#bro fuck this store and fuck the economy

[mothymayhem]

Working morning shift essentially means,, if I wake up feeling shitty and sick. Any call-out is gonna be last minute.

[omegaremix]

Lindenhurst.

I lived in Brentwood for much of my timeline; mostly at my childhood home and later moved down the road not too far away post-Stony Brook. The latter move was a result of me refusing to move down to Myrtle Beach with my parents. I never had any desire to leave New York State and I never had enough of visiting New York City. Around the time, the economy plundered. I went broke and applied for the first job opportunity that was open in order to survive. I had no idea that place would ruin me. For most of the time at the second Brentwood residency, I wasn’t feeling 100% because of constant targeting of management and their crony co-workers. It took me a while to get back on track and eventually whatever I lost I gained back and more. I discovered a few key artists that made me see the light. I got back into broadcasting with a new radio show, and I finally re-united with Cath- whom I haven’t seen in a few years due to her addiction and sordid history.

But, some things turn sour that’s not your fault. Ma’ commits suicide and your dad ends up moving back in with you. You end up working two jobs without a day-off in near vicinity. Cath-’s #1 dies of a heroin overdose and she cuts off all ties from you with absolutely no reason given. Your unemployed gamer landlord doesn’t put in his fair share of rent and utilities, so you end up with no internet and you’re literally freezing because there’s no running heat or hot water for all of winter. Of all the major events going on, that final one had my bro- take notice. He was living with his lady and their first-born in Lindenhurst. He felt so bad learning I was living with no utilities that he not only offered me to move in with him to Lindenhurst but also into a new house. I shouldn’t say ‘offered’. He told me so. Sure. I wasn’t complaining.

I had about a week to pack up all the loose ends and was told to take out all my records, discs, cassettes, VHS tapes, and DVDs from the drawers and throw them in giant bins. Him and his friends managed to lift all the furniture up out of the old Brentwood residency and into the new one in Lindenhurst. It was my duty to take some of the smaller boxes of personals to stuff in the trunk, back seat, and passengers’ seat of my car.

I’d be leaving behind the un-mopped dingy floors, the eventual basement floods, and the other disused soot-ridden rooms which the former random inhabitants lived in. One ‘neighbor’ who lived in the adjacent room from me came home on the weekends totally wasted that he collapsed face first on the floor as soon as he walked in. He almost caused a house fire by forgetting the bag of popcorn he was cooking in the microwave. And the best one – get ready for this - was when a fully nude lady almost walked into my room. It was his prostitute looking for him. Jesus Fucking Christ.

I went to work and was told by my bro- that everything would be moved in the same day, so just come to the new house in Lindenhurst. I had no idea how good I had it. My new room was up on the second floor and triple the size of my previous one. Carpeted floors. Windows that faced the peeking sun. Low-flying passenger jets. A wider, larger closet space, and a pair of smaller doors revealing an attic for storage. Plus, being in Lindenhurst meant that three record stores were in near vicinity: West Babylon’s Looney Tunes, Amityville’s High Fidelity, and Massapequa’s Infinity Records. Lindenhurst had quickly become a favorite place to live in.

I arrived from work on a sunny 70* Sunday. June 1st to be exact. Most of what I kept from my childhood home and the previous residency came with me to Lindenhurst such as a gumball machine, my gramma’s Lafayette LR-810 receiver, and a massive Philips 24” CRT TV that would paralyze anyone attempting to lift it. All of it was there and a few boxes of my audio / video library. I wasn’t interested in unpacking. Not just yet. Our wi-fi network was set-up. That was the most important thing to me. I haven’t had consistent wi-fi in six months. The first thing I looked up was to see how Cath- was doing despite her taking everything we had and throwing out the trash as if it was nothing. Good news: she’s started a new life solo in Arizona and has been clean for one month.

The first finds to mark my new stay in Lindenhurst? Someone had posted Pharmakon’s “Xia Xinfeng” where her murderous screams break through a fully-running frigidly cold hum. I was sold instantly. The vinyl-finds groups lead me to Mass Production and Peter Brown; soul-jazz and pop respectively. I stuck with the L.I.E.S. label after fully enjoying Ron Morelli’s solos for a quite a while, all released through Dominick Fernow’s Hospital Productions. His label compilation, Music For Shut-Ins, supplied Samantha’s Vacation, Svengalisghost, and Legowelt. Omar Souleyman started gaining a name for himself in the states. Experiencing “Kell Il Banat Inkhatban (All The Girls Are Engaged)“ is truly something. I never heard keyboards go that crazy. Then we have WUSB’s own Alice, dee-jay of Nightmare Aquarium. Without her, I wouldn’t have known who Ariel Pink and William Onyeabor were. I credit her for introducing me to the magically sublime Black Marble.

Nary did I have a day off during that Summer I moved in. I could only count four…maybe six total. The electronics place finally gave me full time, double-dealing between that and part-time at the Italian market. The only stand-out moment I had during the hotter months was getting lost somewhere in the sunny woodsy section of Mastic looking for Nicole’s residency which I did find an hour late. Nowadays, one listen to A Different Arrangement instantly takes me back to those June Sundays.

Autumn came. The days were getting cooler and darker. Driving past Argyle Pond coming home from work became a staple memory with synthwave vibes of “Fright Night” from Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti forever attached to it. Hospital Productions gave me another artist to savor in the Italian-based Ninos Du Brasil  with their dying-hot exotic techno sounds. Suicideyear would be distinct to the season and to Lindenhurst alone which makes their sound personal in my book. Another neighborhood memory, Dual Action’s “NC-17 Drive In”, is forever intertwined to the Autumn soul. Our WUSB hip-hop dee-jay Dr. Ceus played me SpaceGhostPurrp’s “Mystical Maze” adding another bookmark in this asterisk time. Mono/Poly’s “Alpha Omega”, Lussuria’s “Mondo Narcotico” and “Keys To Unlock Paradise (Roman Showers)” from American Babylon,Function & Vatican Shadow’s Games Have Rules, the obscure Axxa/Abraxas’ “Waiting Daze”, and selections from The Bug’s Angels & Devils left their imprints on another feel-good season at Lindenhurst.

Before I knew it, my streak of 83 straight days of work was finally broken a few days before Thanksgiving. I came to visit the market for my hours to see that I was written out of the grid. Week after week it became a normal occurrence. I’ve been giving them my other hours in time without fail but now no more results. No discussion, no rhyme or reason why. I was let go without any notice. It was a blessing, however. A soft end to six years of non-stop belittling, boys-club behavior, and endless soul-torturing has finally been put down to die.

Winter was where things started to get fucked for discoveries; like the ‘parenthesis’ in an equation. My ex- Yenny is leaving for Lima and she’s asked me to house-sit for her in Hauppauge. A two-week stay meant all music discoveries default there. A residency inside a residency. Before and after, XXYYXX’s only full-length and two finds from the Ze label Xmas Record, Suicide’s “Hey Lord” and Alan Vega’s “No More Christmas Blues” are embedded in those frosty, chilly Winter days back in Lindy-. The latter two would be put on pause as I walked a couple of blocks to the bagel place for a heavy baked breaded breakfast.

Then came a March announcement from my bro-: we’re moving to Ronkonkoma. This was unexpected. He was excited to start a new point in his life. His lady was expecting their second child and wanted something even nicer than what we have. There was no issue with where we lived. I had none and truly wanted to stay longer. But, what my bro- was selling us on that we’d upgrade from the slightly crowded residential streets, noise-polluting airplanes, and highways across every direction for a gentler, calmer, at-peace setting of historical context, well-manicured lawns, trails, veteran’s parks, and a 4.5 square-mile scenic lake. To me, Ronkonkoma was Record Stop on Portion Road, punk luminary Jimi LaLumia’s Record Connection on Hawkins Road, and what used to be Lakeside’s bar where I’d go for some small-scale but breakout-violent local hardcore shows. Other than LaLumia, none are still standing. It’s a new decade now; far away from the community-college shows and record-buying jaunts from the Stony Brook era. We had up until May 1st   to get everything together. The Lindenhurst finds dwindled down to nothing, and all the discoveries found that Spring ended up at the current residency we’re at now. It was time to say goodbye to my old furniture: the twin-sized bed, the old bookshelves, dressers, drawers, the gumball machine, and the Lafayette that was losing its functionality. We left all the small stuff in front of the gate and left the furniture behind. Goodbye Lindenhurst and hello Ronkonkoma.

**********

I can tell you that my very first experience in the new neighborhood was delightful and exotic. We were only a few blocks away from the new house. My dad had me pull up to our neighborhood 7-11 for his daily coffee. I grab a pack of Hostess chocolate cupcakes and behind the counter I see the perfect ginger. Bright long copper hair, brown eyes, freckles, and all of pale skin. Jackpot. She was a sight to be seen.

There was a line of five people in front of us with two registers open. Dad was more than ready to sip his coffee but was getting restless as the scalding hot was wearing off. Lucky for me, the young Indian kid took care of him. I put my Hostess on the counter for the ginger to ring up. She was quiet, expressionless. Tired, bored, introverted? Who knows. Who cares. She made quick work of my purchase and I was two more cupcakes happier. The day was off to a great start. I didn’t believe people like her existed.

She was my very first memory at the new neighborhood. I still remember her to this very day. There’s some faces you never forget.

Pharmakon “Xia Xinfeng”

Mass Production “Slow Bump”

Atari Teenage Riot “Modern Liars”

Peter Brown “For Your Love”

Black Marble A Different Arrangement

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti “Schnitzel Boogie”

Purling Hiss “Don’t Even Try It”

Omar Souleyman “Kell Il Banat Inkhatban (All The Girls Are Engaged)“

Poly Styrene (as Mari Elliott) “Silly Billy”

L.I.E.S. label Music For Shut-Ins (2013)

Carbonas “September Gurls”

Predator “Honest Man”

Run The Jewels “Blockbuster Night Pt. 1”

Arca “Thievery”

Broadcast “Goodbye Girls”

Ariel Pink “Put Your Number In My Phone”

Ninos Du Brasil “Pandiero Sinchinsa”

NeruvianDOOM “Disastrous”

Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments “Please Hear My Plea”

Suicideyear “Hope Building A”

Hussy, The “EZ-PZ”

Carbonas “Frothing At The Mouth”

Krewe Of 77 “Three’s A Crowd”

Ekoplekz “Robert Rental”

Wara From The NBHD “Squeal (Peel Off)”

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti “Fright Night (Never More)”

Mono/Poly “Alpha & Omega”

Casket Girls, The “Chemical Dizzy”

Bug, The “Void”

Suicideyear “Rememberance”

Standish / Carlyon “2 5 1 1”

Vereker “Rosite”

Ninos Du Brazil “Tuppelo”

SpaceGhostPurrp “Mystikal Maze”

Dual Action “NC-17 Drive In”

Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments ”Turntable Battlefield”

Bug, The “Swarm”

Suicideyear “I Don’t Care About Death Because I Smoke”

Travis Porter “Do A Trick” (Suicideyear RMX)

Ninos Du Brasil “Rebanho Espetacular”

Lussuria “Mondo Narcotico”

Function & Vatican Shadow Games Have Rules

Axxa/Abraxas “Waiting Daze”

Lussuria “Keys To Unlock Paradise (Roman Showers)”

Blossom Dearie “Sunday Afternoon”

XXYYXX “Witching Hour”

Alan Vega “No More Christmas Blues”

Suicide “Hey Lord”

XXYYXX “Fields”

[uwusforjade]

There’s no retribution in Karma.

I have churned out three chapters today bro I’m insane.

Seven hours had dragged, working with both the living and the deceased. Finally your work window came to a close, peeling your body out of the grimey suit. No more condensation filling up your vision every time to you took a breath! A small relief-but you had to take what you could get when you work in a trafficking warehouse day in ‘n’ day out.

You take the path to your car snail’s pace, waving to the few workers you recognise, duffel bag slung over your shoulder. You swing it into the passenger seat with a harsh thud to the black leather, hauling yourself into the driver’s.

Today had been an unbearable one, mishaps whilst unavoidable but not usual had really thrown you off your rhythm. Hutton had made it worse by tenfold, his freak-ish nature really made your skin crawl- as though he’d buy you the second he got the opportunity.

You didn’t even want to consider what he’d want with you, brain flushing itself into a puddle before any thoughts could start flowing.

Maybe you could stop off and get some take-out for a late dinner, it’s probably nine o’clock by now. You pull onto the highway, scanning the blackened skies, clouds lurching in from every direction like slabs of obsidian.

Stopping off at your local pizzeria could do the trick- but you were more in the mood for something a little less greasy and heartburn inducing.

Maybe some Sushi? Nah- that’s way past your apartment and delivery costs an extortionate amount in this economy, paying back your debt already had you practically rubbing two nickels together, forget spending 5 bucks just on delivery!

You decided to stop off for some snacks and ramen instead, preferring the idea of a date night with yourself and your kitties all tangled up in bed together.

You pulled in at the nearest 7-11 for some much needed grub, stepping out and into the dinky store.

It was mind boggling how quickly your life could go from harvesting organs and dealing with the darker fuckers of society to grabbing groceries. If you could look past the whole ordeal of working from criminals as a form of debt collection, it almost felt like coming home from your typical 9-5!

“Ah! Hallo Young’in!” You practically shit yourself, the booming accent in your ear enough to clear your entire stomach contents.

Ohhhh fuck no. Your eyes catch a glimpse of tan skin looming beside you, scanning the various products of candy by your shoulder. You didn’t even have to look to know it was the creepy bastard from earlier.

“Hello.. Strade.. is it?” Man, this dude was warm, his body radiating heat deep into yours even standing mere inches away. You could practically feel his breath on your cheeks, the smell of familiar tobacco wafting you as his eyes melted into yours. Studying, dissecting, all of your features like they were the body parts you harvested and sent to the weirdos who paid for them.

This man was one of those weirdos.

Every single part him seemed to invade your senses, all of which were telling you to high tail it out of there.

“Ah yes, you remember my name! Lovely of you, sweet thing.” He gleamed at you, fingers patting the silk material of your jacket. “So what brings you here, hm?”

Your jacket strains under the pull of his thick fingers, as he fiddles over the embroidered label engraving the lower right pocket.

Your chest rattled out an exhale, nerves swallowing you at just how close he was. “Just passing through, grabbing some things for dinner aha..” He releases your coat, moving away to swipe a bag of chips off the shelf beside your head. You observe him inspecting the label, eyes scrunching as though in need of glasses, placing the chips back down where he found them.

“Ah, Ja, though, this is not exactly the place for a decent meal, no?” He raises a full eyebrow at you. You choke out a cough, rather embarrassed by his observation, “Do you often choose bad meal options to feed yourself?” You swallow thickly, unsure of how to answer without wheezing half of your lungs up.

“Oh- well uhm- no I just- well y’see..” You sheepishly drop your noodle cup into your basket, Strade swiping it right out to read the label. “Tough times then hm?” It ungracefully drops back into the basket.

Great, he’s already established your financial and dietary situation from a simple exchange at 7-11 of all places, what a great blind date this would be…

Was every stranger going to belittle your life choices today or was it just this particular one?

“Ah well, I’ll see you around then youngin’!” You watched the large man disappear into the next isle as quick as he appeared, barely managing to shoot a goodbye his way.

Truly, an unbearable day.

Soon you’d fallen in your apartment door, bags tumbling behind you. Sending a shoe flying as you flicked them off your feet into the depths of your apartment- terrifying the unsuspecting cats awaiting you.

Nothin’ a lil’ treatie from Momma couldn’t fix! The sweet fur balls brushing themselves round and round your calves to greet you hello, “There’s my babies! Momma’s home now, Lumo, Juniper.” Tiny fangs nip at the skin of your calves, bounding alongside your groggy form towards the living area.

Sometimes you wondered if they knew they weren’t starved but simply chose to act that way, like desperate little cave men fighting starvation.

Crumbs littered the floor around the metal bowls stashed in the corner, food plastered all around them. Pfft- Yeaah. They’ll be fine another couple minutes.

[imeverywoman420]

ok so let me rephrase

Like. The whole “being single isnt an option for most women we need a bf to survive in this economy” yall are coming at it from the angle that im saying Ew you dont need a man sis

im saying HOW ARE YOU SUCH A STACY THAT BEING SINGLE ISNT AN OPTION? WHAT. LIKE. HUH. I fucking WISH being single wasnt an option bro? Do you want to trade places? Can i have your boyfriend? like the thing thats crazy to me is the idea of being in a relationship as just this Easy casual thing. Like oh ya let me just go to the boyfriend store. WHAT? How are you getting the boyfriend.

[omegaplus]

# 4,415

Lindenhurst.

I lived in Brentwood for much of my timeline; mostly at my childhood home and later moved down the road not too far away post-Stony Brook. The latter move was a result of me refusing to move down to Myrtle Beach with my parents. I never had any desire to leave New York State and I never had enough of visiting New York City. Around the time, the economy plundered. I went broke and applied for the first job opportunity that was open in order to survive. I had no idea that place would ruin me. For most of the time at the second Brentwood residency, I wasn’t feeling 100% because of constant targeting of management and their crony co-workers. It took me a while to get back on track and eventually whatever I lost I gained back and more. I discovered a few key artists that made me see the light. I got back into broadcasting with a new radio show, and I finally re-united with Cath- whom I haven’t seen in a few years due to her addiction and sordid history.

But, some things turn sour that’s not your fault. Ma’ commits suicide and your dad ends up moving back in with you. You end up working two jobs without a day-off in near vicinity. Cath-’s #1 dies of a heroin overdose and she cuts off all ties from you with absolutely no reason given. Your unemployed gamer landlord doesn’t put in his fair share of rent and utilities, so you end up with no internet and you’re literally freezing because there’s no running heat or hot water for all of winter. Of all the major events going on, that final one had my bro- take notice. He was living with his lady and their first-born in Lindenhurst. He felt so bad learning I was living with no utilities that he not only offered me to move in with him to Lindenhurst but also into a new house. I shouldn’t say ‘offered’. He told me so. Sure. I wasn’t complaining.

I had about a week to pack up all the loose ends and was told to take out all my records, discs, cassettes, VHS tapes, and DVDs from the drawers and throw them in giant bins. Him and his friends managed to lift all the furniture up out of the old Brentwood residency and into the new one in Lindenhurst. It was my duty to take some of the smaller boxes of personals to stuff in the trunk, back seat, and passengers' seat of my car.

I’d be leaving behind the un-mopped dingy floors, the eventual basement floods, and the other disused soot-ridden rooms which the former random inhabitants lived in. One ‘neighbor’ who lived in the adjacent room from me came home on the weekends totally wasted that he collapsed face first on the floor as soon as he walked in. He almost caused a house fire by forgetting the bag of popcorn he was cooking in the microwave. And the best one – get ready for this - was when a fully nude lady almost walked into my room. It was his prostitute looking for him. Jesus Fucking Christ.

I went to work and was told by my bro- that everything would be moved in the same day, so just come to the new house in Lindenhurst. I had no idea how good I had it. My new room was up on the second floor and triple the size of my previous one. Carpeted floors. Windows that faced the peeking sun. Low-flying passenger jets. A wider, larger closet space, and a pair of smaller doors revealing an attic for storage. Plus, being in Lindenhurst meant that three record stores were in near vicinity: West Babylon’s Looney Tunes, Amityville’s High Fidelity, and Massapequa’s Infinity Records. Lindenhurst had quickly become a favorite place to live in.

I arrived from work on a sunny 70* Sunday. June 1st to be exact. Most of what I kept from my childhood home and the previous residency came with me to Lindenhurst such as a gumball machine, my gramma’s Lafayette LR-810 receiver, and a massive Philips 24” CRT TV that would paralyze anyone attempting to lift it. All of it was there and a few boxes of my audio / video library. I wasn’t interested in unpacking. Not just yet. Our wi-fi network was set-up. That was the most important thing to me. I haven’t had consistent wi-fi in six months. The first thing I looked up was to see how Cath- was doing despite her taking everything we had and throwing out the trash as if it was nothing. Good news: she’s started a new life solo in Arizona and has been clean for one month.

The first finds to mark my new stay in Lindenhurst? Someone had posted Pharmakon’s “Xia Xinfeng” where her murderous screams break through a fully-running frigidly cold hum. I was sold instantly. The vinyl-finds groups lead me to Mass Production and Peter Brown; soul-jazz and pop respectively. I stuck with the L.I.E.S. label after fully enjoying Ron Morelli’s solos for a quite a while, all released through Dominick Fernow’s Hospital Productions. His label compilation, Music For Shut-Ins, supplied Samantha’s Vacation, Svengalisghost, and Legowelt. Omar Souleyman started gaining a name for himself in the states. Experiencing “Kell Il Banat Inkhatban (All The Girls Are Engaged)“ is truly something. I never heard keyboards go that crazy. Then we have WUSB’s own Alice, dee-jay of Nightmare Aquarium. Without her, I wouldn’t have known who Ariel Pink and William Onyeabor were. I credit her for introducing me to the magically sublime Black Marble.

Nary did I have a day off during that Summer I moved in. I could only count four…maybe six total. The electronics place finally gave me full time, double-dealing between that and part-time at the Italian market. The only stand-out moment I had during the hotter months was getting lost somewhere in the sunny woodsy section of Mastic looking for Nicole’s residency which I did find an hour late. Nowadays, one listen to A Different Arrangement instantly takes me back to those June Sundays.

Autumn came. The days were getting cooler and darker. Driving past Argyle Pond coming home from work became a staple memory with synthwave vibes of “Fright Night” from Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti forever attached to it. Hospital Productions gave me another artist to savor in the Italian-based Ninos Du Brasil  with their dying-hot exotic techno sounds. Suicideyear would be distinct to the season and to Lindenhurst alone which makes their sound personal in my book. Another neighborhood memory, Dual Action’s “NC-17 Drive In”, is forever intertwined to the Autumn soul. Our WUSB hip-hop dee-jay Dr. Ceus played me SpaceGhostPurrp’s “Mystical Maze” adding another bookmark in this asterisk time. Mono/Poly’s “Alpha Omega”, Lussuria’s “Mondo Narcotico” and “Keys To Unlock Paradise (Roman Showers)” from American Babylon, Function & Vatican Shadow’s Games Have Rules, the obscure Axxa/Abraxas’ “Waiting Daze”, and selections from The Bug’s Angels & Devils left their imprints on another feel-good season at Lindenhurst.

Before I knew it, my streak of 83 straight days of work was finally broken a few days before Thanksgiving. I came to visit the market for my hours to see that I was written out of the grid. Week after week it became a normal occurrence. I’ve been giving them my other hours in time without fail but now no more results. No discussion, no rhyme or reason why. I was let go without any notice. It was a blessing, however. A soft end to six years of non-stop belittling, boys-club behavior, and endless soul-torturing has finally been put down to die.

Winter was where things started to get fucked for discoveries; like the ‘parenthesis’ in an equation. My ex- Yenny is leaving for Lima and she’s asked me to house-sit for her in Hauppauge. A two-week stay meant all music discoveries default there. A residency inside a residency. Before and after, XXYYXX’s only full-length and two finds from the Ze label Xmas Record, Suicide’s “Hey Lord” and Alan Vega’s “No More Christmas Blues” are embedded in those frosty, chilly Winter days back in Lindy-. The latter two would be put on pause as I walked a couple of blocks to the bagel place for a heavy baked breaded breakfast.

Then came a March announcement from my bro-: we’re moving to Ronkonkoma. This was unexpected. He was excited to start a new point in his life. His lady was expecting their second child and wanted something even nicer than what we have. There was no issue with where we lived. I had none and truly wanted to stay longer. But, what my bro- was selling us on that we’d upgrade from the slightly crowded residential streets, noise-polluting airplanes, and highways across every direction for a gentler, calmer, at-peace setting of historical context, well-manicured lawns, trails, veteran’s parks, and a 4.5 square-mile scenic lake. To me, Ronkonkoma was Record Stop on Portion Road, punk luminary Jimi LaLumia’s Record Connection on Hawkins Road, and what used to be Lakeside’s bar where I’d go for some small-scale but breakout-violent local hardcore shows. Other than LaLumia, none are still standing. It’s a new decade now; far away from the community-college shows and record-buying jaunts from the Stony Brook era. We had up until May 1st   to get everything together. The Lindenhurst finds dwindled down to nothing, and all the discoveries found that Spring ended up at the current residency we’re at now. It was time to say goodbye to my old furniture: the twin-sized bed, the old bookshelves, dressers, drawers, the gumball machine, and the Lafayette that was losing its functionality. We left all the small stuff in front of the gate and left the furniture behind. Goodbye Lindenhurst and hello Ronkonkoma.

**********

I can tell you that my very first experience in the new neighborhood was delightful and exotic. We were only a few blocks away from the new house. My dad had me pull up to our neighborhood 7-11 for his daily coffee. I grab a pack of Hostess chocolate cupcakes and behind the counter I see the perfect ginger. Bright long copper hair, brown eyes, freckles, and all of pale skin. Jackpot. She was a sight to be seen.

There was a line of five people in front of us with two registers open. Dad was more than ready to sip his coffee but was getting restless as the scalding hot was wearing off. Lucky for me, the young Indian kid took care of him. I put my Hostess on the counter for the ginger to ring up. She was quiet, expressionless. Tired, bored, introverted? Who knows. Who cares. She made quick work of my purchase and I was two more cupcakes happier. The day was off to a great start. I didn’t believe people like her existed.

She was my very first memory at the new neighborhood. I still remember her to this very day. There’s some faces you never forget.

