#because daydreaming about writing is never quite the same as the reality

[not-poignant]

Do you have any advice on how to write more words on a regular basis? I find it difficult to write regularly but am fed up of only being able to produce sporadically in small amounts. Whenever I sit down to write it feels like I'm feeding gravel into a blender (if that even makes sense). I've tried getting advice from others and am told to just "stop trying to write then". But I can't because I want to write. Writing is all I ever think about. It feels like oxygen to me and when I'm not doing it (or thinking about doing it) I feel like I'm dying inside. But damn, I just wish it wasn't so difficult.

I really want to finish my stories and I know I could if I just wrote regularly but I don't know why that's so hard for me to do.

Hi anon!

I might have some thoughts on this because I certainly never used to write as much as I do now!

Firstly, I'll get this one out of the way now, if you have money to spend, join 4thewords - ignore this if you don't have it. But this gamifies writing in a genuinely fun way. Each monster you kill gives you loot, and fulfills quests that give you more loot, that opens more worlds and more options that give you clothing / house furniture and more. This was - given how much more productive it made me - a game changer re: writing more.

If you don't have money to spend, let's ignore that and go to other methods.

If you want to write more, the answer isn't to stop writing, it's to write more. The best time to hear 'it's time to stop writing' is if you're burnt out, or you hate everything about it. It sounds like you don't hate everything about it, you just wish it was a bit easier.

Decide what you want regularly to mean. I don't have a daily writing habit - I don't write every day! I'm too sick to, so i have a monthly minimum wordcount instead of a daily minimum wordcount and try and hit it by about week 2/3. Regularly for you might be once a day. Once every two days. Or it might be 'I have to write this many words a month.'

Find a way to track the words you're writing. The only way you can accurately see how much you're writing is by tracking those word-counts! Because you will have days where you feel like you wrote nothing and actually wrote a fair bit, and days where you feel like you wrote a fair bit and sadly wrote...hardly anything, lol. But it's also the best way to see yourself achieve more as you increase your wordcount.

Let's also talk about flow. Sometimes you don't get to feel 'flow' - that feeling of the words coming out easily onto the page, and you have to kind of struggle for every sentence. Are you okay with writing more knowing that this is actually normal for many writers, and the gravel blender feeling might not go away? It will over time get easier to write more words, but it might mean more of that gravel blender feeling. Flow is not predictable, and is often story and scene dependent. Chances are you will have more times feeling writing flow, I just want you to be honest with yourself in case it doesn't happen the way you wish.

From there, it's a combination of developing the discipline (which is like exercising a muscle - start small and grade upwards, don't aim too high at first, consistency is better than bursts), and finding the tricks that help you.

Look at how many words you think you could write a week. Let's lowball and say about 100 words a week. When you assess this for yourself, always undershoot, don't round up! 100 words is like... a long paragraph worth of words.

The following week, depending on if you want a daily / once every two days etc. habit, you'd aim to write 150 words that week. A paragraph and a half.

The week after you'd aim for 200 words.

You might find in week 2 it was easy to write 1000 words, great! But the week after you're still only aiming for 200 words. Don't base scaling up on the bursts / writing sprints - they'll lie to you. If you want consistent discipline, base your increases on the low days. If you reach a week where 200 words feels impossible, aim for 200 words the following week, if it's still impossible, go back to 150.

Now for you it might be... 500 words in week one, 600 in week two, 700 in week 3 etc. It might not seem like much, but you'd be surprised how quickly you start scaling through those numbers with practice.

Increasing writing output is a numbers game. And it's a patience game. And it's a 'being forgiving and gentle with yourself while also being a little bit stern with yourself' game.

Here's the thing no one tells you (except for NaNoWriMo every single year) re: increasing your wordcount.

Those words don't have to be good. They don't have to be good in fact it's better if they're not.

You're just getting used to the feeling of writing more. Not writing more good words, that will come naturally with time. You're getting used to sitting in front of a document for longer, thinking of more sentences you don't necessarily love (it's better if you don't! Write the bad ones!) And this is what I mean by it's a numbers game. Getting better at writing happens the more you do it anyway, so you can just focus on 40 bad sentences.

The trick to letting yourself write badly? That one is just...gritting your teeth and screaming through them while you go 'AHHHHH' in your head and let those suckers loose. Or whatever version of this that you have.

Because here's the thing, it's actually pretty easy to write 1000 words of inconsequential terrible story that no one's going to read. I mean 'pretty easy' - it's easier than writing the stories and characters you love the most and are so invested in, it's hard to write the sentences because you want to do justice to it all. That's fucking stressful, friend, and increasing writing output is just better if you're not always a) doing it on those stories or b) invested in writing those stories well in those early draft/s.

But once you're used to writing more words of stuff you don't love, it becomes easier to write less words of stuff you do, and chances are that will still be more than you're writing now. <3 Some of my stories are really easy to write, and some are way way harder. A chapter of The Ice Plague took as much time as three chapters of Underline the Black. So story is important here too. But also the point is basically that... you don't have to scale up your writing output with the stories you're most invested in, but need to be at a certain standard of writing. You can scale it up any time, with any kind of story - anyone can do this. Increasing your wordcount is a matter of like... easy methods that are less easy to implement irl because of the psychology around letting yourself write badly, and letting yourself validate the time / put the time aside to do that.

And here's the other thing - find a ritual that helps you. Whether it's brewing some tea before writing. Setting up a little space. Putting on some music or a noise generator specifically for writing. Listening to Lo-Fi Girl or Synthwave Boy. Whether it's writing a few words on paper first, or changing the font. Eventually you will have a Pavlovian response to the ritual, and every little bit helps.

As for the psychology, this is why you lowball. You make it as easy as possible. 'God writing 1000 words seems really hard oh but I only have to write a sentence today, cool, I can do that.'

The thing about lowballing is that on the good days, you will write way, way more than your goal. Which means a) you're done for the week if that happens if you want to be done and b) when you're back to feeling exhausted and like GGHGHGHGHHHHH about writing, you're still back at that initial lowball wordcount.

On my worst days, I lowball to like, 5 words, 10 words, and just write 5 / 10 / 15 etc. down on a piece of paper and cross them off. 30 words can be a sentence. 10 words can be a sentence. It feels nice to cross off numbers on a sheet of paper and see the increasing words. I can almost always get to 500 words with that method, and I think you could definitely get to 100.

Anyway the TL;DR

Consistency is way more important than quality

Don't be surprised if you don't find 'flow'

ALWAYS lowball when you're developing an increase in words

Figure out what 'regular' means to you (daily / weekly / etc.)

Make a ritual

Focus less on the stories you love most when developing this habit

If you have a bad week, just go back to the previous wordcount goal. And keep doing that, this won't be a linear process!!!

...It didn't need to be this long I'm so sorry anon idk why I'm like this.

I wish you all the best! I 100% disagree with the folks telling you 'just stop writing then.' I'm like nope, embrace the gravel blender, eventually you'll end up with smooth sand in an hourglass, I promise. <3 You just might have to add more gravel sometimes. ;)

[sos717]

Hey, i hope you are doing well

So i have something that i don’t know if i am understanding this wrong or what but i feel like knowing the concept of this all being dream kinda depressed me because i feel like i have no purpose and nothing matters anymore the concept of my parents not being real makes me feel scared and isolated like what am i even doing here it is kinda giving me existential crisis like to be honest i joined all of this to be able to manifest the life i daydream about i kinda wish i never got to know about this i miss my life before this awareness it was much simpler and comfy now i feel like i am in the edge of the seat where i don’t know if the stuff that is talked about here is real or not as i never manifested something if though i knew about the law of assumption five years ago i seeked more knowledge to see what i am doing wrong for it to never work for me then i found these stuff i said i feel like i am living at the edge of the seat because what if these stuff is actually real and my way of thinking can doom my life if i am the solely responsible for it i don’t know i am very confused and exhausted i just wish some clarity maybe there is something i am getting wrong or something sorry for confusion

Thank you for your time

Hello!!! Thank you, I really hope you’re doing better than when you write this but let’s clear this up.

So to start off, it’s okay, nothing is literally a dream in the sense that your parents and people you know are “fake” or something. This is why it’s so important for people to explain what reality is, CORRECTLY.

What your thinking about is “Solipsism”, the idea that your own mind is the only thing you can trust to be 100% certain and it is what’s solely creates all that is ever experienced including other people, this is just so easily false because the moment you involve other people and how they can think the same thing it all just comes undone. Like what is the entire point of understanding Solipsism if it doesn’t benefit you because no one is real, no one else exists and none of it matters to begin with, etc. But even then, when you operate with this idea, you will spin any narrative to fit your world view, without considering any other factors as possible, it’s like a trap, don’t fall into this.

Do NOT confuse Solipsism with what reality is, which is what I describe, some people get pressed that I’m describing nondualism wrong or LOA or whatever the hell but I’m not. But when you operate from Solipsism it ends up making you depressed because you think your alone and all that you see is essentially a dream of your own singular mind, it’s pretty dangerous to adapt this if you start ignoring consequences and how the world actually operates, so please rest assured, your family does exist and aren’t just projections lol.

Alright moving forward, the rest is very simple, I do have 2 really detailed posts that describe what I “teach”, and to make a long story short, you are not learning or picking up a secret tool to use that only exists the moment you know about it. Manifestation is not something outlandish or magical, it’s quite literally the natural state of reality, all is manifestation. This did not turn on when you found out about LOA, and it’s not going to turn off if you decide to step back from acknowledging it (what you are).

I’m not going to go super into detail because like I said I do have a post about it already, I suggest you read those 2 first and then if you have any more questions let me know! Please take care of yourself and rest assured that the people you care for are not just figments of imagination, and you will always be, just like everyone else, a part of the same collective conscious. Talk soon! ❤️🧘🪷

[uhardite]

a kind of success story??

okay, this is NOT a guide, but feel free to use it if you wish <3

so basically, last year, on my birthday, i was gifted a lot of money by my family, and i wanted to spend all of it on getting clothes that sutied my aesthetic/staple pieces that i can use to create varied looks, so i made a very detailed list of what exactly im going to buy with the money, price, number of them (for ex: 3 tank tops, 2 jeans) at the start of this year. and then i kind of forgot about the list, that is, i uninstalled the app for more storage space (lmao) and never opened it again.

fast forward to november, i wanted to make a schedule for my 70 day glowup challenge, so i logged into the app again, and noticed my list. and guess what? not only did i have every single thing on that list, i could also buy things THAT I DIDNT WRITE DOWN but wanted in my mind. with the SAME amount of money that i had in the start of the year. and not just this, there have been several instances where i have wanted something and thought about it everyday before going to bed, and it came true, completely and irrevocably. this is why i do believe in the power of manifesting and affirming. i used to think it was just daydreaming, but i realised that it isnt, because i was imagining myself in particular situations that i wanted for myself, and later that year or a few days later, i would find myself in that situation (for ex, i manifested a guy crushing on me, and it came true, very powerfully, in fact, in just a matter of days. at that time i didnt see the connection, but now i do)

also, a note about void state. i literally opened tumblr first thing in the morning today and read a post on someone who got into the void state/was trying to get into it, and i was like, what???? because, i have been experiencing that often when i go to sleep at night, ever since i was a CHILD. i dont have much of an idea of what the void state feels like, but while laying in bed, i would often have this feeling of spinning, sinking into a pitch black tunnel. and quite obviously, i didnt know what it was, but over time, i learned to relax into it. again, since i didnt know this was the void state, i never used it to manifest or imagine the reality i want, but now that im aware, i will start using it.

again, im not sure if i did reach the void state, bc im not well-informed and until today i didnt even believe in it, so leave me a comment if thats not the void state, it would be really helpful xx

[welcome-to-oslov]

If we ever truly run out of Oslov sagas, I wouldn't mind a short one written by Vera or her perspective. I mean, I'm not *dying* for it, but I sure would read it!

