#billboard screwed up big time

[seokwoosmole]

I shouldn't laugh but.....

If this will get my boy known then.....

[sungbeam]

nonidol!jeong yunho x f!reader

yunho might have been the superstar out of the two of you, but you have always been the center of his universe. (you — it's always been you.)

▷ genre, warnings. bffs2l, childhood friends 2 lovers, pining, popstar/singer au, swearing, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, kissing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety/nervousness, they physically cannot be apart for too long sorry they've got Attachment Issues low-key..., one kiss (is all it takes—)

▷ word count. 16.3k (guys,, this was supposed to be only like 6-8k i swear 😭)

▷ associated tunes. keep smiling (demxntia), gone too long (lullaboy), tear in my heart (twenty-one pilots)

a/n: hope u guys like this :'))) i had one of the scenes from here stuck in my brain for awhile and so i had to build the rest of the fic around it, and it turned into this monster, so uhm yes... also much love to @jaehunnyy tysm for reading thru it for me 💖

THE DAY YUNHO'S ALBUM hit the Billboard Hot 100, you knew that you were going to need a lot more hands on deck than just you, your roommate, and Jeong Yunho himself.

“There's not enough albums, not enough time in the day, not enough of you!” You exclaimed with your fingers shoved into your hair as you took in the landscape of chaos before you on your living room floor. “Yunho, why couldn't you be ambidextrous?”

His eyes widened, body frozen where he was shoving a slice of beef jerky into his mouth. “Mwe? Pwhy are pyu yellinh ap mwe por?”

“I'm not yelling at you; I'm just wondering why you weren't born with eight arms instead of just two.” There were simply too many albums for him to sign before his agent came to pick them up in two hours, and there were also too few albums for the amount of demand. You always knew your best friend would make it big one day, but you also thought he would have had a whole team by that time.

Technically, you were his team—you, your roommate Trinity, and Mingi who was at his grandmother's for the long weekend. Mingi was five texts away from driving back down to help you guys four hours ago though. But his family needed him right now, and Yunho was firm in ensuring Mingi didn't have to come down and help. We got this, he'd said. It'll be easy, he also said.

Sure. Easy.

“We can't just forge his signature?” Trinity joked in a sleep-deprived daze as she leaned back against the couch cushions. Her mouth opened wide in a yawn. “I'm kidding. Let's not ruin his career.”

Yunho swallowed his bite. “That would be nice.” He cleaned his fingers on the Wet Wipe he had handy by his thigh, then picked up his black Sharpie, spinning the writing utensil between his fingers. “Now where were we? Album number fifty-six—?”

This had taken place just four months after Yunho released his second album, Aurora. It had been nearly a year and a half since Yunho debuted himself onto the music scene, and it was about time people finally began to recognize your best friend for all that he was—multi-talented, charismatic, handsome (on some occasions; you wouldn’t let him catch you slipping up there, though).

Within the next year and a half, Yunho skyrocketed into further altitudes of fame.

There were plenty of changes that occurred, many evolutions to Yunho's team and additions to his discography, but you were always a part of it. Even with your own career dealings, you would drop anything to be there for him, and him for you. Between the morning show interviews and late night recording sessions, there were also the research presentations and study session pick-me-ups.

“Are you sure you don't wanna come with?” You asked from where you were stationed in front of the bathroom mirror, putting on the final touches for your look this evening.

You could hear Trinity's fingers clacking away at her keyboard at the speed of light through her open bedroom door. “I'd love to, but I unfortunately did screw myself over by procrastinating on this paper. Have fun though, and tell Yunho congrats for me.”

Tonight was the album release party for Yunho's third full studio album entitled Youth. It was something he had been working on for years now, only recently having become satisfied with the tracks he chose and produced for it. Due to his sudden rise in fame, the release party was said to be hosting a myriad of big name celebrities and figures in the music industry. And of course, you. You were no one special, in hindsight, but Yunho couldn't begin to imagine celebrating a milestone without you by his side.

By eight o'clock, you were ready to head out.

You bid Trinity goodbye as you hustled out the front door of your apartment and down to the street below. Yunho and Mingi and everyone else would already be at the party; you would arrive on your own via Uber. You wished you could've been with him to get ready like all the other times, but your schedule had been unfortunate as of late. You were lucky enough to have gotten off of work this early.

As you sat in the backseat of your ride, you anxiously fidgeted with your phone in your lap.

(You were, without a doubt, excited to arrive at the party. Due to yours and Yunho's ever-busy and ever-conflicting schedules nowadays—yours because of work and PhD candidacy stuff, Yunho's because of rehearsals for his upcoming world tour—it had been awhile since you were able to hang out in person. You missed your gentle giant of a best friend.)

A loud vibration from it made your heart leap into your throat, and your face lit up in the dark with the incoming notification.

rockstar 🤟: pls tell me you've left the house

You snorted and typed out a swift reply. If I told you I was still in my pajamas…

rockstar 🤟: then i would call u a liar cuz u don't go to work in pjs, weirdo rockstar 🤟: just getting antsy tbh rockstar 🤟: need my star here w me :’)))

You couldn't help the touched pout that came to your face. I'm almost there, don't worry. And who are you calling a star when that's you? He always got a little sappy when he was nervous.

rockstar 🤟: im literally not having fun here without u hurry up :// your phone: isn't this UR album release party 😭 yun, why aren't u having fun? rockstar 🤟: just hurry up your phone: aish okok 🤧 eta 8min mr. impatient

You knew it was the jitters making him say things like that. Once you got there, you hoped you could help reassure him that he could stop worrying for just a second to enjoy himself. Even if Yunho worried about the album and what people thought, you were just as nervous. You hadn't even heard the entire thing—he’d been cheeky and didn't tell you he added a song to it last minute, but you'd listened to everything else.

You just hoped that people would continue to celebrate him and give him the love he deserved.

When your Uber driver pulled into the drop off loop at the front of the venue, you thanked him on your way out and threw the strap of your small purse over your shoulder. Already, however, as you were met with the residuals of flashing camera lenses and frantic paparazzi calls just a little ways down the driveway, the anxiety slowly began to settle in the pit of your stomach.

You could see the celebrities going up the entrance with people asking them to pose for their cameras, to say a word into their recorders.

Immediately, you turned on your heel and began slipping your way to a side entrance. The last thing you wanted was for dozens upon dozens of people to be staring at you, wondering who you were and why you were important. There were definitely people who knew you—you were plastered all over Yunho's social media because that was just what best friends did. But compared to everyone else walking up that driveway? Not a chance. You were nobody, and that was ay-okay to you.

Just as you thanked one of the employees coming out the side door for letting you in, you felt your phone buzz in your hand again, this time with an incoming call.

You picked it up and squeezed it between your ear and shoulder. “You're gonna need to speak up—the kitchen is super loud.”

“You're here finally!” Yunho said to you through the phone. “I was starting to get worried.”

You chuckled as you ducked out of the kitchen and into the main lobby to get to the elevators. The party was taking place somewhere on the seventh floor… if you could get there without getting lost. “Hey Yun, do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Calm down, man.”

The elevator sang its arrival and you stepped inside to the sound of Yunho sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. “I am calm… wait, are you in the lobby? Let me come down and get y—”

“I just got in the elevator, so don't worry—and I really don't think you should be leaving your own party, rockstar,” you teased. “Man, Mingi and Hwa really pulled out all the stops for this place,” you marveled quietly as you gave the elevator carriage a thorough look. It was made of marble and mirrors, every surface polished and crisp, like that of a tailored suit if tailored suits were made of crystals.

“Yeah, it's really great,” he agreed. “Remember the release party we threw for Crescent?”

A fond laugh tumbled out of your lips as you stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor. Your mind filled with memories of his debut album's release party hosted in yours and Trinity's living room with three extra large Domino's pizzas, root beer floats, and a cheap disco ball. It had been a party for four that night—you, Yunho, Mingi, and Trinity—but your friends didn't need the fancy shit to have fun. “Definitely leagues away from this.”

There was a bouncer at the far end of the hallway, and you were certain now that you were in the right place.

“I kind of miss it,” Yunho murmured. You heard the sound on his end shift, simultaneous to watching the doors in front of you crack open and see Yunho's head pop out into the empty hallway.

“I kind of miss it, too,” you said into the phone, your eyes locked on his and a smile blooming over your features at the sight of your best friend, in the flesh.

There was a tender gleam in his eyes as he took you in and said something in a low tone to the bouncer. He stepped out into the hallway, letting the doors behind him shut fully.

“Slowpoke,” was his greeting to you as he scooped you into his embrace. The smell of his cologne was something familiar and delicious, and permeated your senses.

“Worrywart,” you quipped back, wrapping your arms around him to reciprocate.

When you both pulled back, he kept you at arm's length so he could take a better look at you. “I can't believe you're calling me the worrywart! I do recall that one night when Aurora hit the Top 100—”

You silenced him with a look and a playful punch to his shoulder. You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tilted his head back in a jovial laugh. “Quiet, you. For once, I can't believe you're more nervous than I am.”

He gave a sheepish grin, fussing with the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, adjusting the chain he wore on his collarbones so the clasp sat right at the hollow of his throat.

You softened. Oh, he was really nervous.

“This album's just big for me; you know that,” he said, almost like he was trying to brush it off.

“I do.” The two of you began slowly making your way back towards the party doors. “Though, I'm excited to hear this mystery song that you snuck on there. I'm sure everyone will fall in love with the album, just like I did.”

He peered over at you then, and you couldn't understand why you were unable to read his expression then. It was… different. “Really?”

You blinked. “Of course,” you replied automatically. “I mean,” you added, “it's you, Yun. What's not to love?”

Yunho seemed speechless for a second, but moments later, he was breaking into a soft-cornered smile. “You always know what to say, Yn. Come on, there are some people who are dying to meet you.”

“Dying to meet me?” You laughed as the bouncer let the two of you into the party.

The party room was a rented out lounge space with wraparound windows that looked out at the skyline in the valley below. The main lights were kept low and warm, illuminating strategic places throughout the space to highlight the prohibition-like interior design. It was something out of a 1920s speakeasy with its velvet couches and dark mahogany wood finishes.

Yunho took you over toward the side of the room to get food first. There was a variety of snacks and small bites on the buffet table, and there was a bar counter shoved into the far corner where a bartender served drinks.

“I've pretty much socialized with everyone in this room already,” Yunho murmured to you as he shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. “Meaning I can bug you for the rest of the night.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “There has to be, like, fifty people here. We still have the whole party left.”

“Yeah, but I have more fun with you anyway,” he said with a shrug. He reached for one of the little serving cups that held a little roll of rice armed with a slice of wagyu beef on top, all wrapped together with a strip of nori. “Now these—these are fucking amazing, dude. You have to try one.”

You snorted, but grabbed one of the little cups. “How many of these have you eaten already, Yun?”

He tapped his cup against yours like he was clinking glasses together. He chuckled, averting his gaze. “We don't have to talk about that…” His eyes caught onto someone nearby, and he perked up, shoving the entire bite into his mouth so he had a free hand to flag down whoever it was. “Mmh!”

You nearly choked on your own bite as you watched your best friend, who's cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's, flap his arm around in the air to get this person's attention because his mouth was currently occupied.

You turned your head to see who he was waving over, and nearly choked again, having to cup your hand over your mouth to prevent rice from falling out. Your eyes widened an alarming amount. “Mmno—!” You mumbled through your bite.

“What? I can't hear you,” he snickered. “Hongjoong hyung! There's someone I want you to meet.”

You made a crazed gesture—no, no, I'm not ready! How dare you ambush me with social interac—you swallowed the food in your mouth as Hongjoong made his way over. You had never met the famed Kim Hongjoong—legendary producer, prodigy musician, favorite model to ever strut down the Paris Fashion Week Runway. He dropped off the grid for a brief three-month hiatus until he suddenly reappeared, but in your best friend's Instagram story. At some point, Yunho had met Hongjoong and won his favor. Then again, it was easy for Yunho to win over anyone's favor.

No one really knew why Hongjoong disappeared like he had, but some speculate it had something to do with his new relationship status: single.

You were always starstruck seeing Hongjoong on Yunho and Mingi's social media, as well as Hongjoong's own platforms. Tonight was no exception.

Hongjoong's hair of the season was a simple light brown that complimented his skin tone and the warmth in his smile. You were used to seeing him in more extravagant garb, but tonight, he chose something very simple, but chic like Yunho.

Yunho and Hongjoong clasped hands in greeting. “What's up, man?” The latter chirped, eyes flickering over to you as you attempted to behave normally.

Yunho gestured toward you, his eyes twinkling as he swept his arm around your shoulders to bring you forward. “This is Yn. Yn, this is Hongjoong. He's the one who produced the album—”

“Now, don't downplay your own efforts, Yunho,” Hongjoong cut in with a knowing look. “You produced so much of it on your own; I fine-tuned and made a couple tracks, but the rest was all you, man.”

“I always tell him he's far too humble,” you agreed.

Hongjoong sent you a smile, extending his hand out. “Great minds think alike, Yn. It's very nice to meet the person this guy doesn't ever stop talking about.”

You laughed good-naturedly and saw Yunho's flushed sheepishness out of the corner of your eye. You shook Hongjoong's hand with a firm, confident grip. “Nice to meet you, too. You're—you’re incredible, by the way. I remember when Yunho posted a photo with you, and I literally screamed his ear off over the phone.”

Yunho winced and held a hand up to his ear, as if remembering the physical sensation of that phone call. “Yup, definitely damaged my eardrum that day.”

“Well, thank you; I'm flattered,” Hongjoong replied pleasantly. “So I'm assuming you've probably heard as much of the album as I have then?”

“I'm sure you've heard the whole thing,” you said. “Yunho has withheld one of the tracks from me, but I've listened to all the rest.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Oh? Which track did—oh.” As he and Yunho made eye contact, you watched as a silent understanding passed between them, and Hongjoong's mouth tugged upward in a teasing smile. “That song.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

Hongjoong flourished his hand as if to wave away the thought. “He just wanted it to be perfect, so we were working on it up to the last second. Nothing terribly concerning.”

Ah. You relaxed, but the curiosity still lingered in your mind's eye. “I'm sure it's great, nonetheless.”

“Oh yeah, you're gonna love—”

“Oh-kay! That's enough about the song,” Yunho chuckled nervously as he grabbed your shoulders and began steering you away from a clearly amused Hongjoong. “Let's go say hi to Mingi, hm?”

You threw him a look from over your shoulder, but went along with him toward wherever he'd seen Mingi wandering around. “What has gotten into you tonight?” You teased, though, you also hoped to know why he was so jittery. He wasn't even this nervous about dropping his debut album.

Yunho showed you a bright smile, the same kind of golden-retriever expression that the media knew him well for. It would have been enough if you didn't know him. “Again, it's an important album to me. And the song I added last minute is on the deluxe version, so I wasn't really confident in putting it on the original release.”

“Ah,” you murmured. You reached up to pat the hand that rested on your left shoulder reassuringly. “I'm sure it really is a great song, Yun, and I'm not just saying that. You can make an awful omelet, but you can't make an awful song.”

Your best friend bursted into laughter at the latter comment, and your heart soared to see the genuine smile on his face now. That was your Yunho shining through. “You're right—if I can't scramble eggs, at least I can write a song.”

Over the next hour and a half, Yunho took you on a tour around the room, jumping from friend to friend to introduce you to more of his world. For the most part, however, it felt like an excuse for you to bond with all his friends in teasing him about something or other. But he seemed content enough to see you getting along well with the other people close to him.

He had met plenty of your friends at your work, so it was only fair that you got the same opportunity.

At some point while you were with Wooyoung and San discussing all of the rehearsals for Yunho's upcoming world tour, Hongjoong summoned everyone's attention to announce that it was time to listen to the album. It would be a rather casual affair with the Youth album playing in the background of the party, but you were certain people would minimize their conversations to listen in.

You craned your neck to peer around the crowd to see where Yunho had gone off to. “Wait, guys, did you see where Yunho went?”

Wooyoung and San joined your search, but quickly hustled you into a nearby booth to sit and enjoy the album with your drinks. “He'll find us,” Wooyoung assured you as the three of you slipped into the leather seats. “He wouldn't miss this.”

“He'll at least be here by the last song,” San said offhandedly, his eyebrows wagging up and down.

Your lips parted, your face morphing into feigned offense. “Wait. Did he let you guys listen to the deluxe edition song, too?”

“Maybe,” Wooyoung giggled.

San cooed at your pout. “Awwh, don't take it to heart, Yn-ie. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”

You raised your drink to your lips, sighing before taking a sip. “Everybody talks about this damn song as if he wrote it for me.”

Unbeknownst to you, the two others at the table exchanged pointed looks between one another when you were looking away. It was a wonder how Yunho was able to keep this all a secret from you. Though, even San and Wooyoung knew how busy you could get nowadays, so perhaps it really was just that easy. Plus, they had all at one point or another been privy to Yunho’s feelings—

“Speak of the Devil,” you perked up at the sight of your best friend emerging from the crowd with the others—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Jongho (vocal coach and album feature), and Yeosang (PR management)—in tow behind him. “We were wondering where you had gone off to.”

Yunho grinned as the lot of them squished into the circular seating arrangement with you, San, and Wooyoung. “Sorry, had to go round everyone up. The album should be queued up and ready to go.” He chose to sit on the end of the booth to your right while everyone else filled it up from the other side.

You offered him a sip of your drink, and he gladly took the glass from you. “So San and Woo were just telling me about how their tour prep is coming. You guys are leaving—what was it—two weeks from now?”

He hummed, smacking his lips as he set the glass back down on the table. “Yeah, it should be just about two weeks,” he said. His arm came up to rest against the back of the booth seat behind you. “You know, you can still come to the first stop with us…” This was said with a very pointed look at you from Yunho, followed by similar expressions from everyone else around the table.

“And you know that day’s when my supervisor holds quarterly meetings that are mandatory,” you shot back. As much as you hated the timing, the day that Yunho and the team planned to fly to their first stop on his world tour, you were required to be present for a very important meeting at work.

The Youth World Tour was something Yunho had been looking forward to and preparing for a long time. Besides working on the Youth album itself, his working hours extended over the past year or so to get ready for this major milestone. You would definitely be able to meet up with them at one of the tour stops, you just weren’t sure which one yet.

