#because i had to reevaluate that 'wait it out with some ice' was NOT the worldwide standard reaction to a mild head injury

[underwhelmingalchemist]

I'm about fifteen minutes into watching Love and Leashes and I love this movie a frankly ridiculous amount already

[steddieas-shegoes]

“Steve! We have to go!”

“I’m coming!” He yelled back to Robin, still searching through his closet for the pants he planned for their night out. “Where the hell are they?”

He was throwing things out of the way, not caring where they landed.

That was a problem for future Steve.

Current Steve needed to look as hot as possible.

His dry spell would be over tonight. He wasn’t leaving the bar until it was.

“Steve!”

“Robin! Where are the jeans?”

“What jeans?”

“The jeans! The ones that you told me to wear!”

“Didn’t you wear them yesterday?”

“No! I saved them!”

But Steve looked over at his laundry basket where his shirt was hanging over and the pair of jeans he was looking for peeked through.

He did wear them yesterday.

Fuck.

Okay, back up options.

The dark jeans that actually probably belonged to someone else and didn’t fit his thighs right? No, he needed to show off his thighs.

The light jeans he hadn’t worn in at least a year because there was a questionable stain that wouldn’t come out? Well, it would be dark in the bar, but no. He’d know about it.

The jeans he wore earlier that weren’t special but also weren’t bad? How would that help him get laid? No.

So he looked back the jeans in his hamper, ignoring Robin’s angry yelling from outside his door.

“Found them! Two minutes!”

He put on the jeans, hoping they didn’t smell or have any stains on them.

He ignored Robin as he threw on his coat that was hanging on the back of the couch and ignored the dull headache blossoming across his temples.

He opened the door and started to leave.

“You coming?” He asked over his shoulder, laughing when Robin smacked his arm as she passed by him.

“Don’t act like you’re waiting on me. I’ve been waiting on you for 30 minutes!”

They barely spoke on the way to the bar, Robin already sensing his headache and probably hoping the silence would make it better before the night got started.

She was amazing.

Steve couldn’t live without her.

But hopefully, they’d both find someone tonight. They needed it.

— — — —

Steve wasn’t having any luck. In fact, he’d never had worse luck.

His head was pounding at this point, music much louder than usual, more people crowded around his usual spot. The three men and one woman he’d danced with so far were fun, but not really his type. He’d been a little upset about seemingly wasting his time, but swallowed down the bitter feeling when he saw Robin dancing with the same girl for three songs, huge smile on her face.

At least one of them was getting something from tonight.

He stood at the far corner of the bar, trying to be out of the way as best he could. He needed to have some water, but he knew the bartender wouldn’t be pleased about getting pulled away from actual paying customers. He would wait for a lull and then get his attention.

It was a new guy, or at least one who didn’t normally work the shifts Steve was here. He was pretty.

There was no other way to describe him; long, curly hair, tattoos everywhere, wide Bambi eyes, tall and thin frame that still held hidden muscle. Steve’s dream, really.

Too bad his vision was getting blurry from the headache.

He had to reevaluate his plan and get water now before he went into full migraine territory. He couldn’t pull Robin away from her night just because he had to get home safely with a debilitating migraine.

He started trying to wave to the bartender anytime he looked over towards Steve’s end of the bar, but it didn’t work.

He tried yelling over the crowd and music, but it ended up making his head throb worse.

He finally managed to throw a napkin at him when he was standing a few feet away.

Not his finest moment, but he’d apologize when he had water.

The bartender looked over at him with raised brows.

“Need something?”

Steve couldn’t help the shame he felt about literally everything happening at that moment.

“Water please?”

The bartender nodded once and grabbed a cup to fill with ice and water. Steve felt some of his muscles relax knowing that he was going to be able to hydrate a little.

When he placed it in front of Steve, he slid a small cup of lemons with it.

“Squeeze a little in there. Helps with headaches.”

Steve knew he was looking at Eddie like the sun shone out of his ass. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so dreadfully miserable from the almost-migraine.

“Thanks.” Then he realized how shitty he must look if the bartender knew what was going on from just looking at him. “Wait. How’d you know?”

“My uncle gets them bad. He always gets pale and his eyes get bloodshot when one’s coming. You looked in the mirror lately?”

Steve shook his head, then winced at the way it made his head pound.

“You here with someone?”

“Yeah. She’s dancing.”

“Need me to have an announcement made for her?”

“No, let me drink this first.”

The bartender nodded, but Steve noticed he kept checking on him between serving other drinks to people.

Steve used more lemon than he probably should have, but he had a whole cup of it, and it couldn’t hurt to use more.

He rested his head against the wall next to him, wincing at the excessive vibrations from the music.

Normally, he loved that their hole in the wall bar got loud and fun once a week. Tonight, he wished he could be surrounded by silence.

He knew he was getting worse, but he didn’t want to bother Robin, who was still dancing with the same girl. She’d probably go home with her as long as Steve didn’t interrupt.

He felt a hand on his forehead, slowly brushing sweaty hair away. He tried opening his eyes, but even the small amount of light seeping through his eyelids was too much.

“Hey, I’m Eddie. I’m the bartender. My relief just walked in so I’m gonna help you to the back, okay?”

Steve could barely nod, the pain in his head throbbing down his jaw and neck. He reached his hand towards the voice and managed to make contact with Eddie. Hopefully, Eddie understood he was not gonna be able to do anything helpful at this point.

He felt an arm around his waist, guiding him away from the bar, but Steve still didn’t want to try opening his eyes. He had to trust Eddie.

He should’ve stayed home. He knew the dull pain he felt earlier would turn into worse, but he was so stuck on getting in bed with someone, he came anyway.

Eddie was walking slowly, keeping a firm grip on Steve so he wouldn’t jostle him around too much. Maybe if Steve weren’t getting his brain attacked by hammers and knives, he’d be trying to get Eddie in bed.

That thought came and went though as he realized how pitiful it was that a grown man couldn’t even walk himself home because he had a migraine.

Eddie would probably tell this incredibly embarrassing story to everyone here and laugh about it for weeks.

Steve was in and out of it for the next few minutes, unable to really focus on anything around him besides the warm hand on his hip. Despite being sweaty enough to wring water from his shirt, he still felt cold, shivers occasionally wracking his body.

This was a really bad one.

He was so stupid for being stuck in a bar for this.

His brain registered a door closing, then a fan turning on. It wasn’t completely silent, but the outside noise was a small echo in his brain compared to the banging it had been previously.

“Gonna set you on the couch in the corner and get some ice.”

Steve didn’t acknowledge him, but he let out the most ridiculous whimper when Eddie set him down on the couch, slowly laying him back so his whole body was flat. He heard the door open and close, but was so focused on how nice the air from the fan felt, he didn’t hear the door open and close when Eddie came back in.

“Alright, gonna put this on your head. Where’s it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

Eddie sighed, but placed the bag of ice on his forehead to start.

“Get these often?”

Steve appreciated his very low voice, knowing that anything at a regular volume would probably be too much in this quiet room.

“Mhm.”

“I grabbed you more water too. Think you can have a sip?”

“Mm. No.”

He heard Eddie laughing quietly, but he couldn’t smile back at him.

“You live close?”

“Mhm. Mile.”

“I live closer.”

“Hm?”

“Welcome to my humble abode. I own the bar, work at the bar, and live at the bar. Technically this is the staff office, but upstairs is my bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. If you think you can handle the stairs, you can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch. I’ll let your friend know you’re here too if you give me a name.”

“Steve.”

“Your friend’s name is Steve?”

“No. Mine.”

“Okay, what’s your friend’s name, Steve?”

“Robin.”

He tried opening his eyes so he could see his surroundings, but they were so heavy. Leave it to Steve to end up suffering with the worst migraine he’s had all year at a bar with a hot bartender taking care of him and he can’t even open his eyes to fully appreciate it.

He distantly heard the door again, but must’ve fallen asleep for a bit because the next thing he knew, he felt hands on his face.

“You’re sure he can stay here?”

“Robs?”

“Steve. You idiot. You should’ve told me it was getting worse.”

She was whispering, but she was angry with him and he knew she would be yelling if she was a worse friend.

“Sorry.”

“Eddie’s gonna handle it. I’m gonna take Chrissy home. You call me as soon as you’re up, got it? I’ll send the cops here to break down the doors if I don’t hear by lunch time tomorrow.”

“Got it.”

He was gonna forget, but hopefully Eddie would remind him.

When he had bad migraines, he pretty much forget everything he did or said. None of the doctors could explain it. He’d had scans done, and there were no signs of memory diseases, so it was just a part of the trauma from multiple concussions.

He could hear Robin telling Eddie the same thing. If he could make his face work, he’d probably smile.

He drifted again, but he could hear Robin still talking to Eddie as he did.

The next time he was fully aware, he was in a bed. The bed was huge, and there were so many pillows around him, it felt like a fort.

Two blankets were on top of him, one so soft he couldn’t help rubbing his cheek against it. He was surrounded by a cozy, light cologne smell.

He was also fully clothed.

His jeans were itchy, and he suddenly felt claustrophobic as he realized the sun was up and he was alone in a stranger’s bed.

He sat up and looked around.

The room itself wasn’t that big, the bed taking up most of the space. The door was closed, but he could hear someone moving around outside of it. He looked to the right to see a door that must lead to a bathroom.

He quickly got out of the bed, shoving his shoes on and grabbing his wallet off the table. He opened the door and saw the back of a man with long, curly hair.

The bartender.

Eddie.

Eddie had taken care of him during his migraine. His migraine that he should’ve known was coming and stayed the hell home.

He was an idiot.

When Eddie turned around, he felt his heart stop.

God, he was pretty.

Like, Steve might have to change up the nights he comes to the bar just to get a glimpse of this beautiful man.

“Hey. Feeling better? Must be since you’re standing without support.”

Steve blushed. He’d never been in this position before, and he had no idea what the proper etiquette is for thanking someone for taking care of you when you’re unable to even move or talk.

“Uh. Yeah, much better. Um.” Steve awkwardly stood by the counter while Eddie continued mixing coffee in a mug. “Thanks for. All that.”

Eddie was laughing. In another circumstance, Steve may have found it cute, maybe been proud of himself for making a hot guy laugh.

But he was dealing with a migraine hangover, which usually left him grumpy.

Eddie must’ve noticed because he stopped laughing abruptly.

His head tilted to the side as he looked Steve up and down.

“You know, Robin called four times already this morning to check on you. You should probably call her and let her know I didn’t murder you and hide the body already.”

“Okay. Yeah. I.” He felt around in his pockets and couldn’t feel his phone. Shit.

“Over there. Charging.” Eddie said as he pointed towards the table by his front door.

“Thanks.”

Steve walked over to his phone to see 33 missed calls from Robin.

He called her back immediately, not wanting her to actually show up with a SWAT team.

“Thank god! Steve, I told you to call by lunch. I was just about to call Hop.”

“You’re the one who left me here.”

“Yes, assuming you’d wake up early enough that I wouldn’t assume you’ve been murdered!”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 3:00, Steve!”

“Fuck. Okay. I’m leaving now.”

Eddie cleared his throat and nodded at the counter, which now had a plate of fried eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage on it.

“Okay I’m eating, then I’m leaving.”

“You better text me. I’ll show up with Hop!”

“Robin. Jesus.” Steve felt a bit lightheaded. “I am literally at the bar. You know where I am and who I’m with. Chill.”

“You were incapacitated.”

“And now I’m not. I can escape if I have to.”

“You’re not as strong as you think you are!”

He hung up before she kept going. She would stay on the phone for hours if he let her, and he wasn’t in the mood.

He made his way to the counter and sat down, smiling at the steaming food.

“You didn’t have to cook all this. Especially this late in the afternoon. You probably have to head down to the bar.”

“Nah. I own the place. I just work there to keep myself busy. I’m all yours until you’re good to go home.”

Steve didn’t have much of a response for that, his brain still firing on the bare minimum. Migraine hangovers were worse than actual hangovers.

He ate a few bites silently, then looked up to see Eddie setting a cup of tea in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“Technically, sleepy time tea. But it works really well for headaches.”

“Oh. Thanks. It won’t like, make me fall asleep?”

Eddie laughed and Steve decided he was happy to hear it now.

“No. It has relaxing properties to it, but it doesn’t actually make you drowsy.”

Steve took a few small sips and smiled.

“It’s good.”

“My uncle says I make the best.” Eddie leaned over the counter with a smile. “So, you thought going to a bar was a good idea with a headache? On our DJ night?”

“It wasn’t that bad when I left. Thought I’d be okay.”

“Mhm. So you get these a lot?”

“Well. I mean I do get migraines a lot. But that one was one of the worst I’ve had in a while. I can usually still talk and walk enough to get to my own bed.”

“Do you remember everything?”

Steve knew he had a lot of blank spots in his memory from last night. If Eddie wasn’t such a nice guy, he’d probably be more worried about it.

“No. I have memory problems when I get them.”

“Ah. Well that’s okay. I got you into bed pretty easily. You only woke up twice. Once to use the bathroom, which you managed to do alone. The second time you were crying about having to sleep alone? I couldn’t understand all of it, but that seemed to be the gist.”

“Oh.” Steve sighed. “That’s super embarrassing. Guess I’ll never come back here. Maybe never leave my house again.”

Eddie smirked. “I dunno. I think maybe I could fix the sleeping alone thing. You know, when you’re not incapacitated from a migraine.”

“You’re serious?”

Eddie nodded.

“You saw me like that and would actually want to be around me again?”

“I was hoping for more than around you. Maybe on you? In you? Next to you? All of those sound good.”

Steve choked on his next bite.

“Uh.”

He took a sip of the tea to help clear his throat, ignoring the way Eddie was moving around the counter.

“You know, Robin kept me on the phone for about an hour earlier, telling me all about how you’re the best guy she’s ever known and she’s a lesbian for a reason so that means a lot. Said you guys come here once a week because it’s the best place to find decent people, not just anyone. Said you’ve both had a bit of a dry spell.”

“She’s exaggerating.”

“Oh, so it hasn’t been eight months since you’ve taken someone home?”

“No.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raised in a challenge.

“It’s been ten.”

“My bar hasn’t been good to you, I guess.”

“Up until last night, I guess not. But I still prefer it over the clubs.”

“Until last night?”

“Yeah. The guy who owns the place kind of rescued me and let me sleep in his really comfy bed. He probably deserves something for that.”

“Oh? What does he deserve?”

“Well, I’d offer a blowjob, but I’m out of practice and might disappoint.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“But maybe he’d be okay with a real date?”

“When would this date be?”

“Maybe tonight?”

“Hm. He has to check the bar schedule, make sure no one needs coverage.”

“He can text me later to confirm.”

“I sure hope you’re giving me your number to do that.”

Steve laughed and held his hand out. Eddie placed his phone in his hand and waited for him to type his name and number in his contacts.

When Steve handed it back, their hands grazed each other. Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, squeezing for a moment.

“Dinner here? Maybe 8?”

“I thought you had to check the schedule.”

“Nah, just needed your number. I make the schedule, I know it like the back of my hand.”

Steve shook his head.

“Can’t start a relationship on lies.”

“Oh, a relationship? You move quick don’t you.”

Steve did. He knew he did. It’s why he’d never been able to keep anyone around. He moved like he was ready for marriage on the first date, and usually people didn’t like that.

He looked down at his lap, already prepared to lose Eddie’s interest.

But he felt a hand on his cheek, slowly guiding him to look up.

“Dinner here at 8?”

“Uh. Yeah. Please.”

Eddie smirked at him before he placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Just be yourself, Steve. I like you just fine. And I’ve already seen you at your worst and your crazy best friend. It’s all uphill from here.” Eddie pulled away and moved back to start cleaning dishes from his cooking. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll end up married by the end of the year.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“Am I?”

Eddie looked over his shoulder, serious look on his face.

“Are you?”

“No. Stranger things have happened.”

[glendasguidance-inactive]

🫖 pick a picture ☕️🧣🍪

Full Moon in Cancer

₊˚ʚᗢ₊˚✧ﾟhow to pick // disclaimers ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

Here are some messages for you this full moon <3

spread: Biddy Tarot Full Moon spread // decks: Rider Waite tarot, Find Your Purpose by Jess Sanders

Pile 1 / Pile 2 / Pile 3

Inhale, exhale 3x, pick

★ personal readings ★ support me ★ other readings ★

★ check out this reading! → USA Post-Election (2024): How can you support yourself, your community, and Earth in the present moment and in the years to come? (for US citizens and non-US citizens - for every Earthling <3) ★

Pile 1

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

Ace of Swords - You've been realizing how much you don't allow yourself to think certain thoughts and speak your mind to the people around you. You've started speaking to yourself in an encouraging way, and that has been allowing you to gain clarity on your worth and value as a person, grow instead of hide yourself away, live in the present moment, communicate much better, create the life you want. This is new to you, so you kinda have Bambi legs right now, but that's okay. Don't be discouraged by your mistakes or anxieties, the more you consider your own opinions and use your voice, the more confident you will feel. Also, be smart about speaking truth to power. People who have power over others often do not operate with fairness and justice in mind, and will punish people that question it or their choices. Which isn't fair. And I'm not going to enable that behavior by telling you "that's just how the world works" - what I'm telling you is to think before you act on an impulse. If you realize it's not safe to act on your first desire, what is a way you can still achieve the same goal while protecting yourself? If you feel it's right to be confrontational, be prepared to handle reaction and backlash. Like the imagery on the card, think of these moments like sword fights - these are moments to be a samurai, not a novice. Let your friends help you.

Where are you now?

Judgement reversed - I believe there's been malicious gossip going around about you, and you've been sensing it. You probably realized when the people you get along with the best have been distancing themselves from you, and not acting as friendly with you as they normally do. I'm sensing more strongly with this pile that you may be receiving a lot of blame from a group you're in (family, a friend group, work, volunteer group, etc). And that it's a reaction to you attempting to hold someone accountable for hurting you or others, or enforce the agreed upon guidelines. Whatever it is, it's unfair. You feel astonished by this wake up call. But, the shock of the ice cold truth of what these people's true colors are is giving you an opportunity to have something you've needed for a long time. A choice to make for yourself. I sense you've usually gone with what other people decide, feeling too anxious to make decisions or believing your role in life is to follow what the leaders (or men in general) tell you to do. Baby girl you are NOT a plastic bag drifting through the wind. What is in your own best interest? Following that isn't selfish, it's self preservation.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

9 of Swords reversed - You've realized you've gotta let go of a lot of stress and stressful people. You can't live like this anymore. It's been hurting you. You were putting a looot on your plate that wasn't for you to take care of - it was other peoples' responsibility. You probably had kind intentions and just wanted to help, and it was very kind you did that. People took advantage of your innocence. You'll have a "fuck it, I'm done attitude. This is good because there's nothing for you to feel guilt or burdened by. Moving forward as you heal, reevaluate your needs, wants, and values in relationships. Don't list things that make relationships functional as the top things you're looking for. Trust, honesty, kindness, patience, etc aren't "high standards" (a bullshit phrase imo), they're foundational to every healthy relationship. First, learn or review how to recognize basic green flags in people, and then learn what traits you like and appreciate (humor, spontaneity vs planners, night owls vs morning birds, club goers or book worms, outdoorsy vs indoorsy, etc). Accept help and support from others at this time, you might be surprised at who helps you / is a safe person.

Quote Ask yourself what is really important and then have the courage to build your life around your answer. - Lee L. Jampolsky Affirmation I am guided by what I value most. Journal What are my top five values?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

Pile 2

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

6 of Pentacles - Did you know that life can be good again? Probably not for a while. You've recently spent time around children or saw children playing and helping each other. This hit you with some sweet nostalgia, making you remember playing, being silly, and having fun - and how you could make any mundane moment playful, silly, and fun. You've realized you can still do that right now. Fun is always here, we just have to make it. And isn't it fun to make it? And yes, the world can be kind.

Where are you now?

3 of Cups - You're fuckin' live laugh loving your life - go you!! You're partying and being silly with your friends, going on adventures, and being a goofy goober. You're connecting with new friends, and making new friends along the way. If you don't currently have friends, this is your time to make them. You won't connect with everyone you meet, and that okay. The kind, safe, loving, fun friends you haven't met yet are waiting for you to come say hi.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

Queen of Wands - This is how you become a badass, a boss ass bitch, slay queen pussy boss boots house down serving cunt. Just like with self love, how we learn we are lovable by being loved by others and accepting their affections, the same goes for confidence. I guess they’re one in the same really. When you have fun, and then others positively respond and have fun with you, it reinforces with you that you are good as you are and how wonderful your light is. It gives you protection from people who try to dim it - they can’t make you believe you should. So go make friends, and call up the ones you have. Making your own fun is empowering you to make your own life, and you’re growing into yourself. How exciting it is to find out what you’ll do, what you’ll make, and learn more about yourself. How magical it is to constantly discover goodness and kindness and love everywhere again. You are ever expansive and love is infinite. 🌌

Quote Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong. - Ella Fitzgerald Affirmation I will experience challenges, but I will never let them stop me from doing what I love. Journal How have I been able to overcome challenges in the past?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢 ★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

Pile 3

What have you created and manifested since the new moon?

Chariot reversed and 3 of Swords - You finally got the care you’ve needed, but it also comes with a significant life change, and that involves grief. I believe most of you got a new mobility aid. If not, then there’s something about a car, bike, or public transit. Because I got an image of a wheelchair very strongly in my head, I’m going to focus on mobility aids and disability moving forward in the reading. I’m sure all you’ve been wishing for has been freedom of movement. You seemed to have had a specific wish though, like for your disability to be gone. Instead, you got a mobility aid. To you, this feels like limitation and restriction. I’m not saying “you’re handicapable!” or that other “inspirational” crap able-bodied people say. What I am saying is that this mobility aid is your freedom of movement - maybe for sometimes, maybe forever. It is a blessing to have one at all. Think of all the kind inventors making stuff so people can be independent and live! How wonderful is that? But I’m know it’s hard to shift to gratitude when you’re grieving. Let yourself cry and be angry and feel it all. It’s hard realizing how vulnerable you are and how much care you need, especially if you’ve been neglected most of your life or created an identity around being hyper-individualistic. Do you have a fear that people won’t help you? That’s very real, many disabled people are treated like garbage, the world can be pretty inaccessible, and right now barely anyone gets a Ms. Rona booster (the least one can do if they refuse to wear a mask). So feel and write and paint and express all your feelings about it. It’s all real and valid. Other people could be dealing with receiving a mobility aid they were excited for, but it’s not working, and it’s difficult to get repairs or replacements. Others felt excited to finally get one, but are grieving an unexpected feeling of loss of freedom because of the change. Maybe your home isn’t accessible for you now. My advice is still the same.

Where are you now?

10 of Pentacles - You’ve started to get connected with disability support groups and disability justice groups. You’ve been learning how to use your mobility aid, how to do repairs, how to make your home accessible or find a place that is accessible, how to raise money and get financial support, how to get around town, and overall do what you need to do. You’re making connections with new wonderful people who make your life better than it was before. You’re learning what community is and what it means to have one. I feel like someone has shown you how to decorate your mobility aid so it’s more fun and ✨you✨. Get crafty! 🧶🎨🪡 You’re humbled by all the love you’re receiving just because you exist, that you don’t have to “earn” it. That’s how love has always worked, you just didn’t know yet.

What is coming into your conscious awareness?

5 of Swords reversed - You’re no longer engaging in battles that make 0 progress for your relationships, and only make you feel hurt and exhausted from the stress. You’re letting go of eugenist believes you’ve been taught to have, and drawing strict boundaries with eugenists / people with eugenist & ableist beliefs. You’re analyzing what you have have time for, what you have spoons for, and frankly you feel good cutting all that harmful crap out. You’re learning how precious your peace is, and that it’s worthy of protection, respect, and regard.

Quote Your purpose or passion or "thing" doesn't have to become your work. It doesn't have to be something you make money from. Sometimes the things we love doing need space to be what they are without having to make them into something formalized. - Dr. Rebecca Ray Affirmation I don't have to make money for it to matter. Journal What did I love doing as a child that I no longer make time for?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢 ★☮︎★ support people affected by Jan 2025 LA wildfires ★☮︎★ support incarcerated firefighters ★☮︎★

header image: click here // footer image: Jan Brett's book The Mitten // pngs: click here // dividers: click here // I do not consent to my writing, blog’s likeness, or anything associated with my work, to be used to teach any machine learning software and artificial intelligence for any purpose.

[synthsays]

Doctober day 25:

*~¤ Café ¤~*

Marty got a job at the coffee "shop", if you could even call it that, in Los Alamos. The so-called shop was really a stand in the corner of the grocery store but Marty liked to call it his shop. For the residents of Los Alamos that were just passing by in the mornings for work, they would get a coffee. Marty would make that coffee. Of course, he himself always hated the stuff, but work was work and he didn't have anything better to do. He had memorized most of the orders, but one he knew by heart.

Doc Brown, A.K.A. Marty's adoptive father and best friend, ordered coffee every morning. Marty took the liberty to tell him how bad it was to have so much caffeine, but Doc usually responded with a simple smile and left. Doc's order was always a black coffee, plain and simple. How he managed to drink it without gagging was an amusement to Marty. But it was his job to serve, so serve he did.

Helen, one of the scientists from the project Marty had befriended, also preferred her coffee in the morning. Marty wondered if she got coffee just to see him. She never got coffee as often as Doc but she still got it frequently. Her order was complex compared to Doc's. She usually ordered coffee with a bottle of milk, cinnamon and two sugars. Not as complex as some orders, but at least some diversity.

Today was chilly, an average fall day, so Marty expected more customers. The first customer of the day was always his favorite, because it was Doc. A simple order was always great to start off the day.

" Hello, Marty," Dr. E. Brown placed a quarter on the counter, " I'll have the usual."

"You got it, Doc." Marty replaced the quarter with a cup of hot coffee. "What are you working on today?" Marty grinned.

" You know I can't tell you, but it's something important."

" You're the doc, Doc. Good luck!" Doc left, leaving the store eerily quiet yet again.

**

Marty's business always cooled down right after the morning spree hit. After all, who gets coffee at noon? Edna Strickland, that's who. Apparently, the switchboard's team gets a break at noon, along with a couple of the scientist groups. Of course, the next shift took over, but the previous shift had worked through the morning. She usually wasn't willing to take anything less than her predetermined standard. Marty thought she would just have to deal with it.

" Hello, Mrs. Strickland."

She responded by dropping a pair of dimes on the register.

" Large coffee with ⅓ cup of soy milk, 3 sugars, two dashes of cinnamon. And that's dashes not pinches. There's a difference. 2 ice cubes and ¼ cup cream. If you have it, add one-"

Edna continued her obnoxiously long order, which she happened to change every time. Unfortunately for her, Marty had heard about two words and then tuned her out. He was more focused on lunch than whatever she had to say.

" Young man! Are you even listening?"

Marty worked up from his daydream.

" I'm on it!"

After fetching a cup, he poured a black coffee, put four sugars in and added a splash of milk.

" Here you go, ma'am."

The look of disgust on Edna's face was enough to almost make Marty laugh aloud. He didn't, but it was a possibility.

" This is not what I ordered."

Edna pushed the cup back across the countertop.

" Have a nice day now!"

Marty took his chance to go "to the back", which was really just the area right behind a wall. Essentially hiding there, Marty waited.

" I'll file a report on this place, sooner or later." She grumbled as she reluctantly took the coffee back up.

**

The season was now winter. Marty had originally thought he would get customers but now he was reevaluating. He could always count on Doc, but someone came in he wasn't expecting. Helen, out of all people, was the first to order on this cold winter's day.

" Good day, Marty. How have you been?" She pulled down her scarf.

"It's been great! Well, as great as one can be when he’s freezing himself in a store in the middle of New Mexico."

" Oh, it's not that bad. Well, believe it or not, I'm wondering if I could get a coffee."

Helen and Marty both laughed.

" I think I can manage that. What are you ordering today?" Marty held a pencil and pad to jot down whatever she had to say.

" I'll take the usual: milk, cinnamon and two sugars." " Coming right up!"

After Marty prepared the drink, he got an idea. Why not start a habit of leaving notes for each other? Marty didn't need to do so with Doc, but Helen he didn't talk to so much. He quickly scribbled down a " Good luck with the project Helen!" with the previously mentioned pencil and paper, and stuck it between the cup and saucer.

Later, when he went to pick up the cups from the small table positioned in his little "shop", he noticed the paper had been flipped. On the other hand read ' Keep up the coffee, Marty!' with Helen's signature. Marty smiled and stuffed the note into his pocket.

Hours after this interaction, Marty checked the time to see that it was the end of his shift. He hadn't gotten much from today's shift. A couple more, back coffees or the occasional milk with sugar, but besides that, the store was empty. He threw his apron over the counter and pulled on his jacket. He hadn't noticed it had started snowing.

Must've been too caught up in daydreaming.

It was a bad habit, he had to admit. Recently he had caught himself thinking about the past. Or should I say, the future. That was years ago, yet it still hurt to think about it.

Now wasn't the time, though. He had to focus on how to not freeze his eyelids off. That made him think, had he worn enough layers today?

I wonder if they had cold medicine in the 40s…

[zaritarazi]

listen sometimes i watch skyrim lore videos because i find epicnate315′s voice and enthusiasm soothing and today in one of his older videos he mentioned something i had completely forgotten about in-game which is the group of bandits that specifically run a wolf-fighting ring and not to bring back this helnik au written for helnik week 2021 that takes place in the elder scrolls universe (skyrim specifically) but i just need to highlight a few things:

1. this au is actually delicious i might go back to it i love the idea of nina and matthias having to fight all those draugr in sarthaal especially since in tes canon most regular people have no idea that the dead very much do reanimate and try to kill you like, constantly. the idea of nina leading matthias into this at the very least to scare him and then they both get way in over their heads and have to claw their way out.... it pleases me

1.5. actually nina watching matthias use a word wall and having that same rush of jealousy but also kind of being a little awed by it and them having a Moment... also very good 

2. trying to figure out how to fit the rest of the crows & grishaverse into tes lore is a fun thing bc i’ve decided only matthias is from skyrim and everyone else has ended up (mostly in riften) out of bad luck- i like the idea of them mostly on matthias’ home turf, bc that’s kind of what they had to do with the ice court but this is on a much bigger and weirder scale

3. just thought of this the crows having to explore dwarven ruins together is thrilling to me

4. the crux of this universe is, of course, that matthias is the dovahkin and how that’s making him reevaluate war and the cost of it and the ideals of “skyrim for the nords” and all of that, but also i do so so very much love the idea of matthias like “uh dragons can wait we gotta go free the wolves” bc wolves don’t actually hold a ton of special significance in skyrim he’s literally just a Wolf Guy and making it everyone’s problem

5. okay also just thought of this but the fact that at some point each crow will end up with a daedric artifact and sort of lowkey have that dremora as a patron now and NONE of them are happy about it.... love that for them

[chronicvagabonds]

hi. i made sure to clear my schedule for this drop. 😀 LMAO took a shower, cleaned my glasses, made myself a hot cup of tea, warm apple crumble - like i was going on a date with this fic. 🏒🫦 waiting for this post to go online like it was presale and i wanted front-row seats.

if there's one thing i can take away from the now two ✌️ big oneshots you've written so far, is that they always make me miss something. i've never really watched or played hockey but that feeling of being on the ice, skating and just building up speed, the chills and the cold breath. 😮‍💨 every winter i tell myself to skate again and maybe this upcoming one i might just pick it up again, thanks to you.

anyways, miss "i'm never writing another fic this long ever again" only two months ago and now we're here with a similarly long fic. i'm very glad you decided to write it afterall LMAO 🫵 it took some time for things to fluff and warm up and that's what we love in a slow-burn. let it singe and crackle like the wood in a fireplace and sparks will eventually fly in the still of night.

[spoilers ahead]

“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.” MINGI KSNKN I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING 🙂‍↕️

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. oh is that why his ankle was hurting ealier, noo my babywoo

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” something about coach cho being this father figure and knowing the real reason behind reader's reason. then basically going 'i see you in them, and i am entrusting them to you, you both matter to me. there's no-one better for each other' :'((

hongjoong renting half the rink even if just for 2 hours and their equipment being shabby, all they really need is each other 😫

yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. they're so awkward but so damn cute omg i'm gonna eat them

“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?” BHAHBAAHAHhahah, it's the thought that counts, right? 😭😭

OOoooOoh are they gonna play different from what reader told them to?? OOooOoh are they gonna hear an earfull after the game!?!?

“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts. oh, how very real but oh my jjongbaby 😞😞

..it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you. the fact that reader even gives them the benefit of the doubt here at first. like things can happen? they're not the one on the ice so they'll just have to think of the next move but somehow their strategies continue to be absolutely ignored and 😠 like work WITH me puhleasee!

"..i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you." like take a look at the mirror mister captain!! get him for me again!! 😤

hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?” ITS NOT ABOUT SIDES BROO WE JUST TRYNNA WINN!! 😩😩 YOU HAVE A WHOLE SONG ABOUT IT

“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?” san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” I KNEW IT 🥹 reader noticed he was favoring one leg over the other. probably overheard san and woo talking about him not having any tape left and snuck behind the scenes to provide without anything in return. it was never about being recognized, but about caring despite. 🥺

yeosang sits a little straighter.., having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. stop, this made me so sad. he just wants them close. ☹️ he wants them to know there is still a place just for them ☹️ but also, this is a nice portray of reader's boundaries. like they need to cool down, they need to sit with themselves if they want to sit next to the boys again. but they have to figure that out for themselves first. 😢

it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity. ughh 😣❤️‍🩹

you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens? shared joy is double the joy, shared sorrow is only half the sorrow. 🫂

papa cho is so :C <33

they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life. AND THE Y FINALLY GET THAT SHE WORRIES FOR THEM OMGMG

yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.” MY YUNWOO IN THIS FIC LMAOO

..coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.” COACH CHOOOooOOOooo 🫶💢🫶💢🫶 but also wooyoung ends up hating himself regardless just for different reasons :c

and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him.., then do they really need him at all? to choose wooyoung of all people to suffer with these feelings is so so evil. gods, he loves them so so much but he also can't deny his own feelings and his fears of being replaced, cast aside, abandoned as if there was a deed he has to perform and succeed in to be allowed in that space with them. 🥺🥺

but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. oof, i saw this coming the second they huddled up around mingi's laptop and their walls fell. were they going to bring up the fact that they researched reader? how will they react to the look on ateez faces? is it going to be a traumatic trigger to them, something that crushes the seedling of their coach-team relationship?

you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now. my heart breaks for them :///

wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help. “i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly. “then let us share the hurt with you.” 😭😭😭

“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle. GET OUT OF MY ROOM RIGHT NOW🫵😭 the way i was holding back tears and then chortled at the comment before i kept reading.

THEYRE ALL SO PROUD OF JONGHO IM CRYYYY 😭😭😭

starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!” he holds it up and open above him AND THEN TRYING TO CLIMB YUNHO LIKE A TREE LKSMFKLD I GET IT THOUGH 🤪🌴

jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”.. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career. this means so much more than any of them can even imagine 🥺 sure, he's still trying to impress his family but also this is so important for his self-confidence. like it really starts here, the validation from someone who doesn't even know him that well to go 'i see you, i believe in you. keep going'. 🫶🥺

wooyoung being caught lying but also paying attention to and caring about reader's shoulder 😭 guess who gives a fuck afterall

the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.” AND THEN YUNHO JUMPING IN TO PLAY INTO WOO'S EGO SKMLKDM AND EVERYONE JOINS THEM 😭😭😭

the way my face dropped what do you mean they're fucking things up in the literal sense wtff 🫥

just something about hongjoong intently watching reader organize their thoughts and prep new strategies for the rest of the game and him only answering seonghwa that he's okay after locking eyes and a smile with reader, just. 🫠🫠 like he's the anchor of the team (as the captain), maybe reader is his anchor? or he finally realized that for this to work, for them to work, they'd have to stand equal, shoulder to shoulder to have everyone's best interest in mind.

LETS FUCKGIN GOOOOOOO TOPAZ GOALL 👹👹👹

the way you got me fevering for a fictionally written sports scene is actually kind of hilarious. like this is vivid!!

wooyoung wallowing in the depths of his mind because he thinks he's not going to play again because he made a mistake when really it's because reader refuses to injure him any further 🙁 and him spiralling down the same feelings he had once before of messing things up for everyone.