Her family life growing up in Upstart Redda.

Her crazy dad, mom, *grandpa*. How they seemed to someone they were being normal to.

Her having the experience we've all had: meeting a boy at 17/18 and thinking you have a connection and he never quite leaves your mind, ever - as your paths do keep crossing every few years during your gorgeous youths. But... for him, the connection wasn't quite the same.

I'm sure her novel would romanticize Tilrey. Not just what she felt about him, but about what she learned about him, sadly and painfully, over time. And how that challenged her view of herself and her family -- though never quite getting it, so her misty-eyed view of Tilrey would be interesting to read. She is one of the few people he really lost his temper with and got real with, in way. That time in her apartment before they ultimately put a wall between them after Ceill.

Though I'd be sad to have Tilrey recede more into the background of her novel, it would be interesting to see her years of motherhood of Ceill, continued (I'm SURE!) conflicted daydreams of Tilrey, and what it was like to finally partner up with a love match from Thurskein who, let's say, looked just like she wanted.

That would be so interesting to write! Interesting yet frustrating, because her perspective would be pretty navel-gazey and oblivious to Tilrey’s reality, at least when she’s younger. Romanticized, for sure.

But I’d love to explore what happened between Vera and Mal and how she eventually warmed up to the revolution. It’s a major character development that I basically shoved off-page, lol. Even though Mal was her Tilrey 2.0, I think he was way more than a boy toy and called Vera out and played a big role in radicalizing her, along with Lisha. Vera and Mal had the opportunity for a closer-to-equal relationship than she and Tilrey ever did, and part of her evolution is understanding why Tilrey could never see her as a peer.

And yes, her extremely fucked-up family would be fun to write! Funny you should mention them, because I just finished a chapter featuring the brief return of Jena, her dad, plus Lindthardt, Vera’s would-be suitor who failed to court her thanks to Tilrey’s intervention. Lots of not-fun flashbacks for poor Tilrey. Hope to post that in the next couple days!

[nerves-nebula]

Idk about your intentions, and feel free to ignore me if I’m wrong, but Mikey sounds like a maladaptive daydreamer lol.

Just some background, maladaptive daydreamers use these huge fictional worlds called paracosms to escape reality. Some people do it because of anxiety or stress, but some do it as like a coping mechanism (which is how I’d see Mikey doing it based on your dissociation post) People with maladaptive daydreaming can stim while doing it, like rocking back and forth, pacing, etc, but some can master the art of being able to sit still and just daydream whenever. There’s almost an addictive aspect to it, and a lot of daydreamers have to take adhd or anxiety meds to shake it

Would Mikey stim at first but learn to stay still after Splinter lectured him too many times? Would his paracosm be the book that he’s writing about killing splinter? Idk feel free to look at this like I’m crazy but this subject is very close to my heart as I’m a daydreamer myself.

OK SO like. I don't know. and I don't know if Mikey has maladaptive daydreaming for a specific reason.

That being that I'm basing him on myself. I spent a lot (AND I DO MEAN A LOT) of my time in my head as a kid. I don't really know what a paracosm is so I'm not sure if I was exploring within them. but there are huge chunks of my childhood i really only remember via the emotional exploration I was doing inside these fictional worlds. Like most of puberty for me was just imagining gay fictional gods and forbidden love and abuse and violence and at all that. and it's hard for me to tell if that was a bad thing because it's linked to a very integral part of my personality- that being the desire to tell and experience stories.

I was always dragging around paper and pencils to draw these imagined worlds. But i was also often just sitting with my eyes closed (or sometimes opened, but closed if I wanted to really focus)

if I was painfully bored, or very anxious (which happened often, basically any time i was outside the house or not watching tv or playing a game) I would do this. If I was stuck in a car or a room while my siblings were fighting violently, I would force myself to try to only think about my characters. If the talk radio host was getting on my nerves I would try to drown him out by thinking about my characters going through their worlds and getting in fights and having sex and all that stuff.

this got even better (or worse, considering how you think of it) once I got earbuds/headphones and access to my cousins old ipod. I was finally able to fully block out the world and only, ONLY ever think of my stories. just how I'd always wanted.

and sure, I was always kind of spacey, but even when I wasn't thinking of stories and art I was bad at paying attention the way adults liked. I think adults liked me more when I was just sitting there thinking anyway, instead of being hyper and then having an emotional breakdown when i realize they thought I was annoying.

There was a particularly vibrant time for daydreaming around puberty where i had dozens if not around a hundred different intricate stories that I started to overlap, just because. And I'd go through them over and over, adding or changing little things, making up reasons that the characters would all end up living in the same bunker or fighting the same enemy. making up reasons for the god of war and his little lamb prince to be torn apart. making up reasons for them to attack each other. then forcing them back together through all the trauma.

and recalling these spaces makes me kind of shiver because they're almost like real memories to me. I remember thinking of these scenarios more than I remember my real life around 11-12 years old. And i think that's largely because after I got my blackbelt at around 11 years old, my parents let me quit karate, and didn't force me to do any more sports or anything. So for the most part I legit never left the house. My entire life was in these stories and in my art.

I really only stopped doing this once I got sent off to high school at around 13-14 and was basically FORCED to participate in the real world more.

but I did that all on purpose. i was bored, and i hated other kids because they never clicked with me. and it never seemed to interrupt my life in a way that my parents noticed or cared about. in fact it was the only thing that kept me from being actively suicidal for a while there!

so like. i don't know man. i don't know.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Love Broken Glass part 2! Hell ya! May I ask you a question about it and Quinn's characterization in it (it's so good, so fleshed out, so subtle)? If in the days/weeks following she were to become depressed from not only having her life restricted from the injuries but Quinn clamping down like he did and her sometimes being completely immobile, what would win out in Quinn? She's listless, not up for much conversation, just melancholy and hollow from going through periods of losing her self discernemnt and independence in her own home. Would Quinn's desire to make her happy cause him to step back? Or would his compulsion to take care of her for her and decide things keep his behavior the same?

Ooooooh, we're getting philosophical with this one, babes! I loved this! First off, thank you so much for this!

I'm glad you enjoyed him! I had a lot of fun doing that post, and writing him in a different light I originally wasn't sure was "him"! Honestly, I didn't understand how people wrote Quinn in a domineering light, because he's such a cinnamon roll, but after opening my mind to different avenues and some daydreams, I must say, it's a good time!

I'm definitely going to do more of these, and I already have a fresh dark Quinn ask in my inbox from this morning!

Now, back to your questions!

I feel like he'd be caught in the middle between thinking he knows best and then being faced with "his best" just causing more problems. He wants to believe his decisions have her best interests at heart, and he'd try to justify keeping her locked up like a princess in a tower. He would believe he could still bring her joy while still retaining his usual control.

By "him stepping back," do you mean loosening the restrictions on her? I think he'd be hesitant to do so until possibly she shut down completely, and he's forced to do damage control. I don't think he'd consider that a possibility. Not at first, if at all. I think the only time he'd "lighten up" would be if she proved she could follow what he said, and/or got significantly better.

He would see himself as a savior -a protector- someone who could never slip and be a reason for her misery. So if/when that were to happen, Quinn would have no choice but to face the harsh reality that he's at fault and has to fix the situation.

I like to think he's quite observant, but he could also be blinded by his justifications, because they'd be quite set in stone and grounded, again, in her best interests.

Sure, I think he'd notice subtle changes in her demeanor and try to get her to open up about it. I also wonder if she'd try to blame her depression on something else, knowing placing any blame on Quinn's shoulders would be disastrous.

He sees his need to keep her bound to the bed/apartment as both protection and punishment. It's a dangerous blade for him. On one side, he can justify keeping her stuck there because he had proof of her going against him; on the other, if she's always at rest then her body heals.

Again, it's the back and forth. Would he see the "too much of a good thing is a bad thing" come into play, or would he say, "this is simply for your own good," and hope in time that her isolation would amount to a positive outcome?

Definitely a very multifaceted situation and character, to say the least. I hope I didn't completely talk myself in circles with the explanation.

TL;DR I think he'd try to keep things the same until forced to change his care and handling of her.

[icyfox17]

comaduo breakfast post nightmare slay HI HI HI HI

HI GRACIE I HOPE UR WELL ILY I MISS U LOTS 💙💙💙👻👻👻🫂🫂🫂

So IN the show Buck gets struck by lightning and gets into a coma and dreams of an alternate reality where BOBBY IS DEAD god it's so good it's my fav ep ever gracie-- AND SO after he wakes up, he has a checklist to make sure he's in this universe and not in his coma dream universe and CANONICALLY. CANONICALLY GRACIE. THE FIRST THING HE DOES AFTER WAKING UP AND CHECKING THE DATE/TIME IS TEXT BOBBY AND ASKS IF HE'S OKAY. EVERY DAYYYYYY GRACIE EVERY!! DAY!!! so anyways i really wanted to write a fic about one of those times where he asks bc . They never mention it again in the show like WHAT?$?$? im insane. Im so insane. God i love comaduo so fucking much

Buck Are you okay? The text reads the same as it has every day since Buck woke up from his coma. Bobby has never quite gotten the explanation for it, but he thinks it might have to do with the dream Buck had mentioned, though he can’t imagine what part of the dream would trigger Buck to start this routine. Bobby doesn’t mind though, a small part of him actually finding their little routine relieving because where Buck can check on Bobby, Bobby can check on Buck. You Yes, I’m fine. Are you? Most of the time Bobby gets a superficial answer, but every once in a while he’ll get a more honest one. Buck Can’t sleep. And though it’s 5 am, Bobby offers anyway. You Would you like to grab brunch? Buck At this hour??? You The Red Wagon is open at 5:30am. He can see the three little dots pop up for a minute letting him know that Buck is typing and figuring out his thoughts, when he finally gets a reply. Buck Okay. You Great. I will pick you up in half n hour. Buck 👍 Bobby rolls over to peck a kiss on Athena’s head, before climbing out of bed and quickly showering. His dad had always taken hours in the shower—to the point of using up all of the hot water. Bobby had learnt at a young age to take quick showers so no one else would have to suffer through the cold water. And although he had years of living by himself with the chance of taking nice long warm showers, he had never really broken out of the habit of taking quick showers. A habit which came in handy when you were a firefighter who could be on call at any moment. Fifteen minutes later, he’s out of the house (with a quick text to Athena explaining where he’s going because he hadn’t wanted to wake her up) and driving over to Buck’s loft. Buck is definitely not as quick at showering as Bobby, but Bobby only has to wait a few minutes until he sees Buck running down the steps towards his truck. Buck shoots Bobby a grin as he enters the truck, instantly grabbing the aux cord (he had tried to set up bluetooth ages ago, but then Bobby couldn’t figure out how to connect it back to his phone afterwards and it was a whole frankly stressful thing that Bobby had just wanted to avoid. He liked the aux cord. It was simple. And did not blare random words at him about being disconnected), and connecting it to his phone. Moonage Daydream by David Bowie comes on and Bobby watches out of the corner of his eye as Buck leans back in his seat, melting into it as if releasing tension that had been coiled up tightly.