Things at your workplace were a little rocky as of late due to shifting management, but you would play it by ear. For your best friend, of course you would make it work somehow.

Your ears pricked up at the sound of strings strumming overhead and your heart leapt out of your ribcage for a moment. “Oh my god, I love this song.”

“You and me both, Yn,” Hongjoong chuckled across the table from you, reaching over so you could bump fists with him, “you’ve got good taste.”

“You’re only saying that because you wrote this one specifically,” Yunho sputtered out a laugh while rolling his eyes.

“It’s a good message,” you said, picking up your drink to take a generous gulp of it. There was a little left at the bottom of the martini glass and you swirled the liquid around before handing it over to Yunho to finish. “I think this one will definitely make it onto my work playlist.”

Yunho draped the back of his hand over his forehead, setting the now empty glass on the table. “Wow, relegated to the work playlist. Is that all I am to you?”

“You are a mood maker,” you pointed out with a teasing smile.

“Bro, you're complaining as if Yn doesn't put her work playlist on for everything she does.” Mingi arched his brows over the rims of his sunglasses. (Why was he wearing sunglasses indoors and at night? You didn't know; he said something about looking cool.)

Wooyoung chuckled. “What? So let's say you're trying to sleep—”

“Yah, I have a different playlist for that! I'm not completely unreasonable.”

“Completely,” Yunho and Mingi said at the same time, then looked at each other with wide, excited eyes. They bursted out laughing at once, too, leaving you to deadpan at the two clowns to your eleven o'clock and three o'clock.

You sighed. “I hate you guys.”

That only made them laugh louder, spurring on the others to crack smiles and for you to do the same.

Yunho calmed slightly, his cheeks hurting from smiling. “Aw, you walked right into that one, Yn.”

“So you're saying you are, in some capacity, unreasonable—oh my god, don't hurt me!” Mingi shrieked as he shoved Yeosang's body in front of him like a human shield as you lurched forward and threatened to grab him.

Yeosang sent Mingi a dirty look as he wrestled out of his neighbor's hold. “Dude.”

“Jongho, protect me.”

The vocal coach popped the olive from his martini into his mouth. “If you can't handle the heat, hyung, stay out of the kitchen.”

You nodded, raising your pointer finger up. “Exactly.”

For the next hour, you and your friends shared good company and conversation, while also commenting on, praising, and enjoying the tunes from Yunho's Youth album. There were a good thirteen songs featured on the album, and while most of them were inspired by real life, you remembered the days and nights when Yunho would break out the white board under his bed to draw out a concept map of the storyline he'd created in his head for some songs. It was like a miniature Easter egg hunt for fans to piece together from album to album.

When the clock hit nearly midnight, you recognized the song that marked the end of the conventional album—track number thirteen, 22. It was a song that reflected and lamented on his early stages of adulthood, all the goods and bads, all the hopes and dreams he had left. It was something that tied the regular album with a satisfying bow, but you were also giddy to hear the secret fourteenth deluxe track.

But as his ethereal voice from 22 faded out, the same guitar chords from the first song of the album began to play.

Everyone at the table paused in confusion.

“Uhh, I thought you were revealing the hidden track tonight, Yunho?” Seonghwa asked from across the table.

Yunho tilted his body out of the booth to peer into the sound booth at the very back of the lounge, a furrow in his brow. “I thought I was, too,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Yunho disappeared past the door to the sound booth. You frowned as Hongjoong excused himself to catch up with him, mumbling something about helping with any technical difficulties.

In retrospect, it wouldn't be the biggest deal if you didn't get to hear the song tonight. You would simply listen to it when the deluxe album dropped in about a week, but you wouldn't deny that you were a little disappointed. Everyone else at this table had already listened to it—why had Yunho not shared it with you yet? Did he think you would judge him or not like it? You didn't think you were ever so harsh a critic, but that would explain why he was so nervous all night.

Regardless, you remained positive.

When Yunho and Hongjoong returned to the table, the rest of you all looked on to them expectantly.

“Something wacky is going on with the system right now and won't play the file for the hidden track,” Hongjoong huffed. He passed Yunho a sidelong glance, and you saw how Yunho avoided his friend's eyes like the plague. “Sorry to disappoint, Yn.”

Everyone's attention whipped toward you, and you straightened like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, uhm, it's no biggie,” you said. You glanced over at Yunho who, if anything, seemed guilty. Or maybe it was just something apologetic. “Really—I can wait for it to drop officially.”

You didn't like how the air seemed to shift during this exchange, as if all the other boys were sitting on the edges of their seats, faces morphed into mixed ranges of confusion and disbelief.

You cleared your throat. “Anyone want more drinks?”

As the night waned and the party came to a close, you found yourself being helped into another Uber car to head home. After the supposed tech glitch, the remainder of the party passed by without a hitch. At the very end, Yunho popped open a theatrical bottle of champagne for all his guests to close out the celebration.

The backseat door closed just as Yunho ducked in with you, his hand waving out the window to San, Wooyoung, and Jongho passing by along the curb.

The alcohol had gradually made its way to your brain, and there was a light buzzing at the base of your skull that made you feel all warm and fuzzy. You yawned, leaning your head against Yunho's shoulder.

He chuckled, one of his hands coming up to gently pat your head. “Tired?”

“Mhm,” you hummed as your eyelids fluttered closed. “You didn't have to lie, y'know.”

You felt his shoulder tense under your cheek. If only you could feel the rapid beating in his chest, then he'd be as good as done.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he replied innocently, nimble fingers running over the chain links of his wristwatch.

Your eyes cracked open slowly. “Yunho.”

A beat passed, then he sighed. “Are you mad?” He asked quietly and his hand nearest to you found yours as he began to mindlessly inspect the chipped nail polish on your fingertips.

“No, silly. Why would I be mad?” When he didn't respond right away, you let out an exhale of your own. “I mean, I could tell you were nervous about me listening to the song all night. And if you weren't ready for me to listen to it yet, then I totally get that, and I'm okay with waiting. I just would rather you tell me that instead of make Hongjoong lie for you.”

He stopped playing with your fingers. “I'm sorry, for the record. Thank you for understanding.”

You hummed in reply.

The drive continued on with the accompaniment of a random radio station playing on low volume. You weren't going to fall asleep just yet with the alcohol still working its way through your system, but you kept your eyes closed nonetheless.

“I missed you, you know?” Were his first words to break the next silence.

A small smile wormed its way onto your face. “I missed you, too. I feel like we haven't seen each other in forever.”

He chuckled, the low sound rumbling through his chest and into your ear. “Texting can only take us so far. Isn't that crazy? We can't even survive a week without hanging out, but we're… we're about to be separated for so much longer timewise and distance-wise.”

You grumbled. “Don't remind me—wait. Has it really only been a week?” You peeked one eye open, a frown coming to your lips. “No way.”

Yunho smiled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, stargirl. It's been only a week.”

“In-fucking-sane.”

“You're telling me.”

“How are we going to survive?” You pondered aloud, genuinely. If you couldn't fly out to see him within the first handful of tour stops, you and Yunho at the soonest wouldn't be able to see each other for three weeks. And if you couldn't escape your work duties and your PhD responsibilities, then it would be longer than that. “You're gonna have a closer relationship with your Valorant account than me.”

Yunho snorted. “I already have a closer relationship with my Valorant account than you.”

“Shucks.” You breathed out. “Guess I'll just text Hongjoong then. You know what he told me tonight when we were exchanging numbers? All eight of you nerds have a group chat and he gets ignored like a mom in a family chatroom.”

Your comment made a laugh tumble out of Yunho's mouth. “Did he make that analogy?”

“No, Seonghwa did when he overheard.”

A wheeze. “That tracks.” Yunho licked his lips as he turned his head slightly to glance down at you leaning on his shoulder. With his free hand, he warmed his palm over your head like he could keep you here forever. “So what's this about texting Joong?”

You shifted your position to get more comfortable and clung to his arm to press yourself closer. There was still a little ways to go before you reached your apartment. “I told him offhandedly that I wanna pick up a new hobby… something about crocheting or something, and apparently that guy is like… amazing at everything, so he's gonna help me out.”

“Ah.” The sound was quiet. “I'm glad you guys got along.”

You smiled to yourself. “Me too. He's really cool.”

“Not cooler than me though, right?”

You blindly reached over to pat his chest in warm reassurance. “Don't worry, big guy. I guess you're still the coolest guy I know.”

He clicked his tongue at you with a weak chiding, “Yah. You only guess? Don't tell Mingi that.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.”

The Uber eventually pulled up along the curb outside your apartment complex. You lifted your head up from Yunho's shoulder and woke yourself up with a good stretch of your limbs.

He helped you out of the car, handing you your purse when you finally got your bearings. “Are you sure I can't walk you up? You look like your knees are about to buckle,” he chuckled.

You shook your head. The cool evening air was helping your brain to sober up. “No, no. Don't worry about it—I’m not as drunk as that one year.”

“Dear heart, how could I forget,” he teased. “Mingi still has the recording of when you begged to be bridal carried.”

Your face warmed at his mention of that memory and you wrinkled your nose at him. “I was gonna say ‘I love you’ along with goodnight, but I suppose not.”

Yunho froze. “What?”

Maybe you really weren't sobering up, because you didn't catch his strange reaction. “Nevermind,” you said flippantly. “Love you, Yun. Good night. Get home safe!”

He seemed to unfreeze, his lungs filling with breath again. A soft smile melted onto his pretty lips as he looked on toward you with a warm fondness. “Love you, too. Good night, Yn.”

He remained where he was outside the car door as he watched you dig your keys out from your purse and open the complex door. When you had one foot inside, you stopped, and turned back to him with a big grin on your face. “Hey!”

“Hey?” He laughed.

“I'm proud of you.”

For the thousandth time tonight, you made him lose his breath, his hold on reality. He swallowed—he wanted to kiss you. “I love you. Get some rest, stargirl.”

You waved to him in reply and he waved back. Then you disappeared through the door and left him there, his heart full and beating fast, the longing in his chest weighing heavier than before.

When you and Yunho were thirteen, you spent the longest period of time away from each other for the rest of your lives. It measured to about one summer break long when Yunho flew to South Korea to spend the entire vacation there and you could do nothing but chat with him via good, old fashioned e-mail.

Now that the two of you were older, even a couple days dragged on like an eternity. And because of your clashing and stacked schedules, a couple days almost always bled into a week.

A week since the release of Youth marked the inevitable release of its deluxe edition and the ever mysterious fourteenth track.

“Yn, wait, can you just help me finish this set of primers?”

You were this close to escaping the lab before one of your colleagues caught you. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to turn back and help them out. One less thing to worry about later, right? You could still listen to the track once you got home.

Except you couldn't, at least not right away. You saw the email on the bus ride home:

Hello TAs! One of your peers has unfortunately been involved in a motorbike accident early this evening. We have been informed that they will recover to full health, but because they are hospitalized, we will need to redistribute responsibilities regarding grades and as to who will cover their TA sections…

You skimmed down the email's contents, knowing you wouldn't be the one filling in as an actual TA. Because you were a first year graduate student in your first quarter, you opted to start off with grading work for now. But even if you didn't have to deal with a whole section of undergraduates, you could feel the blood drain from your face.

“You've gotta be shitting me,” you said, then slapped your hand over your mouth once you realized you'd said that aloud. You mouthed a sheepish “sorry” to a parent and her child nearby, then ducked your head to look at the contents once more.

There was no way they wanted—no, needed—all of those graded by tonight.

This was cruel and unusual punishment, but you knew you were going to do it anyway.

By the time you finished grading, shoveled dinner into your mouth, and took a therapeutically scalding hot shower, it was sometime past two in the morning. Thank fuck it was Saturday.

It was less than twelve hours later that you settled into the passenger seat of Yunho's Lexus sedan with a pair of shades covering your dehydrated, puffy eyes from the world and whatever paparazzi was stalking his car. Yunho glanced over at you with barely concealed amusement. “Well, good morning, princess.”

“You can't see it but I'm glaring at you,” you grunted as you strapped yourself in with the seatbelt. “I can't believe you wake up before noon now.”

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled, peeling his car away from the curb. After an unsatisfactory six hours of sleep, Yunho had woken you up with the obnoxiously loud sound of your phone ringing. You managed to negotiate for him to pick you up in two hours rather than half an hour—and now here you were. You never truly considered yourself a breakfast person and you would have happily slept all the way to lunch, but even through the exhaustion, you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you.

He would be gone by the end of the week, after all.

You leaned your head back against the headrest. “I used to have to lure you out of bed with the smell of bacon. Remember when you ate that entire plate of raw-ass bacon and pancake batter that Mingi made?”

Yunho let out a loud laugh that made you smile. He glanced over at you. “Bro,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you know I'll eat anything. Oh my gosh, I will never forget the horrified look on your face when you came out of the bathroom and found out what happened.”

“You looked like a kicked puppy when I told you that you shouldn't have eaten raw bacon,” you snorted. You'd felt so awful that Yunho was such a good eater who didn't complain; he didn't have any negative side effects afterward, thankfully, but you swore to never let Mingi in the kitchen or to let Mingi feed Yunho ever again, so long as you lived.

There was a café a few minutes drive from your apartment complex that the two of you liked to go to. It was a little hole in the wall, located on the second floor above a pet shelter, and the entrance could only be accessed through the stairs in the next-door alleyway.

Yunho adjusted the beanie over his bangs and you shifted your sunglasses up to the top of your head as you entered the establishment. There were a few people seated in the area to the right, but something you liked about this place was its hidden gem quality. (And the drinks and food they served, of course.)

“Hi, welcome in!” The barista behind the counter called before ducking behind the espresso machine. “Give me two seconds, and I'll be right with you.”

“No worries, take your time,” Yunho chirped back as he scoured the menu, eyes squinting and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You had a general idea of what you wanted already, and you let Yunho know what it was before slipping off into the restroom.

By the time you emerged from the back hallway where the washrooms were, Yunho had finished ordering and was standing by one of the open two-seater tables by the far window with the soft autumn sunlight painting over his features. For a second, you stood at the opening of the hallway, just admiring him. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep making you envision the sunlight dancing around him as he sat down in one of the seats.

Heat rushed up your neck as your eyes met across the café. Gazes locked, you stood frozen, but a smile bloomed on your best friend's face like the coming of spring. It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

And then he made a face, cocking his head to the side like a puppy with a question. 'Why are you just standing there?’ He seemed to ask.

You shook yourself out of whatever strange daze you'd slipped into, then walked over to join him.

“You okay?” He asked as you took the seat across from him, a teasing lilt to his voice, yet there was still concern in the curve of his mouth.

You waved said concern away. “Yeah. I think I'm still waking up or something.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. He frowned. “What time did you go to sleep last night?”

“Like… some time past two.” On cue, you let out a large yawn, lifting your sleeve up to cover your mouth. “It's okay. I'll just sleep early tonight or something. One of the other TAs got into an accident, so we just had to do some make-up work and I just happened to get home late as it was.”

You could already see the guilt manifest on his face for waking you up, and you were swift to add, “I'll be fine with food and coffee, so 's alright. What about you? How'd you sleep last night?”

“I slept decently,” he replied, leaning forward to rest his cheek against his fist. “I didn't end up dropping the deluxe album, so it was a little more restful than—”

Your brain took a second to catch up. The… the deluxe album… oh. Your eyes went from half-mast to wide open. “You—you didn't release the deluxe? Sorry, I was so busy yesterday that I didn't check my socials.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said with a sheepish smile. “But yeah, I told my manager that I still wasn't ready to release it to the public just yet. I don't know when I'll postpone it to, but it probably won't come out until while I'm on tour.”

Ah. There was that disappointment settling in the pit of your stomach again. This wasn't about you, but why did it seem like he was avoiding your eventual listening to this song? He was almost always sending you audio files without prompting, so what made this one different?

Nonetheless, it wasn't your song. You would respect Yunho's privacy if he wanted to keep this one to himself and his friends.

You unconsciously rubbed your arm. “Oh okay. Yeah, I mean—take your time, Yun. I'm glad you don't feel pressured to release it when you aren't ready.”

His expression softened to something tender that made your chest feel fuzzy. “You'll listen to it soon, I promise.”

The barista called out Yunho's order number, and your friend stood up to go retrieve it. You sighed as you fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt and peered over your shoulder as a pair of newcomers asked him for his autograph and a picture. You watched the pleasant smile spread on Yunho's face as he conversed with them as easy as breathing air, alongside the faint blush over his cheekbones.

No, you didn't know what had gotten into you this morning.

“No, no. You have to loop it through this piece here—yeah, there you go.”

You were so concentrated on following Hongjoong's directions that you didn't even register the sound of Yunho's front door opening and closing. Hongjoong clicked his tongue and scooted closer so he could direct your hands and the crochet hook himself.

“Uhm… hey?”

Both yours and Hongjoong's heads whipped up at the sound of Yunho's confusion. He stood at the entrance to the living room area where, scattered all around you and Hongjoong, were clothes, toiletries, and other essentials laid out for Yunho to throw into his bags.

Tonight marked the evening before Yunho and the team were to set off on the Youth World Tour. Tomorrow, they would fly out sometime in the afternoon, which meant that you would have time to send them off before heading to work and class. However, because you hadn't seen Yunho since this past Saturday when he dragged your ass out of bed for breakfast, you invited yourself over to his apartment to oversee his packing. Hongjoong just so happened to be swinging by Yunho's apartment and you asked if he was up for an impromptu crocheting lesson.

Hongjoong arrived some time while Yunho ran out to the Chinese place down the block to grab dinner, and the two of you had been hunched over the ball of yarn and hook ever since.

“Oh, you're back!” You exclaimed. In your distracted state, Hongjoong took the opportunity to take the crochet piece from you and subtly fix the mistakes you made.

Yunho's brows creased, eyes darting from you to Hongjoong as he slowly placed the takeout bags on the semi-cleared coffee table. “Yeah… Joong, when did you get here?”

You leaned forward to help clear off the rest of the coffee table and to also assist in unpacking all of the takeout containers. Yunho shucked the baseball cap he was wearing off to the side, carding a hand through his dark locks.

