father.

Father took a look at the extended hand, eyes softening, before clasping it, “You have my word, Logan, that I will not harm you or Virgil as long as you remain in my care.”

They shook on it. Logan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and then--and then, his vision blurred. A sob and then another erupted until he clenched his teeth, holding the rest back. For the second time within twenty-four hours he had shown weakness. First to his brother and now, now to his father who above all he should show no signs to. But like that creative writing assignment in the 8th grade, he completely failed.

Somehow halfway the handshake got turned into an embrace. His father hugged him, a calloused hand softly carding through his hair once more. 

“Shh, Logan, you’ve been so strong, stronger than most. You won’t have to be strong alone any longer. Let it all out.”

Logan didn’t know what to think of his father’s words. It wasn’t like a set of logical propositions or a step-by-step formula for science. He couldn’t know for certain if they were genuine. But in this moment, he was but a little boy with his father back. So he dug his head into his father’s chest and finally cried. His father, in turn, did not berate or beat him for it. Instead, he held onto his son as he whispered reassurances all the while.

[troop52]

do u !!! have any character theme songs for the troop boys? Like any songs you think really fits them (and why u think it fits)?

THATS A GREAT QUESTION!!

Before I get into it Im going to plug this collaborative Troop Playlist on Spotify, feel free to add onto it!! Continuing with my picks

I think a lot of the songs I associate with The Troop in general are just because I happened to listen to them around the same time I got into the book in the first place (So they could only be tangentially related BUT only if you squint hard) Example: Drunk by The Living Tombstone, cant really tie it into the story but in my mind its linked Some better, more fitting songs under the cut (Side note its LONGGG IM SORRY... Also its all YouTube links because some of these arent on Spotify :'^()

Disclaimer -Like 95% of my choices arent really a "These lyrics match up exactly 1 to 1" but more of an overall "the vibe/general idea its trying to capture lines up" type thing. If that makes sense.

Its Alright by Jack Stauber: Kind of self explanatory, I think its a perfect song for these guys. From "It's alright, I'm here, Everything's alright, Feels weird but calm, I wanna hear It's alright" to the whole sound of it- its all great. Equal parts distressing and sad with an almost eerie calmness to it. Despite it all theyre gonna be alright, right?

The Second Little Piggy by Worthikids: Another one that I think is sort of self explanatory- at least with the chorus. "If my brain turns to mush, If the shit hits the fan, Will you be my friend?" Kind of the falling apart of everything, specifically their relationships, in light of the incident.

Poor George by James Supercave: Another case of "listened to at the same time I read the book" BUT I was actually making a Troop PMV script with that song. I never finished it but maybe Ill revisit it... just for you

Cold Summer by Le Matos ft Computer Magic: I dont even think this takes place in the summer but the VIBES and also it came from Summer of 84, which is another good piece of murder boy media.

Treehouse by Alex G ft Emily Yacina: This is a Eef and Max type of song because they are bffs and thats final. Basic song because Im not creative, but I think its a nice heart to heart theyd have (with Eef doing the talking)

Fifteen Minuets by Nick Krol: On the flipside heres a song that goes with Eef and Maxs friendship fracturing, once again more from Eefs side than Maxs. THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGG

As far as songs for the boys as individuals hmmm thats a good one that I havent thought about as much...

MAX + The Ghosts by The Real Tuesday Weld: That survivors guilt... lyrics arent like a perfect match but I think it gets that sort of hollow feeling across. Hes haunted man... + Final Girl by Electric Youth: Ok its a little funny because har har Final Girl Trope but I mean HE IS ONE. ANd dont look at me its a nice song- "Others were gone, and you kept going on, You know they never really noticed, you were always different, One by one, They're all done, And you're the last one standing" + Going Grazy by Lonesome Wyatt and the Holy Spooks: HONESTLY this could go for all the characters but Im tagging it onto Max because hes the one who has to deal with the aftermath of losing everyone (sorry survivors guilt Max again </3) "Everyone's saying my mind is unsound, 'Cause I always see you when you aren't around" "They're gonna wrap me in a jacket of white, And lock me away in a room without light" is what cements it as a Max song for me

EEF + The Existential Threat by Sparks: Once again starting sad, I link this one specifically to his paranoia about the worms- especially with lines like "Can't they see the existential threat is on its way". Kind of exasperated no one else can see the danger (he thinks) hes in. + Wrecking Ball by Mother Mother: I know I know its basic but I cant help it!!! Eef anger issues arc we are shaking hands me too + Haunted by Laura Les: Eef struggles with people seeing him as "just like his father" and I think we can get some good angst out of this track if we keep that in mind. Especially the back half of the song with lyrics like "Do you think I'm frightening?" and "Mirrors shatter when I'm passing, broken glass and crashing" since he is just a reflection of his dad (to others at least). Also song good.

KENT + Goodbye Mr A by The Hoosiers: Mfw the disillusionment with authority sets in. I think the vibe fits when he had that little epiphany about how adults are fucked- not perfect but it gets the idea across me thinks. + I'm Gonna Win by Rob Cantor: Ties into his need to "win" aka be the best at everything, be in charge, all that jazz! Hell do whatever it takes to be successful, even if it hurts. That was a little emo + Toba the Tura by Forgive Durden ft Chris Conley: Not to be emo again but "They say you're gifted, well I just see a scared kid. They must have flipped it, your skills are latent. O, you snuffed the glow. Replaced it with coals. Threw away the throne... This mess that you've made, it's a six-foot grave. It's a home for your lonesome bones that remain. We'll disappear, but you'll stay here to rot" AND SO ON AND SO FOURTH representing his fall after it was revealed he was sick. He was referred to as "the uncrowned king" and was on top of the world but then POOF that all crumbled and it was made out that he basically deserved what happened to him. It would be fun to make a pmv of him with this song (Simplifying my thoughts a bit because Ive already written a LOT)

NEWT + I Earn My Life by Lemon Demon: Ok a little Kentcore but Im actually having a hard time coming up with songs for Newton so here we are, they can share. Newt existential crisis moment time I guess + Know How by The Crane Wives: POV Newt struggles with going through with the plans he makes to keep everyone safe (stopping Max from touching Kent, going back into the cabin, etc) "I am not brave, I am not brave, I keep my focus on what is safe, You drew a line, made up your mind, And now I'm struggling to realize" And also maybe struggling with his place in the group and as a person in general- all that living through his cousin thing. "I gotta wrap my head around, What my heart is telling me, I've been trying to drown it out, Just because I know what I am, I am supposed to do now, Doesn't mean I know, Doesn't mean I know how" + On The Outside by Oingo Boingo: Idk man. Hes on the outside lookin in!! Loner nerd!! Its ok though, we still love him

SHEL + Bad Blood by Creature Feature: The lyrics speak for themselves: "I can guarantee I will do evil things, The only way that you can stop me now, Is if you put me in the ground, Somewhere I'll never be found" + Frontier Psychologist by The Avalanches: Hinges on the fact that the principal or whoever was like "Your sons a freak" and Shels mom was like "HES PERFECTLY FINE" while Shelley was like dismembering an animal or something + Johnny by American Murder Song: The songs good but theres this ONE LYRIC that sucks so the link provided is an edited version and also a lovely Warriors oc video I think you should all enjoy and support <3 Anyway Shel would be Johnny I could see this song being a scene in the book. Field trip to Shels house and they find his murder garden

If anyone wants more for Im not opposed to making another post :^)

[instablamwriter]

Just thinking about Figaro

So. It’s been a hot minute since I last posted and I just haven’t been in the right headspace to do what I had promised last time (graphics and everything). But since this is more or less my mobage output account, I thought I’d share my own rambles on my brainrot. I’ll probably change the heading when I finally do make graphics lol.