Pharmakon “Xia Xinfeng”

Mass Production “Slow Bump”

Atari Teenage Riot “Modern Liars”

Peter Brown “For Your Love”

Black Marble A Different Arrangement

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti “Schnitzel Boogie”

Purling Hiss “Don’t Even Try It”

Omar Souleyman “Kell Il Banat Inkhatban (All The Girls Are Engaged)“

Poly Styrene (as Mari Elliott) “Silly Billy”

L.I.E.S. label Music For Shut-Ins (2013)

Carbonas “September Gurls”

Predator “Honest Man”

Run The Jewels “Blockbuster Night Pt. 1”

Arca “Thievery”

Broadcast “Goodbye Girls”

Ariel Pink “Put Your Number In My Phone”

Ninos Du Brasil “Pandiero Sinchinsa”

NeruvianDOOM “Disastrous”

Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments “Please Hear My Plea”

Suicideyear “Hope Building A”

Hussy, The “EZ-PZ”

Carbonas “Frothing At The Mouth”

Krewe Of 77 “Three’s A Crowd”

Ekoplekz “Robert Rental”

Wara From The NBHD “Squeal (Peel Off)”

Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti “Fright Night (Never More)”

Mono/Poly “Alpha & Omega”

Casket Girls, The “Chemical Dizzy”

Bug, The “Void”

Suicideyear “Rememberance”

Standish / Carlyon “2 5 1 1”

Vereker “Rosite”

Ninos Du Brazil “Tuppelo”

SpaceGhostPurrp “Mystikal Maze”

Dual Action “NC-17 Drive In”

Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments ”Turntable Battlefield”

Bug, The “Swarm”

Suicideyear “I Don’t Care About Death Because I Smoke”

Travis Porter “Do A Trick” (Suicideyear RMX)

Ninos Du Brasil “Rebanho Espetacular”

Lussuria “Mondo Narcotico”

Function & Vatican Shadow Games Have Rules

Axxa/Abraxas “Waiting Daze”

Lussuria “Keys To Unlock Paradise (Roman Showers)”

Blossom Dearie “Sunday Afternoon”

XXYYXX “Witching Hour”

Alan Vega “No More Christmas Blues”

Suicide “Hey Lord”

XXYYXX “Fields”

[m0e-ru]

crawling out of libreoffice calc hell covered in blood dirt in my nails to say that

Bancho took three different trains from Tokyo to get to Yaso-Inaba which was literally the end of line and the second to the last stop was east Inaba (Higashi-Inaba) and arrived at 4pm on the dot like how he and Dojima planned. unclear when he started his journey

Inaba is a city and Yaso-Inaba is its central town, and Higashi-Inaba possibly being another area to the city as a whole

Inaba's weather reports clearly state that fog level’s within the city’s regions has been the strangest phenomenon and has been rising throughout the recent years. while a teacher cites what he heard from TV that the region itself receives that same amount of fog every half a century

Junes is based off of “Aeon Mall” i found the one it was based off of in google earth but i cant seem to find it anymore

the most recent mention of the central shopping district’s “bustling activity” was in 2009 where the Gekkoukan students praise it for its liveliness in such a rural area

Six months prior to the start of the game in april 2011, Yosuke’s family moved to Inaba for his dad to start managing the Junes Yaso-Inaba branch. foot traffic and general activity in the central shopping district has dropped so badly that many stores closed such as a hobby shop, pharmacy, barber salon, electronics, ect. many locals hold disdain for the newly built mall yet couldn’t get off their asses to help the economy until a year later when they decided to collab with Junes and bring activity there and sell their own “local” goods at Junes itself

Junes is more than a grocery store . theres a foodcourt and event plaza on the roof but like that thing's a whole mall

Yosuke does clearly state the Junes in the vicinity is the “Yaso-Inaba branch”

Okina is a neighboring city to Inaba. It had not given a name within the PS2 release of the game nor the anime and its drama cds, only given said name in Golden. It takes a train to get there, but is said to be inconvenient due to how trains rarely pass by, yet a 50cc scooter ride would suffice

Rise , who was busy practicing for her comeback (p4d), takes a train from Okina station to Yaso-Inaba station.

In P4D, the IT state they took a long bus ride to get to Takura Productions. Chie complains they didn’t take an express train but Yosuke had no money.

bro this geography is fucking weird i really dont think p4d took place in tokyo

From Golden Week May 2012, Adachi states he had been in jail for 5 months, being detained in December 2011. He is said to have been detained in a “prefectural police HQ neighboring Inaba City.” He has yet to be transferred nor tried due to how magical bullshit the case ended up being. psychologists hate him (psych evals mean nothing) Months later in the middle of summer, he was finally transferred properly to a—“the” detention center. Dojima visits him at this time.

Namatame is the former Inaba City Council’s Secretary 元稲羽市市議会議員秘書 although localization messed it up and said he’s “a councilman’s secretary” <- please help me on this i have no idea how to interpret these terms (other terms used: 議員秘書)

Namatame is part of Inaba’s government he lives in Inaba he started staying At His Parents’ Home after getting fired.

Izanami refers to Adachi, Namatame and Bancho as “outsiders” in reference that they’re outsiders of the TV world and strangers to one another. Namatame is FROM INABA !!!! HES BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME his parents’ house is like. in the shopping district like he hangs around there as an NPC have you seen him

The courier service “Inaba Express” is a family business, to which Namatame states he had been able to get a job since his parents gave it to him.

His truck appears momentarily in different occasions like at the gas station when bancho arrives. or that it passed by Marukyu Tofu in the traffic of the idol craze. Or when the IT was chasing down the paparazzi and it happened to GO IN THE DIRECTION OF THE TOFU SHOP

Mayumi Yamano is 27 years old. her body was found at noon when saki konishisan decided to leave school early

Saki found dead at 7am autopsy reports say she died at 1am wow thats thematically close to midnight

autopsy cannot distinguish the nature of death of TV world victims they are just DEAD

Misuzu Hiiragi is titled the “Princess of the Enka Singing World.” She also shares her last name (in kanji writing too) with Alice, from the Strikers spinoff

[paragonrobits]

A friend asked me to give a stab at a Tierlist Maker for Video Games Not Yet In the Video Game Hall of Fame Tier List Maker, so here's my list for it!

This is based primarily on what I considered to be overall value to gaming history as a whole, with games with greater influence or impact ranking higher than those that had less impact on those to follow, or on culture. All the entries are those that have been nominated to the Hall of Fame, but not actually inducted as of this post's writing. Games that I personally like are generally rated higher, though mostly because I'm more familiar with them and thus can judge their impact from a personal POV.

(Tier List explainations, below!)

SHOULD BE IN ALREADY

Final Fantasy: I mean seriously. How is this one not already in yet?? It is not, as my research suggests, the first true RPG; that likely goes to games like Ultima. It is certainly an incredibly influential one; FF is a name closely associated with JRPGs in general, and its diverse class system is one of the strongest things to do with it, as noted by challenges like beating the game with a party of Black Belts. FF is THE name of RPGs in general and I'm startled it hasn't made it in, though I suppose that's owing to more notable entries (Hard as that is to imagine). It doesn't hurt that the majority of my favorite FF titles are those most similar to this one, such as FF6 and FF9, in terms of approaching the general world setting and class systems. Most significantly is that this game popularized RPGs and made them accessible, in ways that previous games such as Dragon Warrior/Dragon Quest did not; the field of gaming would be VERY different without it; RPGs became VERY popular, to the extent of RPG elements being almost universal among other games in the modern day. (I am also pleased and amused to see 8-Bit Theater mentioned on the actual Wikipedia page. Now THAT'S notability!)

Sid Meir's Civilization: HEY NOW HALL OF FAME JUDGES, DON'T YOU BE MOCKING CIV, ALRIGHT. CIV IS FUCKING AWESOME. Okay, jokes aside, I'm genuinely astonished as the Civ series is considered the first true main game of the 4x series, and it shows; the entire genre centers around expansion, resource usage and diplomacying or conquering your enemies, and considering the impact of this game and its sheer popularity, to the extent of the meme of the game getting people to play for Just One More Turn, I'm a bit disappointed that it's not already in the hall of fame. I also note that I am personally more familiar with the spin off Alpha Centauri, a sci fi variant, which is still one of my all time favorite games.

Half-Life: Given this game's popularity, to the point of its release alone consigning the likes of Vampire the Masquerade Bloodlines to cult classic status and its engine spawning a whole THING with GMod and the usage of physics mechanics in FPS games, one thing of note is its use of scripted sequences; at the time, an unknown in most games of the time. There may be something to be said for how the entire game is spent as Gordon Freeman, behind his eyes, possibly engendering a lack of separation between self and character that would be later emphasized in games like Bioshock. It's influence on games cannot be denied, with publications using it as a bookend between eras of gaming. One consistent element of what seems to make this game so distinctive is its approach to storytelling, without simply imitating film techniques which don't always work well with gameplay.

Candy Crush: This is an example of something I don't personally play myself, or even like very much, but I'd be remiss to dismiss it out of hand. There's no denial that phone games are one of, if not THE biggest market of games in the here in now; if now in scale, certainly in quantity. You might call it the TF2 Hat Economy theory; people aren't spending BIG bucks, but they are spending a LOT of little bucks all the time. It proves that highly accessible games that are generally free to play, with optional purchases, are a legitimate means of game business, and this certainly revolutionized how games were seen by the money-makers.

Super Smash Bros Melee: I loved this game as a kid, but truth be told i have a bit of a love-hate relationship; i REALLY dislike the competitive community that has fixated hard on this game, so any thoughts on it will have a slight element of pause beforehand. Even so, I can't forget the thrilled delight I felt watching the trailer for this game in supermarkets for the first time as a kid. at a time when getting any new games at all was a HUGE deal in my family. So, there is a lot of feeling behind this one! Ultimately, I have to concede that while i have complicated feelings about this game, its worth noting that the vast majority of things that made Smash iconic, and influenced the competitive scene AND the games inspired by Smash AND shaped the course of the series going forwards, largely owe themselves to Melee in particular. 64 was far more slow paced, while Melee began the trend towards much more fast paced action (and while I doubt it's SPECIFIC to melee as a whole, it may have been a trend for the genre from then). Melee is STILL widely played, especially on the competitive scene, and this sort of longevity always bears evidence of notability.

Goldeneye 007: I have to admit that despite being a kid in the 90s, despite someone who put most of their time into gaming, and despite being someone whose favorite system at the time was the Nintendo 64, I mostly missed out on the trend of history by honestly not being that much into this game. I have to say that I DID play it, however; I just never managed to get past the first level or so. I have strong memories of triyng and failing to sneak around a snowy lair of some description; it wouldn't be until the mid-2000s, playing Deus Ex Human Revolution, that I got the hang of stealth. All the same, personal indifference really doesn't matter much because HOLY SHIT THIS GAME HAS SOME STAYING POWER. IT HAS INFLUENCE, FRIENDORITOS. Perhaps chiefly, at the time it was made, consoles were not considered viable platforms for first person shooters; Goldeneye revised that notion, and created a whole revolution in multiplayer and shooter games. We would later see the ultimate consequence of this in games like Halo, which further revolutionized the whole genre. Ironically, the stealth attributes I was so bad at were part of what made the game so unique! It's one of those games that may not have aged well, by modern standards, but its import to gaming as a whole goes a long, long way.

Guitar Hero: I expect this one might be a bit hard to justify, but on its own, this game is INCREDIBLY innovative, though its not entirely the first of its kind, having mechanics based on earlier games. The very first entry has a respectable library of 30 songs, which is impressive considered at the time it was made, its not likely people expected it to get as far as it did; bear in mind that the massive libraries of later games were the result of years of this game series being a massive steamroller of a franchise! At the time, this one was an unknown. It has an interesting history as being a successor of sorts to an arcade exclusive, and inspiring a genre of imitators and spiritual successors on its own; of great note is the sheer impact this game had. With so many of those successors, the increased value of liscened soundtracks, and the way the game's concept became so influential, its astounding this one isn't already on the hall of fame. (It's also very fun, but fun alone doesn't make for memorability, sad to say.)

DESERVES IT AT SOME POINT

Myst - an iconic and incredibly atmospheric puzzle game, I'm genuinely surprised that I haven't heard talk about this one in some respect; it bears note as a rare game with absolutely no conflict whatsoever. I actually rank this one on par with the 7th Guest in terms of atmospheric games, though their tones could not be more different. So why do I think this game deserves it at some point? It was an incredibly immersive and beautiful game, lacking in genuine danger or threat, encouraging the player to explore and tackle the puzzles of the game. This sort of open-ended lack of peril makes it an interesting precursor towards certain flavors of sandbox games around now. It's worth noting that it was a tremendous achievement, given technical limitations of things such as the CD-Rom it was stored on, maintaining a consistent experience, as well as tying narrative reasons into those very constraints. It has been compared to an art film; if so, it certainly is the sort that invited imitators and proved to be a great technical achievement.

Portal: PORTAL! What can I honestly say that hasn't already been said by other people? The amazing integration of a physics engine into innovative puzzle solving, combined with a slow burn sort of minimalist plot reveal concerning the AI proving itself to be a kind of reverse HAL 9000? This game got a HUGE number of memes back in the day, and I expect anyone reading this can probably reference a few. The cake thing, certainly, and its relevance to matters of deception. There is much discussion over the game's utility in academic circles, which is certainly quite notable, and for my part, I'm interested by the point that at first the game gives you a lot of hints towards what you're supposed to do, gradually making it less obvious for the player you're on your own entirely, using your experience with the game to get past the puzzles from there, and its excellent game design. Ultimately though, I place this below Half Life in hall of fame urgency, because while I probably like this one more, it doesn't have the same impact on other games, per say. (That's a lot of awards for it, though. Wowza.)

Resident Evil: Is it fair to call this one the major survival horror game of its era? No, because it's apparently the FIRST, or at least the first to be called such. It's certainly up there with shaping the genre as a whole, both its immediate predecessors and modern games. The flavor of a survival horror can even be judged about whether its close to Resident Evil's style of defending yourself with limited resources vs controlled helplessness. It's also worth pointing out that I quite like the restricted, cramped setting of the mansion, rather than an expansive city; Biohazard was a real return to form, even if its something I mostly watched through funny lets plays because OH NO ITS TOO SCARY I CANT WATCH.

Asteroids: It's called the first major hit of the golden age of the arcade. I'm forced to say... yeah, it absolutely deserves it. The actual implementation and hardware of the game makes for interesting reading, and so its innovative nature ought to be noted: it lacked a soundchip at all, making use of handmade circuits wired to the board. It's reception was great, beating out Space Invaders and needing larger boxes just to hold all the money people spent on it. It also invented the notion of tracking initials on the top ten score, which has implications for arcade challenges.

Ms. Pac Man: This one consistently ranks HIGH in gaming records of its time, though there is admittedly some confusion to whether it or Donkey Kong was a better seller. Interestingly it appears to shape most of the gameplay mechanics people remember most for Pac-Man, such as the improved AI of the ghosts. It's more highly regarded than the original game, and on a personal note, I remember being a kid and seeing this arcade machine at ALL the laundry places my family usually wound up going to.

Frogger: It's placing on this list is not solely because CUTE FROG. The accessibility and wide appeal of the game bears a great deal of consideration, the flexibility of its formula, and just how many dang times it's been ported in one form or another. (And also, cute frog.) It also gets points for the creator being inspired for the game when he saw a frog trying to cross a road, hampered by the vehicles in the way, and he got out of his car and carried the frog across the street. The game is also evident of broad appeal, and some money-makers resisting it, goes back a long way; it was apparently dismissed as a kid's game by some, which just goes to show that some problems are older than quite a lot of gamers alive today.

Uncharted 2: this is one of those games where I cannot honestly say I have personal experience to draw from. Of the playstation's big games, I remember the Jak and Daxter series; I remember Kingdom Hearts, and I remember Ratchet and Clank, and I remember Infamous, but the Uncharted series remains

something of a 'I don't go here?' obscurity in my personal playbook. It does look memorable and charming from what I've seen, and one consistent element I've seen in comments about it is the cinematic nature of the game; it feels very much like a fun heist movie, based on what I have seen of it, and the notable thing is how the game FEELS cinematic.. in a literal way. As in, it combined elements of cinematography with game design, and that's no mean feat: what works for movies are unlikely to translate well to the interactive side, and it shows how that can be done for other games. The extensive praise does the game a LOT of credit!

WORTH NOMINATION AT LEAST

Angry Birds: As noted before, I'm not the biggest fan of most phone games, given that i prefer a more passive experience than most provide. As such, Angry Birds isn't something I've played as of this writing, but I have to appreciate the straightforward and simple gameplay; it reminds me a bit of the Burrito Bison game series, which I HAVE played, and I'm going to go out on a limb and assume it's because Angry Birds is probably the innovation that coined that particular style of gameplay. It's an example of what made phone games profitable and worth the time of developers to work at them; its easy for casual players to get into, and there's a fun sort of impact involved. Given the popularity of phone games, this one has a LOT of influence in getting that rolling, similar to candy crush, if not as much.

FIFA International Soccer: Simulation games are a tricky business; it can be really difficult to get them right, and this game provides an example of it being done in a way that a lot of people REALLY loved, set up an entire game series, and revived the 3DO system after a very bad year. Of note, apparently it was commented that it was more of a simulator than a console game, and this is rather funny considering how simulator is its own genre nowadays! Such do things change. It seems to have been a revolutionary game and simulation; setting the shape for modern sport games of its type, and tending more towards realism (accounting for acceptable breaks in reality) than was typical of the time. This one's position is thus picked for its impact as a whole; while it may not necessarily be a household name now, the series continues on, and is popular enough that even after 20 years, it's still been going.

Elite: I nominate this game in this position for being a startlingly early entry into what we would now consider open-ended games, even with an element of exploration and trading; if one stretches definitions a bit, a precursor towards gameplay of the like scene in 4X players who strive to avoid conflict, if possible. Its technical breakthroughs are some very interesting reading and make for good game history; a vast and complex game (not just by the standards of the era, either), and opening the door for persistent world games such as World of Warcraft.

Wii Sports: A significant game, and much as how other titles mentioned above were famed for gateway entries into gaming for an unfamiliar audience, or those that would want o play on a more casual basis. It seems notable to me for being most suited as a family game, or a more casual experience of multiplayer than usually associated with games like this; this has greatly influenced Nintendo's design philosophy, and one can see elements of this all the way through the Wii U onwards. It's essentially a fliparound from Mario Party; less competitiveness, but definitely meant as a group thing. Controversy is evident, because like with Mario Party, injuries did result from it.

Call of Duty: I place this one here because, while it DOES hold a very significant role in gaming history, with countless imitators, spiritual successors, being a game-changer in ways that its modern reputation might surprise you with, ultimately it is less so than other games such as Goldeneye, Halo or Half-Life. It's development in AI pathfinding and tactics is incredibly noteworthy from a mechanical perpsective, and the sheer level of awards it won is notable. In the end this game's popularity and continuing influence means that it shouldn't be overlooked.

Metroid: You can't spell 'Metroidvania' without this game! A relatively open ended exploration-based game with further options opening as new tools were found give it an interesting vibe, and the oppressive atmosphere distinctive to the game says great things about its sound and level designs. It wasn't the first open world game, or explorer, or even the first to open new aereas based on equipment, but it had ALL of these elements in a very memorable package. (Samus Aran as a female protagonist is something I'm a bit reluctant to give it credit for, as her identity was obfuscated for most of the game, and only revealed in a fanservicey way in a secret ending. All the same, credit where it is due, I suppose!) It's music seems to endure as a mood setter, too!

Pole Position: Perhaps not the FIRST racing game, but still considered one of the most important from the golden age of gaming, and the one to codify many of the firm rules of the game series. It's three dimensional gameplay is incredibly innovative for its time, and having played it and games like it in the past, I'm struck by how smooth the whole thing feels. No wonder it was popular! It is notable for having been designed specifically as a 3d Experience, meant to execute techniques like real drivers might attempt, which makes it a different sort of beast in that it tried to do more realistic actions; in some ways, a precursor to modern trends of realism in many games, for ill or best. Ultimately I think this one is worth a nomination because of its influence towards racing games (a popular and long lived genre, to say the least) as a whole.

OUTSIDE CHANCE

Nurburgring 1: On the one hand, I feel a bit guilty putting this one so low; it is recognized as likely being the earliest racing game in history, and given that I just finished noting Pole Position's influence, it feels a bit mean to rate this one as relatively insignificant all the same. However, in terms of notability, I never even heard of this one, and it was tricky finding information about it. Accordingly, that may say something about its influence, though this position DOES make it noteworthy as the first of its kind, albeit with Pole Position refining and introducing elements that shaped the genre.

Dance Dance Revolution: It feels a bit strange, putting this one fairly low. This thing was a MONSTER back in the day; entire arcades were built around the dancing control peripherals it required, rhythm based games or mechanics specifically invoked it by name, and it was an absolute cultural touchstone for years and years. So, why place it low? Partly, its because I can't just shove EVERYTHING into the 'deserves a nomination' folder; I do think it's fairly reasonable for this one to at some point get a nomination in the future, though ultimately there's games more noteworthy on the whole. It's specific rhythm qualities continue outside of its genre, and are quite influential to gaming as a whole, though unfortunately the series seems to have lost something in notability over time; popularity is a factor, but so is the impact on other games.

NBA 2K and NBA Jam: I put these two together because they touch on similar touchstones for me, and they really did popularize basketball games back in the day. Jam in particular seems to be invoking the Big Head mode that were a big thing in games at the time, at least going from the screenshot. They were very popular and highly beloved games back in the day, though I don't know if they have much influence on later games. I note that interestingly, they take opposite approaches; 2k focuses on AI and realistic experiences, while Jam was deliberately less realistic and more actiony in its over the top gameplay.

Nokia Snake: This one really impresses me for the sheer number of releases, in various forms, it's had! Interestingly, there seems to be little consensus on the name of this game; most just call it Snake or something on that theme. I went with Nokia Snake because... mostly, it sounds funny, and that's how its done on the list. This one is fairly low, but I Have to give it credit for having hundreds of releases!

Farmville: My mom liked Facebook games, a lot. And I am certain this one was one of her main ones! I rate it fairly low, and no doubt her spirit is yelling imprecations at me across the void of time, space, and abandoned socks; all the same, this one is ranked low because of the sheer number of displeasure aimed this one's way. (And to be fair, she complained about it. A LOT.) It is thus notable for unusually negative reasons; an example of exploitation, pressuring players to pester their friends to play it in an equivalent to electronic chain mail, and microtranscations.

Tron: I'm inclined to give any game that takes place in a computer land and uses programming or mechanical terminology a free pass! Interestingly, this has some association with the Snake game, as they have similar gameplay and Snake games are sometimes called Light Cylce games, after this one. It has an interesting history; the graphical system was chosen largely because it was believed it was more likely to be achieved before the deadline.

NO BUSINESS IN THE HALL OF FAME

Mattel Football: I do feel a little mean putting anything in this category; firstly because I don't want to make actual fans of something sad, and secondly because I believe you can probably find notability anywhere you look, if you are inclined. And here is the chief difficulty with this one: I could not find any real information in this one. It has no Wikipedia page, a google search only led to undescriptive links of SALES for the game, but not any information on the game itself. Notability is my main resource for sorting these entries, and honestly? If google has nothing on you, that's a pretty poor sign. Sorry, Mattel Football, but you look like a poor man's Game And Watch. You're no Portal, Myst or Pole Position.

[gwoongi]

dancer in the dark (pt. 1)

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: rockstar/pop-punk au, smut, angst & fluff rating: explicit words: 33k warnings: slowburn, explicit sexual themes, alcohol use, recreational rockstar drug use, smoking, adult language, dark themes including negative side-effects of drug use and drinking including intoxication & irrational behaviour, dry humping, mental health struggle, koo has an australian accent, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, if things feel good in this fic then wait 4 part two to ruin everything a/n: ok.....hear me out......guk as a lead singer of an alternative-punk-rock band....and he looks like this......and this….. AND THIS………and his band r basically chase atlantic......Ok ur welcome & pls give this fic a chance!!!!!!!!!! i luv it a lot and its probs my fav so far ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ def a long one so get ur tea and blankets and buckle up! notes: have it. this has been in my drafts since like july. just take it and smile.

dedicated to @httpjeon, who force fed me pictures of rocker jeongguk and repeatedly kept me sane + motivated. thank u sm 

Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him.

BIRTH OF DEVILS. (LONDON)

“That was August Blue in the Live Lounge, covering Thanks For The Memories by Fall Out Boy. These guys have some right talent, don’t they? Yeah...well, you can keep up to date with them by watching their interview with us on IPlayer right now, and they’re also going to be on tour in London and various other American venues within the next few months. I’m proper excited for that...”

No matter how many interview schedules and radio plays, Jeongguk doesn’t feel as though he is ever going to get used to this feeling. 

For now, it is an endless series of chaos, radio stations and newspapers wanting to talk to the newest music craze- because that’s what August Blue were, whether Jeongguk liked that or not. 

August Blue were a band who nobody thought could make it. From early fans of the band, when they were barely filling up Korean venues and getting more than a thousand views on original songs, to big-name celebrities like Axel Choi who had waltzed into Jeongguk’s part-time job when he was seventeen. The man, one of Jeongguk’s idols, had looked him in the eye, considered his band and his dream and said he didn’t have the talent to do anything good with his band, and told him, if you want to be big, you have to be American.

It wasn’t quite the same, or what Axel had intended for it to mean, but four years later Jeongguk now sits number one on the Billboard Charts with his ‘band with no potential’, making a name for themselves, bringing pride to their culture, love with their music, and money to Korea’s economy. The amount of fans that August Blue had collected over the four years of Jeongguk’s band being formally considered a band were unimaginable, many flocking to landmarks to photograph lampposts he stood next to on Instagram, others going to his home-country to enjoy the country that had birthed icons. 

If only Jeongguk had the same love and pride for his country; they had turned their backs on them simply because of their popularity overseas. 

Well, fuck them- Jeongguk and his band are going somewhere no other Korean band or artist can even touch, and while we’re on the subject- Axel Choi can eat a dick! Jeongguk’s not doing so bad for a Busan boy working at 7-Eleven, and while Jeongguk’s drinking champagne like a King on the top of the charts, it’s hard to see everybody else at the bottom.

August Blue leave the BBC Broadcasting House, on their way to the hotel for their last two nights in London before heading back to America. It doesn’t quite feel real yet, for Jeongguk to say that his band have sold out two nights at the O2 Academy Brixton. Admittedly, it’s not as big as their shows in America, which similarly happens to be where most of their fans are located, but for a first time in the UK, it’s a dream to see it sold out with his band's name and faces on billboards nearby.