"..what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.” reader also brings up the importance of acknowledging their own mistakes and getting out of that self-loathing slump to actually LEARN from them and DO BETTER. ☝️🤓 which is what wooyoung had not done up until now.

“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.. “..it gets easier to be okay.. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.” *lays on the floor contemplating life*

this moment between these two and their entire dynamic and growth through this fic is one of my favorite things.

reader who's had a similar experience to wooyoung but is further ahead in their journey to heal and wooyoung who knows he can find understanding in his feelings with them and deciding to trust reader with the sides he hates about himself, the uglyness and jealousy inside of him

and i love that reader took their own hurt and instead of letting it swallow them, they use it to help others who might be going through something similar. not to invalidate others or tell them how to live their life as atheletes with hindering injuries but to give them a positive outlook, an optimistic chance at their career.

not wanting to get too personal about my own experience but i really do hold this so so dear to my heart 🥹 the frustration of having to adjust to an injury that changes your entire day to day schedule, forced to re-consider your passions and goals in life. feeling dumb, angry at oneself, envious of others who aren't going through the same things as yourself but also never ever wishing these feelings upon anyone else because they are oh so shameful to acknowledge and difficult to digest. the bittersweetness of it all.

the showcase of vulnerability and re-wiring of emotions in this fic is so so beautiful

"your team was alive today.. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again." YOU HEAR THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT 😭😭 WE'RE INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOUU

"..you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.” wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response. I KNEW IT WAS COMING BKJMKLJNKNM 🥹🥹🥹

“i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement.. but reader keeping their distance from wooyoung and his boys to have their vulnerable conversation :( there's nothing left unsaid, they could have stayed but they don't know where they stand with all of them yet.

FINALLY HOLDING HANDS WITH YEOSANG ON THE BUS. REBLOG. 💚🐬🌸💫💦

except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced. the 'fall' as in the autumn season but also a 'fall' from a higher point, the fall of adrenaline, from being at the top of the list of stars 🤕

NOT THE RIDEABLE SUITCASE CAMEO 💀💀💀

wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.” the amount of yunwoo in this 😩😩 i'm being fed sooo well, laawd. but this is also very very sweet to see them put so much effort in acting casual and including reader on their holiday 🥹 making sure they don't feel left out of their friend group.

living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. oh heavens, i know exactly what this means. it feels oddly intimate and so so domestic sharing a space with people you're not that close with yet for 24 hours a day and just being there living in each other's life. breathing the same air.

more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into. THIS IS THE DREAAAM ME WHEN?!!?"=?"? 🤲🤲

(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.) 🥰🥰🥰

something about hongjoong counting the cups of coffee, seonghwa just watching him and reassuring him that he too thinks off reader. how both of them don't only count 8 of units anymore but 9, how reader has unbeknownst to them infiltrated their routines, their life 🥹🥹 they see reader in all they do and want to have.

jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction. “oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.” seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.” oh gods, oh heavens. they're all so so past goooone kjskjkjn who put all this sugar in my coffee, this is too sweeeeeet

so so wooyoung to bicker and complain but move in to protect and find solutions to still keep you around like ugh

the (notes) are gonna kill me please. i can imagine both reader and san with fluttering hearts but being so shameless and wanting to enjoy the moment. just imagine the fucking grin on wooyoung's face watching it all unfold. but reader still wondering what their affection means to them

HALLI GALLI MENTION!!! 🤡🫳🔔 COUNT ME IN, I'LL SHOW YOU A RED DEVILLL 👹👹👹

fuck his mom, dude :( for a split second i gave her the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe she knew because she secretly started watching the championship in support after the last phone call but no :(( draining as ever

“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person. EXACTLY 😟😟😟 TELL HER BABYBOY

jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.. although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.” 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now. if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.” as one of theirs.. “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?” the conversation around labels got me all like 🥹🥹 it's not that he denies wanting to have something he can call official but there is such care for reader to be comfortable with them and to just give them the permission, the consent to care for them in their own ways, with their own feelings without reader feeling pressured to return their efforts. 🥹 the boys have so much love and gratitude towards reader, the need to let it out of their system and they would try their best to do so without losing their professional composure if their career and distance is what reader prefers. 🥹🥹🥹 my boys

also this entire hongjoong excerpt ("..let us love you as one of ours.") and wooyoung's earlier excerpt ("..let us share the hurt with you") 😣 man, i love small parallels (?) like this

hongjoong being one of the last boys to trust reader fully and now being the one to present the offer to reader because he's been watching them and how they take care of his boys, how much care and kindness they extend towards their team. 🤗

“hi, girlfriend.” HI MY BOYFRIENDOS 🚶‍➡️🏃‍➡️🤸🚀

he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates. “i can do it myself,” you start. “i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.” SHIKJNDKJDVNKM DOMESTIC SEONGHWA MY WEAKNESS

playing green light, red light against THE devil on skates on top of a frozen lake against all ateez members is a death wish 💀💀

“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules. “life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers uhm, i'm going to go ahead and read waaay too much into this, okay. because i am emotional and thinking about reader's growth and 😀 just something about reader being able to say this when they're enjoying life and happy with their 8 boys. and just imagining that when they got their injury and stepped away from playing the sports for a while might have been thinking and saying the same thing. life is unfair. why them? why now? what did they do to deserve this? but the past is beyond the present and it's true that life might be unfair, yes, but it's theirs to do with it and live it to their desires. yeah. 😓

MAKE WAAAAY FOR THE WAHH WHATT NOW?"?"?"

remember when reader admitted that even though they haven't let go of their anger and they still have bad days, they get to play hockey THROUGH ateez now.. but in this moment they are actually playing hockey together WITH them for the first time in years 🥹💞🥹 not on the bench, not on the sideline.

the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.” they even put the label on it and used the singular form and the reporter just skips over it like bitch 😤

my face dropped for the second time, omg. loren. why do you make us suffer. wdym theyre playing against their old coach

yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”.. “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.” Y U N W O O 😍🤪😩 I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT YOUUuuUUUu

“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions. yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”, “and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion. MINGI I COULD KISS YOU RIGHT NOW. I LOVE YOU BAD MWAH

hongjoong thanking the reader for becoming their coach, knowing how difficult it was for him to trust them and not always take the reigns and wooyoung thanking reader for loving them when they couldn't find the strength to when he was the one treating himself so so terribly stfu 😭😭😭

“let’s go international.” EVERYBODY JUMPS IN THE AIR WITH THEIR HANDS UP. ❄️ FREEZE FRAME. 🏒 CHERRY BLOSSOMS FLYING ACROSS THE SCREEN. 🌸 CREDITS ROLLING. 🎬 I JUST WANNA BE PART OF YOUR SYMPHONYYyyyYyYYY~ 🎤🌈🐬💫💗

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 37.6k

c/w: sweaty and athletic ateez (warning well deserved), explicit profanity, themes of corruption and rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries, kissing, boys are in an established relationship, m x m interactions

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: it has made me incredibly touched to see so many of my readers from the essence of youth come back to support this new oneshot. thank you from the bottom of my heart ♡ and as always, this fic would not have been possible without @sorryimananti-romantic and her undying support

if someone were to ask yunho–or anybody on the team–when he feels the most alive, his answer would be the same every single time: when he is on the ice, just like he is right now.

the air of the rink is already chilly, but with the added cold of emerging autumn, each rugged lungful he takes fills his chest with vigour. only his own heavy breathing can be heard as the rest of the players’ shouts become muffled into the background outside of his helmet. he tightens his grip on his stick, muscles locked and engaged with adrenaline. his vision narrows, an opening suddenly clearing itself through the tangle of sticks and jungle of skates–a golden opportunity for him to take.

“san!” he yells.

their usual goaltender glances upwards as he handles the puck rebounding off the boards. his jaw tightens and with a practised flick of his wrist, san chips the puck over an incoming stick’s attempt to block the pass. there’s a burst of explosive power as yunho speeds up along the opposite boards to receive the landing puck, hoping to break away from the opposing team’s offensive players before he passes it off.

the flash of a blue jersey appears in yunho’s vision with alarming momentum. they lower and widen their stance, shoulder positioned in front ready to knock him directly into the boards in an attempt to steal the puck, leaving yunho with no choice but to mirror their actions. he braces himself as the opponent rams into him with more force than a usual play, and in combination with their own towering height, yunho finds himself being pushed into the plexiglass panels as he loses possession of the puck.

involuntarily, he lets out a threatening growl of vexation. there is a teasing chuckle from the other player that still has him pinned against the wall despite the continuing game, which clearly tells him that the excessive body check was deliberate. yunho has half a mind to flip their positions, knowing he could easily overpower the other. but before he can adjust his stick out of the way to make good use of his hands, the opponent playfully knocks their helmets together.

“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.”

all of the tension escapes yunho’s body, because he will never not find mingi’s attempts to flirt mid-game–with his mouthguard and resultant bumbling pronunciation–to be amusing. he endearingly rolls his eyes and sighs, “have you not heard of, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

“you’re not a bear, though,” mingi squirms cheekily on the spot, still up in yunho’s personal space because he knows the older will never be truly annoyed by his antics. “you’re just a cute, harmless puppy.”

before mingi can blink, yunho grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. yunho smirks, “and they also say, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”

wooyoung tongues his cheek with mischief at the sight of the two, nice and cosy against the walls of the rink. he hands his stick off to seonghwa, who is starting to remove his helmet, and skates in their direction, ignoring the dull throb in his left ankle. wooyoung only bothers to slow himself down slightly, instead letting his trajectory be cushioned by something else.

mingi lets out a pathetic noise as the air is squeezed out of his chest from the impact of wooyoung and yunho’s added weight. the latter grunts out, a little breathless, “woo, please, you’re going to knock somebody out like this one day.”

it goes in one ear and out the other as wooyoung grins up at him to state, “seonghwa scored so we lost ‘cause you were too busy making out with mister mingles here.”

yunho pushes off the wall to free himself from the sandwich of bodies and pivots on his skates to jab wooyoung’s padded chest. “you and san were doing the exact same thing just five minutes ago.”

“we’re on the same team,” wooyoung shrugs, “whereas mingi is not, so you’re fraternising with the enemy. now come on losers, captain’s wrapping up practice.”

the three of them glide along the ice to rejoin the rest of the team, where they are stepping out of the rink to sit on the benches. they remove their helmets and start unlacing their skates as hongjoong gathers the attention of the team.

“great work from everybody today, especially you, jongho. your backhand wrist shots are improving–keep it up. now just a reminder to everyone that our regular games start next week so i want you all to make sure you are stretching and cooling down properly,” he emphasises. he pointedly looks at yeosang, who has already begun to wander his way off to the changerooms, at the same time that seonghwa scruffs him by the back of his jersey and gently tugs him back to the team.

jongho peels off his blue practice jersey as he scans the arena and absentmindedly asks, “is coach still not here? it’s already the end of practice.”

“he said he had something to sort out today, but would come round if everything went well,” seonghwa answers, also craning his neck to look for signs of their coach.

from where you and coach cho are watching from the designated scouting area in the arena, the team is unable to spot you two. you had come from the final negotiations of your contract with coach cho and had watched their team, the red devils, play the last period of their game. despite it only being a friendly match amongst the team’s players, you have already grasped a sense of their playing style–it is heavy on the offensive at the expense of defence, just like how you used to play. it is fast-paced, aggressive and…prone to injury.

“let’s go meet the team,” coach cho voices, making his way out of the viewing area as you follow beside him. all the players look up from their skates that they are still unlacing or from their stretches on the floor when you two near the arrangement of benches surrounding the rink. they greet coach cho enthusiastically and you can see why from the way the older man smiles at them like they are his own sons.

“y/n, this is the team, the red devils–my pride and joy. boys, this is y/n,” he introduces. “i had to miss practice to meet up with y/n and make sure she was happy to sign on as part of the red devils.”

said team gives you disinterested glances, a complete change from the receptivity with which they respond to coach cho. one of the red-jerseyed boys, who you recognise as wooyoung, utters sarcastically, “cute, but we don’t need a mascot or cheerleader.”

coach cho chuckles lightly, “she’s your new coach.”

“hold on, you were serious about–” “–are you coaching a different team–” “–you don’t want us anymore?”

some of the boys erupt into a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the sudden announcement, whereas the others stay quiet, flickers of flashbacks stirring up from within the depths of their memories. their coach raises his hands to settle them as he apologises, “i didn’t want to say anything before i was one hundred percent sure that things would go ahead, and i wasn’t sure whether y/n would accept the offer.”

“is it because your wife is due soon?” san interrupts.

coach cho nods, “with twins, and i want to be present to help–as a husband and a father. but that just isn’t feasible as your coach, as much as i love you boys.”

training as professional athletes takes incredible perseverance, discipline and commitment. there are early mornings, late nights, weekends and public holidays. it takes sacrifices in the form of time and relationships, especially when they must travel away from home for up to weeks on end to compete in matches. and with the start of the regular season, the intensity is only going to ramp up. as hard as the athletes train, the coach works twice as hard to make it all possible.

the team needs somebody to be there for them to ensure they make it into the playoffs, and it just won’t be fair for anybody–the players and his own family–if coach cho were to keep his position. and the team gets it, they really do, but–

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete, and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

autumn, 2018: pre-season

hongjoong believes all coaches are to be respected. it does not matter what kind of team they coach, how many years of experience they have, or whether they have built up a reputation for themselves. to hongjoong, respect for coaches is not something earned nor negotiable–it is something well-deserved and expected, as is for anybody in a position that is higher in the chain of command.

he may be the captain of their unofficial team, but hongjoong knows that the way a team can place their blind trust in the coach is irreplaceable, regardless of how much the other players rely on him too.

hongjoong watches as his boys carry out the practice drill he has set up for them. yeosang handles the puck around the cones before passing it to wooyoung, primed offensively near the goal to make a quick shot, who groans when his shot rebounds off the post. as he retrieves the disc, yeosang takes over wooyoung’s position near the goal ready to receive yunho’s pass as he starts to work his way through the cones next.

they are limited in the type of drills they can practise because hongjoong was only able to rent half of the community rink for a measly two hours. the boys are not even in proper uniform, wearing only their shin guards under their sweatpants and gloves on their hands to prevent any injuries when the centre had stated very firmly they would not be allowed in with their bulky equipment.

and yet, none of this has dampened the boys’ spirits. san teasingly brags that it is his chance to show off his skills other than goaltending, and jongho thanks hongjoong quietly for renting the rink in the first place. their understanding nods and comforting hugs make hongjoong’s heart clench, even more so as the team eagerly and diligently practise the drills in mediocre conditions but with fiery determination to prove their worth as newly-signed athletes under the kq blue birds.

this is exactly why hongjoong is driven to find them a coach–any coach: to give his boys a solid pillar they can rely on, because he himself lacks the resources and strings to pull in order to fulfil their shared dreams. he needs to keep his boys as one team, instead of scattered into other teams as extra players like a gracious opportunity for the leftovers, since kq does not yet have a coach available for the eight of them.

“captain!”

the excitement in seonghwa’s voice startles hongjoong more than the speed at which the alternate captain skates towards him. seonghwa digs his skates into the ice at the last second, stopping himself just shy of knocking the other over as he exclaims, “he emailed back!”

“the coach you reached out to?” hongjoong clarifies, eyes growing wide.

having caught wind of his signed contract as a professional athlete, an acquaintance of seonghwa’s had reached out offering to pass on the contact of their acquaintance, who apparently knew somebody with coaching experience. it was rare for a coach to take on a rookie team unless there were incredible benefits, so he and hongjoong had drafted and sent an email with little to no expectations for a reply. but seonghwa’s furious nodding is telling otherwise, and his eyes sparkle as he shoves his phone in hongjoong’s face to show him the email.

dear mr park, thank you for your interest and for reaching out with your proposal. i have looked at your athlete profiles and it appears that you all have big dreams and extremely promising futures. it would be my utmost pleasure to help you all reach your true potential by coaching your team. if you would like to arrange a meeting in person to discuss expectations and conditions regarding training, competitions and future championships prior to finalising the contracts with your company, please let me know what times and dates best suit yourself and your team captain, mr kim. i look forward to working with you all. kind regards, coach yeon

“holy shit,” hongjoong steadies seonghwa’s giddy hand to read the email again. when he reaches the last line, he starts once more from the beginning to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. then he breathes out with finality, “holy shit. am i reading this right?”

“yeah, joong. you’re reading it right.”

hongjoong is not often one to be affectionate with the others, but yanking seonghwa into a bone-crushing hug as he repeats holy shit like a mantra is the only response he is able to muster. the older laughs wetly, throat constricting with overwhelming joy and he holds onto his captain until the other pulls back.

“you tell them, okay?” seonghwa does not wait for a response before he is raising his voice to gather the others, “boys! hongjoong has good news for us!”

like puppies responding to the call of food, their heads immediately perk up and they abandon the puck and the drill to speed towards their two captains. there is a clamour of questions as they enthusiastically predict what is going to be said.

“are they letting us use the rink for longer?”

wooyoung squeezes himself in between yunho and mingi to ask, “are we getting the whole rink?!”

“no way,” san gasps, “or did our practice jerseys arrive?”

hongjoong’s eyes soften at their guesses. his boys demand so little from him when he wants to give them everything they could never even think of asking for. he glances at seonghwa, who looks just about ready to burst from his own excitement, then reveals, “we’ve found a coach willing to take on our team.”

dead silence. yeosang blinks and wooyoung’s jaw drops. jongho, who had been lazily circling around the group, comically slows to a stop, joining the rest of the boys in frozen stupor. it is only broken when yunho dares to confirm, “does this mean we won’t be rostered as extras for other teams?”

everyone’s hopeful eyes look at hongjoong. he nods, “we’re staying together and playing as our own team.”

it is obvious the moment the information registers in their minds and the implications of what it means for the team’s future starts to sink in. they explode into a flurry of movement and hongjoong and seonghwa find themselves swept up into the middle of a clumsy group huddle as shouts are exchanged, uncaring of who is listening or talking.

“are we finally playing in championships with the big dogs?”

“we’re going to play interstate?”

“oh my god, what if we get into nationals?”

“nah, fuck that boys, let’s go international! we’re going to represent korea one day and become the best team in the world.”

the amount of voices overlapping one another are overwhelming, but it is overwhelming in the way that it makes hongjoong soar up into the clouds, wings stretched to their full span and carried by the hollers and cheers surrounding him in every direction. his cheeks hurt from smiling because these are the boys that he knows and loves.

they may only be a small team of eight, but they have dreams that are big enough to fill the entire universe.

“what’s the coaches name–” “–know if they’re a good coach–” “–teams have they coached before–”

seonghwa chuckles as the boys hound them with question after question and hongjoong appeases their curiosity dotingly, “we’ll find out when we meet him–coach yeon.”

but it does not matter what qualifications coach yeon has or does not have, and it does not matter what teams he has coached or has not coached before. what matters is that he is a coach and he is willing to be their coach, because it means that hongjoong and his boys are finally taking the next step towards their big dreams. 

and most importantly, they will be in this together…as the red devils.

autumn, present: regular season

“again.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, taking up his position as centre again in the marked circle for the practice drill. even during defensive faceoff plays, he and the team are accustomed to taking on an aggressive approach. when he wins possession of the puck, the wingers–usually yeosang and wooyoung, or jongho when substituted on–quickly breakaway and move forward with him into the offensive zone.

obviously, they have other strategic plays too to switch up the predictability of their tactics, such as moving the puck towards the board whilst yeosang covers him, or by passing the puck back to the mingi in defence. but overall, their team is capable of rapidly flipping from defensive to offensive play using the aggressive setup.

the practice drill you are currently running emphasises heavily on the defence–the reverse setup play. hongjoong is to pass backwards but in the direction of the boards whilst yeosang supports and wooyoung covers the area directly between the circle and san. mingi moves towards the boards to receive the puck, and their other defenceman, yunho, assists with covering the goal.

hongjoong does admit that this play is much safer and stabler, but it is also much slower and…cowardly. his team is called the red devils for a reason and their reputation as demons on ice is not something that he is going to throw away–not following years of blood, sweat and tears to stand back up after falling during their rookie year.

when he assumes his stance once again inside the faceoff circle opposite seonghwa, who is playing the centre position as the mock opponent, you drop the puck onto the centre dot. the moment it hits the ice, hongjoong clears it with his stick towards the right boards. it doesn’t go back far enough for mingi to receive though, so yeosang makes the split decision to burst sideways to retrieve the puck, all three forwards moving aggressively in synchronisation to advance offensively once he gains possession.

you stop them, shaking your head. “again.”

it has been a week since your first meeting with the team, and with the start of the regular season, training has focused on refining their strategies. the red devils are playing in the korean ice hockey league for the second time, an annual national championship with a singular men’s division.

teams from all over korea gather in seoul to compete in regular-season games at the gangneung ice arena against the other teams in rotation. depending on the number of participants, the red devils will need to play an average of three games a week for the next five to six months. then based on the outcome of the games, if your team scores within the top thirty two, they will be able to enter the playoffs.

last year, the red devils were only able to make it to the quarterfinals before they were knocked out. but considering it was their first time competing in a proper championship–as opposed to the rookie leagues and interstate competitions they competed in during the first four years of their career–making it into the top eight teams out of over a hundred or so teams was already impressive enough.

your team’s first regular-season game starts tomorrow, so it does not matter that this is the sixth time in a row that you have stopped them during this drill. you will make them restart until they perfect the play. with that in mind, you release the puck onto the centre dot of the circle once more, but this time seonghwa wins the faceoff, clearing it to the side where jongho is waiting as his left wing. seonghwa looks at you guiltily and anticipates the word that will come out of your mouth.

you bite your tongue, having sensed the rising tension amongst the team an hour ago, but now they are almost at their boiling point. closing your eyes briefly, you try reminding yourself to think about the situation from your players’ perspectives.

their career progression rides on this championship, and with their grit and determination, they will not settle for simply beating their own record in ranking. no, they vie for first place. only the top team secures a position in the international ice hockey league, the most coveted opportunity to represent korea in the championship between the world’s best teams.

and it is during this vital time–when the stress levels and stakes are as high as they can get–that the boys have suddenly had to change coaches. not only have they lost their most trusted support and guide, they have only had one week to adjust to their new one–you. in the grand scheme of things, one week is nowhere near enough time to develop any sort of meaningful relationship where they are able to listen to and rely on you.

taking a breath, you explain, “being so focused on offence leaves your team vulnerable if the opposing team also has aggressive forwards that you can’t break through. the faceoff play needs to be adjusted for those situations, otherwise it’ll be too difficult to control the puck and it will more than likely end up in chaos. it won’t be a game of professional skill anymore, but a circus of dirty play.”

your defence-focused coaching style has worked well for all the past teams you have taught, both men’s and women’s teams. you know that the boys play an offence-focused style; you are reminded too closely of your past self every time they rush head-on into every situation. and it is exactly because of that–because you know the dangers that come with their aggressive style–that you are making them adjust their play. their career comes first and if they suffer an injury, there may not be a career left.

so you will play the bad cop if you have to. they will come to understand you one day.

san bites down on his mouthguard as he listens from his position in the goal. he is able to see each and every play unfold, better than any other of his teammates, so he knows where you are coming from. whilst he has become used to the pressures that come with goaltending, no amount of training or competitions will ever fully eliminate the sudden spike in fear and anticipation the moment the opposing team’s forwards break past yunho and mingi.

san is the team’s last line of defence and the best outcome is that a game never comes down to just him, the opponent’s stick, and his goal. it is true that his team needs to work on their defensive plays, so when the others huff in defiance and reluctantly reset their positions, san simply lowers his centre of gravity in wait for your cue to restart the drill.

“again.”

outside the arena, the echo of sticks and scraping of skates sound faintly as the first leaf of autumn begins to fall to the ground. as time passes, the rest of the leaves will also succumb to a similar fate, only differing in how. some will fall in a slow and graceful descent, whilst others…

…a rapid and spiralling whirlwind downwards.

counting the heads and finding all eight of your players seated in the bus, you nod to the driver to close the door and start driving. most of the boys have chosen to sit on a two-seater by themselves, only yunho and mingi choosing to sit together. they share a set of wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at one of their phones, likely monitoring one of their own matches or one of another team’s.

the rest of the boys sit alone, faces grim and tight as they stare out the window. they look exactly like you used to and it hits you with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.

the ride to the competition venue–much less for the very first game of the season–is always the quietest, air strung tight with nerves as everyone prepares themselves psychologically for the inevitable pressures that the game will bring. being able to compose and centre one’s mindset is already half the battle won, and whilst nobody says it out loud, you all know that today’s results, despite it only being day one, will set the tone for the next four to five months as they fight to qualify for the playoffs.

as you make one final sweep from the back of the bus to the front whilst it pulls away from the curb, you accidentally make eye contact with yeosang. you give him a polite smile and he opens his mouth, closes it on second thought, then decides to ask anyway, “do you want to sit here?”

it is a lie to say that you are not surprised by the question, so you stumble over your response as you stammer, “oh, okay. thanks.”

yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. but backtracking now and rejecting his offer would be a million times worse and you can only try to hide the flaming heat behind your cheeks as best as you can as you sit down in the seat.

he fiddles with the straps of his bag and you can feel his discomfort reeking off his hands. in an attempt to break the ice, you glance at him, “are you nervous for the game?”

he nods, “don’t think it gets any less nerve-wracking no matter how many games you play.”

“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” you hum.

yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

you do not know him well enough to be able to discern whether he is joking with you or not. opting to clear your throat instead, you point out, “you have your teammates who you can trust.”

“yeah…teammates.”

and you have me, too, as your coach, you want to say.

the hopeful glimpse in the dark of your eyes is enough for yeosang to pick up on your thoughts. he swallows uncomfortably and looks away.

we don’t know that yet.

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying once more to extend the conversation after a pregnant pause. “did you guys have a coach before cho?” either you have a shitty sense of appropriate conversation starters or yeosang wants absolutely nothing to do with you (it is likely both, but one can be optimistic), because his shoulders tense almost immediately.

“we did…just one,” he starts off carefully. you think that that is going to be the end of it, but then he adds on, “we don’t really talk about him though.”

and there it is–the end of the conversation. it is his nice way of telling you that there is no more to be said, so you sit the rest of the ride in silence next to yeosang, pretending not to let the sheer awkwardness suffocate you.

when the bus arrives at the gangneung ice arena, you hurry to alight and only then do you feel like you are able to breathe again. you plaster on a smile and notify the boys, “your first game is in two hours against the panthers. you’ve been allocated locker room 3B.”

they make their way into the centre and you trail behind in wait as they find their designated space. warm-ups will be first so they will not be needing their full gear just yet, which means it should not take long for them to change.

inside the locker room, the red devils shrug off their bulky duffle bags and change into their game jerseys, lacing and relacing their skates to ensure the snuggest fits. hongjoong alerts, “boys, time to go out and start warming up,” receiving a chorus of acknowledgement as everyone grabs the rest of the gear that they need.

before jongho places his phone into his assigned locker, he habitually taps on the screen one last time to check for any notifications and finds a single text from his younger brother, jonghyuk. he knows he should not read it, much less right before his first game, but the smaller part inside him that yearns for his family’s recognition dares to hope for something. dragging the preview down to avoid opening it, jongho reads the text.

are you just going to keep pretending you haven’t read our messages?

jongho clenches his jaw and swipes the notification away as if that will also erase it from his mind. tossing his phone into the locker, he shuts it with a harsh swing, resting his forehead against the cool metal as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. this game–this championship–jongho has to win; he cannot afford to lose.

“captain.”

hongjoong turns around to see jongho striding up towards him, brows furrowed and voice troubled as he questions, “are we really not going to tell coach what our game plan is? shouldn’t we work together with her?”

“jongho,” the captain sighs, “we got lucky with coach cho, but we know better than anyone else that not all coaches are like him.”

from where he has been listening in on the conversation at the doors leading out of the locker room, seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen. there is a moment of silence; the rest of the team have already made their way to the ice rink.

“what if we lose?”

it is the way that his voice grows small and timid that hongjoong realises it is not his captain that jongho needs right now. hongjoong’s gaze softens as he searches the younger’s eyes, “did your family say something again?”

he receives no answer but it tells him more than enough. “you trust me?”

jongho’s almost imperceptible nod does not escape hongjoong’s observations, so he continues to reassure, “we’ll win. my boys are the best players, you included, and we already have experience playing in this competition.” he ducks down slightly to meet jongho’s gaze, “and even if we do lose? we lose because of our own skills–not because of anybody else.”

his words tug a small smile out of the corner of the youngest’s lips, and hongjoong returns it with a relieved smile. with a nudge, he sends jongho in the direction of the door, where seonghwa pretends to ruffle his hair affectionately knowing that it will be dodged. seonghwa chuckles lightly and watches him walk off, unbeknownst to his captain watching him.

“hey,” hongjoong calls out gently, “i know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t what i meant.”

seonghwa looks back and winces, “i can’t help it.”

“and that’s why i will keep telling you no matter how many times you need to hear it. it is not your fault–never was, and never will be,” hongjoong cocks his head playfully as he raises an eyebrow.

“same goes to you then, captain,” seonghwa returns the banter, shoulders relaxing and head shaking, “not your fault either.”

“you’re right, so let’s get the fuck out there and smash our game, yeah?” hongjoong slings his arm around the other and leads them both out of the locker room to join the rest of the boys.

what he does not say, though, is that seonghwa is wrong. seonghwa may have been the one to reach out to coach yeon, but hongjoong was the one who made the executive decision to accept and trust coach yeon.

he is not going to make the same mistake twice this time, because it is not just about protecting his dreams, his career, or those of his teammates–it is about protecting the people he loves.

hongjoong will not let them fall…not again.

winter, 2018: regular season

jongho twirls his phone in his hand, intermittently turning the screen on and off. he sits in the corner of the locker room, away from the rest of the boys as they wait for coach yeon to return from checking in and filling out their required paperwork. only several competitions later will they realise that their locker room is small, cramped and dim, but to their fresh, bright-eyed excitement at competing in a professional league for the first time, they hardly have time to critique the assigned space.

the phone comes to a stop. making up his mind, jongho taps on the screen and navigates to the keypad. dialling his mother’s number, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits with bated breath as it is left to ring.

“what do you want,” comes her curt response when she finally picks up.

jongho’s words falter, “oh, nothing…i just wanted to tell you that we’re playing our first game today.”

“game? your little team doesn’t even have a coach,” his mother patronises.

shoulders curling in on themselves, jongho hesitantly voices, “i told you last month that we got a coach.”

“i forgot,” she brushes him off, “and it must not be a very important competition then, seeing as it isn’t worth remembering.”

“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts.

she sceptically probes, “is it national? international?”

“no…regionals.”

“is it ranked at least?”

“it’s just an entry-level competition for rookie teams,” jongho trails off, discouraged and confidence in shambles.

his mother scoffs at his answers, none of which are the ones she wants to hear. “you have no excuse not to win this competition, then. this is child’s play. just look at jonghyuk. he’s two years younger than you, yet already has his eyes on the olympics. if you lose, i don’t want to hear about it–don’t bring shame to our family.”

“okay,” jongho mumbles, but his answer is only heard by the beeping dial of the ended call…and the rest of the boys it seems, if not apparent by the sombre hush that has settled over the room and the worried lips that he sees when he looks up.

yeosang’s mouth parts, the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue, but then coach yeon enters the locker room and calls for their attention. jongho gives them a reassuring smile before setting his phone beside him on the bench and directing his gaze to their coach, grateful for the distraction. it leaves yeosang and the others with no choice but to drop it for now.

coach yeon erases the old scribbles on the room’s whiteboard and replaces it with rough markings of the hockey rink. he drags the magnets into the different zones, each one representative of a player, as he goes over the final lineup and their respective positions based on the opposing team they have been pooled against.

“stay strong on the offensive and maintain a 2-1-2 formation where possible–yeosang, i want you up there with hongjoong and put pressure on the other team. if they gain puck possession, both of you fall back to where wooyoung is and maintain 3-2.”

the three forwards nod and coach yeon touches one of the magnets positioned on the player’s bench. “jongho, you’ll come on for your shift during the second period. whoever you replace will come back in later to sub the other wing. yeosang and wooyoung, you should both be playing again during the third period.”

“yes, coach,” jongho acknowledges.

coach yeon continues on to review their game plan and hongjoong steps up to assist with detailing their different strategic plays. to jongho though, their words sound like he is listening from underwater as his mind involuntary drifts off. it is a small saving grace that his parents do not care for his match, because it means that they will not see that he is not part of the starting lineup.

for seven of the people in the locker room, winning the competition is an aspiration, but for one of them it is an expectation. and for the remaining individual, the competition in itself is an opportunity, but for an entirely different reason.

winter, present: regular season

inevitably, you find out. when discrepancies start to occur between training, pre-game meetings and the actual games, it is only a matter of time before you start to notice them.

it starts off with the uncommon plays that are simply a response to the game situation–ones that are dire and not often brought up prior to them actually occurring. during their fourth regular game of the season, the red devils are behind by two goals. the last period is almost over when they miraculously gain the power advantage after two of the opposing players are sent to the penalty box in quick succession.

before you realise what is happening, hongjoong gives his team a signal and both yunho and mingi on defence and san in the goal all rush forward to attack with the wings. you can only watch with wide eyes as they risk an empty net in the hopes of scoring two much-needed goals to even the playing field.

wooyoung manages to score one with a quick shot, but with the release of the opponents from the penalty box, their advantage is put to an end and they ultimately finish the match with a loss. you do not dwell too much on their sudden change in tactics despite the lack of communication with you, because you understand that every single game requires a different approach. sometimes, there is no time to strategise, only time to act.

but one occurrence turns into two, and two turns into several. and when, during one of their matches the week prior, jongho and wooyoung swap positions on the left and right sides of the rink as soon as the youngest replaces yeosang’s shift, it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you.

the boys are not brainless. it is not a coincidence for you and the team to discuss one game plan in the locker room only for it to completely change the moment they step onto the hockey rink.

you silently watch as the boys prepare for a faceoff in their defensive zone. they are currently playing against the incheon bears and the timing of the penalty puts you all on edge; the score is currently tied four to four and only twelve seconds are left on the clock. you had requested a time-out right as the referee made the call in hopes of stopping the momentum of the opposing team and to tell the boys to play defensively for this faceoff.

“play it safe. stall for the last twelve seconds and drag the game into overtime,” you had ordered.

the incheon bears have made a shift change with their player number four coming on for the faceoff, their right wing who has low stamina but terrifyingly accurate shots. he is responsible for most of his team’s goals and several other scoring attempts that san had only just managed to block. you are also almost certain that they will be aggressively body checking your players to make this faceoff count for them. your forwards have to play safely–not just for the sake of the game’s score.

at your defensive suggestion, san had nodded in agreement with you, “forwards need to make passes with sure lanes–nothing that can risk getting intercepted. go for the reverse setup play if you guys can.”

“we don’t need to take this into overtime,” hongjoong had started to argue, “other than number four, the rest of their offence is weak. as long as we break past him, we have an opportunity to score.”

“captain–”

the whistle blows before mingi can give his two cents, the mere thirty seconds for the time-out far too short, and the boys hurry to enter the rink again. hongjoong leans in quickly to say something to them before they disperse into their positions and mingi glances at you, almost guiltily.

you do not have the confidence that your team will listen. san may have seen the advantages in favouring a defensive play, but he is not the one who will decide which direction the puck will go when the referee drops it onto the ice. hongjoong is.

the hand of the referee raises to signal the start of the faceoff and both team’s centre forwards lower their stance. then the puck hits the ice. hongjoong’s nimble reflexes help him to snap his wrist and twist the puck away from the incheon bear’s player, wooyoung already surging ahead with explosive strides towards the other end of the rink. but just as you fear, the opponent’s left wing thunders at hongjoong with horrifying speed, intention solely to bowl him over onto the ice–not to steal the puck.