I’ve been playing Promise of Wizard/ Mahotsukai no Yakusoku for the past few months and I can’t help but think about Dr. Figaro’s lonely existence. He’s not my oshi but his character is just really interesting and so

Spoilers up ahead.

Disclaimer that these are just my own rambles lol. I haven't read /everything/ but I have read all affection stories and event stories.

And if you play too and wanna talk with me about it, feel free!

So. it's like this. Figaro has this whole policy of "leave before they leave you" but he gets so attached to the people anyway so he hurts himself even when he leaves them. Figaro was born in the north in a town that was wiped out by an avalanche and he was the only survivor. And the only reason he had survived was because he was a wizard. He couldn't protect anyone else since he was a kid (presumably because the twins imply that Figaro has been a child when he came to them but well they /are/ much older so maybe everyone is a kid to them). And I guess that started his sort of pov that nothing lasts forever and the only way to not get hurt is to have loose attachments. I remember in Oz's affection story that the twins and Figaro talk about how you could love wizards from the north, but you can never trust that they won't someday kill you. It's not to say you couldn't trust one another but the 'survival of the fittest' mentality was really strong (and actually even now, most prominently seen thru Owen but you can wonder how much Bradley changed the norm when he made his gang). ANYWAY, even with all the people he cared for, at the back of his mind, Figaro always felt that there would be the day that one of the people he held precious could turn him to stone. He wanted the twins to off Oz before he could grow any stronger and before he could have an attachment to this new wizard (and attachment he truly had considering he even helps Oz to try and take over the world). The both of them had trust problems albeit very different kinds (Figaro thought that people would eventually leave him no matter what; Oz thought that people only stayed with him for some kind of gain). And at some point, Snow kills White. These two were practically parental figures to Figaro and he had wholly believed that even though everyone might turn on each other, these two would always have each other's back. Snow might have been able to tie White back to his soul, but it still remains the fact that he killed him. I'm imagining the shock Figaro had back then even though he downplays his reaction while telling the story to Akira. Then, he meets Faust. Faust was this young thing who just had this vision that strongly resonated with Figaro. Ah, this is why I've lived so long! It's to equip someone with the power to make this dream come true! But then Figaro sees that Faust is being held back by how much he reveres Alec and he thinks that maybe teaching this boy isn't his calling after all. And soon after he leaves and disappears...Faust is betrayed by Alec and is sentenced to be burned at stake. Figaro doesn't learn much later but I guess it's another hit with his philosophy that even the people you love the most can hurt you, and when they do, it hits hard. Of course I think there's guilt for leaving in the first place in the mix, but I don't know whether Figaro thinks he deserves everything. And oh boy, we now have Mitile. Okay, so, it's been mentioned that Figaro told Tiretta to just abort Mitile or choose herself because the boy will kill her + well you know, the prophecies. And in the present day, you can see that despite all of that, Figaro adores Mitile. He doesn't want Mitile to end up like the prophecies (and has been purposely curbing his magical growth), but he also doesn't want to lose the trust Mitile has in him. Mitile is such a good kid who just wants to believe in kindness even though he wants to be powerful so that others can stop being horrible so bad. And I think Figaro is weak to people enamored with that idealism. He wants to help them somehow, but he's also keeping himself at arm's length. I think it's different because Faust came to Figaro as a youth, but Mitile...Figaro practically raised him. It's like he had his own child in a way even though Mitile did grow up with a father and a brother. But now, Figaro is also certain he will die soon. Idk, there must be a lot of conflict in him because his lonely existence will come to an end, but at the same time, he had let go of so many precious things... I also think about how Figaro shows his vulnerable parts to Akira but...from what the others say, it seems that one day, Akira will be gone too, and Figaro won't even be able to remember them after they go back to their world. It's JUST. a lot. I just want him to be happy but no part of him is letting himself attain happiness. And idk but if you ask me, south wizard does fit him. He must seem lofty and everything but he does care. He cares so much that it hurts him. He's selfish and does hurt others but he thinks it's best for all parties that way. He will only ever hurt them this much because there won't be a chance for him to hit even bigger blows. Anyway, I'm sad.

[st-just]

tinker-tanner

Thank you for this! I never get the opportunity to talk fantasy with people besides my dad, who can mostly just give thumbs up or thumbs down, so actual analysis is wonderful. On the pacing: The Stormlight Archive is a bit weird about this for me because, on the one hand, juggling this many characters and perspectives sometimes forces a snail’s pace. On the other hand, things happen really fast when they do happen, at least partly because the characters usually make smart choices.

Like I wasn’t anticipating Sadeas to get killed off so quickly, I thought he would stick around being irritating for another three or four volumes yet, and it made a lot of things at Urithiru shift rapidly.

Oh yeah, once the plot gets going, it’s kind of an avalanche (especially for the last couple hundred pages). It’s more the, like, 600 pages in Urithiru that felt like they were really dragging out and not much was happening.

And yes, Sadeas getting just straight up murdered was probably the single most surprising thing in the entire series so far. (And the scene where Dalinar is just kind of vaguely disappointed in his family and allies when they all just respond with a shrug and ‘good riddance’ was legitimately extremely funny)

Also, Dalinar having been a genuinely monstrous person is a lot more well-written than I often see from moral problems in epic fantasy. It gives me hope that Sanderson won’t completely fuck up the human-Parshendi racial dynamics, which I’d expect basically every white writer and more than a few writers of colour to mangle horribly

re Dalinar: Oh, absolutely. Honestly I just remember reading a big post on here a while back about how to do a Good Redemption Arc(tm), a key point of which seemed to be that the character should never do anything so horrible the audience might genuinely think they’re bad people who need redeeming, and that annoyed me so much I probably enjoyed his plot this book even more than I otherwise would have out of spite. (That said if these books have one more character with plot-relevant amnesia I’m starting a drinking game)

re Parshendi: I mean, yes, the plot of ‘the original inhabitants of the land were brutally conquered, enslaved, and spiritually lobotomized, so they do have legitimate grievances, but the radicals who’ve returned from exile/escaped imprisonment leading them are crazy extremists who just want to slaughter all of us, we need to fight!’ is very hmmm. But I take Venli’s POV as a hopeful sign, anyway. Hoping she gets a lot more screentime in the next book.

[myhockeyworld87]

Sidelined - Josh Anderson

Requested: Yes (sorry I can’t find the actual request)

Word Count: 2253

POV: Reader

Warning: Angst, Language

Notes: This was a request that took me a bit to get to, so I apologize for that. Hope you enjoy it. Happy Reading!

When you saw Josh drop the gloves against Borowiecki, you didn’t think too much of it. Josh had been in numerous fights over your two-year relationship and he’d show up with a black eye or a few stitches but nothing too bad. This time it was completely different. He’d come home at about two in the morning, and usually, he was super quiet, trying not to wake you. However, this time you heard him come through the front door. His bag landed with a loud thump on the hardwood floor, and it made you jump out of bed.

“J is that you?” Light shimmered into the bedroom from the hallway, and you heard him grumble a yes as he rummaged through the refrigerator. By the time you made your way to the kitchen, he had gotten out a couple of the ice bags that you always kept stored in there for moments just like these. “I saw the fight, let me see is it your eye?”

 “No, it’s my fucking shoulder. It hurts like a bitch. I can’t even carry my damn bag.” He was having trouble shrugging out of his suit coat, so you helped him, then took the ice compress and put it on his shoulder. “Thanks, babe.”

 “Let’s get you to bed. I’ll throw an ace bandage on it so the ice pack doesn’t move.” You headed down the hall to the bedroom, and within minutes you both were in bed, his bad arm resting on your hip. Closing your eyes you fell back to sleep easily with Josh by your side. Several hours later, you were woken up by Josh groaning in pain. “Babe are you ok?”

 “I can’t move my shoulder.”