“So can’t sleep huh?” Bobby asks, hoping it doesn’t come off as too pushing or anything. Buck sighs, eyes fixed out the window beside him. “Yeah. Had some weird dreams. Nothing horrible, just… couldn’t fall back asleep after them.” Bobby doubts the “nothing horrible” part of that sentence but doesn’t push, just happy for Buck to tell him anything at all. “What about you? You seem awfully awake for someone who was up at 5am,” Buck asks, turning to properly look at Bobby, gaze not judging but simply curious. “No weird dreams like you, but yeah. Couldn’t sleep either.” Bobby leaves it at that, not wanting to dump his stuff onto Buck. The kid has enough on his plate. He knows he wants to help Bobby, but no one can help him. Not with this.

[flirting-with-psychology]

1 I’ve only had two boyfriends. And I’ve only kissed two people. 2 I’m really picky about everything. 3 There isn’t a single thing that I wouldn’t over-analyze. 4 Every time I’m on the computer, I’m on Tumblr. 5 My biggest fear is that I’ll look back on my life and feel like it wasn’t even worth it. 6 I don’t know how to change that. But I’m trying anyway. 7 I still don’t drive but I hope I’ll have a car by the beginning of 2011. 8 is my favorite number. 9 Jersey Shore has to be one of the best reality shows ever. 10 If I had to marry a girl it would be Rihanna or Lady Gaga. 11 I have spiderbites on the left side of my lip. 12 My hair is dyed red. 13 I can’t wait until I have enough money to go shopping. 14 Winter is my favorite season. But I quite like Fall. 15 I would love to travel to different countries. 16 I’ve never even left the east coast. 17 I’m not extremely religious but I love my church. 18 I’m very sentimental. 19 It doesn’t take much for something to remind me of someone. 20 My dreams are always really crazy. I like to analyze them sometimes. 21 I’m so glad the new season of House has started. 22 I should really exercise but I seriously lack motivation. 23 I’m constantly using adverbs. 24 When I’m feeling emotional, I like to write about it. 25 I kind of feel lost. Like I’m floating with no direction. 26 I probably worry entirely too much about my future. 27 This winter, I’m going to work on totally changing my wardrobe. 28 I love when I can really get into a song or a book. 29 The amount of Facebook creeping I do is probably not healthy. 30 My nails are always painted black and white. 31 It really bothers me when I make a list and it begins with the same thing so this survey is annoying to make. 32 Purple is my favorite color. 33 There’s a career that I would love but I don’t really know how I’d even get involved in it. 34 I want to be fucking rich. 35 I’d rather live in the city. 36 My parents have been divorced for a long time. 37 I’m a big daydreamer. It affects my life a lot because I wish that I could actually live in the imaginary world I create for myself. 38 I hope that one day, I’ll feel like I’m good enough for someone. 39 Cherry Coke is the best soda. 40 It honestly blows me when people say they can’t tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. But it’s even more appalling when they think Pepsi is better. 41 I’m pretty liberal. 42 I’m really easily annoyed and I can’t even stand people for the most part. 43 I try to find out why I do the things I do and feel the way I feel about everything. 44 I hope one day, I’ll find someone who’s worth knowing everything about me. 45 Honestly, I think I’m an interesting person. 46 But I really don’t like for people to find out that much about me. 47 Lately, I’ve sort of been into making lists. 48 I’ve changed a lot over the years. 49 I don’t regret anything. 50 I think this was mostly for me.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

528 of 2023

1 I’ve only had two boyfriends. And I’ve only kissed two people. 2 I’m really picky about everything. 3 There isn’t a single thing that I wouldn’t over-analyze. 4 Every time I’m on the computer, I’m on Tumblr. 5 My biggest fear is that I’ll look back on my life and feel like it wasn’t even worth it. 6 I don’t know how to change that. But I’m trying anyway. 7 I still don’t drive but I hope I’ll have a car by the beginning of 2011. 8 is my favorite number. 9 Jersey Shore has to be one of the best reality shows ever. 10 If I had to marry a girl it would be Rihanna or Lady Gaga. 11 I have spiderbites on the left side of my lip. 12 My hair is dyed red. 13 I can’t wait until I have enough money to go shopping. 14 Winter is my favorite season. But I quite like Fall. 15 I would love to travel to different countries. 16 I’ve never even left the east coast. 17 I’m not extremely religious but I love my church. 18 I’m very sentimental. 19 It doesn’t take much for something to remind me of someone. 20 My dreams are always really crazy. I like to analyze them sometimes. 21 I’m so glad the new season of House has started. 22 I should really exercise but I seriously lack motivation. 23 I’m constantly using adverbs. 24 When I’m feeling emotional, I like to write about it. 25 I kind of feel lost. Like I’m floating with no direction. 26 I probably worry entirely too much about my future. 27 This winter, I’m going to work on totally changing my wardrobe. 28 I love when I can really get into a song or a book. 29 The amount of Facebook creeping I do is probably not healthy. 30 My nails are always painted black and white. 31 It really bothers me when I make a list and it begins with the same thing so this survey is annoying to make. 32 Purple is my favorite color. 33 There’s a career that I would love but I don’t really know how I’d even get involved in it. 34 I want to be fucking rich. 35 I’d rather live in the city. 36 My parents have been divorced for a long time. 37 I’m a big daydreamer. It affects my life a lot because I wish that I could actually live in the imaginary world I create for myself. 38 I hope that one day, I’ll feel like I’m good enough for someone. 39 Cherry Coke is the best soda. 40 It honestly blows me when people say they can’t tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. But it’s even more appalling when they think Pepsi is better. 41 I’m pretty liberal. 42 I’m really easily annoyed and I can’t even stand people for the most part. 43 I try to find out why I do the things I do and feel the way I feel about everything. 44 I hope one day, I’ll find someone who’s worth knowing everything about me. 45 Honestly, I think I’m an interesting person. 46 But I really don’t like for people to find out that much about me. 47 Lately, I’ve sort of been into making lists. 48 I’ve changed a lot over the years. 49 I don’t regret anything. 50 I think this was mostly for me.

[goblinselfshippr]

2/2 of me projecting onto a game and character that really isnt that deep (it is to ME) i think this is way longer than the first sorry. (Part 1 here)

PS- if it isn't clear at this point I'm saying that wizard training causes c-ptsd because that cannot be good for your health. So "Delusion" being a prerequisite to Conjuring (I have no idea if this is a "correct" term, I personally take no offense to it, but lmk if you do, I guess). Some evidence: you can summon minions to help fight with you if you choose- which was the main reason I kept Myth when I took the personality quiz instead of switching to Ice (previously my fave school). Now these minions are common enemies in the game like haunted dolls, trolls, and Cyclops (does that have a plural?? Idk) with one main difference: the ones you summon look different from the actual enemies. Most notable is that the minions aren't as big as the actual enemies. There are slight color differences too, but their height is way more noticeable. Cyclops are usually like 2 players tall, but Cyclops Minions are maybe 1.3 players tall.

And yeah yeah yeah its to differentiate between the spells. Shut up. We are choosing to ignore reality. ANYWAY.

Conjuration is described as "where shadowy forms of thought become real" and "when imagination becomes too fanciful and whimsical these dreams take on life and run loose." SO LIKE. All the Myth bosses and allies must've been somebody's imaginary friends at one time. It would explain why there are bosses or characters with familiar names but don't quite fit their tales- for example, Apollo is a rooster who fucks your shit UP.

Yes I swear we are coming back around to Cyrus, I can't control how my brain categorizes things. There's not a lot said about his family other than they aren't really there. He's left alone from presumably a young age because his father is some big name battlemage, there's zero mention of a mother figure, and his brother would rather play in a graveyard (also convinced Cyrus was afraid of his own shadow as a kid bc I wouldn't put it past Mal to actually summon a demon under his bed). He hides in his room and either paints his daydreams or reads fantasy novels.

Omg he just like me fr except instead of painting I write fanfic that no one ever reads. It’s for my eyes only

From my own experience, you get lonely and bored, and you want friends, but never learn. And his father doesn't sound like the most supportive guy in the world- he seems kind of salty that neither of his kids want to practice Pyromancy like him. So poor Cy was probably just dismissed and ignored and had to go back to his sanctuary.

Cyrus doesn't actually become interested in any sort of spell casting until he's like 18-19, and Mal gets his ass kicked by a Conjurer. Bro really said "damn I can make my daydreams fight for me?" And just did that for the rest of his life, LOL. Wish that were me.

Cyrus is (admittedly) not the best teacher. Like, yeah, he's a dick but most people can think of at least one teacher in their life that everyone called an asshole that they eventually grew to appreciate even if it wasn't personally true. Cyrus, on the other hand, straight up begs you to leave him alone (same). Like the only time he speaks to you is when you irritate him enough or he suddenly remembers you exist. And I'm pretty sure at one point he even tells you he forgot you were in his class. -1000/10 teacher. Problematic fave. I would either hate him or only like him because he leaves me the hell alone. So what is he doing if not dutifully teaching his students?

According to his about page, enjoying the quiet or researching. Doubt. But then, daydreaming until you summon something could likely count as research for Myth. So yeah I think the reason why he's a massive douchebag is because he found a way to profit off his maladaptive daydreaming, and the only downside is he has to tell a couple of kids to scram every now and then. I guess I could have just lead with that. Rip.

[messers-moony]

Secret Boyfriend | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Lupin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Keeping secrets seem to run in the Lupin family but one of the two twins has a bigger secret than the other can imagine. 

Pitter-patter could be heard inside the Gryffindor Common room. The Scotland weather never really seemed to make up its mind during the period between winter and spring. Nevertheless, it brought a calming atmosphere to the red and gold common room. The five Marauders sat in front of the fireplace, speaking to one another. Remus, Y/n, and Sirius sitting together on a couch. James on an armchair, and Peter sitting on the ground in front of the sofa. 