“Like… seven minutes ago,” he replied cheekily. His mouth curled into something mischievous as he locked eyes with Yunho. “I can leave, though, if you wanted to be alone—”

“Hyung—”

“I'm messing with you,” he snickered as he handed you the yarn and hook. “I only came by to drop off the emergency backup files hard drive and to give Yn-ie a sneak peek of her crocheting lessons to come.”

(Yunho's eyes narrowed a millimeter. Yn-ie?)

You set the unfinished crochet square down on the couch to walk Hongjoong to the door. “Are we still on for tomorrow, by the way?”

“What's tomorrow?” Yunho twisted around where he was seated on the floor to watch you and Hongjoong make your way to the front door.

“You,” said Hongjoong with raised eyebrows at your best friend, “are going on a plane with everyone else. Because I'm not leaving until the day after tomorrow, Yn and I are bonding over lunch after we see you all off.”

You and Hongjoong finished up finalizing plans in the doorway, followed by amiable farewells. Yunho called out a “good night” to his friend as Hongjoong slipped out the door, and left you and him to the apartment by yourselves.

You claimed the spot on the floor next to him and accepted the pair of wooden chopsticks he extended to you. “I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to invite him in. I probably should've asked,” you said sheepishly as you snapped the chopsticks apart.

“Oh, no, he's been over quite a few times, so it's all good,” he replied swiftly. “I just didn't expect you two to be so close.” He added a laugh at the end that sounded more nervous to him than it was supposed to.

“We've been texting back and forth, but I guess so. Nothing like the two of you,” you jested, lifting your eyebrows up and bumping your elbow against his.

Yunho grinned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You guys spend all that time together in the studio—WHA—NO! Keep those hands to yourself!” You shrieked, rolling out of the way to dodge his hands that threatened to tickle you into submission. Yunho had thrown his head back in a carefree laugh, a beautiful expression in itself, that had you reciprocating.

When you were sure he wasn't going to attack you (affectionately), you scooted back over to your original spot next to him. He smiled to himself at the sidelong glance you casted him, and he went and grabbed one carton of rice for himself and the other for you.

“Thank you for dinner, by the way,” you told him as you opened up your carton, his somehow already opened and spilling over with food.

You once again caught him with his mouth full, and Yunho swallowed the bite of food he had before replying. “Yeah, man. Of course.”

“I swear that I will definitely get the next meal we have—”

“Yn.” He touched the back of his hand against your arm to draw your attention to him. “You literally were the one to make sure I made it out of college alive, like, I can never thank you enough for how much you did for me then and continue to do for me now.”

You swallowed, suddenly blown back by the way he looked at you right now. “I did it because I care about you, Yun. It's not something I expect to be repaid for.”

“I know,” he said with a nod, lips pulled into a tender smile that made your stomach do flips. This was the look no one else got to see from him. Sure, he could fill stadiums of people who would see his big, bright grin that shone brighter than the sun, but… but this one, this smile, was yours. “That goes the same toward this meal, okay?”

Yunho notched his finger under your chin and tilted your head up slightly to meet his eyes. “Don't worry about it.”

You set your carton of rice and chopsticks on the table, he copied your movements, and you wrapped each other in your mutual embraces. The startling realization that you wouldn't see him for longer than a week from tomorrow onward rushed toward you like the coming of a tide to shore. Before you knew it, the water was up to your knees, and you—what were you going to do without him here?

“I miss you already,” you whispered.

You felt him squeeze you tighter, nose pressed against the side of your neck. “I won't be gone too long.” A promise.

“Thank god Seonghwa and Wooyoung can cook.” At the sound of his snort from above your head, you squawked out in your defense, “Who else is gonna make you bacon and pancakes in the morning when you’re dead tired?”

“Hey! I can fry bacon, I’ll have you know!”

You pulled away from him so he could see the look of pure disbelief on your face. “Okay, rockstar. I believe you.”

He scrunched his nose up at you. “That’s not very convincing.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Yunho scoffed, reaching over to flick your nose. You let out a sound of indignation and rubbed your nose, a scowl on your face at Yunho’s very pleased expression. And even if you were currently conspiring on how to get back at him, you couldn’t help but resolve something right that second—you would do everything in your power to see his show in two weeks’ time—to see Yunho in two weeks’ time.

The thing about cheap plane tickets was that the cheaper you bought them, the less “amenities” that it came with. The one you’d purchased specifically for two weeks in the future did not allow you a refund. This meant that if something were to arise, you would be a good several hundred dollars poorer, and your plans to surprise Yunho at his show would fall completely through the floor.

Good thing you weren’t about to let that happen, right? …Right?

“You’re sick.” Those were your roommate Trinity’s first words to you as you stumbled out of your bedroom and found her perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. She fixed you with an unimpressed look as she stirred around her morning coffee.

“I’m not—” Your own response was cut off by one very untimely cough into your elbow. You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste at the back of your throat. Great. “—sick.”

“And I’m Oprah,” she deadpanned.

“You could be.” Did you really sound as much like a dying walrus as you thought you did? Holy shit.

She stood up from her stool, setting her coffee cup on the counter, then walked over to you to direct you back into your room. “I’m not permitting you exit from this apartment until you're better. Back to bed with you.”

“But—”

“No buts! If you wanna still be able to fly by the end of this week, then you have to get better, Yn.”

You really, unfortunately, could not argue with that. Nearly a week and a half had passed since Yunho started touring. Opening night had been a massive success, as you’d seen the broadcast and read the reviews on social media. In the concert photos and videos slowly being released online, there was no doubt in your mind that Yunho belonged onstage. He was radiant as a diamond in each depiction of him, and he sounded better and better each night.

Suffice to say, you were beyond proud and happy for him.

In order to make your surprise successful, you informed Yunho’s team of your plans so they could help you get into the concert once you arrived. Your part consisted mainly of finishing all of your work ahead of schedule so you weren’t swamped when you got back. It was nearing the end of the term, meaning there was lots to grade and study, but when you had a goal, you were determined.

The only downside was that, between the long days and nights of work, your body couldn’t fight against the swift rush of early winter air that swept through the city in the past week. Your working hours stretched out longer and longer until your body just… gave up. Or at least, it was giving up.

After calling in sick to your workplace, you crashed back into bed for what you hoped to be a restful nap. Maybe when you woke up, this would all just turn out to be a 24-hour fever.

(It was not a 24-hour fever.)

You didn't even know what time it was when you woke up groggy and your head pounding like there was an active construction site taking place in your skull. Your bedroom was dark, and the world outside your window was also dark. The sound of your phone ringing drilled into your cranium, and you groaned as you felt around your mess of blankets and sheets for wherever that damned thing was—

“Hello?” You croaked into the receiver when you finally grabbed ahold of your phone.

There was a pause on the other end, and you were about to ask who it was when they responded. “Oh my god. You're sick.”

Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of your best friend's voice and you shoved your face into the pillow. “I'm not sick.”

“Yn, sweetheart, you literally have the sexy sick voice.”

“You think I'm sexy?” You asked in a drowsy, unwell daze. “But anyways, I'm not—” You lifted your face into your elbow in time to practically hack out your lungs. You groaned. “Okay, maybe I am sick.”

Could things get any worse?

You could hear the frown in his voice. “You sound like my worst nightmare.”

“Am I sexy or your worst nightmare? You need to pick an adjective.” You whimpered as you struggled to pull yourself up into a sitting position.

“At least I know it did nothing to that attitude of yours,” he laughed. He sobered for a moment when he heard you groan as the blood rushed to your head. “Hey, do you have meds with you? I can order some and have them there in half an hour.”

You waved him off, even though he wouldn't be able to see. “No, it's okay. I should have taken an ibuprofen before I crashed. I'm sure we've got extra Nyquil around here somewhere…”

You attempted to stand up, a swear falling from your mouth as the vertigo hit you and sent you tumbling back down onto the edge of the bed.

“Yn, I'm sending you medicine—and dinner. That one bistro near your apartment is still open, right? I'll let Trinity know that deliveries are on the—Yn?”

You lifted your head and broke out of your return to unconsciousness. “Hm? Sorry… I did not hear anything you just said.” You rubbed your hand down your face and scooped your phone up to make your way out of your room. You somehow made it to the door, and you leaned against the doorjamb as you pushed out into the dark hallway. “You don't have to send anything, Yun. Trinity's studying for her law school finals, so I don't wanna bother her. Plus…”

You opened up the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and bit back a sigh of disappointment. No cold medicine. There was pain medication, at least, so that should hopefully help you fall asleep again.

At your lack of words, Yunho asked, “No medicine?”

“No, I have some medicine,” you countered. “Just—not the right ones.” Before you could swallow any pills, you hacked out another lung into your elbow; you swore your coughs were sounding worse and worse.

“You know what? I'm flying home—”

You slammed the pill bottle on the bathroom counter. “Don't—what? Yunho, do not fly home. It's literally just a little—” You coughed, “—cold. You have another show in two days. If you show up on my doorstep, I'm not opening the door.”

From the silence on his end, you knew he wasn't in total agreement with you. Maybe the bottle slamming was a little much, but his statement had surprised you. It didn't make sense for him to drop everything for you when you were experiencing something so trivial as a cold.

Not unkindly, you said to him, “I appreciate the concern, but you have bigger things to worry about and care about.”

“You will always be the most important thing I care about.”

His admission was so sincere that your heart gave a violent palpitation in your chest. You struggled to swallow, and it wasn't just because your throat was sore. “And I feel the same way about you,” you murmured, “but I can take care of myself, okay? I'll be back to normal in no time.”

You heard a sigh from his end. “I know; you're right. I just… wish I was there with you right now.”

You could understand that—it was how you felt. But some things couldn't be helped, and Yunho needed to be where he was and you needed to be where you were. You could hold down the fort while he was gone taking over the world by storm.

You closed the bathroom door to give an extra barrier between your voice and where Trinity was studying in her room. After knocking back a couple painkillers, you seated yourself on the floor with your back against the bathtub and your knees pulled up to your chest. “You know what's kind of ironic?” You coughed into your elbow and wrestled down another one bubbling up in your throat. You shouldn't have been speaking so much, but you could deal with the repercussions later. “I think I freaked out when you said you were going to fly home, not just because that's insane, but also because I was going to surprise you by flying out to your show in a couple days.”

He sucked in a breath. “You were gonna come surprise me?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, swiping at your nose and tucking your chin to your knees. Then you had to go and screw it all up, and you couldn't even get your money back. You pretty much accepted that you weren't going to be better by the time the day rolled around, especially not for travel. “I'm sorry I couldn't come see you.”

“No, don't be sorry!” He cooed. “I'm—I’m really sorry you're sick and I'm sad you couldn't make it, but… but think of it this way, hm? As soon as you get better, I'll fly you out to whatever city I'm in and we can hang out and you can come to the concert. All you have to do is get better for me.”

You didn't know if your schedule would allow after this setback, but you were going to remain optimistic. With a small glimmer of hope peering through your chest, you replied, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the fond smile in his voice.

“By the way,” you began, and had to clear your throat from how congested it was getting. Maybe some hot tea would do you good. You clambered to your feet to get out of this bathroom and do just that. “Was there a reason you called originally or was it just to say hi?”

A beat of hesitation passed between your question and his answer. “Ah…” There was a wince in his voice, “I, uhm, called because I wanted to know if you'd seen something online, but obviously you haven't 'cause you were asleep, but…”

Seen something online? Your movements with your electric kettle paused. Had someone posted something about Yunho? “What is it, Yun?” Who's ass did you need to beat?

“Seonghwa hyung found out that someone leaked the hidden track online a few hours ago.”

You leaned your cheek against your palm, eyebrows knitting together. “Shit, dude. I'm so sorry,” you said with a frown. That meant some rando on the internet had hacked into someone's files and leaked the song.

A sharp exhale from Yunho's end. “Yeah, I dunno. We're working on getting it taken down right now, but in the event it can't be done soon enough, I think I'm just gonna release the deluxe version in a couple hours.”

It seemed by his response that it wasn't the hacking that was his primary concern. Leaked, unreleased songs happened to every major artist in the industry, and it had most definitely happened to Yunho before this. But this time… this time felt different. You knew how hesitant he was to release this, and having the track get released to the public on terms that weren't his? Well, that just wasn't fair.

“You don't,” you said softly, reaching for a mug in the top cabinet to plop your tea bag into, “have to release it officially right now. You can still wait until you're comfortable.”

You heard sounds of shuffling on his end, followed by the sound of a door opening. You thought you heard Yeosang's voice as he murmured something to Yunho. The exchange was swift, but it reminded you that your time with your best friend here was limited.

“Do you need to go?” You asked, trying to cover up your hope that he didn't have to with nonchalance.

He hummed. “It's okay, I have a few minutes left. They want me to 'okay’ a couple things out on set, but that can wait. Uhm… as for what you said about releasing it—I,” he sighed, “I think this was the push I needed to finally drop it, y'know? I think either way I was going to be scared for—for people to hear it—for you to hear it. But uhm… yeah. That's all I wanted to say. I think it'll probably be released whenever you wake up.”

You poured the hot water of your tea bag, setting the kettle down gently. Letting the steam rise up to help clear your congestion, you could finally think a little clearer now. “I'm sorry this didn't happen on your terms.”

“I appreciate that. I hope you like the song—I… I really hope you like the song.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I'm going to like the song, rockstar. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

He let out a small laugh and the sound of his happiness, however big or small, made your chest feel heavy. “I’ve missed you so much,” he rasped out. “So much.”

You pressed your forehead to your fist, willing the prickling feeling of tears at bay. “I wish I was there—I’ve wished I was there with you the moment you left. But I'm so, so proud of you. I know I've said this before, but you belong on that stage, Yunho. I'll be there… I'm always there in spirit.”

“You can't say that and expect me not to fly my ass home right now.”

You sputtered out a laugh, which was probably a bad idea, because it led to an utter disaster of a coughing fit. When you finally managed to get a reign on things, you picked up your mug of tea and took a couple ginger sips. It was still piping hot, but whatever scalding temperature it was at somehow soothed your throat and your head.

You set the cup down. “Again, I'll be there in no time, I promise.”

“You swear on your life?”

You sighed, but you pressed your lips into a smile. “I swear on my life.”

Yunho's departure from this call was imminent, and so you made further promises to get plenty of rest and to take care of yourself. You only did so when he promised to do the same for himself. Just after you both hung up, you received a text message from him: Stay up for five more minutes!! The delivery's almost there.

You huffed out a rough-sounding laugh, and bit your tongue around a smile. Of course he had still ordered you stuff. You shook your head to settle on one of the kitchen stools to nurse your tea and wait for the delivery to get here.

When the driver was safely out of bounds of your door, you poked your head out into the hallway to grab the paper bags seated on your doorstep. You had only expected medicine and maybe dinner, but not only were there cold medicines, orange juice, and hot soup from the bistro down the street, but there was a bouquet of flowers there, too.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you pulled everything into the safety of your apartment. Damn Jeong Yunho and his gestures. It didn't mean anything—they were just Get Well Soon flowers, but why did you kind of wish they were more than that?

The Youth album's fourteenth track entitled your space hit the charts at number two. By the time you woke up, still sick as hell, the track had been officially released for about eight hours. You rolled over in bed to guzzle down half a bottle of water and cold medicine, then grabbed your phone.

It seemed that social media blew up while you were asleep. The deluxe drop was trending under a couple different tags, and based on initial skims, you were happy to report that most had everything good to say about it.

Though, some of the commentary made you pause. He has to be seeing someone, said one user. Look at these lyrics. These could only be produced by a man in love.

You had to swipe out of the app at that point. Instead, you went over to yours, Yunho's, and Mingi's group chat together where Mingi and Yunho had waged a meme war while you were asleep after Mingi wished you a “Get Better Soon” message. You sent back your own meme in response and opened your music streaming app to find track fourteen.

The boys would probably all be asleep by now, so they wouldn't respond any time soon.

You found your space exactly where you thought it would be, at the very bottom of the deluxe album. You sat yourself up against your headboard, plugged your earbuds in, then hit play.

If only you knew how much it would rock your world.

Hongjoong was never wrong about his hunches. It had been about a week and a half since you came down with an awful cold and couldn't make it to your intended surprise show, and slightly less than that since the deluxe album dropped. Even before the tour started, life was a whirlwind, but now that the tour was only ramping up further from this point, it had been nothing short of a total rush.

Different cities every week, at least two nights a city—all of it took a toll on both the staff and artist involved. Hongjoong's hunch, however, regarded the artist in particular as he watched said artist keep his smile up to say goodnight to the remainder of the stadium workers who lingered for cleanup. Yesterday was their last show date in this city, and today, Yunho and his team had come by to help load everything up for transport to their next destination. Tomorrow, they would fly out and be in the next city to begin preparing for the next round.

But as Yunho began making his way toward the exit where Hongjoong was waiting for him, it was impossible to miss the immediate exhaustion that flooded his features. He carded a hand through his hair as he checked his phone, then pocketed it in the back pocket of his pants.

“Hey,” Yunho nodded to Hongjoong as he met him at the exit and they both walked out into the chilly evening together. There was already a car waiting at the curb to take them back to their hotel—there was still so much that needed to be done before they left for the airport tomorrow.

“Hey,” he said back. “Everything okay?”

Yunho glanced over at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine; just tired. I think it's a good thing I started packing before we came here earlier,” he mused. For him to pack early? A miracle.

Hongjoong bobbed his head in understanding. “Yeah, I get that, but that's not really—you know you can be honest with me, right? I know this has all been… a lot.” And Hongjoong would understand; he had been in the public eye for so long now, and all of that could be so incredibly draining. From catering to fans and journalists and sponsors, it could be difficult finding himself amongst all that mess.

Plus, Yunho had the added bit of being away from home for a very long time. From what Hongjoong understood, Yunho only used to tour relatively close to home, and when it was farther, it was during his school breaks. He also knew that you were an integral part of Yunho's sanity, and that even before he reached this level of fame, you were his rock, his anchor, his ground control.

Being away from you for so long was beginning to show. When Hongjoong brought it up offhandedly to Mingi, Mingi was swift to agree.

“I—” Yunho began as he slipped into the passenger seat and Hongjoong into the back of the car. He murmured a soft greeting to the driver before strapping himself in with a seatbelt. “—it definitely has been hard,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don't know, Joong. You know that rush you get while onstage, but it just comes crashing down a couple hours later? Like the adrenaline leaves you all at once and all you crave for is home?”