 “Are you sure babe? Maybe it’s just stiff.” You slid away from him on the bed so that he could try to move a bit more. Pain was etched across his face, and you knew then it was more than being a bit stiff from sleeping. “I’ll call the trainer for you.”

 Thirty minutes later you were driving him to the practice facility so that he could have his shoulder examined. After several x-rays and an MRI, the doctors and trainers decided it would be best to rest his shoulder for four to six weeks, instead of doing surgery. Josh, of course, was not happy at all to be sidelined that long.

 The first couple of weeks weren’t too bad, as he took it somewhat easy. It was a weird change to have him home with you constantly though. He mostly lounged around on the couch playing video games, while you got ready for Christmas. Every now and then he would sneak out to the kitchen to help you with the baking or grab a cookie. The two of you headed to Ontario to celebrate the season with his family and Josh was in good spirits surrounded by everyone.

 It was about week four that things finally started to get to him. He was extremely moody and would snap at you from time to time. “Why don’t you come to the store with me and just get out of the house?”

 “It’s not like I can help you get anything off the shelves, so why would I go?”

 “I don’t know, just to get out of this place for a while.” It was just a suggestion, you thought some fresh air and a change of scenery would lighten his mood a bit.

 “I’m fine here.” So you left the house, with him sulking again on the couch. Two days later, things got worse when he found out that his shoulder still wasn’t progressing as they thought. “They want to wait another four weeks, this is such bullshit. I should be back on the ice by now.”

 “It’s just going to take time J. It’s a bad injury.”

 “What do you know? It’s not like you have MD behind your name.” With that he headed back the hall, slamming the door to your bedroom. It hurt when he shut you out like that, but you just went on with your day, deciding to make him his favorite meal for dinner.

 Once dinner was ready, you ventured back knocking softly on the door to your shared room. “Josh, dinner is ready.” He came out to the kitchen then, sitting down at the table with you, not saying too much. You were most of the way through the meal and he hadn’t commented anything about it. “How’s dinner? I made your favorites.”

 “You think you can just make my favorite meal and everything is fine.” He pushed the plate away from him then. “Well, it’s not (Y/N). One damn meal doesn’t make my life better when I can’t play hockey.” You took your plate and walked over to the sink, throwing the remaining food down the disposal, trying the tamp down the tears that threatened to spill over. You’d done nothing but wait on Josh hand and foot, trying to keep his spirits up through this injury and nothing was working.

 You walked back over to the table, not looking Josh in the face. “Are you done? Or can I get you something else.” You were really trying to be nice as humanly possible.

 “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry for yelling. I’m just frustrated.” You completely understood though you wished he wouldn’t take it out on you. Of course, you forgave him, for he was going through a lot. Things were tense around the house for the next couple of weeks. Josh would have the occasional outburst here and there, but would always apologize afterward.

 At the beginning of February, he started skating around before or after team practices and his mood really started to improve. Things were getting back to normal and he was doing more with you. It was one of the last days of the month that things truly took a turn for the worse. You’d gone with Josh to talk to the doctor about his progress and the news was not good. After being sidelined for the last two months, his shoulder was not getting better and he was going to need surgery. It wasn’t that part that bothered him though, it was the fact that he would be out four to six months. Surgery was scheduled for two days later.

 Josh stayed silent most of those two days and you tried to show him all the love and compassion you had, for you knew this was hard for him. You kissed him before they took him down to surgery and you weren’t sure if it was the meds or not, but he seemed to be in better spirits. By the time you were able to take him home, he was still a little loopy from the anesthetic. You got him into bed and set him up with everything that he would need. “Do you need another pillow babe? Or how about something to eat?”

 “No, I’m good. Just tired.”

 He slept on and off the next twenty-four hours. Waking so that you could give him his pain pills and so that he could eat. A couple of the guys stopped by to see how he was doing the next couple of days, and after they left, his mood always worsened.

 The two of you were sitting out on the sofa, watching the Jackets play the Avalanche, when he completely went off. “Oh my god, that’s a shitty pass. What are they thinking?” He’d been yelling at the television the entire game.

 “Babe, do you want something?”

 “Yeah I want to fucking get on the ice and play, but this damn shoulder has me stuck here with you.” He fairly spat that last part at you. You blinked rapidly, holding back tears as you got off the couch and walking over to the kitchen. “I’m so sick and tired of looking at these four walls and being here with you.”

 That was it, you’d had it. You’d gone out of your way to do everything that you could do for him and help him through this injury, and you were tired of being his punching bag. “You know what J, I’m sick and tired of your fucking attitude. It’s not my fault, that you injured your shoulder. I’ve done everything within my power to try and help you through this and you just keep blaming me. Well…”

 He stopped you then. “Can’t you see this is my life we’re talking about? I barely made it past the tradeline, and now I’m going to be out for months, not knowing if I’m going to be traded because of my damn shoulder and all you can think about is that I’m being mean to you.”

 Mad didn’t begin to describe what you were feeling at the moment. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about Josh, how mean you are to me. Fuck you, you’re an asshole. I’m bending over backward here for you.” You were breathing heavily now, and you felt your heart beating out of your chest. “You know what, I’m done. Find someone else to take care of your ass.” With that, you slid on a pair of shoes, grabbed your purse and keys and headed out the door.

 You had no idea where you were going to go, but you knew that you couldn’t stand there and let Josh blame you for everything. Getting in the car, you just drove around, music blaring until your brain was completely numb. An hour later you were still fuming, and not ready to go back to your place with Josh, so you called up your best friend and headed to her place. Two bottles of wine later, you finally had Josh completely out of your mind. The fact that you passed out on her couch after drinking that much alcohol was not surprising.

 You must have shut your phone off at some point in the night, for when you went to grab it in the morning it was off. Powering it up, you noticed that it was eleven in the morning. Slowly, text message after text message started to come through. They were all from Josh.

 Babe, where are you?

 I’m sorry

 Please come home

 I’m really starting to worry. Please tell me you’re ok.

 It was then, that you saw the fourteen missed calls, all from Josh. There was only one voicemail though.

 “Listen (Y/N), I know I fucked up. I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you…Can you please just answer the phone and tell me your ok?...I’m so sorry babe…so so sorry…I love you (Y/N), please come home.” The last part almost sounded like he was crying. You needed to get up and go see Josh. Thanking your friend for letting you stay the night and having a shoulder to cry on, you headed back to your place.

 Unlocking the door, you tried to sneak in as quietly as possible in case Josh was sleeping, but also not ready to face him yet. You put your purse on the table, keys jangling giving yourself away. “(Y/N), baby is that you?” You were heading into the living room, where you’d heard Josh’s voice, but he met you halfway there. “Thank god you’re ok. I was so fucking worried.”

 He looked as though he hadn’t slept all night and a pang of guilt went through you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I went to Aubrey’s and well two bottles of wine later.” A blush stained your cheeks for while you were angry with him, you never meant to have him stay awake all night worrying about your well fair. “I’m gonna go grab a shower and …”

 “Babe, wait please.” He stopped you from going by placing his good hand on your wrist. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I’ve just been so frustrated about my shoulder and not being able to play. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” He tugged you closer to him, and you went willingly. “You’re literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m a fucking idiot for all I’ve put you through. Please say you’ll forgive me. I love you, (Y/N) and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 He wrapped his good arm around your waist and nuzzled into your neck, before looking into your eyes waiting for you to answer. “I love you too J, and I’m sorry that you have to go through this. I know all you want to do is play hockey and this is super frustrating. I just want to help you, babe, that all.”

 “I know and I love you for that. I promise I’m not going to take this out on you again.” He bent his head, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting for your permission before he kissed you. “So, do you think you can forgive me?”

 “I love you, Josh. I always forgive you.” His lips came down on yours then, the kiss soft and sweet, as he poured out his love for you.