“So, Little Lupin.“ James drawled, “When are you getting a boyfriend?” 

Remus chuckled, quickly putting an arm around his twin sister, “Hopefully, never.” 

“Maybe I already have a boyfriend, and you lot just don’t know.” Y/n snipped as she elbowed her brother in the ribs slightly, “Oh, come on, paws!” James exclaimed teasingly. 

Paws was Y/n’s Marauder name. Her animagus was a Siamese cat, which resembled her personality quite well if you asked Remus. Y/n was quick-witted, independent, intuitive, curious, and affectionate when comfortable. She and Sirius were known to flirt all the time but recently - meaning a couple of months - they hadn’t done it at all. Perhaps Y/n was actually avoiding his flirtatious remarks. Nevertheless, Y/n’s animagus was a direct correlation with her personality. 

“Yeah, paws, you’ve been neglecting me recently. I’m not too happy with it either.” Sirius added with a fake pout, “Oh hush it, you two. Leave my sister alone. She’s got no hidden boyfriend.” Remus defended, looking at his sister. 

“Right, Y/n?” Remus coughed, and she jumped out of her daydream, “Mhm! Of course.” 

Conversation went on as usual. They began discussing new pranks, but Y/n’s jumper pocket felt heavier than usual, knowing what’s inside. It was a cream-colored envelope with the Black family crest as a seal. Y/n knew more than anyone that Sirius wouldn’t be happy to see the familiar logo, but this wasn’t from his parents. It was from his little brother, and Y/n was anxious to give it to him. So when James, Remus, and Peter went upstairs, Y/n pulled him aside before he could leave. 

“Padfoot, wait.” Y/n called, and he turned back, “What's up, paws?” Sirius queried, turning to face her. 

She sighed and pulled the envelope from her pocket, “Please, read this. It isn’t what you think it is despite the seal.” Y/n stated, handing him the parchment. 

“Where did you get this?” Sirius asked as he opened the packaging, “Regulus.” Y/n’s answer was firmer than expected. 

Nonetheless, the letter inside seemed essential to his fellow Marauder, so he opened it. Inside he was met with his little brother's prominent handwriting. The black ink treaded so seamlessly across the brown paper. Y/n remembered watching him write it at his desk, desperately trying to collect his thoughts while his hand shook relentlessly. She couldn’t do anything but sit from his bed and watch. Regulus needed to do this alone. 

After reading, Sirius slid the letter back inside its packaging, “Well, it’s his fault.” 

“Actually, it isn’t.” Y/n quipped, “Listen, Sirius, Regulus is trying. He really is.” 

“You would know this how?”

“Because we’ve been friends for a long time.” 

“Oh really?” Sirius questioned sarcastically, crossing his arms, “Since when did you and Reggie become so close?” 

“He began tutoring me in third year for Potions.” Y/n answered, “You couldn’t have asked Remus?”

“No. “ Y/n shook her head, “Slughorn wanted Regulus specifically.” 

“Well then. Full moon tomorrow, hope you’re prepared.” Sirius chirped as he began walking up the steps to his dorm, “I’m always prepared.” Y/n replied to essentially no one. 

She sighed. It was apparent Sirius didn’t want to believe what Regulus had written. It would’ve been hard on anyone. But Regulus wanted it to come from him instead of Sirius finding out. Since Y/n’s third year - Regulus’ second year - she felt attracted to him. He always made time for her. It wasn’t until their fourth year when she realized it. In her fifth year, they made it official. Regulus Black and Y/n Lupin were a couple but hidden beneath an invisibility cloak. 

Seventh year wasn’t easy. The upcoming war, her brother's lycanthropy, N.E.W.T.S, and Regulus getting the dark mark. Nothing seemed to be working in her favor. Books didn’t even seem to please her anymore. Her eyes wandered while she began to daydream about anything rather than reality itself. People began to notice how lost the girl appeared. 

Especially her brother. 

Study sessions with her weren’t the same. Some days her eyes would appear glossier than usual as if someone put a coating of lip gloss over them. Maybe they were rimmed with a pastel pink seeming tired and unhappy. The tremors in her hands were hard to ignore as she wrote with her quill. If there’s one thing Remus Lupin was good at, it was being observant; however, there wasn’t time, and he didn’t have the patience to deal with this right now. The full moon approaching meant that Remus’ patience tolerance was down to about none. 

There was one thing that brought her clarity. Regulus Black. The Gryffindor common room was always a warm and welcoming atmosphere. In contrast, the Slytherin common room was cold and damp, but it brought her comfort because of the person inside. Y/n padded quietly inside of his prefect hallway, which was beside the Slytherin common. She walked into his bedroom, which was dark. 

No candles lit. Just dark. Regulus always felt comfort in the dark, but it wasn’t dark because of that. It was dark because he was absent. Y/n peered over to his desk, where letters sat from his mother and some cousins. Andromeda seemed to try and reach him, but the letter looked unopened. There was one that caught her eye. It was Remus’ handwriting, and it was from him. It was also opened. Y/n knew she couldn’t stay all night. The full moon was due to rise in just two hours. 

Picking up the parchment, she began to read:

“ To Regulus Black, 

You need to step up. I get it. Sirius has been disowned, but he tries to make an effort. Can’t you see that? Sirius really needs you, and I know that you miss him too. This whole stubborn game of not wanting to talk to each other has gone on long enough. 

I know what it’s like to argue with a sibling, and it isn’t pleasant. Suck it up, swallow your pride and talk to Sirius. You don’t have to ultimately make up, but please, he’s trying. 

From, Remus Lupin. “

Y/n swallowed down her anger. Who was Remus to get involved in their affairs? If Sirius and Regulus didn’t want to interact, that was their problem, not his. It infuriated her. But she didn’t have time to babble around. Y/n pointed her wand at her and became a cat. Perks of her animagus being allowed at Hogwarts, she could roam around freely without suspicion. Quickly she sprinted down to the Whomping Willow, where she was met with her three Marauders in human form. Y/n transformed back. 

“Where were you! I was worried sick!” Remus scolded, “Nowhere, but we need to talk later.” Y/n answered. 

They got Remus in the shack and changed into their animagus forms. A stag, a rat, a dog, and a cat. The dog and the cat had the most interaction with the werewolf. Sometimes the dog and werewolf would cuddle up beside each other, whereas the cat would sleep on its own along with the other two animals. The following day Y/n and Sirius lugged Remus up to the hospital wing. Y/n sat beside him the entire time while the other three went off. Sirius and James were off to Quidditch practice. Peter was off to see his girlfriend in Hufflepuff. 

Y/n tapped aimlessly on Remus’ hand, “M- Morning.”

“Morning, Moony.” Y/n greeted, “How are you feeling?” 

“Phenomenal.”

“Sorry.”

“What did we need to talk about?” Remus questioned, and Y/n tilted her head, “You said we needed to talk before going to the shack.”

“Yes, I did. Um- uh- did you send Regulus a letter by any chance?” Y/n stammered, “I did. Why?” 

“I saw it.” Y/n replied shortly, “You saw it?” Remus repeated incredulously. 

She nodded, “How did you see it?” 

“Regulus and I are friends. Sometimes we hang out in his dorm.” The words seemed like nothing as they rolled off her tongue, “You hang out in the Slytherin dorms? Is that why you always know the password so we can do pranks?” 

“Of course.” Y/n chuckled, “I use my privilege to its advantage.”

Remus began to get up but grimaced, causing Y/n to jump up to help him. Gently she eased him to a sitting position. A new scratch on his cheek and multiple on his arms. It’s evident that the cat and the dog had to stop him. The thin scratches on his arms were a cat's nails. The thicker scratch on his cheek was a dog's nails. Remus looked down at his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/n muttered, “Not your fault, paws. Who was it this time?” Remus asked. 

“Prongs. Apparently, you wanted Prongs.” Y/n answered, and he kissed the top of her head, “Thank you for stopping me.” 

“Anything for my brother.” 

“Just like anything for our Moony?”

Y/n laughed, “Yeah.”

Paws began to tap on his hand again, until a voice echoed through the hospital wing, “Y/n?” 

“Y/n?” The voice called again, and Remus quirked his eyebrow at his sheepish sister, “Y/n!” 

Suddenly a black-haired, grey-eyed, pale figure was beside her. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he had already kissed the top of her head worriedly. Y/n turned pink at the affection and the embarrassment of it happening in front of her brother. Remus coughed, and the male stood straight. 

“Regulus, what a surprise.” Remus retorted, “Didn’t think you’d ever visit me in the infirmary.”

“Remus, please-“ 

“I wouldn’t.” Regulus snapped, “Then why are you here?” Remus inquired. 

Regulus’ hand was playing aimlessly with the ends of Y/n’s hair, “Moony….” Y/n began at a whisper, “Regulus is my boyfriend.”

“This-“ Remus pointed at them both with a laughing smile, “Is funny.”

“Nice prank, paws, but it isn’t going to work.”

Y/n sighed, “It isn’t a prank, Rem.” 

“We’ve been together for about two years now.” She confessed, and Regulus stiffened, “Friends, my ass.” Remus scoffed bitterly. 

“Remus, please-“ Y/n began, “No, please just leave. We can talk about this later when I’m in the right frame of mind. Because if you don’t leave, now I might throw a punch.” Remus replied. 

She sighed and reluctantly left with Regulus trailing behind her. Y/n didn’t want to cry. It was pitiful. Regulus never had a good relationship with Sirius since Hogwarts, yet he didn’t seem to care. Thankfully, after building the Marauders Map, she knew every little crevice and hiding spot. Pulling back a tapestry, she sat down on the cement floor. Regulus doing the same beside her. Hesitantly he pulled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. 

“This is pitiful.” Y/n chuckled bitterly, “I’m sorry, Reggie.”

“It isn’t pitiful. You and Remus have a close relationship. It’s okay to be sad about him telling you off.” Regulus replied, placing his chin on the top of her head, “Sirius and I are different. Don’t compare you and Remus with us.”

Y/n nuzzled into his chest, “I saw the letter Remus sent you.”

“I- I saw the way he spoke to you, and I’m sorry.” Y/n stated, “I hope he comes around.” 

“I do too, love.” Regulus kissed the top of her head, “ I do too.”

It was quiet for a moment until two figures pulled back the tapestry, “Oi! Get off, little Lupin!” James exclaimed, and Y/n sighed, “Sirius, James, please just leave.”

“What are you doing with my mate's little sister, Regulus?” Sirius interrogated, “Comforting her. She needs me.” Regulus retorted, tightening his grip on her shoulder. 

Y/n stood up and pulled Regulus with her, “Come on. We four need to talk.” 

The four of them walked into a broom closet. It was a quiet walk. Eerily quiet. It brought shivers down Y/n’s spine at how silent the walk was. The tension was so thick you couldn’t cut it with a knife. The pressure felt like sludge. It was thick and mush. But when Y/n opened the door, the lot of them walked inside. James and Sirius stared expectantly. 