Hongjoong pursed his lips, watching Yunho lean the side of his head against the window as he watched the world pass by. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “The moments between all the rush and excitement, you're no longer distracted from how much it all is.”

A nod. “Yeah.”

“You miss her?” It was less of a question and more so a statement. Hongjoong's hunches were never incorrect. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Yunho's quiet was answer enough.

Hongjoong played around with the back of his phone case. He knew you had listened to the song—he’d asked Yunho and you'd texted Hongjoong, too. Yunho reported that you gushed about the song and affirmed him in all his choices and lyricism as always, but he was certain that you didn't get it. But when you had run to Hongjoong questioning your own feelings and if Yunho had been scared to tell you if he was in love with someone, Hongjoong could confidently say that you did get it, just not one hundred percent.

There was still miscommunication in the message, but he knew that was only something that the two of you could sort out.

“Have you guys talked since last week?”

“Yeah, we have. She's been…” He pushed a breath out of his mouth, “... She's been working her ass off trying to make up for the amount of time she was sick. I don't even know how she isn't getting sick again. I mean—all the shit she has to weather through—I wish I could help.”

And he couldn't, not like how he wanted to, not from so far away. Maybe that was what was eating him up inside the most, besides the fact he believed his feelings to be unrequited.

The car pulled up to the back entrance of the hotel Yunho and his team were staying at for the time being. The two of them thanked the driver on their way out, and they were swiftly greeted by employees coming out of the back for their breaks.

When they reached the warmth of their hotel floor's hallway, Yunho said to Hongjoong, “I miss her so much.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his Youth World Tour hoodie, eyes lined in silver. “I worry about her so much, too. I'm sure she worries just as much about me and I know that she's more than capable about taking care of herself—’cause god, she was the one who kept me afloat all these years, and I—”

I love her.

He slapped his key card against the reader and shoved into his hotel room with Hongjoong trailing after with a sympathetic frown on his face.

“It just feels wrong sometimes when I can't be with her. Is that crazy?”

Hongjoong settled a warm hand on Yunho's shoulder as the latter sat down on the edge of his bed. “It's not crazy,” he said. He'd felt like that about a person, once upon a time. After everything Hongjoong had gone through with his last relationship, one might think he didn't believe in love, but he was still clawing for it. He wanted something that he could see manifesting between you and Yunho. He wanted to help you reach that.

He sighed and sat down next to him. “It's completely valid to feel this way, y'know? She's been a huge part of your life and your passions, and for you to see all this without her seems incomplete.”

Yunho nodded. “Yeah.”

“You can go home whenever you want, you realize that?” Hongjoong asked. “We have time built into each week to give you rest days, man. We can make that work.” It might be a little tiring for so much travel, but one trip back wouldn't hurt, especially when it could help his mental state more than simply powering through.

“I know,” he replied. “I don't… I just feel like I want her to see that I can do this, that she didn't put her trust and energy into someone who would fall so fast—”

“Do you seriously believe she would think about you that way?”

Yunho's expression shuddered, and he let out a shaky breath as he shook his head.

Hongjoong arched his brow. “Exactly. She would never fault you for needing a break. Being human is not a sign of weakness, Yunho. She's your best friend—I think she has more forgiveness and compassion for you than that.”

Yunho swallowed. Of course what Hongjoong said was right. You wouldn't look at him any different if he needed a break; it was just a thing about being kinder to himself. But sometimes it was hard to put that into perspective, and perhaps he just needed someone to do that for him.

With no good choice made without a decent night of sleep, Hongjoong bid Yunho goodnight.

As soon as Hongjoong slipped out of his friend's room, he sighed and mentally calculated what time it would be where you were. You should have been awake.

And awake, you definitely were.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't been listening to the song your space on repeat for the past week and a half. Even as you sat in one of the campus dining halls doing work and eating your crappy sandwich for lunch, your headphones were spilling with your best friend's gorgeous croons.

You questioned everything at the same time. You'd figured out two days after you first heard it that you were in love with your best friend.

The lyrics had resonated with you, and you had come to the startling conclusion that you felt the song's meaning toward Yunho.

All you could do since was freak the fuck out and tell Yunho that the song was incredible. You didn't know who the song was for or about, but you knew it was important to him because of how scared he was to release it. Had he been scared to tell you he was in love with someone? Why?

Sometimes you found yourself tearing apart the lyrics like a rabid trash panda.

I couldn't ever leave you behind They couldn't ever take me away Baby, if I could pick a heaven on Earth It would be anywhere in your space.

You broke away from your work and sandwich to the sound of a text notification. Suddenly remembering how loud your vibration ringer was, you silenced it, then opened up Hongjoong's message: I know you're probably moping and eating a shitty sandwich—what. You glanced down at said shitty sandwich that sat in its equally sad plastic container. How did he know…? —and he's not doing well either. He's miserable, dude.

Everything slowed for you, and it was no longer about your so-called epiphany. You felt your entire body and mood drop at the news. You'd seen social media posts commenting on Yunho's stage presence and brightness never fading, but there were always the one or two who noted something along the lines of him seeming too tired or that perhaps he didn't have enough stamina for this.

The latter comments made your blood pressure spike, but there was, unfortunately, some truth to it. You just didn't think it was this bad.

You pressed the backs of your knuckles against your eyes. You hadn't been doing the best, clearly, and you knew that it was largely because you missed him. Being away from someone you considered home for so long meant that you were bound to get homesick.

You didn't know what to do. There was so much work to be done, and you had just caught up. On top of that, you were short a few hundred dollars from the last time you tried to fly out.

Another message buzzed in from Hongjoong: I think you guys really need to talk.

The organ in your chest rattled around in its cage; it longed to be with its partner. You were starting to understand that now.

The song playing in your ear was slowly petering out, and all you could hear was his voice.

And I've kinda been wanting to ask if we can Skip the 'why’ and get to the 'our’ Because baby, I love your space But I love ours more.

Yunho had not flown home that week. Some emergencies had sprung up as soon as they landed in their new city, and all bets were off to be able to go home. All that he could do was buckle down and get comfortable. Even so, he knew how to make the best out of a situation.

As he stood at the very center of the main stage, he held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright spotlights shining down on him now.

“Is that better?” Hongjoong's voice echoed throughout the near-empty stadium.

From one of the balconies, Jongho cupped his hands up around his mouth to scream at the top of his lungs, “LOOKS GOOD, HYUNG!”

“Jongho,” Yunho chuckled into his microphone, “did someone not get you a headset, bro?”

A beat passed, and then, “NO.”

Mildly amused laughter cropped up around the stadium in reaction to the youngest's troubles. It was little moments like these where Yunho could forget for one second just how tiring all of this amounted to become. His smile was genuine, and his tongue darted out to trace his teeth—

“Jeong Yunho, put your damn tongue away.”

Yunho's eyes went as wide as saucers, his expression morphing into something like childlike surprise as he immediately retracted his tongue into his mouth. But in the split second it took his brain to process the words that had been said, he also recognized the voice who'd said them. From the big screen, any one of the staff members or you could see the way his face stretched into the widest grin possible, his eyes lighting up like spotlights.

He lifted the mic in his hand up to his lips as he tilted his eyes up to the sound and lighting box far up in the stands. From where he was onstage, he could just make out the shape of you in the box next to Hongjoong—the sneaky bastard. “Ln Yn, get your ass down here right now,” he said, hardly able to contain the excitement in his voice.

You didn't need to be told twice.

You raced down the stadium steps from the box, your legs carrying you as fast as humanly possible without falling. Yunho leapt off the stage and left his microphone behind to meet you in the middle.

Somewhere between the pit and mezzanine, you flew into his arms and he caught you, spinning you around. The glee on both of your faces was enough to make everyone stop and appreciate the tangible love before them. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you pursed your lips to subdue them. You squeezed him as tight as you possibly could; his arms held you firmly around your waist, head tucked into the joint between your neck and shoulder.

“You're here,” he croaked with tears in his voice now. You heard him sniffle, and only held him tighter. He felt the added strength and let out a sob. “I missed you so much.”

Oh, for fuck's sake—you started bawling like a baby. “I—” you sucked in a breath, “—I heard—so I booked a flight—”

This only caused his body to tremble harder. “Oh god… Yn… I…”

You sniffled and brushed your hand over the back of his head in an attempt to get both of you to calm down. “Hey, don't worry about it, okay? It doesn't matter; you know I'd drop everything for you.” When his only response was to press his wet eyes against the heat of your neck, you blinked away your tears. “Plus, I missed you, too, rockstar.”

Yunho let out a watery laugh, gently setting you down onto solid ground. You both looked like a hot mess and a half: snot dripping out of your noses, eyes red and drowned in salty tears. The adrenaline rush from the surprise had trickled out of your system, but your heartbeat continued to rattle around in your chest with reckless abandon. His messy, damp hair; the wobbly shine in his dark brown irises; the way he smiled at you with that something on his face… he was everything to you.

“Glad to know the feeling's mutual,” he said, nudging you with his elbow, then pawing at his eyes to wipe the tears away.

“Good to see you, Yn!” San piped up from the stage with his microphone. He had picked up Yunho's microphone from where he'd abandoned it to come meet you.

You laughed, lifting a hand up in a wave. “Hey, San! Hi everyone!”

Chimes of greetings from all the other boys and staff members cropped up from all around the arena.

Yunho brushed a hand through his hair and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Did all you fuckers know about this?”

Mingi was perched on the ledge of the stage. His grin seemed to be the widest after watching your reunion. He tugged the microphone attached to his earpiece closer to his mouth. “Don't tell us you're not grateful now.”

“Nah, I'm just surprised Wooyoung was able to keep his mouth shut.”

Wooyoung didn't need a microphone to let you all know of his offense. You could hear his squawk of disapproval all the way from where you stood—crazy how acoustics worked.

Yunho heard your laugh from beside him, and he glanced over at you to catch the fond look on your face. He hadn't stopped smiling for the past five minutes, and it didn't matter how much his cheeks hurt. You were here; that was all that mattered.

“This place is—” you marveled as the two of you began walking down the stairs together toward the stage. The backs of your hands brushed against one another, breaths away from touching, from lacing, from being together. “—huge. It's so much more—” You felt your lip wobble again, “I don't even know why I'm getting emotional. It's all you dreamed of as a kid, wasn't it?”

The tears pricked at the edges of his eyes again, and the two of you looked back at each other with equally wet eyes and bright smiles. “Yeah,” he nodded, swiping at his eyes.

“You deserve it.”

“All thanks to you,” he said with a sniffle, hugging you to him again. You were solid and real beneath his fingertips—he was so happy you were here. This was where you belonged; none of this felt right without you.

When you finally reached the bottom of the pit, Yunho had to run back up to the stage, and you went through the aisles until you found your perfect seat. It wasn't long before Mingi bounded up the steps to come join you. He brought you in for a long awaited hug of his own.

“What's good, Yn?” He asked with a soft chuckle as he pulled away and settled in the seat to your left.

Just ahead, Yunho appeared onstage with his microphone in hand, and the two of you lifted your hands in sync to wave to your best friend.

You adjusted your bag in your lap, and clasped a hand on Mingi's shoulder. “This is surreal. Does it feel surreal?”

Mingi's lips pulled into a smile as nostalgia made his vision cloudy. “It does, every single time. I'm glad you're finally here—we’re all very happy that you're here now.”

You bumped your head against his shoulder and let it rest there for a moment, and his hand came up to gently pat your head to tell you he understood. You didn't need to say anything.

For the next hour and a half, you and Mingi got to watch Yunho and everyone else run through the last of the day's lighting checks. Periodically, someone else from Yunho's personal team would come and sit with the two of you, then leave quickly when they had something else on their to-do list.

At last, when the session wrapped up and everyone was sent to go home for an early night, you rushed down to meet with Yunho again.

He waited for you to be at his side before leading you down toward backstage. “There's a couple things I need to grab in my dressing room before we can head back to the hotel.” A thought suddenly interrupted his thoughts and his eyes widened. “Do you have accommodations? Please tell me you do.”

“Don't worry—I promise I'm not sleeping on the streets,” you teased. You'd figured all of that out pretty last minute with Hongjoong and Mingi's help.

Yunho nodded, a smile coming to his face. “Okay, good. I was gonna offer my room and I could sleep on the pullout couch.”

The thought of sleeping in the same room as him made your skin warm, and if you hadn't realized your feelings for him before, you would be confused as to why you were so flustered at the thought now. It wouldn't be the first time you had a sleepover. But this would be… different. Oh lord.

The backstage hallways were scarce and dimly lit in order to save energy, but it was enough to guide you and Yunho's way to the star dressing room. You swallowed as you reached the door—the facade plastered with a pretty, gold star with his name on it—and followed him inside.

“Hey, Yun?” You asked him as you lingered by the door and he rushed around to grab his things. The room was decently spacious, and definitely larger than all the other ones from his past tours.

“Mhm?”

“Could we… talk about something?”

He glanced back over his shoulder as he threw things into his bag. “Yeah, ‘course.”

You toed at the polished ground, fingers twisting and wringing in front of you. “It’s about the song. The, uhm, the your space one.”

His movements paused. He looked up and connected gazes with you through the vanity mirror in front of him. Yunho cleared his throat and ducked his head to zip up his bag. “What—what about it?” He asked, shouldering his bag and meeting you back at the door.

He seemed unable to look you in the eyes directly now as he closed the door behind the both of you as you stepped out into the empty hallway.

“I just,” you stammered. Blood rushed up to your face and you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “I needed to know—I didn’t need to know—it’s your life and your song, and you have every right to have feelings for someone without me knowing. And I think I’m asking this for selfish reasons, but… are you seeing someone?”

The question caught him off guard, his eyes blowing wide open. “Wh—no. No, I am not seeing anyone. Why do you ask?”

“The song—I know I shouldn’t be indulging in what people on the internet say, much less in the opinions of those who don’t even know you, but I couldn’t help but agree with them when they say the lyrics, the—the feeling of the song—you’re in love, and I—” Your breath caught in your throat as you choked on the words lodged there: And I am in love with you.

Yunho pushed an exhale out of his mouth and stepped toward you. So much shone in his eyes right then, and it didn’t matter how much light there was in this damn hallway, his eyes would always glitter like twin diamonds. “I am in love with someone. Yn, I’m in love with you,” he said. “I thought that the song would make it obvious, which is why I was so scared for you to hear it, but I realize now that this was just something I should have said outright.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest and it wasn’t from the nerves anymore. God, your knees felt like buckling from the force of the tenderness in his eyes alone. “You’re—you’re in love with me?”

“I am,” he nodded. He slowly reached for your hands and clasped them within his own. “I’ve been in love with you since that day you ran out of Science Olympiad practice to come to my audition; I’ve been in love with you from the moment you yelled at me for not being ambidextrous and I had beef jerky in my mouth—”

“I did not yell at you!”

He broke out into a cheeky, yet fond grin, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face with his hand. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t imagine what life was like before I was in love with you—and yes, you did yell, but you can yell at me as much as you like, and I would still be head-over-heels for you.”

Your lip curled in on itself at all of his words, at everything he was revealing to you now. You wished you had known—oh, god, you wish you had known. You didn’t know if things would have been different, but for some reason, you had a feeling that all paths might have led here nonetheless.

You squeezed his hand between your own now. “You’re everything to me, Jeong Yunho,” you rasped out, unable to put strength behind your voice for fear of all of the emotion about to spill out. “And I’m so stupid for taking so long to figure it all out, but I’m in love with you, too, and I’d be damned if I let another day pass without you knowing that.”

Something washed over him in that moment, and he laughed, leaning over to cup the back of your neck and rest his forehead against your own. It was ridiculous, the fact that both of you were giggling and smiling at such a precipice of emotion, but it felt right.

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as he murmured, “Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“Then come kiss me, rockstar,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. You drew him down to your mouth and felt his body mold against your own. Every crevice and curve slotted so perfectly with one another, and the heavy longing in your chest slowly eased.

“You guys have been incredible for me tonight—” Yunho beamed as he walked toward the front, center stage and looped the electric guitar strap over his head to the sound of the roaring crowd, “—so I've got a little surprise for you.”

One of the staff members had set out a mic stand and bottle water for him, and he approached both items to fit the microphone into place. Tonight was the Friday night concert being held in this city, and the energy was dialed to one thousand in all the best ways.

He held onto the microphone with one hand. “This song is dedicated to—written for—my best friend in the world, the love of my life, my stargirl. I'm sure you know it—you crazies debuted it at number two on the charts—this is your space.”

His smile tugged up wider at the reaction he received. If anyone in the crowd didn't know the song, they were about to fall in love.

Yunho laughed, shaking his head, as he began checking to make sure his guitar was tuned with practiced, nimble fingers. “Oh, by the way—” he pointed up at the accessory he wore, the crocheted headband holding his hair up and out of his face, with a row of stars across its band, “—she made this for me. Isn't it cute?”

The stadium echoed in choruses of “aw” and cheers.

He could only duck his head with a smile, eyes twinkling with fondness and tenderness at the thought of you. You were in the crowd, but you could be up here with him in spirit. “Yeah, that was me, too.”

After you and Yunho left the stadium yesterday, hands intertwined and a new page in your relationship turned, you’d gone back to his hotel to share a restful evening in one another’s presences. You revealed later that night that you spent the four or five days you were bedridden practicing your crocheting skills until you were able to make him a headband. A row of three stars studded the length of it—stars for your rockstar.

Yunho struck his fingers down the strings of his guitar with a gentle rocking motion from his opposite hand to let the sound reverberate around the stadium. The crowd cried in love as his soulful, beautiful voice filled their ears with love of his own. And as his fans filed out of the stadium for the night and headed home, Yunho could finally return to his home. Because you were here now… no matter how far, no matter the distance, the two of you would always find a way to be in the other's space.

a/n: pls remember to reblog, comment, and send asks if you enjoyed!

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @tinkerbell460 @meosjinn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @kflixnet

[tuliptired]

hi! can i request a egan x complete opposite reader? like someone so different like a model or actress of some sort

Uptown Girl

Pairings: Egon Spengler/Fem!Actress!Reader

sorry for looking at stantzler yaoi while this was sitting in my drafts

Better formatting on Ao3!