“fuck, captain!” you yell, heart leaping up into your throat as it cuts off your breath.

hongjoong’s eyes snap upwards and darken, jaws aching from the force with which he grinds his teeth together despite his mouthguard. he suddenly pivots on the edges of his skates and shifts his weight to only just narrowly miss the body check, then flicks the puck away before another player can knock him down.

he does not need to look before passing to where he knows wooyoung will be, years of synergy allowing their plays to connect seamlessly. except incheon bear’s number four has predicted their exact play, having been watching from the benches and noting your forwards’ preference for aggressive attacks.

“shit,” yunho curses under his breath, ice shaving under his skates from the accelerating force of his strides towards the puck. he is not going to make it in time. “mingi!”

seonghwa jolts up to his feet from the player’s bench, chest mid-inhale with apprehension at the captain’s pass. the puck is intercepted within the blink of an eye and with a well-timed punch turn around yunho’s attempt to regain possession, the rival team’s number four makes a shot for the goal.

it is too fast for mingi’s stick to block–arm still stretching out with desperation–and although san drops down to his knees in hopes of barricading the goal with his leg pads, the trajectory of the puck arcs higher than he had predicted.

as the puck soars past san and hits the netting of the goal, the buzzer sounds in tandem with the eruption of cheers around the rink. all around, the incheon bears swarm towards their number four in joyous celebration. mingi leans over to rest his hands on his knees from both exhaustion and defeat, and the other boys stand in similar stances as the outcome of the game registers in their tired minds.

in an attempt to cheer them up despite his own disappointment, seonghwa half-heartedly smiles at his boys as they slowly start to trudge their way off the rink. “we played well, boys. it was unlucky that our pass got intercepted, but we can do better next time.”

“good thing it isn’t the playoffs yet,” yunho tries to joke, “so we’re still in the competition.”

nobody cracks a smile and wooyoung’s face is dark, hand grabbing the walls in support to favour his left foot whilst lifting his skates over the slight ledge of the bench door. noting his slight limp, san quietly murmurs in worry, “did you tape your ankle?”

wooyoung shakes his head. “i ran out. forgot to buy some yesterday.”

“make sure you ice it tonight then, okay?” san gently supports him by the elbow to the benches so they can loosen the laces of their skates and grab their things before heading to the locker room.

you look away to flip through the notebook in your hand instead, trying to calm the shaking of your hands. ice hockey is a contact sport and you cannot protect the players from every single collision, but that last body check that hongjoong had been unprepared for still has acid pooling into your mouth. you scratch the score ‘4-5’ onto a page filled with their scores from this season thus far. a quick calculation tells you that the red devils have just as many losses as they have wins, which in all honesty, is not looking good.

this…conflict needs to be cleared with the team–with hongjoong. you cannot let this concealment of tactics and blatant changing of strategies right in your face continue any longer, because at the rate they are going, they may not even make it into the playoffs. and as you make eye contact with san, who has been staring despondently at the puck that still lies in his goal, you know that you must clear the air for the team, too. the last thing you need is for their own teamwork to fall apart because their differing opinions on your coaching starts to drive a wedge between them.

san stills when you break your gaze and glance away to pivot on your heels in the direction of the changerooms. from the way your mouth thins and neck becomes rigid, he is quite certain you are not happy—and rightfully so, san must admit. he stalls time by slipping off his bulky gloves and freeing his hands up to remove his helmet and mouthguard too.

noting that the other boys have grabbed most of their belongings, san heads off first to meet you, knowing that they will follow him soon after. he walks down the corridor easily balancing on his skates and rounds the corner to their locker room. except the sight that greets him has his feet halting and taking a step back behind the doorway.

your hand is deep in one of their bags. san is unsure whose bag it is, but the brief glimpse of the black canvas bag he caught is enough to tell him that it is one of theirs. although he is not making any accusations, he also cannot think of a reason as to why you would be rummaging through their bags.

“why are you just standing there?”

jongho’s voice startles him and he mumbles, “nothing,” before stepping through the door with the rest of his team. you are sitting on a bench in front of an empty locker now and if he did not know better, san would think that he had imagined the last minute. he glances discreetly at the bag you had been poking through and recognises it as wooyoung’s.

gingerly seating himself in front of his own locker, san waits on edge as mingi also grasps the atmosphere and sits too. gradually, the boys read the room with tactful glances and linger on their feet or on the benches. all except for one.

“what was that?” you cut through the silence with a directed question at hongjoong.

the captain continues to toss his gloves into his unzipped bag at the bottom of his locker before proceeding to unlace his skates, not once turning to look at you.

“what was what?”

you know fully well that he is aware of what you are talking about but you decide to humour him as you elaborate, “that last faceoff. i clearly told you to play defensively, but you went against it to try for a goal. and let me guess, you told the others to ignore what i said.”

“and so what if i did?” hongjoong challenges. yeosang’s wide eyes dart from side to side and yunho watches on uneasily as his captain finally turns to glare at you. “in that moment–as a player on the rink–i saw the opportunity and took it. if there is a chance to attack, then my team takes it. we don’t run away like cowards.”

the successive jabs at your athletic retirement cause a lick of phantom heat to wrap around your shoulder. your jaw grinds as you hold yourself back from biting the bait. “then i’m curious as to what opportunity you saw every time you decided to withhold game tactics from me, or every time you changed the strategy the moment you and your team stepped foot onto the rink.”

“maybe we would respect and listen to your coaching if it actually suited the playing style of our team. heavy defence may have worked for the grey eagles, but i think you need to reevaluate your abilities as a coach because it seems like you are forgetting that we are not them. forcing us to play defensively like your past team is not going to work for shit, coach,” hongjoong mocks.

you scoff to the side, questioning your own ears. it borders on a laugh, because that is his reason? you have been adjusting their playing style not only based on the situation that arises each game, but in general for their own good. earning his respect be damned, you will not stand for this.

you return the same scornful tone, “well then, captain, considering you just lost the fucking match because you were too arrogant to defend for twelve fucking seconds, i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you.

“if you do not have the decency to at least tell me what you have discussed with the boys so that i can adjust the plays accordingly, then i think the shit results of your games so far speak for themselves. teams have a coach for a reason whether you like it or not…or maybe i should say, whether you trust them or not,” you snap.

running your stressed fingers through your hair, you tear your eyes away from hongjoong’s defiant eyes. the two youngest avoid your gaze, whereas yunho and yeosang simply stare at you with their jaws slack at a loss for words. the fire within you almost quenches when your eyes skim over san, mingi and even seonghwa, who are fiddling with their jerseys with guilt.

the room suddenly feels too small and too stuffy. “change. the bus will be waiting outside,” you mumble, then you leave without a further word.

nobody in the room moves in the wake of the argument, not even hongjoong, who continues to bore holes in the doorway that you have just disappeared through. yunho’s eyes awkwardly dart back and forth between hongjoong and the other boys before they land on the bench you had been sitting on.

the notebook you are always holding is still there, left behind in your haste to leave. he stands up to grab it, turning on his heels to chase after you when the open pages catch his eye. “woah,” yunho breathes out, double-taking and bringing the notebook closer towards him to read the contents. “this is insane.”

you have marked down not only their score for every single game they have played this season, but you have also tracked the statistics of who has scored, assisted, or successfully defended a shot. yunho flips back through the pages as the other boys come to crowd around him. there are logs of their major games from the past five years, diagrams of their faceoff plays and formations, analyses of their strengths in games won and similarly, analyses of their weaknesses in games they have lost.

“oh, fuck,” mingi curses when yunho flips to the more recent pages and they see that you have compiled the same details and information, only more concisely, for every single opponent team the red devils have played against this season. there is no way of seeing this–hours upon hours of hard work–and still questioning your intentions as their coach. “i think we owe coach a huge fuckin’ apology.”

hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?”

“captain,” mingi deliberately calls. it is at times like this where being the only logical thinker in the team has its merits. it may be harsh, but mingi must draw the line between their professional and personal life. this dispute must stay strictly within the bounds of their career without blurring the lines over into their romantic involvement with one another, otherwise things could get messy real fast.

mingi stares at the captain as he reasons, “this isn’t about taking sides. from a solely rational point of view, i think it may have been better for us to play safe and defend like coach had suggested.”

from beside him, san nods in agreement. mingi continues, “and i’m not just talking about today–there were a lot of times when coach’s plays might have worked out better than bulldozing ahead with offence. yeah, we’ve won a few games but we’ve also lost just as many. how many of those could we have won if we had trusted coach?”

yunho backs him up whilst gesturing vaguely between the both of them and san, “it’s easier for the three of us to see from defence, but their forwards were already close to intercepting our faceoffs quite a few times that game.”

hongjoong’s immediate thought is to defend himself, because he is their captain and their centre forward; the one who leads them into opportunities to score and win. he knows that every single time he chooses an aggressive play, it is at the risk of weaker defence. the odds have never deterred him, though, because he has always been confident in his abilities–in his team’s abilities.

but if, even now with the palpable experience of losing because of his own decision, it still does not deter him from taking risks in a situation where offence may be his downfall, then is he confident…or overconfident?

it is quiet for a moment. hongjoong swallows the urge to justify against their opinions–against your opinions–instead looking around at his team. he meets jongho’s round eyes and he remembers one of the very reasons why he is so committed to leading the red devils to the gold trophy. why, if he is becoming a hurdle instead to their victory, then he needs to change. “what does everybody else think? seonghwa?”

“we’ve been wary of y/n all this time, but the more games we play and especially after…” the alternate captain vaguely gestures in the air, “...today, we should really work with her instead of relying on ourselves. we’ve seen her notebook, too, and i think that’s more than enough for us to see that the effort and resolve she places in our team is genuine. we need to acknowledge that and apologise.”

“not even coach cho went to these lengths, and most definitely not coach yeon,” yeosang shrugs as he offhandedly comments.

spurred on by everybody else, san carefully voices the thought that has been lingering on his mind, “i think it’s time to tell her the truth. we owe her that much.”

the truth. the wounds that not even coach cho knows of.

hongjoong’s distrust in you may have initially been true to his desire to protect his boys from something like that from happening again. but he is now realising that you may have seen right through him. perhaps at some point in time, it became unwillingness to trust you, blinded by his prideful title as the demon king of the ice rink but at the expense of his team under the guise of wanting to safeguard them.

exhaling shakily, voice thick with regret, hongjoong accepts, “i’ve let you all down, haven’t i?”

“no,” yunho gently rebukes. “letting us down would be refusing to listen to us. we trust you for a reason, hongjoong.”

not just as a captain, but as everything else too.

seonghwa wraps an arm comfortingly around him. with hongjoong’s demonic presence on the ice once he is in the zone, it is easy to forget that he actually has a shorter stature than all of them. “that’s right, we trust you,” seonghwa affirms. “the next step is for us to trust our coach as well. we’re a team, but it isn’t complete without our coach.”

“and this apology isn’t yours alone to bear,” yunho reminds. “like seonghwa said, we’re a team and we all have fault in our behaviour towards y/n. if i’m honest, i had a shitty attitude and gave her a hard time at the start too,” he admits, wincing at the memory.

yunho is not the only one who grimaces as they reflect on their own actions–whether they happened when you were first introduced to the team, during your first training together, or even up until today’s game. but wooyoung, who has been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, still has a niggling doubt: one that is most personal to him in comparison to the rest of the team.

wooyoung reveals his thoughts, “but what about her choice to stop playing? i still can’t think of a good reason that i can respect her for having retired.”

“then we ask her,” mingi proposes.

jongho nods, also curious to know whether there is more to your decision than you have let on. “today, though? we don’t really want to come off as accusatory or anything. it might be good to give her some space today.”

“what’s our schedule looking like tomorrow? training?”

everyone looks at seonghwa, the most likely person to know their schedule off by heart. he does, and he scratches his head as he recalls, “no, recovery day. low-intensity cardio in the morning and…a team meeting with coach in the afternoon.”

“tomorrow it is, then,” hongjoong concludes. there are hums of agreement and the decision appears to appease wooyoung enough for the boys to start dispersing, heading to their lockers to finally start changing out of their gear.

wooyoung tosses his helmet and gloves onto the bench in front of his locker before sitting with a sharp but discreet inhale. he carefully loosens the laces on his skates, easing the left one off his foot slowly. the relief is immediate and his fingertips gingerly touch the throbbing area around his ankle. it is not too swollen, but he will need to ice it when they get back to their apartment and he will definitely need to buy more tape.

he sheds off the rest of his gear and uniform, leaving them on the bench too to air out while he takes a quick shower. as he roughly towels his wet hair afterwards, he drags his kit bag further out to make it easier to toss everything in.

“huh?” wooyoung makes a noise of confusion when he unzips the bag, hand immediately reaching in to grab the item that has caught his eye. it is partially covered by his hoodie but he would be able to recognise the packaging anywhere.

“what’s wrong?” san asks, glancing over.

the younger brandishes the brand new roll of strapping tape he has found in his bag, the frown etched across his face slowly relaxing into amused exasperation as he reasons, “i must not have seen this in my bag all along.”

san is about to snort and make fun of his inattentiveness, but a sudden thought stuns the smile off his face. it was not that wooyoung had managed to miss the spare roll in his bag. it was–

“y/n,” he quietly exhales with realisation.

at wooyoung’s questioning what?, san looks at him with upturned eyebrows. “the tape–coach was the one who put it in your bag, right before we all walked in here.”

“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?”

san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” he turns to zip up his own kit bag and leaves wooyoung to digest the revelation. the boy is quiet for the rest of the time, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he stares ahead and absentmindedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room.

when they exit the ice arena, they do not expect to see you. and yet, there you stand beside their bus waiting stonily with your jacket zipped up and hands in your pockets. you mentally count them off without acknowledging them as they start to store their kit bags under the bus and board. yeosang gets on first, taking a seat near the front of the bus as usual. he watches from the window as you wait for the rest of the boys.

you follow jongho up the stairs, the last to load his kit bag, and tell the driver that you are all good to leave. yeosang sits a little straighter as he tucks his small backpack further under the seat in front of him with his feet, having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. yeosang leans back into the cushions of his seat, unfamiliar with the sense of disappointment he feels.

the ride back from the competition venue–much less after a lost game–is always quiet, players both physically and mentally exhausted from the strain. this time, though, it is strikingly silent, but you appreciate it–need it.

you stare out of the window as the trees flicker past like a repetitive motion film. most of their leaves have already fallen off, littering the ground in a blur of tragic glory. and with the beginning of winter, the trees will soon become completely bare, bringing about the period of time when there is nothing but bleak emptiness.

winter, 2019: regular season

‘2019 ice hockey rookie stars tournament: team standings’

hongjoong stares at the printed piece of paper with seonghwa at his side, where the results of all the team’s round-robin games have been taped up onto the walls of the stadium. hongjoong does not even bother reading from the top, eyes going straight down to the bottom of the page instead.

the red devils are dead last, having lost every single one of their matches. even the korean penguins, who had nil wins either, had managed to beat them earlier today, ranking them at the lowest of all teams. it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity.

nobody else but the two captains of the team have decided to look at the rankings. they had all already known towards the end of the regular season that they would not stand a chance at making it into the playoffs. and yet, hongjoong and seonghwa need to see the results for themselves. it is almost masochistic, forcing themselves to look at the fruitless results of their hard work in their first competition that has so devastatingly crushed their morality.

seonghwa picks at his cuticles fretfully and wonders whether he made the wrong decision to give up his education in pursuit of becoming an athlete. he thinks of his parents, who had encouraged him with supportive smiles and offers of financial support the moment he brought up the idea–was it all in vain?

“are you two done looking?”

both of the boys turn at the question to find a captain with his team waiting to look at the standings.

“yeah, sorry,” hongjoong mumbles before stepping aside to yield his spot. the players swarm forwards and he is pushed further back away from the list like a physical representation of his distance from the playoffs.

somebody from the other team yells, “we made it! we’re in the playoffs!” and they simultaneously break out into cries and cheers as they celebrate together.

hongjoong watches on bitterly, wishing with every cell in his body that that was him and his boys. how is he going to walk back into the locker room as their captain when all of his boys have eyes that are rimmed red and cheeks that are blotchy from despair–when there are captains like that who have successfully led their team to at least a chance at winning the competition.

the feeling of a pinky slowly hooking around his own draws hongjoong out of his pain. “let’s go back,” seonghwa murmurs, tugging him away from the still-celebrating team. together, both of them start to walk back through the hallways to their locker room. 

“aren’t we down here?” seonghwa questions, standing at the t-intersection that hongjoong has absentmindedly walked straight past.

“oh, yeah. sorry,” hongjoong apologises and begins to backtrack. his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a voice. “wait, doesn’t that sound like coach?”

before seonghwa can respond, hongjoong has turned around yet again towards the voice in search of their coach. seonghwa hurries to catch up and that is when he hears it too.

“have you transferred the money?”

“yes, i wired you the remaining amount the moment we won,” a deeper, unrecognisable voice reassures.

hongjoong’s footsteps falter, brows knitting together and head cocking to one side. he gestures for seonghwa to slow down, pressing a finger on his other hand to his lips. both of them creep forward silently.

the unfamiliar voice probes, “your team–you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?”

hongjoong and seonghwa do not need to see him to confirm their suspicions when they hear the unmistakable laughter of coach yeon. through the gravelly sound, he mocks, “they have no fucking clue even though they’ve lost every single one of their games. they’re dumber than fucking sheep. their captain tells me everything about their plays and strategies and they never question it when i change things around.”

seonghwa clutches the back of hongjoong’s jersey with a death grip, knowing that without it, his captain will punch coach yeon’s face into a bloody mess. but as much as their coach deserves it, it is not worth the disciplinary action that will inevitably follow, likely suspension, because–

“plus, even if they do somehow find out, what can they do about it? bullshit, that’s what. they have no evidence and they’re not going to risk blowing this up and ruining their own careers instead,” coach yeon boasts smugly. “losing like that as a rookie group in their first year out is completely normal. no one will believe them, and no coach is going to want their team after that because of their ‘shitty sportsmanship’ or out of fear of being accused in the same way if they lose again.”

at coach yeon’s words, seonghwa scrambles to put them into context with his dread-riddled mind. the echoing pounding in his ears tells him that he has just heard something that was never meant to be known. he does not even notice that the voices start to grow distant as the two men begin to walk off, but hongjoong does.

the trembling grip that is still on the back of his jersey grounds hongjoong enough not to throw everything away and sprint up to coach yeon with vile words and heated fists, but he also cannot do nothing. hongjoong peers around the corner before seonghwa can counteract his movement, desperate to identify who exactly coach yeon is talking to. except the revelation has him reeling, hands white from how hard his fingers dig into his palm–a stark contrast to the deep scarlet of flames that leap forth from his murderous eyes.

because the person who is walking beside coach yeon is the coach of the korean penguins. hongjoong and his boys have not been losing because of their skills they believed to be fucking shit–coach yeon has been fucking ensuring they lose.

for money.

winter, present: regular season

you stand on the balcony of your apartment. the sliding glass doors are shut behind you to keep the heat trapped inside, but for now you welcome the refreshing cold of the winter chill as you simply observe.

below on the streets, the miniature specks of people and cars mill around as if you are watching a game simulation. it is strangely humbling to think that each and every one of the people you see are living their own lives, completely distinct to yours with different yet very real problems of their own, but in the grand scheme of the cosmos, you are all insignificant.

you wonder what concern the people holding their coffee are plagued with right now; what problem the people crossing the street are facing. you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens?

the phone in your hand buzzes. you look to see if it is from coach cho and manage a small smile of relief when the notification is indeed from him.

apologies y/n, i was busy earlier. i can call now if you still need me?

you send an affirmative reply, then slide to answer the call that comes through. “hi coach, sorry to bother you.”

“no, you’re alright. is everything okay?”

you hesitate before revealing, “...i messed things up with the boys.”

“the team?” his voice goes gentle, fatherly nature extending to you too. “what happened?”

“hongjoong and i had an argument today after the game because he keeps changing the team’s plays without letting me know, or even after we’ve agreed on something else. it was only meant to be a talk, but then things escalated and we ended up fighting. i just–i don’t know what you saw in me, coach, because i don’t think i’m fit for the boys,” you ramble. “they’re not listening to me, they probably don’t even like me, and we’re going terribly with the season.”

you take a breath as you timidly admit, “i don’t think we’re going to make it into the playoffs and it’s going to be my fault.”

“hey,” coach cho grounds you, “making the playoffs would be great, yes, but the reality is that most teams don’t. and you’re still very young yourself–this is your, what…fifth year of coaching?”

throat too sticky to formulate a response, you simply hum.

“when i first started coaching, i was older than you and it was still a steep learning curve during my first ten years. i believed that coaches deserved the utmost respect and that my opinion was final. they’re my players, so of course i should be the one laying down the laws,” he chuckles. “but growing up was realising that whilst the respect is still there, it needs to be mutual. coaching a team is not a hierarchy of ‘i command, you listen’, but a show of leadership with the captain at the front of the team–not on top of them.”

his words strike a chord within you. coaching the boys was frustrating because they were not listening to you. but it should never have been a case of who listens to who–it should always have been a reciprocated relationship of everyone listening to one other.

as if he can physically feel the guilt that is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach, coach cho draws your attention to something else. “remember what i told you when we met the team for the first time? why i chose you specifically?”

“because of our similar playing styles?” you recall.

“exactly,” he confirms, “you know best the strategies and plays that work, and what their strengths and weaknesses are, because they were also your own. you need to be a coach to their playing style, not the other way around–they shouldn’t be a player to your coaching style.”

you cannot help but worry, “what if they get injured?”

“y/n, this is where your similarities can either be your biggest flaw or your greatest asset as a coach. no matter how safely they play, there will always be a risk of injury. that is just how the sport works and you know that the best. you can teach them to assess the risk and pull back if they really need to, but ultimately, there is no way of eliminating the risk completely.” coach cho pauses, then asks, “if you could meet your younger self, would you make yourself change your playing style?”

would you? as you imagine what you would tell your past self if you had the chance to, you find that you do not have an answer. perhaps for the sake of a prolonged career, you would. but then would it be your passion and skills that are playing the game, or your fears and worries?

if you cannot come to a decision even for yourself, then it is completely unfair for you to restrain the boys within the cages of what you view as safety for their own good. harnessing the defensive skills may have been functional for the grey eagles, but like hongjoong said, you are coaching the red devils now and it is not working for them. you must come to terms that you cannot protect the boys at every opportunity–consciously or unconsciously–you need to be a coach to them.

coach cho, aware that you have come to a conclusion, asks you one final question, “have you told the boys why you retired?”

“no, not yet,” you shake your head. you already have an idea of what he is going to say to you next.

“i think it’s time for you to tell them,” he advises. “remember, y/n, sometimes you need to be vulnerable with them first before you can make things right.”

after coach cho ends the call, you do not make a move to go back inside the apartment. you stay standing on your balcony, arms folded as you lean against the handrail listening to the faint rumble of traffic and hustle of busy activity. life goes on, and so will yours; you just have to make it count.

the trees on the streets may be stripped bare and lonely throughout winter, but eventually you learn to appreciate its nothingness. it is a necessity in order to start afresh.

mingi stares at the blinking cursor that sits in the open search bar. it has been empty for the last twenty minutes since he started up his laptop, wondering whether it would be an invasion of privacy for him to look you up on the internet.

he makes up his mind. he knows that he was the one to tell wooyoung only mere hours ago that they would ask you about your decision to retire tomorrow at the meeting, but mingi supposes it would not hurt to simply see what sort of athlete you were like before.

typing your full name into the search engine, mingi hits ‘enter’ and waits for the results to appear. he combs through the first several links quickly. they all have the same information; ice hockey databases and websites that detail your age, nationality, physical stats and position, but the sections that usually list your team and agency are now blank.

mingi is surprised to learn you were also a centre forward. he scrolls down to your game logs and match statistics that span from 2014 to 2019. you have won an impressive number of championships, most notably the under-18 and under-21 women’s ice hockey league. they are both international competitions and mingi is not sure how your reputation has flown under all of their radars.

frowning, he goes back to the search engine and clicks on the next page in an attempt to find more information. it is not until he clicks yet again to the next page that he finds a low-reputed news article from almost eight years ago where you are the main subject.

‘y/n l/n, youngest player of ‘black cats’, wins ice hockey championship at the age of sixteen’ the headline reads. there is not much to the article, but it outlines your admirable achievement at your young age as a rising prodigy in the ice hockey scene. mingi agrees, since he knows that you also go on to win another international competition a few years after that. just as he is about to close the tab, there is a recommended link that catches his eye.

he hovers his cursor over it. the hyperlinked headline does not explicitly say your name, but the phrasing really only alludes to one athlete considering it is a recommended link on your article. mingi does not know whether he wants to click on it, though, because he is afraid of confirming it is you.

and if it is…then the others will also need to see this too.

“hongjoong, guys, come look at this,” mingi calls out, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he walks out into the open living room. the others look up from where they are sitting or emerge from out of their rooms at his summon.

“what’s this?” hongjoong reaches out to receive the laptop and places it on the table. his eyes skim the screen, trying to make sense of what mingi is showing them.

mingi points to the hyperlink he had been mulling over. “i think we need to look at this.”

solemnity washes over the boys as their curious gazes dull and darken, realisation of what exactly they are reading dawning upon them. all at once, their hearts clench in solidarity. hongjoong clicks on the link. the only sound that permeates the silence is the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. nobody talks. nobody moves.

ice hockey star announces retirement following shoulder injury june 18, 2019 star player y/n l/n, centre forward of the ‘black cats’, has announced her retirement from professional ice hockey today. her decision follows lingering issues after suffering from a rotator cuff tear during the grand finals of this year’s under-21 women’s ice hockey league. l/n has been under the ice hockey spotlight ever since her win in the under-18’s league as the youngest player on her team. she is well-known for her offensive threat to the opponents, bold playing style and unparalleled skill breaking through the lines of defence.  during the grand finals in april, l/n was body checked from the side by ‘polar bears’’ kim hyejin. although full-body checking is illegal in women’s hockey, it is not uncommon during the heat of competitions. l/n suffered a severe right rotator cuff tear and is reported to have received open surgery last month. l/n did not provide further details about her recovery, however stated that she plans to focus on her physical rehabilitation in the meantime.

the glare of the screen stares back at the boys as they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life.

“coach wasn’t telling us to play defensively at all the crucial times just for the sake of the game strategy…” seonghwa grasps.

“...but because she didn’t want the same thing to happen to us,” hongjoong finishes. one of your heated remarks during your argument with him suddenly resounds in his mind: and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you. you had been reliving your own demons every single time hongjoong and his boys were playing aggressively on the ice. “fuck,” he mutters.

mingi leans down a little. “wait, see if there are any other articles about this.”

fingers dancing across the keyboard, hongjoong opens up a new tab. another quick search of your name with the keywords ‘injury’ and ‘retirement’ yields no further articles. mingi is certain you would have had more media coverage considering you had suffered an injury at the rising peak of your prodigious career, so he finds it strange that there is close to no information about this.

“it almost looks as if somebody had the articles purged from the internet,” mingi observes.

jongho nods with furrowed brows, “maybe y/n? but why would she go to the length to remove them?”

“i mean, wooyoung didn’t exactly go around flaunting off his injury to the media. maybe she didn’t want the attention anymore,” yeosang guesses.

yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.”

“i think the real question is why coach didn’t tell us that her injury was the reason why she stopped playing,” seonghwa wonders, “it was never really a choice like she made it out to be.”

none of them know the answer. hongjoong slowly closes the laptop, exhaling deeply, “we’ve got a lot of things to clear up tomorrow…and a lot of apologising. i’m going to sleep early. you all should too.”

with that, he gets out of his seat and disappears into his bedroom. hongjoong’s mind is heavy and crowded and he knows he is going to be awake for a while.

nobody sleeps well that night. especially wooyoung.

spring, 2023: playoffs

“what do you mean i can’t compete in the playoffs?”

“you have a fractured ankle, wooyoung. the playoffs are honestly the least of your concerns and if you keep straining yourself like this, it won’t just be the playoffs that you can’t compete in–it’ll be the rest of your life,” coach cho admonishes.

“but this is our first proper championship, coach,” wooyoung begs, “you have to let me play.”

coach cho hates that he has to say no and if he could swap ankles with his player, he would do so in a heartbeat. “this isn’t a choice. you physically cannot play. what are you going to do out there on the ice? crawl?”

“fuck, coach, you don’t understand. it was so hard for us to get to this point. this means everything to me, fuck, please,” wooyoung pleads between heaving breaths.

“i’m sorry, wooyoung,” coach cho apologises, leaving no further room for argument as the other boys divert their gazes to the floor.

hongjoong gently squeezes wooyoung’s shoulder. “the doctor said that your cast can come off in about eight weeks and if it’s looking good, you can gradually join in on any light training when it’s off-season.”

wooyoung does not care because in eight week’s time the playoffs will already be over. he knows he is being unreasonable and that there is no chance he will be able to set foot in an ice rink within the next two months. but his heart and mind are operating separately and the only thing his heart can see is the opportunity of playing in the championships slipping right out of his grasp.

he is already angry at himself for getting injured in the first place but it is not enough to quell wooyoung’s raging inferno. so he does the only thing he can think of in the moment–he spits out his anger with a venomous, “i hate you all.”

it hurts the boys more to see wooyoung hurting and coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.”

wooyoung jerks his head away defiantly, but they know he is only trying to hide his tears. unable to watch any longer, san moves in closer and pulls the younger into his arms.

“fuck off, san. i don’t need you.”

san swallows the hurt in his chest because he knows there is no truth behind wooyoung’s words. “i know you don’t,” he offers, “but i need you. so just let me stay.”

wooyoung’s body sags as all of the fight slips out of him in the form of shuddering sobs. san embraces him tightly, as if he has picked up all the pieces of the other and only a hug can make him whole again.

“i’m sorry,” wooyoung chokes out.

san shakes his head with reassuring hushes, “don’t be. you focus on recovering and we’ll take it from here.”

like that, wooyoung’s anger is quenched and the team goes on to compete in the playoffs without him. but in the absence of anger comes other emotions, jealousy and insecurity the ugliest of them all. wooyoung despises the bitter taste in his mouth as he sits on the player’s bench outside of the rink each game, only able to helplessly watch his team advance further in the playoffs without him.

and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him playing as their left wing, then do they really need him at all? he never gets to find out the answer though. they lose in the quarter finals.

wooyoung does not tell anybody about the ill relief he feels…and he vows to take that secret with him to the grave.

winter, present: regular season

the moment you walk into kq’s meeting room, a rehearsed apology for the team on the tip of your tongue, you realise that something is off. not necessarily wrong, per se; just off.

all the boys are sitting around the table as usual, though the overhead projector that is routinely already set up with video footage of their recent games has been put on standby mode. but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. it is familiar in the sense that people have looked at you this way in the past, but it is foreign in the sense that it has never come from the boys before.

“hi, coach,” hongjoong clears his throat awkwardly, opting to look at the wall behind you instead of your eyes as if even he knows this is the first time he has ever addressed you as such. “we had a…talk last night and thought we should probably clear up a few things before we discuss the actual games.”

although you share the same sentiment as they do, hongjoong’s words put you on guard. gingerly, you lower yourself into an empty seat across from him. “i also have a couple of things to say, but you guys start,” you cue.

hongjoong glances at seonghwa beside him, who in turn gives him a miniscule shrug. neither of them know how to bring it up with you as they are afraid of saying the wrong thing. thankfully, mingi steps in, not one to beat around the bush.

“why didn’t you tell us about your injury?” he asks directly.

with mingi’s question, you are suddenly able to place their expression. the boys look at you warily as if you are a wounded animal they are afraid will run away. you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now.

your prickles emerge and your instinctive reaction is to deny it. you have kept your injury a secret up until now for a reason and the unexpected confrontation has all of your sirens blaring to keep it a secret. but then you remember coach cho’s advice–you remember the apology you had mulled over all night–and you force your prickles to retract.

you take a breath. coach cho would not have told them about your injury, so there is only one way the boys could have found out about it. “you read the articles, didn’t you?”

mingi at least has the decency to look sheepish as he admits, “one…but there weren’t any others.”

“i thought as much,” you mumble to yourself, smiling tightly. you choose not to think about how they came across the article. “i wanted them all removed and my agency managed to pull enough connections to sweep the articles under the rug, but i should have known that in this day and age it would be impossible to get rid of any media completely.”

the question remains as to why you have chosen to keep this hidden and also–

“why did you want them removed, though?” hongjoong furrows his brows.

you have faced countless demons in the last six years. the injury itself, the abrupt end to your golden days, and the forced reconciliation with the fact that you will never be able to play again. and yet, the demon that continues to haunt you to this day is the media spotlight that chases after you as if you are a circus animal.

you are unable to look at any of them in the eye as you finally bare yourself open to the boys. “the articles felt belittling and shameful–they still do. they made me feel less as an athlete then and they make me feel less as a coach now. i worked my heart and soul to get to where i was with the skills that i had, but you don’t understand just how crippling it is for all of that to be overshadowed by an injury. it was no longer a celebration of my achievements, simply because nobody cared anymore. it just became a fucking broken record of, ‘how does it feel to have fallen at the peak of your career?’

“then when i became a coach, it didn’t matter how well my team performed or how hard they worked to win the championships. the question became, ‘how does it feel to coach after being forced to retire because of your injury?’ no matter how hard i tried, i just could not escape the hellhole of my injury.”

guilt settles in the pit of mingi’s stomach as it also does for the others. they may not have written the article, but by consuming it and searching for more, they had unknowingly joined the faceless masses of those who had hurt you.

you dig your thumbs into the flesh of your thighs to stop your voice from shaking as you continue, “the media will not care for the achievements that myself or my players accomplish when there is something even better–a sob story. but i do not need that kind of pity. not from athletes, not from other coaches, and most definitely not from strangers silently pitying my life from behind their newspaper or screen when i did not ask for any of it. i made people forget and i kept this all hidden because my career, be it as a coach or a former athlete, does not deserve to be reduced to that kind of shit.”

the raw honesty behind your words strikes the boys silent. what they thought they had started to understand about you, they are now realising was barely the tip of the iceberg. seonghwa wonders for just how long you have left this wound bleeding and untreated. he calls out for you sadly, “coach, you should’ve told us.”

when you look up, you are surprised to find wetness brimming his eyes. you feel the hot rush of emotions build up behind your own eyes but from anger, because why is he upset? what reason does he have to cry when you are the one who has suffered all this time?

your voice is biting when you respond, “and have you look down on me like everybody else? i just said, i do not need your pity–”

“it’s not pity,” a voice interrupts firmly. of all people, you least expected it to come from wooyoung. his tone stays unyielding as he holds your gaze. “we’re athletes too, y/n.”

the way he includes you in the collective–as an athlete–has your glare softening immediately, replaced by the dangerous quivering of your bottom lip while he elaborates, albeit voice gentler now, “we are hurting for you–with you. it is not pity; it is standing by your side in hopes that we can help you up if you ever fall again.”

because it is okay to fall, and you will fall; wooyoung knows that the best.

you tilt your head upwards as you desperately blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill. the swell of emotions that had churned in your chest had not been anger but fatigue, you realise. wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help.

“i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly.

“then let us share the hurt with you.”

the dam breaks and your tears fall freely down your cheeks. it starts off with a nod so miniscule that the boys think they have imagined it, but then slowly and surely, your head moves up and down with more conviction. “okay,” you whisper.

you had always thought that you had come to terms with your injury and the end of your career, but perhaps you are still mourning your loss…and perhaps that is okay. like looking into a time-warped mirror, wooyoung sees the fight slip out of your body with a sob as you apologise, “i’m sorry.”

san wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around you if it can take away even just a fraction of your hurt. but he knows that he cannot cross the boundaries of professionalism despite the intimate nature of the conversation right now, especially when you and the team are only just starting to patch things up. so instead, he opts to rub his thumb over the knuckles of wooyoung’s hand from under the table, which has slipped into his, hoping that one day he will be able to do the same for you.

“we understand,” hongjoong answers on their behalf, “you were doing what you needed to do in order to protect yourself.”

and if you do not realise that he says those words for himself and his team to hear too, then you will by the end of the conversation as you walk away with a newfound understanding of them.

“no, not just for that,” you shake your head, roughly swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “it ended up negatively influencing the way i coached you guys, even if it was subconscious. i let my own trauma dictate how i wanted you to play: defensively all the time whether it was needed or not. hongjoong, you were right about me not coaching your team as your team.”

you try your damned hardest to keep your voice steady so that you can look at them properly to apologise, “i’m sorry i made it so hard to trust me as your coach.”