 When you finally broke apart, he continued to drop little kisses onto your lips. “I love you, (Y/N). I swear things are going to be different.” And they were, Josh never took you for granted again and made sure to tell you how much he appreciated you and loved you, every day from then on out.

[tsarisfanfiction]

WIP #46

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @janetm74 who actually asked for ‘Thunderbirds, 31′ but 31 isn’t TAG so we’ve got the closest TAG one instead. (top tip: wips are mostly arranged alphabetically by fandom and the TAG wips are 46-59!)

It was really only a matter of time before someone hit Scott!whump, wasn’t it?  Snippets of this one have actually appeared in previous ask games, so you get the whole thing this time (because I don’t remember which bits I’ve already posted).  Fun fact: this was my first attempt at Virgil’s PoV!

There was always something wrong about Scott in Thunderbird Two.  Of all the Tracys, he was the least likely to travel in the green behemoth that was, in Virgil’s private opinion, the heart of International Rescue.

And yes, that included John.

Gordon was his co-pilot, his wingman, his back-up.  For all that the aquanaut was, well, an aquanaut, there was honestly no-one else Virgil would rather behind the controls of his beloved girl if he was needed elsewhere. Heavy lifting, or – his least favourite – medical duties could sometimes pull him elsewhere, and in those moments his immediate brother would take the helm with a joking smile but steady hands that would never let anything befall Two (if only, he thought from time to time, because without Two Four would be grounded).

Alan was all nervous energy, a genius pilot but too cocky for Virgil to ever be truly relaxed when Two was in his hands, but it was far from uncommon for his youngest brother to be perched behind him, screens and panels showing readout after readout as he assessed situations and started remote assembly of pods when time was particularly of the essence.  Sometimes, often, he knew Alan desired the speed of One, but he also liked his comfort and short of pulling Three’s own seats into One (a feat done once, never repeated), there was no comfort as a passenger of their first response craft. Or even as the pilot, in Virgil’s opinion.

John was an unusual passenger, unlikely to be Earthside for a mission – and even if he was, quickly wrapping things up and ascending back to the lofty heights of Five and the world at his fingertips – but when he was Earthside, well, Thunderbird Two was his ship of choice.  He didn’t pilot her, for all that he was trained, but no matter what Scott would mutter, John was stubborn about always using Two to get to the danger zone.  Something about reckless flying and too much gravity. Virgil couldn’t truly say he understood, because John’s aversion to gravity had never been a point in common between them, but he did at least appreciate that Thunderbird One was fast, and generated far more Gs than any atmosphere-bound craft had any right to make.

Statistically speaking, Scott did travel in Two more than John did, but as he didn’t spend over three hundred days in the year off planet, Virgil wasn’t quite so fussed on the literal numbers.  Scott in Two always, always meant something was wrong.  Maybe One was out of action (again) but Scott wanted to be on the rescue anyway.  Maybe the world was conspiring against them, and Scott just wanted to be with his brothers rather than haring off at triple their speed and leaving them alone and vulnerable (Virgil knew that really One was more vulnerable than Two, although his eldest brother could never see it that way).

Or maybe, the worst wrong of all that always lined Virgil’s stomach with lead and dried up all the saliva in his mouth, Scott wasn’t fit to fly.

John was hovering, holographic form always a little too dull to accurately capture his brother’s vibrancy. Gordon had flight control, gloved hands firmly on the yoke as though he was her designated pilot.  Alan had co-pilot, booted feet reaching the floor with little difficulty nowadays – he would out-grow Gordon soon – as he flicked switches in uncharacteristic silence.

Virgil was in the medbay, scanner clutched in his hands like a lifeline as it told him nothing that he wanted to hear, and many things that he didn’t.

Scott was in the medbay, doing nothing.

Danger dogged their steps with every rescue.  They knew that – had always known it, even before the Zero-X blew their father sky-high as he tried to save the world – but it never made it any easier when it got closer than normal.

As normal for them was less than a second’s escape – buildings collapsing the moment their trailing foot left the threshold, planes erupting into fireballs the instant they leapt clear – closer was barely possible.  Closer was a Thunderbird coming home with deep gouges.  Closer was broken bones and terrorised faces.

Closer was their eldest brother lying motionless in his ‘bird’s medbay because it had taken thirteen minutes to find him after the snow roared down.

Avalanches were a messy business.  Survival rates were low, some of the worst odds International Rescue ever faced, and there was no denying that their own past experience did nothing to help whenever John uttered the word in a brief.  This one shouldn’t have been too bad, as far as snow monsters went.  Out of season, with few people in the huts that dotted the lower reaches of the slopes and fewer still outside.  Ten people were reported missing.

They found nine, all fortunate and breathing, before the second one struck.

Alan had been in Thunderbird Two, holding her steady in the air because the large Thunderbird would have done more harm than good if she’d landed and providing a much-needed birds’ eye view of the danger zone.  It had been entirely due to the combined information from him and John that had let them find the nine lucky people so quickly.

Gordon had been on triage in the hut deemed safest in the event of a second avalanche.  Virgil had just reached him with rescuee number nine when it had struck.

Scott had been heading up the slope, travelling scant inches above the snow via jetpack, searching for person number ten.  One’s drones had been with him, scanning furiously even as John hijacked them to give Five even more data than the space station had already obtained from other means. Those same drones had given them a glimpse of blue, grey and white all jumbled together before going dark.

It took two minutes for Virgil and Gordon to force their way out of the semi-buried but still standing hut. One more for Alan to configure a pod and tentatively lower it from the module even as they realised their original one would take too long to excavate from the snow.  In those three minutes, John had triangulated all the data he could amass from Five to provide the most viable search area.

Five minutes to find a body, cold to the touch.  Rescue number ten had never stood a chance.  Face down and neck broken, he would have been killed almost instantly during the original avalanche.

Fifteen minutes was the time limit.  Nine people had already defied it, surviving anything between half an hour and an hour under the snow before International Rescue reached the scene and dug them out. The Tracy family never had that much luck, and an avalanche was their own personal hell.  They knew, in that cold-fist-closing-around-their-hearts way, that Scott would not be number ten.

Twelve minutes and the pod’s heat sensors showed yellow-green in a sea of blue.

Thirteen minutes and their eyes showed them blue in a sea of white.

Scott had been wearing his helmet when the avalanche struck.  As Virgil knelt to ease his limp, cold, but breathing body from the frigid prison, he’d thanked their parents for that fact silently but profusely.  Still intact, the helmet had stopped snow clogging his airways, and had enough of an air supply to stop Scott from suffocating to death in the thirteen torturously long minutes it had taken them to find him.

In the medbay, scan finished, Virgil finally removed the life-saving gear.  The detached feedback from the scan told him as much, but he sighed resignedly when there was no response.  Scott didn’t gasp dramatically as his recycled air supply was replaced with the real deal, nor did lightly closed eyes snap open.

“How is he?” John asked unnecessarily as Virgil’s hand lingered under brown hair longer than strictly necessary after lowering the now helmetless head back down onto the stretcher.

“Cold.”  Virgil humoured him, knowing full well that John had been desperately analysing the results of the scan as they occurred. Their suits were well designed for the varied environments they found themselves in, and while Scott had shown up far, far too cold in their initial search for him, as soon as they’d got him into the security of Thunderbird Two the hint of a shiver had taken hold and Gordon had encouraged it with a single blanket.

Scott’s uniform was somewhere in the middle as far as easy to remove International Rescue uniforms went. While Gordon and John’s specialist environments necessitated almost vacuum-tight uniforms, and Virgil and Alan had heavy-duty but therefore less clingy attire, Scott wore a streamlined flight suit that didn’t adhere precisely to his body but wasn’t exactly loose either.  Still, the zip tugged down easily enough and Virgil manipulated his rag doll of an eldest brother out of the tough material delicately before clearing away any leftover snow trying to chill him further and cradling him in blankets.