Peter could tell something was up with his friend. Something different from the norm. In the past handful of weeks, Egon’s turned into a fidgety, flighty mess. Misprinting calculations, misplacing tools- all in blue. He was wearing so much more blue. The reticent man never really had a favorite color, something Peter relearned everytime he probed him when bored, but this was just way too out of character. Egon? Color coordinating? Insanity.

He had a discarded newspaper open at his excuse for an office, spacing out while Ray messed around with Janine’s little TV, Winston holding a flashlight over it for him. She had won it when she was small, the faulty wiring spilling out the back panel a testament to its age. 

Janine sat up impatiently, folding her magazine. “It’s almost time Ray, is it working?” 

Ray dropped his pair of pliers. “It should be,” he said unconfidently, screwing the paneling back on as Winston adjusted the antenna. The machine crackled and popped, sounds and images cutting in and out as it gained and lost a signal.

The subject of Peter’s suspicions came down the stairs flinching at the noise, looking to pass and leave the firehouse but too intrigued by the feat of electrical engineering happening at Janine’s desk. “What’s this?” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed at the barely there sight of a shiny, new silver watch. Christ, were those blue diamonds? Everyone who’s regularly stepped foot into the firehouse has tried and failed at attempting to get Egon to upgrade his wristwear, the old brown thing that barely had an audible tick. Peter’s own seasonal gifts for him got fancier and fancier as the years went on, Egon turning down a Timex with an alarm at one point. He insisted that anything he could go out and buy would serve the same purpose as the beatdown leather already owned- regardless of needing to squint to see the arms.  

She opened her magazine back up again, fluttering through glossed pages until she found the right one. “You’ve heard of that one show, right?” Janine held up an advertisement for the program, promoting big guests like Madonna or Robin Williams. “I’ve been trying to catch the reruns-”

“And I’ve been trying to tell her that it ruins the integrity of the show.”

“If I wasn’t locked up in here every Saturday night, I wouldn’t have to. Don’t put down the receiver, Winston.”

Ray watched with his fist under his chin as the signal got closer and closer to whatever channel he had twisted the knob for. Janine sat up straighter, flipping to a different page. “Anyway, there’s a new actress on there, and I don’t wanna miss her.”

Winston leaned over to check if the screen was any clearer. “My sister showed me an article on her. Very fashionable.” 

“I know, her picture was on billboard on 46th,” Janine raved, “you’d like her, Peter.”

He shook his head, licking his pointer finger to get to a different section of the paper. “I’m more into musicians.”

Egon spoke up, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re mistaken, Peter. She’s an incredibly talented actress with an incredible repertoire.”

Looks were exchanged between all of them. If the elephant in the room was offended, he didn’t show it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ray shrugged, “it’s just…she’s so..”

“Outgoing.”

“Witty.”

“Expressive.”

“And you’re you! Nothing wrong with it,” Ray patted his taller friend’s shoulder.

Egon looked at his colleagues blankly. “I can still enjoy her work, despite certain character differences.”

The TV finally got a stable connection, though not celebrated by anyone in the room as Egon’s anomaly took up all their attention. “I thought you didn’t have a television?” Winston questioned, moving the antenna again and losing the stream.

“I don’t.”

Peter raised an incredulous eyebrow to him from across the room. Something like a realization flashed behind Egon’s eyes, before he turned his eyes from their gaze and cleared his throat. “I’m going home early tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

That certainly didn’t do anything to soothe Peter’s speculation. Egon barely ever went home. If anything, the only reason he had an apartment to his name was because it was expected of him after graduating his last year of university. Even so, he was barely ever there, spending his nights slumped over in a lab- Columbia’s or otherwise. Peter would be surprised if the man was still paying rent.

Ray and Winston must’ve been carrying the same sentiment. “We’ll still be seeing you tomorrow, right Eges?”

 The man stood stiffly, as if under a spotlight. “Hopefully.” He was motionless, before grabbing Janine’s TV and scurrying out the door.

“Hey!”

Strange indeed.

Egon walked briskly under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. It was almost 7, after all. A warm brown bag of Chinese food sat under his arm as he got closer to the rickety door. He hesitated to turn the key, hearing staticky music on the other side. When he did, there you were, surrounded by brown bags just like his and messing with the antiquated radio by his stovetop. It felt odd, and strangely smug, to have you in his tiny and bland apartment after his friends praised your stardom.

Your manicured fingers turned the volume down. “Sorry! It’s hard to entertain myself here when you don’t have a TV.” The same woman that was all over Times Square was here, in his kitchen, placing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I do now,” he juggled the boxy appliance before you took it from him gently.

“Where’d you get this? It’s adorable,” you smiled, inspecting it. He peered into the bags cluttering his limited counter space as he put down your dinner, some holding groceries and some with wrapped packages.

“A friend. What’re these?” Egon didn’t have to turn to you to see the guilty expression you had while he pulled out containers of takeout. You had a bad habit of buying him luxuries he never thought he would need.

You grabbed a few things from one of the sacks, opening his outdated fridge. “I know we agreed to you bringing dinner, but it’s just a few things for when you’re on your own.” He wrinkled his nose.

“I have food.”

Egon watched you teeter your palm back and forth, grabbing another bag and opening one of his cabinets. “What’s the point of eating-out if you never eat-in?” 

“You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble.”

He felt nice as you smiled at him, folding the discarded paper and tossing it in the bin. “You know I don’t mind.” It would’ve been a sweet moment, if there wasn’t another bag on the counter that caught his attention, which you scrambled to pull away. Before you could, he brought it to his lap, gazing down inside.

He pulled out different wrapped packages, labels from one of the most expensive department stores in the area. “Y/N.”

You put your hands up in defense, lowering yourself into the stool across from him.  “I know, I know. But, look!” You leaned over, showcasing one. “New curtains! And there’s a watch in there, somew-here.”

Egon’s eyes nearly popped out when he found a little box, forgotten at the bottom, with a price tag higher than what two ghostbusters made in a week. “You have to return this,” he decided, hardly opening it before snapping it shut.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do. I appreciate you getting it. But you can’t keep spending your money on me.”

You knelt on your hand, disappointment clearly subsiding as you used the other one to open up the food. “It doesn’t make a difference to me. I was in that area, anyway.”

He passed you a plastic fork. “How come?”

“I had an appointment with my dress guy,” you started. He’d be embarrassed to admit it, but it took him an abnormally long time to realize that you were referring to the people you regularly bought things from, rather than lightly suggesting a polyamorous relationship. “And he showed me the finished product for Friday! Isn’t it exciting?”

You produced a print from your purse, handing it to him with a bright smile. It was a dress on a mannequin- very bold, very you, and very blue. “It is.” Egon grinned sincerely, admiring the idea. “Very beautiful.”

You stabbed your fork into a vegetable, seemingly forlorn as he put the photo aside. “It’s a shame you’ll only get to see it on TV. Unless, you wanna be my date,” you perked.

Egon could feel himself frown. In any other world, he would be at your side every hour of every day- every interview, airing, or red carpet appearance. But he was still Egon, through and through. So you compromised on “waiting until the right time” to make your relationship public.

“Not this time,” he avoided looking at you. You were understanding, you always were, but he could imagine how irritating a constant no could be.

He jumped as your head hit the countertop. “You’ll let everyone know at the wedding,” you groaned. Egon moved to console you, worried about having hurt your feelings, before your head snapped back up.

“Kidding.” He let out a sigh he couldn’t recall holding in. “You wanna be there when I get ready? You could help me with the zipper,” you leaned forward, voice teasing him. He couldn’t refuse.

“Of course,” Egon smiled, before it fell. “I’m sorry. That I keep telling you no.”

You shrugged, waving him off. How undeserving he was, to be loved by someone so forgiving. “I know. You’re an interesting guy, Egon. It’ll happen when it happens.” You had his hand in yours, brushing his knuckles as you looked on at each other earnestly.

Something caught your attention, breaking eye contact, Egon shrinking at the loss of connection. You turned in your seat to the rest of the apartment. “I never told you! I noticed you started decorating!”

It was a small place, only one bedroom and older than most people Egon’s age would be proud of. When he first moved in, the only things he took the liberty of situating were: a bed, a chair, various papers and books and scientific projects. It was more a storage space, rather than one to live in. He dawned on this the first time you offered to have him over, realizing that he’d have to return the favor- after picking up a bit. It’s not much right now, save for more furniture and ambience, but there was always something new whenever you visited. “After you told me it had the feng shui of an asylum.”

“Then we both have something to work on.”

“What was this doing in the mail this morning?” Peter bounded the steps to the second tier of the firehouse. Ray and Winston were trying their best to pick up around the kitchen, while Egon was hunched over his workbench, jittery and unorganized. Whatever he was keeping from them, it did a good job at keeping him from work. This would’ve been a nice change for the doctor, if it didn’t mean Peter had to be alert for any sudden fires.

He passed the booklet to Winston, whose eyes widened like a cartoon as the centerfold unfurled into two more pages. “Holy…”

“Maybe it’s Janine’s?” Ray proposed, cheeks pink as he clumsily folded them back up.

Her voice called up from downstairs, before the front door slammed shut. “I don’t read that brand, and if I did I wouldn’t be working here.”

That left the three men, standing in tense silence. Not Peter, he was tasteful with his filth- tucked away in the hidden part of his filing cabinet. 

“Why would one of us order something like this in the mail?”

Peter gently took it from Winston. “Alright, no need to embarrass anyone. My mail is your mail is your mail is my mail.”’ He jumped to a random page, settling into the couch. “We’re all friends here.”

Ray and Winston hesitantly crowded around him, unabashedly eager to view what was inside. Egon, however, was frozen at his desk, lab coat halfway off.

“Donna Rice stuns in a poolside photo…Madonna looks nice here…” The professor was a second away from crumpling. Schadenfreude.

Ray shrugged one of his shoulders, leaning over the armrest. “Some of these aren’t so bad,” he admitted. 

Peter let out a low whistle. “Here’s the girl you like so much, Spengs. Orange dress.” Egon rose then, a bit less catatonic as he shrugged his lab coat off, back to his friends.

“She wouldn’t wear orange this season. Or any season. It doesn’t pair well with anything and it washes her out.”

Peter blinked. Not the angle he was looking for, but a good psychologist never quits when they’re ahead. “Did she tell you this?”

Egon visibly hardened, turning to face them. “No. In a 1986 interview with People, in the second paragraph of the 12th page, she said she’d never wear anything long and orange at the same time.”

Peter slowly revealed the page to him, speaking even slower. “Sorry, superfan. She was wearing green.”

The professor only stared, before clearing his throat and fixing his clothes a bit, Ray and Winston silent at Peter’s side as he rolled up the print. “I’m leaving for the night. And I’m taking the car.”

He was halfway out the room before Ray stuttered, taken aback. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you drive, Spengs.”

“And you can’t take the car.” Peter chided

Egon stilled on the staircase. “I have the keys. And there aren’t any jobs in the morning- you can do without it. Goodnight.”

Peter tapped the shiny paper against his palm a few times, turning to the men at his side. “He’s either selling drugs, or he’s trying to ditch us."

Sure, Egon wasn’t much of a driver. But he’d make the commute if he wanted to see you. Eventually, streets lined with skyscrapers and taxis melted into roads lined with starlight and trees as he carefully recalled the directions to your house just outside the city, surrounded by woodlands. He knew you'd wouldn’t be back until late in the night, so he was content busying himself with your chores until the sounds of a Mustang screeching to a halt in your driveway peeled him away from the last dish in the sink.

Egon carefully peeked out one of your windows, watching as you jumped out the backseat of the hastily parked car. “I probably just left a light on! One sec!” Your door handle jiggled with the turn of keys, before you poked your head in, voice low.

“Wanna say hi?”

He politely declined, and you were halfway out the door again, waving goodbye to your friends, before they skidded off into the night. Your home was a stark contrast to his own, decorated and personable without becoming clumsy. But, many a night you’d crooned to him over the phone about how empty it can get. So, there he was.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Egon felt you mummer against his back, arms wrapped around his middle while he finished wiping down the edge of the sink, light fragrance mingling with the smell of dish soap. You always smelt good, after a night out.

“I wanted to. Did you have fun?” he inquired, hearing you hum as you peeled yourself from him, lurking towards the stairs.

“As much,” Egon bent behind you to collect your discarded shoes, “as I could have.”

He caught the earrings you pinched off from your earlobes. ‘They didn’t show you a good time?”

You paused in front of your bedroom door, waiting for Egon to open it, which he did. “It was a great time- I love premieres.” You lowered yourself onto the large mattress, calling out to him as he went into the master bathroom to start a bath. “But, I think you know very well why I wanted to come home.”

“I wonder,” he mused chaffingly, sitting behind you on the bed. His favorite night time routine, whenever he was around after you successfully painted the town red. The events and invitations just got bigger and bigger, increasingly extravagant the longer he knew you. Here he was, getting farther and farther over the hill. In spite of it all, he liked taking care of you, especially when you were wearied from an evening of fun.

You leaned forward as he gently unclasped the jewelry from around your neck, careful not to bust the fastener. “I’m happy you’re here now, Egon.” he heard you coo tiredly and softly. Egon pressed a devoted kiss to the nape of your neck where the metal had lay, drawing out a delighted laugh from underneath him.

“Then I’m glad I came.”

Both of you just sat there, warmth against warmth until Egon remembered that your faucet was still running. He took to unzipping the back of your gown. “Is it safe to assume my friends are becoming suspicious of me?”

“Oh yeah? What’re they doing?” you pondered, helping him as you stepped out of the pooling fabric.

“Pictures of you. Peter got a hold of one of your spreads.” Egon mulled. He carefully collected the material, laying it out on a chair in front of your expansive closet. He really appreciated those photographers, any other time. Particularly, when you weren’t available for so long.

Another thing he enjoyed about nights like these- you in your underclothing. Oh, guilty pleasures. But the sight vanished into the bathroom almost as soon as he took it in. “Did you tell them I was your outgoing, witty and expressive girlfriend?” 

Egon couldn’t help but follow you. “They seemed to have come to that conclusion on their own.” Egon stood against your sink while you sunk into the water- he knew you were pretty clean, but a washroom floor was still a washroom floor.

“I’m sure you have them fooled.” you guessed, leaning on the edge of the tub.

“I think so. But-” he noticed the look you were giving him. “You’re being sarcastic.”

He let you laugh at his expense, handing you various soaps from the caddy above. He’d been meaning to get a similar bottle to keep at his place, if you were ever willing to spend the night. What would your people say- if you didn’t come around when they were expecting you to? “And you? What do your friends think?” Egon queried. 

“They’ve been onto me. And they tell me: ‘bring him around sometime- one night can’t hurt,’” you teased. “There’s a blue suit to go with my dress waiting for you, if you really want.”

Egon felt so defenseless as you gazed up at him, extending the same invitation you’d been extending time and time again. Reservations be damned. The greatest person he knew was letting him spend a night in their arms- and he’d be anything but himself if he let the opportunity slip away again.

“I’ll go.”

“What?”

“On Friday. I’ll go with you. If you’ll have me.”

You beamed, sitting up and leaning impossibly close to him as he let himself kneel against the porcelain. “Oh, Egon! I could kiss you!” Your wet skin dripped onto the dainty rim.

“Why not?” he teased. Before the question could leave his lips, you had the end of his tie in your hand, nearly dragging him into the bath with you.

He could barf. Absolutely lose his cool in the back of this expensive car, or in front of all your famous friends. As happy as Egon was to experience a slice of your life with you, his nerves were on fire. He must’ve seriously underestimated the turnout of this thing- reality settling in as a number of stylists flooded your house as the evening approached. He felt the embrace of your hands on his jaw, as you made him look at you.

“You don’t have to talk to anyone, if you don’t want to. Just keep holding my hand.” You were glowing. “And- you look great. But…something’s missing,” you muttered. He swallowed hard, dreading what he managed to leave behind. He was breathless as you left a quick kiss off the center of his lips, laughing as you parted. “There,” you giggled.

“Mr. Spengler? There’s a call for you.” the hostess told him, peeling him away from the table of A-listers. As he answered the phone by the kitchen, he could recognize a familiar, angry voice.

“Egon Spengler.”

“Hello, Janine.”

The floodgates opened, and he could practically hear her nails digging into the desk. “I could rip your head off. Is that where you go all day? Hanging out with gorgeous celebrities? Why didn’t you tell us? You’re sitting at dinner with Mel Gibson! You should’ve introduced me. Why didn’t you introduce me? I would’ve killed to meet her- if I had met Einstein I would’ve introduced you. What’s next- you’re having tea with Cher? You disappear for weeks at a time, and we have to watch a tiny TV screen to find out you’re at an award show with a red lipstick stain on your face? You-”

“I’m sorry to cut this so short, Janine. But my wonderful girlfriend has an accolade to accept.”

[goldenhickeysandramen]

What if we ask for receipts?

(This post is inspired by some recent posts from some moots on Tumblr)

We spend all day defending Jimin and JK's bond.

All day, all the time, always in the position of defendant, against anons here, trolls on twitter, and in general, hordes of annoying people.

Well then, let's see what happens if we are now the prosecutor, and not the defense lawyer  

Let's see where the hell your receipts are:

- Love expressions: how many times have your favorites declared that they love each other in different kinds of language?. And I'm not talking about the "I love you" that are given to friends for a specific situation (like Hobi leaving for the ms)... or weird hand signals, you know a lot about that and symbols... but big signs of love…

Like suddenly this:

Or this:

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 Or this: 

- Intimacy displays: have your favorites given each other hickeys? (this is important...u know I love hickeys)

Have they flirted in front of thousands of people? (and watch out! because here the line between fan entertainment (I won't say the damm word, which I know you don't like) and genuine flirting is very subtle, but distinctive. This is flirting, for instance 😌

Do they've sucked each other's ear in front of thousands of people?

(Or do they have some kink for ears?)

Have they stuck their D's in front of thousands of people?

  (my God, do you realize what they won't do in front of thousands of people)?

- Show the evidence that your favorites live or have lived together (not in the dorms era back in 2018): let's see... let me think... how many times have they suspiciously shared a car, when we didn't know where they lived extra officially? 

Or do have they been at 4 am in the morning together alone, celebrating billboard or actually delivering hickeys? 

Or in the deed of the purchase of a house appears the address where the other lives (91).?