“okay, let me stop you right there,” yunho smiles gently, sliding a tissue box in your direction. “we were pricks too, so half the apology is ours.”

“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle.

hongjoong is glad that you are able to find something to laugh about even with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, and he finds his mouth curling into a bittersweet smile. you have been honest and vulnerable with them and now it is their turn.

“we have something to tell you about our past coach,” he starts, drawing your gaze to him. “not coach cho–our very first coach. we’re not trying to justify that what we did as a result was okay, but…”

“but hopefully i can understand,” you finish when hongjoong hesitates. he nods and you mirror his action with a reassuring smile to encourage him to talk.

but irregardless of what they tell you, you already know that you want to understand them, because understanding is the first step to forgiving, and you want that too.

so with intermittent comments from the other boys, hongjoong reveals to you the hidden wounds they have been nursing. and as they tell you about coach yeon, how their trust in him had been misplaced, how he had betrayed it for money at the expense of their championship, and how they had then let that become mistrust in you and your reason for retiring, wooyoung finds himself quiet so that he can steal glances at you.

he can see it now. the untameable beast within you of passion for ice hockey that has been forcibly chained down to the ground with the weight of the earth. the devastating torment that must incessantly surge through you in the most debilitating waves, tenfold any anguish he felt when he was unable to compete in the playoffs. the blemished canvas of dark and ghastly emotions that you do not let see the light of day, yet continue to coexist in hidden silence.

it is there and then that wooyoung realises you and him may be more similar than he thought–that you may actually understand him better than any of his seven boys.

you stop the drill.

yeosang gracefully turns in an arc whilst keeping the puck close to his stick as hongjoong and seonghwa dig their skates into the ice to brake before their momentum takes out the younger.

“let’s have jongho try using the perimeter of the rink instead of passing to yeosang this time. start the faceoff again,” you instruct.

the chorus of responses that you receive are zealous, even slightly teasing as the boys lower their voices with a, “yes, coach!” and give you small salutes with their gloved hands. you cannot help but snort and shake your head, waving at them to retake their positions.

practice is short today, since your team has a game tomorrow. the first half an hour consisted of running through offensive formations for power plays and you are now focusing on defensive penalty kills. your two captains and wooyoung are playing as the mock opponents, preparing your remaining wings and defenseman for a situation where they are down a player.

hongjoong seems to mull over a thought as he looks at the formation of his boys. “you mentioned the team we’re playing against has a tendency to position their forwards higher up, didn’t you?” he asks and  when you nod, he suggests, “what do you think about trying the diamond formation instead? might help close some of their shooting lanes.”

with the captain’s input, you reposition yeosang further up to form the tip of the diamond, and yunho too to cover the right point whilst jongho covers the left. mingi moves in a little closer to the goal to cover the bottom of the diamond and you make sure to point out the importance of his position.

“if the opportunity arises, we can transition into a counterattack instead with 3-1. but we’ll need to make sure we still cover the goal in case they turn it back over again–mingi, this will probably be you. support whoever has the puck from behind, but make sure you don’t go too far forward.”

mingi answers with an affirmative and yeosang passes the puck to hongjoong for him to commence the penalty kill. at your whistle, the rink explodes into action. wooyoung and seonghwa immediately split down the perimeters to open up shooting lanes for their captain, who passes the puck off to wooyoung the moment he has cleared half the rink. with a brief adjustment of the puck’s angle, he attempts a cross-ice pass to where seonghwa is free on the other side.

with astonishing speed, jongho intercepts the puck and yells, “3-1!” he continues to barrel forward with the momentum of his explosive acceleration towards the goal as yeosang anticipates a pass and yunho joins the counterattack rush to his right. the three of your players charge forwards with adrenaline as mingi covers them from behind. jongho chips the puck over hongjoong’s stick, which is immediately taken up by yeosang. without a goaltender, he finishes it off with an easy shot into the net.

the tempo and execution of the rush surprises not just you, but the boys themselves too, who are tapping their sticks together with elated excitement at the success of the play. it may only be a simulated practice drill, but you still share in the same pride and contentment that hongjoong’s face glows at you with.

he cocks his head to the side with a paired smile and you return the same nonverbal acknowledgement. corners of your lips still lifted up, you gather the boys, “let’s have a drink break.”

as the boys make their way over to the benches, removing their gloves and helmets, you eye the water bottles and make sure you have enough–five in the cooler and three on the bench beside it. san bounds up to you after grabbing one from the cooler, bragging, “coach! did you see the way jongho intercepted that puck?”

from beside him, wooyoung reenacts the moment with wild flails of his limbs and airy whooshes from his mouth, jongho watching with bashful giggles. you indulge in their animated recount and listen intently. “he was amazingly fast,” you agree.

yeosang passes an opened bottle to wooyoung before untwisting the lid to his own, commenting, “the ankle weights on top of all the training must be working.”

the boys are not currently wearing any, but you had slowly implemented the use of vests, ankle or wrist weights during specific drills. now that they have taken them off and are playing without the burden of the additional mass, you are all starting to see the gains of their hard work.

you smirk with satisfaction, “of course. if my players are going to bulldoze across the ice, may as well make them fast enough to avoid all the opponents.”

“don’t encourage her,” wooyoung elbows yeosang scandalously. “she’s going to make us wear heavier weights next practice.”

“you don’t get to complain if you don’t even wear the weights,” you quip.

he knows his injury means that he cannot wear the weights in case it places stress on his ankle, so he curses at you with no real heat just for the sake of cursing, “fuck you.”

you wink, “love you too.”

wooyoung shuts his mouth and scrunches the bridge of his nose with faux displeasure, and jongho laughs at his inability to faze you. you glance down and open your notebook to mention, “on that note, though, how do we feel about going up a few hundred grams next week?”

“i’m fine with that,” yeosang says at the same time jongho confirms, “sounds good.” most of the other boys also nod that they are fine with increasing their weights, save for seonghwa who notifies you that he is still adjusting so he will keep his as it is for now.

you jot down ticks and crosses next to their names corresponding to their answers whilst suggesting, “yunho and mingi, you can both probably try half a kilogram since your body masses are higher.”

said boys peer over your shoulder to see what their new weights would be, then yunho makes a noise of intriguement. “coach, did you write these?”

you look to where his finger is pointing to–sticky notes upon sticky notes of unorganised observations and reminders to yourself. starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!”

he holds it up and open above him, voice gleeful as he reads one out, “‘jongho, wooyoung and yeosang prefer water at room temperature when training–take bottles out of cooler!’”

“aw, coach,” wooyoung coos, “did you deliberately leave three bottles in room temperature for us on the bench?”

feeling your ears heat up from being exposed, you swipe at the notebook. your skates give you added height, but so do yunho’s skates, so your attempts to jump for it are futile.

“‘boys want to eat abura soba after their win’,” he continues to read, pausing to let out a dramatic gasp, “are you going to treat us, coach?” his question is met with enthusiasm.

when another wild swipe sends a sharp sting down your shoulder from the movement, reminding you of the pain that had flared up a few days ago, you decide to change tactics. you grab the back and front of his jersey with your hands, completely ready to commit to scaling him like a literal tree. but then a different set of hands easily takes the notebook out of yunho’s and of course it would be mingi. you insult, “give it back, you tall buffoon!”

mingi is hardly fazed as you switch targets to him, your fingertips nowhere near reaching the notebook as he snickers and reads, “‘trial jongho as starting forward–wait.” he lowers his hands with sobriety and you are finally able to snatch the notebook back, shutting it before they can read any more of your sticky notes. it is not like there is anything they cannot know, but it is sort of embarrassing for them to see how much attention you pay to them.

“you want jongho on the starting lineup?” mingi confirms that he has not read it wrong, eyes as wide as all the other boys as they look at you.

jongho is almost certain that you must have meant somebody else, or something else, because there is no way that he would be given the opportunity to start for the team–not when they have yeosang and wooyoung as their wings, and the choice of hongjoong or seonghwa as their centres. he is used to being the player who momentarily relieves others of their shift on the ice, or as his parents so like to remind him, option b.

“why do you all look so surprised?” you frown. beckoning at jongho with your chin, you ask, “you’ve been practising hard to make your right hand just as good as your left hand, haven’t you? so let’s take advantage of your versatility and unpredictability on ice and throw the opponents off. what do you think?”

jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”

the pleased smile on hongjoong’s face is enough to make his cheeks sore and he wraps his arm around the youngest’s shoulders. he praises, “look at you, our wild card and our hidden ace,” as seonghwa declares, “i know he’ll do us so proud.”

both yeosang and wooyoung simultaneously offer their positions in the starting lineup and the rest of the boys watch on with fond expressions. they are grateful that you have recognised the talents and hard work of their youngest. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career.

you conclude, “we’ve been on a good streak with our games. let’s ride the momentum and show the other teams what jongho is capable of–what we’re all capable of.”

“yes, coach!” they shout, the loud echo of their voices reverberating and filling the rink with buzzing energy for the remainder of the training session.

spirits still high by the time you call it a wrap, you let them change as you grab your own belongings. there is a team meeting in the afternoon so you and the boys will be going back to kq to eat at the cafeteria and use the booked room. you pause when you see wooyoung loitering by your bag. he still has not changed out of his practice clothes.

“i’m not letting you on the bus if you’re planning on staying in those clothes,” you joke.

“i’m going to change!” he scowls indignantly, then avoids eye contact as he thrusts something out in your direction. he mumbles, “had some spares. didn’t want them. just dumping them with you so you can stash them or use them or whatever, i don’t care.”

you grab the small bag, brows creased with confusion, but wooyoung dashes away to change before you can ask what it is. you peer inside and to your pleasant surprise, there are two packs of pain relief patches. your shoulder protests at the lack of attention you have given it in the last few days. the pain is chronic and never really goes away, but it has been bothering you more than usual recently, so it is all in good timing that you now have some patches.

you make a mental note to stick one on when you get to the company and grab your bag after ensuring your notebook is stored inside. as you head towards the change rooms to wait for the boys, you spot a piece of paper on the floor. it looks like rubbish that you must have missed on your way in earlier so you pick it up to throw away. but when your fingertips touch the familiar sheen of the wax-like paper, you realise wooyoung must have dropped it.

it is confirmed when you unfold it to read the text and see that it is from yesterday evening, at the pharmacy that is just across the street from the company; in your hands you hold wooyoung’s receipt for two packs of pain relief patches.

spring marks the start of the playoffs. in synchronisation with the burst of life that blooms with the season, your boys, too, flourish in the league.

the unpredictability of your team’s strategies that entail a mix of both yours and hongjoong’s prowess helps to secure wins over the remainder of the regular season. despite the unsteady start to the season, it allows your team to scrape into the round of sixteen near the bottom of the standings.

the red devils are seeded against the team that is third in the rankings, and then against the sixth-standing team in the quarterfinals. in upsets that knock out two of the most anticipated teams in the league, your boys advance into the semifinals, their reputation as the demons of the ice rink that had laid low now rapidly spreading.

where none of the other competitors had paid you and your players any mind before, barely even noticing your presence, the opponents now glance and watch your team walk past with an air of confidence through the arena. their tense jaws and hard gazes size up your athletes–formidable rivals who have suddenly barrelled up the ranks from out of nowhere and now pose perhaps the biggest threat as a team that has somehow slipped under their radars.

you know; your team may be small in numbers. but with yunho and mingi flanking the sides of the boys, and even with hongjoong’s charismatic aura alone leading the front, which extends around him like a dark cloud of terror and envelops the rest of the group too, your team is a pack of predators at the tip of the apex.

other players part to make a path for your boys, whose heads are held high and eyes are set only on their captain and you, their coach, as you all walk to your assigned changeroom. the nerves have long dissipated because the ice rink is your territory and the other teams are your prey.

the moment you shut the door behind the last of them into the room though, the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.”

from their glowing faces alone, you can tell that they are all basking in the feeling of finally being recognised and reckoned with. yunho bats his eyelids and pinches his voice higher into a falsetto, “oh wooyoung! you’re so handsome and cool, could i please have your signature?”

mingi imitates him and pounces on wooyoung, begging for a photo together as he clings onto his elbow. it sets off the rest of the boys to crowd around like mock fans with faux exhilaration. you snort at their antics, leaving wooyoung to sign imaginary sheets of paper with his imaginary pen in favour of ensuring all of their backup equipment and gear is correctly located outside or in the storage area.

you allow the boys adequate time to change into their full gear for their warm-up prior to the actual semifinal game before you walk back into the locker room. your ears perk up when you catch the end of san’s question, “that’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“what is?” you ask out of curiosity, flipping open the provided cooler and adding several sports drinks into the ice.

“i overheard someone on the white tigers team say that their head coach happened to fall sick, so they have their assistant coach today,” jongho mentions.

the surge of brazen smiles and reassured glints in their eyes at the reveal of information makes you falter to a degree. you lightly chastise, “don’t let that get to your heads and start being cocky–play as you usually do and do not underestimate them just because their head coach is off.”

you pull your notebook out of your bag, the familiar cover and weight of the book providing you with a sense of security as you remind the boys, “the white tigers have a very similar playing style as us. we may have worked hard on our defensive strategies, but with similar strengths and weaknesses overall, it won’t hurt for us to still be cautious.”

“yes, coach,” they chorus.

hongjoong nods, “let’s go warm up, then finalise our starting lineup for the game.”

your team’s allocated time on the rink passes by quickly and it is followed by the last adjustments to the discussed strategies and game plan, thorough checks of their gear, and the remaining boys who are still wearing their practice jerseys change out of the blue into their red game uniform. in full gear, there your boys stand, presence intimidating and demoniac. the boys do not live up to their team name; their team name lives up to them.

they stride through the hallway for their semifinal game against the white tigers. right at the end before it leads to the ice rink, yunho yells, “pep talk, captain!”

hongjoong groans, rolling his eyes, but places the blade of his stick onto the rubber flooring nonetheless. the rest of the boys huddle around, their sticks meeting in the centre of the circle and standing close together so that their helmets and shoulders knock against one another. you are also swept into the circle with yeosang and san by your sides.

“boys…and girl,” hongjoong snickers to himself before recollecting his very inspirational train of thought, “we’ve fought hard to make it this far–this is the first time we’ve made it into the semis, so let’s keep running until the very end, yeah?”

to the team’s increasingly loud cheers, hongjoong yells, “let’s fuck it up out there!”

their sticks hit the ground in unison and despite the muted sound of the cushioned flooring, their shouts of fighting resolve and unwavering determination drown out everything else. together, you emerge from the hallway and your starting players take their positions on the ice, ready to fuck it up.

only, it happens literally.

the moment the puck hits the ice and the white tigers’ centre forward, byun, wrestles it away with his blade, hongjoong immediately knows it is going to be one of those games. the ones where his competitive grit is fueling his mind ablaze but his body is leaden-footed as if he is wading through quicksand; where his body is just unable to keep up and move the way he wants it to. it is one of those days where his condition is just inexplicably off and there is nothing he can do about it except hope that his years of training and sheer aptitude for the sport will be enough.

“fuck,” you curse under your breath at hongjoong’s slip as jongho and yeosang rush to fall back and support those in defence. “he wasn’t like that during the warm-ups.”

byun is not only agile and swift, but is almost an identical reflection of hongjoong’s own bold and assertive offence. the centre forward powers through with evasive turns around yunho’s attempt to body check him, unafraid and confident. passing the blue line into your team’s defensive zone, byun flicks the puck at the goal.

the point shot is an unexceptional attempt to score, nothing that san’s reflexive goaltending cannot take care of. he extends his left foot and blocks the low shot with his leg pad, where the puck then slides in yunho’s direction. you did not doubt for a moment that san would not be able to save the shot, but it is still a close call that is far too early in the game to be a good sign.

your team’s greatest strength is their unspoken synergy and seamless unity, but it is also their greatest weakness. when one player stumbles, particularly when it is their captain–the very roots of the team–their bond runs so deeply that it throws their teamwork out of harmony and ultimately impacts the entire team.

with san’s save, yunho regains possession and handles the puck around the back of their net to shake off the pressure that the white tigers’ forwards are placing on him, as well as to buy his own team some time to reassemble in their formation.

you know that this is not going to work for long; you have to change the momentum of the game, and fast. “seonghwa, get ready,” you alert. “you’re going on for hongjoong.”

the alternate captain stands, alarmed at the unexpected line change so early into the game. he grips his stick with white knuckles and watches his team as he waits for your cue. yunho hits the puck against the boards where yeosang successfully receives the rebound.

“breakout!” yeosang yells and rushes forward with the chasing skates of the opponents nipping at his heels. jongho clears the centre line into the offensive zone at the same time hongjoong screens and blocks the view of the white tigers’ goaltender, setting up for an opportunity to score.

when the opponent’s left defence and wing advance on yeosang rapidly, he fakes a deceptive pass towards the boards before twisting the blade of his stick and flicking the puck between their skates instead in hongjoong’s direction. but like an eagle honing in on a small rodent, byun swoops in to snatch the puck, flipping the possession again.

the tides turn and all the athletes on the rink race towards your team’s net, a cutthroat competition between triumph and desperation to chase the puck. byun passes to the player on his left as they both dash closer, the left forward immediately returning the puck the moment he receives it to break past mingi’s defence.

you are able to see the white tigers’ right wing following closely behind ready for a drop pass, but in your team’s frenzied minds, they are unable to read the play. yunho approaches byun, who is expecting the defence and leaves the puck behind whilst skating on, knowing that it will be received by his trailing teammate. with the momentary confusion that is enough to disrupt both yunho and san’s gaze on the puck, the opponent’s right wing winds his stick back just enough to build power without sacrificing speed, then slaps the puck into the corner of the goal–

–and scores. within the first three minutes of the game.

“seonghwa,” you call out again with urgency as the whistle blows. you turn to look at him, “you’re up. you have to break the flow of the team. not just the white tigers, but ours too–the boys are panicking and you need to help anchor them.”

he nods, steadying his hand on the board in preparation to hop over it, and you yell out for the captain, “change!”

hongjoong sees the gesture of your hand pointing at the bench, and although his chest tightens with frustration at himself, he speeds towards the edge of the rink to change. once the captain is close enough, seonghwa pushes his skate off the benches to launch himself over the top of the boards onto the ice then propels himself forward to take the centre faceoff.

the captain sits down heavily on the bench, defeat already broiling off of his slumped body in smothering swells. you really cannot afford to take your eyes off the game; it waits for nobody and the whistle has already blown, the rink erupting into commotion. but whilst you need to watch the game unfold, you need hongjoong just as much, and his team needs him.

you turn him slightly to face you so that he can see your face of resolution. “you are the captain, so be the captain–for the team…and for yourself,” you invigorate, voice raised so that he can hear you over the noise of the stadium. 

you give his shoulder a hard squeeze, certain he will not be able to even feel it from under the pads of his uniform. regardless, he understands your intentions and nods grimly, the fog in his eyes clearing. wooyoung taps the back of his helmet in a show of encouragement and hongjoong returns the gesture with appreciation. 

a particularly loud thump draws the attention of all three of you back to the game. from the grimace on yeosang’s face and his hand steadying himself on the boards, it is obvious he has just been body checked into the wall. seonghwa pursues the puck with graceful yet powerful speed before he digs both skates perpendicular into the ice to suddenly change direction. pushing off, he accelerates back towards the white tigers’ defensive zone when mingi manages to disrupt the opponent’s stickhandling enough for yunho to sweep the puck and skate it up the perimeter of the rink away from their net.

wooyoung also goes on for yeosang but as the left wing, so jongho switches position to play as the right forward. he skates past the benches when an opportunity arises and he hands off his stick whilst grabbing his right-handed stick from you with practised ease.

with the line change of forwards and with seonghwa on as your centre, your team stabilises to an extent. the red devils are no longer being pushed back but they are also unable to push forward. the game is at a stalemate, although the tides remain in favour of the white tigers with both their positional and psychological advantage of the first goal.

you can see the pressure weighing down on your boys; passes that yunho and mingi would be capable of executing blindfolded are miscalculated; predictable manoeuvres still mislead wooyoung in the wrong direction; seonghwa and jongho fail to notice the opportunities for clear passing and shooting lanes; and the openings appear far too wide and innumerable for san to cover the goal from. the relentless offensive pressure that the white tigers places on your team, strikingly similar to how the boys played when you first started coaching them, does not give any breathing room either.

so that is how the first period comes to an end–losing zero to one with none of your players performing at their best condition. their steps are heavy and burdened as they walk back to the locker room for the intermission, helmets removed the moment they come off the ice to reveal hardened expressions. in the privacy of your assigned room, most of the boys adjust the pads in their gear and yunho peels off his shin guards to let them air out.

you pass around their iced bottles and as exhausted as they are, they make sure to voice their gratitude. san grabs wooyoung’s bottle for him, since the younger is bent over loosening the laces of his left skate. “here,” san murmurs, twisting open the cap and passing it to wooyoung once he straightens his back.

similarly, seonghwa hands over an opened bottle to yeosang before taking a swig of his own. “you’re okay?” he checks, the particularly rough body check that yeosang had copped earlier in the game still at the forefront of his mind.

yeosang gives the alternate captain a reassuring smile, “i’m okay.”

appeased by the answer, seonghwa turns to look at hongjoong, who is re-taping the blade of his stick. “what about you?” seonghwa softly asks, “you’re feeling okay?”

hongjoong glances up briefly at the back of your figure. you are busy shifting the red magnets around on the whiteboard and erasing the markings you had made prior to the start of the semifinals. when you turn around to gather their attention, you accidentally make eye contact with him and break out into a small smile.

“yeah,” hongjoong replies, “i’m feeling okay.”

“alright, listen up boys, that was just the first period. we’re not even halfway into this game and we’ve started to even up the playing field now that we’ve found our footing,” you encourage. “we just have to make sure we keep our heads cool and read their plays instead of simply reacting to their movements.”

you look at each of them as you direct, “their centre forward, byun, has been on for almost all of first period, so there’s probably going to be a shift change, if not a complete line change of forwards. they have the leniency to swap out their top players since they’re in the lead, which means if we want to break their momentum, we need to break it then.”

shifting yourself slightly out of the way, the boys are able to see the new arrangement of positions you have marked out on the whiteboard. “we’re starting the second period by sharpening our offence in the 2-2-1 formation,” you explain. you beckon your head at the captain, “hongjoong, you’re back on. you and wooyoung are to position yourselves up high between the neutral and offensive zones–try to screen their goaltender when our boys have possession. yunho, i want you to move up to our blue line with jongho and open up as many passing lanes as you two can. mingi will stay in defence and help cover the goal with san in case the white tigers makes a counterattack.

“use this opportunity to make as many scoring chances as you can. if there isn’t a clear shot but there’s a chance it can be continued on by another one of us, then go for it anyway–any sort of pressure we can put on their team is better than none.”

your forwards nod with understanding, so you continue to the most important point, “but the moment byun and the wings–kim and song, i think they are–come back on, we’re reversing the formation.” you reposition half of the magnets into a 1-2-2 formation. “only hongjoong will stay up high; wooyoung will fall back and join jongho in the neutral zone; put pressure on their forwards from there. yunho and mingi, you’ll play left and right defence as usual.”

san listens intently when you start moving the black magnets that represent the opposing players and call out to him directly. you warn, “san, be careful of their drop passes. kim and song have been skating forward but leaving the puck behind for byun to score multiple times throughout the first period. they have you primed to predict it now, so they’re probably going to change their tactic and pass directly in front of the goal instead.”

“yes, coach,” san acknowledges.

a glance at the screen on the wall of the locker room tells you that there are only a few minutes left of the intermission. “gear up and get ready to go back on,” you instruct the boys.

they make final adjustments to their pads and yunho tapes his shin guards back into place under his socks. you make sure they all have their helmets and sticks when they start to file out of the locker room once they are ready and you grab wooyoung’s gloves for him while he ties the laces of his skates again.

“thanks,” he reaches out for them as he stands up. except he stumbles slightly when he puts weight on his left ankle and your hand instinctively grabs his to steady him.

your eyes grow wide with concern. you know that wooyoung is the type to keep quiet about his pain, even if you ask, “does your ankle hurt?”

“no, my legs just fell asleep on me from sitting,” he reassures, conscious of your hand that still holds his. he smiles through his lie and hopes that you are unable to pick up on it. the buzzer sounds before you can, though, warning you both that there is only one minute remaining until the game resumes.

hurriedly you tell him, “let me know if you need to come off.”

somebody yells out your names, forcing you both to rush off to join the rest of the team in the hallway. wooyoung knows that he should admit to you right there and then that his ankle does hurt, but he will not–he cannot…because he owes it to his team.

they do not know and they will never know, but there is not a day that goes past where wooyoung does not feel guilty for having desired for their loss last year. he has to play and win this championship for his team because only then can he start to forgive himself. but until he wins, he deserves to suffer.

those in the lineup rapidly glide across the ice to take their positions, wooyoung included. a short buzzer sounds, the puck is dropped, and the second period starts. immediately you can see that your boys have the advantage. the white tigers had not expected you to take such an aggressive approach of offence considering that you are losing.

and sure enough, just as you had predicted, their coach has changed their entire line of forwards. the players are still undeniably skilled, but they visibly struggle to match the pace at which hongjoong and wooyoung are now leading your team to attack.

the rink is under the boys’ control; the neutral zone has become a stronghold with the resistance of both jongho and yunho’s combined strength and mingi’s reinforcement from behind. wooyoung weaves through the players with polished agility as he creates passing opportunities around the offensive zone, whilst hongjoong makes his own path with imposing might, his devilish wings spread. and even if the white tigers somehow manage to gain possession of the puck and break past your defence, san looks impossibly larger than the goal itself, leaving no openings for their forwards to score.

it is well into the second period when the perfect play sets itself up. with mingi blocking any possible rebounds off the boards, yunho’s attempt to body check the white tigers’ right wing forces the player to pass the puck across the ice. before their centre forward is able to receive it, jongho has already intercepted and is thundering ahead with his stick controlling the puck.

“high!” he shouts, ploughing through the neutral zone as wooyoung and hongjoong immediately respond to his call and skate up towards the goal.

jongho deliberately looks at his captain but flicks the puck with a forehand pass in the other direction, too fast for the defenders to react to. wooyoung easily receives the anticipated pass, thighs burning and his left ankle stinging as he rushes towards the goal from the left with powerful acceleration. the white tigers’ goaltender immediately lowers his stance and raises his arms in preparation to block his shot.

in the corner of his eye, wooyoung sees hongjoong matching his lightning pace on his right, the captain’s eyes narrowed with concentration and body weight tilted forward as he hurtles past the defenders. wooyoung pretends to wind up his stick for a slap shot into the net, only to twist the angle of his arms at the last second to send the puck skittering across the ice directly parallel to the goal. the goaltender drops down to his knees, having anticipated a scoring attempt, except the puck is now nearing hongjoong.

hongjoong sees it clearly–the trajectory that the puck is taking and the perfect point where it needs to meet his stick. without breaking its momentum, his arms contract to swing his stick and the blade collides with the puck with forceful precision, sending it hurtling through the air. the goaltender desperately scrabbles back onto his skates to defend the other side of the goal, but it is too late.

the puck flies past the posts and hits the netting.

the horn blares and echoing cheers erupt throughout the stadium as the lights flick on to shine across the net and your forward players. hongjoong yells with fierce triumph, stick raised into the air as wooyoung excitedly collides into him. the duo disappear amongst the bodies of your boys as they swarm around them feverish exuberance.

“that’s our fucking captain–” “–woo’s assist was insane!”

hongjoong cannot even tell who is who as he is jostled around in overjoyed laughter and beaming smiles, numerous hands reaching out to tap his and wooyoung’s helmets and shoulders. from outside the rink, you, seonghwa and yeosang have long stopped sitting on the benches, bodies too strung tight with hopeful tension to stay seated, so you are immediately swept up into a hug as the three of you celebrate the goal with identical exhilaration.

the game is still far from over but the morale has just skyrocketed through the roof as if the red devils have scored the winning goal. combined with the team’s fans electrifying the atmosphere of the stadium, it definitely feels like it, and you are starting to see hope that the ones advancing to the finals after today will be your boys.

“line change!” you faintly hear, so you still to watch all three of the white tigers’ forwards skate towards the boards. byun, kim and song jump onto the rink, back on offence in the wake of your goal.

hongjoong makes eye contact with you when you search for him amongst the team huddle and in unison, you both nod, pride and determination unspoken in your gazes–the real game is about to start now. the boys start to disperse and take up their positions around the marked circle for the centre faceoff, and hongjoong and byun meet head-to-head once again in the middle of the rink.

the white tigers’ centre forward smirks condescendingly, “cute goal.”

hongjoong’s face thunders over but he will not let himself resort to dirty sportsmanship. he bites his tongue and lowers his stance, focusing his attention on the game instead.

“ready,” the referee signals, then the puck is released.

byun manages to steal it and sends it backwards to his defensemen to open up more passing lanes, but as discussed, your boys mutually move into the 1-2-2 formation to fortify against their offensive plays. despite the pressure of the white tigers’ top forwards back in play, your team is riding on the momentum of your goal; although you had been treading to keep your heads above the water during the first period, there is now an air of confidence that permeates the ambience of the rink in favour of your boys. 

an angled pass from their defence rebounds off the boards and kim receives it high in the neutral zone. he attempts an immediate pass across the ice to song, except the safety net of your player’s defensive formation allows mingi to thrust out with his stick to intercept the pass. he signals, “breakout!” before deflecting it to wooyoung.

the turnover of possession immediately triggers a switch in defence to offence as wooyoung handles the puck back the other way. his wrists twist the stick with measured coordination, controlling the blade and puck as an extension of his own hands while approaching the offensive zone. wooyoung sees the white tigers’ defensemen racing towards him so he abruptly pivots towards the left to drag the black disc around their extended sticks.

suddenly, a sharp pain engulfs his ankle that has his legs crumbling as he staggers off balance. wooyoung manages to stay upright, using his stick to steady himself, but the momentary stumble is more than enough of an opening for byun to steal possession from behind him.

the rival centre forward swerves around jongho then stays close to the perimeter to avoid mingi’s resistant defence. behind mingi, san splays his legs out as he prepares to block the left side of the goal, but byun continues blazing on and wraps around the back of the net. san follows his movement and swiftly shifts over to the right instead while byun cradles the puck with his blade to lift it into the air the moment he approaches.

yunho cannot risk a penalty by raising his own stick to block its trajectory, so he shifts his body in hopes of deflecting the shot before it reaches san. but byun’s wrists snap and tuck the airborne puck at a sharp angle right past the red goalpost…and the horn blows to mark the scoring of a goal.

your jaw plummets at the same time that your heart does. not even your lungs work, your body frozen stock-still. once more, the white tigers are back in the lead only mere minutes after the score had been painstakingly tied by your team.

“fuck!” wooyoung curses and slams his gloved fist against the ice, having dropped to his knees in enraged denial.

seonghwa looks on with despondence from beside you as hongjoong drags wooyoung back up to his feet. the captain’s jaws are clenched in frustration but only because of the score itself–never because of his boys. when mingi and yunho try to comfort san with firm squeezes and uttered reassurances, he can only return a tight smile, all three of their breaths heavy and irregular from exertion and dismay.

for the boys to have climbed so arduously and persistently to even the scores, only to be knocked off and their momentum obliterated so mercilessly soon, it is even more demoralising than the white tigers’ first goal. after all, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.

through the deep ache in your heart, you mutedly say to yeosang, “go on for wooyoung, and tell jongho to change sticks and play as left wing.”

“yes, coach,” he replies, voice delicate. yeosang waits as you gesture for wooyoung to come off before he hops over the boards and skates in jongho’s direction.

“woo,” you murmur as your left wing makes his way back to the benches, but he avoids your gaze and keeps his head down. you bite your lips and decide not to push it for now. instead, you press an opened bottle into his gloved hand.

wooyoung is thankful that the bottle is half empty, because his hand unconsciously clenches around it with quivering shame and he would have spilled the water were it full. he makes no move to bring the bottle up to his lips; he doubts the water would go down his constricted throat anyway. the penetrative guilt of his tears hurts immeasurably more than the piercing throb of his ankle because he may have just cost his team the win…again.

even when the buzzer signals the end of the second period, wooyoung dares not to look up. the score is one to two and it is his fault. the intermission passes by in a haze of dissociation, his body robotically moving on autopilot into the locker room and back to the ice rink. wooyoung does not even know whether there are line changes to the positions or whether the game strategy has been altered.

but it does not matter because it does not concern him–as if any coach would put him on after his grave mistake. what wooyoung fails to notice though is the glances of worry in his direction, and they do not come solely from his boys.

the stakes run at their highest in the third and final period. tension suffocates the entire stadium, invisible hands that snake around your throats with a hangman’s loose and make you break out into cold sweats. all the players on the ice rink put everything that they have on the line because by the end of the next twenty minutes, only one team will be advancing to the finals.

from the moment the puck is dropped into play and the timer resumes, the rink is a torrential battlefield of contesting skates and grappling sticks. dramatic passes and unforeseen interceptions lead to rapid turnovers that force both teams to hastily switch back and forth between offence and defence.

but everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. for every scoring attempt that the red devils make, the white tigers make three, steadily and gradually pushing your boys back in the final stretch of the game. and while most of your forwards’ goals are blocked in the nick of time, most of theirs are not.

as a last resort in the face of the crisis, you calculate the risks then add seonghwa onto the field. “yunho, change!” you yell, pulling him off defence.

“behind you,” byun alerts song as seonghwa powers across the ice right into the cutthroat action, before cursing when the white tigers nearly lose possession of the puck.

your two captains unrelentingly pursue the black disc at the forefront of your team, their complementary synergy and unity a whirlwind of prowess to be reckoned with as they try not to let the burden of scoring weigh them down. despite the overwhelming pressure as the team’s last line of defence, even more so now that you have sacrificed stability to capitalise on having two centre forwards, san’s cat-like eyes do not cloud over, only intensely scanning the field and the opponent’s plays.

you glance at the clock. there are only two minutes left and even the combined efforts of your forwards is not working. you never thought that you would ever have to do this as a coach, but now you are afraid there is no choice. “yunho,” you urge.

his head turns to you and you see the ashen pallor of your own face reflected on his as the very probable outcome of the game dawns across your minds. you make your decision. “you’re going back on. for san.”

yunho’s eyes widen. “for san? i can’t play as goaltender–”

“no,” you shake your head, “we’re playing without a goaltender.”

sixty seconds.

save for wooyoung, all of your defenders, wings and centre forwards make a last-minute spurt to attack, not letting their bodies recover for even a split second as they strain their burning legs and gasping lungs.

thirty seconds.

they desperately break past the physical boundaries of their own stamina into their last reserves of pure grit and will, draining every last drop that their mental resilience has to offer.

ten seconds.

they do not give up. they try again and again to score. but against all of your prayers, all of your tears and sweat and against all of your hopes, the gap does not close. the final buzzer blares throughout the entire stadium, marking the red devil’s loss.

two to six.

your players stand motionless, ghosts of denial and despair amongst the crazed jumps and bounds of celebration as the white tigers flock across the rink towards one another. hongjoong tilts his head upwards to stop the rush of tears from falling down his face, both yunho and seonghwa mirrors of his pain as sweat and tears drip down in salty trails. san grasps the edge of the board in front of him, his head hung low and shoulders quaking from how hard he tries to stifle his sobs so that wooyoung does not hear him.

not one of your boys are able to accept the results of the match. not even you can bring yourself to utter a single word of consolation, be it for yourself or for them. and as you watch the wretched image of your heartbroken boys, choking back tears of your own that you are unaware still manage to escape the corners of your eyes, the only sounds in your ears their stricken cries, you are reminded that the path of an athlete and coach is nothing like its portrayal in movies and stories; where hard work triumphs and leads to sure success.

the harsh reality is that there is no dramatic comeback. there is no underdog victory. there is no miracle and there is no final to advance to. you and your boys lose by triple the amount of your own goals and just like that, the journey has come to an end at the semifinals.

it is an anticlimactic defeat, the gap so far that your team could not even see the light at the end of the tunnel. and somehow…that feels far worse than losing by just a marginal difference.

the locker room is mostly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the closing of zippers and rustling of canvas as the boys who have finished showering and changing pack the rest of their gear for the final time. there are no more intermittent sniffles, leaving behind a miserable hush of emptiness instead. even the dying flicker of the light in the far corner of the ceiling thrums with more energy than the boys combined.

you sit on one of the benches and absentmindedly thumb through your notebook. seonghwa sits to your right, his kit bag already long organised and tidied to preoccupy his mind. the warmth from the close proximity of your thighs and elbows is a gracious comfort to the both of you. it no longer makes your backs straighten with uptightness, conscious of the boundaries between coach and athlete–not after your hearts and bodies melded together in hugs of solace after the final buzzer of the semifinals and melted away those lines.

seonghwa places his hand soothingly on your knee and murmurs, “stop looking at that. we’ll think about it later all together.”

none of the words or diagrams had been registering in your head, but you nod and close your notebook anyway. he probably does not want to see it either. you rest your head back against the wall behind you with a small exhale, blankly watching your team instead until your eyes travel around the room. 

you count, then count again, before calling out, “captain, is wooyoung still showering?”

hongjoong cranes his neck around at the same time that everybody else does as well. “don’t think so,” he frowns, “i’m pretty sure he was one of the first ones out.”

wooyoung’s kit bag is still unpacked in his locker, so he is definitely not already waiting for the bus outside. before his absence can raise any alarms–the last thing the boys need on their plate right now–you stand and announce, “i’ll go find him. he probably just lost track of time.”