“Regulus and I have been dating since my fifth year.” Y/n began, and Regulus intertwined their hands. 

“Little Lupin!” Sirius exclaimed, “You weren’t lying when you said you had a secret boyfriend!”

“You scandalous little thing!”

“I can’t believe this.” James stated after running his hand through his hair, “How did Remus take it?”

“Not very well.” Y/n replied, “He kicked me out of the hospital wing when Regulus showed up. “

“He’s- He’s not in the right mindset, though. He’ll come to. I know he will. He has to.”

Sirius’ eyes softened, “Moony will come around. It might just take him a minute.” 

“Regulus.” James called, and grey eyes stared at him, “Y/n is a Marauder.”

“I know that.” Regulus interrupted, “She is my little sister as much as she is Remus’” James continued. 

“And mine!” Sirius added, smiling brightly, “Y/n is our little sister. The lot of us depend on her. We can’t, and we won’t have her heartbroken.” James explained sternly, suddenly looking a lot like Mrs. Potter. 

Regulus’ cheeks flushed with pink, “I love her, I really do. I don’t plan on breaking her heart anytime soon.” 

“You’re gonna be my sister-in-law!” Sirius squealed, hugging Y/n forcefully, almost knocking her over, “Oh, little Lupin.” He cooed. 

“You’re all grown up!” 

They laughed, and Sirius kissed her forehead, “Take care of him, will you?” He whispered so only she could hear, “Of course.” Y/n smiled. 

“Alright, alright, I’d like my girlfriend back,” Regulus replied, taking her away from Sirius’ arms. 

Sirius gulped, “How’s mum going to take this, Reggie?” 

“I don’t care.” Regulus retorted, “Mums gonna have to deal with it.” 

The smile on Sirius’ face was brighter than the sun, “Oh, Reggie!” He wailed, pulling Regulus into a tight hug. 

The two brothers smiled as they hugged each other. Regulus sleeve slipped up, and James stepped back, pulling out his wand. The two Black brothers pulled apart, and that’s when Sirius saw it. The dark mark on his brother's sleeve. Y/n stiffened as Sirius lifted his sleeve up further to see it clearly. 

“Reggie…” 

“Sirius, please, I didn’t want it.” Regulus pleaded, “She- They- Please.”

James watched intently at them. Sirius’ eyes had filled with tears as he embraced his younger brother. For the first time in a long time, Regulus felt protected in his brother's arms. James walked closer and joined them. Hugging both Black brothers as close as he could. James Potter, the man who never stops giving. They pulled apart, and James took Reggie into his own arms. 

“You need anything, you come to me, okay?” James informed sternly, and Regulus nodded, “Ye- Yeah.”

“Remus and Y/n always come for the holidays. You won’t be alone.” James stated smiling, “My parents already have one Black; they won’t mind another.” 

The Black brother smiled, “Thank you….”

The days went on, and Regulus still avoided the Marauders altogether. Remus glared at him from the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Deep emerald green eyes were flashing at the grey ones that sat at the Slytherin table. Until Y/n jabbed him in the ribs, taking his attention away from the younger Black brother. 

“Remus.” Y/n scolded, “Stop it.”

“I think you’re too hard on him, Moony.” James began, “He loves your sister. Maybe talk to him.” 

“No.” Remus snapped, “You guys can accept this, but I can’t.” 

They didn’t push any further. Y/n and Remus had been distant from each other. It was weird to watch the twins who were typically attached at the hip to be so - abroad. Regulus didn’t like that he was now the cause of their fussing. After all, they were the reason Sirius and him were on speaking terms now. So Regulus and Sirius made a plan. It involved them being locked in a broom closet, and so it happened—one night after dinner. 

Remus was shoved into a cupboard, not by his own liking either, “Come on, Sirius! This isn’t funny. I have prefect duties to do!”

“Actually, someone else has taken them over.” Regulus informed, and Remus whipped around, “What are you two doing here?”

“Remus, explain it to me.” Regulus began, “Why you don’t approve of me with your sister.”

“Because! You’re a bloody death eater! You probably forced her to be with you.” Remus exclaimed. 

Y/n scoffed, “A pureblood forcing himself with a half-breed? Doesn’t seem likely.” 

Remus ran his hand through his hair, “Okay, he’s still a death eater!”

“I was forced!” Regulus exclaimed, “They strapped me to a chair and embedded the mark into my forearm. You don’t think I wasn’t thinking of her the entire time?! I was scared out of my mind!”

“The entire time, all I could think about was ‘How is Y/n gonna take this.’” Regulus admitted, “My heart aches for her. I didn’t want her to be scared.”

Remus’ green eyes turned soft, “Does she accept you? Does she love you? Do you love her?”

“Yes, Remus. I love him for who he is. James offered him a place to stay at the Potters.” Y/n replied, “And yes, I love her.” 

Tears filled her eyes, “Remus, please. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Remus held out his arms, and she walked right into them. He placed one hand on the back of her head and one on the small of her waist. Holding her close to his heart, rubbing his thumb through her hair. Regulus’ grey eyes stared at the two siblings before him. Remus’ heart softened at his crying sister. He never wanted to hurt her, ever. 

“Paws.” Remus began as he pulled away slightly, “Does he make you happy?”

Y/n sniffled and nodded; Remus wiped her cheeks, “Okay.”

“Does he know you, for you?” 

“Mhm.”

Remus turned to Regulus as Y/n parted with him, “Where’s paws favorite place to be scratched?”

Regulus chuckled, “Behind her ears.”

“Take care of my little sister.” Remus pleaded, “Please, Regulus.” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect any different.” Regulus answered. 

Remus walked forward and put out his hand. Hesitantly Regulus shook his hand. Grey eyes met green ones. Remus couldn’t help the smile that placed itself on his face. Without hesitation, he pulled Regulus into a tight hug.

“Take care of my sister, and I’ll take care of you.”

“Always.”

[yourwitchmama]

Signs You Are an Earth Star Soul

A lot of people think earth souls are under evolved and not spiritual, but that’s not true at all. Fairy elementals, earth angels, many deities and spiritual masters are all from earth, and everyone has the potential to embrace their full power, we just can’t a lot of the time because of the state of our current society.

Our society suppresses information about how powerful, psychic and good people on earth actually are. There are a lot of different earth spirits, and they’re very common traits because… they’re the most abundant on earth. But everyone is divine and special, even if we are suppressed and lied to that we are not.

The Ashtar Command are futuristic humans, where they never experience war or the same kind of greed. They seem evolved because they have no limits and have access to knowledge and truth.

I put four categories below to help organize the main kinds of earth souls. This is not the entire list, but the most common.

Fairy elemental soul traits:

-I am emotional

-I am a little bit dramatic

-I am hot headed

-I am mischievous and fun loving

-I have a strong urge to protect the environment

-environmental struggles cause me physical pain

-I am not fond of the attitudes of most humans

-I am passionate and caring

-there’s nothing I like more than dancing in the rain or laying in the sun

-I love crafts, especially when it comes to making or building things

-I love shiny and sparkly things

-I am very creative

-I have a sweet tooth

-I have dreams where I can fly

-I intuitively know the medicinal and metaphysical properties of crystals and herbs

-I love plants

-I am funny

-I like herbalism

-when others are being too serious, I feel like laughing or poking fun

-I prank people/like pranks

-I believe in the power of energy healing, especially through music

-I love to dance

-I feel rebellious

-I love animals

-I can see orbs

Earth Angel traits:

-I am an empth

-I am overly sensitive and an introvert

-I am a light worker

-people see me or describe me as pure or young

-I always try to find solutions to problems to help other people

-I am interested in being a therapist/nurse/counselor

-I feel that I am here to help other people

-I don’t like asking for help because I don’t want to be seen as selfish

-I am insecure in relationships because I am always trying to see if my partner or friend is mad at me/isn’t telling me something

-People are drawn to me

-I often hear the phrase “I have never told anyone this before, but…”

-I constantly see Angel numbers

-Changing is spiritually significant for me

-I try to see the silver lining in every situation

-I am gifted in art, music, and healing

-My time management isn’t the best

-Other people’s pain is my pain

-I do not like conflict, and I do not know what to do with myself when I am angry

-I have trouble staying grounded and I feel limited or heavy in my body

-I daydream a lot

-I have a mental illness/trauma

-I am sensitive and uncomfortable in busy places/crowds

-I get overwhelmed by sounds and visuals easily

-I am religious or very spiritual

-I have a strong sense of purpose, even if I do not know what that means for me.

Multidimensional Earth Soul Traits:

-I love caves

-Geology interests me

-People describe me as strange

-I am quiet

-I feel like I would be better friends with Bigfoot than anyone else around me

-I like everything to do with mysteries

-underground societies and underwater cities intrigue me

-I am smart

-I am interested in the mandela effect

-I feel like I’m from earth, but not the same earth everyone else is from

-I have memories from this life that never happened

-I experience time differently than those around me

-I am always looking for people who experience life like me

-I love to write and/or create my own realities through art

-I am interested in how everything works

-I am a deep thinker and come up with good, original ideas

-I have heard “that didn’t happen” quite a lot in conversations with friends/family

-I can see or taste music

-I can connect with dead people

-I love being alone

Human soul traits:

-I am a healer

-I have arguments and solutions for a better society

-I participate in events/try to change the world politically

-Rhythm and music is deeply spiritual and/or motivating for me

-I love walking around barefoot

-I am a philosopher

-I love games and laughing

-I am ambitious

-I love relaxing

-I like to create

-I am into technology and computers

-I am interested in history/science

-I like to hang out with friends and family

-I get along with most people

-I feel the need to help other people/plants/animals

-People sometimes describe me as “normal”

-buildings and structures interest me

-Ambient sounds of people is relaxing to me (I.E. restaurants, the sound of walking, kids playing)

-I work the best in a team

-Relationships of all kinds are extremely important to me

-I am a loyal person

-I enjoy a balanced work/rest week and find it satisfying to do both

-I like the smell of nature and the feel of rain/wind/sun on my skin

-I am deeply connected to my culture and/or heritage

-I am respectful and/or interested in all cultures

-I am a very curious and thoughtful person

-I try to better myself

[justkending]

Everest. Chapter 17.

Series Summary: She was done and retired. After Thanos and after the battle of a lifetime, she had called it quits and had distanced herself from the Avenger lifestyle. But word finds her that someone from her past is in danger. What the journey entails was never one she wanted to face nor one she saw becoming her reality again. The rollercoaster that comes with fighting evil odds arrives on her doorstep not leaving much room for a no…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2700+

A/N: Ok friends... This is the LAST chapter. I know it’s semi-without warning, but even I wasn’t sure if this would be the last one until I wrote it. There is much more to this story in my DR, but I felt it was best left here. Who knows? Maybe a second series of it may come up. Could not tell you at the moment haha! But I will be writing an Epilogue when I have the time and mental capacity for it. School is about to start back up for me, so excuse the fact I may be quiet this next month or so. First real year of teaching is coming and I’m slightly terrified😂. Either way! I love you all and thank you for the support on this series. xoxox

Chapter 17:

Having to take transportation outside of Stark technology proved that Bucky had become spoiled with convenience and shorter travel times.