Beside him in the black van, August Blue’s bassist Hoseok sighs deeply and fastens his seatbelt, his hands immediately rummaging into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. Nevertheless, a smile does dance on his lips; a few fans had gathered outside the building to see them off, as well as welcome them when they arrived for their Live Lounge recording and interview. It still feels surreal for Jeongguk to see his face on shirts, and to hear people call his name. As the car begins to pull out of the car park, Jeongguk squints through the darkened glass at the fans, a bright smile on his face as they cheer, right until the car is out of the building vicinity.

“Should arrive at the hotel in thirty.” From the passenger seat, August Blue’s manager twists to face the band in the back seats. Jeongguk barely lifts his face to see him, his eyes glancing over and then moving back out the window, watching London pass by in a blur. “Try and get some shut-eye. Good job today, guys.”

“Thanks, coach,” Seokjin replies. It’s always Seokjin who does the talking, taking the role of Big Bro whenever August Blue’s lead vocal and, let’s face it, the reason why they have fans, Jeongguk, isn’t feeling particularly chatty, which is more often than not. “Let’s keep working hard, yeah?”

The question is directed out to everybody in the van, and Jeongguk finally looks over. He nods, gently and smiles as if it hurts him to be genuine, and then his attention is back out the window, his mind back with the fans who had screamed for him, his heart filled with the warmth of the memory.

It’s good to be loved, to be accepted. It’s good to be successful when people doubted you could do it.

THE DEVILS ARE DANCING. (VENICE)

“It sounds really good, Jeongguk. Want me to run it one more time?”

Jeongguk shrugs the weight of his jacket off his shoulders, twisting the cable attaching to his headphones so they unravel around his body and raises his thumb through the glass to the rest of the studio. On cue, the familiar sound of the opening melody to August Blue’s updated track, Hold Your Breath, floods through the speakers, slightly tinny but nonetheless clear for all to hear. While Sejin, August Blue’s manager, aids the producer by pointing out minor audio flaws, Jeongguk joins the rest of his band in the studio to gather around. The last to join the group is Seokjin, the drummer who rubs at his wrists pathetically, his duet of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

Sejin’s right- it does sound good.

The strums from Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon’s instruments sounds incredible, and it’s probably their strongest non-punk track of the year. Retrospectively, it sounds nostalgic, reminding Jeongguk of those summer evenings in Busan after a tiring day of school and garage-band practise with the guys. When the chorus moulds together, Jeongguk’s lips lift to a satisfied and exuberant smile, the harmonies from everybody’s vocals blending together before the chorus comes to a finale, and Namjoon’s deeper vocals come for the second round of verses.

As he listens, Jeongguk recalls the moment he sat down and wrote this song, back when he was eighteen and feeling like the world was against him. In that respect, this song means a lot to him and the band, reminiscent of a time where it felt impossible to get out of the garage and into venues. Then, when Friends brought them out of small Korean venues into charts abroad and giving them radio play, Jeongguk had stored Hold Your Breath on a memory stick and his worn out lyric book, until the right moment came for him to present it to a studio. It just so happened that ADORA, a respected and famous Korean producer based in the US-of-A, had loved the track, bringing it back to square one where Jeongguk stands still, unaware that the single has finished playing.

“It’s one of our best,” Namjoon admits bashfully, his hand brushing the back of his neck, a habit. He extends his gaze out to the rest of the band, “am I right?”

“Better than Friends?” Seokjin asks, surprised. He tilts his head as if he disagrees. “Nothing can beat Friends.” After that statement, something about another song comes up in conversation but it dies out over the sound of Hold Your Breath being rolled back and played again.

On the other side of Jeongguk, Hoseok hums and claps the younger on the shoulder, the sound of Jeongguk’s hiss ignored and silenced by the excited discussion over the track by the producers, lunch menus between Seokjin and Namjoon. With a slight wince, Jeongguk looks over at the bassist.

“It’s all thanks to you!” Hoseok says, a tight but honest smile on his face. “Without you, there’d be no songs. I’m telling you, we knew you were special!”

“Thanks, Hobi,” Jeongguk replies quietly. “Let’s hope people like it and it sells.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Hoseok muses, frowning. “Just because it has a story doesn’t mean it won’t sell. Honestly, Guk, this one’s great. It’s gonna be amazing.”

Like always, Jeongguk finds that difficult to believe, despite records and albums selling luxuriously every time. It’s mandatory to doubt, especially when you’ve got a lot to lose; August Blue are just another band, another group of guys trying to make a name for themselves across the pond. Right now, they’re not huge, not as big as Jeongguk wants them to be- they can sell out a couple arenas, top charts and headline shows, but they’ve still got a long way to go, still got the prejudice of being foreign. If anything, that only motivates them more. Nothing feels better than proving the white man wrong.

“When it’s finished, we’ll have a promising B-side for the album,” starts Adora, the producer looking over her shoulder with satisfaction at the five guys. “I’d like to run through Dancer in the Dark, though? Adjust the drums, maybe add more to the sax?”

Jeongguk nods, taking a quick sip of water from a bottle on top of the small cabinet pushed to the wall of the studio. “Might work better as the A, actually. Guys, what’dya think?”

“Yeah, sure,” Namjoon replies. “It’s a good song- will probably look better with a music video too. Want us back in the booth for it?”

Adora shakes her head, rolling the song back up. “Nah. Just gonna listen for now. Good job, guys.”

With that, and the familiar opening melody of Dancer in the Dark filtering through the speakers, Sejin claps his hands and gives a thumb to the rest of the band, sending them off for an hour or two until they’re needed again. In ADORABLE TRAP Records, singers were more often than not props, voices for her to play with. Jeongguk provides a demo, a rough idea of what the song should sound like and Adora works her magic, changing tones and amplifying the bass, creating something magical and sensational for when August Blue regroup in the studio at a later time. The band trust Adora and her team, considering she’s half the reason why they’re big worldwide in the first place.

THREE AM is August Blue’s anticipated first full length album, after many months of EP’s and mini albums, alongside the handful of covers accumulated over the years. ATR expects it to be completed by the end of the week, with only minor final touches needed on a select few of the tracks, eleven seamless and sensually exciting songs ready to release to the budding and hungry public. Like always, the pressure of perfection hangs over the studio, intoxicating and infuriating, and as soon as he can escape the room, Jeongguk inhales the clean and purified air of the outer studio, where a leather sofa sits beside a flickering vending machine that’s surely seen better days.

Hoseok groans, massaging the cramp out of his shoulder with his leather jacket still in his hand, spinning wildly with the arms extended out, hugging the air. “God, I’m so fucking hungry. Shall we go out?”

“Mm,” Namjoon agrees, “sounds good. Guk, Jin, you in for some food?”

Somewhere behind Jeongguk, Seokjin sighs loudly- a noise that has the nerve to sound like a whine, childish and ungrateful. “I need to find new drumsticks. Look at the state of these things.” Over his shoulder, Jeongguk spies the blunt ends of Seokjin’s sticks, the smooth and rounded ends frayed and close to splintering.

“How did that even happen?” Hoseok asks incredulously, while Seokjin’s distinct laughter rises in volume.

“Don’t ask,” Seokjin shakes his head in reply. “Anyway, won’t take long. Isn’t that one store nearby? The one owned by the Daegu guy?”

Namjoon confirms this. Not too far away from ATR, located in a renovated storage house in Venice, there is a comfortably successful and trustworthy store that August Blue aren’t strangers to; DBOY is one of the best, expensive and well respected amongst musicians who frequent LA. Jeongguk recognises the name, as if on command picturing the small guy who runs it in his head. 

Of course, it’s not owned by him- DBOY is known for being established and owned by Min Dowoon, a retired music producer whose name is legendary amongst artists and most certainly intimidating to the likes of Busan boys like Jeongguk. Regardless, it is his son, Yoongi, who pretty much runs the place. From what Jeongguk can vaguely remember from the last time he met with Yoongi, he recalled the aforementioned to have a fine and grand collection of ostentatious instruments and equipment. As for the seller himself- well, Yoongi can be a little bit of a nouveau-riche, perhaps even unapproachable, but it’s not as if people go to DBOY looking for a conversation.

Jeongguk might be the lead vocalist of the band, but he most certainly does not regard himself the leader. Due to this fact, he stares back at the other members of the band, waiting for a decision to be made for him. While on stage, Jeongguk enjoys playing pretend and acting as if the world was his for the taking, his for his pleasure, off-stage he enjoyed living quietly and comfortably, some might say obediently, shying under the authority of his elder band-members.

“What? Yeah, of course,” Namjoon replies almost immediately. “It’s on the way to that Korean place we went to last time we came here.”

Taehyung sounds zealous at the mentioning of the Korean restaurant, which pretty much means everybody’s mind has been made up. When Seokjin catches up with Jeongguk and wraps his longer arms around him playfully, Jeongguk finally lets himself loosen the tension carved into his skin from the studio, being pulled and pulling Seokjin out of the studio and into the sunny street.

The drive to DBOY is neither long or difficult, considering the traffic has decided to fall on their side of luck today. Hoseok, who enjoys being the designated driver for the band whenever he can help it, turns right and pulls the car into the staff-only car park, uncaring for the signs that turn him away and parks awkwardly near the shrubs behind the store. 

Without being affected in the face of Seokjin’s disbelieving protests against Hoseok’s parking preferences, Jeongguk undoes his seatbelt in a grouchy silence and hops out, feeling the underneath of his knees aching due to the tightness of his jeans. The front face of his knees are torn, the tan skin poking out and slightly red from where, out of unhealthy habit, he scratches his skin, the only source of colour aside from his skin being the mustard of his shoes, comfy and worn out of love.

He always forgets just how warm America is- not that it’s not welcomed, of course. Only, now he half wishes he hadn’t worn an all-black ensemble, the sun hot on his neck and underarms. The rest of August Blue take their gentle time getting out of the hired vehicle, a cacophony on the right side where Seokjin and Hoseok have stepped out, arguing over the angle of the tyres as if it genuinely makes any difference considering the car is out of sight from the public, meaning it’s bothering nobody at all besides Seokjin, who appears to be the only person complaining. 

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes, over it, and brushes his untamed parting out of his eyes carefully, avoiding catching the curled strands on the bar of his eyebrow piercing.

DBOY, like always, is quiet and glorious, rising high against the bungalow-sized stores surrounding the lot. Its architecture is refined, boxy and brown and all-in-all American, a copy of every brown bricked building you’d see in the movies. And yet, it still stands out, with bright yellow accents like the colour of Jeongguk’s shoes, similarly promoted within the interior if Jeongguk remembers correctly. 

The first time Jeongguk had come here it had been with acquiesce, mostly just to shut Seokjin up after he read a few five star reviews online. That was around about the time Taehyung had joined the band, with little rockstar aura and a gift for the keyboard and saxophone, which incredibly added an accent to August Blue’s music that helped them chart worldwide, a Korean The 1975 as a headline which didn’t seem all that bad, given the leader of the latter seemed down to Earth about it. 

Jeongguk now cannot deny that DBOY offers something to a piece of music that quite literally no other can, hence why he sets off first towards the oversized yellow door and pushes it open with all its weight. Like Yoongi and his brusque facade, Jeongguk’s not shocked to find the door is a heavy metal, requiring attention to push it open, but yet it always catches him off guard, as if he’s expecting it to get easier each time.

Once inside, the all too familiar sound of I Want To Break Free greets his ears, the sound echoey and tinny, like you’d expect for a building with a high ceiling decorated with pipes drenched in the signature yellow. It is bright, and chilly as he enters due to the air-conditioning, yet the warmth engulfing him as all of the band enter and the door closes. On a good day, DBOY is virtually empty; majority of their orders are online and dealt with by another customs manager that is not the staff on duty, which coincidentally is how Yoongi likes it, considering he’s a bit of a black sheep, not exactly enthusiastic about talking when he can help it.

While Hoseok and Taehyung make a b-line towards the vinyls and collection of photographs that Yoongi displays in order to show off how many celebrities he’s had the delight of selling to, Jeongguk follows behind Seokjin and Namjoon as they head towards the desk, pushed towards the back of the store behind endless stacks of records, the left side of the store displaying a rare and gorgeous collection of instruments that Jeongguk ogles at as he passes. 

Yoongi is a personal collector of vintages, including exact pieces and similarly replicas, the newer models closer to the desk where the cameras can keep an extra eye on their condition. Jeongguk has half an idea to make a directional change and head right, but the opening to the operative desk appears before him, or over the shoulder of Namjoon as he walks behind him.

DBOY feels abnormally silent today, not even the distinct humming of Yoongi detectable in the stacks. Namjoon purses his lips, looking around half-heartedly before moving towards the desk, raising his hand to drum his fingers upon the varnished dark wood. The dull sound of his fingertips brings Jeongguk’s head away from the instruments, and similarly, a head from a book.

At first, Jeongguk’s only half-looking. In blunt honesty, he’s not too interested in whoever is behind the desk, a sigh leaving between his lips as he buries his hands into the pockets of his jeans with great difficulty due to the tightness, something which attracts the eyes of the little dove behind the desk, her eyes darting to the refined bulge of his biceps and veins crawling on his forearms.

“Oh,” comes a gentle voice that, with reluctance, pulls Jeongguk’s eyes back over. “Sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in! I didn’t even hear the bell…”

Namjoon’s eyebrows pull upwards. “You have a bell?”

“Yeah...I think?” Questionable. “Well, I thought we did...I bet Yoongi took it out again. Fucker, he doesn’t tell me anything.”

Seokjin leans backwards on one foot, taking a peek back towards the doors where, hoorah, there is a bell on the wall above the entrance. “Oh, look at that. Guess you do have a bell.”

“Well,” finishes the voice, and Jeongguk takes the chance to look at the little display on top of the desk, a complementary addition that spells out the cashiers name in a disgustingly ordinary font. Y/N is what it reads today, which Jeongguk makes a note of and looks away from at the same time. “That bell is definitely broken. Huh. Anyway, sorry. Can I help you?”

“Yoongi here?” Namjoon asks, his weight now entirely reliant on the weight of the desk. By this point, Jeongguk has led himself over to the instruments, the only sight of him being his back marked and outlined by the clinginess of his tee.

You nod once, smiling and slamming the book from your lap on the top of the desk. Never did Namjoon expect for the title to read The Encyclopedia of Sharks, and as you spin in your chair to heckle in the back office, Namjoon glances at Seokjin over his shoulder with an amused smile, his eyes gesturing back to the book earning Seokjin a snigger.

“...and you didn’t tell me the bell was broken at the door.”

Your voice enters the store once more from the back office, accompanied by the smaller frame of Yoongi as he discards a tinfoil ball into the trash underneath the desk.

“Sorry. Y/N, the bell at the door is broken,” Yoongi deadpans, and you sneer in reply, tugging away from his childish and playful smile to be seated. When he’s decided he’s finished fondly looking at you, Yoongi addresses the band in the room, a secondary smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, tour,” Namjoon offers as an explanation.

“Don’t sweat it,” Yoongi shrugs in reply. “You recording?”

“As we speak,” Seokjin pipes in. “And, look- went to some stores in Vancouver for sticks last year and got given this!” His tone is elevated with genuine aghast, holding up his drumsticks and Yoongi pulls a face.

“That’s what you get for going somewhere other than here,” Yoongi frowns. “Come with me. The newest collection actually just came in. You all in here? Keep sticky fingers away from my signed records.”

The remainder of their conversation is muted for you, as you watch the group of guys shuffle away from the desk and towards the display of instruments. Whereas Yoongi holds an extensive knowledge on music and instruments, you can happily and readily admit that it is not within your comfort zone.

Truth be told, the only reason you work at DBOY is for money, and because Yoongi happens to be a relative willing to pay you more than you deserve. Family history is the reasoning for Yoongi’s undying devotion to music, alongside a half-completed degree in sound engineering that he tells people he’s got, because the two years he braved University sure as hell didn’t happen for no reason. 

As for you, you prefer the less audible arts, the ones starting and stopping with paintbrushes and splashes of colour. If someone were to ask, your job at DBOY offers a daily observation of the various album covers dotted around the store, ready to be fingered and thumbed when you’re changing the display shelves, or cleaning the trays.

In simpler terms, Yoongi is the expert. You’re just the person who sits behind the desk and pretends to be a professional.

“Newer Hickory over here,” says Yoongi, as he leads the three ducklings through the store towards the lined stacks of drumsticks. In awe, like a child in a candy store, Seokjin surges forward and gapes at the selection, his eyes glued to a signature collection, signed and overwhelmingly expensive. “Oh, yeah. Queen. Signed by Roger Taylor himself, wanna feel ‘em?”

Seokjin does want; his eyes light up like tiny lamps and they widen in size, followed by the rise and fall of his feet as he hops with literal overflowing excitement. Namjoon laughs at the sight of it, the sound eventually calling Hoseok and Sticky-Fingers-Taehyung away from the pride of Yoongi’s photo collection and towards the rest of the band. Something deep within Jeongguk claws, a smile on his face as he watches Seokjin get visibly excited over the drumsticks formerly belonging to Roger Taylor. Even Jeongguk himself, despite the sudden appearance of his angst, oohs and aahs at the stick set, being directed by Yoongi to the line of new guitars and boxes on show.

“New face?”

By the time Hoseok has settled with the group, Yoongi looks up from the set of Les Paul that Namjoon is admiring for its matte polish and notices Hoseok’s gaze pointed in your direction. Yoongi follows, his chin lifting with satisfactory pride when he sees you’re reading, as always, unfocused on the group and submerged in your own world.

When you wanted, you could be excited about celebrities when they came into DBOY, but there was honestly the high chance that you didn’t even know August Blue. Considering Yoongi knew them through connections and through a year exchange programme in Australia where he had met Jeongguk and gave him advice for the band, he of course felt familiar, close enough to actually consider the members to be friends.

“Sorta,” he admits in reply. “She’s been here a while now. Y/N.”

“She’s pretty,” Namjoon comments, which, to no surprise, irritates Yoongi. He glares in the direction of the guitarist and scowls, his face pulled up with disgust.

That’s when Jeongguk looks over, drinking in the sight of you for the first time ever. Usually, Jeongguk takes great pride in the fact that he fears attachment, therefore closing himself off emotionally to everybody outside of August Blue. Due to this fact, he almost never finds himself interested in anybody, his limitations at sex which, even then, he doesn’t engage in often. 

He spies on you from where he is standing, next to the electric guitar displays, watching carefully at the way you carry yourself, what you choose to show people. What you are doing now is boondoggle, skimming through pages you’ve read before to present the image of you being busy. By luck, you had dressed more nicer than usual for this date- your hair pulled half up and half down, the lilac scrunchy keeping the curls together and a black and white striped dress wrapping around your body to where Jeongguk predicts could be your knee.

Without being modest, there’s really nothing world-stopping about you. Jeongguk knows this as he stares at you; he’s had better, and definitely had worse. God forbid it, but you have the audacity to look normal, mistakenly placed in the store, sticking out like a thumb that is sore.

“She doesn’t look like she should be working here,” Jeongguk throws in, offers almost, and Yoongi regards him with the raise of his brows, an amused smile on his face.

A deep groan rises out of Namjoon’s chest. “Here we go. He always does this- every time there’s a pretty girl, he gets like this.”

“Gets like what?” Jeongguk asks, scoffing.

“Jerky,” Hoseok agrees, laughing and pointing a finger at Jeongguk accusingly. When he silences with small gasps of amusement, he smiles and says, “did you know it’s a turn off for girls?”

“Then tell me why I have more game than you?” Jeongguk quips.

Hoseok just laughs, and both of them know it’s false, considering Hoseok and his unofficial girlfriend have been hooking up for the last five months, whereas Jeongguk has remained single and sexless; which he doesn’t care about, especially when there’s a million other things he could be doing and worrying over. Comfort previously found in pillowcases and sexual endauvers can now be found in white powders and green liquids, either- either warm enough to keep him happy, at least until Seokjin tells him he should stop and put it to rest.

Yoongi quietly twists the key in the display lock after confirming that Seokjin wants the sticks in his hand. “She’s good. She does her job, and in return, I let her do what she wants when nobody’s in the store. Give it a break, yeah?”

Jeongguk scoffs with surrender, raising his shoulders as he lets it drop at Yoongi’s request. Meanwhile Yoongi answers questions about the instruments for sale, lined up for the band to gawk at with ungraciousness, Jeongguk actually turns back around. Another elongated sigh leaves his mouth, the sound of creeping boredom, and finally, his gaze once again settles on yourself. 

You’ve moved since he last looked over; the book on sharks is set on top of the desk again, and now you’re risen. From where he is standing, the desk curves, revealing that his predictions on dress length were fruitless considering the stretch of your dress rises above the knee, bunching around your thigh comfortably. He has to respect it- it’s hot in Venice.

Without particularly wanting to, Jeongguk’s legs wander from his original spot towards the desk, his eyes elsewhere to feign disinterest. The truth of the matter is that he isn’t really interested, unless you counted the dull rise of arousal in the pit of his stomach. That being said, Jeongguk glances up at your face once more and sucks air into his cheeks, hollowing the skin as he knocks on his heels and turns away from you before you can notice. Namjoon was right, to some extent. You were pretty.

“You like The Clash?”

A sweet voice hauls Jeongguk’s attention up and over towards the corner of the desk, where on the other side you stand with both hands flat on the surface, your entire body lifting your weight cutely. Jeongguk’s heart leaps and he glares down at his hands, finding London Calling in his hands, indicating that whilst on his solo mission of pretending to be preoccupied near you, he had just picked up the first thing in front of him.

Jeongguk clears his throat gruffly and shakes his head once. “No.”

For a few seconds, nothing is said. “Oh.” And Jeongguk hopes you’ll leave it there, let him pretend he’s invisible until he’s thought of something to say, but as always, his prayers are ignored. “Do you need help finding something?”

“No,” Jeongguk grits out. He speaks with acrimony, the tone at first catching you off-guard until he looks up, and his eyes tell a quiet story that makes your mouth close tightly. “I’m browsing. Am I not allowed to browse?”

Whether he likes or expects it, the way Jeongguk speaks makes a grin spread across your face, covering your original expression of surprise. He’s not quite sure how to feel about this, or what to make of how his chest feels when it happens.

“Sorry,” you reply, not exactly sounding apologetic. “It’s my job to ask, I guess. Well...enjoy your browsing. If you need me…” Repeatedly, his gaze lifts from the stack of CDs back towards you and it is only when you look away that he allows himself to slip, the smallest of frowns tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Although he knows better, Jeongguk sighs and pushes himself away from his end of the desk. It slides, semi-circular with the front in the store and behind it in its own secluded room, decorated with posters and old lockers that are used for storage. It doesn’t take looking up to register the fact that Jeongguk has moved next to you, parallel; something about Jeongguk feels particularly distinct, heavy and intimidating with the smell of hazelnut that enriches woody elements, a signature male smell that fills your nose.

“So.” Jeongguk starts over, his voice clipped but also clear, as though encouraging a conversation. To you, it feels unpredictable, almost as if talking to him was absurd; to Jeongguk, it is a bravado. “You like sharks.”

Out of surprise, your attention snaps towards him. His expression gives nothing away, and it is only when he raises his eyebrows expectantly that you remember the book, that stupid book you found under the desk when you clocked in this morning after your nine-am seminar. The Encyclopedia of Sharks, smiling razor blades face up at you and an embarrassed heat rises in your body.

“Um, not really?” you confess, avoiding the scrutiny of his stare. Jeongguk’s face is levelled into unamusement, challenging the fact you don’t like sharks in the same way you questioned his interest in The Clash. A bewildered smirk dawns on his face and you smile, tightly and revealing a dimple near your jaw that Jeongguk’s attention is pulled to. “I like Sharknado, though.”

“Right,” Jeongguk replies, finishing with a laugh that is mostly air through his teeth, a snigger of sorts, and he shakes his head downwards, fluffing his hair all within the same movement. It shocks you, genuinely, to hear a laugh come out from his mouth.

While he is busy sniggering to himself, because apparently what you said tickled his remaining sense of humour, you seize the opportunity to dance your eyes across his body. “Your tattoos are pretty.” It leaves your mouth carelessly, but Jeongguk looks up with a smile on his face, a gorgeous set of pearly whites on show.

“Yeah?” he asks, and then he flexes his arms unintentionally, peering at the black ink decorating his skin. Your mouth waters inside, soaking in the sight of him before it’s snatched away, like all the good things in your life. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” you offer, feeling mortified.

“I saw you’re close with Yoongi,” Jeongguk mentions, after a short pause. “Boyfriend? Best friend? Super close colleagues?”

“What? Ew, no. Yoongi’s my cousin. Well. You know, when someone just becomes a cousin ‘cos you’re close,” you reply, and Jeongguk nods casually, pursing his lips, and it ends there. “Also...none of your business.” He smirks.

On cue, an eruption of laughter simmers from across the store where Yoongi and the rest of Jeongguk’s friends are gathered, and you swallow the lump in your throat and glance at him, finding he hasn’t looked away. “Are you guys, like...in a band, or something?”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. Should he be offended or relieved that you don’t know who he is?

“Something like that,” he nods.

“Can’t be that popular then, if I don’t know you,” you tease, fighting the urge to laugh when Jeongguk’s face falls dramatically. “I’m kidding. What did you say your name was again?”

“We’re called August Blue.”

“No, I meant your name,” you laugh.

Jeongguk splutters, coughing nothing out of his throat. “Oh. Jeongguk.”

There is no reasonable explanation behind why Jeongguk’s stomach feels weird when you smile- it is an unspoken rule that Jeongguk doesn’t do feelings. Jeongguk doesn’t do romance period, only hooks up on the rare occasion that he’s high enough to feel something for someone other than himself. Yet something is unsettling inside, bubbling like the top layer of boiling water in a cauldron, threatening to spill out in waves.

“Well, Jeongguk from August Blue- who I shall be indulging in very soon, as in, when you leave the store and I can do it without you watching me-,” you pause when he laughs again. You wonder if he laughs often, or if you’re one of the lucky ones. “-, it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

“Is it?” he questions disbelievingly.