“do you need me to come with you?” yeosang rises to his feet.

you shake your head and reassure, “keep packing your bag.” then you turn to make your way out of the locker room when somebody calls out for you.

“coach, wait.”

it’s san, who skitters in front of you to press something into your hands. “give this to him when you see him?”

the item crinkles and a glance downwards reveals that it is an instant ice pack. you smile softly, stuffing it into the pocket of your jacket and hoping that nobody notices the ice pack that is already in there. “of course,” you gently touch his forearm. “i’ll be back.”

this time you make it out to the corridor but you do not get further than four steps before another voice stops you.

“coach!”

when you turn around, hongjoong emerges from the doorway. he slows down as he catches up to stand in front of you. “i…” his voice falters. “i’m sorry.”

i’m sorry i didn’t realise wooyoung was gone. i’m sorry i didn’t do my job as captain…and i’m sorry for losing. 

“no,” you shake your head. “don’t be.” because you tried your best…and you did not give up. beckoning in the direction of the locker room, you tell him, “take care of the boys, okay? i’ll be back with wooyoung.”

the rigidity in hongjoong’s shoulders dissipates. “thank you…y/n.”

you smile, “anytime, hongjoong.” you wait for him to walk back inside before you finally turn to find wooyoung.

the arena is massive but apart from the locker room–which you already know wooyoung is not in–there are limited places that offer privacy from the multitude of people who mill around, be it other athletes, staff or spectators. you know from personal experience, so you head to the one place that is usually guaranteed to be somewhat out of the public eye.

“oh, fuck me,” wooyoung startles when you sit yourself down heavily on the same step as him, his curse echoing around the both of you. “how the fuck did you know i would be here?”

you snort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “i hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t exactly an original experience. i’m pretty sure every athlete has hidden here to cry at one point in their career.”

the slight spark of light that had ignited within wooyoung at your appearance suddenly flickers out, reminded of why exactly he is hiding in the emergency stairwell in the first place. shame tears his eyes away from you, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“i want to be left alone,” he murmurs.

although you respect his request, that is the opposite of what he needs. left to his own thoughts and devices, you know that wooyoung will spiral dangerously in guilt and self-reproach, even if the red devil’s loss is not his fault–is not anybody’s fault.

the two of you sit in silence, wooyoung intermittently swiping at a lone tear that threatens to drip off his chin, and you mulling over the words that you hold close to your heart. eventually, you break the quietude with a soft chuckle.

“the first game i ever played i was actually on left defence. our team was losing by two goals and i suddenly had the puck. i still remember seeing an opening in the goal and feeling the surge of confidence that i did when i hit the puck…but you know what?”

wooyoung does not answer, does not look up from where he is picking at his cuticles, but you can feel his curiosity so you continue, “it was an own goal. i scored into my own team’s net and it wasn’t until i scored another goal before i finally realised which way i was meant to go. obviously, my team wasn’t very happy with me, but then i ended up winning the game for them anyway and that’s how i started playing as centre forward.

“there was also a time during internationals where i argued against the ref’s call and got myself put into the penalty box. it cost our team a goal–the tiebreaker, too. i learnt my lesson and never did that again. and then there was the first couple of years i started to coached. i thought i had enough experience as a player to be a perfect coach. it wasn’t until one of my teams told me to pull my head out of my ass that i realised i was anything but.”

that gets a small snicker from out of him. you deliberate, “i’d like to think that we make the best team now, though.”

he scowls disgruntledly, “we’re your only team.”

“and my favourite team, too,” you laugh softly, gauging his expression. “my point is, wooyoung, we all make mistakes. but the reason why we make them in the first place is because we love playing. we do what our heart wants to in the moment and we play for ourselves because otherwise, there would be nothing left of us without ice hockey. what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.”

wooyoung feels the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest because they are only half true to him. his passion and love for the sport indeed burns eternally as a blazing inferno inside of him, but his persistence to play today was due to ulterior motives. to acknowledge that aloud is a different story, though.

your voice takes on a lighter tone, “although i guess in this case, you should be sitting down with that ankle of yours. you know you should not be gambling with your injuries.”

he finally looks at you; a former athlete who did not even have the luxury to gamble your injury. it suddenly scares him to imagine just an ounce of the conflicting anguish that must course through you at his continuous decisions to endanger his own career–the anguish that you have made sure to never show, lest it affect them.

“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.

it is your turn to look away. you know that the question is not directed at himself but your entire career. with a bittersweet chuckle, you allow yourself to admit, “every day. i still get angry and i still get upset. i wake up in the morning wondering why it had to be me and i go to bed at night wondering why i didn’t deserve a second chance.

“but i’m okay; it gets easier to be okay. coaching means that i still get to go on the ice, i still get to experience the adrenaline of games and i still get to play through you guys. and most of all…i still have a team. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.”

at your admission, wooyoung is reminded of how you are possibly the only one who would be able to truly understand him. he musters his courage and confesses, “i wanted us to lose last year…and we did end up losing.”

it catches you off guard, the direction of the conversation not what you had expected, but you neutralise your expression and tone so as to not make him feel defensive. “how come?”

he swallows. “my ankle–i fractured it last year just before we made it into the playoffs, so i wasn’t able to compete. i had been so angry at first; angry at myself for getting injured, angry at my coach for not letting me play, angry at my team because they could play. then when it became clear that i wasn’t going to be able to compete regardless of how angry i was, i became jealous, insecure and…afraid. jongho and i share the same position, and i mean, look at him now–he’s able to play both left and right wing. if they had won the playoffs without me, then would the team really need me?

“they did end up losing, just like i had wanted them to, but that made me feel so much worse–made me realise just how terrible i am of a person. the guilt eats me alive every single day and i tell myself that i will make it up to them this time, that i will risk everything to win for them…” wooyoung scoffs pathetically at himself, “only for me to fuck things up because of my fucking ankle again.”

you get it. the slow gnawing of yourself from the endless feelings that you ‘should not have’ until you become no more than an empty husk. ever since your own injury, you have spent nights on end trying to reconcile with your emotions in your own confusing and formidable journey, but for the first time ever, you are grateful that you did–because you can keep wooyoung company on his. 

you carefully voice, “i think it was okay for you to have felt the way that you did. they’re your feelings and nobody can invalidate them nor your experience. what i came to realise was that all of those ‘ugly’ feelings do not make us ugly for having them–they simply make us human. it is only a problem when those feelings end up hurting other people, but i think the person you hurt the most…was yourself, wooyoung.”

at your words, he looks at you with wide eyes, a fresh swell of wetness gathering in them. wooyoung is kind and loving to everybody, yet has never once thought about deserving that kindness and love for himself. you smile gently, trying to hide the slight quiver in your own lips as your heart clenches with a desire to be loved in his stead.

“you know, woo, i’ve watched basically all of your past games including the quarterfinals from last year. but if i were to compare it to today’s game, it was as if two completely different teams were playing. your team was alive today–a truly united team where every member is the driving force behind each other’s passion for the game. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again.

“yes, the trophy and the championship title is coveted but it is not what truly matters to them and neither to you. it wasn’t the actual win itself that you wanted today, but being able to win for them. and if your boys were to pick between winning without you and losing with you, i’m pretty sure you know better than i do what their immediate choice would be.”

should the other boys be here right now, they would instantly berate your ears off for even suggesting the first option. the thought flickers through wooyoung’s mind too and the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly.

still, he apprehensively confirms, “...no one is angry at me?”

“no,” you reply, voice soft, “not at all. but we are worried.”

you are reminded of the weight in the pocket of your jacket. pulling it out, you present the ice pack to wooyoung. “look, san told me to give this to you.”

his fingertips brush against your palm when he reaches out, hand hovering over the ice pack as if he does not dare to touch it. “san did?” he whispers.

when you nod, the final confirmation that he needs that nobody–you included–harbours ill feelings for him and his actions, he allows himself to take the ice pack. allows himself to love himself.

“you need to take care of your body,” you fondly chastise, lightening the atmosphere. “did coach cho not drill into you that as an athlete, your body is your most valuable asset? if you thought he was bad, he’s going to seem like an angel when i’m through with you. you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.”

wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response.

no longer does he have to carry this burden alone because you are there for him now. but you know that you are not the only one who can be there for wooyoung. the dynamic between the boys runs past mere teammates and from what you have noticed, quite possibly even friends.

tentatively, you suggest, “maybe this is something you should tell the others about. that way you can truly let things go.”

his gaze wavers at the idea as he looks at you. yet, the miniscule smile and encouraging nod you give him fills him with tranquillity. perhaps it is time to let go, but the only way he can truly do that is if he is honest to the boys about his feelings–if he is honest to himself.

“okay,” he breathes out softly.

you grace him with another beat of silence before you stand up, extending your hand out to him. “let’s go.”

wooyoung takes your offered hand and lets you pull him up to his feet. he does not know if it is intentional, but the slight squeeze you give him right before your hand lets go of his fills him with warmth. the feeling stays with him even when he activates the ice pack as you two walk back to the locker room.

right at the doorway where the rest of the team is behind, you stop. you place your hand on wooyoung’s back, whose brows are starting to furrow in confusion. “i’ll be waiting out here. take your time,” you tell him.

“thank you, coach,” wooyoung returns your soft smile.

before you can think better of it, you reply, “i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement, waiting for him to walk through the threshold before you close the door behind him.

the first few months you had coached the red devils, mistrust had been in the shape of private conversations that deliberately excluded you. but now, trust is in the conversations that you know you do not need to be a part of. so you simply lean against the wall and wait.

and when they emerge from the locker room half an hour later, you know you have made the right decision upon seeing their eased expressions and relaxed shoulders. the air is still sombre, their defeat in the semifinals still fresh at the forefront of everybody’s minds, but what matters now is that they will face the loss together–the eight of them and you.

“here you go.”

hongjoong hands you your bag so that you do not have to go back in to grab it. you take it graciously from him, then with him by your side, you two lead the group through the arena–past the gazes and whispers that follow your group–and out to the team’s bus.

first to load his kit bag, yeosang takes his usual seat towards the front and waits. he has long developed the habit of placing his backpack under the seat in front of him instead of beside him. as the bus starts to pull away once all the bags are properly stored, you wordlessly take the seat next to him. your knees intermittently brush up against each other with the slight sway of the bus, but neither one of you make a move to shift your legs away.

you and yeosang watch the outside world whirl by the window, just like you always do. except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced.

a brief movement below your line of vision causes you to glance down. it is yeosang’s hand, palm upturned with a silent invitation of solace. you slide your fingers into his, an extension of the comfort you wish to give to them, and them to you.

what you and the boys do not realise, though, is that your flowers have simply bloomed elsewhere.

your jaw drops in sync with the last of the heavy suitcases that seonghwa rests on the floor outside their apartment complex. the amount of his luggage is easily equivalent to at least half the team’s.

“these are all yours?” you confirm.

seonghwa looks at you strangely, “of course. why?”

you look at him strangely. “are you planning on moving? why did you pack enough for a trip around the world?”

“well somebody didn’t want to tell us where we were going, so i had to make sure i was prepared for wherever our destination would be.”

“it’s called a surprise for a reason,” you shake your head, “and i did tell you to pack for cold weather, didn’t i?”

seonghwa fakes offence, scoffing, “can i remind you that it is still spring here, so my apologies for assuming that it might potentially mean we are travelling overseas.”

“you’re such a worrywart, you old fart,” wooyoung teases, circling around the older on his rideable suitcase.

seonghwa yelps when the wheels nearly run over his toes and he threatens, “next time you wet through your entire pack of underwear, don’t come crawling and begging for my spares.”

the suitcase halts indignantly to a stop with its rider. “that was one time,” wooyoung complains, “and it wasn’t even my fault!”

“it wasn’t even my fault,” seonghwa mocks. “i told you not to put your shampoo in a ziplock bag but no, you said that it would be fine.”

wooyoung sticks his index finger up. “correction, hongjoong said that it would be fine.”

“what the fuck, wooyoung,” hongjoong blanches at the sudden disclosure.

“and that’s exactly where you are at fault,” seonghwa cocks his eyebrow at wooyoung. “why would you listen to him?”

“what the fuck, seonghwa. i’m your captain,” hongjoong scowls.

“only during games.”

when you make eye contact with san, the two of you can only sigh with amused resignation. the rest of the boys shake their heads and proceed to load their luggage onto the bus, leaving the trio to feud it out in the background.

as mingi stacks his luggage beside yunho’s, he turns to ask, “are you sure we don’t need our kits?”

“you all brought your skates and sticks with you?” you question in return. when mingi and yunho nod, you reassure them, “then that’s all you need.”

jongho pipes up from beside you, “but what about training?”

“mental training,” you simply grin before hopping up the stairs to sit beside yeosang.

the boys gradually take their seats, even wooyoung and the two oldest despite their continued bickering. somebody yells out over the commotion, “coach! are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”

you peer backwards over the top of your seat to find everyone’s eager eyes on you. “nope,” you snicker, “you’ll find out when we get there. we are going on a holiday though, i’ll tell you that much.”

there is a surge of excitement at your confirmation and a similar fluttering eagerness flits through you, except yours is because you cannot wait to see their reactions. you really hope that the next two weeks will help to reset the team’s morale and give them a much-needed break.

“kq let us go on holiday?” yeosang asks with an impressed look as you settle back in your seat.

you give him a proud smirk. “i’m pretty convincing when i want to be. plus, we just had playoffs and we would all benefit from the rest. what better time to do that than at the start of the off-season?”

“there is no better time.”

“exactly.”

and so the bus starts the four-hour drive towards what the boys will soon come to realise is a team retreat. mingi connects his phone to the bluetooth, in charge of shuffling the music that blasts through the speakers, turning the atmosphere of the bus into a lively concert once it becomes obvious that it is going to be a long trip.

you have to yell over their deafening singing–which you have to admit actually sounds quite impressive–numerous times for them to sit their asses down, their enthusiasm uncontainable by the seat belts and law regulations. but they look their age, free and untroubled; just a group of boys up to their silly antics with one another, so you cannot bring yourself to truly regulate them.

the bus drives on, making a rest stop at one of the service areas along the highway so that you can stretch your legs in fresh air, use the restrooms and most importantly–

“food!”

their hollers resound before the doors of the bus even open. the second that the gap is large enough to fit one of them through, most of the boys go sprinting off like a stampede of toddlers in the direction of the food court.

wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”

“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.”

you laugh brightly as you are jostled around and you pull a card out of your back pocket, holding it up like a golden ticket. you waggle your brows playfully, “it’s on the company card.”

both wooyoung and yunho freeze. their eyes instantaneously start to glimmer, faces radiating when they slowly look at each other. then before you can react, they pounce on you, linking their arm through yours on either side of you and dragging you along to catch up with the rest of the team.

“buy whatever you want!” wooyoung brags and waves the card that he has seized off of you, “it’s on me!”

the service area itself is a field trip as the eight boys cause carnage throughout, except the destruction is in the number of times they swipe the company card. their hands quickly fill with rice cakes and fish skewers, corn dogs and grilled squid, more bags of walnut pastries and roasted potatoes tucked safely under their elbows. they demolish the snacks at the same rate it takes for the next ones to be prepared and the card is tossed around to keep up with their purchases.

they do not forget about the drinks either, getting iced americanos and barley tea to go along with their snacks, and banana milk and soda for the next leg of the trip. whatever catches their eyes–basically everything they lay their eyes upon–they buy. you do have to draw the line at daytime drinking though, narrowing your eyes at the cases of beer jongho and yunho try to pick up until they sheepishly put them back.

(you also end up having to purchase motion sickness tablets because seonghwa and mingi gorge themselves so full on snacks that they are queasy before they even make it back on the bus. kq’s president sends you a text too, asking just what exactly you and the boys have bought to rack up almost forty consecutive purchases at a service area. but the subsequent message asking if they are enjoying themselves tells you that his question is all in good fun.)

their energy mellows out during the last hour of the trip, both from tiring themselves out and from the gradual change in the scenery outside the windows. no longer can you see an endless mirage of highway road and open fields.

as the miles build up the further you travel, it leads deeper into a mountainous woodland with the trees growing denser and thicker around you. the narrower road winds around the base of hills and the bus driver carefully navigates the undisturbed peace of the forest. it starts to get colder and when the branches of the trees gradually dress themselves in dappled layers of snow, more of you shoulder on the thick coats and puffer jackets you had told them to bring.

the bus eventually arrives at a clearing amongst the pine trees, revealing a large but welcoming cottage pension. its wooden exterior and sloped roof gives it a distinctly cosy and rustic look, with large glass doors spanning the entire height of the walls that will let you admire the surrounding mountainous beauty from inside. off to the side of the cottage, there is a sizeable lake that has frozen over and immediately, you know that this was the perfect place to choose.

the boys press their faces against the window to get a better look as the bus pulls up beside the accommodation. “woah,” they breathe out, their exhales fogging up the glass.

they follow you off the bus in a trance, mouths open and unable to peel their eyes away lest they waste even a second to drink up the sight before them. here, in the heart of the taebaek mountains, it is still a winter wonderland despite the spring blossoms that cover the rest of seoul.

you turn to face them, walking backwards slowly and spreading your arms out with fond tenderness. “welcome to your home for the next two weeks, boys.”

even though it is simply an illusion created by taebaek’s geographical location and mountainous terrain, this time you find yourself appreciating the coldness and bareness of the winter-like ambience that cocoons you and your boys. it is as if time has stopped and there are no worries…only time to heal and start afresh.

living together, even if just for a holiday, is different.

you are used to only seeing the team in their training clothes, practice jerseys or bulked up in their padded gear and uniform. but here, the boys wear lounging sweatpants and worn hoodies, hair soft and poking into their eyes, bodies and expressions unguarded as they laze around. and where you are used to only seeing them at training, meetings and games, all rigorously scheduled and planned, there are no expectations to follow and no limits as to when you see them here.

the boys have their own organised chaoticness to their daily routines, having been living together for almost seven years now, and it seamlessly integrates into the space of the cottage too. but what truly surprises you and them is how you naturally blend into it.

when you rented the pension, you had ensured there were at least three bathrooms to accommodate all nine of you. however, you quickly discover that numbers mean nothing because the boys are incapable of staggering their morning and nightly bathroom routines one by one like you had assumed they would. you also realise that it is not that they are incapable, but that they like and want to do everything together.

space within a room holds no meaning to them and they are perfectly content to stand pressed up against each other’s sides, expertly dodging elbows and leaning over one another to reach for their toothbrushes or skincare. after that first night, you wake up in the morning and patter off in search for the least cramped bathroom to wriggle yourself into, up to three of you sharing the large sink and mirror that now looks comparatively tiny as you brush your teeth together.

more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into.

“we make the perfect ratio as the two tallest plus you as the shortest,” mingi likes to rationalise, “so it averages out perfectly with three boys in each of the other bathrooms.”

“but san’s shoulders are basically the equivalent of two grown men, so your point is invalid no matter how we divide ourselves up,” you like to argue back.

except they refuse to see reason. instead, yunho raises the volume of the speaker he has set on the sink’s counter that blasts out music to playfully drown you out. you relent every time and it turns into goofy dancing from the three of you as you pull silly expressions at one another in the mirror. when you rinse your mouth, mingi will start a gargling competition without fail, but none of you have lasted for more than three seconds before you begin to choke with laughter.

(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.)

seonghwa shakes his head whenever he passes the bathroom, insisting, “the only thing you guys are missing is a disco ball.” he is definitely not jealous of the fun you three are having. not at all.

the eldest has his own routine though, visible in the way he prepares everybody’s cups of coffee in the morning. they are all made differently according to individual preferences; no sugar, double shots, a dash of milk, brown sugar, matcha powder or decaf. and despite the fact that yeosang is usually up the earliest, seonghwa does not allow him to make his own coffee.

seonghwa claims it is because nobody knows how to properly use the drip brewer, but yeosang sits next to you and murmurs into your ear, “he just won’t admit that he likes to make them for us.” it must be the chill of the morning, but yeosang’s warm, whispery voice always sends goosebumps over your arms.

by the second morning, seonghwa finds himself naturally grabbing an extra cup and the hot surprise greets you with one and a half teaspoons of sugar in it, just how you like it. hongjoong emerges from the bathroom moments later to grab his cup and as he takes a careful sip, his eyes flit over the remaining cups on the table. seonghwa can practically hear the numbers ticking up in his head.

“y/n already took hers,” he verbalises, beckoning with his chin.

hongjoong turns around in the same direction to see you curled up on the sofa next to jongho and yeosang, your feet tucked comfortably underneath you as you lean forward out of curiosity to take a sip of jongho’s americano. when your expression scrunches up from the shock of bitterness, jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction.

“oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.”

seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.”

hongjoong does not peel his gaze away from the three of you all cosied up on the couch. “you’re right, they’re both goners,” he hums absentmindedly, not at all registering who exactly it is who is being referred to.

(the true answer is that there are more than three of them.)

you discover that wooyoung is usually in charge of cooking, but in return, everybody else gets up to clear and wash the dishes the moment the last pair of chopsticks is placed down on the table. that is the only time they are allowed into the kitchen because they are apparently all walking hazards.

but when wooyoung realises you can actually handle a knife without giving him grey hairs from watching, the two of you easily divide the roles and tasks between yourselves. like a waltzing dance, you move together in the kitchen to prepare the meals. he passes you the spices in the overhead cabinets before you ask and you close the fridge when he takes out a pack of meat or vegetables.

cooking with wooyoung is never without bickering. he does not let you hear the end of the time you bump your head on the edge of the counter when you try to grab a saucepan from underneath, or the time you squeal after the oil starts to splatter from the onions. but if that is the reason why he starts to subtly move his hand to cushion the edges of the counters when you bend down to find something, or why he chooses to do the stirring and frying while you slice, then he pretends it is merely coincidence.

san never strays far away from the kitchen whenever you and wooyoung are cooking. you have noticed that they do not really ever stray apart–none of the boys do, though. wooyoung talks as you and san listen and the latter does not stop smiling as he watches wooyoung multitask. what you do not realise is the countless times you have forgotten to keep cooking because you are watching him too with the same expression that san wears.

(the rest of the boys realise and they also see the way san and wooyoung will pause to gaze at you.)

when you two have mostly finished cooking and it is simply a matter of waiting for the sauce to simmer or the soup to boil, you find that wooyoung will take his seat next to san on the barstools at the island, knees and thighs touching as he continues the conversation. you gravitate towards them the first time before catching yourself, cautious that you may be intruding, but then san gives you a dimpled smile and beckons for you to come and sit by his other side.

san likes to keep a gentle hand resting on wooyoung’s knee as he talks. when he does the same thing to you without even looking, your lungs stop working for a minute. the only thought that consumes your mind is the warm sensation of san’s thumb soothingly running back and forth across your skin. you do not want him to stop, so you stay still in hopes that he continues. you are pretty sure san does not even consciously realise he is doing it.

(san does, and he is glad you do not move away.)

in the hours after dinner and before you all head off to sleep, you pile the thick blankets into the open living room and squish yourselves on the least number of couches as possible. again, space holds no meaning when you are with the boys and you find the press of yeosang and hongjoong’s skin against your own more natural there than not.

sometimes you watch movies together, other times talking with low voices as the hours tick by, and other times where you are all doing your own things but in the presence of one another. regardless, the nine of you stay cuddled in front of the fireplace with the warm glow of the fire and the light dreamy flutter of snow outside the windows.

yeosang tenderly tucks the blankets up around mingi’s shoulders when he falls asleep before turning to you on his other side. “are you warm enough?” he softly asks. and even though you say you are, he still tucks the edges of your blanket under your chin, nestling you safely within the blanket, hongjoong’s side and his own body.

the boys are naturally affectionate with one another and seeing the close dynamic of their…friendship so intimately in the environment of the retreat reminds you once more of the possibility that their relationship may run deeper than they let on.

(but when that affection extends to you, you wonder what exactly that may mean for your own relationship with the boys.)

and so living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. it is different when they are the first sight to greet you when you wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and voice still husky from fatigue as they murmur good mornings to you, and your cheeks start to glow with rosiness.

it is different when the decisions you make together are not about a change in formation or a defensive power play, but what to make for dinner and what movie you want to watch afterwards, and it makes you begin to wonder what other mundane decisions you want to make with them. it is different when they wrap you in their embrace–eight consecutive hugs–to bid you goodnight, and it takes you longer to fall asleep because you toss restlessly in your bed as their smiles replay in your head.

being on the retreat together is strangely domestic and homelike. but it has been almost nine months since you have started coaching the boys and thus seeing them every day for countless hours on end. so really, this trip should not change anything.

and yet, it feels like everything is changing.

jongho pays no mind to the conversation that is happening around him. last he heard, half of you are wanting to go out to skate on the lake before the sun sets and the other half are wanting to finish the halli galli championship you had started the night prior.

he is happy to do either but his mind is distracted by something else. as the screen of his phone lights up, jongho’s eyes flicker down and he puts his hand over the glowing display before anybody can see the caller id. you glance at him when you catch the movement in the corner of your peripheral vision, only to look away when yunho calls out your name to see which of the two options you would prefer.

the screen goes black as the call goes unanswered. seconds later, it lights up briefly with a notification.

pick up.

then the caller id shows up again. jongho grabs his phone and mumbles to nobody in particular, “going to grab something from my room.”

closing the door to the room that he is sharing with hongjoong in the pension, jongho sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. whilst he has no qualms ignoring their messages now, he still finds it difficult to do the same to their phone calls. he finds his resolve weakening as he watches his phone ring for the third time within minutes.

so jongho picks up. “mother,” he greets stiffly.

she scoffs scathingly, “you finally decided to pick up.”

“i’ve been busy with the playoffs.” a half lie.

“busy? busy losing, you mean,” his mother ridicules. jongho is taken aback by the fact that she is aware, since he did not tell his family. it makes sense when she berates, “do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out from your aunt? she told me to congratulate you for making it into the semifinals–the semifinals, jongho.”

he feels a heat of shame at what she is insinuating. jongho defends, “that’s still the top four out of seventy six teams.”

“nobody cares,” she turns her nose up. “it does not matter if you came fourth, second or last–unless you win first place, the result is not worth anything. our entire family has a legacy of achievements and your younger brother even has an olympic gold medal now. but what have you done? this is a mere national competition and yet you are incapable of making it into the finals.”

“jong–” his name dies on the tip of your tongue and your hand stops before you can knock on the door when you hear jongho’s muffled voice.

the boys had finally decided to grab their skates so you had come to get jongho to join everybody outside. realising he is talking to somebody, you are about to turn away and give him some privacy, but the words you hear make you freeze. 

it is not the conversation itself that you overhear; it is the wounded tone of jongho’s voice that makes it impossible for you to walk away. your feet stay rooted to the spot, in fact, wanting to enter the room. you have not heard jongho in such great affliction before, not even when he was consoling the boys with tears in his own eyes after their crushing defeat in the playoffs. 

“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.

he has lived his entire life being told that he is not good enough–constantly compared to the accomplishments of his family, particularly those of his younger brother. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person.

his mother is silent and for a brief moment, jongho thinks that she may finally see some sense in his words…only for her to unfeelingly state, “when they are worth celebrating.” with a simple, “do better,” she hangs up on him.

jongho’s hand falls limply into his lap, phone slipping out of his lax fingers with a dull thud to the ground. he wants to swear. he wants to cry. he wants to throw his phone against the wall until the screen shatters. but jongho simply leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, the crushing weight of dejection forcing his lungs to exhale shakily.

there is a faint, timid knock on the door. he knows who it is immediately–only one person would knock so softly. “come in,” he answers listlessly, because he could never bring himself to ignore you no matter his own feelings.

the door cracks open to reveal your tentative figure and you slip through the opening. from the way your lips are pulled down, eyes rounded with concern, jongho knows that you have connected enough dots to understand the context of the phone call.

you approach the bed and try to ignore how small the boy in front of you looks with his shoulders hunched inwards on themselves. jongho has always appeared as the most collected and composed, even more so than the captain, and it makes your chest tight to realise he has simply been hiding this whole time.

jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.

he presses his face into the soft warmth of your stomach. the darkness welcomes him with safety and comfort and he lets out a stuttering breath that racks his entire body. you wrap one arm around his shoulders and cradle the back of his head with your other, your fingers tenderly caressing his hair in soothing motions.

although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.”

and they are the words he has been wanting to hear his entire life. unable to keep it together any longer, jongho breaks down in your arms with tearful sobs and allows himself to grieve for the acknowledgement he has yearned his entire life and never received. however, it will only be for tonight because he has realised that it is futile to chase after recognition from a person who refuses to see his worth, even if that person is his own family.

there will always be other people who can see his actual worth; the same people who will still love him even if he does not have a gold trophy to call his. for him, those people are his seven boys and you.

so he stays in your arms with you wrapped around him, time lost to the two of you. he cries until he has no tears left and you tilt your head upwards to stop the flow of your own tears before they can drip down onto the crown of his head. and outside the bedroom, hongjoong quietly eases the door shut to give you both some privacy.

you do not know how much time has passed when you finally step out. jongho has fallen asleep after you tucked him under his covers, exhausted. heading towards your room to change out of your shirt, you are startled by the sight of hongjoong lingering near the door.

“you didn’t go out with the boys?

he shakes his head, then conscious of where you two are standing, he gestures inside your room and follows you in. “is jongho okay?” hongjoong asks.

“i think so…he’s sleeping now but probably just needs a bit more time,” you sigh, “i just wish i could do more for him.”

hongjoong reassures, “you are already doing so much more than you realise.”

for jongho. for wooyoung. for all of them. comfort has never been about the words or actions, but the person who is by their side, and for the boys, having you there is already enough.

“really?” you worry.

“yes, really.”

before he realises what he is doing, hongjoong reaches out to gingerly cup the side of your face to thumb away the worry in your brows. “y/n, you take care of us all the time…but who takes care of you?” he whispers.

“i’m your coach, of course i–”

“no,” he interrupts. “you aren’t just our coach and from what i have seen, you aren’t just our friend either. unless…” hongjoong hesitates, “unless i’ve been reading everything wrong, then in which case, tell me and i’ll move away.”

you do not reply. your eyes flicker back and forth between his, your heart racing and mind blank. it is true–they are not just your players and they are not just your friends either, but you are unsure about taking such a huge leap of faith and acting upon the feelings you have only just started to understand.

hongjoong takes your silence as encouragement to step even closer until he is right in front of you. he keeps his hand on your cheek, his other coming up to delicately cradle your waist. you are standing intimately enough for his warm breath to span across your cheeks as he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now.

“if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.”

as one of theirs.

you swallow and confirm, “are you all together?”

“yes, we’re dating each other,” hongjoong nods.

“but then why…” your voice trials off. why me, too?

hongjoong taps the tip of your nose and jokes lightly, “is there a capped limit as to how many people we are allowed to love?”

it pulls a giggle out of you and he smiles fondly as he reiterates, “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?”

for a moment you wonder what will happen to your professional relationship with the boys–what will happen if things do not work out or worse, if other people find out and report you all for it. but when you really think about it, you realise that the professionalism between you and the boys has long since blurred. 

you do not know if you can go back to seoul after this retreat and act like you do not want to continue living with them. most importantly, you do not want to know if you can. so you take the leap of faith and nod–you want to be theirs.

when you first met the red devils in autumn last year, you were resolved to win over them. never would you have expected that you would win them over in more ways than one…and be won over yourself.

“hi, girlfriend.”

seonghwa smacks the back of wooyoung’s head. “stop pressuring her,” he hisses as the younger cackles delightfully and strides away through the snow impressively fast considering he is wearing his skates.

“ignore him,” seonghwa turns to you, where you are sitting on the porch steps to the cottage. he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates.

“i can do it myself,” you start.

“i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to hide the shy smile that blooms across your face and when that fails, you duck your head down instead. ever since your talk with hongjoong the other day, the boys have been significantly more obvious and proactive with their displays of affection for you. however, you are pretty sure they had their own conversation when you were asleep or in the shower, because not one of them pressures you into something you are not ready for, even if that includes making your relationship official.

“there you go. is it too tight? too loose?” seonghwa taps your skates and you tell him they are perfect. taking his offered hand with an appreciative smile, he pulls you up to your feet and you go to join the rest of the boys on the frozen lake.

you are sure it feels the same for every single one of your boys–nothing can compare to that moment when you first step onto the ice. it is where you become a completely different person; a fish back in water, in control and at home.

it had been a gamble renting the cottage pension as you were unable to know whether the lake would be frozen over enough to allow for skating. but it is as if the heavens know not to separate you and your boys from the love and passion that your entire lives revolve around, because you are blessed to see them scrambling out to play on the frozen lake almost every single day, just like they are right now.

san spots you and seonghwa and beckons for you two to join. “hongjoong’s the tagger,” he calls out.

the captain stands at the other end of the lake, back facing everybody as he drawls, “green light…”

before hongjoong even starts to enunciate the first word, yunho, wooyoung and jongho have already pushed off their skates to advance. it sets off an immediate chorus of indignant shouts and desperate acceleration amongst everybody else to catch up. you laugh and seonghwa drags you along with him urgently, unable to stand your apparent nonchalance and uncompetitiveness.

but oh, how wrong he is. very quickly, you join the majority of the boys in a game of who can be the most sneaky with dirty play. wooyoung and mingi tussle with one another right as hongjoong turns around with his yell of ‘red light!’, trying to topple the other over so they get caught. jongho yanks on the back of seonghwa’s jacket whilst yeosang giggles and joins in to yank on jongho’s, effectively preventing all three of them from advancing forward.

“let go of me, you brats!” seonghwa flails forward against the combined weight of the two boys but to no avail.

you use yunho’s height to your advantage and hide behind him, steadily creeping forward even when hongjoong has turned around to face you all. yunho quickly catches on and extends his hands backwards for you to latch onto. you are more than happy to let him do all the hard work skating you both towards the captain and you grin cheekily at the trio–still caught up in their self-induced tug-of-war–as you overtake them easily.

“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules.

“life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers, “san, you moved your mouth! go back.”

san gives an indignant cry, “favouritism, i say!” but, bless his heart, moves back to the starting line regardless. 

when yunho is almost towering over hongjoong, he cues you to get ready to escape by letting go of your hands. you pivot around and without waiting for anything else, you start to run away.

“gree–”

yunho tags hongjoong’s right shoulder before pushing off to the left so that he escapes the other’s immediate line of vision. except it means that the first person that hongjoong sees when he turns around is you.

an involuntary squeal escapes you when you hear the terrifying crispness of skates on ice right behind you followed by the captain’s arms snaking around your waist. “caught you, babe” he beams. hongjoong lifts you up with shit-eating smugness at your reaction–both at his close proximity and the pet name–spins you around for good measure, then sets you back down to chase after the others.

wooyoung skates in a wide arc to dodge the captain’s frenzied rampage, only to suddenly appear right beside you with the most telling glint in his sparkling eyes that he is up to mischief. he grins.