There were two flight changes, three bus rides, a cab ride, and a 10-mile walk to Y/N's cottage outside the city parameters.

Luckily, he packed light and had better endurance than most who would attempt the journey.

As he arrived at the same field where he had first met Y/N, he had to stop and admire the beauty of it once again. He forgot just how stunning and dreamlike the place was. Perhaps it felt like a dream to him because he had never imagined a life like this for himself beyond his daydreams.

He stared at the small cottage off in the distance and the stained-glass greenhouse south of the house. He could hear the clucks and quacks of farm birds as they wandered freely.

The sky was a bright blue, lightly dusted with clouds as the sun was setting in about an hour. He squinted some at the sun coming out from behind a cloud and looked toward the front door of her home as he approached in the distance.

It was closed. There wasn't any sign of Ryker or her so far. Yet again, he remembered her saying she liked to forage and venture the land in her spare time if she wasn't gardening, reading, or taking on a new project.

Slowly making his way to the cottage, he continued to analyze his surroundings. It was quiet. But not have-your-guard-up kind of quiet. No, it was the exact opposite.

It was peaceful. He knew that in her time there, she had never had anyone infiltrate the peace besides their surprise visit. So a piece of him knew that they were safe here. At least as safe as it can get in this world. He continued to scan the area, hoping to see the homeowner, but there was no sign of human life anywhere. Only farm animals.

Speaking of...

In the distance, he heard a horse neigh followed by a low moo. Had she upped her number of pets?

Deciding his best chance to find his answer was to venture closer to the house and hopefully find someone to ask his question to.

"Y/N?" he questioned, approaching the door, seeing that most of the windows in her house were open. Some panes shared a peek at the curtains inside as they blew out when a light breeze filled the home.

He knocked, but no response. Instead, the door opened, showing it was unlocked and unlatched. He knew he shouldn't be worried, but the habit of the job kicked in, and he started considering the troubles that could arise.

He remembered what she was capable of and how she had kept this part of her life safe from the outside world. She knew magic in ways Bucky's mind couldn't fathom, and the likelihood of someone finding her out here, if she didn't want them to, was close to none unless you happened to be a neurosurgeon/ wizard.

She had to be out and about. It was a lot of land from what Bucky had gathered.

Now, the next question was, should he go in or wait on the porch step? He was going to go for the latter decision, but he heard a high-pitched whistle. One that was piercing and angry as it screamed.

He crossed the threshold into the kitchen to see the noise maker. A tea kettle was left on low heat but whistled to show its contents were boiling.

That shouldn't worry him, right?

He turned it off before deciding to investigate further and quietly went to the living room. In the corner, the sounds of a song he recognized danced with the warm breeze coming from one window and flowing to the opposite. A vinyl was spinning on an old vintage record player in the corner. The piece of equipment was in mint condition for its age. All the detailing and added antique features made it a perfect set.

He never got to take a look at the place the first time he came. I mean, to an extent, he analyzed the hell of it, as a spy does when entering a new place, but he didn't know the person living in it to match every detail to then.

Now, the hanging plants and herbs from the ceiling made sense. The mixed-match furniture and warm, soft colors added up. The environment that she had created overall was something similar to the feeling of being in the arms of someone you trust to keep you safe and protected. The feeling of entering a warm, fire-lit coffee shop where you could sit and read for hours, knowing somehow that nothing bad could happen while you were there. The entire house emanated a sense of calm, security, positive energy, and serenity for every visitor who entered.

He walked around the open space and looked at the antiques and pictures that lined the bookshelf that took up the entirety of the wall.

Pictures of her and Marley were on the mantel. Pictures of her and the team outside of the compound, enjoying normal life, were scattered here and there. One with her and Wanda jumping into a lake with Nat and Steve already in the water below. Another with Steve asleep on a plane and Nat pointing at him with a silly face gracing her features. There was even one that looked to be taken in the mid-1900s, where she was accepting an honor from someone at a university. The eras and casualties of the pictures fluctuated.

He was so zoned in on the details that fed more information about the woman he had gotten to know that his guard fell. The space made it easy to do so.

"Do you normally just wander into little farms in the countryside of Europe?"

The voice shocked him out of his hyper-focus, and he jumped slightly, turning fast.

"I'm getting good at this, scaring the Super Soldier thing," she grinned, leaning against the banister between her living room and kitchen.

"Probably the only person I'll allow to get decent at said thing," he had to chuckle, turning to look at her on the other side of the room.

"Don't worry. Sam will always try," she winked, standing straight and walking down the two steps into her main room, and coming around the couch that sat between them. She wore a ruffled skirt with what looked like layers of lace and a brown tank top covered in a knitted cropped sweater. Her feet were bare, but he noticed a simple golden anklet around her ankle that matched the gold accent jewelry littering her hands and neck.

(Ignore the shoes and most of the jewelry)

"Seemed to find the place easy enough," she nodded to his shoulder where his backpack stayed secure on one side.

"Photographic memory," he tapped his temple, shrugging the bag on as a nervous tick.

"Ah," she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest now in front of him. "Blessings and a curse."

He nodded with a tight grin, showing he knew what she meant. Before Bucky could ask any of the multitude of questions he had lined up for her, he heard a faint bark in the distance.

"Oh, God. The poor guy is still adapting to the new friends," she rolled her eyes and twisted her gaze to the back mudroom he had entered past the kitchen. "Wanna meet 'em?"

"Friends?" Bucky asked, confused, following her stare.

She laughed and motioned for him to follow her, telling him to leave his backpack on one of the chairs.

When turning out the mud room door, there was a beautiful white horse colored with variations of shades in brown spots in a way he had never seen before. It was tied to a post hidden behind some floral bushes.

"Meet Zazu," she announced, walking over to pet the snout of the large animal.

Bucky smiled up at the tall animal and chuckled some. Ryker gave an excited bark at the old friend and jumped on Bucky before Y/N could reprimand him. He followed her command quickly after but stayed close to Bucky's side as they looked over the new pet.

"Zazu?" Bucky looked at her with a smirk as the horse snorted in response to his name.

"Someone I know may or may not have been my reasoning for the name," she shrugged.

Bucky nodded with a smile, knowing exactly who she was talking about. He never had horses in Wakanda. His livestock mainly stayed with goats and sheep, but the horse seemed friendly and well-mannered. But it showed its attitude when it shook his head, whipping his mane to slightly hit Y/N.

"Ok, ok," she responded with a laugh. "You're free for the rest of the night. Don't get into any trouble without me." She took the reins off the horse, and he walked freely out into the pasture to graze where Bucky noticed a cow and a calf grazing already. 

She turned back to him and brushed her hands off the dirt. "Well, I know you're not here just to watch me talk to my pets and sneak around my house," she sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "We can go back inside and get the fun stuff sorted."

Bucky nodded and followed behind her as she made her way back to the cottage. Coming into the kitchen, she noticed the tea kettle was hot but not burning.

"You left it on, so I turned it off," he pointed to the pale green floral-painted kettle.

"I'll be honest with you, I forgot I left it on. I was out getting the new cow and calf in the field over. They had wondered further than I'd like," she mentioned. "Luckily, I have a spell on the place that keeps it from natural disasters. Self-made ones included," she hummed before moving through the kitchen, much like last time.

She went to get mugs, grabbed a few tea bags, stopped at the fridge to get creamer, and poured both of them a cup. At the same time, Ryker found his spot on his bed by the island in the center of the room and laid down, quickly dozing off.

Once they both had a mug in hand, it went silent beside the record, still softly playing in the background. Y/N broke the silence as she stirred the contents of her tea for the fifth time.

"I'm sorry." He looked at her, confused. "The fight we had that day I left the compound," she explained, looking up from her steaming tea. "I-I wasn't leaving to hurt anyone..."

"I know that wasn't the case," Bucky affirmed.

"Yes, but I still feel awful about it," she sighed, placing the mug on top of the terracotta tiled island.

Bucky moved from the opposite end he was standing by and came to where only the corner of the counter separated them.

"I get it now. I mean, it stung, but I get it," he bent his head like he had that night to see her eyes better. "I don't hold any anger about it anymore. Hell, I don't think I ever really did."

"Disappointment hurts more than anger sometimes," she mumbled, scrunching her nose at the feelings she knew he had actually felt at the time. She read them as easily as he showed them.

"Maybe, but after it all, I don't hold any of those emotions still. You were doing what you felt was best, and who am I to determine if they're right or wrong choices?" he shrugged, leaning against the counter in a relaxed manner.

"Everyone is entitled to their opinion on something. That's the thing about opinions; they aren't right or wrong," she tilted her head back and forth as if weighing her words. "Either way, you were a kind and loyal friend to me when I was there, and it wasn't right to keep you in the dark when I knew I could trust you."

Those last four words hit him harder than she likely meant. But the look in her eyes showed she had said it for a reason.

"Although it's not necessary, apology accepted," Bucky replied with a soft smile, and she returned it. "I do have one question, though." She hummed for him to continue as she sipped her tea, feeling better about it all now due to his genuine response. "If you left so much earlier than we did, how come we showed up first?" he asked.

She looked at him and bit the inside of her cheek.

"I came home to get ready to go, and on the flight here, when I was reading the research, I realized some inconsistencies with Stark's plans. It didn't take me long to figure out his true intent of finding the serum. I had to rewire everything in my strategy on how to attack the facility. And I hadn't planned on Anthony being stupid enough to jump on the case as fast as he did," she answered, leaning on the counter with her hip and crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at the ground. "He was anxious to get in and do what he thought needed to be done, but he was missing key details he didn't realize that I had. Like what the facility actually was before busting in, guns blazin' with a plan that was as beneficial as using Raid on Loki."

Bucky took in the information and didn't have to second guess it all. It made sense. Tony hadn't been prepared for anything they had actually gone up against, and Y/N seemed to get through the facility like it was a maze she had maneuvered through a hundred times before.

"I almost told you," she mumbled. Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, turning his gaze back to her. "That morning in the kitchen, you were trying to convince me to stay. I was seconds from telling you everything." She let out a bitter laugh. "Never in my life have I had someone-." There was a pause as she collected my thoughts. "There's a type of comfort and trust I have with you, Barnes, that I don't think I've experienced with many people in a long while. I mean, of course, I love the team, and they all have a piece of me like that, but I was surprised how easily and effortlessly I found it with you as well."

He wanted to ask what she meant, but she continued before he could.

"I know you struggle seeing it in yourself, but you are a good man, Bucky Barnes. It takes a kind soul for me to find that kind of trust in, and even with the hell you've endured, you've managed never to let that piece of you die."