You tilt your head curiously. “Why wouldn’t it be? I mean, aside from you coming for me doing my job.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Whatever. And, I’m just saying.”

A playfulness grabs at your shirt. “Why? Are you dangerous, Jeongguk?” Your eyes narrow into slits, challenging, and Jeongguk just smirks, exhaling softly. There is something charismatic about him, that’s for sure.

“All I’m saying, is that guys like me aren’t good for girls like you,” Jeongguk settles, unprepared for the unexpected laughter that bursts from your chest, bouncing around the room until Jeongguk actually feels somewhat uncomfortable. “What?”

But the laughter is uncontrollable, loud enough to bring Yoongi back to the desk questioningly, followed by the rest of August Blue as they shadow Yoongi like lost puppies. Yoongi pushes the small gate open and his eyes widen at you hunched over on the desk, secondly acknowledging Jeongguk as he stares deadpan at you, wondering what it was he said that was so comedic.

“You make it sound so simple,” you tell him, once the laughter has subsided. “It’s cute that you think you know what kind of girl I am.”

Hoseok side-eyes the situation as Seokjin fishes out his credit card, feeling as though they’ve all interrupted something they shouldn’t have. What is more shocking is the fact that Jeongguk accepts the challenge- he’s normally isolative with his voice when around new people, only comfortable at home or on the stage surrounded by people screaming lyrics he died to dream up and write down.

“Aren’t I right though?” Jeongguk asks, smiling like he’s got it figured out. “The pretty innocent girls like you...I’m the kind of guy your family warned you about.” While Namjoon snorts, Taehyung nods, supporting Jeongguk’s statement as you look over his shoulder at him.

Before you can even speak, Yoongi barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he returns Seokjin’s card. “Guk, you have no clue.”

If there’s one thing Jeongguk dislikes, it’s feeling as though he’s missing out on something. Back and forth, he looks at both yourself and Yoongi, waiting for an explanation. Yoongi prolongs it, finding sadistic enjoyment in the gradual irritation solidifying on his face, his tongue prodding his inner cheek with a bored expression to match.

“Dude, her daddy’s Axel Choi,” Yoongi snorts, and he laughs loudly when Jeongguk’s whole face drops to the floor, the butterflies in his stomach replaced with an instant sourness, like the bitter burn of alcohol after one too many glasses.

Bewildered, Jeongguk is rendered speechless, and while Yoongi burps laughter and makes a note of the stock now that Seokjin has purchased something, the respective remaining four members of August Blue share cautious glances, apprehensively watching what Jeongguk does or says. Saying Axel Choi feels stupid and minute, but within Jeongguk’s world, it has the same consequence as saying Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter. Whatever attempts Jeongguk has made to forgive or forget what Axel Choi once said to him in that 7-Eleven in Busan is fruitless, the judging and patronising tone clear in his ears, flooding back like a PTSD.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“Ooh,” you start, lifting up with excitement, “what did he dooo?”, at the same time that Namjoon warningly mutters Jeongguk’s name.

“You look nothing like him,” Jeongguk says dumbly.

“That’s kinda where the step comes in. Stepdad, no blood relation, thank fuck!”

“Come on, Guk, it’s not like she was even there when he shat on all your hopes and dreams,” Yoongi frowns, raising his hand slightly in an effort to diffuse the tension. Purposefully, he ignores the way you look at Yoongi with question, realising instantly that Jeongguk’s behaviour isn’t a matter of personality but instead pride, a desperation to prove himself. “Lay off.”

“He’s family.”

“Is he fuck,” you snort, the sound and language together making Jeongguk even more confused, his head pounding with a mixture of nausea and relief, the upset of his seventeen year old self something he can’t quite shrug off, like the memory of a bad dream. “And, come on. Isn’t that unfair? Put it this way- your dad kills someone, should we go to jail too just because we’re family?” Jeongguk says nothing. “Besides, he’s been married to my Mom for like, six years? And I still don’t like him or get along with him!”

“We just have...bad experiences with him,” Namjoon admits, not forgetting to throw a glare in Jeongguk’s temperamental direction, and he reacts with a jerk, an annoyed scoff leaving his mouth.

Jeongguk crosses his arms. “He told us we’d never succeed. The fucker basically said we didn’t have the talent to be big.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out thoughtfully, and Jeongguk pauses, acknowledging you fully. “People always succeed when others are negative. I guess we’ll just have to prove him wrong, hm?”

The funny part is that Jeongguk absolutely knows that you are right. In spite of the jarring fact that Axel Choi’s memory is now back in his life with the news of your connections to him, Jeongguk is fully aware of how none of this is your fault. Jeongguk knows better than anybody that baseless judgements were more often unhelpful and toxic than not, and instantly, an apology is brewing in his mouth, words connected by thin strings in his brain, formulating two simple words that feel impossible to mouth. 

Alas, rockstars and their inflated egos; Jeongguk swallows the words back down, battling the urge to say what’s truly on his mind because he’s afraid of what might come out in its place.

So he walks.

Dejected and confused, Jeongguk spares a look at everybody in the room before shaking his head, as if trying to get something out of his head. The worry that slightly pools in your stomach at the sight of it worsens when he storms back down the length of the stacks, closely followed by Hoseok who is a foot away from calling his name. For the rest of the band, it seems, this is instrinctic of Jeongguk, and they quietly but speedily finish up and follow suit. Before he exits, Namjoon smiles over at you, something hidden in the movement that assures you it’s not your fault, even when your agape mouth and stuttering starts suggest you feel otherwise.

Jeongguk makes it out of DBOY before his lungs cave inwards, the hot smell of air pumping into his body as he steps outside to catch his breath. Hoseok’s hand comfortingly presses between his shoulder blades as he finally catches back up with the younger, and Jeongguk refrains from snatching himself away. The demon in his head cackles and the desperate angel pets his hair, tells him that if he pushes more people away, he’ll have nobody. Jeongguk’s not sure if he’s heard that angel speak before.

Hoseok guides Jeongguk back towards the car, silently accepting that Jeongguk didn’t mean it. He never does. He quietly accepts it, patting his leg when Jeongguk sits down once the car is unlocked. Jeongguk doesn’t say a word, not even when the rest of August Blue pile in the car, animatedly talking about the Korean restaurant they’re planning to eat at next. Clockwork routine, they never bring it up afterwards.

The car pulls away and Jeongguk winds the window down with a frown. He’d like a cigarette.

Not that Jeongguk has been counting, but it has been four days since August Blue had visited DBOY. 

Against his tight schedules consisting of long hauls in Adora’s studio, revising songs and making minor changes to each track in preparation for the album release in a few days time, the mere memory of DBOY has been the last thing and least important thing on his mind. In sooth, he doesn’t think about it until he’s alone, vulnerable in his own personal comforts surrounded by white and red. The memory haunts him, keeps him awake for no reason. Jeongguk wishes he could go back, wipe the slate clean, listen to the angel and not be such a prick. He can do this- he does do this.

On the following day, Jeongguk wakes up with a free schedule, waking in bed with the dark grey sheets belted around his lower waist. Casting a glance to his phone that lights up distractedly with notifications, he sees that the time reads eleven am and he yawns. Knowing the rest of the band, they’ve probably scattered already; Hoseok had mentioned something off-handedly last night about spending the day with Roseanne, and Namjoon would most likely be reading alone or exploring with Taehyung, the final man of the hour, Seokjin, sleeping in until it hurts to sleep.

He could do the same, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jeongguk gets himself up and ready, finding his body lead itself back in the direction of DBOY, only realising that he’s come back when he’s outside the front blinking up at the sign.

Somewhere down the street, the sound of screaming reaches his ears- sometimes it’s hard to escape the fans who long for a glimpse at their idols, and to avoid them catching on as to where he’s fled to, Jeongguk hurls himself through the heavy metal door and into the store. It comes as no surprise that it’s empty inside, cool again and this time bursting the lyrics to a Fleetwood Mac record he can’t quite remember the name of but recognises.

The long walk down the length of the aisle is intimidating, daunting as Jeongguk walks and sees nobody behind the desk. Aside from the echoed sound of Fleetwood Mac, the store is virtually silent- admittedly, there is a small group of teenagers at the other end talking quietly, but they are so muted that Jeongguk at first doesn’t realise they are there. Instead he continues forward, slowing significantly when he reaches the desk and finds absolutely nobody in attendance.

For a second, Jeongguk considers leaving. However, the herd of fans he had stalking him outside are no doubt still outside somewhere, and as soon as he considers it, the sound of your voice makes his head snap up attentively. The door that joins the desk space to the back office rattles slowly and then pulls open, and Jeongguk inhales a breath when you step out, as charming as you were five days prior.

Jeongguk is all you see when you pick your chin up, staring at his face closely as he hovers lumpishly, looking out of place. Before he can speak, you regard his appearance, a flattering mixture of tonal blacks; the tight leather jacket covering a black roll neck and tight skinny jeans, even the trademark face-mask that has been pulled below his face, hanging by his neck.

“Oh,” you breathe softly, stunned. “Jeongguk, right?…”

“Hi,” he replies, and you take pleasure in noticing the dulled volume of his voice. “You’re here.”

He considers it a win when you smile. “Well, I do work here.”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t know why I said that,” Jeongguk mutters. “I just...Are you free?”

You make your way towards the desk, gently kicking an empty storage box with your feet. “Sadly, I am always free. You know, considering Yoongi is so popular, this shop is always empty. What’s up with that?” It’s rhetorical, and Jeongguk laughs gently. “What’s up? Left something here? I didn’t think you’d come back...well, after…”

Jeongguk frowns immediately, the unmissable darkened gaze of regret on his face. “That’s actually why I came back. Look.” He sighs, deeply and loudly. “I know it’s not your fault. With Axel.” As he speaks, your gaze is glued on him, your eyes occasionally scanning various parts of his face. “And it’s so fucking unfair for me to hold you against things he said before you even knew him, or whatever, yknow? I guess it just caught me off guard.”

You nod genuinely. “It happens.”

“And, look, I know I don’t even really know you that well, but I can tell you’re just nothing like him,” Jeongguk continues, his temper rising slowly. “You’re kind, and funny, and he’s just an asshole and-” But he stops. And, what? And, he’s still family.

“You’re right,” you agree, laughter spilling from your tongue. “No, he’s the biggest asshole. And his music sucks, let’s be honest.” Jeongguk’s mouth opens, like he wants to speak. “No wonder it took him fourteen years to make a hit…” And he laughs, loudly and in agreement. 

It must be a rarity to see him smile, to hear him laugh; with your heart in the sky, staring at Jeongguk laugh makes you feel warm, your hands quivering with satisfaction at the way his eyes curve into horizontal brackets, like moons, his teeth free with the comfort of knowing he’s safe being happy.

So, explicitly, he doesn’t say sorry like he wanted to. He tries- the words are right there, it would be easy, it is easy. As always, you are understanding, sympathetic to Jeongguk as he struggles to get his words out coherently. You know what he means. You like that he cared enough to try, anyway.

Realistically, he could have left it there, and maintained that stereotypical air of mystery and unavailability he’s used to showing people. On the contrary, Jeongguk finds more reasons to slink back towards DBOY, until he’s entirely familiar with your work schedule, having accidentally turned up when you were at a lecture, and had to suffer the pressing curiosity of your cousin. Yoongi had been so over Jeongguk pretending he was here out of personal pleasure of being surrounded by music that he had eventually just told him your work times, prompting Jeongguk into working harder in the studio to ensure more free time.

Like always, nobody in the band minded. If it meant Jeongguk was investing his spare time in something other than his own loneliness, they were happy to let it be. As for yourself, the reoccuring showing of Jeongguk in DBOY was at first, something you anticipated until the third showing where he had turned up in what you think might be his best look yet. Finally, he wears splashes of colour, his aura breathing with life as he turns up to the store wearing blue denim jeans, with maroon boots and a red beanie over his hair which has been flattened.

Each visit from the man is memorable in its own way, for either parties; you gradually learn that Jeongguk was the lead singer of August Blue, his accent distinctly Australian no thanks to his mother’s dual citizenship that resulted in many family holidays out there, and the year abroad that had chanced him to meet Yoongi. In return, Jeongguk learns that you haven’t even turned twenty yet, your birthday approaching soon, and that your a dilettante, knowing virtually nothing technical about music and instead comfortable in the field of physical art, a first year studying visual art and media.

Jeongguk learns all of this on the third visit. On the fourth, he finds out that you’ve finally listened to his bands music in time for their album release the following day, now in love with the truth of their lyrics, a direct quote from your mouth that Jeongguk remembers perfectly. And on the day of THREE AM’s release, on one of his final days before tour preparations are due to start, Jeongguk finds himself in DBOY with the sound of his own voice on the speakers, and the breathtaking sight of you dancing while stacking the shelves.

It’s a new track, one off the album that dropped this morning. Dancer In The Dark plays all around him, his mind reeling when he reaches you, your back to him and hips twirling as you work. You don’t even need to turn around for Jeongguk to know that you look gorgeous- that’s something that has changed over the past few weeks of Jeongguk returning to DBOY to see you, and annoy Yoongi, respectively. 

Something inside of Jeongguk now craves you, beyond the simple lust he would have imagined. Perhaps it’s the way you didn’t know who he was, treated him like a human being rather than a God; maybe it was the way you’re so ordinary, a taste of normality Jeongguk misses, or the way you’re a relation to someone he’s been working for the past four years to prove wrong. It could well be all three.

The baby blue teddy coat over your body covers your skirt, a display of smooth and tanned legs for him to leer at, your hair once again twirled into loose curls, half up and half down, a signature style like Ariana’s high pony. 

Evidently, you’re unaware of his entry. Yoongi still hasn’t changed the bell above the door and the speakers playing his record are right above your head; this gives Jeongguk the perfect opportunity to quietly approach you from behind, waiting until the chorus fades to an end for him to carefully press his hands into your waist with a soft “boo” pushing between his lips. 

In turn, you jump, his hands momentarily cupping your waist as you move out of his grasp, turning around defensively to see who in the right mind would dare to put a hand on you, only for the guard to be dropped with reassurance once you see Jeongguk behind you, a grin on his face.

“Hi, you,” you say to him, wincing when you realise how loud the music is. “Congrats on the album release!”

Jeongguk laughs boyishly. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Mhm!” you assure, nodding with emphasis. Jeongguk follows the hint of moving away from the loud music as his voice transitions into the opening chords of a David Bowie track. “Do you even have a bad song? Like, the difference between Vibes, Dancer in the Dark and Keep it Up...gorgeous.” He laughs again, feeling over the moon at your authentic excitement. “I really love your voice.”

If humans could melt, Jeongguk would be gloop. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it, I’m glad you like it.” His brows quirk playfully, “Clearly.” He means your dancing, circular swirls to his voice, and you conceal a smile and look away quickly.

“I recognise Hold Your Breath, too,” you continue, choosing to deliberately ignore his playful comment. One might even assume it to have been flirting. “Isn’t that one of your earlier songs?”

By this point, you’ve hopped over the desk, slid over the wood as Jeongguk watched your coat and skirt hike up with the lift of your leg. “Mmm. I see you’ve done your homework,” he comments.

“I got...curious,” you defend weakly. “I like that song. I’m so glad you decided to do a studio version, it is what she deserved!”

Today might be a new record broken for How Many Times Can Jeon Jeongguk Laugh In Your Company.

“Well, there you have it. You can listen to all of it in HD to make up for me not being here for a while.” Your smile falters and Jeongguk smiles in an attempt to ease your disappointment. “We start our promotions next weekend, actually. Just a couple shows in the States, nothing huge.”

“Oh,” you nod, your voice oddly lost and spacious. “Ugh, I’d love to see you live. I bet it’s gonna sound amazing.”

A breath hitches in Jeongguk’s throat. Come on, idiot, jeers the demon inside of him. The angel slaps him on the back of the head but his words do not cease. You haven’t got all day to do it.

“Then come,” he blurts.

Mirroring him, your mouth falls round, open. “...O-M-G, I’d love to...but I’m like...broke,” you tell him, jokingly but around the truth you both know is there.

“Y/N, you can come for free, I’m inviting you,” Jeongguk explains slowly, the grin widening on his face. Awestruck, you’re lost in the beauty of it. “I want you to come. See us play, see me. You won’t have to pay for a single thing- everything’s on me.” He breathes, “Please,” added as an afterthought.

Admittedly, he hadn’t anticipated the following silence. “When?” you ask, breathily.

“Next Saturday,” Jeongguk offers, having thought about it since before the album came out. “At the Hollywood Palladium. It’s our opening show, and I’d just really, really like for you to be there.” You think about the date for a moment, smiling when you realise what day the date falls on.

“Hollywood? That’s...amazing, Jeongguk, really,” you tell him, your voice quiet still. “...Can I bring a friend? When I listened to August Blue, they were there and we both got really invested.”

A weight is lifted off Jeongguk’s shoulders knowing that his offer has been considered. He smiles brightly, the moons back out. “Depends. Is your friend male?”

Now it is your turn to grin, your weight held up by your elbows as you lean on top of the desk towards him, slotted between his hands. His familiar hazelnut scent is strong here. “Yes. He’s male, gay, and incredibly in love with my cousin.”

What Jeongguk feels is not relief, or irritation; an elevated feeling of happiness stirs in his chest. You are so unlike anybody he’s met, from the way you see the humour in everything he says, not taking him seriously enough to treat him like he’s better than everything else, and the way you make him feel like there’s something about him worth liking; to the way you’re probably the only person he’s ever met who genuinely likes the Sharknado franchise. It without a doubt goes without saying that good things pop up where you least expect them to, in people you didn’t anticipate meeting. Feeling like his head is in the clouds, Jeongguk’s lips press together into a smile, bashful in appearance and nods, satisfied.

“Okay then,” he nods, taking a second to grasp the situation before he laughs to himself, scratching his ear absentmindedly. “Here’s my number for then, then. You can call me when you arrive, and then I’ll come out and get you, or I’ll have our manager sort some things out, so you can skip the lines and get in before everyone else.”

“Alright,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Jeongguk.”

Although he shakes his head nonchalantly, feigning only a moderate amount of happiness, on the inside, Jeongguk’s body is screaming, his heart vibrating rapidly in his chest. On the other side, even when he bounces into a following conversation about your hair and the new book placed on the desk that you’ll probably read when you’re bored later today, you feel like you can’t breathe, can’t quite comprehend the fact Jeongguk is standing before you, his number in your phone, the sun unmatching his smile.

Some things don’t feel right, but being with Jeongguk isn’t one of them. Maybe luck is on your side for once.

(LOS ANGELES)

“So. You’ve decided to be late.”

Adjacent to where you’re standing, Park Jimin lies like a starfish on your bedsheets, his chin tilted up to the ceiling in agonising boredom as you fuss over your hair for the literal fifth time in the last four minutes.

Meeting Jimin was both the joy and the bane of your life, the boy being an unstable balance of chaotic and neutral, his sole purpose in life being to annoy the shit out of you. It had been a lovely sunny morning the day you first met him- only it had begun to thunderstorm the second he entered the arts classroom, pathetic fallacy. Being the quiet black sheep clearly did not always work in your favour considering the only spare seat left was the one next to you, meaning fate had decided to bring you both together to sketch still-life pears and grapes. Either that or a case of big, bad luck- the opinion differed depending on who you asked.

Regardless, here you both are; by cordial invite from Jeon Jeongguk himself, you have around twenty minutes to get to a venue that is thirty five away, and Jimin huffs for the fifth consecutive time, pointedly glancing over as you finish applying a generous amount of lipstick that no doubt will fade during the show. Your face is an art-piece, your body modestly covered in a silk buttoned shirt patterned with red flowers, tucked into some comfortable black jeans that Jimin turns his nose up at.

“They’re comfortable,” you argue weakly, finally following him to the car and deciding to do your shoes in the backseat. As half promised over text, Jeongguk sent a vehicle, the driver impatient and displeased by your tardiness but he says nothing, because it’s his job to drive, not to speak.

“Skinny jeans are the most impractical outfit for getting dicked down,” Jimin says with a clipped tone. “And isn’t it obvious that Jeongguk wants to do that?”

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. “It might not be like that.”

Jimin genuinely laughs. “Oh, come on- it totally is. Why else would he invite you backstage, send a car, and stop by at your work almost daily?”

“Maybe he wants to be friends?” you suggest, but both you and Jimin know that’s so far from the truth that you can’t even see it- you just don’t want to admit it just yet. When Jimin’s tongue darts out of his mouth with a smirk, you roll your eyes and lean down to your feet as the driver cruises down the street on the clock.

[17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: hey are you on your way?? [17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: havent heard from u [17:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: u ok?

About ten minutes into the drive, almost peaceful save Jimin’s random questions about Jeongguk, or the venue, neither particularly answerable at this stage, a series of notifications flood your phone. Taking the chance to answer while Jimin finds time to bully the driver into talking to him to cure his driving boredom, you glance down at the messages, your body reacting with a flush when you see Jeongguk’s name light up in bold.

[17:41PM] You: yes !!!! in the car rn

His reply is instantaneous.

[17:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cool 😋 as long as ur safe [17:42PM] Jeongguk 🎼: got worried lol

“Five minutes,” the driver calls, to nobody in particular as he pulls up to a set of traffic lights. Oblivious to speed limits, he seems to have got you there in the designated twenty, before the gates opened for the crowds outside.

[17:44PM] You: we will be there in five minutes ☺️ [17:44PM] You: : i’ll text you when we’re here [17:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cutie, see you then 😛

You are grown, and too old to be crushing over a boy like you’re in high school, but the way Jeongguk interacts makes your toes curl with a whole new alien type of fondness, the need to giggle paramount. You refrain from doing so, because if Jimin hears he will never let you live it down. In an effort to ignore the excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins, your leg bounces erratically as the driver, who is apparently named Joe after the chauffeur bodyguard in The Princess Diaries (no thanks to Jimin and his “boredom” which borders insensitivity), pulls up in the barricaded staff car park. The fans outside have no idea: they just see a car and start screaming, their cheers making goosebumps ripple up your arms like romantic kisses.

“That makes me feel really important,” Jimin mutters, perhaps glum about the fact that he hasn’t had this much attention since he was chubby and innocent in third grade. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” you breathe, unsure as to whether or not you mean it. Nevertheless, Jimin opens the car door and steps out, instantly making a crowd gathered by the barricade scream. They scream for anything, just wanting to be heard, but being Jimin, he soaks it up as you clamber out on the other side.

Jeongguk seems particularly popular, and it probably wouldn’t look good if fans saw an unknown girl get out the car to go backstage. You know how fans are, how it’s easy to jump to conclusions without the facts. While Jimin raises his hand to teasingly wave at the girls who scream in response, you follow Bodyguard Joe to the backstage door guarded by two oversized muscular men, bowing your head as you enter and feel the heat of the backstage rooms hit you in the face.

At some point, Jimin joins you inside, shuffling around your body when he spots Yoongi appear at the end of the opening corridor. Yoongi is always invited to August Blue shows, by personal invitation of the band-members who are mostly Namjoon. Remembering that Jeongguk technically has no idea you’re here, you quickly shoot him a text message before a female staff member touches your shoulder gently, offering a lanyard with VVIP written in black ink, likely a band members handwriting. She smiles, quickly running over the safety regulations because, give her a break, it’s her damn job. You’re nodding, acknowledging her words blindly until she’s done, sending you on your way towards Taehyung who pops his head around the corner and smiles brightly when he sees you.

“Hey, you!”

Quite honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever said a word to Taehyung before. He doesn’t seem particularly awkward to speak to you despite this fact, and beckons you closer with a wave of his hand. As you draw nearer, you smell the faint aroma of vodka crossed with raspberry, clinging to his clothes and mouth as he comes close to speak so you can hear him over the heavy bass filling the speakers.

“What?” you ask him loudly, seeing his mouth move with nothing coming out. All you can hear is the recording of Obsessive on the speakers, pounding, reverberating the floor beneath your Dr Martens.

“I said,” Taehyung shouts, his lips on your ear, “Jeongguk’s waiting for you. I need a wee really badly, but he’s in the artists lounge, that way.” He points vaguely in a direction, but the sight of Jimin stepping in and out of a room indicates the general direction regardless. “Enjoy the show, yeah?”

“Course!” you nod to him, and he wastes zero seconds staring at you and legs it in the opposite direction, towards where you assume the toilets are. Your eyes follow him as he leaves in endearment; he’s cute, constantly looking bewildered and confused. It’s his almond eyes, like puppy dogs’.

But the thought of seeing Jeongguk outweighs watching Taehyung leave; you hurry down the corridor and enter the room you expect to be the artists lounge, and your breath is taken away immediately when Jeongguk is the first thing you see.

As if anticipating your entry, he stands the second you enter, and while he moves, you freeze. Jeongguk looks absolutely breathtaking: his hair is curly, falling over his face with a slight parting not directly centered, hooped earrings hanging from his earlobes, adding a sparkle secondary to the way his eyes are shining in the backstage lights. His skin is gorgeously tanned, shaded and accentuated by the slipping material of his shirt that reveals the expanse of his collarbones, the black complementing the tightness of his jeans. You don’t get to look at his shoes- he stops at your toes and you peer back up at his face, rendered speechless by the smile on his face.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, laughing as if it’s so crazy that you’re here, actually here. Before you can even think of speaking, Jeongguk inhales a breath and brings it back in with one movement; he reaches for you, encircling his arms around you for a quick hug that you’re not going to let go to waste. As soon as he feels your hands on his back, he pulls you closer, tighter almost, one hand on your lower spine and the other on the back of your head.

The hug is genuinely short, but it feels eternal.

“You made it,” he comments, his voice so bewildered that for a moment, you’re actually confused. Jeongguk speaks insecurely and it makes your heart wrench- you wonder who hurt him before, what made him think that he wasn’t deserving of things as simple as somebody coming to a show when he asked them to.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” you tell him truthfully, your arms slipping to his forearms. “I’m excited!”

Jeongguk grins happily. “Me too! Ah, I’m happy you’re here. You look gorgeous.” And without shame, he drags his gaze up and down your body.