- Samples of tension or awkwardness beyond explanation: look, we have so many receipts here that I don't even know where to start... just look at Jimin's recent bomb and see JK's visit... and well, there it is... the awkwardness of some of their interactions... sometimes it makes you want not to look... sometimes it makes you feel embarrassed... I sometimes think they're going to screw up at any moment.

- Proof of inside jokes that show that they actually WATCH a lot of content together. Do you have any of your own?

- Demonstration of knowing certain personal information. Here I'm sorry, but again we have a lot of receipts. Tae had no idea that JK did a 3 hour vlive. Or Hobi also didn't know about Jimin's "time" (10:13). Instead, Jimin sees all of JK's vlives...and vice versa (as we’ve been able to check recently) and they know most of things they have done, or where they are at each moment (they even know what happened at bae's grandma's birthday)

And now...let’s see and talk about YOUR receipts:

made-up dinners out alone and selfies in bathrooms (not to mention other things you say happen in the bathrooms)

trips for which there is no concrete proof, or which are clearly BTS trips

any close-up, or photo, or mention on vlive....

each pic on Instagram

a look

breathing the same air

stepping on the same ground

And, so far the most robust, outings at their free time. We had in the past months vkook, jihope, hobikook, or vhope outings.

This is what most people are claiming lately. Maybe it is our fault, for having repeated so many times that Jimin and JK were the ones who most "hanged out" together..... now it seems that this mantra is turning against us.....

Well..... NOOOO.... I object your honour!

Because jikook have literally told us recently that they are both super homely. Which I understand. Not just because of their personalities or that they like it, but because outside, they can't be totally free lately. 

Because if JK is constantly being stalked in his country - just look at where he officially lives - and also, as we believe, jikook are a couple, they have a lot to protect and I think they know that the most intimacy and security they have is at home. 

On the other hand, they already know what happens when they are seen in a certain location: that restaurant ends up becoming a crowded place of jikookers or k-army. So, if they go out, they're going to be very careful and most likely they'll go to trusted places, where they don't post their signatures on IG. So, my friends,…WE WON'T KNOW about it! Unless they want to, or go somewhere more public and new.

And then again, Jimin has been busy with his album and hasn't been seen with anyone. NO ONE. The only exception, Hobi's birthday and the drink they had last Sunday or Monday (as a farewell). And we know this because they wanted to tell us... because if they hadn't, or posted any pictures, there would be no receipts from them either (of course! who of us could have been at Hobi's house on his birthday to know?).

But even with all this reasoning … the truth is that friends hang out and that does not mean they are dating. Hanging out doesn’t work with jikook either by itself. Other things must happen (see above 👆 ☺️)

So your receipts, imo, are either conspicuous by their absence or rather lacking in robustness.

Ours, on the other hand, are terrific! Stop asking for more! We've justified enough.

It must be pitiful to ship any “couple" whose ultimate proof of confirmation that they are together depends so much on another couple failing to provide certain evidence that confirms they actually are...the audacity!!! 

[jawritter]

Something About Fate

Chapter 5

Summary:  Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Change, even good change, can be scary, and even a little hard…

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist                  Series Masterlist

Y/N looked out of the window of the expensive looking Van that had picked Jensen and herself up from the airport as soon as they landed in LA with somewhat of a shocked awe at all the sights that slowly passed her by in the crawling, busy streets. 

Sure, Dallas had some pretty impressive buildings, but the people here were just—different. For one, there were so many of them. Which might be attributed to the fact that it was a great deal warmer here than it had been in Dallas, but Y/N doubted that. It was still very early in the day, and they were out in droves. She doubted that as the day drew on, or when night started to fall, things would get any quieter. 

Everything was so much brighter here too. Even the signs and the billboards that flashed on the side of buildings were brighter. It made the little big town of Dallas she’d come from seem so cold and outdated. 

Then it hit her. This was Jensen’s life and had been since he was a young boy. It was sooo different than the one she’d led, even if she hadn’t ended up living on the streets. Which made her wonder even more why the hell the man was doing what he was doing? Why he cared about just another blurry face on the street in the middle of what these people would probably consider nowhere and pulled her out of the life she was in with the intent to sit her back on her feet. It just made sense. 

“The place we’re staying at isn’t in town,” Jensen voiced suddenly from beside her. “And I will have a rental car waiting for us so that we can get around when and where we need to without too much assistance. I prefer the seclusion and privacy over all this noise. It won't take us long to get there after we get out of all this traffic.” 

She nodded as her eyes drifted back to the window just in time for Y/N to turn to face the window once again and see Jensen’s face just outside of her car window, plastered alongside his castmates for the series he’d recently done, The Boys.

That’s when it really, really struck her, the gravity of the difference in worlds the pair of them were from, and it set heavily, like a rock in the center of her gut. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing as she stared dumbly at his face on the billboard. 

There was a flood of emotions that settled over her like a wet blanket, fear being the primary one. In fact, when someone was to really think about it, there was a lot to fear here. Sure, they’d spent a few days in Dallas together, and sure, Jensen had promised her a lot in the time they’d spent together, and he’d already made good on a lot of those promises. He even gave her a key to his fucking car and his house! 

But his life was a very public one. He’d once been married, he’d had a family, he’d had a life she’d never even begin to understand. He had a thousand girls throwing themselves at him online constantly, and the selection of that pool had to be better than anything that he saw in her. There was the fear that he’d come to that conclusion and kick her out, just as fast as this had started, it had the potential to end. 

Then there was the fear of screwing up. There were a lot of eyes watching her now, because she was working for him. Surely the public would notice her eventually, and when they did, they were going to rip her apart about everything she did, right or wrong. That was utterly terrifying to even think about. 

“Hey,” Jensen said, grabbing her hand in his own, and pulling her attention back towards him. She was so lost in her worry, she’d barely realized that they’d made it out of the city, and there was a blur of greenery flying by their window. “You haven’t said a word since we left the airport. Are you feeling, okay?”

“I’m okay,” she assured him, she could see it on his face, he was worrying over her again, and that wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him doing it either. It made her feel horrible every time she saw him doing it, guilty for making him worry about her, when honestly, she should be on cloud nine right now! She was living every girl’s dream! “A little tired I guess I didn’t really sleep a whole lot on the flight here.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I booked us so early. Next flight we take will not be before the asscrack of dawn I promise,” he said, but didn’t let go of her hand as his pale green orbs searched her face, trying to read her. He did that a lot too.

“I’ll get used to it,” she attempted to downplay things a little to settle his nerves. “I’ve never really traveled anywhere myself outside of Dallas, I used to book things for other people, but never did it myself. There’s a big difference between booking a trip and actually traveling, I guess.”

“I moved here when I was just a teenager, literally right after high school, so I get it. Everything looks so out there and feels foreign, but after a few years of coming back and forth from different towns to different towns, it’s not as jarring anymore. This summer we’re gonna be spending some time in Vancouver. Honestly, out of all the places I’ve been, that one feels most like home to me. I spent a long time there.”

“I don’t have a passport,” she reminded him, but he just shrugged it off. 

“That’s fixable, as soon as we get back to Austin, I’ll make sure all of that’s taken care of. I'm more concerned about the fact that I’ve thrown a lot of life changes your way in a short amount of time and I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

Y/N sighed a little in spite of herself. It was a lot. It was fast. Still, what was the alternative? Freezing to death on a sidewalk in Dallas? Nope, this was better, even if she did have whiplash and a lot of shit at stake. 

“It’s a lot”, she admitted, “I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t, but I’ll rebound, I promise—”

“Hey,” Jensen said, squeezing her hand and halting her to keep her from talking so fast that she was about to hyperventilate, which made her face burn hot with embarrassment. “It’s okay to be a little turned around and freaked out. I kinda ripped you away from everything you’ve ever known in less than 72 hours. Anyone would be a little off kilter after that for a while. I’m not mad about it, nor am I gonna be, but if you need to take five, or if it gets too much, you have to be honest with me… okay? I can’t don’t know how you’re feeling unless you tell me.”

Y/N swallowed the hug knot she had in her throat and nodded, just in time for the car to come to a stop in front of a private little house, far enough outside of town to be unbothered by prying eyes, but close enough to get a Door Dash delivery and an Uber if you need it.

Robotically, eyes still glued to the pristine white exterior with dark green shutters and a cute little front porch with a slightly weather porch swing and rose bushes lining the stone trail that led to the tiny red front door that created a very inviting, homie vibe, Y/N realized something. It had been three years since she’d stepped foot inside of a house, much less stayed in one. 

Pressure immediately started to build behind her eyes, and a hundred-pound weight set itself on her chest as her eyes shifted over every little perfect imperfection of the little cottage. This was heavy. She thought she’d never see something like this again, only in her dreams. 

Maybe it was a good thing that Jensen was taking her here first, because she was sure his home was massive in comparison to this one, and if this one was hitting her in the feels like this… she could only imagine what it was going to be like when she pulled up to her new ‘home’. 

“You coming, sweetheart?” Jensen questioned, his voice jarring her, and causing her to look in his direction. He was standing in the middle of the little path that led to the house, bags in his hands, her little bag of belongings on his shoulder, and a deeply concerned look on his face. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Y/N attempted to shake it off. But she could tell for all of her bravo acting, Jensen wasn’t convinced. Guess you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. That’s what actors did right? Bullshit you into believing they’re feeling what they’re feeling while they were in front of a camera to make it real? Right?

She knew she had some deep seeded trust issues, but apparently, she had more than she thought she had, ‘cause now she was wondering as she forced her feet to move, and began to follow him up the little trail of stone to the porch, whether she’d ever really be able to trust anyone again after all she’d been through, especially someone as good at acting as this man obviously was...

Forever:

@bubsonnobx​​​​

@britnwinchester​​​​​​​​​​​

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat​​​​​​​​​​

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996​​​​​​​​​​​  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe​​​​​​​​​​​

@jensenslady79​​​​​​​​​​​

@spnwoman​​​​​​​​​​​

@stoneyggirl2​​​​​​​​​​​

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​​​​​​​​​​​

@stixnstripesworld​​​​​​​​​​​

@fullwattpadmusictree​​​​​​​​​​​

@nancymcl​​​​​​​​​​​

@christycreature​​​​​​​​​​​

@whiskey-infused-dreams​​​​​​​​​​​

@supernatural79impala​​​​​​​​​​​

@deandreamernp​​​​​​​​​​​

@forgetthisbull​​​​​​​​​​​

@miraclesoflove​​​​​​​​​​​

@slamminmine​​​​​​​​​​​

@deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​​

@rvgrsbrns​​​​​​​​​​​

@chevyharvelle​​​​​​​​​

@i-love-superhero-movies​​​​​​​​​​​

@lyss-dw79​​​​​​​​

@magssteenkamp​​​​​​​​​​​

@lemondropirwin​​​​​​​​​​​

@squirrelnotsam​​​​​​​​​​​

@hobby27​​​​​​​​​​​

@spnbaby-67​​​​​​​​​​​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​​​​​​​​​​​

@defenderrosetyler​​​​​​​​​​​

@thecreatiivecorner​​​​​​​​​​​  

@vicmc624​​​​​​​​​​​

@busy-bee-angel-misska​​​​​​​​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​​​​​​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​​​​​​​​​​

@idksupernatural​​​​​​​​​​​

@lyarr24​​​​​​​​​​​

@emoryhemsworth​​​​​​​​​​​

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​​​​​​​​​​​

@flamencodiva​​​​​​​​​​​

@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies​​​​​​​​​​​

@teresa-67​​​​​​​​​​​

@hearteyes-j2​​​​​​​​​​​

@peaches007​​​​​​​​​​​

@bobbie3939​​​​​​​​​​​

@vulgar-library​​​​​​​​​​​

@writercole​​​​​​​​​​​

@fairlyspnfanfic​​​​​​​​​​​

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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[bolithesenate]

hiiii

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

sorry this took a while. i was hiking. and then i was sloshed from hiking.

13 - the big fat goose-egg is the norm. zero planning. even if I try to do planning, what I actually put down devolves from what i planned so quickly that it doesn't bear any resemblance to it anyways.

so why bother?

(that being said, I do come up with a lot of worldbuilding seperately and without it being tied to writing. Like, i will think up elaborate subsections to the jedi service corps and make flowcharts which i then can use in fics, but that's not tied to a specific project usually)

23 - vibes. i write until there is a good stopping point and i've reached the rough amount of words i wanna go for (i try to keep all my chapters at around the same length)

29 - i don't have anything that's i won't ever post, but u can have one of the mud fic deleted scenes that i haven't yet put into the deleted scenes fic :P

The flitting lights of Coruscant's nightlife blinking through the window painted Sifo's face into an ever changing cascade of wandering shadows. His eyes, whenever the light caught in them, had the blurred, dreamlike quality they often took on after a vision passed.

He was staring out of the window. Captured by the passing speeders and holo billboards.

"Sy?," Yan asked quietly, placing one hand on the other's thigh.

Almost unwillingly, Sifo pulled himself away from the mesmerizing view, directing his gaze towards Yan below him. 

As if only realizing now that the other Jedi was in the same bed, happy surprise rolled off him in gentle waves. Elation but no recognition. Yan's heart sank. He reached out in the Force, already guessing what he'd find.

Sifo's mind, normally a roiling cloud - gentle but powerful, always in a tug-of-war with the ambient Unifying Force -, was more akin to a light fog now. Spread out, barely more than a slightly louder whisper against the backdrop of the Temple's own hum in the Living.

Quiet fear gripped Yan.

This wasn't good. Not good at all.

Sifo hadn't felt this… thinned out in forever. Not since the first few visions, right after the incident itself, where none of them had truly known how to properly aid him through them. 

Yan pushed himself up, meeting Sy who - for some reason - had been straddling his middle halfway. His arms wrapped around his frail form, pulling him into a desperate hug. 

"Don't you dare lose yourself now, Sy. We've come so far," he whispered in the other's ears as he scrambled to, best as he could, help the Seer pull the bits and pieces of his being back together. It was like trying to catch fog with his fingers, always slipping through, barely following the paths he laid out. He tried to not let the fear get ahold of him. It wouldn't serve anyone in this situation. 

Sifo - Sifo's body, his mind was almost completely gone - let out a shuddering breath against the nape of Yan's neck.

It felt like the breath of a dying man.

Screw the Order's tenants. Yan was properly panicking now.

(This was too close, way too close to back then when Sifo had first lost himself to a violent vision. They had thought this under control. It wasn't supposed to happen like this anymore.)

Yan couldn't say how long he sat there, cradling Sifo close, pulling him back together like wet sand in the flood.

Piece by piece.

Memory by memory.

Every second he feared that he'd not be fast enough, feared that the bit of Sifo that remained - the bit that remembered that his body needed to breathe and his heart needed to beat. That he wouldn't irrevocably come apart when he was right there in his grasp.

The entire time, not that he remembered much of it, he was too focussed on gathering Sy's mind back together, Yan was muttering into the other man's ears. It just spilled out of him. Everything, from paltry stories to fond memories and ruthless threats that if he didn't come back… well, Yan wasn't sure what he'd do, but it wouldn't be in accordance with the Order's tenants. At all. 

Somewhere in there there might have been a confession of feelings he wasn't entirely clear on himself.

There might have been promises. Promises of a future together, bound by every vow and bond imaginable. Bound by so many ties that Sy would never get lost like this again.

[maribatshipper]

Hey, hey, hey, we all know Maribat/Adribat/Miraculous-Batman-DC crossovers, right? The very Popular Damianette ship?

Okay, and we all know John Constantine making deals with all sorts of demons and monsters, sleeping with them, missing pieces of his soul, snorting Santa's bones, we all know John Constantine, right?

Okay... Now, I give you...

Blond Flirty Cat-boy...

Blond Slutty Trenchcoat Man...

And make John think he screwed some French chick because, Damn, THIS KID REEKS OF MAGIC!!!!

Why? Adrien's a Senti-being, AND the Ring of Destruction. It takes a while for John to figure it out, but when he realises this kid wasn't made from sex, he thinks, "Shit, did someone make a magic golem with my DNA?!"

By the time he finally gets the rundown on THE PEACOCK MIRACULOUS, he's too reluctantly attached to Adrien and Adrien is somehow clinging to this Much Better than Gabriel Father Figure despite all the red flags because "This Dad Taught me stuff I can use! And let's me do things I wanna do!"

Okay, but why is John in Paris, you may ask?

Magic People can Sense big things happening. Like a magic tear in reality. And the Wish in the end of Season 5? Yeah, that set off EVERYONE'S alarm system, but nothing seems to be going wrong in Paris, or it isn't going wrong anymore, and the timeline seems the same, no one can figure out what changed, but SOMETHING did, because they sensed it.

So John goes there for some reason or another, to grab whatever caused that magic surge and hide it, to use it for himself, whatever John is more likely to do.

Only to bump into this kid with his date that looks like a *Happy, healthy* version of a younger him, making both of them stare at each other in shock. The biggest difference being the eye colour difference. But John can sense magic *radiating* from the kid. But it's like he can't pinpoint where, if it's the kid or something he's carrying. (Quantum Masking magic, New York Special.)

The young girl that looks like Bat Adoption Bait on the boy's arm notices the way they're staring at each other and moves in front of the boy protectively.

"Excuse us, Monsieur." She says and tries to move the boy away, but John has to figure out why he's like that.

"Do I know ya, kid?" John asks, directing his gaze to the boy again.

The boy laughs, speaking in relatively okay English, "It'd be hard not to recognise me. But I quit modelling."

He gestures to a billboard with "Adrien: The Fragrance", with the boy's face.

John is definitely surprised as he looks at the poster, but before he can turn back, the girl has already led Adrien away.

He knows he probably looks like some sort of creepy older guy, especially to young kids like them, but he has to find out exactly what is going on with this "Adrien Agreste."

Meanwhile, both of the children have been warned by the Kwami's that something is off about John (reveal or not, up to you), Plagg saying, "Eh, his soul smells like a bunch of guys took a bite out of it" while Tikki says, "He's missing pieces of himself, of his soul. Be careful."

Marinette is Paranoid and Adrien is surprised as the older man offers them both cigarettes.

John somehow finds Adrien seperate from Marinette and explains that he can sense the magic on Adrien, and Adrien gets awkward. John knows he has to be delicate, but delicate is not his forte, so he's straightforward. About the magic pulse from Paris. Not why he's here, but that he can definitely sense something about Adrien.