Why? Why was she telling him all this?

"You deserve to know and hear these words, Buck. Every day for the rest of your life, you deserve to know that you never let anyone truly break you, even if it felt the opposite more times than not," she smiled, placing a hand on his arm and a spark of appreciation and admiration filled his body.

"Y/N," he started, and she shook her head.

"Someone needed to say it and make sure you believe it. I needed to make sure you believed it," she squeezed his arm before pulling her hand back, and he'd be lying to himself if he wished she'd keep it there forever. "Anyway, you came here with a message," she adjusted her stance and changed to business mode. "What did Banner find out?"

How she could go from making his insides melt and close to bringing honest tears to his eyes after such a kind compliment to back to the business, he wasn't sure, but he would make sure to revisit it when given the chance. Something in her eyes told him she needed to move on for a second anyway.

Bucky cleared his throat and opened the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the index card Bruce had given him inside a hidden pocket before gently offering it to her.

She took it and saw the side that had a grocery list written down. She laughed lightly at it and turned it over before walking toward the living room. Bucky followed behind her a few steps as she looked over the paper.

"Makes sense," she nodded, going over the foreign language as Bucky had read it. He knew he'd need a doctorate and possibly a second brain to decode the content of numbers mixed with letters and symbols. "Ok. Done and done."

She walked up to the fireplace and waved a hand over it, making a decent-sized fire erupt within the bricked chamber. In the next second, she threw the paper into the fire and brushed her hands off. As she looked back at him, she saw his face struck with concern at the paper being gone without any form of return for it.

"You're not the only one here with a photographic memory, Sarge," she winked.

Made sense. "Blessing and a curse," he replied with a grin.

"Exactly," she laughed, looking at the flames and then back at him. "Sorry you came all this way to watch me burn a grocery list, but it was honestly the only way to keep that information safe."

"Can I ask another question?" he cleared his throat. "Why me? Why not Nat or Steve? Or Wanda even?"

"Um," she dragged out. "I reached out to everyone after coming home. We had some good long talks about my leaving and such. But I don't know... I felt like I owed you an apology in person. They've known me long enough to understand my reasoning, but you? Call it an itch I can't seem to scratch..."

He smiled. Something about it made him feel special in a way he hadn't in a long time. And he felt the same way about the itch. Something about the woman in front of her kept him coming back for more.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you could use a break from the Hero Life. No matter how good you are at it," she smiled, looking at the fire instead of him. "Everyone needs to time away to make a venture of their own." He smiled at that and looked around. "Are you wanting to head back now that your mission is done?" she asked, looking back at him, moving to throw a log into the fire even if her magic could likely suffice for a while on its own.

"I mean, I suppose I should," he responded, semi-disappointed.

"Have another job after this one?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then I don't see why you can't take a short little tour of the place. I can show you the new farm animals and the lay of the land... Only if you're interested, of course," she was quick to follow up with.

He didn't really need to think about it. "A tour would be nice," he smiled after a second.

The two made eye contact once again. She grinned up at him, and he could see the joy on her face from his answer.

"Follow me then."

THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE:)

Everest Tags: (if I missed you in tags, comment on this chapter to let me know:)

@ginger-swag-rapunzel @annazierden

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes  @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes​

[herecomesjoon]

Light Jar - Part 1

Pairing Kim Namjoon x Reader Rating 18+ (for the entire work) Genre/Tropes College AU, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, fluff, angst, smut Warnings None for current chapter, Cursing, general college bullshit, Joon being big and beefy WC 3392  Crosspost AO3 - herecomessatvrn Summary When you leave your hometown for college, you hope that the distance will be enough to finally rid you of your crush on your best friend. When he transfers to the same university, two years later, immediately, the feelings come back. Now you dance around each other, positive that you two were only ever meant to be friends.  A/N  This started out as a car thought while listening to Escape (The Pina Colada Song)... don't ask. I had one plot in mind, but it sort of evolved from there, and I'm quite please with the way that this is going. I intended for a one-shot, but it sort of got too long, and I found a natural cut in the installments. I am intending for two parts, but who knows. Also, I did try to write this as anything BUT Joon, but here we are. With my 4th Joon fic. I should probably just accept it.

Series Master List Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There are some things that are not set in stone. They change just like the shifting sea. And there are some things that were bound to happen, like the rising and the setting of the sun. It was inevitable that you would fall for your childhood friend.

Of course, when you were younger, still oblivious to the actual realities of a crush and romance, you would have vehemently denied that you would ever like Namjoon. Never in a million, billion years. But here you were, in your finall year of high school, and staring so hard at the back of his dumb head that you could have bored holes through his skull. Your heart ached just thinking about him.

He was so nice, and he made you laugh with his awkward but sincere antics. And he knew you the best of all of your friends. He would offer you his desert from lunch if you were having a bad day. And even more hilariously, he tried to get you to dance with him. Just to move and get the energy out, but he was so awful at it! And you loved it.

Even when people joked about how much you two hung out, you both just laughed it off, and kept to the story that you were just friends. You worked really hard to not betray the panic of being found out. Luckily, you would be leaving your hometown to go off to college, and some distance and time would help sooth this crush that really wasn’t that big a deal. Because the most important thing here was that you and Namjoon stayed friends. You valued that friendship more than any possibility of a relationship.

----------

The first couple years of college flew by, it seemed. And you had made so many friends, and carved out a little spot for yourself in this college town. Sure, being a barista wouldn't get you fame and fortune, but it was something you found that you loved. Your pottery… that could be done on the side. Also, the cafe you worked at loved the stuff you were making and featured your hand made mugs prominently at the register.

You were nearing the end of your shift, cleaning up after the late morning rush that was class change over. It was nice to see the regulars, and not so regulars, come through to get to know them. It was also a bonus that you got to subtly watch all the cute people come through, and you got lost in daydreams quite often, wondering what it would be like to be with them.

Not right now though, no time for that. You had side tasks to get done. You were in the process of running some things back to the dish sink when you saw someone standing at the register, looking at the little packs of pastries you sold from a local bakery. 

“Hey! I'll be right there, just gonna set some stuff down!” You didn’t wait for a response and pushed the back room door open, and you heard the sound of those carefully packed pastries falling to the floor, and several “Oh shit! My bad, sorry! I got it!” A hand waved vaguely in your direction just above the counter as he tried to clean up the mess that he had made.

By the time you had come back out. It seemed that the entire pastry display was sitting out on the counter as the man tried to find the right spot for them. You sighed and rolled your eyes before putting on the customer service face and stepped up to the counter.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it happens all the time.” You started pulling them off to the side to clear the counter. Just another thing to add to the list.

“So, what can I get for you?” You finally look up at the man. He's tall, and broad shouldered. And under the beanie, you can see a hint of silvery hair. He's dressed pretty casually, but in the expensive kind of way. Nice dark jeans and a button up shirt, and the wool coat he wore to protect him from the elements was well taken care of.

“Oh ah, just a latte please, and um…” he looks down at the pile of confections that he had tried to reset for you. “One of these.” He slides a large chocolate chip cookie out.

You’re looking hard at him now. The vague spark or recognition lighting up in your head. Except you had no idea who this was, at least, not until he smiled.

“Y/N?” Wait… last you checked, you didn’t wear a nametag. The dimples popped out, and he ducked his head in an incredibly familiar way.

“HOLY SHIT! Namjoon?!” Forget helping him with coffee, you came out from around the counter and really got a look at him. And as if the last two years of absence hadn't happened, you hugged him. His stiffness of shock dissipated quickly, and his arms wrapped around you as well, holding you tight.

“Fuck, its good to see you! What are you doing here?” Oh no. No. No. He felt like he had spent the last two years in the gym, underneath these nice clothes. This did not bode well for you. And just like that, those old familiar feelings came flooding back, but with the new addition of wow, he’s really hot now.

“I uh, just transferred here. I spent a couple years at a smaller place getting all the basics done. Ya know?” He rubbed the back of his neck, and finally took the beanie off in the warm café. Could he just stop getting hotter, for like a second? You’re supposed to be working.

“You’ve always been so smart, Joonie.” The old name came back seamlessly. “I’m juggling classes for my major as well as the core stuff. I finally caved and took some summer classes to see if I can get ahead.”

The bell above the door signaled another customer coming in, and you shook your head. “Hey, Uh, you coffee and food is on me today. Let me get that really quick, okay?” You flashed a warm smile at him and scooted right back behind the counter to warm the cookie up as well. With your back turned, you made a face and muttered a quiet ‘what the fuck…’ 

You helped the other customer, taking your time with Namjoons latte and put lovely swirls in the drink, and you snapped a quick picture just to add to your collection.

“So…” you began, leaning on the countertop as Namjoon looked at the plated cookie and drink.

“I’ve got class later today, after my shift.”

“...and?” Namjoon leaned in conspiratorially and the dimples popped in his cheeks as he smiled.

“I definitely want to catch up.”

You heard your name from your coworker as she walked in the door, and gave you a quick salute as she kicked the door to the back room open ahead of her.

“Yeah… just tell me when.” Namjoons attention was fully focused on you now. “My number’s still the same.” You knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but you couldn't help but feel bad about not reaching out in the past few years. Especially when you were home for the holidays. 

“WAIT, actually.” You jumped slightly at the outburst. “I broke my phone last month and I have a temporary number until it’s fixed. Its so dumb.” He pulled out a little notebook from an inner coat pocket, and scribbled down his number for you.

You couldn’t hold back the giggle. Apparently he’s still just as clumsy as you remember. Maybe you should have met him at the table he picked out with his drink.

Namjoon actually looked down to turn his attention to his drink. “Huh, I always love looking at the art on the lattes. But this cup is actually great, where do you all get these?”

You adjusted your apron a little and stood up a little straighter. Just a little bit of a preen, as a treat.

“Actually, I made them.”

“No shit?! So you did eventually figure out how to make the cups work, huh?” He chuckled, remembering when you used to make ‘pottery’ out of playground mud. Upset that they never lasted.

“Yeah, I did.” She sighed fondly. You could wander down this path of nostalgia for hours, but your coworker coming out of the back room with a rack of clean mugs pulled you out of the moment.

“I’m really glad to see you Namjoon. I’ll text you later, okay?” He nodded to you, thanking you again for his coffee, and he retreated to his table to get some work done. Another fond smile, and you felt your cheeks burn. You turned away too soon, and didn’t see Namjoon look your way. He was looking at you as if you had hung the moon and stars. Before he settled in to even try his drink, he took a picture, more of the cup, than the artful swirls. 

----------

“Hey, who’s the hottie you were talking to?” Your coworker, Yuna, settled into the routine of a shift changeover easily, and kept her voice fairly low, casting glances over to Namjoon every once in a while.

“Actually, I grew up with him. We kinda lost touch when I came here for school.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Okay, so tell me that you all had like, a thing in highschool. Please. Because that would be absolutely perfect.”