“That’s good, then,” comes Jimin’s thrown in comment from across the room, where he occupies one of the leather seats next to Yoongi and across from Hoseok, who fidgets skittishly and fiddles his fingers at a Rubix cube. “Do you know how close we were to being late because she was busy deciding a lip colour? Jimin should I go red or nude? Jimin does this shirt go with my shoes? Jimin should I paint my nails red or black to match?”

A laugh ripples out of Jeongguk’s chest and he looks back at you adoringly.

“That’s not how it happened,” you protest weakly, pouting when Jimin cackles and smirks. “And we made it didn’t we? Shut up before I revoke the plus one card.”

“I’m already here, though,” Jimin reasons.

“I’ll force you outside,” you reply.

Yoongi pulls a face, then, finally joining the conversation. “Y/N, you can’t even open the front door to the shop when you enter, let alone drag Jimin outside. Nice try, though.”

An offended gasp leaves your mouth and Jeongguk turns around, petting the top of your head. “It’s okay. Sometimes, even I can’t open it. Anyway- drink?”

You decline this offer, not really wanting to drink anything heavy in fear of vomiting it up when the show starts. Based on your history, throwing up when you’re overly excited seems to be a dirty habit, something Jimin is very happy sharing when you opt for a glass of water while Jeongguk carefully pours himself a glass of whiskey. He doesn’t tease or poke fun. Jeongguk simply smiles, like the story is a memory he’s fond of remembering, and nods you in the direction of the couch where he wants you to sit. It stays this way right up until the show starts, and then the chaos begins and the nerves settle.

Now, you’ve never been backstage before, never seen how crazy it gets as the show’s about to start. While the rest of the band hurry around collecting outfit pieces, taking a drink or tuning their instruments to perfection, Jeongguk quietly tugs at your arm and brings you to the side, a gentle and reassuring smile on his face, a frequently used expression when it concerns yourself.

“Rachel is our main backstage manager and she’s gonna take you and Jimin down to where I’ve put you for the show, yeah?” he explains, his gaze intent. Rachel is the woman from earlier, smiling patiently near the door. You spare her a glance and then look back at Jeongguk. “I’ve put you down by the stage so I can see you, okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re not in the crowd, you’re right by the stage in front of the barricade with the staff,” Jeongguk says. “Safe and sound, comfy and cosy. Can you come back after the show? There’s a party. I’ll- I’ll take you?” His tone is expectant, hopeful, and you’d be absolutely insane to let him down.

“I’ll come,” you promise. “Good luck!”

Again with the boyish charms; Jeongguk’s following smile is relaxed and lopsided, his head similarly quirked.

“Thanks, baby,” he calls, his smile widening when he notices the surprise flood your cheeks. “Cheer loud for me?”

“Always,” you tell him, gauging the scrunch of his eyes before Rachel directs both Jimin and yourself out of the backstage vicinity and towards the VVIP standing just next to the barrier. Whether or not Jimin overheard the entire ordeal is unclear; he doesn’t comment even if he did happen to overhear, remaining uncharacteristically silent until you reach your spot and he loosens up, gazing up at the stage in wonder.

When the venue feels packed to the brim and the reverberating bass of guitars literally vibrates the room, Jimin screams something about his excitement over the noise, catching your widened smile in his direction and laughing, throwing his arms around you.

Hollywood Palladium is genuinely packed to the brim, the fans by the barricade stamping excitedly as the VCR rolls to an end, the lights fade to a crimson red and silhouettes of August Blue appear on the stage. They are sensational, eliciting a chorus from the crowd that is deafening. Jimin laughs again, looking back and forth at the crowd and back at the stage, two girls from the barricade recognising him as the guy from outside and taking a photo, likely anticipating that he is of importance.

Like all concerts, the first five minutes are mind-blowing, epic and fantastical and slightly nerve-racking for all parties. At the sound of the opening chords of Meddle About, another wave of screams pierce the crowd and you wince, not expecting it but a smile still wide on your face. The cymbals crash and the lights flash brightly, revealing Jeongguk on the stage at the front, both his hands on the microphone as he speaks the first words of the night, lyrics dripped in smooth vocals that make your body swirl like on drugs. It’s mesmerising, sexy and sounding perfectly like the studio recording.

Hearing them live is a whole different experience- the way that August Blue perform is otherworldly, feeling like you’re in a subspace of slow-motion, every movement on stage emphasised. Not wanting to waste all of the show gawking at the lead vocalist, you glance at all of the other members, in awe of their talents and presence on the stage, even spotting the golden gleam of a saxophone in your peripheral vision. It is only then that you register the fact that Taehyung plays the saxophone live, and excitement and anticipation replaces birthed nerves from the opening song.

When Meddle About fades to a finale, Jeongguk smiles to himself widely as the melody to Obsessive plays almost immediately after, Namjoon’s riff introducing Jeongguk’s welcoming, “Hollywood Palladium, are you ready?” before he dives into the song. Here, Taehyung fiddles for his sax and beams down at both you and Jimin, returning to his spot to play as the song continues.

Like all songs from August Blue, you wish it would never end, your heels grinding the floor as you bop in Jimin’s arms, his chin buried in your neck as he rocks you from side to side affectionately. For the entirety of the song, and even after then, you refuse to take your eyes off Jeongguk; he moves with calculation and care, the world his bitch beneath his feet as he smirks, fucking the crowd, swirling in figure eight motions as he sings. Jeongguk is the eighth wonder of the world.

Obsessive ends, your torso rising and falling after their performance. It was a show of elan, your body buzzing with small vibrations like a bumblebee; Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, and he exchanges caring looks with the other members, giving them the opportunity to catch their breath as he once again addresses the crowd.

“Hollywood…” he starts, smiling wolfishly when the crowd erupts into piercing screams, the fans at the barrier pounding against the metal bars impatiently and Jimin eyes them cautiously, wrapping his arms tighter around you and considerately shuffling further away. Jeongguk glances down, then, making sure everything is okay, and his eyes fall on you. The first thing he sees is your smile, enamoured and bright and wide, like golden light at the end of a dark tunnel he can’t get out of. You notice now that he speaks how strong the accent is, months and years of Australian visits clearly paying off. It’s nice, new and different, completely unlike how he speaks in Korean. “We feelin’ good tonight?”

The crowd respond gleefully, and Jeongguk chuckles into the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming out here tonight,” Jeongguk begins, swaying slightly on his feet. The movement is endearing. “Being here, on this stage, is something we have dreamed about, and now that we’re here...Wow. We couldn’t be here without you guys. Everyone who’s here- friends, family, lovers-” the crowd scream because they’re used to being mentioned this way, but when Jeongguk’s gaze briefly flickers down to you, you immediately burn up, curling into Jimin as your best friend laughs knowingly, squeezing you tighter when Jeongguk finishes his speech to the crowd, “-you guys are fucking awesome. You like the album?”

Of course, Jeongguk is not alone on the stage. Reminded of this fact, you pay attention to each members introduction, occasionally finding your eyes wandering back to the lead vocalist who seems to always be staring back. In a sea of screaming fans and waving banners, Jeongguk’s eyes land on you each time, as if reminding himself that you are here, you are here for him.

When the band finish their introductions and Jeongguk says his piece, and the opening hum from the guitars around him announce Dancer in the Dark, Jeongguk glances at you one final time and sees the way your body reacts to the song familiar to your ears, a curve extending the corner of his mouth. Jeongguk brings his attention back to the crowd where it will stay for the rest of the concert, his mind wandering between each lyric and break. Maybe- just maybe, things would work out for him in the end.

DEVIL IN THE DARK. (HOLLYWOOD)

There is a constant hum in your ears, your fingertips vibrating as you force yourself out of the car.

Judging by the sky draped in an ebony black, it’s either extremely late or extremely early, the loud music from the large estate already audible and you haven’t even entered the party yet. Even though Jeongguk had expected to take you in his personal vehicle to the party that would celebrate their first American show of the year, things hadn’t exactly gone to plan; his eyes met yours as soon as you hurried backstage to find him, pleading and frantic and your name on the tip of his tongue, unspoken when Rachel ushers the band out of the venue after an already overstayed welcome. Still, the frequent vibration of your phone under your thigh when you settled travelling with Yoongi and Jimin instead kept your thoughts preoccupied, Jeongguk’s contact practically permanent on your lock screen.

[23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: shit !!!!! [23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: i wanted to wait but they kept pushing me outside [23:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: did u get out safe? [23:43PM] You: yep don’t worry !!! [23:43PM] You: we’ll be on our way soon [23:44PM] You: im hungry so we’re getting food first oops [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok baby see u soon [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼 is typing…

The triple dots are constant.

Bodyguard Joe is the driver who drops you off, muttering under his breath when all three of you pile out the back and he’s free to leave. Before Yoongi can even shut the door properly he is speeding away, desperate to get out of there. Yoongi can’t say he blames him- he’s only staying for a little bit, at least until Jeongguk starts being Jeongguk. He deliberately doesn’t mention it to you. He wants you to see it for yourself.

Inside, it’s hard to see through the smoke. There had only been about fourty minutes difference between Jeongguk arriving there and the three of you, and evidently, they waste no time bringing the party into motion. Already, guests either by invite or chance are drunk, intoxicated with dark beer bottles and shot glasses, a wreckage of splintery glass by the door surrounded by a pair of shoes, like a warning. The lights are dimmed, each room dark save a lamp with a dying bulb or LED lights, flashing rainbow colours to the beats of songs, the smell of alcohol and weed lifting in the air. It’s rancid, strong and pungent but typical of parties you’d expect celebrities within the realm of Jeongguk to do, people who held the world at arms length.

Along the wall, the coat pegs are covered in a bundle of mismatched coats and jackets, a single Converse hanging by its laces as some sort of practical joke. In light of this, you decide to just keep your coat thrown over your shoulders, the black suede comfortable and moreover protective as faces you’ve never even seen before regard you with high interest as you pass. Jimin scowls and drags you closer to him, Yoongi leading the way with a gaze that could kill, parting the sea of dancers like Moses. The vibe, however, remains undisturbed, the bodies continuing to dance and drink as they were before Min Yoongi stepped through the mix, with two virtual nobodies behind him. He knows where he’s going- he’s done this before.

This mansion is a maze, with corridors leading everywhere, filled with bodies you didn’t know. You deduce that the main parlour where you’re headed to is the hub of the party, judging by the way the small groups of people outside become multiplied, the sound of laughter and music louder when you enter through a doorway. The room is soaked in an indigo neon light, the long haul of strip lights attached to the moulding by the ceiling by silver pins; almost all of August Blue accommodate one of the recliner sofas, one particular male suspiciously absent.

“Yoongi!” Faintly over the sound of the music, Namjoon’s voice carries its way to your trio, Yoongi’s attention moving to the band and he moves in that direction, with both Jimin and yourself close on his heels. Namjoon already looks affected by the alcohol stirring in a whiskey glass, the colour clear and making no difference when it sloshes over the side onto the bare skin of his forearms. Exchanging a tight lipped smile with Hoseok, who seats a beautiful girl on his lap who sips her drink quietly, you glance around the room for Jeongguk, your heart sinking when you don’t spot him anywhere.

“Great show,” Yoongi says, now that the music has been turned down somewhat, no thanks to Taehyung who has just stepped out of the bathroom and winced at the volume, now sitting back in his original spot beside Seokjin and his widened legs. As an afterthought, he adds, “as always. This is Jimin, by the way- and you know Y/N.”

Seokjin looks up from his glass: “Hi honey. Good night?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” you reply, your eyes wandering again. A few strangers are seated on the couch alongside the members, including three girls you aren’t familiar with. Two look out of this world, mentally vacant and the third watches you carefully, her lips pouted sourly. “Hello,” you call to her, uncomfortable.

“This is one of Rosanne’s friends, Cassandra,” Seokjin introduces, although he doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.

“Cassie,” she throws in.

“Oh, like the song,” you judge, looking back at Seokjin and catching the roll of his eyes before he can hide it away. Concealing a smile you look back at Cassandra.

“Yeah. Isn’t that funny?” she asks, giggling sweetly. “I like to tease Guk about it. It gets him shy. Did you see him on the way in, by the way? I’ve been looking for him.”

Oh. So she’s one of them- it’s evident in the way August Blue glance over at her with annoyance, glancing back at you with a blank stare. You know better. “No, actually. I just got here.”

“Well,” Cassandra-Cassie continues, smiling tightly, the look so ingenuine that it looks as though it hurts her to fake politeness, “if you see him, let him know that I’m looking for him.”

“Does he even know who you are?” Jimin asks before he can stop himself. Cassandra narrows her eyes.

“We met in passing.”

A snort exits Jimin’s nose. “If he remembers you, I’ll genuinely be surprised.”

Whatever is or isn’t said by the rest of the couch is unheard by you; once Jimin has finished his slander of Cassandra-Cassie whilst perched on Yoongi’s knees, you decide you’ve heard enough and pick yourself back up off the couch despite having only just sat down.

Whoever remains at the couch pays you no mind, aside from Yoongi who nods gently as you gesture to the connecting hallway, an arch in the cream smooth wall that no doubt leads to either the outside, the kitchen or a bathroom, perhaps all three at once. His eyes do not leave you until you’ve wormed your way out of the room, quietly and meekly weaving through bodies on the walls and declining at least three drinks offered in your direction. After peering into several rooms, including the kitchen that was far too crowded and scorching to even enter, and glanced out through the french doors to the scattered party outside, looking on the patio glowing in blues and pinks, the pool splashing with laughter.

Even the end bathroom that is larger than the kitchen is practically empty save the guy passed out in the bathtub with a glass of sparkling champagne in a slender glass on the sink, and you suddenly feel very dejected, closing the door behind you as you exit back to the long hallway. Maybe everything was too good to be true- maybe girls like Cassandra were girls Jeongguk had invited, like he had you, suddenly ghosting when they all appeared in the same room. It feels rude to assume that, but with no text messages or indication as to where he might be and with whom, disappointment begins to simmer in your stomach.

It nearly settles, confusing dejection with nausea and the thought of Jeongguk having played you is a thought you ruminate, until you’re halfway down the hall and a door to a connecting room that has now opened welcomes a body cloaked in the bedroom darkness, an arm leaning out to grasp your sleeve and pull you inside.

A strange sense of deja-vu hangs over this situation, familiarity striking with the hand that unwraps from around your arm and meets the second around your waist. Before you have even finished twirling to face the body in ownership of said arms, the sound of quiet chuckling makes you relax instantly, a smile growing when you fall with a soft thud against the torso of Jeongguk, his mouth in level with your eyes.

“Hi, stranger,” you laugh softly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jeongguk hums, and you catch a whiff of alcohol practically pouring off him. “Been hidin’. You found me, you win.” Jeongguk does a poor job of attempting to be sober, his speech slurred and his smile cheesy and smirkish. “I was tryna ride with you, but Joon shut the car door and we just drove off, you know?” You honestly don’t, but you nod anyway. “Tried to call you but dunno where my phone’s gone. Think Joon’s got it.”

“That explains why you weren’t replying,” you say, mostly to yourself. Jeongguk inhales the air through his nose quickly, one sniff, and relaxes his arms around your middle; his forearms are resting on your hip bones with his fingers gently stroking and drumming against your lower back, and it is here, with him so close, that you notice the glow of sweat on his hairline, the fringes slightly matted down and smudged black under his eye, glitter shines of his eyebrow piercing. “Got worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” he repeats, that same smile on his face. Jeongguk sounds so amazed by this fact, so bewildered that you’d care.

Anticipation whirls in the pit of your stomach as his voice drops in volume and hardness, and the school-girl crush swims back to bite when Jeongguk’s forehead bends to press against your own, the taste of alcohol on your tongue before he’s even leaning in to kiss you. Jeongguk’s hands immediately fly to cradle your face, accidentally bringing a fistful of hair to your cheek as he holds you, practically picking your face up to warm to his mouth. It is just one kiss, long and deep and soft, leaving behind the taste of a bitter liquor.

Jeongguk’s eyes open through slits when he pulls away, analysing how you still haven’t come back to reality from it, and so he moves in again, in a body roll motion stealing a second kiss, his lips pressed up against you in full. He doesn’t know if it’s the booze in his veins or the electrifying feeling of your hands over him that has him buzzing all over- it could be both, for all he knew.

Beginning to doubt his own self control when you mumble and sigh into his mouth, Jeongguk gently brings himself away, out of the kiss and sending your eyes open in a daze. Cracking his own eyes open, Jeongguk restrains himself from going right back in- the orange glow from the outdoor lights shine on the left side of your face and his heart leaps, drumming in his ears. He frowns loudly, feeling your thumbs rub against his wrists. “Sorry.”

You pause, “Why?”

“For making you worry,” Jeongguk explains, his voice murmured through pouted lips. “I made the baby worry.”

“The baby?” you repeat, chuckling. He grins. “We’re almost the same age, y’know.”

“The baby,” Jeongguk coos, his giggles indicative of his level of soberness, which seems to be unlikely. “Little nineteen year old baby-”

“Twenty,” you add, and Jeongguk stops with a quiet “huh” that sounds like a baby, ironic. Jeongguk remembers you telling him your age, and that you’d be twenty soon. Had he missed your birthday? As if hearing his internal struggle, you smile softly: “Today is my birthday, actually.”

Truly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. His mouth hangs agape, like the information was sacred. “What…? You didn’t say anything- I could have got you something, done something-”

“This whole day has been a gift,” you stress, cutting him short and calming him down. “Truly. My Mom and Asshole are in the Maldives because that’s more important than me, and so I went out for breakfast with Jimin, skipped my yoga session because treat-yourself-vibes only on my birthday, and then I had the best time at your show and now we’re here. So, honestly-” as you talk, you finger his shirt, wrapping the material around your nail, “-everything has been amazing. This is my gift- you are my gift.”

Jeongguk pouts. “You’re way more important than the Maldives...you wanna go to the Maldives? Shall we go?” Based off the state of things, Jeongguk is a playful, chatty and overall excited drunk, his eyes blown wide with what you hope it just alcohol buzz. “I’ll take you.”

You laugh, gently stroking his jaw and very briefly, before he can get too addicted, kiss him. Before Jeongguk can pucker his lips back for you, you’re back on the ground with your feet flat, shyly smiling at the way he still tries anyway- because you can’t blame a man for trying.

“You like the party?” Jeongguk asks, unconcerned. His hands are back on your back, now, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Mm, it’s fun,” you agree. “Will you come out and join all of us? We’re all in the lounge-” you smirk up at him and he raises his brows, “Cassandra is there.”

“Who the fuck’s Cassandra?” questions his voice, and you laugh loudly, surprisingly gleeful.

“Someone else who was looking for you like me,” you tell him, frowning. He hums, interested in this fact and your expression. “Think she likes you.”

Outside the door, someone rattles at the handle, the noise falling short as though they’ve been stopped from entering. Jeongguk seizes the last word with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, and your gaze drops to his lips as his teeth drag on the bottom, pulling teasingly. “I’ve got my eye on someone special.”

There had been reasoning behind Yoongi’s decision to not mention Jeongguk’s habits.

For one, it’s none of his business to talk about what Jeongguk does and doesn’t do when under the influence. Secondly, he feels as though he’s not supposed to say, like it’s a secret he’s sworn to keep. Truthfully, Yoongi doesn’t want to give the wrong idea- he doesn’t want the truth to be misunderstood or misinterpreted, and so he stays quiet. Like all other members of August Blue when Jeongguk touches alcohol, he’s quiet. At this stage, there’s nothing he can do but wait for Jeongguk to stop, patient and helpful.

It has to be early hours, now, and if Yoongi’s phone wasn’t dead, he’d check. By this point, the party is on its last legs, the volume of people decreasing dramatically as songs become more slow and sultry, all the lights blood red. It’s about time he and Jimin leave, actually; like always, Seokjin and Taehyung have disappeared into one of their bedrooms on the second floor, and Namjoon is asleep on the couch with his mouth ajar, Hoseok and Roseanne planning to remain present in the hub until the party goes to sleep, because someone needs to clean up, and it sure as hell won’t be anybody else.

Yoongi bids his farewells individually, with Jimin needily clinging to the sleeve of his shirt with the vodka oozing out of his body, his head on a whole other planet. By the time Yoongi makes it to the other side of the room where you are with Jeongguk, he’s worried Jimin might actually fall asleep before they get to the car.

Something interesting has happened. Yoongi slowly moves towards the leftover crowd around Jeongguk and sees your face immediately, worry crossed with affection etched into the look on your face as Jeongguk tightly holds you on his lap, his legs twitching and smile on display. It’s around about this time Yoongi begins to overthink it, letting his gaze drop to your hands holding one of his while his other reaches out to the coffee table, littered with bottles and shot glasses, and most importantly, the puddles of white. He gulps, looking back at you. Surprisingly, you don’t look put off, or disgusted- more so you look sad, as if filled with intense guilt as Jeongguk hugs you, his heart in one place and head in another.

When one of the girls next to Jeongguk pats his arm and Jeongguk looks over, you spare the chance to look back in the direction of Jimin, overwhelmed with relief when you see him losing balance over the shoulder of your cousin. Jeongguk struggles for a second to let you free but he does, and you move towards Yoongi, already expecting his departure.

“You should leave too,” Yoongi says seriously. “Before he gets worse.”

He- you look over your shoulder at Jeongguk. Now, he’s on his knees, his chin on the coffee table as he inches towards a fresh line on the surface. Someone’s credit card sits decorated in the powder and Jeongguk, whilst pressing his finger to one nose, snorts the line without question and with a smile. You look away, facing Yoongi with a dark expression.

“You knew?”

“We all knew,” Yoongi sighs. “This...is moderate.”

Processing what he’s saying, you shake your head stubbornly. “If I leave, then it will get worse. I don’t want to leave him on his own. I wanna be here for him, before it gets worse than what it already is.”

“It will get worse, always does.”

“I don’t care, I’m not leaving him here,” you reason. “Before you tell me I’m not special and I can’t change him, I’m not here to change him. I’m here to support him. I’m gonna stay, make sure he’s okay.”

Yoongi really wants to intervene, warn you against it. People before you have tried, he wants to say. But he doesn’t; he smiles weakly, thinking about how you’re too good for the world and people around you and he brings you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

“Alright. Happy birthday, by the way. Twenty...Hag,” Yoongi mutters before he pulls away. Jimin mirrors the movement, drunkenly giggling in your ear as he pulls away and thuds against Yoongi’s side. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t complain; secretly he likes the clinginess.

“Thanks, Yoongs,” you laugh, standing still until he steers himself and Jimin away from the scene and you’re left with no other option but to retreat back towards Jeongguk, who must be on his third line. The distinct and slightly jarring sound of snorting makes you hurry quicker towards him, until you can reach out and pet his hair, making him look up before he’s even finished the line.

The boyish grin that Jeongguk gives you when he looks up and sees your face is beyond beautiful, and he’s so distracted from the lines that he doesn’t notice or care when the girl next to him, displeased with his lack of attention, finishes it off for him. Doing everything in your power to not cry about how Jeongguk looks, fucked and wrecked with white powder under his nose, you shoot him a smile and smooth your hands down the side of his face.

“‘m pretty,” he mutters. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Laughter tugs at your throat, little puffs of air through your nose as you bend your head to meet his wandering gaze, wiping the powder from his nose before it kills you to keep looking at it. He sniffs, finding that it tickles, and plops his chin in your lap, hands on your thighs.

“Sleepy?” you ask, petting his curly hair.

“Mm.”

“Mm yes, or…?”

“Mm...comfy,” mutters Jeongguk. Through his hair, he looks up at you. “Can we make-out?”

You snort out a laugh, massaging his scalp. “Oh my God, you are so drunk. Come on, big guy.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Jeongguk says. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you tell him. “I promise. Look, everyone’s getting ready to leave now, too, I think the party’s pretty much over.”

Jeongguk eyes the room with a half-lidded gaze, furrowing his brows like he doesn’t quite know where he is. “Huh. Everyone left.”

“Mhm.” He starts to reach for the cocaine on the table again and your heart beats with panic. “Hey, I think that’s enough now.”

“Lemme finish,” Jeongguk requests.

“You’ve had enough,” you stress, taking hold of his hand. “Let’s leave it there for tonight, okay, baby?”

Jeongguk’s head snaps towards you. “Baby?”

You nod, affirming. “Yes. Look, oh, I’m so tired-” you pretend to yawn, keeping one eye open to observe his expressions as he smiles childishly.

“You’re faking,” he accuses.

“Nope. I’m so tired, let’s go sleep,” you continue.

Jeongguk continues to smile, occasionally laughing when the sound can get out of his throat. You’re half expecting it to be a waste of time, for him to insist on taking more lines and drinking more booze, but he does neither of these things. Jeongguk nods once and runs his hands across your thighs, taking them in his palms and roughly squeezing, getting to his feet when you tug him up.

Across the box shaped recliner pattern, Cassandra-fucking-Cassie glares up from her seat, alongside several others who stare at you as if you’ve grown another head. Truth be told, and unbeknownst to yourself, Jeongguk has never listened to anybody like he does for you. You have no idea how insane it is to see Jeon Jeongguk following the orders of a girl nobody knows, and honestly, you don’t care. Feeling Jeongguk’s hand slide into yours and the other occasionally reaching to fondle the back of your leg as he searches for you in dark is enough, it’s the only thing you care about.

You don’t really know where you’re going; behind you, Jeongguk is mumbling the way to his bedroom, which appears to be up the grand staircase and on the top floor, where he can pretend he’s above the world. Even with his directions, the path seems unpredictable, his torso occasionally bumping into you when you pause at corners. Eventually, Jeongguk notices where he is and conceals a yawn, his face contorted into sleepiness as he gently pulls you in the direction of his room, unsurprisingly at the end of the corridor, a master. Before he can open the door, Jeongguk yawns loudly, slumping against the doorframe and laughing slowly when you curve around him, reaching for the handle and forcing your way into the room.