[thislovintime]

Photos © Jeff Hochberg/Getty Images, Jeff Hochberg/Rock Negatives, Disc & Music Echo, Icon and Image/Getty Images; photo 9 shows Peter at Decca in London, with Cyril Black of Screen Gems, Terry Oates of RCA Victor, Jack Magraw of Screen Gems, and Colin Borland of Decca (photo published in Billboard’s January 20, 1968 issue).

“The Peter Tork you saw on Top Of The Pops last week was, to use his own words, ‘My public image.’ The zany goon-like character was in top TV form as he clowned his way through 30 minutes of semi-chaos […]. Some accused him of acting, and he admitted of course that he was. That was what people excepted him to do. But the Peter Tork who peacefully sat cross-legged on a table in a small room at Decca’s Regent Street offices was Peter Tork, no acting, no clowning — just a singularly intelligent young man with a surprisingly (when you think of the TV character) wide vocabulary. ‘I don’t know why it is. I just seem to have been born with a large vocabulary and now I’m stuck with it!’ [….] On more than one occasion, armed with his own camera, he turned the tables on unsuspecting photographers, most of whom didn’t really appreciate the subtlety of the Tork sarcasm.” - Disc and Music Echo, January 13, 1968

“He sat cross-legged on the Big Executive Desk, surveying us all with confidence but occasionally giving himself away by tearing nervously at one of his multi-colored moccasins. Around his neck he wore beads ('I like them’) and his bearded face smiled the most when he was asked questions about fans, shaving, or the fringed handbag around his waist. Peter Tork was meeting the Press — not the zany stumbler from the Monkees’ series, or the fellow you saw teeny-bopping around your ‘Top Of The Pops’ screen last Thursday. This was a gentle and articulate Monkee who talked like a Websters’ Dictionary.” - Alan Smith, NME, January 13, 1968

“In fact I arrived at London Airport completely unannounced and was able to walk around the city for three days completely unnoticed. I visited ‘Granny Takes A Trip,’ ‘Apple’ and the ‘Speakeasy’ and I found them all very good. In fact the juggler’s shirt I’m wearing was bought at Apple.” - Peter Tork, Disc and Music Echo, January 13, 1968

“Peter Tork, while living up to the TV legend, is straightforward, friendly and very human. […] [H]e thoughtfully tugged his sun-streaked brown hair, which erupts from his mobile face and slides down the slender stem of his neck in a silken flow, only to find its exit to the shoulders cut off abruptly by the stylist’s scissors. He has almost always the look of patient resignation worn under the make-up of great clowns, and his face arranges itself into any number of humorous attitudes with the ease of a bendy doll… screwed up like an unwanted love letter or innocent as a boy accused of scrumping apples. His mouth is soft and sweet, and there is both shrewdness and kindness in his small, searching eyes. […] He winced when a reporter opened his question with ‘we’re honored to have you here,’ and on being informed that ‘your banjo-playing was for many of us the highlight of your concerts here,’ he murmured a quick ‘that’s very kind of you’ and brushed off the questioner. Compliments wash against him like so much spray on a cliff-face. […] The conference broke up with requests for autographs all around, and for the first time, Peter seemed genuinely touched by this subtle flattery. My last sight of him was a smiling figure signing autographs for fans in the rain, each one with a ‘Love from Peter Tork’ and a flower. And the sweet smell from the joss stick smoldering in his hand was still with me as I walked away.” - June Southworth, Fabulous 208, January 17, 1968

“‘We thought the present shows were losing their impetus. They were getting harder to act. We felt yoked by the plots. We want our shows to be fun, simple… but inventive, fresh and interesting. Did you see “Magical Mystery Tour”? Did you like it? Good. That’s what we like. We could not do more shows like those in the past. We must go as far afield as possible… on the lines of “Magical Mystery Tour.”’ […] Peter also revealed that in the future he hopes to concentrate more on folk music, particularly on the Monkees’ forthcoming albums.” - NME, January 13, 1968

Additional photos from the press reception, and Peter looking through entries from fans for NME's Monkee Faces contest. (More photos from that occasion here.)

During his time in London, Peter also wrote "Long Title..." (read more here), was a guest presenter on Top Of The Pops, and took part in recording sessions for George Harrison's Wonderwall Music, playing banjo (more about that here).

[dearweirdme]

Some great messages and responses today about so many topics! And some goofy ones as well 😂 Still trying to wrap my head around the anon who thinks that Taekook (a pairing of two people, Tae and Jungkook) is a "persona" (the aspects of a single person's character that are outward/perceived by others). How exactly would that work? Are they so dedicated to it that they work around the limitations the company has put on them (one V Live since 2016 that had just the two of them in it but there were obviously chaperones in the room) by spending their free time together for a whole year of solo era just to keep up this "persona". The bowling, musical outings, skiing trips, working on songs, playing games, cooking/eating at each other's places, Tae's closest social circle including friends from high school becoming good friends of Jungkook and supporting him publicly like they've really gone all out for this "persona". And those are just the things we know about. I don't think they talked about the musical, skiing, or bowling outings. A fan got pics of them at the musical. A lot of it we don't know about, or we'll find out much later. So since the pair as a persona makes no sense, I think what anon was implying is that the "persona" Tae is putting on here is his care and affection for Jungkook. Which also makes no sense given what I just went over, and the additional fact that this is all from their "off" time when if they wanted to act this out they could do this in an official capacity for company content. But they haven't. For years. Their very close bond is most evident in their *private/non-work life*. And they are the only pair in the group that has demonstrated this level of closeness in solo era. This is not a drag on the others, they all love each other. But this is a simple fact. Even "anti-shippers" are coming around to defend Taekook's bond now because even they see how at odds this was with the "official" content and that Taekook are close even when the group goes its separate ways. Also, someone made a great point in the comments earlier. I am not a company stan, large corporations are evil there's no such thing as an ethical billionaire etc. Some of the company's screw-ups come from intentional malice, them attaching BTS to the credits of Seven was literal sabotage in that it was an attempt to keep Jungkook from charting higher than the group. That shows me that they will take actions that hurt their individual artists. I do think there is a pattern of Tae getting the worst of it, and I honestly do not know why. But someone commented earlier that some of the neglect and some of the mistakes they make are facilitated by the guarantee that the fandom will keep throwing money their way. They have no real incentive to change. At least with the credits situation not only did the fandom get loud, but articles started popping up in Kmedia. I wish the fandom could show a united front against the company's mistreatment, against sabotage, against Billboard but it was impossible to get a boycott (something they might actually pay attention to) going before solo era, now everything is so fractured and there is so much infighting...the situation in the fandom is pretty bad. I'll even admit I'm JK-biased and with all of the weirdness I saw starting with Seven and how resentment of him and his talent/success became even clearer I've stopped paying attention to anything but Taekook's solo careers for now. No negative feelings for the others, that's just all I have energy for at the moment.

Hi anon!

There is absolutely nothing to think anything about Tae and Jk’s bond is fake. There’s a chance we are wrong in how we interpret it, but there’s no chance that they aren’t very close and arguably the closest out of all members. Tae and Jk are very consistent in showing that closeness.

Yeah, I very much hate the powerplay. No matter how big an artist or a band gets, companies most of the time still hold the power. Fandom is hard as well, I agree.

[madaboutmunson]

And Now That We're Through

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Chapter 5

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: Steve POV of the aftermath of meeting Eddie for the first time

Author Notes: This is a mature story, definitely 18+ only. Note specifically for this chapter: Don't Panic lol :D

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P;

Word Count: 2.6K

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eddie, just answer the phone, babes.

He doesn't answer. Just flips over in his hand and puts it back in his pocket.

Strictly speaking, he wasn't trying to make Marney feel bad. He just didn't want to say something he regretted, and he was wound up so tight from the events and revelations of the day that he just might snap at the wrong person.

He'd got back and texted Marney pretty much the whole car ride here, just letting her know what happened. He headed straight for the shower to wash the experience from himself. A shower is usually a good enough reset point, but lying back on his bed afterwards had only made his head spin. His flight wasn't until tomorrow morning, so he'd taken a walk with his camera, which was a mistake, especially at LAX. He was everywhere. Draped down the sides of a building, on mammoth billboards in the distance, on small info boards and stacks of leaflets. Eddie couldn't frame a tree without a bit of Harrington seeping into the periphery.

Maybe when Eddie had got here, he was too busy on the phone to Marney complaining, too bleary-eyed or arguing about staying in a hotel, but he hadn't realised how Harrington was looming over L.A., even though his residency was in Vegas. His marketing department were clearly trying to not miss a penny of revenue. A discarded leaflet on the ground gives him a little smile. He stubs his cigarette out on one, giving him a little private win.

To escape the titan-sized Harrington's outside, Eddie decides to head into the airport to get himself that strong drink he'd been thinking about all day. Soon, he finds he has to keep his eyes on signposts only. Not only are the posters in here, too, but the amount of people in his merch indicates he must have some kind of pop-up store here, too. He feels like he's drowning in the past. God, he hated this guy. Not only did he screw up Eddie's life, but he had no idea he'd done it either. 

Eddie enters the bar and takes a look around. Some news channel is on the big screen. At the tables, there are different-sized groups of people: a bachelorette party, a table of businessmen, and a few sets of couples of varying combinations. Eddie just wants to be alone, so he finds an empty bar stool at the bar. Only three other people sit at it, two young women sitting together, but both clearly talking to other people in their earphones, frantically passing papers between one another and scribbling things down. Then, at the other end, a guy, maybe a little younger than Eddie, entirely transfixed by the TV.

The guy sits there with perfect posture as he sips on his Martini of some kind. He's in profile currently from Eddie's perspective. His light brown hair is cropped short around the back and sides, but there is a meticulously styled side swoop of hair on top of his head, littered with subtle blonde highlights. He's seated perfectly to be framed between the shelves at the back of the bar and the women to Eddie's right. The fading light streams in from behind Eddie somewhere and illuminates most of him, but the harsh light of the TV occasionally brings out the highlights of his sharp nose and sparkles in his eyes.

Eddie really wants to take a picture, but like a hunter in the wild, doesn't want to startle the sweet thing. If it was a sweet thing, that is. The outline of his physique, struggling under his polo shirt, indicated that if the wrong type of personality inhabited that body, and Eddie snapped a picture, he might get his head kicked in.

Not worth the risk, Eddie turns his eyes to the back of the bar and thinks for a moment. He wants something to hit the spot but would rather not be hung over and flying tomorrow.

The bartender arrives, arm laden with snacks she quickly replenishes before turning her attention to Eddie.

"Hi!" She beams a huge, practised, pearly white smile, "What can I get you, sir?" She asks politely, her hands neatly clasped behind her. 

A dream chaser, Eddie thinks. He supposes it's not against the odds, being in an airport in L.A., but it's almost like Eddie can tell. It's almost as though people who still have the innocence or fortune enough to continue to dream hugely have an aura about them. Cynics like himself probably do, too, but it's much harder to sniff out your own kind when you're nose blind to it, but the gravitational pull of similarity might help you out with that at some point, for good or bad. He'd seen it down the lens of the camera so many times.

"Got any recommendations?" He says, giving her a half smile, trying to hold back at least some of his mood. She looks him over.

"How about an Old-fashioned?" She chirps back, and it hits Eddie straight in the heart. He hopes it doesn't show.

"Yeah, sure. That sounds good," He sends her back as big a smile as he can.

He remembers the last time he had one, celebrating an anniversary with Dallas. Just after, things started to fall apart. Eddie still had work lined up for another year and a half. Dallas had flown out to meet him and had planned a whole day for them that culminated in cocktails and being wrapped up in one another because that's how they'd met. 

A much younger Eddie sitting at a bar in a gay club, scared out of his mind because he was so overwhelmed by the freedom of everyone in there after spending most of his life hiding himself. He'd asked for an old-fashioned, no idea what it was, but it was the first thing on the blackboard behind the bear of a moustachioed bartender.

"You ok, sugar?" He'd asked, preparing Eddie's drink.

"Yeah, fine." He'd lied and scrambled for some cash in preparation. The man had gently laughed.

"First time?" He raised an eyebrow at him, which made Eddie laugh.

"That obvious?" Eddie rolled his eyes, and the bartender tilted his head at him.

"You lookin' for something, or just wanna be left alone?" He asks, dropping some ice into a glass.

"I dunno. I guess something would be nice. I just don't know what I'm doing, you know?" Eddie glances up at his eyes once and gives an awkward half-smile.

"OK, I want you to stay in that seat tonight. I'm gonna make sure to keep you safe, ok. Some of the old queens here would have known you're a first-timer the minute you walked in the door." He laughs, and Eddie pinches his eyebrows together and nods, "Ah, you've already met some, I see." His laughter booms down the bar, "You're funny, sweet kid. What's your name?"

"E-Eddie," he'd stuttered out as someone had needlessly squeezed himself up against him to get to the bar. Eddie had turned to look for a second only to be met with a set of eyes already trailing his form up and down, open-mouthed, chomping on a piece of chewing gum.

"This side of the bar is closed for now, Frankie! Go see Tom down the other end." The bartender says, and Eddie hears the warning in his tone, even though he says it with a smile on his face. The man beside Eddie huffs dramatically, spins on his heel and walks away.

That night was mostly spent talking to the bartender, Richie, and if someone approached to speak to him, they would exchange glances. Richie would nod or shake his head subtly for Eddie to know if they were okay to talk to. Sometimes Richie would spot someone more around Eddie's age at the bar and raise his eyebrows and look their way, and Eddie would respond with a shrug or shake of the head to indicate his interest, but a nod had yet to be achieved. It wasn't that these guys weren't gorgeous or not Eddie's type. It was just that despite the protection of Richie, he was still intimidated. That was until a guy rushed up to the bar urgently.

"Ritchie, my angel, can I hide back there? Two mins tops. Pleeeeease?" The guy was slightly more athletic than Eddie, but not much, wavy jet-black hair that looked somewhat wind-swept, a hard jawline and tanned skin. Holy shit, this guy was hot.

"Again, Dally? Really?!" Ritchie rolled his eyes 

"Look, it's not my fault, ok? Fuckin' closeted asshole! He's all crazy possessive and stuff. I thought it was a one-time thing and-" he suddenly detects Eddie's eyes on him and turns his head to him, "Oh hi there." He says with a charming smile and eyebrow raise that quickly fades as he looks behind Eddie at the door, "Listen, Bon Jovi, you're desperately cute, but I'm in a bit of a situation here, and if Ritchie here saves my ass, I'd sure let you buy me a drink." Eddie glances at Ritchie and gives him a little nod, and he rolls his eyes and waves Dallas round through the bar hatch to hide behind the bar.

Two hands creep up on the other side of the bar, and Dallas' eyes peek over the top, first at the door, then at Eddie and pointing at one of Eddie's empties. "You don't like the cherries?" He shouts over the music. Completely taken in by Dallas's honey-flecked hazel-green eyes peering up at him, he can't speak and shakes his head with a smile he can't repress. "Gimme!" He reached out, and Eddie handed him the glass, which he disappeared with, only to offer it back up moments later, the fruit gone.

And once the danger passed, Eddie ordered a lot more old fashioneds, and every single one Dallas would reach over, merrily chatting away about anything and everything, and steal the fruit without asking. Eddie, romantic to his core, swore right there he'd buy Dallas cherries every day, and he did for five whole years through mediocrity and fame. Dallas was at his side through it all, even when everything went to shit. But Eddie changed. He stopped being careful with his words, he stopped being attentive, he stopped being loving, and he stopped buying Dallas his cherries. Eventually, he found someone else who could, and Eddie was alone again.

Eddie looks up at the Bartender as she places the drink on a napkin in front of him, "Thank you." He manages as he hands over the money. He thinks for a moment about tossing the cherry out on the napkin and pushing it out of sight, but part of him wants to feel those little jabs of pain just so he can get to the sweet, fun nostalgia, too. He'd thought about trying to win Dallas back too many times to count, but he'd been unnecessarily cruel, and he knew there was no coming back from that. Plus, he'd already moved on with someone else, which stung but not more than he deserved.

Eddie takes a sip of his drink and looks up at the screen for distraction. His eyes widen when he sees a grainy picture of Harrington's house and a question underneath about a mystery woman, who he knows is him, and he nearly chokes on his drink. He almost runs away from the bar, back to the safety of his hotel, but as he pulls his eyes away from the screen, another set is waiting to meet his on the opposite side of the bar, an amused smile on their face, probably from Eddie almost choking on his drink. Eddie shrugs wide-eyed at him, and he laughs again, looks down at his glass and back up at Eddie again, and rubs at the side of his neck. Not wanting to embarrass himself, Eddie quickly checks behind him for some other gorgeous sunkissed man, but there isn't one. He looks back with a nervous swallow. This wasn't something he'd normally do. He's a date-first kinda guy, and though he supposes they might sit together and just have a friendly chat, this didn't feel like that. He looks up again, and the guy is sipping on the straw of his drink with his pretty pout and looking directly at him. 

Eddie shifts awkwardly in his seat. He could really do with turning this day around, and a potential evening with someone that looked that good hadn't been something he'd planned for, but it definitely stood a good chance of making him feel much better than he does right now. He swirls the drink in his glass and looks into it like some kind of magic 8 ball that will give him the answer.

The working through of his dilemma is cut short when he hears some very loud talking and laughter. He recognises those laughs. He glances over for confirmation it's a handful of famous groupies that had been at Harrington's, and Eddie's stomach swirls with distaste again. These fucking assholes would come in here, wouldn't they? He hopes to god they don't see him and just leave him be. He's not afraid of them or ashamed of who he is. He just doesn't want to suffer their fucked up loudness or be associated with them in any way.

He looks across the bar again. The man rests his superhero-type chin on his fist, patiently waiting for Eddie to look back. The moment he does, the man tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear and sits up straight again, almost like he's giving Eddie a subtle show. How his shirt clings to his body leaves little to the imagination. This guy is sculpted like an athlete. His broad shoulders lead to defined biceps, triceps, forearms, and strong hands. Nothing appears on his skin, no tattoos, piercings, or accessories. He gives Eddie a coy smile, and at the same time, Eddie hears laughter from the newly arrived group of ugly souls, and something in him just says a resounding Yes. 