“wooyoung, no,” you warn.

he grabs you by the waist. “wooyoung, yes.”

wooyoung pushes off his skates with you in front of him at breakneck speed across the ice, bellowing at the top of his voice, “make way for the cripples!”

you scream the entire way to the end of the lake, hands clutching onto his like a lifeline as a colourful string of words flies out of your mouth. you think you black out for a second because when you open your eyes again, you are in a heaving tangle of arms and legs on the cushiony surface of powdery snow.

“oh, shit,” hongjoong winces.

the boys speed towards you and wooyoung, and yunho peers down at you on the ground with panicked concern in his eyes. “are you two okay?” he asks but when he sees that you are laughing, unrestrained and radiating joy, yunho relaxes and joins in with relief.

they–mainly seonghwa–fuss over you both enough to reassure themselves that there is not so much as a scratch or bruise, before mingi suggests playing a casual hockey game of five versus four. there are to be no goaltenders and san fashions makeshift goalposts by poking sticks into the snow on either ends of the lake.

the team splits into their usual arrangement when they are required to be in two groups; hongjoong, yunho, san and wooyoung; seonghwa, yeosang, mingi and jongho. normally, you would offer to be the honorary referee…but the boys have never been rough with you and you have confidence that you will not get hurt. so for the first time in years, you play.

it is far from a proper league game and it will never be enough to quench your thirst as a former athlete, but for now, gripping your stick on the ice in tandem with the others, you are content–you are alive.

like red light, green light, the game starts off fair and proper for a grand total of two minutes. then it becomes a circus of foul plays and increasingly creative methods of cheating as all sense of order is tossed out the window. yunho and san stand in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to handle the puck, whilst hongjoong and wooyoung flank your sides and use their sticks to block any attempts to steal the puck. as a shielded group of five, you all move up towards the goalposts like a formidable army tank.

in retaliation, jongho physically manhandles hongjoong out of the way, hugging him from behind with a vice grip that he swears not to let go. seonghwa, mingi and yeosang imitate him with similar displays of strength, turning the entire match into a childish scuffle of chaos and hysterics.

there are no proper rules, no proper gear and no proper stadium–only the bare minimum, yourselves and uncontainable laughter. it feels like you are kids again, little souls harbouring colossal dreams, running around on the fields with long branches and a pine cone you had found when you could not afford to go to a real rink.

it is like you have gone back in time to when all you knew about ice hockey from watching it on your television screen was that you had to get the puck into the goal. you and the boys are fresh, blank slates without a care in the world for the countless strategies and tactical plays that you have learned over the length of your careers.

without the pressures and routines of strict training regimes, you all reignite the very roots of your ardour and fervour for ice hockey. no longer is it about the scores and making it into the playoffs. no longer is it about winning the championships to gain the acknowledgement of other people. no longer is it about the trauma of betrayal, injury and defeat you have experienced.

playing is simply the thrill of skating liberally with no burdens across the ice. it is the feeling of thriving when your blade connects with the puck and sends vibrations up your arms. it is the rush of adrenaline as everyone moves in tandem with the same singular thought in your hearts–that you love ice hockey with your entire lives. and that in itself is already more than enough, even without a gold trophy and championship title to prove it to yourselves.

for the last five years, the boys have had the leaves of their trees forcibly plucked and removed–by family, by coaches, and by injuries…but now?

it is time for their flowers to bloom.

spring, 2025: playoffs

standing off to the side, you watch your boys listening attentively to the reporter who is conducting an interview with them. you have continued to stay out of the media spotlight where possible, not yet entirely comfortable standing in front of the cameras again, but your boys have quickly grown accustomed to media coverage ever since their popularity gained traction thanks to their undefeated streak in the regular season.

the interviewer glances down at her prompt card before asking, “so tell me, what has been a major contribution to your success this season? your team has made a name for yourselves as the undefeated champions so far–quite a contrast to how you started off last season.”

seonghwa laughs cordially with her. “we were getting used to a lot of changes last year so our teamwork and mentality wasn’t the best,” he admits. “our agency gave us some time off to recalibrate, which really helped us to focus on building ourselves–as individuals and as a team. i think we learnt to place our unconditional trust in one another and our coach. we still play with a dominantly offensive approach, but we’ve been adopting different playing styles and experimenting with them, so this relies heavily on believing in each other.”

yunho nods, gesturing for the microphone to add, “as cliche as it may sound, a huge part of our growth was also learning how to accept loss. this wasn’t just in the context of being defeated in the semifinals but in the wider lens of our past mistakes, relationships, and even situations that we could not change.

“it has been a tough journey for a lot of us over the last year, but we were lucky enough to have each other’s support,” yunho’s nostalgic smile reflects your own as you realise just how far both you and all of your boys have come. “once we were able to let go, it meant that we could enjoy our career for what it truly is–playing the sport of our dreams together, every day.”

the reporter’s ears perk up in interest at the segway to probe and she jumps on the opportunity to ask, “i am sure many of your fans have been curious for a long time. is there a special somebody who has supported you–or any of you–throughout your journey?”

yunho passes the microphone to the hand that has extended out to reach for it. it’s san this time, who has a charmingly confident persona that he takes on whenever he answers questions during interviews. good thing too, because their fans are going to need something to distract them from understanding the confession he is about to make.

“there is. we all do, actually,” his deep voice rolls off his tongue like butter. the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.”

off to the side, wooyoung sends a wink in your direction and you have to muffle a snort with your hand and divert your glance away. the structural framework of the stadium ceiling suddenly looks very interesting. san stands there incredibly smug at his joke that he knows nobody but you and the boys will pick up on.

by the time you tune back into the conversation, the reporter has moved onto the next question. “last year, you lost to the white tigers in the semifinals. how do you feel about facing them again later today?”

due to a spike in popularity, the korean ice hockey league had to divide its teams into two separate groups for the regular season matches this year. both the red devils and the white tigers had been placed in different groups and by some twist of fate, had ranked at the top and then seeded accordingly on either ends of the tournament brackets. now, your team faces theirs in the very last game of the season.

the finals.

“we’re quite excited, actually,” jongho responds. “we have been wanting to play against the white tigers again some day and i don’t think it gets any more fitting than meeting them in the finals. they have some incredible players but like seonghwa mentioned before, we’ve been working hard to adjust our playing style to suit the situation. our coach has put in a lot of effort to hone in on our strengths and weaknesses, so no matter what today’s outcome is, we’re confident that it won’t be an easy win for either team.”

“i am sure the finals is going to be a thrilling match. now, speaking of coaches,” the interviewer starts and you can see hongjoong’s hand twitching subtly at his side, ready to step in and deflect the question need be should it pertain to you.

she continues, “how does it feel to play against your former coach?”

yeosang and mingi frown, unable to neutralise the confusion on their faces. hongjoong smiles calmly, ultimately taking over the microphone as he apologises, “sorry, could you please elaborate your question?”

it is the interviewer’s turn to fluster slightly but she nods quickly, “you must not be aware, then.”

your eyes dart back and forth as you try to recall whether there is a crucial piece of information you have somehow missed or forgotten to tell the boys. the tone of her voice foreshadows something that makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“last year, the white tigers had a stand-in coach, so you probably did not know.” she says her next words carefully and despite the bustling movement that fills the entire stadium, you can hear the exact moment all of your hearts drop.

“the coach of the white tigers is coach yeon, your team’s former coach in 2018…and he’s here today.”

you are the first to rush back into their locker room. frantically, you grab the official guide that had been given to you by the ice hockey league prior to the start of the regular season from out of your bag. you flip through it, team profiles upon team profiles blending into a hazy blur of faces as you find the one you are trying to look for.

“y/n,” somebody gently murmurs from behind you but you do not register their call. you continue to flick through the pages and when you find the profile for the white tigers, you scan the top of the page for a certain name with a shaky finger.

head coach: yeon ha joon

“oh my god,” you breathe out, hands lowering to your sides and gaze wavering. how the fuck had you managed to miss it this entire time?

you are not the only one affected by the revelation. the change room is pervaded by unease and restlessness, and wooyoung paces back and forth despite hongjoong’s attempts to get him to sit down. hongjoong himself cannot even remember how he answered the question about coach yeon, only that he had somehow excused themselves not long after to cut the interview short.

“how is he still a coach?” seonghwa furrows his brows.

wooyoung stops pacing and your eyes are drawn to him when he suddenly blanches, “what if coach yeon is doing the opposite now and paying other teams to let his own team win?”

“no way–” “–i wouldn’t put it past him–” “–surely not?” the boys’ voices overlap at the speculation.

it is a valid speculation based on what they have told you in the past about coach yeon. however, you stay quiet, suddenly aware of the fact that it is not something that would favour you should it be true. you gnaw the inside of your cheek because as much as you know that your boys would not suspect you, you still worry that doubt may cross their minds at one point, even if only briefly.

“unless the money he offered every single time was equivalent to the prize money, it’s highly unlikely the teams would have all accepted, right?” jongho points out.

yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”

the way everybody immediately agrees expels some of the anxiety within you, filling you with reassurance and security that starts to relax your chest instead. wooyoung chooses that moment to finally sit down on the bench beside you. he adds, “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.”

san chucks a water bottle at him. despite yourself, you laugh and admit, “that is…strangely comforting.”

“see,” wooyoung triumphantly boots the bottle back at the older. “she gets it.”

seonghwa intercepts the pitiful bottle before it becomes weaponised and sets it down next to him. “she wouldn’t accept the money in the first place.”

“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions.

yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”

“and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion.

it is quiet in the locker room. the coach of the white tigers is indeed coach yeon…and so what? what exactly about the revelation has pushed you all to the edge of the cliff?

mingi cocks his head. “what i’m trying to say is, does it make any difference whether he is their coach or not? think about it–regardless of how he got his team to the finals, he has no unfair advantage over us. there’s no way that he has bribed a fixed win in the finals, and he has no access to any insider knowledge that could jeopardise our tactics and plays.

“the only leverage that he ‘has’ is a psychological advantage–if we can even call it that. but we’re not the same boys who were too naive and powerless to do anything about it six years ago. if anything, we can easily turn this to work in our favour because i don’t know about you guys, but i’m ready to drag his ass through the mud. what we said earlier about not caring for today’s outcome? nah, fuck that. we’re going to fuck him up and show him that he messed with the wrong people.”

he takes everybody’s silence as misunderstanding of his last statement and he hurriedly clarifies there is no violent intent, “by winning. fairly.”

“damn,” jongho whistles. “you’re onto something for once.”

mingi clambers over seonghwa’s legs to grab the forgotten bottle and it goes flying across the room with violent intent. “dude, what the fuck,” mingi grouses.

the dull thud that resounds when jongho holds san’s leg pad up to block the projectile is enough to shift the mood in the room entirely. you finally relax into hongjoong’s side and he moulds you closer to him with the arm that he snakes around your waist as you both watch the locker room erupt into familiar pre-game mayhem.

yunho immediately scoops up the bottle and pitches it again. san stands to the side worrying over his poor leg pads as jongho uses them to bat the makeshift ball. his impressive accuracy makes you wonder whether they would have made it just as big as they are now had they formed a baseball team instead, but then yeosang narrowly dodges the bottle before it gives him a black eye, wooyoung cackles in the background, and you think better of it.

seonghwa joins you both on the bench and amongst all of the mischievous chaos and raucous laughter, you feel at peace, your hands clasped tenderly in the hands of your two captains–in unity, trust and love. you affectionately squeeze their hands with unspoken conviction.

you know your boys are going to play well; you just have a good feeling.

the energy in the room spikes exponentially as you huddle together one final time before you walk out of the locker room, through the hallways and to the arena–one final time before you step out to the ice rink as the red devils, playing in the final match.

you and your boys stand in a circle as close as it is physically possible with their bulky pads and game jerseys that they wear so proudly. it is indiscernible where one of you starts and where another ends from how intimately you all press together. your huddle is a woven nexus of arms and your hearts pound as one entity.

everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. not a single one of your boys has made it this far without falling at least once, and the conscious thought makes your heart swell and your throat constrict with overwhelming emotion.

somehow, you manage to choke out, “i am so, so proud of all of you.”

yunho and seonghwa’s own eyes start to heat up with wetness. from your side, san kisses your temple with feather-like tenderness, “and we’re so proud of you. y/n, you have grown just as much as we have.”

“thank you for being our coach,” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from your other side, the tip of his nose softly nuzzling you.

wooyoung reaches out to thumb the round of your cheek, “and thank you for loving us when we found it difficult to love ourselves.”

you had always viewed your injury and career with anger, bitterness and anguish…but you have finally come to terms with it. in the process of healing, you have learnt to love yourself, love eight other people, and to be loved. you have had your golden days as an athlete and you are now living your golden days as a coach–

–the very coach of the red devils, your team of boys who are living through their golden days as athletes, and you are going to lead them to victory in the finals.

swiping at a tear that slips down your cheeks, you grin. “boys, let’s win this match and then,” you pause as you meet their determined gazes, their smiles wide with uncontainable excitement, the tension in the room electrifying and palpable.

“let’s go international.”

you may have all fallen before–as athletes, as coaches, as a team–but you will always stand back up together, because at the end of the day your dream is theirs and their dream is yours. and like autumn, the leaves fall for a reason; they must fall before the spring flowers can bloom to their full beauty.

and bloom your flowers have.

[justahumblesideblog]

Steve: The Character Arc Given To Us Through Subtext Part 2

Continuing onto the montage with a bit more detail. Like I said before, while the main objective is to show King coming to terms with his Titan heritage, it also works as sort of Coven Guard Steve’s “last hurrah” before taking off his mask and becoming Steve the Rebel.

There are some things I want to touch on that happened before this, but they feel like they have more weight on Steve’s arc than than this little act of Good Samaritan-ness. Still though, I think this has value to the person that Steve really wants to be moving forward.

Judging from the ice pack on their head, I think it’s safe to say that the accident that caused they wheel to get busted also caused a rather nasty head injury to the poor older demon. In “Any Sport in A Storm” Steve is put into a moral dilemma about forcing kids into the harsh training required in joining the Emperor’s Coven. Earlier in the episode Steve voiced his past desire to be one of the best, joining the EC because of that desire. Here in this moment, he is helping two demons using his magic. The little one waving happy as they continue on their way. It’s a small moment, but I can see it as Steve finding peace in giving those small moments of kindness to others while still getting recognized. Sure it’s no as glamorous as the Emperor’s Coven, but it’s real and not manipulative.

Now this personally is my favorite detail of this sequence:

Throughout the montage Steve is seen with this book titled “Synergy in the Emperor’s Coven.” Perhaps it was his way of finding closure in his previous life while King did his own soul searching. Despite bein mg disillusioned with the EC, maybe he needed to take the time to put everything into perspective before fully letting go. In the end, Steve goes from reading it, to placing it on a rock while skipping stone, to ultimately ripping pages out of the book to complete King’s attempt to mimic his father’s final resting position. In my opinion, it’s a cool way to have Steve’s own journey of self-reflecting in the background while we focus in on King’s journey of self-discovery.

“Wants can change. So can people.”

Then we get to the part I’m sure a lot of people hoped for, but maybe didn’t think we would get. The grand unmasking. Of course the conversation King and Steve have leading up to that moment shouldn’t be overlooked. Again, it’s really cool how the show’s subtle arc with Steve played along with King’s arc of with both of them reevaluating what they want in life. King wanted to be respected and fear as the king of demons. Now that he knows he’s a Titan and people like Lilith are treating him differently though, he realizes that he just wants to be a person. Meanwhile, Steve doesn’t seem to just want to be the best or at least doesn’t think his best means being part of the Emperor’s Coven anymore. So what does Steve do once King’s decides he no longer wants to be seen as a scary monster?

“Me neither.”

Once again, all the kudos to the writers and storyboarders of this episode, and everyone else involved in mapping out this man’s arc that happening nearly entirely off screen. Steve has been going the whole nine yards by not only joining the rebellion, but also sneaking out therapy (also therapy exists in the Boiling Isles! Rejoice!). Another little small detail I really liked about this scene is that King had to double check whether or not Steve actually quit being a scout because this man has been living in subtext land for so long that things had to be fully clarified in order for the story to continue.

Now what does King (along with a newly rejoined Lilith and Hooty) do once the soul searching is done! Why, surely they must join the rebellion against the Day of Unity! Oh, but how on earth can they do that if they have no way of knowing where or not even knowing of the rebellion in the first place??? OH WAIT!

That’s right, Steve has been going on his little soul quest as preparation before heading down to the headquarters with his fellow CATS! The last time we saw this man before this episode he was working under Darius, so it just makes sense that he would be involved with the rebellion at least since after the events of “Any Sport in A Storm.”

In short, Steve finding and inviting King onto his self reflection journey, lead to both Lilith and Hooty following after then in pursuit of King, which ultimately lead all of the residents of the Owl House together again. There’s something so admirable with how the writers just let this sequence go unsaid. Like, they could have easily been like:

King: Now that we figured things out, what do we do now????

Steve: WELL I GOT AN IDEA!!!

But nope! They just cut out after Hooty wrongfully attacked poor Steve, and King, Hooty, and Lilith are just there at the CATS hideout. Steve working for Darius while questioning the morality of the EC? Steve just seemingly randomly at the Owl House for Lilith’s job party? Absolutely important to get him and King acquainted. Bold. Inspiring. Legendary. All the shoulder pats for The Owl House crew.

Also, just having Steve at the Rebel low table with the other big players of the rebellion? Just planing with Darius and Raine along with Raine’s Bard protégés? Being an established member of the rebellion before any of the main characters? Amazing. Rock on Steve. You earned your place in the spotlight for the reminder of the series.

[storiesbymads]

IT’S NOT LIVING (IF IT’S NOT WITH YOU) ( jj maybank . )

gif not mine

JJ shows up at Y/N’s doorstep after an incident with his dad.

warnings: physical abuse, blood, angst ig at some parts but mostly fluff

wc: 1.2k

JJ was leaned up against the railing of the Y/L/N family home as he slipped his phone out his pocket, sending you a text to let you know he was outside your front door. It wasn’t like he could just ring your doorbell at one o’clock in the morning. He just hoped you hadn’t chosen tonight to try and regulate your sleeping schedule. 

About a minute passed before the sound of the lock being undone and the creak of the old wooden door sounded. JJ felt his hands start to shake slightly. 

“JJ, baby, what happened?” you asked as soon as you saw that his eye was already swollen shut. His bottom lip was profusely bleeding out onto his t-shirt, which you already knew there would be a plethora of bruises underneath judging by the few you saw peeking out of his collar. 

“My dad…” he trailed off as you ushered him inside, shutting the door as quietly as possible. It seemed to be so much louder when you were sneaking JJ in than any other time of day. You attempted to lead him up the stairs to your bathroom but his very noticeable limp forced you to reevaluate. 

“Okay, new plan. Come with me to the kitchen and I’m going to go upstairs to get the first-aid kit,” you said before placing a kiss on his temple. It took a little bit longer than you thought it would to successfully get him situated at the island but you were able to get him to a stool with little-to-no noise on your part. You handed him a bottle of water from the fridge to drink while he waited on you. 

“I can’t stop sweating,” he said before sipping the ice cold liquid. You nodded, brushing the bangs off his forehead and pressing another kiss on his temple before making your way up the stairs to grab the aid kit. 

When you made your way back to him, the bottle was empty and JJ had his head resting  in his hands. You could tell he was crying before you even noticed the shaking in his shoulders. 

“Hey, baby,” you said, setting the first aid kit on the counter next to him and ushering for him to spin on his stool to face you. He quickly wiped away the tears with the back of his hand but a few still managed to fall. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“I ran into some complications with, uh,” he said. 

“It’s okay, take your time,” you said as you opened the kit to pull out all the necessary equipment to clean him up. You started with his eye, tilting his head back to drop a few eye drops into it. 

Once his head was level again, he said, “You know how my dad falls asleep during conversations.”

You nodded, handing him a washcloth you’d dampened upstairs to press onto his eye. 

“Well, for some reason, he picked today to be all pissy about you and the other pogues and fucking everything all because he was asleep when I told him I was leaving this morning. Usually he doesn’t fucking care about that so I didn’t think anything of it. But, then I got home…” he let out a shaky breath. “And he did all this shit.”

“Fuck him,” you sighed, applying a cotton ball covered in rubbing alcohol to the open wound on his lip. He winced at the contact. “Why did you even go back there, J? You know what he’s like when he’s drunk and he’s always drunk. And I know you think you’re sly but you need some imagination.”

“Imagination? What am I supposed to be imagining? I still technically live there and I know I can’t keep slumming it at John B’s every single night. If I knew what you’d do I would’ve gone to Kie’s,” his words stung but you tried to not let them get to you as you applied neosporin to his lip. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it. 

“J, you know that’s not what I meant. I just-” you placed a band-aid on the wound followed by a kiss on the band-aid. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered. The fabric of the band-aid warped as he spoke. 

“Don’t apologize, please. You did nothing wrong. It’s just that all I do is sit and think about you and hope to God that you’ll make it back to me at the end of the day.” You ran your fingers through his slightly sweaty locks as he placed the washcloth on the counter so that he could wrap his arms around your waist and press his face into your abdomen. 

“I love you so fucking much, you know that?” His voice was slightly muffled by your shirt but you could still easily understand what he said. 

“I love you, too, JJ,” you said. 

“No, Y/N,” he said, pulling back from you but still leaving his arms tightly wound about your hips. “I’m gonna marry you someday, baby. You’re all I’ve ever wanted and all I’m ever going to want. It’s not living if it’s not with you.”

“J-”

“Y/N, you’re the thing I’ve been chasing my whole life and I’m never letting you go.” You used your thumb to wipe away the few tears that managed to fall during his speech. You didn’t know if they were from the sudden outburst of emotion or the obvious pain he was still feeling. 

“I’m never letting you go, either, J,” you said. “Now, shirt off.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Not like that,” you let out a giggle. “I need to look at any bruising you might have, hot shot.”

He nodded, letting a giggle of his own out followed by a wince as he slipped the blood-stained fabric over his head with a little difficulty. You ran your fingers along the few scattered marks that lined his collar bones but other than that he, thankfully, was clear of any bruises. 

“Think you can make it up the stairs?” you asked, motioning that he could put his shirt back on to which he just shook his head and placed it on the counter with the washcloth. 

“I don’t know,” he said, remembering just how difficult it had been to make it up the few stairs leading to your front porch. 

“That’s okay. We can sleep on the couch tonight.” His arm moved to rest on your shoulder, using you as a crutch of some sort as you walked the short distance to the living room. You halfway dropped him onto the couch causing a groan to fall from his lips and a ‘sorry’ from yours. 

“What’re your parents going to say?”

“They’ll understand,” you said. “Or they won’t and they’ll kick me out and I’ll try to get a job in a bank to support us.”

He sat up for a second, allowing you to maneuver beneath him as best you could without hurting him any further before he laid back down to rest his head on your chest. “Us?”

“If I’m not living at home anymore, you sure as hell aren’t.” Your fingers moved to run through his hair once again. He sighed in relief at the contact. 

A few moments of silence fell over the two of you before he said, “You know, I was serious when I said I was going to marry you.” 

“I know you were. It’s not living if it’s not with you either, baby.” JJ had a soft smile on his lips as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

this is the first installment of my favorite song series, you can find the rest or other works of mine on my masterlist!

[wyattbastard]

Upon her expected response, a slow smirk fills his lips with an air of arrogance. She wasn't going to be able to trap him without at first trapping herself. They weren't very different from one another. They were both very self-willed and ambitious. Not to mention, extremely competitive which comes out in every avenue of their relationship. Even drinking. Wyatt has been watching how much she has to drink and then doubling it. Why? Because he wanted to be better than her, have more alcohol tolerance than her. This way if they ever get into a game of ( who can drink more ) he'll win because he was ahead of the idea.

"Overalls can be hot." Especially the ones that are cut off into shorts. Then there was the option of just wearing a bra underneath. Country girls were sexy. He likes them wild and fun. It's clear to him that Sadie doesn't know the meaning of the word ( fun ). No, she was too busy hunched over her work in heels.

"Wait, you like baseball?" He perks up a little and has to reevaluate her. So she wasn't just some boring ice queen who goes home after a long day of work, drinks half a glass of wine, feeds her cats and then goes to bed to do it all again in the morning? Did she actually have a social life? "Have you ever been to a game?" He just so happens to have tickets for the next Dodgers game. They were going against the Arizona Diamondbacks tomorrow and then the Colorado Rockies the following day which is the day he had the tickets for. He was supposed to go with his best friend but he bailed because he caught mono. "I love baseball too and I have a spare ticket actually for the game on Thursday, but — your precious Dodgers aren't going to win. I'll bet money on it."

Her lips purse at the unexpected turn of questions. Sadie has slept with and dated older men. Though she capped their age gap at a ten year difference. Anything more would make her feel dirty and cheap, which she was not. "Oh, I can assure you they were definitely different." Which therein answers his question and tells him pretty much all he needs to know. Which is that, she's guilty.

1 for Wyatt. Though, he shouldn't get used to it. Consider that a freebie.

"I've never touched a pair of overalls in my life, thank you very much." Only hillbillies wore those. Did she look like a hillbilly to him? No, absolutely fucking not. She's appalled he'd even make that sort of comparison. And feels all the more motivated to tear him to shreds.

"I do own a baseball cap though. You may find this hard to believe but, you're looking at a huge Dodgers fan." If he so much as tries to insult her team, she might physically stab him with her fork. "Liking baseball doesn't make me a tomboy though. I'm not even sure I own a pant suit." Though, that was more so because of the camel toe debacle of 2019. She'd stuck to dresses and skirts ever since.

[egcdeath]

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 6: extra! extra! read all about it

series summary: a minor mistake causes a shift in the multiverse that only you have the capacity to fix.

chapter summary: you kept your friends close, and your enemy even closer.

pairing: politician!andy barber x journalist!reader, steve rogers x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: american politics, fake dating/marriage, angst at the end, heavy codependent behavior at the end

author’s note: i saw @jtargaryen18 post about politician!steve a while ago and must’ve internalized it because this chapter pretty much wrote itself. just a heads up: all of my political knowledge comes from political sitcoms, so sorry in advance if i get some things wrong. another warning is that there are still some very unhealthy relationship dynamics at play here, so promise me you won’t be like reader okay?

previous chapter / series masterlist

Is Andy Barber Really the Best for Our Nation’s Future?

Opinion

by Y/N L/N

Feb 7, 2021, 4:36 PM ET

After tonight’s debate, the question that’s begged is if Andrew Barber is truly fit to run our country. Although he’s clearly a front runner for his party’s nomination, he’s shown time and time again that he may actually be our weakest candidate.

His weaknesses were highlighted during the debate, with his dodged questions and vague answers. At this point in time, it’s hard to tell if Barber has a platform at all.

With Super Tuesday just around the corner, I ask you to reevaluate your support for Barber. Though a charming candidate, it seems that that’s all he has, his charm. His policies are weak, and borderline impossible, and he certainly isn’t the right person to become the most powerful man in the world.

—-

When you became conscious, you were no better than unconscious. Your eyes opened and were immediately met with a harshness from the sun peeking through a window. You shifted away from the brightness, body sinking into a memory foam mattress while your nude form rubbed against similarly soft sheets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before they flitted throughout the room you were in. Observing an oddly clean, generic looking area, you’d quickly connected the dots that you were in a hotel room. A rather fancy one at that. 

Soft breathing came from next to you, and as you turned your head a bit more, you were met with the back of a fluffy and dark haired man. You weren’t completely sure, but judging by your history of finding your way to Steve, you’d assumed that it was some alternate form of your partner.

The man in bed next to you yawned, and haphazardly threw an arm in your direction, before rolling over to greet you, “morning sunshine,” he slurred sleepily.

The beard was a bit of a surprise to you. Though you’d begged and begged your Steve to keep it, he often refused for one reason or another. Seeing the man next to you who (what was now much clearer to you) a version of your boyfriend, was a rather pleasant surprise. 

“Morning,” you responded in an equally sleepy manner, ignoring the rhythmic vibration coming from your night stand.

“Mm, you should get that,” he mumbled, pressing a disoriented peck to the side of your head while you reached over to grab your phone, which you could now see was the perpetrator of the vibrations.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone.

“Are you dumb? Or are you fucking stupid?” Aaliyah’s voice scolded through the phone. “Do you know what kind of position you’ve put me in? This is a fucking mess, Y/N. All for some dick? How could you be so careless?! Jesus!”

“What are you talking about?” You glanced over at Andy, and sat up a bit, pulling the crisp blankets over your body in an attempt to retain some form of modesty.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re fucking Andy Barber, but you’re writing articles about him like you just watched him kill your dog. You realize that this puts all of us at risk, right? You’re gonna lose your job, I’m gonna lose my job since I decided to edit and publish your shit, and you and I will lose any sort of journalistic integrity we’ve ever had, or will have, for the rest of goddamn time! Seriously, you could’ve had anyone, but Andy Barber? Andrew fucking Barber?” she groaned over the line.

“Uh, I’ll uh, call you back,” you whispered.

“You’re joking right? Are you with him right now?”

“Aaliyah!”

“Oh my god, you’re with him right now. You’re a fucking mess,” she huffed before hanging up.

Why did the universe have to send you off to such a shitshow?

You rolled out of bed, and sulked into the bathroom, desperate to find out what was going on. While sitting on the toilet, you scrolled through the wall of notifications; tweets directed at you, messages from confused friends begging you to call them when you had a chance, and even the occasional concerned email. 

You grimaced as you read through each one of them, eventually clicking on the article that many seemed to be referencing, which included a paparazzi photo of you and this Andy Barber character entering a hotel together sometime in the late night to early morning, partnered with an article or two of your own criticizing him. At first, you wondered if he was some sort of celebrity, but what you ultimately found out was much worse. 

He was a politician. A senator who was running to be president.

You screamed into your hands, before tossing your phone aside, and starting a warm shower for yourself. Perhaps the shower could help jog your memory a bit. 

Stepping into the steamy chamber, and letting the water pelt down onto you did do wonders for you, and it gave you a moment of focus. With both your memories from this universe, along with the information you’d been given through your phone, you were able to piece a few aspects of the universe together.

You were a journalist, a popular one at that, Andy was Steve, but not Steve, and also a presidential candidate. Aaliyah was your editor, and a higher-up at the Times, and you were about to have your ass handed to you over an affair. At least Andy wasn’t married.

Your shower must’ve taken longer than you’d expected, as there was a soft knock on the door after some time. 

“Everything okay in there?” a slightly muffled voice asked.

“Yeah. Just peachy. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” you called back.

“I have a good publicist. And campaign manager. I just have a good team,” Andy paused briefly. “When you’re ready, room service is ready.”

----

Over aggressive mouthfuls of fresh fruit and bitter coffee, you conversed with Andy.

“How are we gonna fix this?” You questioned while setting down your fork.

“Well, it’s simple. We just have to find some kind of spin to this whole story. Maybe you were just interviewing me, or getting a soundbite from me.” “Why would you agree to get a soundbite from someone who clearly has it out for you?” You set your fork down, and crossed your arms over your white robe clad chest. 

“That’s a good question,” Andy nodded a bit, “a good question for someone else to answer.”

“Why don’t we let your publicist figure out how to play this?”

“I’d say I’m a bit of an expert at this at this point, but I’ll call my team.”

“You do that, I need to assess the damage to my career,” you huffed, moving to sit on the bed so that you could aggressively scroll on your phone in peace.

Andy called someone, and you patiently waited while he chatted with them. 

“Okay, Y/N. We can’t leave through the front, so my guy’s gonna pick us up in the garage. We have like, half an hour,” he tossed his phone aside, then maneuvered himself to get in bed with you, setting both hands down on either side of you, and placing a soft kiss on your lips. He slowly began to inch down your body, untying the belt of your robe as he did so, when you interrupted him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Andrew?”

“We have time.” He looked up at you.

“We are not doing this. What do you think got us into this mess in the first place?” you frowned, moving one of his hands so you could slide away from him. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why aren’t you taking this seriously! Do you realize that both of our careers are at stake here? I don’t want to lose my job because I’m having an affair with you. You shouldn’t want to lose a shot at office for a woman you’re not even with.”

“Come on, we’ve been doing this for almost a year, and you only have a problem with it now?”

“Yes! The public had no idea before! They’re going batshit now! And the worst part is that I’m the one taking the most heat,” you sighed, and Andy gave you a frown. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It’s kinda too late for sorries now.” 

——

You stepped out of your suite about five minutes after Andy left, suitcase in tow, blocky sunglasses on your face, and a heathered grey peacoat draped over your shoulders. Although you were stressed from the controversy you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement from having to hide from the paparazzi. At the same time, you felt quite bad for this version of yourself.

When you finally got out to the designated Cadillac, you asked for his driver to roll up the partition, like you’d done a million times before, then looked out of the tinted windows. The ride was pretty awkward, considering you were in no mood to talk to Andy, and Andy felt bad about the issues he’d imposed on you from his own carelessness. He set a cautious hand on top of yours, and though you were agitated, it did brighten your mood the slightest bit. 

After what felt like forever, you arrived at his campaign building, and you were ushered into a small, soundproof space, with a large and round pine table in the center of it. Surrounding the table was a very tired looking Aaliyah, and… Tony Stark? 

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Tony asked, breaking the ice as you and Andy settled into your seats.

“Are we really doing small talk right now?” Aaliyah deadpanned, “sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Alright, straight to the elephant in the room then. You two were out spotted, big deal, happens all the time to politicians and their mistresses-“

“I’m not his mistress! You know this, Tony,” you huffed.

“Tony knew and not me?” Aaliyah gasped.

“Well-“ you began. 

“Save it.”

“It was on a very need-to-know basis,” you muttered.

“Back to what I was saying. I suggest that we don’t address it, unless addressed.”

“I don’t know if you’re dense, or what, but that’s the exact opposite of what we need to do. We have to get on top of this story before the story is that you,” Aaliyah gestured at you, “are packing your shit at the Times.”

The door shot open, and quickly closed. A slightly flustered blonde man stumbled through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes at this notion, muttering a ‘sure you are’ to herself. 

“We just finished polling numbers, and Andy, you’re up?” He projected the screen of his iPad onto a TV in the room, then passed the device over to Andy on his way to sit down.

“Thanks, Vis,” he gave him a curt nod.

“Why would our candidate allegedly hooking up with someone who hates him boost him in the polls?” Tony asked.

“Middle America loves a family man, you know that,” Vision said in a matter of faculty manner. “Andy has had a hard time connecting with that demographic because when they see him, they see an Elitist East-coaster.”

“Hooking up with a hot reporter does not make you a family man,” Aaliyah retorted.

“That brings me to my next point. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a proposal of my own,” Vision stated, and received a shrug from the rest of the room. “Well, if we need to put a spin on this, the obvious choice is to explain that they’ve been seeing each other the whole time. Under wraps, of course. The photos the paparazzi received are not damning by any means, and look more romantic than sexual, to be quite frank. Y/N wrote those articles to throw the public off her scent, and she didn’t really believe anything she said, and Andy? He’s just a good, all American man who was tired of keeping his relationship under wraps. Everything’s to gain from this plan.”

“Well, I lose my journalistic integrity. That’s a pretty big loss to me. I may never work again,” you rubbed your forehead in a distraught manner.

“You won’t have to worry about working when you’re the First Lady. Think about it, if we can get votes from the swing states, we’ve secured enough electoral votes to have a Barber win. All over a little character rebrand.��

“Excuse me, the First Lady?” You nervously glanced between Vision and Aaliyah while you attempted to pick your jaw up from the floor.

“Well, yes. We can’t exactly get the full ‘family man’ look without Mr. Barber being a real husband.“

“Are we talking, real wedding?” Aaliyah questioned.

“Yes. You just have to be legally bound together for around four years, eight years tops. About twelve would be preferable, but I understand that not everything works out.”

“I don’t object to that,” Andy winked and nudged you a bit.

What a mess.

“Back to what I was saying, we’ll probably need about a two week PR period before we do a press briefing announcing the engagement. Give or take. During that time, we could have your publicist arrange all sorts of good photo ops for you two.”

“Either way, my career is ruined,” you sighed, and Andy set his hand on your back.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not currently standing in front of 30 cameras.”

“Well, we should prepare for when we are in front of 30 cameras.”