“What? No. We were- are just friends. He never thought of me that way.”

“Hmmm. Interesting.” The two of you said nothing else on the matter and you went about the rest of your day. You left without saying goodbye to Namjoon, but you fully intended to text him before you went into your studio to work on your upcoming projects.

Of course, you didn’t get a chance to, until it was really late, and you still had at least another hour of work, plus cleanup to get done before you could go home.

Y/N : Hey Namjoon, sorry I didn’t get to you earlier. I’m still working in my studio tonight. Can we maybe do something this weekend? Joonie (TEMP): Thats okay! I had a lot of things to get done with this paper for my lit class. I was a little distracted too. Joonie (TEMP): Have you eaten yet? Y/N: Actually… no.  Y/N: Don’t be mad, I just realized how fucking hungry I am. I might call it early and grab something from the vending machines before I head home. Joonie (TEMP): I’m still on campus. I’ll pick something up and I’ll meet you at your studio.  Joonie (TEMP): I owe you. For the coffee. 

What? No that’s not how this works. It was just a coffee. At the place you work. That was nothing. Hes offering to pick up a whole meal for you.

Y/N: No it’s fine really.  Joonie 💕: Too late. Already done. I assume you’re in the art building? What room? Y/N: Ugh fine. 1043 I’m in studio C there.

15 minutes later, Namjon comes in with two really full bags from the campus quick-stop and you take them from him to sit on the low table that you and your three other studio mates share. You all really try to keep this little lounge area clean, but it was inevitable that some of your work and all of its mess spilled out into the area.

“Uh, you really might wanna hang that coat up over there. Like AWAY from all of this.”

You motioned towards yourself and your studio clothes. Your jeans were caked in clay and plaster. There was some paint on them too, from when you dabbled in painting last year. For the most part, your apron caught all of the fresh stuff. And you left that hanging in your studio space when you saw him walk in. 

“Ah yeah… I like this one. I didn’t think about that.”

He settled in, taking his time to look at all the knickknacks you all had littering this room. The cork board was plastered in notes to each other. Fliers and information about local shows. The whiteboard had what looked like a furnace schedule, he thought at least. Your name was there with a specific date and time, and someone had scribbled flames around it. 

You had already started digging through bags. It seemed he had just guessed at what you would want to eat, but everything that was in there you would probably call your favorite at some point or another. No time to dwell on that. You had already opened some chips and you took a bite out of something… actually, what were you eating? You read the package, shrugged and kept going. 

"You good there?" Namjoon was still looking at everything. What drew his eye the most now was what looked like a stack of mushed plates. Sitting on a shelf over a trash can that contained what looked like the shards of those mushed plates. 

"Yeah," you slowed down now. You dug through the bag, possibly looking for something to drink. No such luck. No worries. You had some cold coffee sitting in the pot by the sink. Good enough. 

“Thanks Joonie. You really didn’t need to.” You leaned against the counter, sipping at the coffee. Shit that was so bad. Maybe a mini fridge would be a good idea here. Between the four of you in that studio, you would figure something out. You finished eating the sandwich in your hand, and crumpled up the wrapper, tossing it into the trash can a few feet away.

“Yeah, I know. I wanted to though.” His expression was soft as he looked over at you. The pair of you made quite the sight. He was so put together and clean looking. You could look like that too, if you really tried, but it was so much work to keep clean at all while still throwing out piece after piece. 

“So, what have you been getting into the past couple of years? Spare no detail.” Namjoon had no idea how his focused attention made you feel. Just like earlier in the day, your heart beat a little harder, your breathing stuttered. 

You spent the next two hours talking and laughing. Feeling like you two hadn’t missed any time at all. You were truly glad he was back in your life. It was better than not having him at all. 

---------

Namjoon had slipped into your friend group comfortably. He was surprisingly very knowledgeable about the arts, and enjoyed running with you and these weird band of people. You also suspected that he was trying to find his place on this new campus, and he knew only a few people, so he latched onto you.

“So Dr. Song wants me to work with other disciplines or something,” you were talking with Jungkook, as you doodled ideas in your sketchbook. “And maybe have a joint show.” You looked up at your younger friend who was nodding along. Also scribbling furiously. He was much better at drawing than you, and he was quick to put his ideas onto the page. 

“So is this like a formal offer here? ’Cos Ron also said something about a multi-discipline show.” You loved that painting professor. Too bad you didn’t click with the whole painting thing.  

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Namjoon was listening and watching the interaction intently. His face was serious though. 

“When you say multi-discipline, how far does that go?”

Both you and Jungkook looked up at him, your eyebrows raised. 

“What do you have in mind?” You already had an inkling of what he was getting at. But you wanted to hear his ideas too.

“I’ve had this thing I’ve been writing, that like, all I want is to see this turned into something more.” He reached and pulled your sketchbook to him. 

“Hey!” He also took your pencil, and he booped your nose with the eraser and also started drawing. He also wrote what looked to be a few lines of poetry.

“Okay I like where you’re going with this, Namjoon.” He let the two of you continue your conversation. Even more ideas flowing between the two of you as you picked at your lunch.

You excused yourself eventually, wanting to go to your studio to play around with some ideas that had come up for you last week. Before you left, you gave Namjoon a quick half hug. JK reached out to you for one as well, and knowing how important skinship was with him, fully embraced him and ran a hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He hummed happily.

“See you nerds later.” And off you went.

It was just Jungkook and Namjoon now, and they were talking about the possibility of a painting based on the poem Joon had written. This time Namjoon had shared the whole thing.

“You know she’s gonna need a copy of this whole thing, right?” Jungkook saw the poem for what it was. Longing for a love that could never be, and holding tight to all the small moments that you could. 

“Oh yeah, I’ll definitely email it to her. I just wanted to share this specific part, that I’ve always thought about seeing in like, a physical object. I don’t know.”

He knocked rhythmically against the table, thinking again.

“Weird question, for no reason at all. Has she dated anyone? While she’s been here?”

Jungkook made a noncommittal sound. He was engrossed in drawing. Listening, but not really wanting to talk much. Especially not about the hookups that he knew you had.

“I wouldn’t call it dating so much as a regular or two that she sleeps with.”

“Oh.” Namjoon seemed to shrink in size. His voice quiet.

“How long have you been in love with her?”

“A while. We were kids, I think. It's hard to remember when it started.”

At this, the drawing stopped. And he looked hard at Namjoon. 

“She honestly doesn’t talk much about dating or anything close to a relationship. I’ve always been under the impression that it’s not her thing. She’s always working. On pottery, or at the cafe. I’ve got literally nothing to give you here, other than I’m sorry, man.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. He was familiar with this feeling. Of wanting something, but never being able to keep it. Just like when you were kids, you only ever saw him as a friend, and that would have to be enough for him. 

----------

You were hidden away in your studio. Music so loud that anyone walking in could hear it from your earbuds. This was what you wanted, to block out the world as you got lost in the piles of clay on the table. Being around Namjoon again brought back confusing feelings. An intense love that you weren’t able to shake.

Being around him was like looking at the sun. You had to shade your eyes, but you felt the warmth. You would never get to see it for what it was, but the warmth was enough. Just like being around him again was enough. It had to be enough. 

Still though, you couldn’t help but want more.

The pinch pot you were working on was trying too hard to capture what you had made when you were young and still looked too polished. Too much like you knew what you were doing instead of something care-free. With a growl you smashed the piece against the table, the wet clay squishing out from between your fingers. The frustration had been building in the past week or so, and there was no outlet for it at hand now that you had realized that throwing yourself into your work wouldn't help. 

No, that frustration, that need, was a familiar ache. You rinsed your hands as best you could in the bucket of water at your side and pulled your phone out. Tapping out a familiar pattern that soon would give you some relief. 

By the time you had cleaned up for the evening, your answer had come and you set out to meet up with one of your regular hookups.

Thanks for reading again! Feel free to reblog and leave a comment, or send me an ask! Also let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist for all of my works coming out! <3

[forbidding-souda]

Hey mod Souda ^^ could I request nagito, shuichi, and hajime with an s/o that's pretty much absentminded and forgetful reader? a woolgatherer? (i had to look that up) So they'd daydream of basically anything and you can see it in their eyes when they're... not rlly present anymore lol. But reader still likes feeling their s/o's presence and voice if that makes sense haha

Nagito Komaeda, Shuichi Saihara, and Hajime Hinata with an absentminded and forgetful S/O

what if i became a skater boy what would ya'll do

i ask this as if i don't sskate but srs

currenltly listenign: grotesque marionetts by nothing but losers

-Mod Souda

Nagito Komaeda

❤ He likes to pretend to be absentminded and forgetful. Honestly, it gets him out of a lot of stuff. And he loves the feeling of having people look down at him - thinking of him as useless.

❤ But then he actually met someone absentminded and forgetful. Eye-opening.

❤ He would be sitting next to you, just watching you look off into nowhere with thoughts clouding your perception.

❤ Dreams became apart of his reality, too. He decided against interrupting your little sequences.

❤ He's very patient.

❤ And he won't take offense to when he mentions things in the past, and you have to admit that you don't remember.

❤ He sees no flaws in you, no reasons to get mad.

❤ He does find it a bit amusing. That's just because secretly, the evil part of him mind tends to go to extreme, mischievous thoughts. As in, if he needs an alibi, he could blame your forgetfulness on something. Something.

❤ But he'd never do that, nor ever be in a situation where that's necessary.

.

Shuichi Saihara

❤ He remembers like, everything, so he's willing to fill in the blanks when things get foggy for you.

❤ And he'll try not to take it personally when you forget things about him - or when you retell stories and remake promises. It's quite annoying, just because his brain is less foggy than yours, and he's not used to being close to somebody (at all) so different from him.

❤ His brain will try to convince him that you are purposely 'ignoring' him out of malice. But that's just mental illness.

❤ Sometimes he'll talk slowly to you, speaking things out slowly, just like he does with Gonta.

❤ And the usual - "Uhh - hello?" that he lets out whenever he noticed you have gone off into that little la la land of yours.

❤ He'll calmly nudge you, raising his voice. And you have to blink rapidly to announce that you can actually hear him.

❤ Often you'll respond, eyes still locked in the same focused position (hard to break).

❤ And then he'll continue on the conversation like nothing had happened.

.

Hajime Hinata

❤ Emotions. He experiences a lot of them. Definitely. And you stir things inside of him.

❤ When he's in the middle of talking, you better fight off the urge to doze off because he will get offended and he will not hesitate to abruptly snap in front of your gaze.

❤ Of course, after startling you, he'll apologize.

❤ But he needs to feel special. Needs to feel important enough to have you not lose thoughts when being with him.

❤ It messes with his ego.

❤ If you want to flatter him, start writing down things you learn about him, so that when something comes up, you'll remember, and he'll be surprised.

❤ Doing that has gained you a lot of kisses.

❤ And it makes him feel better.

❤ In public, if you nod off, he'll just leave you standing there and just walk away.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.