Inside, it’s cold, the window propped open and a midnight colour hanging on the walls, silence. Jeongguk doesn’t turn on a light, and he doesn’t want you to either. He still holds onto your hand, or rather your fingers, and leads the way inside. His bedroom is like a hotel suite, a small lobby area of sorts when you walk in with three doors North, East and West, all leading to separate rooms including the main bedroom, bathroom and closet, all his for his own liking. He, of course, heads to the East, in the direction of his bed. It’s equally as cold in there but Jeongguk doesn’t care.

Under his breath, Jeongguk hums something unintelligent, waiting until he’s right by the side of his bed to twirl around. His arms find themselves back around you, lifting you off the ground which elicits a squeal of surprise and falls with a soft pat on top of the bed. Your pelvis is on his abdomen, your face on the bed next to his neck and he holds you tighter, engulfing your smell and warmth. Amongst the drugs and the childlike excitement, Jeongguk is an affectionate drunk around those who matter to him. His exhale of breath akin to a sigh tickles a breeze on your ear, and you struggle to pick your head up and look at his face; he meets you with a titter and puckers his lips, kissing you before you can decline. He grins triumphantly.

“Got it.”

“Mm, you did.”

He laughs again, the kind of laugh that sounds gravelly. He’s so drunk. “Got you.”

Humming, you entertain that thought, reaching your head to peck his jawline. Jeongguk sighs contently, about to move his hands from your waist to your thighs when you shuffle up and away, his brows furrowing with perplexion. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk’s head tilts. “Where are you going? Don’t leave.”

“I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’ll be right back,” you promise him. Jeongguk pouts, emotionally clingy which is unusual, but flops back down onto the bed without vocal protect.

In the time it takes for you to rush to the bathroom, pee out of nervousness and nervously pet your hair and make it look absolutely no different, Jeongguk is knocked out asleep when you re-enter the room. His breaths are quiet, and heavy, his legs hanging off the side with his heels on the floor. The urge to sigh is unreal, but you know he must be tired, more tired than you are. Standing just before him on the bed, you’re uncertain of what to do first, but then you move to pull his feet out of his shoes, quietly tossing them to the side and then hauling his legs up onto the mattress. At some point during the night, he might shuffle- he does, slightly, when his body is on one level, and he sleepily worms his way to the side of the bed closest to the window, the right side, his side.

Half of your heart wants to leave. Maybe the way Jeongguk acted tonight was purely because of things he drank, things he lets into his body. But, subconsciously, you know better; the other half of you begs for you to stay. If Jeongguk changed his mind, it would be one walk out of the door and out of his life, easy and simple.

Instead of thinking about that, you gently toss your jacket to the floor and kick off your own shoes, laying flat next to Jeongguk as he falls deeper into sleep. Even if he wakes up with cold feet tomorrow morning, at least he won’t be alone.

The next morning, it is raining. It doesn’t often rain, and so you can’t help but hear the heavy sound of rain outside the window, no thanks to yourself for forgetting to close it before climbing next to Jeongguk. Speaking of the man, he remains asleep, his head twisted on the pillow facing you with his body flat on his back, one leg up and the other spread out. He looks so peaceful, hopefully at peace with his dreams.

Without waking him up, you roll over off the bed and sink your feet to the floor, silently retreating to the bathroom with your phone in your hand. Surprised by the time, it reads eight fifty am, and you scroll down your notifications which seem to have multiplied unusually. Few are from Instagram but majority are texts, from Yoongi and Jimin, one from your Mom that reads a simple “happy bday” and nothing more.

[03:32AM]: Yoongi 👹: hope ur safe and ok [03:41AM] Yoongi 👹: did u go home?

He sent those at three.

[08:50AM] You: shit sorry [08:50AM] You: was sleeping [08:51AM] You: im still with jeongguk, he passed out and i stayed so he wouldn’t wake up on his own

There is a short silence.

[08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: ok, be safe [08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: jimin says good morning lol

Sitting on top of the closed toilet, you hurriedly reply to the flurry of messages and by the time you’ve finished, ten minutes have passed and it is now nine. Checking over yourself in the mirror and deciding that you could ultimately look a lot worse, you move back into the bedroom, overhearing loudness from the remaining people in the house who had an early start to the day.

Jeongguk stirs slightly, showing signs of being awake. Under his breath he groans, reluctant to confirm his consciousness by keeping his eyes closed, and you slowly reach to put your phone back on the bedside table and clamber on all fours onto the bed. With the weight dipped, Jeongguk huffs, peering open one eye and watching you crawl up to him, knees near his body and hands brushing the long hair out of his eyes.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” you coo, voice quiet because nine is still early.

Jeongguk groans, saying nothing. He shifts, ironing out the cramps in his limbs and sitting up, reaching a hand out for you, grabbing air like a child. Your gaze drops to the way his fingers roll expectantly and you slip your hand into his, taken aback when he tugs you over onto him, your legs over his hips as his arms steady around your waist.

Suddenly he’s very awake, moving your hair back and then kissing you, like he’s been starved of it. It begins gentle, timid, with his hands barely touching you as if he’s expecting you to move away and reject it. You don’t, however; when he pulls back you immediately move back in, twisting your arms around his neck, prompting him to follow by tightening his arms around your body, bringing you flush up against him, hips touching, sex throbbing. Jeongguk groans into your mouth, his hands guiding your body as you make shy movements, barely rolling up against him creating friction he wasn’t aware he needed so badly.

Jeongguk isn’t sure if what he’s doing is okay, and you don’t care. All that seems to matter is having you near him, as close as you can possibly be. Under your shirt, Jeongguk slides his hand up your back until it’s at the back of your neck, his left tight on your hip bone as the guider. He welcomes, no, encourages, your hips rocking against his slowly, teasingly, perfect momentum for the morning with the rain. It is both unnerving and exciting in how Jeongguk remains silent, save his occasional groans into your mouth. 

Once Jeongguk has grown bored of kissing your mouth, satisfied with all he’s done, his mouth departs and moves to your jaw, peppering a line of wet kisses from the underside to your neck. His hands spring away and move to hastily unbutton your shirt, unpopping one at a time as you whimper, feeling the hardness buried in Jeongguk’s jeans begging to be free.

Jeongguk breathes heavily, desperately pulling the buttons undone and undressing your shirt from your body. At first, he barely notices the fact that your bra is missing until the shirt is down to your elbows, sexily like a shawl, and his eyes land on your hardened nipples. Jeongguk half laughs, touching his thumbs on the underside of your breasts.

“Just like that,” he mutters, and you pout through a whimper that brings his eyes up to your own.

“Shut up, there was no way I was sleeping with it on,” you reply, and he hums, it makes sense. Jeongguk doesn’t blame you- why would he? He’s a guy, he likes tits; he likes your tits, smallish and round, big enough for him to hold and fit in his mouth, which he does.

Raising his eyebrows, Jeongguk smirks and brings his mouth to your right tit, his mouth around your nipple and you moan sweetly, your hand raking through his messy bed-curls. Like taking a toothless bite out of a whip of ice cream, Jeongguk’s lips pull around it, his eyes flickering up to observe your expressions- one glance and he immediately feels overwhelmed, a pressure on his crotch, discomfort, the need to be free. His hips stutter and he ruts up against you, two clothed crotches rubbing together, stolen gasps in the morning ambience. Finished with his hands on your tits, Jeongguk fully removes your shirt, balling it up and throwing it across the room, where it lands pathetically on one of the knobs of his drawers.

In one movement, Jeongguk secures his arms around you and hikes himself up onto his feet, squatting and turning so you should fall on your back. Following, he pushes you down into the mattress, your head half on the pillow and this time, his legs on your hips, not an overpowering weight but enough to keep you pinned down. You writhe, your back arching up off the mattress as Jeongguk’s mouth trails down from your face, where he leaves a starting kiss on your lips, down your neck and between your breasts, encouraging the roll of your hips with his hands. Muttered incoherence is all he can hear as he shimmies down, his tongue on your skin, teasingly licking a stripe up across your crotch covered by uncomfortable jeans.

Jimin, that fucker, he’d been right. Skinny jeans truly were the least practical outfit.

Jeongguk straddles himself up, planting his body over you like one would during sex. Humming against your lips, Jeongguk’s teeth pull at your bottom lip, his left hand gripping your leg and positioning it around his waist, your legs parted and his crotch directly hitting yours with every grind. Jeongguk gives nothing away- he stares, unwaveringly and deadpan directly into your eyes, grunting at the faces you pull, the whimpers leaving your lips, your rutting underneath him.

He buckles unexpectedly, pounding you deep into the mattress with a high pitched moan, captured by his mouth as he squeezes your flesh around his hand, holding you to him like letting you go would result in him losing you entirely. Jeongguk’s torn between wanting to cry and scream; in his short, sad, twenty one years of living, he’s not sure he’s ever felt as desperate for another person before. Never craved somebody the way he craves you, never needed somebody the way he needs you. Jeongguk stares into your eyes, opia. For fucks sake- he likes you so much, needs you so much-

“Jeongguk, you up?”

Freeze frame. Namjoon steps into the room, his eyes widening with surprise when he comes through the East and spots your shoes and bra by the door, shirt hanging off the cupboard, and Jeongguk on top of you with his lips on your neck, hands on your waist, leg around his middle and crotch up against his. Over Jeongguk’s bicep, you stare at him, your eyes blown open, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to stop, or even care. Even when you grip on his bicep to let him know you’re not alone, Jeongguk looks up from your neck and spots Namjoon. A soft exhale leaves his lips and he grunts, unbothered.

“Yeah,” he replies bluntly, biting down on your neck and revelling in the tug he receives in his hair when he does so. Still, Namjoon stands by the door in awe, unsure of what to do or say. Jeongguk pulls away, his face still stuffed in your neck, “you need something, Namjoon?”

“I,” Namjoon says, gathering his thoughts. He clears his throat. “Sejin called...He said he’s going to be round at about eleven ish, so I was, um, coming to see if you wanted breakfast, or…” As he speaks, Jeongguk is selfish, still grinding against you like Namjoon’s not even there. He’s listening though, his ear free to hear as he sucks his mouth on your skin, practising sex against your jeans.

Naturally, Namjoon’s gaze wanders to your breasts when Jeongguk picks himself up slightly, grabbing one with his palm and kissing patterns across your sternum. He gulps, uncomfortable.

“Be down in a minute,” Jeongguk says, shrugs, not really a promise. Namjoon nods, flushing as you moan unexpectedly, your traitor pussy having a mind of its own, controlling the way you think. Namjoon about makes out an arch on the grey comforter and catches your gaze, half-lidded, and he turns away, he’s seen enough.

“Take your time,” Namjoon squeaks out, unsure of whether the flush is for his head or his dick but he’s not sticking around to find out, and hurries out the door and back into the house. Jeongguk’s facade doesn’t fall until he knows for certain that Namjoon has left, which means he waits until the sound of laughter resonates downstairs, meaning Namjoon’s said his piece to the rest of the band likely gathered somewhere, waiting for him.

Planting one final kiss to your breast, Jeongguk groans and picks himself up onto his hands, his torso still over the lower half of your body and his gaze on your chest. It doesn’t move for a moment, staring in silence until he suddenly starts laughing to himself. The tangled mess of hair bounces with his shoulders and his head drops for a few moments, and then he peers up at you with a smile and you can’t contain your own bubbling laughter, scandalised.

“I know I’m a day late,” he breathes, “but.” Jeongguk smiles softly, “Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

“Mmm. Thank you,” you preen. “Best birthday ever.”

This causes Jeongguk to guffaw, laughing under his breath. “Joon enjoyed it too.”

“You’re such a prick, you could have stopped,” you laugh to him, slamming his shoulders gently. Jeongguk grins, shuffling until his ass is on your stomach, straddling with his hands intertwined with yours.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because he could have. “Didn’t feel like it though. Plus, he said you were pretty once. ‘Mnot taking any chances with you.”

You gasp, astounded. “And what if I had thought he was pretty, too?”

“Then I’d cry,” Jeongguk replies simply, considering it a successful quip when you laugh sweetly, your cheek on your shoulder looking up at him like he was God’s angel. He blinks, like he’s processing the information, “thank you for staying. Look, if last night I was fucked up, it’s okay if you’re not cool with that. It can be a lot and I-”

“Jeongguk, I’ll always stay. If you need me, I’ll stay,” you tell him seriously. “I’m here for you, even when it’s difficult. I-” you pause, “I care about you.” It won’t be the last time Jeongguk feels like he has nothing to say to you, and honestly, it’s not the first time either.

Jeongguk looks down at you, his face devoid of a smile now that your words have settled in. When he realises what you’re saying, what that means for him.

“I’m sorry. I’m...a fucking shit show,” Jeongguk says quietly, and he barely moves when you instantly sit up, rising with your palms cupping his face, holding him gently and closely.

“Please don’t say sorry. I’m here, if you need me,” you say to him. “If you want me.”

“I do,” replies Jeongguk. He licks his lips, “of course I do.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest, and it would be easy to kick back, let him keep kissing, stay in the warmth of his bed covers. So suddenly, life feels like it can get better. So suddenly, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

(LOS ANGELES)

Things begin to change quite suddenly.

In the moment, you hardly realise how fast paced life is moving for you, too caught up in the moment, in the thrill of what has become of your life after the show at the Hollywood Palladium. For some reason, you didn’t expect to be an addition to Jeongguk’s life after the party, especially considering August Blue still had several other shows and cities to perform in, meaning the likelihood of seeing him decreased.

He had surprised you, though, by making a considerable effort to frequent DBOY whenever he could before he left for Jersey, alongside the rather spontaneous decision to take you for dinner after your shift, ending with a bang and a kiss and your mother peeking from behind a curtain inside the house when Jeongguk pulled up to drop you home instead of your own flat afterwards. 

As far as you knew, nothing with Jeongguk had especially changed; judging off the lingering smell of nicotine and alcohol when he turned up to get you, and pictures of dark lights and white tables on his private accounts, which only made it harder to say goodbye to him.

There had been a change in pace between Jeongguk and yourself, an establishment of feelings discussed over that afternoon dinner looking out at the ocean. It had been unexpected and impulsive, you still dressed in your lackluster University outfit and Jeongguk in attire that he put on when he woke up in the morning, but everything seemed to feel right.

It hadn’t been much, nothing but him setting the record straight that he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he wanted to do it- if you would have it, he’d like to be in your life. There was the bump in the road that was his status, his tours and his unspoken struggle with white lines and drunken nights that could be troublesome. Could turn you off, could make you not want him. You laughed at that like it was the funniest and simultaneously the stupidest thing he’d ever said, and maybe it was.

Across the room, Jimin kicks his feet up onto the coffee table despite countless efforts to get him to stop. Now that the late birthday weekend spent with your family had come to a happy end, you were once again welcomed in your shared flat with Jimin; it’s a measly apartment close to campus with an expensive empty third room that you both use as art storage. Next to him on the couch is the greasy pizza box, his fingers pulling a slice off the cardboard. You stand behind the couch, looking at the back of his head, and then look back at your phone. As always, there’s nothing, no notifications besides an Icloud storage backup failure. You sigh, having expected it.

Jimin looks up when the couch dips in weight as you sit next to him, moving the pizza box to his lap rather than your spot. He has the nerve to appear offended, still shoving a slice in his mouth.

“I’ve picked the movie,” he starts.

“Swear on God, if you’ve picked Orphan again, I’m going to beat your ass.”

“It’s the best horror movie to date, come on!” Jimin argues, making zero effort to change the movie once it’s already started. People who didn’t know Jimin would take a look at him and anticipate him to be an angel, questioning why you would ever be annoyed by such a cute face. This- this is why. 

Regardless, all you give Jimin is an eye-roll and decide to quietly accept the fact that your movie night has, once again, become an ode to Orphan. It’s not a problem- if a movie could define and represent a friendship, Orphan could summarize your relationship with Jimin.

The movie plays as far as Esther pushing her sister into the road when disturbance arises. Jimin is the first to stir, hearing the front door to your apartment crack open and a sheepish Yoongi steps inside, a bag of takeout in his left hand and keys in the right. He is, of course, late as always, and you expect he won’t hear the end of it by the time he’s wedged himself into the room; rightly so, Jimin interrogates him on being late as the front door closes, and right as the sound of arguing fills the room a blaring ring from your phone picks up.

It’s sad to admit that you pick up your phone in lightning speed, peering in the light as Jeongguk’s contact fills the screen. The way seeing his name light up on the screen feels like an urgent release, like finding treasure after searching for so long- you haul yourself up off the couch and head back towards the kitchen as the couple shuffle in. Glancing at them as they collapse in laughter to the couch, you smile and answer the call from Jeongguk that never stops ringing.

“Jeongguk,” you say, once you’ve picked up and heard nothing but murmured party ambience over the line. Something crackles, like the movement of clothes, and Jeongguk hums like he’s in a trance. “Can you hear me?”

“Hi baby,” his voice calls. He laughs, lucid, “Y/N, baby. Hi baby.”

“Hi,” you coo in reply. “Where are you, I can barely hear you…?”

“Party!” laughs Jeongguk. “Wrap up party. ‘so funny, you should come.”

A smile ignites. “I can’t, I’m not in that state. Are you having fun? What are you doing?”

For a moment, Jeongguk doesn’t reply. From the sounds of it, he seems otherwise occupied, for in the background the quiet sound of party laughter and glass clinking reminds you of where he is, what he’s doing, what he’ll end up doing. You swallow thickly.

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk says after some time. “Kinda fun.” He waits one second and then says, “can’t hear you. I’m gonna go outside, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeongguk moves outside, the party tucked behind as he leans against the brickwork of the rented bar used for the party. There’s a payphone on the wall, dripped in neon lights and he stands next to it, his body chilled by the night, leather on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, sniffing. That’s the indicator. Something inside of you sinks thinking about what he’s done, how sad it is that he does it to himself and nobody bats an eye.

You throw a glance back across the room; Jimin is settled in Yoongi’s lap, bringing soft laughter out of your cousin as the still frame of Orphan burns the television screen. “It’s movie night, so Jimin and Yoongi came over.”

“Mm yeah?” Jeongguk says. “Fun, sounds so fun, Yoongi said you lived with Jimin.”

“I do,” you reply gently. “When do you come home?”

“Saturday, maybe,” Jeongguk estimates. “Then I’m gonna come see you. Wanna take you out again, can we go out somewhere, I wanna go out.”

You laugh, tucking yourself into the kitchen when Yoongi and Jimin start laughing too loudly. “Course. Just let me know when, I’ll make room for you.”

For a while, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything interesting. In fact, it’s mostly a string of incoherent and confusing sentences, his pout audible as he speaks and at least he’s not making bad decisions, half the reason you haven’t told him to go back to the party. Maybe you’re in it too deep, maybe you have no right being worried about him like that. If his band members didn’t seem to be too worried, and they’ve clearly known him longer, then why should you be so concerned?

“Called you for a reason, you know,” Jeongguk says, after a short breath of silence.

You raise your eyebrows and lean against the doorframe, pulling at your bottom lip with your teeth after asking him why.

Jeongguk sniffs and then drops a deep exhale of breath. “Missed you.” Your heart thuds painfully. “Miss you, miss your voice. You should have come.”

“Maybe next time,” you offer. You’re unsure if telling him that you didn’t come because you don’t know what you are to him is wise at this exact moment, and so you decline to offer him a reason. Not that he asks. “I miss you too. I miss you coming to see me at work, made my day.”

Jeongguk laughs to himself. “I miss it. Coming home on Saturday, can I see you then?”

You pause to think. “Ah...it’s Yoojung’s birthday.” Yoojung is Yoongi’s sister, which Jeongguk remarkably remembers. He frowns, questioning. “There’s a party at her house, I’m obviously going because I’m family.”

“Yoo is a fan of the band, I think,” Jeongguk says. “Maybe I’ll ask Yoonie if I can come, surprise her or something. Wanna see you.”

“You can’t wait an extra day? I think I’m free all day on Sunday,” you offer, but Jeongguk declines.

“Nah. Greedy.”

He sniffs once, curtly and quickly, like inhaling sandpaper. You repress a sigh, not wanting to give away anything that might upset him, and you tuck further into the kitchen to escape the noise of the couple on the couch. It rises in volume, Jimin’s tone calling for you which Jeongguk can surely hear, but clearly cares little for.

“Fair enough,” you reply, smiling. “Are you going to go back in and party?”

For a second, Jeongguk says nothing. Unbeknownst to you, Jeongguk leans against the damp bricks with his chin tucked to his collarbones, gaze hazy and a smile on his lips. The air is cool enough to straighten his head, at least clear his vision from speckles to something clean.

“Just like talking to you,” he mumbles. “I don’t know, I don’t know if I wanna party anymore.”

“Then don’t, baby, it’s okay,” you tell him, trying to avoid eavesdroppers in the living room. “Find Seokjin and leave for the night, hm? Have some rest and then we can see each other when you get back for Saturday, m’kay?”

Jeongguk says nothing, listening in the background to Yoongi and Jimin as they heckle you into living room to finish the movie. He wants to say something, more than anything he has words on his mind, sentences on the tip of his tongue; he doesn’t. His head isn’t clear enough for him to trust himself to speak. So, instead, he takes an inhale of the outside air and glances around at his surroundings, observing the moonlight on the lake nearby and the dark green ferns around the car park.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed,” he decides to say.

“That’s good. Just let me know when you’re home safe, okay?” you tell him, silencing the duo with a finger to your lips and the couple on the couch suppress giggles of amusement. To them it’s funny. “Okay?”

“Yep. I’ll text,” Jeongguk promises. From behind him, the door to the club opens and you can faintly hear a voice calling him. It’s out of your hands but you hope that it’s Seokjin, or another member of the band. “Miss you.”

You smile, “I miss you too. Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Jeongguk hums. His voice is gone in the wind, too small to speak out.

(HIDDEN HILLS)

“And, you know, don’t get me wrong- I love parties as much as the next person, believe me, but if you can’t have an Iron Man balloon just because your parents are too damn lazy to go across town to Party City to get me one, then is it really a good party?”

Min Yoojung takes a sip from her glass and practically shrivels with distaste. For some or known reason, she had assumed that when you turned eighteen, life would dramatically change and you’d suddenly enjoy the taste of alcohol. Or, at least, that’s what UK TV shows had told her- mind you, she now knows that’s entirely inaccurate.

“I mean, think about it,” she continues with a huff. “Yoongi gets his own private club hired out for his birthday with the members of KISS playing on stage, and I can’t even get a balloon?”

Yoongi sits directly across from her on the patio sofas, a cigarette between his two fingers and a glass of red wine on the small table. He hides a smirk, feigning absolute disinterest as his sister speaks, waiting until she’s finished and looking between yourself and Jimin for some sort of explanation before he speaks.

“It’s because you’re adopted,” he replies smoothly, which only sets her off more.  

To some extent, what she is saying is not flawed. For Yoongi’s eighteenth birthday, he had gotten everything he wanted, things he brought up in passing wrapped up and gifted to him on the morn of March 9th. And, Yoojung is walking proof that the myth of the baby sibling being the favourite is simply not true. Granted, Yoongi’s only the favourite because he’s semi-famous, whereas Yoojung still attends public school and dines in three star restaurants with allowance money she may as well not have. That’s not to say that her birthday sucks; it doesn’t, because the Min’s have money and standards and this party in the backyard might make a headline in some Indie magazine online. Who knows.

It’s leisurely and small, with only few celebrities in attendance not including the Min’s and their relatives. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the life of stardom- unfortunately, being the step-daughter of Axel Choi therefore meant having a camera in your face once or twice. Even though Axel was no relative of yours, and by no means did he ever have the audacity to assume he could fill the role of your Dad: Axel was an okay guy, protective of his family and by extension, protective of you. You didn’t mind, just one less camera to hide from, one less ugly photograph uploaded online for a bit of money. 

That being said, Axel pulled a few strings and got a few A-Listers to show up, including a KPOP group that Yoojung had liked when she felt like an alien in her own country. Amongst those are some of Yoojung’s friends, who fear sitting near Yoongi because he’s the hot older brother type, and fearful of you who they don’t know, which isn’t any less scary from them knowing you.

“You haven’t done the cake yet, right?”

From behind Yoongi, out comes Wheein, one of his old friends from University. She carefully climbs over the seat to sit next to Jimin, mindful of her glass that sloshes and Yoojung sighs, pressing her chin into the heel of her hand.

“Nope. Yoongi says people haven’t turned up yet, so I don’t know what’s up with that,” Yoojung shrugs. “Honestly-” now she rises slightly, her back straight and finger pointed accusingly, “you fucking planned my whole party. Is this the Yoongi and Co show, or what?”

“Yes,” Yoongi replies, as though it were obvious. He drinks. “Stop complaining and wait, it’ll be worth it.”

Yoojung scoffs, “Yeah right. If Tony Stark doesn’t come to this house dressed in his suit making that suity noise, then consider this birthday over.”

Yoongi pauses. “Okay then, I guess I’ll start sending people back home, because you can’t even get an Iron Man balloon, what makes you think he’s gonna pop round in person?”

Yoojung shrugs, “Poetic cinema?”

“Keep dreaming, cabbage patch baby.”

“Cabbage patch baby?” Jimin laughs. That’s when Yoongi ignores Yoojung’s frustrated groans and launches into an explanation behind the name, which involves Yoongi telling Yoojung when she was little that their Mom found her in a cabbage patch. You’ve heard it before, so you’re not listening when it’s explained. Your gaze instead lifts across the patio, awkwardly catching your mother’s as she looks around for you. 

Her eyes light up when she spots you and immediately she waves you over, not taking no for an answer as those round holes turn into slits faster than you can even mouth the syllable ��n”. While Yoongi dives deeper into Yoojung’s misery, you pick yourself up with a sigh and head on over towards your mother.

She stands next to Axel, as well as Yoongi’s parents, and two celebrities you vaguely remember for being present at Yoongi’s birthday many moons ago. You fake a smile, wanting to be polite, wanting it to be over. It seems your arrival had been pre-planned and expected, for your aunt turns to you with wide eyes and brings you by the elbow.

“Y/N. We were just talking about you- you know Maxine, don’t you?”

No. You regard the stranger, subtly looking them up and down and smiling tightly. “Of course! It’s so nice to see you.”