“Is it though?” Vision interjected, bringing you and Andy back from your aside. “We can just deflect, maybe have a few of your friends make articles about how what you did wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is it not a valid criticism of me that I was sleeping around with the person who I was also slandering?”

“Is it not possible to criticize someone you care about? In fact, helping someone learn how to improve can be very romantic,” Vision shrugged. 

There was a brief silence throughout the bunch while everyone pondered a counter argument. 

“That right there, that kind of insight is why we call you the Vision,” Tony shook his head and proudly clapped the man on his back.

“So it’s settled then? We’re really doing this?” You glanced around at your peers while Aaliyah spoke. “Any objections, love birds?”

Andy shrugged, “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with her.”

You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure. 

——

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This was your reality for the next two weeks. The news cycle was filled with a plethora of articles about you, some criticizing you, some criticizing Andy, but most, supporting the two of you in your romantic endeavors. Unsurprisingly, the world loved a good story about two attractive people getting together. 

During this period, you didn’t particularly feel like leaving, though the thought had certainly crossed your mind. You just weren’t sure that you wanted to be dealing with those terrible symptoms again in the midst of an already stressful stage of your life. At the same time, it seemed like the universe was not going to be fair with your time in this reality. You were convinced that you were here for the long haul, or at least, until Andy proposed to you. 

Although it was a bit annoying, cameras around every corner, a watchful eye on everything that you or Andy even considered doing, you found yourself growing on Andy. In some ways, he was a bit more intense than Steve, whose personality had mellowed out a bit since the Snap.

This had been the first time in all of your travels where you felt like ‘Steve’ was the one pursuing you, and in all honesty, it made you feel good. Even if everything the two of you did had an aftertaste of artificiality.

You spent more and more time with him every day, staying together with him in hotels across the country, visiting local businesses with him to get the perfect photo op, and attending galas with donors. It seemed like in every candid photo of Andy, you weren’t too far behind. By the time the day of your proposal arrived, you weren’t even all that opposed to the marriage. 

When the proposal finally arrived, the two of you were sat inside a rather fancy restaurant, finishing up your meal when Andy settled on one knee in front of you, “Y/N,” he began, and you felt the all too familiar tremble of your watch on your wrist. 

You almost had to restrain yourself from exclaiming out loud. It’s not that you didn’t like Andy or anything, he’d genuinely grown on you. In the least cheesy way, it wasn’t him, but you. Being somewhere so unfamiliar for so long had begun to create a cumulative exhaustion that wore a bit more on you every day. Feeling homesick was an understatement.

You brought your hands up to your face, and gasped dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut to see if you could possibly produce a few tears, while mobile cameras and a few professional flashes were directed towards you. A few warm droplets slipped down your face, and for a moment you weren’t even sure how fake they were. It seemed like once they started, they couldn’t stop.

You missed Steve, your Steve, the man you’d fallen in love with. You missed your friends, teammates, and family. You missed the stability of knowing what the world held for you next. 

In the midst of Andy’s proposal, in what should’ve been the happiest moment of your life, all you could focus on was your overwhelming desire to have a sense of normalcy in your life once again. 

——

You woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing in your chest, and shaking your ribcage. You looked up to the ceiling of what you had grown to know was your room in the Compound, your real room, and felt your eyes well up in tears that stung you. 

You sat up, and took as deep of a breath as you could manage, when you noticed Wanda sitting by your bedside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said softly, coming closer to you, offering you a glass of water before sitting at the foot of your bed. 

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying to gauge where you were. 

“Honey,” she sighed softly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still missing.”

Your lip trembled as you took a sip. You really were back home. 

“I know you’re hurting, but when you feel a little better, we’re going to Medbay. Banner decided that we should probably keep an eye on your vitals, but you were gone before we even had the chance to get you there.”

You gulped down the water, then set it on your bedside table, “so was that all just a dream or something? Why isn’t Steve back?” you huffed frustratedly.

“I don’t know why he isn’t back, but I don’t think you were dreaming. I was trying to watch your dreams, but I couldn’t read you, or your thoughts at all.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, “let’s go.”

As you settled into the cold, and sterile medical facility you were hooked up to a plethora of monitors, and a cacophony of devices beeped as they read your physical state. 

You tuned out the words being spoken around you, zoning out and looking forward to your vital signs monitor. Your mind wandered to your last few thoughts in your previous reality, the desperation to come back, to see your estranged lover again. You couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, lamenting the fact that you’d found your way home, yet felt the ever present void in your heart where your Steve used to be.

“Y/N?” a voice asked you, and you glanced in its general direction. “What happened while you were out? What did you see? Did it work?” Bruce pelted you with questions.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet,” you sighed softly, bringing a hand up to your neck and rubbing it. “The watch worked though, I was definitely in other universes. I just couldn’t reach him. Bring him home. I failed.”

“Do you think he’s really out there?” Bruce whispered to Wanda hoping that you might not pick up on it.

“I’m… I don’t know. I just don’t know how likely it is that we’ll manage to find him,” she responded in a hushed tone. You bit back tears as she spoke, resuming your empty gaze on the pixelated green text of your heart rate on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go back,” you interrupted. “I can’t give up on Steve yet. I know he wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Y/N, you could be gone for centuries before you find him, then return back here with no time passed at all, and possibly no Steve. You don’t deserve to take on all of that pain,” Wanda set a hand on your shoulder. “Steve would’ve wanted you to move on from him. To find happiness without him.”

“I can’t do that, Wanda. Without him I don’t even know who I am,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “He’s literally been my only tether through all of this.”

“I just don’t know that this is the best thing we could be doing. Sure, you’re physically fine, but it almost seems like you’re doing worse emotionally than you were before you left,” Bruce added.

“I’m not!” you sniffled before continuing. “I’m just tired from going to all those new places.”

Bruce and Wanda didn’t seem too convinced. “Don’t you guys believe in me? When have I let you down on a mission before? I’m gonna find him, okay? I’ll find him if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” you blubbered.

Wanda’s hand slid down your shoulder, and to the watch that was currently on your wrist.

“Don’t,” you uttered, swinging your opposite hand to grab onto your own wrist. You were aware that there was absolutely no way you could overpower her in taking the watch from you, but even in your minor hysterics, you were able to think fast enough to press the round button before the watch was able to be taken off of you.

You, and your wrist shook. Wrist shaking from the watch, and promise of sending you elsewhere, and you from a mixture of sobs and adrenaline. Though not the most ideal exit, it was an exit nonetheless.

You weren’t even sure if you cared that you were on good terms with your teammates anymore. 

You just needed to be with Steve again.

[nightswithkookmin]

I think Jikook acts different on cameras yess they flirt a lot but they don’t show us everything of course, Jikook has changed a lot from 2015-2020 It’s like they used to do a lot of things but back then they were very sneaky when they used to do things like when Jimin was playing footsies under the table in Hawaii , him being jungkooks room in the morning while he was taking a shower , them holding hands while suga body was hiding it , do you think they act different on camera now From before

Jikook act different on cameras? Oh god, I hope you don't mean to say Jikook is fanservice now cos...

I've heard this a lot in my Jikook lifetime and after Taekook's conversation in the Soop that narrative shot back to prominence. The behind the scenes of them at the photoshoot certainly hasn't helped things. Lol

Lord knows it created a schism between Jikookers as to what that moment was and what it meant in the grand scheme of things.

I know Jikook have personas, I've been saying this from the onset of my blog. I know Jikook are human, I've been preaching this from go. I know they have different personalities, hell my whole schtick about their love language has been around their personalities.

We don't know much about who they are behind the cameras but I'm glad at least people are probing into that and not taking Jikook at face value- that's what alternative shipping is. Reconstructing their 'real life' behind the scenes interactions based on their online interactions and the little clues they leave behind through their digital print- very heavy detective work lol and I'm all about that life.

I don't know them personally but if I were to reconstruct all of their interactions to guess at what goes on behind the scenes, I can tell you as a fact that Tae and JK are the least members who spend time together off cameras. I can tell you that much.

They will be followed closely behind by Tae and Jin, Suga etc. In my opinion. If there are any pairs that spend a lot of time together off cameras, to me, it would be Jimin and JK, followed by Jimin and Suga, Jimin and RM and of course VMin. You just have to pay attention to the things they do and say about eachother.

You only have to take one look at Jikook dancing in sync to the very tip of their hairs to know those two spend a lot of time practicing together off cameras. And when you hear them harmonizing- damn, you just know.

The members have pointed out Jikook's unique way of dancing planned and choreographed dance moves on stage and the look on Hobi's face in that reaction video says he was equally taken aback.

Jikook, out of all the members, have the most chemistry online in their interactions and a certain high levels of intimacy that to me the only way I can make sense of it is If they have carnal knowledge of eachother or have at least encroached on eachother's emotional and personal space in such a way that it blurs the lines of friendship a little bit resulting in synergies between them that is out of this world or both.

Because let's face it, neither of Jikook is peacefully mounting their respective partners without addressing the elephant in the room which is eachother staring at them go at it from the couch.

I have seen Jimin with his friends within and outside BTS to know he acts the same- THE SAME, with everybody skinship wise on and off camera and yet his intimacy with JK stands out the most- I wonder why. Smirk.

We've seen him drop softly into Sungwoo's laps at an award. We all saw it. And that was not 'on camera' and so we can't say he acts differently with JK off camera at least where skinship is concerned. Know what I mean?

And just the fact their rain fight was about Jimin caring too much about JK- we can't say JM doesn't care about JK off cameras either.

When JM tried doing his flirty gat shit with Suga, Suga scolded him saying he is not JK if my memory serves me right. So clearly the gay shit he does with JK is something he does offline too.

I can't say same for JK though because JM have said JK acts different with him on camera- cold on camera but warm off camera. I've mentioned this several times now so I won't get into it.

What I'm trying to say is, Jikook don't Jikook all the time but their interactions aren't exactly off of what we see on camera. Their personalities offline may be different but that doesn't mean their interactions offline are different or wildly different. Their interactions on line aren't so far off from their off line interactions such that we can brand what they do online as fanservice. In my opinion.

And also, something about the way JK reacts when he sees Jimin all over the members tells me he is not used to seeing JM prioritise others over him or have that intimacy with the members off camera. Yes, he does skinship with them and with his friends but I feel he does it the most with JK.

I mean if memories 2019 is anything to go by. Why do I feel I have answered this ask before? Lol.

Have their interactions changed online? Well for one, they aren't horny teenage boys anymore- ok, that's lie. They still got it like it was yesterday. Lol. They've matured a lot is what I mean. They've learned a lot and their fandom has equally grown enormously since those days.

I mean, let's be real, the Jikook ship tag wasn't as hot as it is now so they could get away with a lot of things back then. Now, they are one of the biggest ships not just in BTS or S.K but in world. There isn't much they can get away with. So their bandmates, editors etc. even they themselves check their behavior on camera a lot these days- especially with the jealousy and possessiveness bit. Lol.

Jk has really been trying. Jimin too. They crack sometimes but still you can see them putting in the effort- honestly, good for them. I can't be mad at that. We love positive change.

As for the sneaky behavior...

Chilee, I don't know. They still seem pretty gay, very risque to me. Lol

Jimin playing with Jk's titties in last year's season's greatings, dipping his hands in Jk's pockets- from JK's reaction it didn't seem like JM was reaching for Christ in those pockets. Cough cough.

And JK intentionally pushing his butt into JM's groin region- had my bias looking all kinds of confused. Poor Jimin! The sexual innuendos in that footage... good thing the editors cut that bit off. Good thing. And JM, you did not have to drop your eyes to the Jeon booty. You know you can't keep it straight. Jeon booty makes you weak and you know it. Lmho

Eye fucking eachother this year, blowing illegal kithes during the Dynamite reaction VLive - Tae didn't yell 'let's not look in the camera's because he thought they were about to harmonize for Jesus. Lmho. Dude is tired of their shenanigans- I feel you Tae. I'm done with them too. Gosh!

Jk interrupting Jin's call to ask JM on a date- now that was wild. Asking JM to change his clothes and come back to the live and that little gay panic moment JM had after hearing that. Oh Jimin! Bless his heart, he's weak. Lol

JK really wanted to do a live with JM so bad- I'm glad he got his wish later. And from the looks of it, seems he is still fighting to have another one (ALONE) with JM. Can't wait to see how that works out. For now, I know he is grounded. Lol

The bolder one this season for me has been JK. I think you have to go back towards the end of 2019 until JM's birthday this year and reevaluate their interactions. Jk has been holding it down, piloting the Jikook ship until August this year when JM started getting loud again with his overt flirtations.

No but seriously JK, you will do all of these bold wild moves and still not take a minute or two to wish him a happy birthday on his birthday. Then when we don't ship you with Jimin too you'll stand there looking like your cat got stuck in a tree- quirky for no reason this one. Chilee.

It's the, I love you Jiminah at the end of his call for me. I set that as my ringtone for months! Lol

And JM turning red on the couch during Bon Voyage four- c'mon now, that was something! Hobi was right, JM needed an ice pack- all night. Sksksksksksksksksksksjk

Don't mind me. I can be silly for no reason sometimes. Lol

It's not so much as that Jikook's interactions have changed for me. It's more so that there are a lot that has changed around them and in effect, is impacting their interactions on camera.

For one, as I keep pointing out, they don't have the freedom to do certain things anymore. Like, doing VLives on their own whenever they want like they used to do before. Now their vlives are heavily monitored, and the content they make on the app has been reduced to crafts and Arts- until Jimin's birthday live. You know my theory on that so...

VLive used to be one of the sources of their most authentic interactions. That and award shows, interviews and other contents BigHit has less control over. But all that have ceased due to the Corona Virus pandemic.

BTS's online presence, in the wake of the pandemic is also being heavily monetized. A simple tweet on Twitter from any of them has become very transactional- they have to be careful what they tweet because every tweet now is also a brand promotion for a phone campany.

Soop was equally that- brand promotion for Fila and all the big sponsors that sponsored that production, so bet your sweet ass they aren't going to let any 'controversial' sexual innuendo slip into that- but even that, chilee they tried. Lol. If you know, you know!

I'm waiting to see how they all interact with the VApp in the future, especially JK and Jikook.

And those moments, you pointed out are from Bon Voyage, no? I'm not gonna lie, I am wary of content that comes from BigHit editors. I think I've mentioned this a few times. They aren't stupid, they know what they are doing letting certain moments slip into screen time.

And some of the moments we think are authentic Jikook flirty interactions are just missions given them by the content developers- nobody wants Jikook to be gay more than bang PD and his shady ass editors trust me! Lmho.

Some moments too may be authentic coming from Jikook but that doesn't stop pro gay editornim from using it to his advantage. Chileee. I think I've talked about all of this?

All that being said, I think somethings will never change- like JM caring about JK or JK wanting Jimin. That is a Jikook thing. Yes, JM held JK's hand behind Suga when JK seemed- bored out of his mind. But JK rushed to console JM right after his ment in the recent Online concert. That right there was another Rosebowl moment for me and that would never change until they are no longer a couple.

That right there is also an example of the intimacy I talk so much about. It's that unconscious need to be there for eachother in a way I haven't seen anyone else in the group be that for either of them. They answer eachother's questions even if they don't ask. I don't see Tae traveling across podiums for JK or JK rushing from one end of a stage to another for anyone apart from JM. They really care about eachother and I don't think it's only on camera.

And you are right about their sneaky moments in those instances. sometimes these are moments Jikook breach the forth wall but other times too they are just balderdash. Lol

I think BigHit didn't see this pandemic coming, nobody did. Sometimes I feel they are in way over their heads with it, trying to maintain a steady stream of income inspite of it. But they are going to keep experimenting with content, experimenting with marketing strategies until they find that sweet spot.

I'd be ignorant and a hypocrite if I said all these new developments in no way impacts Jikook and their interactions. Or even their relationship. But one thing I know for sure is Jikook is not fanservice. They are not. And I don't think their affections for eachother has changed. They still got it.

I hope this helps. Stay safe and I purple you.

Signed,

GOLDY

[valkyrieofsmut]

How would the bois react if mc typically did not insult anyone but for what ever reason she gets really upset with someone and just starts viciously roasting them. Like they would say something ‘wana here a joke? My life’ and mc would pop off with ‘your life is not a joke, after all a joke has meaning’ or they say something like your know I never considered you a friend’ and she responds with ‘that’s funny I never considered you at all’?

(I haven’t gotten caught up on these, yet! Taking me a minute I have some asks as follow ups, going to work on them in a bit- I’m... also playing games... lol)

Let me begin by telling you all a story... Once upon a time I had a friend that was being a dumbass. He got his dick wet, it got out, and he had to get married. (because he had sex, not because she was pregnant, or anything) It was just before senior year in high school when he got married. (strangely, I had a friend from middle school who entered 10th grade married, but I’m not sure when she was actually married- she and her husband were both in my school lol. Same reason, btw.) Anyway! She was a horrid person, and no matter how much our other friend and I tried to tell him, he didn’t listen. So. The summer after high school, we all worked at the same place (a theme park), and were all walking to catch the bus home when this incident happened, and we'd been friends for about three or four years at this point. Story specific background: They lived at his parents’ house. She sat around all day, eating, didn’t do anything except eat or make a mess. So, as happens, she was gaining weight. He was all excited, trying to tell us that he thought she was pregnant. I told him that, since she’s just eating and sitting around, it sounded like she was probably just gaining weight. He got really mad and said a few things, but said that I sounded just like his mom (because she said the same thing), but also, some things that really upset me, very much. Relevant personal background; I not only watch Cold case files and other shows like that, but grew up watching serial killer documentaries! And Forensic Files, and all that true crime stuff... you know, the ones that have the real crime scene photos (with dead bodies) on them... So, having seen a few episodes like this- I told him- That I was glad that I wasn’t his mother, because then I’d hope he’d hang himself in a closet, and I’d fill it with newspaper and cat litter, stuff the door with blankets and cover the door with a bookcase or something, so they’d never find his body... Yeah... it was... *ahem* anyway... I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it was along those lines, since those were the episodes that came to mind. Also, no, she wasn’t pregnant, just fat. (...and also later slept with his birth father, while they were still together...) So, figuring that this is pretty vicious, pretending a situation like this happened-     And then that one of those softer things happened...

Classic- Stare blankly for a moment and reevaluate her... Seeing as that was pretty brutal... he’s considering her a threat... but she’s so upset she’s crying... If it was something more rude and not just brutal, it still depends. He may chuckle, root for her, or antagonize the person, too, depending on how benign it is.

Creampuff- He's... horrified... Or just disappointed, depending on how bad it was.

Red- ooo, ouch! they're gonna need some ice for that burn! wait, ya ok? y're cryin'! *goes up to person* ok, listen here, asshole, ya got some nerve!

Edge- *bursting with pride* NOW BEGONE, SCUM!! BEFORE I GET INVOLVED!! *notices the crying* ARE YOU ALRIGHT? WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO RAIN FURY ON THEM?!

Blue- He's- he's shocked... Oh stars... He didn't think she could be that harsh... But, she was very upset, obviously- he- should probably comfort her... He shouldn't have let it get that far... he should have stepped in, even if his mind was telling him she could stand up for herself...

Stretch- *wide sockets, shocked, horrified* thinking, what the hell did she just say?! If it's vicious, he'll keep a wary watch on her, if not so much, and it's just some nilist, darker humor, he may chuckle.

Black- *chest swollen with pride, staring at her lovingly* thinking, THIS IS WHY SHE'S MY MATE! GO! TO THE CURB WITH THE OTHER TRASH WITH YOU! BEGONE BEFORE I BECOME INVOLVED! *notices the crying, and is uncertain, but tries to comfort her* PET, ARE YOU HURT? I DIDN'T SEE HIM STRIKE YOU-? *realizes why the tears and pulls her in for a hug* MY PET, STAY STRONG- I WILL BE BACK MOMENTARILY... *his rage starts showing* I'M BECOMING INVOLVED... *stalks off to... definitely not murder anyone!*

Mutt- Oh, he's very proud, and very cuddly. If it was vicious like above, he'd wrap himself around her and nuzzle her. great plan, darlin'... now we just gotta find out where they *realizes that she's crying* live... *straightens and starts towards the person glaring murder* or i can just do it right now. now seems pretty good ta me.

Axe- He laughs, either way. Being the huge nerd that Sans is, he may add, better get goin', before she uses vicious mockery 'gain. might not survive this time. *notices that she’s crying* wait- looks like it's my turn... *glaring murder, pulls out his butchering cleaver* don't worry, lamb, i won't kill ‘em- much...

Crooks/ Bun- He's- He would be... He should be shocked, but... Death threats became commonplace in the Underground. Seeing the tears, he knew it hurt her to say as much as it hurt to hear. He'd pull her in close and hold her, giving calming and assuring words.

Dusty- His homicidal, manic grin would dial to eleven, he'd wrap his arms around her, cuddle in close, staring the asshole straight in the eyes, and ask, loud enough for them to hear, can i help? sounds like fun. =} 🔪

Ask Masterlist?

[retvenkos]

not asking you who you'd ship me with in the grishaverse because at this point everyone on tumblr knows the answer to that probably (though any chance of getting more of your wonderfully divine headcanons about matthias & I is a chance I gleefully take), but since you are shipping everyone I have to tell you that I've been thinking about Mal & you together for a little while. I just see it so clearly??

I think you'd have a relationship quite like Alina and Mal's, except healthier and less dramatic lol. but Mal is the epitome of friends to lovers and to me you embody exactly that. you're not the unbridled fury that enemies to lovers can be nor the bittersweet inevitability of soulmates, but really this idea of familiarity and comfort that you only unlock after spending a lot of time with a person, probably in childhood. Mal would represent exactly that to you: home, family, and love, and you're not really sure how or when you realize that it's not the same love you used to feel at Keramzin, that your feelings have shifted in the most terrifying yet beautiful way, but they have.

so in this scenario if you are Grisha, you get tested and your powers found out and you get sent to the Little Palace and your goodbyes with Mal are probably the most tearful moment Ravka has ever seen. You're holding on to Mal for dear life because he's really your family and you don't want to leave him behind, they're taking you to an unknown place without him, and you're so scared - but Mal tries to hold it all together because he has to be strong for you, and promises he will write to you every day and you will never truly be separated because he'll find you when he's older and strong.

(as soon as the carriage leaves he locks himself in the dormitory and cries all evening on his bed because your absence is so loud in these silent halls)

Inevitably years pass as you continue your training and Mal's letters become more scarce - sometimes you're the one who forgets to reply for a whole month, sometimes it's him - until you're not in touch anymore but you don't forget him, you never do, and you dream of him so often and all the words you wish you could tell him but never got the courage to

Until one day, almost a decade later, he is received at the Grand Palace for a particularly triumphant feat of his (Mal, always the hero) and the King wants to meet the First army soldier everyone is talking about, and you happen to run into him as he's trying to find his way to the audience room (because how stupidly huge are these Os Alta palaces, really?) And you literally can't believe your eyes.

so you'd be getting the childhood friends to lovers reunited after losing contact for many years which is TOP TIER romance

and Mal has changed obviously but not so much, and so have you; and he's taken aback by your beauty in your purple Kefta, and suddenly all the petty and insulting stereotypes about the Second Army he used to joke about with his regiment friends leave his mind because Saints - who needs a Sun Summoner when you're glowing like all the stars in the sky?

you'd quickly fall back into your common habits because they never left you, they're second nature at this point - Mal has basically forged your personality from the youngest age and you have his, and you fit together so perfectly

he'd be assigned to a more permanent post in Os Alta thanks to his prowesses in battle, maybe as the King's personal guard, meaning you'd get to spend so much time together

People would raise eyebrows at the sight of a couple between the two rival armies, but you don't care one bit - your love for Mal runs in your blood much deeper than arbitrary oppositions based on foolish pride.

If you're not Grisha, I don't think you'd join the First Army; war is probably not for you. I think your paths would separate too when he joins the Army and you leave the orphanage with what little money you saved over the years (sneaking out of Keramzin and reciting or singing your poems on the streets for a little bit of coin, or selling the meat and fur Mal would hunt for you) to move to a bigger city and try to do something with your life. You could be an artisan, or another kind of shopkeep! I can see you being manually gifted and creative, so you'd probably have an artsy business in the capital, like pottery or tapestry or painting on porcelain or something of the sort

and once again Mal is called to Os Alta probably for the same reasons - he just can't help distinguishing himself in combat, can he? - and he steps into your shop by total chance, and he's like. Olive???? Since when do you do sculptures???? And you're like. Malyen Oretsev???? Since when are you taller than me????

(Though the sculpture part doesn't surprise him that much, because you were always so creative and gifted in the arts, and he's always admired you so much for it.)

(But the TALL part??? ok, you are short, but you left him when he was like, thirteen and he was Not That Tall. how can your forever friend have grown that tall so fast???)

And so you ALSO get the long-lost childhood friends rekindle and fall back in love trope because my heart goes mushy for it ❤

your dynamic would be on point, because Mal knows you better than anyone and so he can read you like an open book. Either when he needs to find the teasing comment that will get you all riled up, or when he senses your discomfort or sadness and has to find the words to cheer you up.

You'd just make so many sweet memories with Mal, and he'd be down for every single thing you want to do as long as he gets to spend time with you. Want to be rambunctious on the streets of Os Alta and pull pranks on passerbys like you are 8 again? Yep, can totally do that. Feel like breathing in the fresh air of the wilderness and getting out of town to see a beautiful sunset, like you would in Keramzin? Of course! Just want to chill together doing your own thing and relishing in each other's presence? Absolutely.

he loves when you read to him, whether that be a book you own or a story straight from your imagination that you just wrote, and he's absolutely mesmerized by your voice and how much emotion you put in it. (though he can't help himself from making little jokes every now and then or trying to guess what will happen next in the story because he's what my mom calls a Culo Inquieto™)

you'd generally be such a cute couple who never lost that mischievous but oh so comforting and familiar spark from when you were kids, and is willing to stay with the other through thick and thin. you've found your other half in each other and I'm so soft for that. 💜💜

sorry I rambled but I just think that idea is so cute and you deserve a ship! (also, don't even get me started on the Chaos BFF Duo you would make with Jesper...) my head is killing me so I won't write any more but just know I hold this ship in extremely high regard. <3

clara, i will have you know i waited until i got ice cream in order to read this, because i knew it would be an experience™ and now, i,,, 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i'm so goddamn soft, how dare you make me yearn????

you mean to tell me you came up with all of this... for me? you think of ships for me??? how—how dare? how dare you be such a good friend, to the point where i am baffled by your kindness??? how dare you be this thoughtful and poetic,,,,,,, and just, big brained, ma'am.

because all of this is so perfect!!!! ohmygod i'm soft. i'm in love. everytime you write a ship or fanfic, i sincerely wish i was a romantic like you so i could have a proclivity toward fathoming such soft romantic scenes,,,,, you, clara, know how to do a ship™.

(also, i have to say i love the childhood friends torn apart, only to come back together,,,, it has laughter lines by bastille energy,,,, listen to this song and tell me it doesn’t have the same vibes that that very specific and heartwarming trope,,,)

but, since you gave me such a beautiful gift, and since i would do anything for you, here are some more headcanons for you and matthias:

first of all, i think that you and matthias would spend a lot of time finding the beauty in small things. i think that it would be good for him, since he’s reevaluating who he is and his place in this grand world, and i think since you’re a romantic, small things would be important to you both.

— for example, you guys definitely star gaze together. it’s hard, since you are in ketterdam and the smoke is impossible to see through, but maybe you guys leave ketterdam for a while, and you spend a lot of time looking up at the stars. matthias loves to learn about everything you know, and repositioning himself underneath the sky is a good start to figuring out who he is. 

— you also like to sit by the water and talk. there’s something about the water that pulls memories from you both. matthias talks about what it was like, far away, in his little village before the drüskelle. (i get the feeling his dad was a fisherman or something,,,, the vibes are there), and you get to talk about people you once knew, dreams you once had. point is, you do a lot of talking - swapping stories and hopes.

— oh! another idea i can’t get out if my head is that matthias asks you so many questions. i feel like it’s a sign of real love and trust, when matthias starts asking you questions, because you have to be like,,, level 50 in order for matthias to admit weaknesses, and one of his biggest is that there’s so much he just doesn’t know. i think you also get really good at just,,,, telling him stuff so that he doesn’t have to ask, and he really just appreciates it.

i also just love the idea of matthias giving you to strongest hugs, or tbh, just holding you, and it’s all because he’s the big, strong one™! you know he’s got a protector complex, so that kind of feeds into his hugs,,, just that intense need to protect you, but also, he’s deathly terrified of losing another person he cares about, so he clings. (but only when you’re alone. the drüskelle in him is too Proud, but if you hang onto him in public,,,, he’s not complaining, just getting used to it)

okay, but i got a little bit ahead of myself, because i didn’t even talk about when you guys first meet, and the whole dynamic that is that™

— so, clearly, you are bffs with nina, whether your a grisha or not, and since i want fluff oNLY we’re just going to pretend like helnik didn’t happen,,,,,, they’re just friends. anyway, she’s the first one to pick up on your feelings for matthias because a) heartrender, and b) you two are the best of friends, and she just knows.

— and so you know a lot of teasing ensues, and almost everyone gets in on it and constantly makes jokes about you and matthias,,,, sometimes while he’s right. there. you’re Mortified But Coping™ and you can’t imagine what is going on through matthias’ head, because there’s no way he can feel the same, right?

— wRONG, we’re all idiots when we’re in love, and no one is more of an idiot than matthias. he is definitely ~soft~ for you but refuses to let it show because (1) the dregs are crass and he doesn’t want to give them fodder, and (2) you seem very uncomfortable about this whole thing, and he doesn’t want to make it worse

after some time, the teasing dies down, because both of you are too boring to tease. it would be funny if one of you freaked out, but you’re just,,,, suffering in silence. boring. and besides, inej and kaz are way more funny to tease. have you seen the murder in both of their eyes whenever you mention anything??? scary, but golden.

for the most part, the jokes die off, and i think after the jokes stop, you and matthias become much more comfortable with one another, and it leads to so! many! good! moments! 

— did i ever tell you matthias is in love with your stupid humor? your enchanting laughter? you’re so infectiously light and it makes him feel like he’s walking on clouds or something,,,,, he’s enchanted by you, but doesn’t have the words to explain it. 

— you know he remembers all of the little things his dad used to say about his mom,,,, and he feels all of that awed respect and soft warmth for you, but what to do with it???? he can’t really remember what his parents would do - it’s been so long and cold without them, but he tries to remember, and it’s the little things he does. he’ll tell you something really sweet in fjerdan and you’re just like ??? but it doesn’t translate super well, so you’re just left with the way he said it, and it means the world (plus, if you really get the courage, you can ask nina to explain it,,,, fair warning though, she scoffs at it every time. because it’s fjerda, alright?)

— you definitely end up reading him some poetry. it’s all under the guise of him ‘learning about the beauty in other cultures’ but really, it’s just an excuse to read him romantic shu poetry (they really know how to do it, let me tell you). and you also end up telling him stories about your childhood and your life, and he finds your rambling so adorable. especially since he has seen your work on paper! he finds it so sweet that your mind is so full of life that it wants to go everywhere at once, and experience every possible detail.

— you definitely end up showing matthias his way around ketterdam, and he keeps all of your hastily drawn maps, and whenever he goes past a street corner, he remembers the way your eyes sparkled in the light of the streetlamps.

i definitely have the feeling that you confess your feelings first. matthias has been trying to get the courage to do it, but he just can’t, and one day you tell him late at night - when, for just a moment, the world is still and quiet, and you can’t hold in all that warmth in your chest. you’re a little shy about it, but so is he, and when he hears you confess, all he can do is smile, because you have all of the confidence and strength he wishes he had. and all that courage laced in his chest, he’s learned it from you.

that’s ll i got for now, but i believe in clara x matthais supremacy.

[blarrghe]

would be really great if adorable domestic ficlets about sequel!Twelve Nights (a thing that DOES NOT ACTUALLY EXIST there’s NO PLAN) would stop jumping into my head while I’m trying to finish this chapter of the Merrill Sessions and you can blame Taren and Dorian and the baby if I don’t. anyway this one is called Favourites: -- Kindergarten is a time of self discovery.

Bracha is five years old now, which means she can start kindergarten, and she is very excited. Taren is excited for her, in a your-happiness-is-my-happiness kind of way, even if he’s openly shedding tears as they pull up to the school parking lot. Dorian is not so generous. He is, frankly, just upset. He’d made a very good case as to why she should continue to learn from them, at home, including: they have more advanced degrees between the two of them than the entire staff of the elementary school put together, Bracha can‘t take field trips to the library or the valley to learn about ancient Tevene history or Dalish trail-signs or bugs every day if she goes to Kindergarten, and also, Kindergarten doesn’t have cuddling.

But apparently, Kindergarten actually takes a lot of field trips to the library and to the valley and even to the next town over to the science museum, Kindergarten’s teacher is a well-loved Dalish woman with wonderful credentials and two upstanding young teaching assistants whom Taren knows personally, and apparently having advanced degrees in astrophysics and business does not better suit one to teaching reading and social-emotional skills than ones in early childhood education and developing pedagogy. Also, Bracha really wants to go to Kindergarten, all her friends are going to Kindergarten, and ever since Autie Dee bought her a backpack in preparation, she hasn’t taken it off. So Kindergarten won that argument, though Dorian made a deal with his husband that they would reevaluate the situation in a year or two, because by that time beginning her education in astrophysics would be warranted, anyway. And now they are in the school parking lot and Taren is quietly weeping and Bracha is bouncing up and down in her carseat with her bright green backpack in her lap and her hair in already-messy braided pigtails, and Dorian has to be the one to get them inside.

Taren wipes his eyes as Bracha drags them up to the door, one of her tiny hands in each of her fathers’, and Kindergarten’s teacher is wearing overalls and a bombastic smile, greeting each child with a fun name-tag sticker and slow, patient directions for navigating her classroom: cubbies for their snacks, a reading nook with pillows if they get tired, activity tables, colouring sheets and markers in one station, a table filled with water and toys, bins of costumes and a kitchen set, a colourful carpet by the board where they’ll sit for stories and songs; a five-year-old’s dream. Dorian gets the feeling that the information package is more for them than it is for her, especially considering that Bracha practically sprints off to an easel equipped with water-colour fingerpaints the moment she spots it, and the teacher continues explaining the plans for the day without her.

Taren smiles, somehow finding one at the sound of Bracha’s laugh when she spots a friend across the room, while Dorian wonders if he can inspect the reading nook. But they make it out of there, somehow, and before driving them home, Taren drives them both over to Auntie Dee’s, and she sighs at them and gives them ice cream. Taren blushes, and Dorian is distracted: when Taren was little, ice cream always helped, she says. Taren protests that he has never mended a hurt with ice cream, while digging into the container for more, and Auntie Dee says chocolate chip was his favourite.

Favourite is an interesting word. Someone at Bracha’s school introduces her to the word, the blighted teacher, probably, and then soon Kindergarten is her favourite. It stings the first time, Kindergarten is her favourite, Miss Jessa is her favourite, but then Lara is her favourite, Eirlana is her favourite, Daven is her favourite, rocks are her favourite, animal-shaped cookies are her favourite... Dorian is pretty sure that she doesn’t know what the word actually means, and he calms down. A little.

But Kindergarten teaches her many things, not just new words, but new skills. He still won’t admit it, but when she comes back with letter recognition and blends, reading sight words and rhyming word families, when she starts counting in three languages and subitizes the numbers on the dice during board game night, when she tells him a story one night and evaluates that the problem in it was solved by sharing without any prompting, he starts to think that maybe Kindergarten is actually doing her some good. Soon, she figures out that with ‘favourite‘ you can have as many as you can come up with categories, and so the obsession continues.

Bracha loves to tell anyone who will listen, and with even more enthusiasm ask in turn, about favourites. It makes for surprisingly stimulating dinner conversation. The entire family learns many things about one another. From favourite colours (Bracha’s is rainbow, Dorian’s is green because black isn’t a colour, and Taren’s is also rainbow), to favourite foods (Bracha’s is waffles, Dorian’s is something he had once in Antiva but can’t remember the name of, made better by its unattainable mystique, and Taren’s is soup, which is cheating because anything can be soup — this argument takes up all of dinner, and by the end of it his favourite is determined to actually be pumpkin pie.), to more substantial questions like “what is your favourite day” (clarified to be as in ever in the history of ever — they all pick her birthday), and “what is your favourite book” which all of them flatly refuse to answer.