John watched in an agitated silence, the distance between their physical bodies never so apparent as when one of them was hurt and he was twenty two and a half thousand miles away. Sooner rather than later, Virgil knew the space elevator would be docking at Tracy Island, but before John could leave Five he needed to get One nestled back safely in her hanger.

The Thunderbird had escaped the avalanche by never landing, set to an autopilot hover by Scott upon his arrival to the danger zone because despite being smaller than Two, her VTOL posed just as much of a risk to the stability of the snow.  With Gordon at the helm of Two, and a universal desire for the whole family to be together landing Alan in the co-pilot seat rather than their brother’s Thunderbird, it was up to John to remote pilot her home.

Hypothermia was not the only issue Scott had been hit with by the avalanche.  None of them had done the exact calculations – John might have done, but if he had he hadn’t shared them – but Scott had been swept a fair distance by the sheer might of the snow and the journey had been far from smooth. Something had knocked him out in the tumble – what, Virgil couldn’t begin to decipher – and while his ribs were miraculously okay, thanks to the support of his flight suit, his left arm was bent awkwardly.  Already, beneath the blankets, his skin was blossoming in the reds and purples of early bruising.

“Any change?” Alan asked, his hologram flickering into existence beside John’s.  Gordon was just visible at the edge of the projection.

“He’s warming up,” Virgil assured them, eyes never leaving his eldest brother as shivers slowly intensified.  “No sign of consciousness, though.”  He leant forwards, running his hands gently through gelled hair.  The scan didn’t indicate a concussion to accompany the rest of Scott’s injuries, but with no evidence for why he was remaining unconscious barring the hypothermia itself, Virgil needed a more hands’ on check to reassure himself that there would be no further complications.

“We’re almost home,” Gordon chipped in.  “Make sure you’re both ready for the landing.”

“F.A.B.”

Securing Scott was easy, straps looping over him and cinching tight but not too tight against the stretcher.  The temptation to stay standing beside him, watching like a hawk for any sign of change – good or otherwise – was strong, but John made a small noise in the back of his throat and Virgil forced himself to take the two paces away from the stretcher and collapse into a fold-out seat.

“Thunderbird One has landed,” the astronaut informed him, and Virgil managed something that was almost a smile.

“See you soon,” he said, and John returned the almost-smile before floating with purpose.  With the limitations of the holograms, it was difficult to tell where he was headed, but Virgil knew there was only one place John wanted to be.

Their landing was soft, softer than Gordon had ever managed before, and Virgil shot out of his chair and back to Scott’s side as soon as he felt the wheels connect solidly with the runway. The touchdown had done nothing to disturb him, eyes still softly closed. His skin was pale, and the shivering was still gaining in intensity, but Scott’s face was as peaceful as Virgil had seen it since the Zero-X.

He pulled the scanner back out, running another one just for something to do as Gordon taxied them back into the hangar.  Scott’s temperature had risen marginally, still too cold but headed in the right direction.  He adjusted the blankets cocooning him as Thunderbird Two finished her rotation and the hydraulics either side of the module whirred into action, raising the body of the craft.

Someone had remembered to call ahead – a flash of guilt coursed through Virgil as he realised that should have been his job – because as the module door lowered, letting in the orange flickering light that indicated mechanical movement in the hangar, Grandma was standing there, arms crossed and finger tapping nervously. She didn’t wait for the door to finish lowering, jumping into the module as soon as she could and heading straight for them.

“What happened?” she asked, wrapping an arm around him firmly for a moment before taking the final step to Scott’s side and tutting at the results of the scan.

“Avalanche,” Virgil responded, even though he knew she knew.  Old hands that had yet to lose most of their dexterity pulled at the blankets, exposing Scott’s throat enough for her to press two fingers to his pulse. “Nine survivors, one fatality.”

“Broken arm and extensive bruising,” she mused, light fingers dancing over her eldest grandson’s body as she confirmed the scanner’s results for herself.  “His suit protected him from the worst of it.  Let’s get him inside.”  Virgil nodded, reaching out to activate the hover jets on the underside of the stretcher before releasing the clasps that held it to the wall.  Hurried footsteps indicated the arrival of his younger brothers, finished with their flight checks and anxious to see their eldest brother.

“Is he awake yet?” Alan asked, blue eyes filled with hope.  Virgil shook his head as Gordon placed a hand on the youngest’s shoulder.

“Your brother will be fine,” Grandma assured them all before he could find the words to explain Scott’s condition.  “A little battered and bruised, and rather cold, but some rest and home cooking will sort him right out, you’ll see.”

Gordon’s mutter that home cooking would do more harm than good wasn’t as quiet as he’d clearly intended, but Grandma ignored the slight as she put a firm hand on the hovering stretcher and started to guide it towards the house.  Virgil paused, checking his two younger brothers over thoroughly.  Alan was pale, shaken at the sight of Scott’s limp body, while Gordon headed over to the discarded uniform and picked it up.

“He’ll be alright,” he told them.  Both nodded sharply.  “John’s coming down; Alan, why don’t you go meet him?”

Neither asked why John was coming down if Scott was going to be fine.  It was a much appreciated fact that sometimes a hologram wasn’t enough for reassurance, and none of them would ever begrudge John the chance to be there in person.  Alan nodded again and left.

“I’ll clear up here,” Gordon said.  He was feeding the damp uniform through his hands, most likely unconsciously.  Damp, half-melted snow littered the module, and the remaining pod.  “Go help Grandma.”

Virgil didn’t protest, although he gave Gordon a final look over before turning to leave his ‘bird. They all needed to feel useful, finding something to do while they waited for Scott to wake up.  He would have cleaned his ‘bird himself, but Gordon’s order had been a hidden plea: I want you with Scott.

“I want her spotless,” he said instead, and Gordon laughed.

“Yes, yes,” he dismissed. “Now go help Grandma keep Scott in bed.” Because that was going to be the hardest task of all.  None of the Tracys made for a good patient, but Scott was the undisputed worst patient of all.  Alan and Gordon would try for subtle, the elder blond with more success, escape attempts made when they were left alone for too long.  John hid in Five, well-practiced in manipulating holograms to make him appear healthier than he actually was – although the arrival of EOS had put a stop to that particular trick.  It was the thing that had finally got her into Scott’s good books.  Virgil himself knew that he gave his brothers a little too much grief, largely because he knew how to treat his own ailments better than they did.

Scott didn’t bother with subtlety.  The moment their backs were turned, and sometimes not even then, he would be forcing himself up and out of bed, determined to carry on working no matter what. He’d never been a good patient, but it had only worsened since their Dad’s crash.  Knowing why didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Not bothering to change out of his uniform, he ran after Grandma and the stretcher, catching up with them just outside the infirmary doors.  Scott was still unconscious, a fact that bothered him considering there was no sign of injury that would cause it, but it made transferring him from the stretcher to the soft bed far easier.  A pile of warm blankets were gently tucked around him, mindful of the broken arm.

As Grandma fussed with an IV line, more a precaution than a necessity, Virgil turned his attention to the limb.  It was a clean break, simple enough to reset and splint.  Scott let out a noise of complaint as the bones were dragged back into place, and both he and Grandma immediately looked at him.  Brow furrowed, hazed blue eyes flickered open.

“Scott?”

“Vrrgg?” his eldest brother slurred, eyes slowly focusing on him. “Whh..?”

“We’re home,” Virgil told him, resting a hand on the blankets over where Scott’s right shoulder was buried.  “The rescue’s over.”

Scott blinked at him slowly, the haze of confusion not quite leaving his eyes.

“Rsscu?”

“Let’s focus on getting you warmed up for now, Scott,” Grandma cut in, smoothing his hair back gently. She gestured sharply with her other hand – hidden from Scott’s view – to the reset arm.  Virgil took the hint, returning to strap it up, knowing that he’d need to mix up a proper cast for it if he wanted any chance of it healing properly with Scott’s reluctance to rest of any length of time.