He looks at the man again and gestures to the stool next to him, and the guy beams back. He cooly and calmly gathers his things and heads over.

"Hi," Eddie says quietly as he watches him sit on the stool beside him. He wishes he had something much cooler to say, but he doesn't.

"Hi there," he grins back at Eddie and glances down at his drink, "Can I buy you another?" He asks sweetly but hurriedly adds awkwardly, "I mean, if you have time. You might be in a rush, of course. I just thought-" he's so flustered it's kind of adorable.

"I'm not in a rush," Eddie answers calmly in an attempt to relax his new friend, "I don't fly out until the morning." he takes a sip of his drink and doesn't miss the hard swallow of the man next to him, "I'm not as dangerous as I might look, sweetheart." Eddie laughs, which gives him a sigh and a radiant smile this time.

"I don't normally, you know…do this," he says with almost a giggle. He's nervous, and it's endearing to Eddie because it's usually the other way around. This close, he can pick up on the beauty marks that adorn his almost olive skin, particularly the one just below his bottom lip. Eddie sincerely hopes to become intimately acquainted with that later.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere, and I don't bite," Eddie reassures him and tilts his head, "Unless you ask nicely." He smirks, and the tips of the guy's ears get hit with a blush of pink. Inner Eddie clutches at his chest and falls right off his stool. Outer Eddie swirls his drink in his hand. The fruit bounces between the chill of the ice and the heat of the alcohol. He looks up into the beautiful man's brown eyes and smiles, "Do you like cherries?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Songs that inspired this chapter: I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself (Cover) - The White Stripes November Rain - Guns & Roses

[c-40]

A-T-4 042 Art Of Versions

The Art of Noise follow the Into Battle EP with Beat Box. As you've probably guessed from previous ZTT and AON posts releasing many different edits and versions was their m.o. The image (I got at least) was the technology (most noticeably the Fairlight) and time in the studio gave you the ability to churn out endless variations (AON released at least 11 'diversions' of Beat Box). It was great advertising for Trevor Horn as he and his partner owned one of the most sophisticated recording studios on the planet at the time. It's easy to see similarities with Jamaican producers and studios that in the previous decade created dubs and versions, although the closest AON got to producing a riddim would be Moments In Love which has been covered, remixed, and sampled a lot a lot. We have had pop music factory production lines before and I suppose this is where Trevor Horn crosses over with his contemporary Pete Waterman, according to Phil Harding "Waterman watched Trevor Horn so closely that he would strike a deal with equipment suppliers to furnish him with whatever state-of-the-art gadgetry Horn had." Before his hit factory had been established Waterman produced a Relax sound alike track, complete with a look alike sleeve, in 1984 called The Upstroke by Agents Aren't Aeroplanes. Nowadays trap music can be made quickly for very little money and production is more automated and streamlined than it ever has been

Beat Box was the first track AON worked on and it came from JJ Jeczalik messing around with recordings of Yes drummer, Alan White's drums with a Linn drum machine, a Fairlight CMI Series II and Page R (music sequencing software) while Horn was working on the Yes album 90125 (the similarities between the Red + Blue Mix of Owner Of A Lonely Heart and Beat Box are unmistakable). "So JJ was screwing around in the back room and I remember him playing me that 'Beat Box' drum loop and I said 'Jees, that's fantastic, they'll love that in New York.'"

...And they did, Beat Box did very well on the Billboard dance and black music charts in America, reaching number 1 and 10 respectively. Writer Simon Reynold's has written Beat Box was popular with breakdancers in the US, I believe it's still popular with poppin and lockin dads (and granddads)

In June 1984 AON released their debut album Who's Afraid of the Art of Noise? the title a pun on the 1962 play and later film Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? which is itself a pun on the song Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? from the 1933 Walt Disney cartoon The Three Little Pigs... would we call this a meme?

On the album is Close (To The Edit) which would be released as a single in October 1984. There were five different 12" versions of Close (To The Edit) released, including a picture disk. As far as I can tell AON put out six different versions of the track at the time, including the LP version (that's if I ignore the cassette single). To make matters more confusing Close (To The Edit) evolved out of the afore mentioned Beat Box. Beat Box Diversion Two is a version of Close (To The Edit) and vice versa, as are Diversion Seven and Diversion Eight. Close (To The Edit) was named after the Yes album Close To The Edge and they had fun with the names of the various versions of Close (To The Edit) that they put out, Close-Up, Closer, Closest, Closely Closely (Enough's Enough), Closed

Close (To The Edit) features Anne Dudley playing a very familiar sounding walking bass on piano, if we ignore the car ignition sounds they also use a sample of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters. I wondering if this comes from the Duck Rock sessions the then unnamed AON did with Malcom McLaren? I'm thinking Buffalo Gals is taken from a song reference in It's A Wonderful Life, that film was made in 1946 when boogie woogie was the sound. It's either that or they love boogie woogie and swing. AON do love film genre recordings Peter Gunn, Dragnet, James Bond, Robinson Crusoe...

There's another diversion on the Close (To The Edit) singles, a track called A Time To Hear (Who's Listening). Of course there's a few versions, Who's Listening goes into Beat Box and then Close (To The Edit), as does the version called A Time To Clear (It Up) ("all together now") - there's very little difference between these tracks, then there's A Time To Hear (We're Listening) which is the first minute and a half of A Time To Hear (Who's Listening) - the variations of names is more fun the tracks themselves when there's very little to tell them apart... unless the lesson is to accept being resold more of the same stuff in a slightly different package and disappointment

Oh and all these records have come out and Marley Marl still hasn't sampled a drum beat

Art Of Noise - Beat Box Live on the Tube in 1984

Art Of Noise - A Time To Hear (We're Listening)

Art Of Noise - Closely Closely, Enough's Enough

12 versions of Beat Box personally I can see more appearing in time, that's what RSD is for

[animusiem]

Billboard USA Exclusion Zone Episode 19 (08/05/2023)

After three weeks hiatus, I am finally back from the break and a lot has happened recently. We got Jungkook and Latto's first #1 hit, this week we have NewJeans album bomb along with Barbie rising up more, and Speak Now Taylor's Version is out as well. That's all that really happened really, I don't know what anything that happened beside that hahaha....anyways here's the best chart on earth's debut review.

-------------------------------------------

4. "ETA" by NewJeans

I think 2023 has been a great year for Kpop, but if you tell this to like a Kpophead they'll tell you it's kinda tumultuous. Using NewJeans as an example, they have been kinda screwed by their label manager in the lead up to Get Up. This song is the prime example which some people on Twitter are calling this song a support for a far-left Basque separatist group...okay then twitter. Bottom line is that despite the success and this being a great song (even if it sounded like That That by Psy), It has been a chaotic year for Kpop

6. "K-pop" by Travis Scott ft. Bad Bunny & The Weeknd

I will get into the album review next week, but it's kinda interesting how because of Goosebumps and Sicko Mode, he's now is big enough globally that this song can chart on Global Excluding US chart. And also I couldn't forget that while he's indeed a piece of shit and has blood on his hand, at the end of the day the music has to prove itself to be good (unless if you are a Nazi or a rapist and make a song about it). With that in mind, this song is not good. Who thought that mixing funk carioca drum with eerie synth was a good idea is beyond me.

19. "Cool With You" by NewJeans

My favorite part of Kpop this year is how they're embracing the 2000's dance sound along with the club sound. That's why this song is my favorite one from the album. I just love the UK Garage sound and this one is no exceptions.

26. "ASAP" by NewJeans

I've never seen any Kpop bands ever experimented as much as this one. This is legit felt like early Bjork sound modernized and I don't take that lightly.

44. "Get Up" by NewJeans

Cool intro sis!

82. "Barbie Girl" by Aqua

You know my ass was very egg back then when I didn't have negative reaction listening to this song for the first time during elementary. And also me opening up repressive memories of me wanting to play Barbie but couldn't...anyways Barbie movie is great.

110. "Speed Drive" by Charli XCX

The fact that this song sounds like her hyperpop days with the ringtone like synth and the distorted bass charted high in here and also the US showed that we are so back baby!

128. "Nothing Compares 2 U" by Sinead O'Connor

The saddest part of her death is that I just found out that she converted to Islam. She fought a good fight and this cover of The Family song is still a classic. Innalillahi Wa Inalillahi Roji'un Shuhada' Sadaqat I hope you're finally find peace in akhirat.

129. "Love Like This" by Zayn

Anyways here's Zayn trend chasing the 2000's dance throwback and make it sound like the most uninspired thing ever, even if I do love the anti-drop.

149. "I'm Just Ken" by Ryan Gosling

My favorite part of the movie is the music choices. The fact that they changed the music on the radio from Indigo Girls to Matchbox Twenty to signified the takeover of Kens is inspired, as well as making Ryan Gosling singing what I would describe as an homage to the late Jim Steinmen, this movie is just great.

187. "Montagem - PR Funk" by S3BZS

All I can say is that if you showed this to your grandparents, they would perish.

198. "Rosa Patel" by Belanova

So if I get this correctly, this song is a pop rock song made by a Mexican band that was released in 2006 and during that time they're making Spanish version of High School Musical song...God I love this chart so much.

199. "Dial Drunk" by Noah Kahan

I kinda missed the indie folk sound of 2011-2014 as vapid and meaningless as they sound. And I'm glad he bring this back with some great guitar solo.

I highly recommend everyone to listen to these songs.

[thesinglesjukebox]

HANUMANKIND FT. KALMI - "BIG DAWGS"

YouTube: "I'm from Sweden and this hits harder then our meatballs!"

[6.30]

Alfred Soto: Reaching a new peak of #23 on the Billboard Hot 100 with no signs of stopping, "Big Dawgs" is one of the more traditional hip-hop tracks to score. This Indian producer-writer team has got "money on my mind," a trope no less tiresome for sounding fresh in its secondhandedness: Kalmi and Hanumankind after all absorbed these tropes as kids. Energy and skill it's got, if not much inspiration. [7]

Jonathan Bradley: In 2024, Texas rap no longer requires Texan rappers. Hanumankind claims a "Southern family" in "Big Dawgs," which checks out: he's from the south Indian state of Kerala, and spent some time in Houston. He has a slick, bumptious flow, and he's versatile enough to quote Pimp C before switching up into a Project Pat cadence for a few bars. It would work better if he wasn't playing Rap-a-Lot Mad Libs with his rhymes: he's standing on business, he's got money on his mind, he would like hoes to get up off his dick. The beat rumbles like a dirt bike, except it also buzzes like a mosquito, and the longer it goes on the more like the latter it sounds. I like how he says he's rolling through the city with his lawyer with him; it makes him sound like Hunter S. Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas careening through the streets with a dubiously identified attorney as sidekick. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The kind of rap hit only a Goldman Sachs analyst could write — every second optimized for hookiness, every boast a little self-satisfied and unearned. The Project Pat and Pimp C bites are cute, and I don't doubt this guy was listening to UGK as a teenager, but the aggregate effect of this (and Kalmi's big, aggro beat) is less to thrill and more to annoy. With every listen I find something new to dislike. [3]

Katherine St. Asaph: This is so fucking stupid. [6]

Taylor Alatorre: Maybe it's the suppressed debate-club nerd in me, but I appreciate how much of "Big Dawgs" is constructed as an argument for its own right to exist. The guy clearly wanted to do a straightforward Project Pat imitation -- no reason, just 'cause -- but he knew this would ruffle feathers, so he spends most of the song's back half pre-addressing the controversy, inhabiting the guise of his soon-to-be critics: "how you get like this?" His answers range from standard brush-offs to some genuinely provoking commentary, most notably his suggestion that those of brown skin color "face closed curtains" worldwide. Knock him if you must for jacking the Memphis flow, but Cherukat did at least grow up in Houston, that sprawling sweatbox of contrasts -- a global magnet for high-skilled immigration whose suburbs can nonetheless foster protests against a Hindu temple's new Hanuman statue. Lest you wander too far intto the political weeds and end up thinking "promises are broken" is a veiled reference to H-1B visa caps, Hanumankind brings things back to the carnal with a well-timed sexual boast, a head-spinning turnaround that helps ward off any party-unfriendly grievance wallowing. The spiky defensiveness ends up working in the song's favor; both lyrics and delivery act out the kind of immigrant hustle that was valorized in M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes," the most recent South Asian crossover hit of this magnitude. Confident that his points have been made, Hanumankind signs off with a lengthy chop-and-screw session that's indulgent in the best of ways, bolstering the song's "anything goes" sense of slippery self-assurance. He ain't worried about it, so why should we be? [9]

Nortey Dowuona: "In school, I used to fight the bullies -- now I'm fighting with the law. Guess some things don't leave you fully." [10]

Mark Sinker: The wind and grind of the backing is good, but he should half-speed his voice all the time; au naturel it’s too weedy. “We ain't got the time for you fuckin’ bugs” is a strong near-closer of a line -- except he actually just says “bums,” and that’s weedy too.  [5]

Kristen S. Hé: No idea why people are calling this TikTok rap when it's clearly pro wrestling entrance theme music -- but for whom? [6]

Edward Okulicz: I look forward to hearing 20 seconds of this accompanying a montage of some contact sport as I channel-surf. The cool bit is the whir and grind under the verses, like an '80s home computer trying to sound like a car engine. The slowed-down finale breaks up the monotony a bit, and the kids listening to it don't realise that trick is about 35 years old because they're half that. [5]

Ian Mathers: How you feel about him yelling "hey, shut the fuck up!" at the standard "don't imitate these stunts" warning at the beginning of the video is probably a good shorthand for how you'll feel about "Big Dawgs" as a whole. The production is nicely blocky, buzzy, and abrasive, and the flow follows suit. It feels likely to be divisive, in the kind of way where both sides go "see?" and point to the same lines/elements to prove their point. Those stunts, though... those stunts are pretty cool to watch. Maybe that's a good shorthand too. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[ljaesch]

Dolly Parton's interview with Billboard about her forthcoming album, Rockstar.

[dearyallfrommatt]

“Guitar Man/What I’d Say”

This was written by Jerry Reed and hit 53 Hot Country Singles in 1967. One of the people who heard it was Elvis who decided to cut it, obviously feeling a kinship with the wandering guitar picker in the song. At the time, he was putting together songs for his movie Clambake and did some sessions in Nashville. Along with Nashville heavies like Chip Young, Charlie McCoy, and Floyd Cramer were the surviving members of Elvi’s first combo, Scotty Moore and D.J. Fontana.

Unfortunately, they just couldn’t nail the groove Elvis wanted and so he gave the royal decree, “Get me that redneck picker who’s on the original tune.” The way Jerry Reed tells it, he was fishing way out in the South Georgia swamps when he got the word and made it to Nashville in 45 minutes. I’m sure he exaggerates but the combination was dynamite.

This song has been called one of pure joy as the band spins off into a little of Ray Charles’s classic “What I’d Say” just for the hell of it. And dammit, they kept playing, busting out a ripping rendition of Jimmy Reed’s “Big Boss Man” and another one Reed seems to have written just this session, the appropriately titled “U.S. Male.”

Unfortunately, that’s all they got down. As we said earlier, Elvis was putting together songs for another one of those usually forgettable soundtracks to his equally forgettable movies. However, he was upset that his “Hollywood Era” meant an entire generation of popular music passed him by. So for Clambake, he went back to the country and blues he grew up on while telling his music publisher to look for songs like that.

And that’s where shit happens. A guy named Freddy Bienstock worked for Hill & Range Music Publishing. Music publishers make sure the proper people get paid for a song, including performers, songwriters, and just general people who own a piece of a song. Bienstock liked to brag that for the first 12 years of his career, Elvis never looked at a song unless it was cleared by him.

Elvis didn’t write his stuff and Bienstock didn’t like rock & roll, but he’s the guy who brought Otis Blackwell, Doc Pomus, and Leiber & Stoller to Elvis and that’s a promising start. However, everyone got lazy with the soundtracks because, like the movies, they were guaranteed money-makers regardless of quality. So why not dangle a spot on an Elvis Presley album to a young and hungry songwriter who’s willing to give the nice music publisher a huge percentage for giving this chance.

That’s the music business, folks. However, as the decade wore on and the soundtracks started selling less - and songwriting, in general, was getting more respect in the hep world - fewer songwriters would give up that extra dosh. One of those songwriters was Jerry Reed, who had already established himself as a successful songwriter and session musician in Nashville. This did wind up making him a star but Jerry told Bienstock to take a hike regardless.

Elvis left the business to the businessmen (and they screwed him over for trusting them) and it sort of ruined the overall vibe. “Guitar Man” was a Billboard Country chart topper and hit 43 on the pop charts. Clambake continued the downward slide of the soundtracks, just squeaking out a Top 40 and selling barely 200,000 copies. He had two more to do before the ‘68 NBC comeback special that revitalized his career.

But that’s a whole ‘nother story.

[wamuzimedia]

US rapper Big Pokey dies after collapsing during performance.

Big Pokey, a rapper from the United States, died after collapsing during a Texas performance. Milton Powell, the artist's real name, was performing at a bar-themed event on Saturday when he fell backwards on stage. Before the 48-year-old was taken to a nearby hospital, witnesses rushed to assist him. He passed away Sunday. In a statement, his publicist stated, "He was well loved by his family, his friends, and his loyal fans." Big Pokey will always be known as "The Hardest Pit in the Litter!" the rapper's debut album was mentioned in the statement that was added. While performing at the Pour09 Bar in Beaumont, a viral video showed Powell suddenly falling backwards while holding his microphone. The Houston Chronicle was informed by a Beaumont Police spokeswoman that paramedics were dispatched just before midnight local time. The cause of death has not yet been made public. Powell was best known as a founding member of the influential Houston-based hip-hop collective Screwed Up Click. It helped establish the city's "chopped-and-screwed" sound, a low-key, laid-back style created by slowing down the underlying track's pitch and tempo. When Powell appeared on the 2005 Paul Wall single Sittin Sidewayz, he reached the top of the Billboard Hot 100. What's more, keep going year, he highlighted on Megan You Steed's Southside Sovereignty Free-form. Powell has been honored by a number of artists, including Juice J, Slim Thug, and Lil Flip. "Mount of a man who moved with honor and respect, low-key, and humble. "On Instagram, the rapper Bun B wrote, "He was easy to love and hard to hate." Read the full article