Dorian learns things he never thought to learn about his husband. His favourite flowers are pink heather, his favourite fish is starfish, his favourite animal is a blackbear, his favourite shirt is the one Dorian gave him three Satinalia’s ago and his favourite number is twelve. He winks at Dorian like it hasn’t always been. Dorian also finds himself taking stock of things he never has before; considering his favourite socks — knitted by Auntie Dee, obviously, his favourite toy — a duck he had when he was little, and hasn’t thought about since, his favourite colour of apples — after determining which, he starts buying the green ones more. She asks for some truly bizare determinations too, such as his favourite sense; Kindergarten went to the science museum that day, so he takes the teachable moment to say proprioception and then teach her the hidden-hand trick, because he needs to solidify that he is still smarter than Miss Jessa.

He learns that Bracha likes green apples too, and that she knows because they did an experiment at school where they tried all the different ones and filled out a graph, that her favourite toy is the bear he got her the day they took her home (though he knew that already, its name is Chauncy and it follows her everywhere), her favourite socks were also knitted by Auntie Dee and they are her favourite because they are rainbow, and her favourite sense is definitely proprioception — she cannot wait to tell Miss Jessa about it. When he puts her to bed, he reads her her favourite story, which they’ve agreed is a designation that can rotate each week, and she points out all the sight words. (Her favourite sight word is “no” — she doesn’t declare this, of course, but considering how often the five year old uses it, Dorian can’t be fooled.) When she is sleepy and slumping, her head nodding into her pillow, she reaches up towards his face and pulls his cheek into a kiss, before he can finish the tale.

“Thanks daddy,” she mumbles, and it squishes into him like a hug every damn time, “you’re my favourite.”

“What about papa?” he smiles softly, returning the kiss with the softest scold — it’s probably not okay to let her pick favourites — and she nods, eyes closing as he pulls the covers up over her.

“Papa is my favourite too. Miss Jessa says you can have lots of favourite people, it’s not like colours.” she says, then opening her eyes with a sudden thought, she adds “and actually, you can have lots of favourite colours,” very seriously. Dorian nods in serious agreement.

“Okay,” he says, “then you and papa are my favourite too.”

In the living room, after he tells him of this new rule to the game of favourites, Taren resoundingly agrees.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

[nobodyfamousposts]

Missing - Part 3.3

There will be one more part to finish this chapter.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice. We just have a few questions to ask you.”

“Of course! Anything to help!”

“I guess to start: What is the nature of your relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

“She’s a cool kid. She works hard, goes above and beyond, and is really creative. She’s got talent, let me tell you!”

“I see. So you’ve had interactions with Marinette? Perhaps even meetings?”

“Well, sure. I’ve commissioned a few things from her. She’s one of the only ones who gets my style, you know?”

“Were these meetings generally private?”

“Yeah. We kind of have to keep them on the down low. She’s just a kid, after all and the last thing anyone wants is for her to be hounded or bothered by the media. So it’s just me and my team and her and her parents.”

“Wait—and her parents?”

“Of course! Have to get the parentals’ okay before asking their little girl to make anything, regardless of what I’m paying for it. It only seemed right since my requests are taking up her time. She’s just started working on a new jacket that includes an accent that is supposed to glow in the dark!”

“I…see…”

“Yeah. Plus Tom and Sabine are awesome. Even if they put their foot down about allowing her to try and make a jacket for pet—”

“Sir, are you aware of Miss Dupain-Cheng being in a relationship?”

“You mean that blond kid she’s crazy about? Did she finally ask him out?”

“Well, no. There have been some reports of her having an...um...older boyfriend?”

“...what?”

“And that he looked like...you?”

“WHAT?!”

_______________________

Paris was a lovely city. Full of equally loving people.

“Here!” Andre held out the ice cream with a joyful note in his voice. “A magical treat for our magical savior!”

Ladybug started in surprise. She tried to decline politely even as she couldn’t help but eye the ice cream with longing. “Oh, I couldn’t—“

“Nonsense!” He reassured her, pushing the cup to her. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for Paris!”

Well, if he insisted...

She accepted the offering, feeling the chill in her fingers even through her suit. “Thank you.”

“But of course! And who knows? Maybe it will help bring love to your life.”

She highly doubted ice cream could accomplish that.

“You never know.” He told her as he gave her a conspiratorial wink. “There is all sorts of magic in this world. You are proof enough of that!”

She simply smiled and bade him a good day before leaving with ice cream in hand.

Such a strange man, she mused. But the offer was nice of him. And the ice cream was rather good.

The people here were quite kind. Upon seeing her, many of them had wanted to give her such treats or other foods for free. Part of her felt bad for accepting the offers, even as they insisted it was out of thanks for helping them so much.

But as much as she wanted to decline—and probably should have at points, she kept accepting. It seemed likely for the best though. And now she wasn’t sure she should refuse.

She hadn’t realized how tired she had been getting until after that first incident of a civilian insisting on giving her cookies. While she had reluctantly accepted at the time, she had noticed a marked difference after ingesting the first one and almost inhaled the rest afterwards.

It was…unusual. She didn’t remember being like this before.

But it became more clear over time that she was losing energy. And food—particularly sweets and confections of that like—would be enough to recharge her strength.

When she first realized she was able to stay out longer after a battle, she had taken to patrolling and trying to track down any potential akumas before they could reach their target in hopes of determining their origin and where Hawk Moth may be hiding. But she hadn’t made any progress after the first couple of days, and didn’t realize just how much energy she was using up.

Now, she was trying to be more cautious and conserve her strength. After all, Hawk Moth was bound to send out an akuma sooner or later. And while she hoped to find the butterfly before it could akumatize anyone, Paris was a big city and it was not logical to expect she would just happen to be in the right place at the right time to find it before an attack could occur. In that event, she needed to ensure she still had energy for the battle. So while she would still patrol regularly, she had been making a point to take breaks and rest more often throughout the day.

But why was she still out? What normally happened once the fights were over to restore her strength? And why wasn’t it happening this time?

Something felt wrong, but try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

She paused for a moment, considering.

Perhaps Hawk Moth was planning something?

It had been a good few days since the last akuma. And he had yet to try anything since.

She frowned. It was rational, but something felt wrong.

She drew out of her musings to look around the park. It was rather empty, but it was also getting late so there were less civilians around. There were only a couple of people in the area. One was a young woman walking a dog. Two kids who were cutting through the park to get somewhere. And a single elderly man in a Hawaiian shirt who was seated on a bench nearby and appeared to be having tea.

Noticing her gaze, the man smiled and nodded to her in greeting.

“Hello, Ladybug. It is a rather lovely evening, is it not?”

“I suppose.” She replied, more out of politeness than any real agreement. It was just another day in Paris, as far as she could tell. Though the lack of an akuma was nice.

The man smiled, not at all put off by her response. “It is getting later, though. I imagine many people are are returning to their homes.”

She nodded. That made sense. And explained the growing lack of people in the area.

He looked up at her, seemingly curious. “Should you not return to your home as well?”

Ladybug blinked at that. “Home?”

“Certainly. I am sure that even a hero of Paris has a place she can rest at the end of the day.”

She frowned, trying to consider his words.

She had been active for days. Probably a week or so by this point. Whatever was supposed to happen after an akuma fight hadn’t this time, so she didn’t have a place to go.

“I have nowhere else I need to be.” She replied simply. It was true enough at any rate. Clearly dealing with Hawk Moth was the priority, and this was as good a chance as any to try and gain some advantage or intel.

The man, however, appeared concerned.

“Do you not have a life to return to? A family waiting for you?”

A life? A family.

How bizarre.

Such little things. So pointless. They would only hold her back and distract her from the mission at hand.

“Of course not.”

Homes and families were for the civilians she protected.

She didn’t need those things.

Why would she? She was Ladybug.

Just Ladybug.

_______________________

Kim liked to think he had grown some since the school year started. A bit at least.

He would admit he wasn’t the smartest person—that title belonged to Max and he was quite proud of his friend for it. After all, not just anyone could make a working robot that could live and feel.

But nonetheless, Kim wasn’t stupid. He just liked to believe the best in people.

Granted, that didn’t always work out—like with his attempt to ask out Chloe on Valentines Day.

But then there were the times it did—like when he sacrificed himself to save Chloe and his other classmates during the whole ‘kissing zombies’ incident.

Well…sort of. Chloe was still Chloe either way. But at least the zombies were dealt with. And Chloe…did seem to be trying to do better.

Emphasis on ‘trying’.

But in that regard, Kim had been trying as well. He had undergone some changes since the start of the year. He didn’t like to think it, but he hadn’t been the most observant or empathetic guy. He was self-centered in a lot of ways, not out of any malice, but simple ignorance. He had often done things without thinking. And while he may not have intended to be mean, he would still act in ways that would upset others without realizing he was doing it.

But having a friend turn into a stone monster and try to kill him made Kim reevaluate his idea of friendly teasing or just how he interacts with people in general.

And his idea of gentle ribbing may not be so gentle or friendly to others. It was…something he’d had to learn the hard way. And even relearn, given the panther incident. And again with Odine…

It was something he was still working on. And had to catch himself at times. Whether or not he intended harm didn’t matter. That he had been trying to be helpful in his own way also didn’t matter. Because Kim’s idea of tolerance and what was okay or too much or not enough was different than other people’s. It was something he still struggled to be mindful of.

That was why he didn’t comment on the strangeness of Lila’s injuries.

A sprained wrist should have been in a brace of some sort. Some of her reported injuries should have had indicators like scratches, bruises, or red marks. Her claimed arthritis should have involved swelling or tremors. But there was often nothing.

There were points when Lila’s claims of being in pain made him raise an eyebrow.

Kim was an athlete, and had his fair share of experiences with people who had injuries and how they worked. So it was strange to him that Lila could be lacking any of the common indicators. But some injuries couldn’t be seen easily, and he also had experience with what could happen if they weren’t treated appropriately because of assumptions based on that.

Lila’s symptoms were strange and all over the place. But Kim wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t his place to judge or determine.

Not to mention that people were different. She could just have a lower pain threshold. And it was possible her body could just outwardly heal fast as far as appearances go.

Kim had no way of knowing for sure without either questioning her or becoming invasive. But he wanted to take her word for it, so he continued to help her out. He didn’t mind, really. What was a lunch tray or an extra bag to carry for a few minutes anyway?

He understood Marinette’s anger at the idea of being used. He didn’t like the thought either. But if it did turn out that she was lying, what did he really lose? He still would have helped out. There didn’t need to be any injuries involved. Honestly, he would have done the same if any of the other girls had asked. Heck, even if one of the guys had.

There was nothing he lost by a few minutes of kindness here and there. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t worth questioning or trying to argue over.

While he could understand why Marinette might be upset if she thought Lila was lying, he didn’t see any reason to actively try to disprove it.

It was like people with allergies or unseen medical issues. Just because you couldn’t see where they had a health problem didn’t mean it wasn’t there.  Even if there isn’t necessarily active proof, it was safer to treat the person like the condition was real because you don’t know for sure. And you could just be making yourself out to be a jerk either way if you did act on it.

Even if the napkin incident was kind of lame.

He saw the way the class almost got up in arms over Lila’s claimed injury by a napkin. He saw the way Max clearly wanted to say something to correct them. He also saw the way Marinette only got upset because of it. Maybe he should have spoken up then, but he didn’t want to be dismissive of Lila’s health issues regardless of how real he thought they were.

Maybe catching the napkin WAS enough to bother her? It could have been the movement of her arm rather than the weight of the napkin. He didn’t know. And he’d had enough instances of being a jerk because he questioned and pushed things instead of simply accepting them.

He did feel bad for Marinette though. If she was so distrustful of Lila, he was sure she had reasons. But trying to disprove someone’s medical condition in such a blatant show wasn’t really the best way to go about things if she didn’t believe they were real. He agreed with her that it was fishy, though, and considered that if it kept happening, maybe they could try some other way of finding out for sure. Talk with the teachers about their concerns. Check with the nurse to confirm if any of this is in her medical history. Maybe see if as the Class Rep, Marinette couldn’t get in touch with Lila’s mom to determine her needs. That way, they could at least be sure and have all the information straight.

He figured he could talk to her about it at some point when there was time.

He thought they’d have time.

But life happens.

People act without thinking.

Akumas go on a rampage.

Friends go missing.

And suddenly little things like whether a classmate is faking injuries for perceived special treatment he would happily have given regardless seemed a lot less important.

He had to have priorities.

His main priority at this time, other than schoolwork and sports, was to try and find Marinette or any clues on what happened to her. Which was why he was still going out on the streets after school to search.

It had been something he started since the class initially discussed plans to try searching themselves. And it’s something he hadn’t stopped since then either.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the brightest move to go searching alone, but that was why he had Max on speed dial in case anything happened to him. His parents were informed and knew where he would be each outing. And he also had his phone set up to keep track of his location, which his parents could easily find and Max was no doubt keeping track of even at this moment.

They made a good team this way. Not just brains and brawn, since Max wasn’t weak anymore than Kim was stupid. But they both had their strengths and they worked best as a team when they each played to their strengths.

In this case, Max was searching as well in his own way, even if that way was from his computer rather than in person. Kim could get farther faster on foot whereas Max could span miles in minutes by computer. That way, they could coordinate and cover more ground.

They kept in touch constantly though. Which is how Kim knew something was wrong.

“Max? You there?”

There was only silence.

He looked at his phone in worry. Of the two of them, Kim was the one who was supposed to be more likely to encounter some sort of trouble. What could possibly happen to Max in his room?

“Max? Anyone?”

“Kim?”

That wasn’t Max.

“Markov?”

“Oh thank goodness!” The AI spoke from the phone screen, clearly frazzled. “An akuma appeared and took us!”

“Wait—what?! Why?!” Max had been in his room! Why would anyone try to go after him and Markov specifically? Kim frowned, eyes narrowing as he took charge. “Do you know who it is?”

“From my data, the akuma was a match for Lady Wifi.”

Kim gasped. “Alya?”

It made sense, now that he thought about it. He hadn’t been there for the incident, but he had heard from others in the class how Alya had apparently been suspended after supposedly attacking Lila while they were alone in class. He wasn’t sure he believed it, as that sounded particularly out of character for the blogger. It was now with a sickening realization that he remembered the last time Alya had been suspended in what was later revealed to be an unfair manner.

If Alya had been wrongfully accused and punished—especially if she was suspended a second time for a similar reason—they should have figured that Lady Wifi would be likely to make a reappearance.

But why go after Max? He hadn’t even been involved!

“What should we do?” Markov asked. “I’ve routed myself to Max’s phone to contact you, but I don’t know how long it may be until she realizes it.”

“Do you know where she’s taken you guys?” Kim asked, glancing around his own location and already starting to work out what would be the best course to take.

“We appear to have been taken to a cellphone tower. One near the TVi station.”

“But why there?”

It didn’t make sense. If Alya was Lady Wifi, wouldn’t she go after Lila? Or the school? Or really anywhere that has more cellphones around for her to make use of?

“I am uncertain.” Markov replied, all the more worried. There was a pause, seemingly as something was happening on Markov’s end that Kim couldn’t hear. “She wants us to hack the tower. What should we do?”

Okay, this was time for action. Alya was the akuma, meaning the Ladyblog wouldn’t alert anyone of the attack. Quickly, Kim sent out a mass text to the class to give warning in case Lady Wifi would try going after them as well.

“Do what she says for now and keep an eye on her and Max. I’ll try to see if I can’t find help.”

Ladybug had been patrolling more actively lately, hadn’t she?

He just needed to find her.

Kim: Need to alert LB nd CN. If anyone gets ahold of them, let us know!

A few minutes later, he had a response.

Adrien: Just spoke to Chat. He’s on his way.

_______________________

By the time the two came down from the roof, school was already over.

Nino noticed the time and groaned once he realized how late it was. “I’d better check in with Alya and let her know we’re okay.” He pulled out his phone and started up a text as the two continue walking out of the building, passing other students. Nino gave a mutter about how he was already going to have one lady angry with him once his mom found out he’d skipped the rest of his classes for the day.

Adrien smiled sympathetically, but knew he wouldn’t be much help. He was pretty sure his father would be furious with him as well once word got back to him. So focused on their encroaching doom, neither noticed that they had passed Ivan and Mylene, getting their attention.

“Wait, Nino? Haven’t you heard?” Mylene called out to him. Nino and Adrien drew to a stop as the couple approached. There was something about Mylene’s terseness and Ivan’s frown that made them worry.

“Did something happen?” Nino asked. He and Adrien had been on that roof for a while, so there was no telling what they may have missed.

“Alya’s been suspended for fighting.” Ivan told the, looking distressed.

Both boys gaped.

“What?”

Mylene nodded, upset. “Rose and Juleka came in and told us that Alya attacked Lila.”

“WHAT?!”

“Where is she?” Nino demanded.

“Lila’s at the nurse’s station.” She continued with a gesture back towards the school. “She had a mark on her cheek but wasn’t hurt otherwise.”

But Nino only shook his head, appearing more frantic. “No, not her! Where’s Alya?”

“She left, man.” Ivan answered, drawing the attention to himself. “She was taken to the Principal’s office and her mom came to pick her up.”

Mylene shuddered. “I’d never seen her so angry before.”

Nino and Adrien shared a look, both worried and feeling a sense of foreboding.

“This is bad.” Nino moaned.

Adrien wilted in on himself at the news.

“It had to have happened just after I left.” He murmured in dismay.

Was this his fault?

Would it have been prevented if he had stayed?

“Wait a minute. Adrien, were you there?” Mylene asked.

He froze at that. They...they wanted to know, right? They wouldn’t be asking if they didn’t. Part of him wanted desperately to tell the other two what had happened.

But would they believe him?

“Go ahead, man.” He heard Nino say from right next to him. “They’ll listen.”

Both Ivan and Mylene nodded encouragingly.

He didn’t want to say it.

He didn’t want to revisit that moment of heartbreak, even as he tried to convince himself that none of it was true.

“Lila said that Marinette ran away.“ Seeing their horrified expressions, he steeled his resolve and continued. “Because of us.“

Mylene gasped.

Ivan clenched his fists, his smile dropping in an instant. “She what?!”

“They were already arguing by the time I got there.” Adrien explained. “Alya was angry. Lila was taunting her. Saying...all kinds of hurtful things.” He took a breath. “She admitted to lying about everything. Insulted Alya and everyone else for believing her. And she said…” He felt Nino’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, encouraging him and emboldening him to continue.

“She said we were bad friends and it was no wonder Marinette ran away.”

“Are…” Mylene hesitated, looking pale and stricken. It was clear she didn’t want to believe it. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear? Or maybe misunderstand?”

Adrien started to shrink in on himself, uncertain and beginning to second guess everything he’d witnessed. Maybe he had misunderstood? Or Lila meant something else? Or—

Nino’s grip on his shoulder tightened—not painfully, but enough to remind Adrien he was there and that he had support.

“That could explain one or two statements, but not everything.”

But it wasn’t Nino’s voice that spoke up in his defense.

Mylene wasn’t the only one to look to Ivan in surprise. The bigger boy looked angrier than they’d seen him since the start of the school year. Adrien was half worried he would become akumatized again.

It wasn’t long before Mylene appeared angry enough to match him. It was to Adrien’s relief though that both seemed to be angry on his behalf rather than with him.

“If that’s true, then it’s no wonder that Alya slapped her.“ She said darkly, sounding as though she wished for the chance to do so herself.

“I don’t think she did.“ Nino said flat out, drawing everyone’s attention back. “Alya texted me about that time to let me know what happened and asked me to look for Adrien. If she was rational enough to put a friend first after a comment like that, I don’t think there’s much else Lila could have said to make her react violently.”

Ivan started in surprise. “So you don’t think Alya attacked Lila?”

Mylene even looked to Nino, almost hopefully.

Nino shook his head. “Adrien said that Lila’s been lying about a lot of things. She was probably lying about that too.“

“No wonder Marinette didn’t like her.” Ivan murmured. “She’d been trying to counter any of Lila’s claims all this time. She probably knew they were lies.”

“I thought it was jealousy.“ Mylene admitted, guiltily. “Or maybe that she had just gotten the wrong impression like she did with Adrien at the beginning of the year.“

“I think we all brushed it off more than we should have.” Ivan took her hand in his own, giving a gentle squeeze in comfort. He straightened though as he remembered something.

“But what about the mark?

Nino scowled at that. “I’d be willing to bet Lila did something to make it look like Alya slapped her in order to gain sympathy and discredit Alya if she tried to tell anyone the truth.”

Adrien’s mind flashed to his initial meeting with Lila. How she expressed an interest in superheroes only after seeing him reading about them and the disappearance of his father’s Book shortly afterward. How Lila went so far as to get a necklace to try and pass off as a Miraculous in order to convince him she was a superhero.

“I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s certainly done it before.” He admitted. “But what can we do about it?“

Alya was already suspended. Lila had no doubt spun her web and shared her “version” of events with everyone. The teachers, the administration, the rest of the class...she probably had them all hanging off her “sob story”.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Mylene who stepped up to take charge.

“Adrien, you need to go to the Principal and tell him what really happened.”

He balked at that. “But I wasn’t there for the actual incident.“

“But you were there for what set it off.” She gently reminded him. “If nothing else, that gives context and at least shed some doubt on Lila‘s story.“

Ivan grinned. “That’s right! If you tell him that Lila instigated the incident, he may reverse the decision—or at least the suspension.”

“Do you really think so?” Adrien asked. He wasn’t used to authority figures listening to him and changing their minds about things like this. He was still half convinced his father’s agreement to letting him attend school was a fluke. His father’s response to the loss of the Book during the Volpina incident certainly hadn’t helped with that.

“It’s worth a try.” Nino said, encouragingly. “I know it’d be at least one more voice in Alya’s corner than she had.”

“And Alya’s parents would know if nothing else.“ Ivan added. “Even if the school decides to keep the suspension, it would certainly make a difference to her parents to know the full extent of what really happened. They may lessen her punishment at home, or at least not ground her.“

Adrien fought with himself.

There was that part of him—an admittedly big part that wanted to stay out of things. It would prolong the conflict. Lila was dangerous. She had some sort of influence on his father. She could get akumatized again. She could hurt him. Nathalie could find out. His father could find out.

But…

He’d told Marinette once that he was in her corner and hadn’t followed through.

And regardless of the reason she was gone, if he did ever see her again, he at least wanted to be able to look her in the eyes.

He didn’t think he could do that if he just abandoned her best friend—HIS friend when she needed him.

“Okay.” He agreed at last. “Principal Damocles is gone for the day, so I’ll come see him first thing in the morning and tell him what I know.”

The other three beamed at him. And for a moment, Adrien actually felt like things might just work out.

Then a text came that brought everything crashing down.

Kim: AKUMA ALERT!!! Lady Wifi is back and kidnapped Max and Markov!

_______________________

It had been a peaceful evening. Ladybug appreciated it and resented it at the same time.

Appreciated it for how the peace meant that the civilians of Paris were safe.

But resented it because it meant she had no akumas to track for leads to Hawk Moth. And if things were peaceful, it was likely that he was plotting something. Like the calm before a storm, knowing something was bound to happen but not necessarily what or when.

It also meant she was stuck with nothing but her own thoughts. About her presence here outside of akuma battles. About her general lack of purpose outside of fighting. About the inexplicable sense of longing though she knew not what it was for. And now about that elderly man she had met.

Asking questions that made no sense. Bringing up concepts that didn’t apply to her. Making her wonder things that didn’t matter.

And worst of all was that expression he had. There was a look in his eye as he gazed at her. Concerned and sad and disappointed all in one.

And she didn’t know WHY!

It was irritating. An intrusive, niggling feeling that just wouldn’t go away. And for all that she tried to brush it off, the strange thoughts and the man’s expression kept flickering back into focus as soon as she let her mind wander.

So she was grateful for any distraction by that point, even if it was a message from Chat Noir.

At least it was something useful for once.

“Ladybug! I just received word that Alya has been akumatized.”

Well, that was a relief. There was an akuma at last. However, the way he said that made it seem like the akuma was the lesser issue than who the akuma was. Which led to a problem on her end.

“Who?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but didn’t stand out to her.

He paused at that, frowning in confusion. “Uh...Alya? From the Ladyblog?”

“Oh, that little fan site?” It was cute for what it was.

Chat’s frown only grew at that. “It’s not just a fan site. You’ve done interviews with her before, remember?”

Did she? She didn’t know why. It seemed silly to indulge something so inane. Not to mention dangerous to encourage the blogger’s antics and insistence on getting footage of akuma battles. The last thing she needed was for a civilian to jump into the fight, distract her, and get in the way. Not to mention how much more difficult it would be to deal with the akuma while trying to protect the civilian who lacked the sense to leave the area.

She shrugged.

“It doesn’t stand out.”

He gave her an incredulous look and mouthed the words to himself like he wasn’t sure what he was hearing. She didn’t know why this came as a surprise to him. Or why he would have such a reaction over something so frivolous.

“Okay…” He said, uncertain. “I got the report from a classmate that she’s taken hostages to the TVi station. I’m already on my way there now.”

“I’ll head that way as well. Stay in contact just in case.”

Chat seemed perturbed, but didn’t argue.

That may have been because he didn’t get the chance, as a sudden yelp from nearby caught Ladybug’s attention. A passerby dropped his cellphone just as the screen sparked and a figure appeared.

The akuma.

“Lady Wifi is here.” She muttered into the communicator.

That was rather fast. But at least it didn’t mean wasting more time than necessary.

It seemed she didn’t need to go to the TVi Station after all.

“Hang on! I’m on my way!” Chat’s voice exclaimed before the call ended.

However startled Ladybug was by her sudden appearance, the akuma even seemed just as surprised at seeing her there.

“Ladybug?!” She gasped out. But her eyes narrowed. “No. I don’t know how you found me, but you are not getting in my way!”

Wait. Found her? But she hadn’t even started looking for her yet!

There was no time to question it, however, as Lady Wifi proceeded to go on the offensive. Ladybug ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the multiple symbols being flung at her from the akuma’s phone.

She flipped backwards and landed on the lower roof behind her, breaking line of sight with her enemy. Taking advantage of the moment, she then jumped from to a ridge on an adjoining building where she would have cover and not be easily viewed from above. Glancing up, she frowned when she noticed that she could not see her foe. It was like she had disappeared.

Or...had she simply left altogether once Ladybug was out of sight?

Strange, shouldn’t Lady Wifi be looking for her? They had only just crossed paths. Normally, akumas would attempt to continue pursuit.

She jumped down to street level and kept looking around, warily. Perhaps the akuma had gone into one of the buildings?

There was a sudden outburst of screams from a nearby store as several civilians ran out of the building. She rushed over and noticed that...yes, it was a phone store. And sure enough, the akuma was inside and the cause of the scare that drove all potential customers away. Without hesitating, she ran inside to continue the fight.

Lady Wifi growled in frustration at her appearance and sent more attacks at her. Ladybug dodged them easily enough, but to her surprise, Lady Wifi simply took off shortly afterwards, rushing out the back and out of the building altogether. Her attempt to follow only drew her further into the busier part of the city. And soon enough, she had again lost her target.

Until there was another flash followed by a shriek from a nearby civilian who had been hiding from the chaos. Sure enough, Lady Wifi was once again present, only looking all the more agitated once she appeared and saw Ladybug already there.

“How do you keep finding me?“ She demanded as she swiped at her phone again.

Ladybug didn’t bother to respond as she simply ducked, dodged, and jumped out of the way.

But the angry accusation kept ringing in her head. Because the truth was that she didn’t know. Really, she had thought it was the other way around. Why would Lady Wifi leave just to keep coming back? It wasn’t even a fighting tactic as she wasn’t utilizing any element of surprise it could grant her.

A purple glow appeared over the akuma’s face. No doubt Hawk Moth was trying to give her orders.

But...Lady Wifi just blew him off?

“No! I’ll get you your stupid jewelry, but right now, I need to keep looking while I still can!”

Looking? For what?

The glow only increased in response. The akuma seemed to shudder under an unknown force.

“All right. Just to get her out of the way.” She agreed before switching symbols on her cell and sending them flying at Ladybug.

Unimpressed, she prepared to move. If she jumped, she could go over the symbol and even Lady Wifi herself. She was close enough that she could land behind her and then try to take her out. Just keep her yoyo at the ready to tie her up and—

“Look out!”

Something slammed into her from the side, sending her and whatever the force was rolling towards a nearby truck. There was at least partial cover between them and the akuma now, but it ruined her plan and now she was on the defensive.

Who?

She looked over to see...sure enough, Chat Noir had interfered.

“Are you blind?!” She hissed, pulling him fully behind the cover.

“She was attacking you! I was just trying to help!” He said, defensively.

“You can help by not getting in the way.”

His ears lowered. He looked genuinely hurt. “Sorry…”

“Look, let’s just get this over with. I’ve been stuck playing ‘Hide and Seek’ with this akuma and I’m tired of it.” She pulled out her yoyo. “We’ll split up and come at her from both sides. Then I’ll tie her down and you can break her phone. Ready?”

There was a pause.

But he didn’t move.

She raised an eyebrow in annoyance.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

He simpered, gesturing pathetically at her yoyo. “Uh, aren’t you going to use your Lucky Charm?”

DONOT

She gave him an incredulous look.

“Why would I do that?” Really, the Lucky Charm was useless and a waste of her energy. It only served to force her out of the fight sooner.

“Well—” He stammered. “I mean—you usually—it’s always…” He seemed to realize it was a stupid question and looked away. Whether in understanding or embarrassment, she didn’t particularly know.

“Just go already.”

Honestly, the flinch was unnecessary. It wasn’t like she’d struck him.

She wasted no more time worrying about her partner and whatever his latest antics were. Instead, she put her focus back on the akuma where it should be.

It wasn’t a very complicated plan. And it didn’t need to be. They had fought this akuma before. It wasn’t like it was that hard. With Chat charging from the front and taking her attention, Ladybug leapt out from the other side and had Lady Wifi trapped in her yoyo wire, forcing her arms to her side and sending her cellphone clattering to the ground.

For all the trouble and annoyance, the fight was over disappointingly quick.

Within seconds, the phone was broken and the akuma released. A simple flick of her wrist and the butterfly was purified and sent on its way. And soon enough, Lady Wifi was a normal human teenager once more. Ladybug sighed in relief that the latest upset was dealt with at least.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The Cure did its work per the usual. But something seemed off. And there was a small amount of the ladybugs that seemed to hover around her before she waved them away. Honestly, she shouldn’t have to keep doing this every time.

Taking no notice of her state, Chat bounded up to her, fist out.

“Pound—”

Except Ladybug had already turned away, leaving Chat feeling put off and especially alone.

“...it?”

He frowned, uncertain.

“Uh...Ladybug? Is everything okay?”

No. She was lost and confused and that strange man’s words wouldn’t leave her mind.

She had no home. Nowhere to go.

So why did she feel she was supposed to be somewhere? And ‘where’ was she supposed to be?

“I’m fine.” She told him as she turned and walked away.

She was fine.

_______________________

He ran down the street, cursing himself the entire time. He should’ve known something would happen! Alya had clearly already been upset. While he had talked to her about not confronting Lila, he knew very well how Olea was and that there was only so much she could hold back if directly confronted.

Alya had been the one to text him to warn him to look out for Adrien. His focus has been on finding his friend at that time, that he had completely neglected to consider how she would even know about the situation or what her knowing had to mean.

If he had been there, he could have backed up Alya. Been a witness to counter Lila’s lies about being attacked—if a single slap she more than deserved could even count as that.

No! No. Not the time! Alya now. Deal with Lila later.

Because of that, Alya had been suspended. Her parents had no doubt been given the wrong version of events by the school thanks to Lila, and probably grounded her on top of that. Right now, Nino must have been the only one Alya knew was on her side. She wouldn’t know that Adrien knew the truth or that he would even speak up in her defense. She only knew she was alone and everyone was against her.

And now Lady Wifi was back. And while he knew that Lila was responsible, he could not help but blame himself for failing to be there for her.

That was why as soon as he got Kim’s message, he had taken off for where the alert said Lady Wifi was attacking. Maybe he could calm her down? Or at least be there for her once it was over.

Because surely the heroes would be fixing all of this soon enough.

It was the Ladybugs that led him to her. A small group that seemed...a bit detached from the rest. Following them, he found the aftermath of the battle. Both Ladybug and Chat Noir were moving away, leaving Alya just...sitting there on the sidewalk.

Wait. What?

Didn’t they normally talk to or try to comfort the akuma victims?

Glancing over, however, he noted that both appeared to be rather tense. And Chat in particular seemed worried. He didn’t know why. They were a distance away and quiet enough that he couldn’t hear. But neither seemed happy. Maybe the fight was harder on them than it seemed?

His focus, however, went to Alya. She seemed almost out of it by the time he reached her.

But when he called out her name, her eyes met his immediately. And her face crumpled into a sob.

“Nino!”

He was there by her in an instant, holding her as tightly as he could and whispering reassurances.

He’d lost one friend.

He didn’t want to lose her, too.

_______________________

Alya didn’t know what happened when she was an akuma. Nobody ever really remembers, after all.

But she knew...she’d been looking for something.

Desperately trying to find something.

And she half believed that something was her best friend.

She hoped, at any rate.

It was dark out by the time the fight was over, and Nino was walking her home. He promised that he would also talk with her parents to let them know what’s going on with Lila and that she was lying about everything. Neither of them knew just how much good it would do since it was their word against Lila’s, and anything he tried to say might just be construed as solely a defense due to being Alya’s boyfriend. But it was something and it was certainly more than she’d had when she was on trial at the school.

But…

The worst of it all as that her thoughts kept going back to Lila and those damn words.

“Don’t blame me just because you’re a bad friend. Honestly, it’s no wonder Marinette chose to run away.”

Maybe...maybe Lila was right?

Maybe she did run away?

…

…

...

No.

She took a breath and forced herself to focus.

Facts, Alya. Think about the facts. She had made enough poor decisions without bothering to get information. Now was the time to not repeat those mistakes. The first thing to do was look at the facts of what she knew.

Fact: Marinette was her friend. Even at times when Alya wasn’t the best friend to her in return, Marinette still cared. This was clear in the way that Marinette still tried for her—continuing to try to warn her or look out for her and yet going along with her even after the way Alya acted.

Fact: Marinette was stubborn to a fault. If she knew there was something she could do about a problem, she would keep trying. And it would take something pretty severe for her to give up.

Fact: Despite how strained their relationship had become, things had not become so broken that they would stop being friends. That tension was nowhere close to being severe enough for Marinette to give up.

Fact: Marinette was not one to seek attention. She never needed to. She never did anything to intentionally draw attention to herself and if anything, had willingly given up chances to get attention if it meant helping or supporting someone else.

Fact: Even if Marinette was having trouble in the class, she still had support. And more importantly, she had her family. She would never allow her parents to be hurt because of her.

With these facts in mind, Alya knew with some certainty that Marinette would not run away.

She just had to hold onto that.

“Marinette wouldn’t have done it.”

Nino started at that. “What?”

She turned to him, looking tired and weary, but so very certain.

She looked up at Nino, resolutely. “We made the mistake of not believing in Marinette before. We didn’t trust her when we should have. But just because we didn’t believe in her doesn’t mean she ever gave up on us.”

Alya smiled. “That’s just the kind of person Marinette is.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

“That was why she was our Everyday Ladybug. Because big or small, no matter the problem, she was there. Trying for us.”

She wouldn’t just leave.

Alya couldn’t expect Marinette to always be there. That wasn’t fair to her. To be required to keep trying despite the futility of it all was a burden that no one should ever be expected to continue to carry, especially if it was only hurting her. She knew that eventually even Marinette, as kind as she was, could have enough of the strain and move on. But she also knew that in her kindness, Marinette would never just disappear without a word.

She would never leave without saying goodbye.

“That’s why I know she didn’t run away.”

Because Marinette hadn’t said goodbye.

Nino took a breath, hesitating.

“You know that means that...something...probably happened to her.”

Alya nodded, barely holding back the tears as that horrible truth fully presented itself.

“I know.”