“Buh-”

Scott’s protest was cut off by the door slamming open, the pitter-patter of Alan’s booted feet flying into the room.  Behind him, at a more sedate pace, John followed, turquoise eyes raking over the scene in front of him sharply.

“Is he awake?” Alan asked, skidding to a stop by the bed.  “Scott?”

“Ara?” Scott started. Virgil lunged up to stop him as he made his first attempt to get up.

“No, Scott,” he said firmly. “You’re still too cold.”  Scott didn’t fight him, a sign that he was still confused.  It didn’t go unnoticed by either Alan or John, the former losing his smile and the latter narrowing his eyes for a moment.

“Go get yourselves changed,” Grandma told them.  “He’ll still be here when you come back.”  Hoping she wasn’t including him in that order, Virgil busied himself with fussing over Scott, fixing the blankets he’d dislodged and hushing any attempts to ask about the rescue.

“It’s over,” he repeated as his two brothers left the room with orders from Grandma to also locate Gordon and make sure he got changed, too.  “Stay still.”

“Virgil,” Grandma warned, and his shoulder slumped.  “You too, young man.  You’re still wearing some of the snow.”

He hadn’t noticed, but when she mentioned it he realised that the creases of his uniform still carried damp white.

“I won’t be long,” he promised Scott, who looked at him with wide blue eyes.  They reminded Virgil of Alan.  Usually it was Alan who reminded him of Scott; he didn’t like it the other way around.  “I’ll bring you back a drink.  Think you can manage that?”

“Drrnk?”

Virgil sighed, and turned to Grandma.

“I’ll bring him something,” he told her and she nodded with a tired smile.

“You do that,” she said. “Now go get out of that wet uniform before you catch a chill, too!”

With a last look at his brother, still too pale but thankfully shivering properly at last, he forced himself to leave the room.

When it came to Grandma, there were fights that could not be won, and unspoken orders to be heeded nonetheless.  It was not as simple as tugging off his uniform, throwing on some casual clothes and running back into the infirmary with a warm, sugary drink in hand served with a straw to sip it with, so he begrudgingly threw himself under a hot shower, allowing his own body to warm up after too long in the snow himself, albeit not buried like his big brother.  Still, a shower did not have to be long to be effective, even if he would usually take the time to let his muses grow amongst the gentle hiss of pouring water, and within five minutes he was thoroughly warm and worming his way into clean clothes.  A quick blow with his hair dryer got the worst of the water out of his hair, but he forwent the gel to return it to its usual style.  Certain younger brothers might have a field day about his hair not being carefully sculpted, but a certain hypothermic older brother was worth a little bit of pride.

John had beaten him to the kitchen, a hot squash – blackcurrant and apple, from Scott’s personal stash – steaming on the counter.  Virgil glanced around the room to make sure nothing was broken.

“You haven’t taken it in?” he asked, wrapping a hand around the container.  It was almost hot to the touch.  John shrugged.

“I’d drop it,” he said, plucking a blue straw from the collection in the cupboard and neatly dropping it into the top of the cup.  Virgil couldn’t disagree with the possibility and scooped it up, straw bobbing in the dark liquid, before continuing on to the infirmary.

Alan and Gordon were there, both out of uniform as per Grandma’s orders, and trying to get a laugh out of Scott, if their antics were anything to go by.  Scott himself, Virgil was pleased to see, appeared less confused than when he’d left.

“I have a drink for you,” he announced, passing it to Grandma as he perched on the bed by Scott. “Think you can manage some sips?” Scott was still shivering but managed a grateful smile.

“Will i’ tas’e goo’?” he asked, still too cold to pronounce his words properly.  Virgil gently brought the head of the bed up slightly before propping Scott up in a more upright position with the use of many pillows. Gordon helpfully readjusted the blankets as Alan crawled onto the bottom of the bed.

“It’s from your own stash,” he promised, taking it back from Grandma and holding the straw to his lips. “John made it hot, so be careful.”

“’M alway’ ca’ful.” Scott mumbled the biggest lie Virgil had ever heard before accepting the straw and taking a sip.

“If you say so,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help keep him in place as he drank.  He was still cool to the touch, despite the blankets wrapped around him firmly.

Scott hissed as the liquid entered his mouth, and Virgil tightened his grip even as he rolled his eyes.

“I warned you,” he said lightly, as John entered the room and perched on the end of the bed, watching Scott carefully.  Scott took another sip, more cautiously the second time.

...tbc one day..?

[silver-wield]

I dont understand why aerith only abused cloud and not the other characters, whats her motive? have you ever been abused or at least know someone who was? can you also tell me more about aerith’s character? she’s the one i know the least so i would appreciate the enlightenment

Following on from this

Did I say Aerith was abusive or that her actions were? Because Aerith's not an abusive character, but she does things that harm others because of certain reasons. Also, some of my earlier comments about chapter 8 and Aerith's behaviour are before I learned more about her pov motivation, so it's only taken from Cloud's pov. Which I have no regrets about. I prefer Cloud over Aerith.

Cloud just got the brunt of things because he spent longer with her. The way Aerith assumes she knows everyone and that her way is best does harm others because it shows she doesn't respect their opinions or value them as individuals who behave differently to how she expects. She doesn't really know everyone, she just thinks she does because she knows info she shouldn't. But, vague information from the lifestream or wherever she got it doesn't form a complete picture. It also doesn't replace actual relationship development. She's trying to run before she can crawl.

From Aerith's pov, she's doing good. She's not intentionally abusive to people. She's poorly socialised, bossy and been treated as special since she was a child. She's got no frame of reference in how to have healthy relationships with people. She had no friends as a kid and none later. Kyrie was a bad influence on her and not a true friend. She's never had a true friend and only Zack loved her besides her moms. Her dad died when she was a baby, so she doesn't remember him. She's basically a spoiled child expecting to get what she wants and then can't accept the truth when it doesn't match her expectations.

From the others povs she's withholding vital information, treating them like they can't do things without her input and acting like she's the leader, despite just meeting everyone. Since what she's asking them to help with is saving the planet and Avalanche are self proclaimed protectors, and Cloud and Tifa are Sephiroth's enemies they won't refuse. Red agrees because his race are more attuned to the planet anyway. It's part of who he is to help protect it.

It's a matter of emotional maturity. Tifa has the most of the younger characters and currently, Aerith wavers between her OG immaturity and her meta knowledge which gives her unearned wisdom, but she doesn't know how to apply that wisdom, so just comes off bossy.

Cloud doesn't know how to deal with conflict except to beat it senseless and doesn't know how to deal with women, except to be a passive dummy when most of them manhandle him. He also doesn't want anything to do with any woman romantically except Tifa, which is why he's always touching her and flirting.

Cloud knows that Tifa reacts badly when people she cares about are in danger, so he's trying to keep her calm. Since Aerith interrupts immediately after this we don't know what the conclusion of this would be if Cloud was allowed to continue speaking. Most likely, he'd suggest getting back to sector 7, too, because he already agreed with her they need to go when he woke her up before the Abzu battle. Tifa respects Cloud's opinion and military background, so that's why she's asking his advice.

By jumping in and alarming Tifa, Aerith has actually caused harm because it's put her in an anxious state, which we see escalating throughout the sewers.

Cloud kept Tifa calm and focused. Aerith has done the opposite. Because she thinks she knows best.

Having put Tifa in a more anxious state than she was earlier, Aerith now withholds information, which breaks trust between them.

This harms Tifa. She now has to worry about Aerith's true motives as well as sector 7. Tifa avoids confronting her suspicions because she's non-confrontational by nature. And Aerith could be innocent and Tifa's imagining everything.

It's not a healthy state of mind Aerith's encouraged.