“We were just talking about the arts- classical, of course, because we all know how you turn up your nose at the modern artists of today,” your Aunt says.

“Well, I do like modern art, I just find classicals more interesting to study. More composition, colour, texture...more empathy.”

“Whatever,” your Aunt interrupts. “Maxine has a son who works in the Louvre. He’s looking for junior guides, people to talk arty to visitors and make everything sound nice.”

Maxine smiles to intervene. “Actually, he’s not high enough in the business to request people, but I do know that he’s got an eye for women who like the arts. Miyoung told me that you study it at University level.”

You nod, bored. “Yes, I do. I’m not sure I want to move to Paris for a job, though...so…”

“Oh, no,” Maxine laughs. As she does this, one of Yoongi’s other friends, Jaehyung, creeps up behind you and quietly says hello to your mother and to Axel, half listening when Maxine says, “Duke is actually on pursuit for somebody who can match his artistic background.”

This, of course, makes Jaehyung laugh suddenly. He takes a slice of cake off a nearby tray and takes a bite, moving to walk away as he says, “Y/N doesn’t need help in the dating department, I don’t think.”

You glare at him.

“What does that mean?” your mother asks. “Do you have somebody?”

“No, Mom. Nobody.”

“Sure she does,” Jaehyung winks. “Was all over Instagram.”

“That’s a lie,” you gape.

“Is it?” he shrugs. Is it?

Aunt Miyoung gasps like she’s heard an offensive secret, touching her collarbone as she looks between Jaehyung and yourself. Jaehyung grins, saying nothing and running back to Yoongi before you can slander him. You’re in for it now.

“The boy that dropped you home?” your mother presses.

“You knew about this?” Miyoung asks. “Maxine, I am deeply sorry- I feel foolish.”

“I-Yes,” you tell her finally. Jeongguk, the man in question, might not be what everybody now thinks he is, might not even be what you think he is. “It hasn’t been long, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“And he’s famous?” Axel asks.

You look at him. “Yeah. I guess. You wouldn’t believe he was, but he is.”

Axel raises his eyebrows, by now not in the least surprised by the bitterness in your tone that has been there since your mother first introduced him. He’d probably be more surprised if you didn’t talk to him like that. Regardless, Axel takes it with acquiesce, glancing at your mother for some sort of guidance that she can’t and won’t give to him. It is in this moment that the back gate that leads to a leaky trail next to the spacious garage and past Holly’s doghouse opens, like arms inviting a hug.

The gate needs oiling, screeching to gain attention as it opens and in steps pairs of booted feet. The selection of pauses, gasps and an excited murmur from Yoojung’s friendship group out over by the poolside paints the picture for you, and you don’t feel the need to turn around. Noise alone confirms that the person who opened the gate is the same man in topic of conversation, his eyes dancing around the yard until they land on Yoongi’s father, acknowledgingly and then finally onto Yoojung, who he happens to notice quickly than he does the back of your head.

“Speak of the devil,” your mother starts, recognising him.

Axel hesitates visibly and audibly. “That man. That’s him?”

You purse your lips, taking a peek over your shoulder at Jeongguk. He speaks for himself; his muscles cling underneath a white tee and leather jacket that feels overdressed, paired with faded black jeans decorated with gashes and two zips. Axel only frowns because he’s not dressed like a prep, or a future Doctor like he would have liked for you, hypocrisy. Not even dressed ‘normal’ like boys he sees on the covers of magazines belonging to your step-sister, his own blood, his actual daughter. Jeongguk is dressed for attention, his gaze high over his glasses that you’re unaware he owned.

“It might be,” you reply quietly, and it’s telling enough that Axel sighs, folding his arms.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Miyoung says quickly. “You should have just told us it was Jeongguk.”

“You know him?” asks Axel.

Miyoung nods, sipping her wine. “Sure. He’s been friends with Yoongi for a few years now- we actually cleared him to visit for Yoo’s birthday.” Finally she acknowledges you: “Handsome boy, Y/N. How did you find him? Yoongi?”

“More like he found me,” you muse. “I tried to remain professional, but he kept coming back to visit me at work.”

“Romantic,” your mother sighs honestly.

Yoongi’s father laughs. “Jeongguk has a type.”

You stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “The last time he had a girl on his arm he bed her and got rid of her. Funny, actually, you two had the same hair.”

“Hair isn’t a type,” Miyoung snaps.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, shrugging again. “Don’t get your hopes up, honey.”

“So, he’s a player?” Axel grunts.

“No,” you defend quickly. “No. Well- yes, he was. People change when they’ve found the right person to change for.”

Axel chuckles wryly. “And you think you’re the one to change him?”

“Not change him, but I’ll be there for him whenever he needs me,” you nod. “I trust him.”

“I can feel my ears burning.”

Jeongguk’s voice creeps over your shoulder before you can even notice that he has made his way over towards you; the feeling of his chin rested just above your ear makes your body pause and he wraps one arm around you, observing everybody in the huddle. The Min’s consider Jeongguk secondary family, welcoming him with a smile that Axel doesn’t reciprocate, not that Jeongguk gives a shit. For Jeongguk, this is monumentous, the time for him to prove himself to the guy who didn’t believe in him.

Actually, he’s surprised to find that the feeling of worship he felt for Axel as a teenager is still there, now that he’s standing right in front of him. It’s strange, subdued and numbing, but still there and pressing. Jeongguk tries to look anywhere but at Axel, but he can’t help it. Axel doesn’t even remember him, and has the audacity to stare at Jeongguk like it’s his first time, first impression of the guy dating one of his daughters.

Jeongguk pauses his thoughts and thinks back to you- are you dating? Wouldn’t hurt to lie, just to piss of Axel even more. Jeongguk wasn’t an exceptionally smart guy but he wasn’t stupid; it was evident that Axel didn’t like him, obvious from the ugly grimace on his face. He doesn’t care- Jeongguk relishes in his dislike. That gives him power, now.

“Jeongguk,” says Miyoung, smiling wide.

Beside her, your Uncle sips his drink, silent and occasionally glancing between Jeongguk and Axel. Maybe everybody disliked Axel, Jeongguk thinks to himself, as he stares at the pulled crease between your Uncle’s eyebrows. He knows vaguely that you’re related to the Min’s through your mother, and that they, unlike your mother, never got over the death of your Dad. Maybe they too can’t stand the sight of Axel, bragging and sour-faced, acting like a member of the family when in reality, all he is is an imposter, a wolf in sheeps’ clothing, awkward and looking misplaced.

Jeongguk smiles back at Miyoung. “Hi, it’s good to see you. Thanks for having me.”

“Our pleasure,” Miyoung replies. “You’re a punk, y’know- dating our Y/N. None of us had any clue! Why hide such a beauty?”

Jeongguk grins. His arm wrapped around you tightens gently. “Sorry. We didn’t want to rush into making anything public…” He trails off, looking at you. “Get nervous and tell people?”

“Actually, you have Jaehyung to thank for that,” your mother pipes up with a sigh. For the first time, Jeongguk looks at her entirely. She looks nothing like you, too done up with surgery and makeup for him to see a resemblance. Maybe you looked like her before, maybe you favoured your Dad. “I’m Jennifer, Jenny, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Jeongguk smiles constantly, accepting her tight hug as she welcomes him. “Jeongguk.”

“Y/N doesn’t talk about you,” she says.

“In fairness, I don’t talk about anything,” you add, but she’s not listening. Jeongguk is, though, and his heart tugs. He’s got the situation kind of figured out.

“I don’t blame her,” Jeongguk replies smoothly. “We weren’t sure it was time to make things official- it’s new.”

“And it’s serious?” Axel asks, speaking for the first time.

Jeongguk watches him. “Yes, sir.”

Axel bristles. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Axel, I’m Y/N’s father.”

“Step father,” you cut in.

“Father,” he repeats. Axel extends a hand outwards for Jeongguk to shake. Even though he hesitates, Jeongguk accepts, firmly shaking it. It’s a good handshake, Axel ought to be impressed. What doesn’t sit right is Axel calling himself your father- something he’s never been given the right to say.

“We actually have met before,” Jeongguk says, and around his arm he feels you tighten, briefly glancing up at him.

All eyes in the huddle are on Axel, including the long forgotten Maxine who watches quietly. “Did we? I don’t remember you.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Jeongguk explains with a flat tone. “We were in Busan. You came into my work and bought some cigarettes, I had your opinion on some of my work.”

While Axel thinks about it, your mother gasps happily, clueless and embracing her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Honey, it’s great that you helped this young man.”

Unknowingly, the Min’s writhe on their spots. They know this story. They know the truth- maybe that’s why they dislike Axel the way everybody else does.

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk continues, with the same flat tone that makes you shudder. “Yeah. You told me our music was shit and that I’d never make it in the business because I was a Korean boy from Busan with dreams I couldn’t reach. You told me we’d never succeed and that we’d be stuck in Busan flipping burgers and working night shifts at 7-11, and that the only way I’d succeed was if I was American. Dunno if you remember that, but I did.”

Nobody says anything. Not even Axel, who stares coldly.

“Well, we made it,” Jeongguk laughs quietly. “I took your advice and it really helped motivate me to prove you wrong. We’re number one on Billboard and we’re making history as the first all Korean band to top the charts and headline The Governors Ball next year. Not bad for a basement boy from Busan, right?”

Your mother gulps. “That’s really wonderful, Jeongguk, you should be really proud.”

Jeongguk pities her. “Thank-you. We worked hard for it. Now we’re here.”

“And I suppose it will do Y/N some good, being with somebody so successful.” For the first time since Jeongguk’s arrival, Maxine speaks up. She cradles her champagne glass tenderly and examines Jeongguk with her slinted fox-like eyes, as if nursing a different agenda.

“Thank you,” repeats Jeongguk. He tightens his arm around you, obviously enough to create a statement. While it’s mostly to prove to everybody- and himself- that you and him are an item, it’s also to rub extra salt into Axel’s wounds, his face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Y/N helps keep me driven a lot. I owe her so much already, I’ll make her happy and do her proud. Thanks to Y/N, I don’t think I could be here. I’m here because she suggested it, actually, for Yoojungie.”

“And a good job, too,” Miyoung finally says, trying to avert the tensions. “Else Yoojung would be miserable at her own birthday party.” And everyone laughs, apart from Axel, not that anybody cares. “Jeongguk, shall we start the music up?”

Jeongguk nods. “I’d love to. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles, walking away to prep. Feeling Axel’s stare cold on your skin, you gently push yourself into Jeongguk, until he’s walking backwards towards the selection of trees where you turn in his arms, looking up at him. Jeongguk smiles honestly for the first time, his heart thumping.

“Hi,” he says gently.

“Well, you know how to make an entrance,” you note thoughtfully. Jeongguk’s eyes rake your own, wordless. “Be careful how you act around Axel. He’s strangely protective.”

“I thought he wasn’t family.”

You frown. “He’s not. But he’s still… you know. Part of the family.”

Jeongguk says nothing at first. “I get it. I do,” he assures with a nod. The next moment, he has his hands on your upper-arms, smoothing. “It’s good to see you, by the way. You look beautiful.”

A smile crosses your face. “It’s good to see you, too. Missed you.”

“I missed you too, we just got off the plane this morning,” Jeongguk explains. Took a nap on the way home and then got dressed and we came straight here.” He pauses playfully: “Do I look okay?”

You laugh girlishly, catching his elbows with your fingers. “You look great. Who knew you wore glasses?”

Jeongguk grins. “They’re fake, I’m a fraud.”

“Of course,” you joke. “Like all rockstars.”

“Hey, don’t bring in my fellow rockers!” Jeongguk laughs too, an unusual sound. “As much as I wanna stand around and stare at you, I need to go and say hi to Yoojung and perform and stuff. It’s kinda why I’m here…”

“LOL,” you say. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Guk. Go, I’ll survive.”

“Okay,” he resists. “But I’ll come back later, yeah? Can’t ignore my girlfriend.” Jeongguk raises his eyebrows mischievously and then, rustles in his pocket whilst speaking, “Oh, wait. Happy-” he checks the time and shows his phone screen to you as he steps backwards, “-ten minute anniversary, babe.”

As Jeongguk steps away, dragging his fingertips along your palms as he steps backwards towards the curved pathway around the pool, a warm feeling simmers in your stomach. Maybe it’s the sunlight shining gold across his skin or the way his smile finally reaches his nostrils, extending wide, his eyes folded into moons- but something about the whole ordeal seems safe, seems gorgeous and heavenly, at the same time domestic. He winks, turns and heads towards the rest of August Blue sheltered around Yoojung and Yoongi, and you’re left with the imprinted image of Jeongguk’s smile on the spot of grass he just stood on, burning, refusing to leave.

[23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: so i don’t think ur family like me…. [23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: am i out of the picture now?

The sound of your phone fills the room and pulls you out of the bathroom, which connects to your family bedroom back in the house your family live at currently. Yoojung’s party had ended hours earlier, the grand finale with Jeongguk helping bring out her cake, fireworks on the evening, a hand on your waist.

Rubbing at your wet hair, you sit on the bed and reach for your phone, glossing over the messages, smiling.

[23:40PM] You: hey now [23:40PM] You: i don’t think my family like me either [23:41PM] Jeongguk❣️: wanna run away and be my family? [23:42PM] Y/N: where are we running to? [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: idk yet [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: somewhere nice [23:43PM] Jeongguk❣️: far away [23:43] You: omg yes [23:44PM] You: kinda wanting to go to hawaii...what are your thoughts on hawaii, gukkie? [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: hawaii on a first date? imagine that….. [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: u DO dream big [23:45PM] You: i tried [23:46PM] Jeongguk❣️: it’s not exactly hawaii [23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: but how about a late night rendezvous at olive garden

(At the same time…)

[23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: omg … as if i just spelt that word right [23:47PM] You: autocorrect, u cant fool me [23:47PM] You: and omg sure…..,,,,,, [23:48PM] You: something tells me ur already here and thats why you’re asking

(A honk outside your window.)

[23:49PM] Jeongguk❣️: 🤪 [23:49PM] You: my hairs wet 🥺 [23:50PM] Jeongguk❣️: i’ll roll down the windows?

(A sigh.)

[23:50PM] You: pls give me five minutes

Jeongguk had been parked up outside, his car hidden half in the shadows by a flickering streetlight, inconspicuous and with the inside lights on. It had taken all but three minutes to find his car, and another three for you to warm up to talking to him inside the car. Slipping into the passenger seat with the sound of Magnetic Moon on the AUX and the shining smile from Jeongguk had been nerve-wracking, perhaps nerve-wracking is even an understatement. Nonetheless, the song had rolled to an end and just before Tiffany could transition into the smooth vocals of Lana, Jeongguk said his first few words beyond “hi”.

Olive Garden was a few miles away from your neighbourhood- small and pushed to the side with a selection of palm trees scattered outside, like a postcard for Malibu. Like most, if not all American’s, you’ve been here before, already have a go-to on the menu. Jeongguk drives into a parking bay near the shrubs and opens the doors for you, pulls out chairs, goes the extra mile ordering wine in advance in a private section of the restaurant that you didn’t know existed. You’ve only ever been here with Yoongi and Yoojung, two celebrities who sometimes have the luxury of leaving the house and not getting immediately noticed.

“What do you wanna do after?”

Jeongguk, halfway through cutting his sirloin steak, glances up with an honestly surprised expression. “You still want to hang out after?”

You shrug, taking a sip of the wine. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because our first date since I got back from tour is at fucking Olive Garden,” Jeongguk states.

“I like Olive Garden…” you mumble, which he hears.

After swallowing a large mouthful, he sends it down with a gulp of wine. “Well, I’m not gonna complain. Shall we go for a drive? You ever been to the beach at night?”

“I live in LA, who hasn’t been to the beach at night?”

“Okay, true,” he replies. “I used to do it all the time in Busan, too. Lived right across the road, could see the sands from my front porch.”

Once dinner is over, and once Jeongguk has quite finished coercing you into sharing an ice-cream sundae with him, Jeongguk takes you up on the invitation to drive to the beach, the night sky like looking into the eyeball of a stuffed animal, the stars like specks of dust on an Afterlight edit. The boulevard is lit up by circular bulbs, tiny attractions for moths, bright like close up stars. Jeongguk drives smoothly, the window slightly down and occasionally his eyes glanced over at you; your hair is messed in the wind, the sound of Kim Petra on the AUX sending your body into little bops, something Jeongguk wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“So much for letting my hair dry.”

Jeongguk laughs from the back of the car, closing the boot and bringing out some spare towels to hand over to you. They’re yellow, like fresh little buttercups, and slightly wrinkled, smelling like faint juice and sea-salt. Regardless, you take the towel off him and begin to quickly rub it against your hair, once again trying to even out the wetness, less than the shower back home, enough to still drip on your arms and legs.

“You splashed me first,” Jeongguk replies, standing outside the door whereas you sit with your legs hanging out, sideways on the backseat. Behind him is the beach, dark and the sound of the ocean lapping like television static, the faint sound of the amusement arcade down the prom. His body is wet too, the ankles of his jeans clinging to his skin with ocean water.

You turn your head to him, smiling. “Guilty.” When he laughs, you continue to speak and bring the towel back down to your lap, “Okay, it’s what they all do in the movies. What else are you supposed to do on a beach at like...midnight. Wait, what time is it?”

“I dunno, like, three?” he guesses.

“No way.”

“Feels like three. Check the front.”

You lean over to check. “It’s definitely not three.”

Jeongguk shrugs boyishly, that same grin creating dimples near his chin. “Not far off. It was a guess.”

“Good for a guess,” you assure. Jeongguk wrangles the towel from your hands politely, wringing it out and throwing it back into the boot. Your hair can dry again in the wind when Jeongguk drives away, the same way it did when he picked you up. He has this theory on his mind as he walks back around to the open door, although the words leave him when he returns, having found that he has nothing at all to say now it’s come down to it.

Jeongguk moves back in, his body shoved between your legs slightly as he moves closer. You gaze up at him, the light behind him making his body glow dark, sighs like whispers in the quiet ambience.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Jeongguk says, like it’s a secret. “Even though this morning your family almost had a heart attack discovering that we were, well, whatever we are...I still had fun.”

You hum in agreement, watching his face as it moves into the light. “Yoojung had the best time. I haven’t seen her that happy since she met Paul Rudd at Disneyland, and that’s seriously impressive.”

Jeongguk laughs quietly. “Paul Rudd.” He almost can’t believe that.

“As for us,” you continue, stress on the ‘us’ which brings Jeongguk’s attention full circle and back entirely onto you in the backseat of his ride, “well...what are we?”

For a few moments, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. “I have the fantasy and the reality.”

You nod, encouraging, and so he continues. “The fantasy is that we give it a go. We try it, really try. Y/N, with every small inch of my delicate, precious body-” (giggles are delivered by you as he speaks)- “I absolutely adore you. And I never knew I could feel like how I feel with you. I only ever wanted the sex, and even then, I didn’t want it that badly, and then you wandered into my life and everything feels so...so...I don’t even know a word. I just know it feels amazing when I’m with you- I feel amazing. And, of course, the reality is that we’re two sad early twenties rich kids who are pining and don’t know what to do about it.”

And it’s true, it’s so true. The sad reality of it all was that unless either one of you stepped up first, this dynamic of uncertainty would continue on as the norm. Where you were too shy to be bold and make a move, Jeongguk felt too insecure to step up.

“Well, then…” you start, chewing the inside of your cheek, thinking. “How about we try making the fantasy our reality?”

Nothing.

Jeongguk blinks and cocks his head in bewilderment. “Really?” You nod. “You want to?”

“If I didn’t want to, why the hell would I leave my house with wet hair to go eat at Olive Garden and lovingly stroll on a beach at midnight?”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Oh, so it was loving?”

“I was definitely feeling some kind of way,” you confirm.

At long last, Jeongguk smiles wide, shuffling closer. His hands wrap around your face gently, like holding a delicate bird in two palms, and his fingers brush against your ears, tickling the skin, nails fingering your hair.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies, “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Now, Jeongguk hums, his trademark reply for when his eyes are too lost for words to be conjured up to describe how he feels about what he sees. He is, what one might recall to be as “lost for words”. His teeth clip at his bottom lip as he questions what he’ll do next, and for a brief moment you catch his tongue darting out in nervousness as he leans closer, smell of mint on his breath as his lips touch yours, and the heavens open.

Metaphorically and literally, so. As Jeongguk brings you closer to him, his lips still pressed on yours, his heart elevates into subspace, his body light and euphoric. At the same time, the sky grumbles, hungry, and it begins to pour, tiny droplets on the roof of the car and on Jeongguk’s back. He winces, doesn’t pull away, and quickly separates himself from you to squint at the sky.

He sees nothing, because it’s way too dark, but he feels it. Sighing briefly, Jeongguk turns back to you and nods his head upwards, miming for you to shuffle backwards into the car. A rush of something hot creeps down the middle of your body as you do so, feeling Jeongguk’s hand on your calf as he climbs in after you, his ankle caught on the door bringing it to a close, but not fully. The red alarm light is bright and begging for attention but Jeongguk pays it no mind.

Instead, he crawls back to you, eager to pick up what he left. It’s welcomed, warm and inviting, as Jeongguk holds you back closer to him and returns the kiss, hot and open mouthed. Something clicks inside of you, a moment of realisation as Jeongguk sets himself over you, his thighs like a cage and his hair tickling your eyebrows. When this feeling simmers, you grin, something Jeongguk is only mildly surprised about. He doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t really need to.

In fact, Jeongguk doesn’t really say anything at all; he doesn’t need to, and he actually can’t, given the volume of the rain now it comes down heavier. It’s so loud, almost deafening, which you almost thank out loud for. The rain at least covers up your breathy moans as Jeongguk’s hands wander, pulling at the bottom of your dress and fisting it into a ball, the fabric rising higher.

When Jeongguk finally pulls himself away, it is selfish. He pulls back and sits down, in the middle seat so there’s a window view from every angle, his feet in either footwell. Jeongguk shakes his head and hair out of the way, his hands making their way back to you to bring you up and over into his lap. This time, Jeongguk accepts a kiss from you, his cheeks cupped almost by your hands which gives his hands free reign to smooth across your body, swiftly lifting the bottom half of your dress up, wrapping it like a belt across your hips. If the rain were silent, he’d like to have heard you, heard the way you whimper as the bulk in Jeongguk’s jogging bottoms brushes against your pussy, the fabric of your underwear making it hypersensitive and ten times more exciting.

Jeongguk’s lips widen, his mouth open and inviting for you, accepting tongue when you bring your lips back to his after a short break. His eyes flutter and roll backwards, the tickle of your breath through your nose on his skin as he holds you closer, as if you can get any closer than what you already are. Then, when you quite suddenly bite down onto Jeongguk’s tongue and lips, he groans, pleasured, his hands moving beneath your skirt to grab your ass, lifting you up and down on his very attentive boner.

If Jeongguk or yourself ever thought that the first time you’d have sex would be near the public beach in the back of his car in the middle of a very thunderous rainstorm, you might have laughed, or said there would be more to it. In actual fact, it’s just how it is- Jeongguk shimmies himself out of his bottoms soon enough, reaching into the back side of the car to pull out a condom, since he always has some in case of emergencies, like most guys do. He’d like to not use one, but he knows it’s not safe- he doesn’t know if he’s got something, or if you’ve got something. Either way, he rolls it onto his dick in a record speed and sinks you down onto him all within the same ten seconds, and, yeah- it’s not what he expected to happen, it’s not what anybody expects to happen, but it feels right, feels great. When he’s fucking somebody as good and as lovely as you, he’s not allowed to be picky on the location.

He can’t allow himself to be picky- he knows that he’s wanted you ever since he saw you swirling to Dancer in the Dark, he knows that things are meant to be how they play out. Actually, he doesn’t mind it. He likes the risk of someone seeing, likes the way the windows fog up and how the car rocks slightly, obvious to people outside. Jeongguk relishes in that excitement, crossed with the pleasure and arousal coursing through his body when his attention is pulled out of hit thoughts and back onto you. The rain quietens down and he hears you, feels his hands grip tighter around you and his guided pace quicken, all with a breathy high tone in his ear, occasional breaches of rain and roars of thunder, an orchestral accompanying each of you through the sex, until gushing sounds of rain are what he hears when he sees white in his eyes and over his dick, a melting handprint in the condensation on the window.

[02:34AM] You: def just heard something on my balcony so if i die, pls tell yoongi that it was ME who lost his left airpod and it was also me who stole his signed Nirvana album it’s on my shelf im sorry [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: um  [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: wtf….. [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: u really just gonna die and not leave anything for me???? [02:36AM] You: SSKSSKKSKSKSK [02:36AM] You: u can have my bank account details + contents [02:36AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: !!!!!!!! [02:37AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: omg rip y/n <3 u will be missed omg…..omg cant believe ur dead

All jokes aside, you stare for a long time at your balcony doors, going insane at the sight of nothing at all through the glass and your curtains, slightly see-through to allow the sun in the mornings.

The night burns on your eyes, flashing swirls of colour taking over as you stare for too long at seemingly nothing at all. Quite possibly, it is the wind, or an animal that has climbed onto the balcony from out of one of the trees. It’s happened before- one time, a family of raccoons migrated onto your balcony during the September months of last year, and stayed there for so long that you forgot your balcony had doors. Those same doors are locked, like they always are on a nighttime, but the bedroom window remains open, slightly pushed out to allow in a breeze to circulate the room.

Knowing that it’s probably nothing, you settle back down into bed, drifting back into sleep remarkably fast for somebody previously quite concerned with being killed. This fact is startling- not just to you, but also to Jeongguk, who cocks a leg over your balcony rail and then through your window. What also shocks him was how easy it was to do all of this, now that he’s standing in your bedroom with nothing to say given the fact that you’ve fallen back to sleep.

Jeongguk sighs softly. It’s been about a week and a half since the beach, and the car, and the rain and the first time, but it feels like it’s been months. Jeongguk had to leave for a few days, three at the most, to film some puppy interview for Buzzfeed and continue other solo interviews while the rest of the band settled for a break in their LA residence. Every moment away felt like agony, so painful that Jeongguk found himself back outside your house, surprises stored in emails on his phone.