Aerith has observed how Tifa is with Cloud and deliberately baits her, which causes harm to Tifa.

Aerith's motives aren't the focus here and I've explained from her pov she's helping, but from Tifa's pov, this girl she just met is trying to take the guy she's liked since she was 13.

The look on Aerith's face is playful, but Tifa's isn't. She looks unhappy. With Aerith. She thought they were becoming friends and then Aerith does this.

And as I said, it's worth noting this is different to the JP scene where Tifa is just worried and Aerith's teasing her to try and improve her mood. So, this scene was deliberately played up to highlight a negative behaviour from Aerith and provoke Tifa.

Aerith never explains why Barret can't do things. She just orders everyone around and expects them to listen, but she doesn't listen to them.

Even when asked, she doesn't say anything, and this is harming the entire party. Just because we know the plot doesn't make what she's doing okay. She knows about Sephiroth and doesn't warn anyone beforehand. So, later when Cloud and Tifa see him in the drum, they're not prepared.

This adds to everyone's suspicion about Aerith.

Suspicious Aerith

Suspicious Aerith 2

See, the thing is, if someone is suspicious then you can't trust them. And trust is a big factor in relationships. By making herself untrustworthy by lying and acting in a suspicious way, Aerith isn't fulfilling one of the basic cornerstones of a good relationship.

Four cornerstones of a strong relationship: Tifa

Four cornerstones of a strong relationship: Cloud

Respect

Aerith shows she doesn't respect Tifa's opinion about Cloud and dismisses her valid concerns. She redirects to ask about her instead, which Tifa brushes off. The girls don't have a lot of conversation in the drum, which shows they're not that close or that Tifa doesn't trust her enough to chat after the sewers. Tifa has chosen to remain focused.

From Aerith's pov, ignoring Cloud shows she's not interested in him, but Tifa is and is worried and wanted reassurance, which Aerith didn't provide.

Honesty

During their first interaction, Aerith lies to Cloud several times, and keeps lying throughout the game, either by omission or outright lying.

Aerith lies about knowing the Turks, while knowing how dangerous they are.

A person who lies isn't someone who can be trusted. This is why Cloud and Tifa are suspicious of Aerith, even up to the end battle where Sephiroth speaks from behind Aerith and Cloud gives her a suspicious look. Because Aerith's own behaviour combines with Sephiroth's motives. If Aerith hadn't made herself suspicious then Sephiroth wouldn't be as effective here.

Trust

Cloud shakes his head here. He knows Aerith doesn't trust them because she keeps lying. See how things connect? Aerith lies, it makes her untrustworthy and affects people's relationships with her in a negative way.

Cloud agrees to go fetch Aerith because he knows what Shinra are like, isn't an asshole, feels obligated and Elmyra literally orders him to "bring her back to me" after he gets permission to go. Which is why it's listed as operation: save Aerith in the story summary.

Friendship

And as for friendship, well both Barret and Tifa call Aerith "our friend" but Cloud says "a friend" to mayor Domino and then later when he says "our friend" to the guy outside the battle sim, all of them are framed. But, when he said "a friend" to mayor Domino only Cloud was framed. This suggests that to Cloud Aerith isn't a friend.

So, Aerith fails to satisfy the basic cornerstones of a good relationship with others. That's not saying she's a bad person or has bad motives, but currently she's not in good standing.

As for her behaviour in sector 5 with Cloud, from her pov, her actions weren't bad either.

The protagonist Cloud, who played the hero like Zack, is the unforgettable protagonist of FFVII. The beginning of the story, he seems cool, but in reality he is not good with communication and feels less than he is. “I wanted to be in SOLIDER, but I couldn’t.” Because he wanted to hide himself (because of Zack's death and the Nibelheim incident), the Jenova cells that were planted in him in Nibelheim formed a personality that were based on Zack’s memories. In CC, Cloud was weak but he was influenced by Zack. In the beginning of the story, Cloud takes on the title of “Zack”. Aerith was shocked when she meets Cloud due to him mirroring Zack in behavior.

That's a rough translation, but the fact is Aerith saw Zack in Cloud from their first meeting and that's why she chased after him in chapter 2. This is the CC ultimania, BTW, and it's getting a reprint, so the info in it is canon to Remake because the devs advised players to read more compilation materials. This is one of them.

Her motives aren't bad, but we can't only see things from her pov. Other people matter too. Cloud wasn't happy with her throughout chapter 8 because of her behaviour. Her motives don't factor into his feelings because she never reveals why she's doing it. Even if she did explain, it doesn't excuse her ignoring how Cloud feels.

Because Aerith is using Cloud as a prop for Zack it does harm her relationship with him and others. In the chapter 9 Corneo's dungeon conversation we can see Tifa notices Cloud isn't happy with Aerith suggesting they stay and get info out of Corneo. His reaction colors her opinion of Aerith later when he wakes her in the sewers. That's why she asks how he knows her because he doesn't seem to be acting like they're friends as Aerith claimed.

And Aerith isn't treating Cloud like he's Cloud through a lot of chapter 8 and 9 and only pulls back when they meet up with Tifa.

So much zerith

And by deluding herself, Aerith gets to be with Zack again, which she alludes to in her resolution when she says she's grateful to Cloud and he made her more happy than he knows. Because she got to pretend she spent one more day with Zack. But, then she shatters her own delusion by telling Cloud that any potential feelings he might have in the future are fake. Because Cloud's persona is fake. He's not Zack.

In the OG, Aerith's GS date alludes to Cloud's fake persona too, but she says she wants to meet the real him. She doesn't say that here. She ignores Cloud again, and by doing so answers his question in that he doesn't get a say because she's not listening to him. Because she doesn't care.

And when the party reaches her in chapter 16, it's even more clear that Aerith has set aside her delusions in favour of building better relationships with the other characters. She's more invested in Red, Tifa and Barret than she is Cloud.

However, it's an uphill struggle with Tifa because of the previous behaviour she exhibited.

See how things circle back? Aerith made herself suspicious, Tifa loses trust in her and that affects their relationship later so that Tifa is less likely to confide in her. She's being Tifa Lockhart. And we know Tifa can open up with those she really trusts because she does with Cloud. Because they have a strong set of cornerstones to their relationship.

So, from Aerith's pov, it's not abuse because she has some very good reasons for treating Cloud and others the way she does. She's aware of some future events and knows about Sephiroth and she also deluded herself into thinking Cloud was Zack.

But, because they don't know her motives it does actually harm the relationships between her and them. Even Red seems to mistrust her because he knows some of what she was up to with the whispers, as stated during the opening of chapter 17 where he explains the whispers purpose and looks right at Aerith when he mentions people tampering with fate.

But, this is what character development is for. Aerith needs to grow as a person and not just in power. So, I expect a lot of her more childish traits like being overly bossy and not having any listening skills will be addressed in future parts.

[valkyrisffvii]

The Lake

Setting: A large reservoir lake near Nibelheim

POV: 3rd person

Summary: Mithra follows the signals she’s been getting all week into a lake, where she finds an item crucial to Shinra’s operations. However, her plan doesn’t go as smoothly as she anticipated...

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Mithra stood on the dock of the reservoir lake and looked towards its center. She had been hearing strange noises all week, and nobody else heard them. They reminded her of whispers and grew louder when she was near the lake, not to mention the middle of the lake glowed with some kind of bright orange light that was only visible at night. 

Unlike the other times she had been within proximity of the water, Mithra had actually prepared to go in and investigate. She was clad in a two-pieced fitted swimsuit. The top had a high neckline and its straps crossed over her back, and her shorts went down to the middle of her thighs. She had a drawstring sack draped across her body like a purse and a dagger securely sheathed at her hip. Although her arms, legs, and midriff were exposed, she did not fear the cold water.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Who knows what could be lurking down there,” said Zack, who had accompanied her. The rest of the SOLDIERs and members of AVALANCHE were all preoccupied, and Mithra knew that going to the lake alone was a bad idea. Although Zack knew that Mithra was more than capable of defending herself and had the stamina to explore under the water, the sight of it still made him nervous.

“I’ve been hearing things all week, Zack, and all signals are leading to this lake. There’s something down there that is probably important. I’m sure of it.” She turned to face him, staring at him with a look that said she was not changing her mind. “If I am not back in like, seven minutes, or something seems wrong, go find help,” she told him. Both of them were aware that their Mako allowed them to breathe underwater for longer than the average human. Mithra turned her attention back to the large body of water and, taking a deep breath, dove in headfirst. Zack shielded himself from the spray of water and watched the surface as it calmed after Mithra’s entry.

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As soon as she dove into the crystal clear water, Mithra instantly noticed a faint orange glow shining from the depths. Pushing her way towards the light, she observed several metal structures dotting the underwater landscape. As she came towards them for a better look, she instantly recognized Shinra’s logo on some of them, barely visible due to the growth of moss and rust present on them. It seemed like Shinra used the lake as a sort of dumping ground for their unwanted or unusable military equipment. Mithra hoped that there was no residual gasoline or other dangerous substances left over. 

The orange glow grew brighter and brighter, and Mithra looked down to see a ring of stone columns. It was fairly dim in the depths of the lake, but the structures were still visible to her thanks to her SOLDIER abilities. The glow was coming from its center, where a larger stone pillar sat. Mithra swam up to the monolith and discovered that the source of the bright light was nothing other than a piece of materia. It was the size of an orange and glowed with the orange light that she’d been seeing for so long. There was nothing guarding it; it just sat in a small indentation on top of the stone. 

Mithra reached out, ready to break herself out of any trap it would unleash, but to her surprise she was able to just pick it up. She slipped it into her pouch, pulling the strings tight so that it would not fall out. Having found what she came looking for, Mithra began to kick her way back up to the surface. She was easily over a hundred feet below, but the pressure had no effect on her body. 

As she slowly made the ascent, Mithra suddenly felt a slimy hand wrap around her ankle and jerk her downwards. She looked down and nearly screamed at what she saw. Right underneath her was a horrific creature. She could not tell whether it was a fish or a human. It had humanlike hair, but its eyes were cloudy white and its teeth consisted of razor-sharp fangs. Its ears and hands had webbing, clearly indicating an underwater origin. Instead of legs, it sported a fish tail that ended in a fanlike fin. The creature was clearly some kind of mutated result of one of Shinra’s experiments. 

Mithra used her other foot to kick the creature in its forehead and drew out her dagger from her hip sheath. Unfortunately, a dozen others were making their way towards her. It wasn’t long before they completely crowded her, slashing at her legs with their claws and dragging her back down to wherever they came from. The water around her had turned light red with her blood, and Mithra knew that she was running out of breath. Her dagger slashing had become sloppy from exhaustion and blood loss. 

An overwhelming sense of hopelessness came over her as she realized that she would die there. She did not even get to say goodbye to her friends. She knew that the materia she found was somehow important to Shinra, as they went through the effort of hiding it underwater, but there would be no way for her to get it back up to the surface at this point. One of the mutated monsters wrapped its scaly hand around her neck, and with water filling her lungs, Mithra blacked out, sinking downwards as they continued to fight over her. 

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Meanwhile, it had been almost seven minutes that Zack was waiting at the surface, staring at the lake and hoping that he’d see Mithra’s head pop out. He had been worrying the whole time she was gone not only because he didn’t want anything bad to happen, but he also knew that Sephiroth would kill him if Mithra went missing. 

A slight churn in the middle of the lake caught his attention. As he squinted his eyes to see better, Zack noticed that the water was now foaming and crashing furiously. Realizing that something had gone horribly wrong and that Mithra was in danger, Zack quickly ran back to AVALANCHE’s base to find help.

Zack kicked the door open to find Sephiroth and Angeal. They looked up at him as he panted.

“Mithra went into the lake and she hasn’t come back!” he cried out. Both of them instantly got up and followed him back to the reservoir lake. As they sprinted, Zack told them about the voices Mithra had described earlier. 

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Angeal, Zack, and Sephiroth arrived at the dock, and the lake water still had a somewhat rough current. Mithra was also still nowhere in sight. Before Zack could suggest anything, Sephiroth was stripping off his coat, gloves, and suspenders. He dumped them on the dock before diving headfirst into the cold water just as Mithra had done earlier. 

As the icy water surrounded him, Sephiroth quickly dove down deeper in a desperate attempt to find Mithra. It wasn’t long before he noticed the same stone ring and the giant mass of disgustingly mutated Shinra creations. They seemed to be gathered around something that they were all desperately fighting over. He instantly realized that Mithra was somewhere in there. 

Sephiroth drew out Masamune, which he had sheathed on his hip. He was near enough to the creatures that they noticed him and began to try and attack him as well. He stabbed all of them like they were nothing and continued into the crowd. They were no match for him whatsoever, and any one who did not find themselves unlucky enough to be a victim of the Silver General fled into the depths. 

After the last lake monsters had fled, Sephiroth noticed a floating figure slowly sinking towards the bottom of the lake. He went closer and saw that it was nothing other than Mithra’s unconscious body. Her right hand was outstretched as if she was struggling, and her legs were branded with multiple large gashes that were leaking blood. He grabbed her, slinging her limp form over his right shoulder and holding on to her securely before swimming back up to the surface.

Sephiroth gasped for air as his head broke the surface next to the dock. Zack and Angeal immediately saw Mithra draped over his shoulder and helped to drag her body back onto the dock. They laid her on her back and shockingly looked at her seemingly lifeless form. Her neck was bruised and her legs were marked with gashes. 

Sephiroth pushed them aside and knelt over Mithra before pushing her hair out of her face and connecting his lips with hers. He blew as much air as he could into her, shaking her roughly. After blowing into her mouth a second time, Sephiroth began furiously compressing her chest, praying that she wasn’t already gone. 

“Come on Mithra, please come back,” he pleaded. Just as he was giving up hope, a sputtering sound came from Mithra. The pressure on her lungs had forced a bunch of water to spill from her mouth, and her eyes shot open. She rolled over slightly, propping herself up on her elbow and coughing up the rest of the water. 

“Thank Gaia,” he whispered as she laid back down, gasping heavily. He stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes, which were full of recognition. To their surprise, Cloud, Genesis, and Tifa had arrived at the dock as well.

“We heard that something happened. Is everything alright?” asked Genesis. They immediately saw Mithra lying down, her chest still heaving, and the blood leaking out from her cuts. Mithra noticed Cloud and reached into the pouch she carried, pulling out the crystalline sphere. 

“Cloud,” she said hoarsely, “You said something about a missing piece of materia, didn’t you?” She held out the orange ball, and Cloud took it. 

“Where did you find this?” he asked, continuing to glance at her mutilated legs.

“The bottom of the lake,” she replied, her voice getting shakier. Her face was getting more pale from the amount of blood she had lost, and she laid back and closed her eyes. Sephiroth quickly grabbed his coat and wrapped it around her, not caring if it got blood-stained. He scooped Mithra into his arms, with her head resting on his shoulder and his hands supporting her back and knees.

“She needs help,” he said, and the rest followed him away from the lake and back indoors. Cloud and Tifa trailed behind, both of them observing the materia.

“I’ve never seen a materia orb in that color,” Tifa remarked, and Cloud remembered something that both Barret and Vincent had mentioned, something about several unique pieces of materia that were the only ones of their kind. 

“I’ll ask Barret about it later. I’m sure Mithra found something that will help us in the fight against Shinra,” Cloud said, and the two of them followed Sephiroth and the rest, who were in awe that Mithra both recovered the materia and survived a horde of mutated lab creations.