He steps quietly over towards your bed, wincing when his weight on top of the comforter causes a loud rustle and squeak. Still, you don’t wake, not until Jeongguk lays himself over you with his hands near your shoulders, his voice quiet and murmuring your name, hair tickling your face, lips on skin.

“Wha-Jeongguk?” you ask quietly, your voice groggy. “How’d you get in here…?”

“I think you need security, urgently,” Jeongguk replies quietly. When you roll over onto your back, he smiles gently and wraps hair from out of your face around your ear. “And you need to start locking your windows. You make a robbery look very easy.”

You sigh. “Oh. I thought it was okay.”

“Just be glad your intruder is me and not somebody else,” he says caringly. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I was awake...and then I closed my eyes for a bit. Hey, was that you out on the balcony?”

Jeongguk grins. “Knew you saw me.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did, but I thought I was being overly paranoid,” you tell him. You yawn away from him, “What time is it, babe?”

Jeongguk purposefully ignores the feeling in his chest. “It’s two fourty.”

You groan. “Are you stopping the night? Get in, I’m tired.”

Jeongguk brings himself down to kiss you once. “No. No, no, you can’t sleep right now. I wanna go out.”

“Now?” you ask, aghast.

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere.”

“At like three-am?”

“Yeah, sorry, it was the only time I could get it. I wanna take you somewhere special.”

Once Jeongguk is finished speaking, you open your eyes wider and observe him. It’s only then that you notice his clothing; over his upper body, he wears a large oversized grey hoodie, slightly worn out and wrinkled with the drawstring missing, and as always, dark jeans that blend in with the night. A frown worms its way onto your face, your expression unreadable to Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Get it? Get what, babe?” you mutter.

Jeongguk hums, like shrugging.

“Where are we going?” you ask, starting to sit up which forces Jeongguk to roll over on the bed, until his feet swing over the side and hit the floor. He wants to stay quiet for the sake of yourself, considering he’s not looking forward to accidentally waking up your family. You’ve been staying at your parents' place for the entire week, abusing reading week for sleeping in, going out for something to eat, and returning home to watch Glee rather than finish your art assignments. Naturally, Jeongguk doesn’t want the whole family to reject him just because he woke them up at three in the morning to collect you from your room.

“Hm,” Jeongguk starts, straining to hear if anything outside your bedroom catches his ear. He faintly hears the sound of claws across the wood, remembering you once mentioning that your family had a dog. “How about we go to Paris?”

You whip around to look at him, making out his silhouette in the dark. “Paris? Are you fucking with me?”

“Why, what’s wrong with Paris?”

“There is nothing wrong with Paris,” you affirm, gasping. “I just...really? Paris?”

“Yeah. Thought we could stop by The Louvre to see that dude Maxine tried to set you up with.”

You snort quietly, moving to turn on a lamp which brightens the room into shades of orange. “How did you even know about that?”

“I hear things,” he says, shrugging. Jeongguk then shakes his head and looks back at you, making his way to the bottom of the bed. “No. I just really wanna take you out somewhere special.”

“The beach was special to me,” you tell him.

Jeongguk smiles, “Me, too. But...Paris.”

Laughter bubbles at the back of your throat. “Okay. Let’s go to Paris. Why not?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk agrees, laughing also, “why not? Need help packing anything? You won’t need a lot, I can take you out when we get there.”

You pull a face, looking back at Jeongguk. “Wow...our first vacation together and you’re already going to spoil me?”

Jeongguk grins widely, “Well, on our first date I humped you, so I guess we’re pretty unconventional.”

You have nothing to say in reply to that.

(PARIS)

One thing you never thought you’d get the chance to do is take a trip on a private jet, holding up the scheduled flight times of other aircraft at the airport. That changes the second that Jeongguk pulls up outside of LAX, his hand carefully and tightly clamped around your own as he escorts you whilst also being escorted by his own small handful of security right into the large building. Thankfully for him, the airport is empty, occupied by sleeping flyers who wait on hard, metal chairs, the tinny sound of music playing at volume three.

His jet is small, yet luxurious; it’s everything out of a movie set, decorated in mocha creams and whites, clinking glasses of champagne waiting to be swallowed. His pilot knows him by name, and there’s a handpicked air hostess who looks bored and old, her lock screen a picture of her children. Jeongguk smiles at her, even addresses her by name and introduces you with a chirpy tone. The lady looks surprised, covering it up with a tight smile of nervousness. Maybe you’re the only girl Jeongguk’s ever brought on the plane before. Maybe you’re another girl he’s brought on the plane, you don’t know for sure.

After take off, Jeongguk spins in his recliner seat and drums his fingers in his lap. You sit opposite, looking meek, your gaze out the window at the dark clouds and sky. As you continue to fly, the sky opens up, into ombre colours that fascinate. One is looking at the beauty of nature and the other is looking at the beauty of a woman. Neither says a word.

When the plane reaches touch down, the airport is quite bustling and energetic, thankfully again no fans who caught an air of mystery from Jeongguk’s suspicious tweets at one in the morning, when he spontaneously booked tickets without even getting the green flag. Money to waste, risks to take, is what he’d say. Jeongguk helps you carry your small bag to the hired vehicle, an inconspicuous black car with black-out windows. He’s half expecting the vehicle to give him away, but nobody present actually gives a fuck about who is in the car and who isn’t. So, he climbs in without being noticed, his hand in yours, right up until the doors close and you’re hotel bound.

“Fuck, jet-lag.”

Jeongguk dives onto the bed, his back on the duvet and nose tipped up to the ceiling. Presently, you’ve been in Paris for a few hours, staring at the roads below with tired and sleepy eyes, heavy shoulders, a day indoors. Jeongguk’s been to Paris before, quite a few times actually - you haven’t, seeing the city in glimpses outside your balcony. To his right, the bathroom light clicks off and you shuffle out, a towel wrapped around your body as you cross the width of the room.

“Right?” you agree with a small frown. You crouch to pick up a fallen jacket off the back of the chair, tucked underneath the white vanity. “I almost fell asleep in the shower.”

“Yeah? You tired?”

“Exhausted,” you say honestly. “Once I’m dry, I think I might head to bed.”

Jeongguk hums in reply, maybe agreement. He lets you do what you need to do; of course, he takes a peek, because he’s a boy and he can’t help himself. You’re dressing by the window, staring out at the pretty Eiffel Tower who shines, lit up for the evening. The room is dark, dressed in midnight tones, the only light outside and the glow of one of the lamps upon the table top. Jeongguk is so wordlessly in awe that he doesn’t care about not being able to see. He sees your silhouette against the light of the city, curved and beautiful, hidden away by a long button up that you picked out of the wrong suitcase, not that he cares. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he feels his body lifting up off the bed like he’s levitating. God, his chest is so light, it hurts, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, laugh, smile, leap up and yell. You finish buttoning and turn and he returns to the mattress.

The bed dips as you crawl up onto it, your knees by Jeongguk as you sit next to him on the bed. Instantly, Jeongguk’s hands move to your hair to move it away from your face as you look down at him, one hand on your knee also. On command, the smile on his lips widens softly when you brush away his fringes off his face, humming and then reaching down for a kiss, stealing one from his lips without warning and another off the slope of his chin.

“Paris is pretty,” you tell him. Jeongguk hums. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “Sorry it’s not the Maldives, baby.”

“Whatever. Paris is better,” you say. “Our view is gorgeous.”

You look back at the window. Jeongguk does not. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“Must have been expensive as fuck,” you exhale, turning back to him. His hand that was once on your face drops to your back, wandering until it’s found on your ass. It feels nice, you can’t complain.

“Rich kids of LA come to Paris to make noise and take tourist photos by the Eiffel Tower,” Jeongguk replies, joking but sounding serious, which is a talent of his. You laugh, so he knows it’s something you recognise. He laughs too. “It’s actually in Yoongi’s name. Just asked him if I could use it for a weekend away.”

Your brows curve upwards in amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a fraud, it’s not my apartment,” he sighs, “but, at least we’re here. Like it enough, and I’ll buy us a house here.”

“Are we really there yet?”

“Might be,” Jeongguk theorises. “Wanna try it for a bit longer?”

Nothing is said. Outside, a car honks and you sigh at the same time, through your nose, playing with your fingers with Jeongguk’s locks of hair that grow longer over his face. His head hasn’t moved, still squashed against the pillows, his earrings tangled and most likely stuck to strands of his hair, a difficulty for when he decides to move. He feels your hand on his face again, comforting, and he inhales your familiar scent and knows you’ve come closer by the time you’re there, pressing your lips to his.

It’s fleeting, fast. You pull away right as Jeongguk comes to terms with what you’re doing, and so he follows you up as you move away. He’s sitting up, his hands on your elbows as he moves to kiss you again, finish what you started.

A bar door outside opens and music spills out, just as Jeongguk’s hands move from your elbows to your ribcage, his heart in his throat when you reach up to tenderly hold his face, fingers near his ears on his neck. This is euphoria; your hands drop, Jeongguk moving once more to prod and palm. As he kisses you, his thumbs gently massage around your breasts, in circular motions, soft and cradling and exploring. Into his mouth you groan, quietly, like a vocal moan that lasts for a few seconds before being captured by his lips again. Jeongguk’s left hand claws at your boob, grabbing, reaching up to your neck. Now he’s holding you, his hair in his eyes tickling as he guides you. On your cheek, you feel his thumb grazing, holding you close to him even when you pull apart for a modicum of a second to capture your breath. Quite possibly, he could be sick out of nerves - your hands fall limply to his wrists, then down as his hands hold the damp back of your head. After a little longer, Jeongguk pulls himself away, his eyes half-lidded and yours closed entirely.

He admires what he’s done and what he sees. Once more, he kisses you, dragging it out until he’s moved away again, simply admiring. You’re far from done, though; you pull him back after catching your breath, your eyes now open and slightly fuzzy. Jeongguk smiles, warmly, gently. You might cry. As his hands drop from your head to the top of your shirt, fiddling with his fingers around the buttons, your lip gets caught between your bottom teeth and Jeongguk’s eyes are drawn to the sight. He might make a comment, might not. He decides not to. Instead, he moves back in and bides his hands time to undo your buttons.

The cool silk of your shirt drops as he undos the buttons, sliding like rainwater down your shoulders and arms, until it pools around your elbows. Thankfully for him, Jeongguk’s only in joggers and a button down, something he can easily slip himself out of. You’re wearing next to nothing, now that the shirt’s out of the question; all that decorates underneath is underwear, which Jeongguk doesn’t care for anyway. His hands paw at the shirt, trying to undo the last button without pulling away but it feels impossible. Frustrated, he huffs and moves away, his gaze locked on the final button above your pantline and he flushes when a laugh leaves your lips, something small and delicate and girly. He twitches.

“You, too,” you say, once the shirt is removed and you’re only in underwear, which is next on Jeongguk’s list of things to remove. He looks up with mild surprise, having the audacity to be confused by what you’re talking about. It is only when your fingers curl around the waist of his joggers that he smiles, like an idiot, and hums charmingly.

“Shuffle back for a minute?” Jeongguk asks, and you do, excited and buzzing when Jeongguk quickly pushes the joggers down his thighs. When they bunch around his ankles he kicks furiously, like a child, grunting - and you’re laughing, giggling like a school-girl, drunk on the residue of his lips. Of course, he smiles too, because happiness is a goddamn drug. He inhales with exasperation, muttering “아이씨” under his breath. He finishes it up with a chuckle, a voiceless laugh out of his throat, and then he kisses you again.

Jeongguk eventually ends up lifting you, one arm flush against your waist and his other hand graciously ripping down your underwear, careless and selfish when he hears the fabric tear. Your eyes widen, having heard it too, but you’re too dazed to mention it. The undies are tossed towards the balcony door and Jeongguk settles you back on his lap, for a brief moment. He kisses you again, pulling himself snug against you and then, he lays you down.

“So pretty,” Jeongguk comments, his hands sliding down your sides.

“You can’t even see me,” you say.

Jeongguk shrugs, shuffling down the bed. His elbows pinch into your thighs, locking his arms over them and his chin is on top of your groin. “Don’t need to. I just know.”

You slightly laugh, finding it endearing. Jeongguk chuckles too, pressing a kiss to your stomach and then his hands push up at your calves. With your legs up into arrow shapes, knees to the sky, Jeongguk kindly peels them apart, planting himself right in between.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe his name. He grins, you can feel his mouth extending against your skin. He doesn’t reply.

Situated between two smooth legs, Jeongguk’s head dips and dives. A groan is rasped out of you, followed by a string of moany exhales as Jeongguk’s tongue lays flat, covering every inch of your pussy further with sucks and nips that make your toes curl. Jeongguk’s not done this to you before. He feels slightly anxious, because he wants it to be good for you. He wraps his arms around your thighs, burrowing his head in.

“Mpmf- Jeongguk,” you gasp, your head hiding in the comforter. Jeongguk’s on his stomach, nonchalant. Jeongguk licks everywhere he can, kitten licks that stretch out into long ones, exploring. Your mouth drops. Jeongguk moves one hand away from your leg, his fingers curling up to your pussy to stretch out your labia, one finger lazily brushing against your clit. Each brush is exciting, teasing, sensitive. He hums. He’s heard you. He wants to hear more.

He doesn’t do more, because Jeongguk doesn’t want you to cum yet. He has his fun, feeling your thighs lock around his head and quiver when his fingers swipe on your nub, his tongue inching into your cunt, driving out sounds from your lips. Jeongguk entertains that for a few more minutes, hard and throbbing by the time you’re begging for him to stop, rather than keep going.

When he pulls away, your legs shake, quivering like being left out in the cold for too long. He lays down flat instead, tapping your body for you to make a move when you’re ready, which doesn’t take long. Soon after, he feels the brush of your wetness against his leg as you haul yourself up and onto him, hovering over his middle, your hands on his chest.

Jeongguk cocks his head thoughtfully. “Want to?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Hair falls over your shoulder. “Do you have a condom on you?”

“In my bag, somewhere,” Jeongguk suggests. He glances to the pile of bags near the door, “But it’s so far away. Are you on the pill?”

“No,” you frown. There’s nothing for a minute. “Want to anyway?”

Jeongguk hesitates, “Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah. I do,” you tell him. Just as you’re about to take his dick in your hand, Jeongguk reaches out to stop you. You look up at him, finding the glimmer in his eyes in the dull light, “what?”

“What if I cum?” Jeongguk asks.

“I’d like you to.”

“What if I cum inside of you?”

A short silence. Jeongguk drums his fingers impatiently against your thigh. “Whatever,” you settle with. His heart trembles when your hand wraps around him. “I’d be a good Mom.”

Jeongguk laughs, then, his other hand joining the other on your waist. “If it happens, I’ll look after both of you. You can be unemployed and pampered if that’s what you want.”

“God, that’s fucking sexy,” you sigh.

He’s kidding, so are you, but the risk is still great. Jeongguk swallows a thick lump down his throat and settles his hands on your hips, embarrassed to be nervous with the build up of you rising up on your knees, planted either side of his waist. A tremor of coldness makes him shudder as your hand touches the base of his dick, hypersensitive without the rubber. For a brief moment, he catches your gaze, slightly hidden away behind fringes of hair that cast over your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, nervous and rubbing his hands against your skin.

You dip your head. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Mhm. I just - just want it to be good for you,” he confesses. “Don’t want it to hurt you. Don’t want you to regret it.”

“Well, are you clean? I got tested not too long ago, did it before my last pill. I’m clean.”

Jeongguk shifts. “Did it on tour with Hoseok. He was going because of Rosie and I was going because he suggested it for us. I’m good. That sound alright for you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It sounds perfect for me.”

And so it’s perfect for him, too. Jeongguk questions whether this is right, whether he should stop, but right now he can’t think properly. Not when he can feel himself growing rigid in your grasp, the bristle in his body when you slowly rub your clit across the head of his cock, vibrations. He grunts under his breath, his fingers shaking against your hips. Looking up at Jeongguk once more between your hair, catching the pull of his bottom lip in the scarce light and feeling his body rising beneath you, you shake your head over your shoulders and position yourself. And then you sink.

Paris is a gorgeous city, bustling with life. Across the narrow road, where another small apartment sits with a bay window and a balcony decorated with plants, the lights flicker in strobe patterns, neons bleeding into dulls seeping into pastels. A party, a parade, an applause when the size of Jeongguk adjusts inside of you. He can’t hear you, not over the noise of the party that has suddenly birthed in the moonlight hours. Perhaps Jeongguk is thankful for this, and the way it covers up his noises also.

Jeongguk groans inwards when you clench around him, familiar with the way it feels, remembering the unaccustomed sting and burn. After some time to adjust, you relax, making your first movements up and down, testing the waters, building a rhythm. Jeongguk can’t breathe, his mind paused, his breathing lodged in his throat, his lungs singing. You keep it up, the momentum, finding a pattern in the beat of the music in the background; the bass is your routine, each bump a drop onto Jeongguk’s hips, the brush of his head against your inner walls, euphoric.

“Oh my - fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, his voice barely heard. You catch it though, like a faint whisper, the sound burning your face with embarrassment. His grip tightens, nails digging into your skin as his palms slide from your hips to your ass. He holds like handles of a motorbike, guidance.

You’re slouching, hunched over with your hands on Jeongguk’s chest. He feels a pressure, not sure if it’s your hands pushing down or if it’s his own body, forcing down an orgasm he doesn’t want to have too soon. He sees purple behind you, your dark silhouette cast over him like an angel. With every slap against his body made by your ass, Jeongguk groans, grunts, borderline moans. When he strains to hear your gasps of air something in the background masks them, a sabotage.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks. His hands move to your wrists.

You whimper, thoughtless.

“Babe, does it feel good?”

“Mhm.” Your head falls to the side, cheek on your shoulder: “Mhm, feels good.” Something moany comes out of your lips, something muffled and whined. Imploring, spoiled. “Fuck, Jeongguk, that feels so good - keep….keep it like that.”

Jeongguk thinks it over, familiarising himself with his own movements. His grip squeezes around your wrist.

“Like that?” He follows with his body slowly thrusting up, like he would move if he were grinding the air, like inching his hips up under the covers to feel his dick on the duvet.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Even though he can’t see that well, you glance down at him: “can you - can you hold my hands?”

Jeongguk feels his stomach sink and rise, flipping, the butterflies. “Sure, baby.”

When you feel Jeongguk’s hands in your own, you hum to yourself, rising with your fingers interlocked. Jeongguk lets you do what you want with them, obliging when you slightly part his arms, hands locked on either side in the air. You sink, and rise, and sink, and rise, and Jeongguk is lost in the stars. Red, orange, blue, magenta- the rainbow appears as your wings, Jeongguk’s eyes trying to adjust in the dark on your face, on your tits, on the bits that are grainy in his vision. He imagines instead, based off memory of the beach, and the rain. When he feels your cunt clench around him again and your hands slip away to fall back behind you, Jeongguk curses into the air and lifts himself up, his arms wrapped around your middle.

“You feel so good,” Jeongguk says, his lips ghosted over yours now that he’s sitting upright. “Mhm? Hear me? Fuck, you feel so fucking good right now-”

You whimper. Jeongguk seals it up, steals it, captures it with his mouth as he kisses you. His hands are all twisted and searching, one between your shoulder blades and the other on your ass, his mind reeling when you put your palms on his cheeks, absolute bliss. It’s loud, or it would be if he could hear over the sound of the music in the apartment over, and Jeongguk picks up pieces in between the basslines, vocals and harmonies stripped apart so he can find your voice underneath. He pulls his mouth away, latching it to your neck, where your mouth is near his ear, right where he wants it. A hot flush runs up his body when he feels your breath on his ear, hears your needy moans and groans, feels your hands clawing at his back.

“Ugh- umf, Guk, I’m - I’m close,” you pant, his reply a bite to your neck. He sinks his teeth in, like a vampire with dull teeth, and you cry out into his ear. His cock twitches inside of you, the ridges of his cock smearing against your walls. He hums, not sure if you’ll hear it. You don’t. He pulls away and mouths the bite.

“Cum when you want to,” he says sweetly, moving his mouth to your ear briefly before moving back away. His hair is soft against your neck, his head angled to kiss at your skin, covered in a glow.

“What about you?” you ask.

Jeongguk smiles, his teeth present on your skin. “Don’t worry about me. I’m right behind you.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, his eyes closed serenely as he holds you tight, holds you as you bounce up and down for the finale. Above him, your body trembles.

“Tired,” you laugh breathlessly, and Jeongguk makes a confused noise, like he hasn’t quite heard you correctly. After no reply, he sniffs, collecting you in his arms to hold you tighter than before, using his energy to move you. You may as well be paralysed, a fucktoy for him as he bounces you up and down, basking in the moans in his ear, pornographic and nasty and lewd and heard over the music that has changed tempo.

“Ah!” Jeongguk grunts into your ear with every slam onto his dick, feeling his body seize up in warning. “Gonna - I might…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re not listening to it. All you can focus on is the feeling in your stomach, pressing your nails into Jeongguk’s skin.

Jeongguk saves his own release for later. He focuses, instead, on you and making you feel good, slowing himself down in the race so that you can come first. His lips press back to yours, tongue hot, and he stops bouncing you. One arm is tight around your waist and the other snakes to the front of your body, between your legs where around your thighs he finds your clit, rubbing with his thumb. He can feel your body tense and dither over him, a tightness clenching around him as you squirm, Jeongguk’s hips tiredly thrusting upwards in a slow and steady rhythm.

“Ah - Jeongguk,” you cry, words sinking into his mouth. “Baby-”

With one final flick upwards, Jeongguk lets out a throat-forced grunt into your mouth right as the pot spills, and down the length of Jeongguk’s dick trickles white. You can’t see, it’s dark and blurry, and everything feels numb. It’s nothing like the beach, which was sweet and tender and a rainy haze. This time, it’s a burning that feels dull until it races up your body, like hot goosebumps, until it washes over your body like the drop from the tallest roller coaster. Jeongguk milks it up, his own hands shaking as he grunts wordlessly, until he stutters, his toes curling.

“Umf- babe,” he pants. He moves his hands, you’re attempting to move for him but you feel stuck. Instead you clench, hard and soft, Jeongguk squirms. “Gonna- I’m-” He’s silent. One moment, you hear the laughter and a cork pop outside, and the next moment, Jeongguk’s moans are in your ear, his hands rubbing up your thighs as he moves twice upwards, as if storing his cum in safe spots inside. And then, as if on cue, he pulls out, stuffing his hand where his dick was to feel the cum drip out, like a melting ice-cream.

On his forehead he feels your lips parted and breathing and he fiddles his fingers around, non-sexually, curious. The cum stains his fingers, dressing them, and he laughs from his chest, lost of breath.

Jeongguk sighs, slotting his fingers into your mouth quite suddenly. He can barely see you, the light is still dim behind you but it’s enough for him to make it out, the grain obtrusive. He feels your lips close around his fingers and your tongue on his fingertips, a dazed smile across his face.

He sighs again. “Shit. You’re incredible.”

With a wet sound, he moves his fingers out. Despite cumming, his dick is still semi-hard, on it’s way out. Jeongguk preens when your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth needily on yours for a brief kiss. “So good.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“The best,” he confirms. “Where’ve you been all my life, hm?”

You laugh through your nose, quiet. “Wasting money at Uni and working for my cousin.” He laughs too, a small one that makes him sound small. You play with the hair at the back of his head, “Sorry for making you wait so long.”

He shrugs. “Was worth it. You’re worth the wait.”

You hum in reply, too tired to move.

“Sticky,” you say with a frown.

Jeongguk’s arms tighten around you, acknowledging your words. “And you just got clean.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll shower in the morning.”

After a short while of sitting there, you slowly untangle your arms from around him. Jeongguk has the nerve to be confused, a small hum in question as you climb off him.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to pee,” you reply. “To be safe.”

“Oh. Okay, pee on.”

“Sorry,” you say. Leaning up to kiss his lips, Jeongguk smiles into it and all the while as you move to hurry towards the bathroom. The sound of the toilet seat being lifted, and a slight squeak from the toilet that Yoongi desperately needs to consider replacing, and then Jeongguk settles down onto the bed with a happy sigh. His chest rises and falls as the party goes on outside, fireworks behind the Eiffel Tower.

He could get used to this.

Something wakes you up with the sunrise, twisting into soft orange colours that stretch across the agriculture of Paris. It barely lights up the city, enough for shadows to still be drawn across the mocha coloured buildings, the stone still cold in the shade. You wriggle inside the sheets slightly, discomfort between your legs and very slowly, your eyes adjust to the slight light brewing in the bedroom.

The patio doors leading out onto the small balcony are drawn open, the see-through curtains swaying like slow hips in the wind. Beside you, the bed is cold, untucked and open where Jeongguk has climbed out. Mentioning Jeongguk, you notice that he sits on the end of the bed, facing the sunrise and the Eiffel Tower with a notebook in his hand. The pages are folded over the spine, bulking it up, and he taps a pen against his ear quietly. The sound is all you can hear alongside the early-rising birds, a car honk outside and the next door neighbours hanging out of their window with chocolate bread and strong coffee.

“Mmm. Guk?”

Your voice is slightly hoarse, bedirdden, and Jeongguk manages to hear it as he turns his head over his shoulder. A smile dawns on his face and he shifts, one hand on the bed and the book closing shut on its own. “Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

You yawn, rubbing your eyes. Some mascara rubs off onto your hand. “No, you’re okay.” He doesn’t say anything at first, there’s no competition for the next word. When your vision finally settles onto a visible image, you see Jeongguk’s face and the book in his lap. “What are you doing…? Wait, what time is it…”

“It’s about five thirty,” Jeongguk estimates, although he’s not sure. He’s actually not far off, it’s five fourty one. “And, um...not much.” For a moment, Jeongguk sounds bashful. He shrugs, hiding the book and smiling at you. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be quiet.”

“Kinda hungry,” you admit. You inhale the air, “Oh my God, those fuckers next door have coffee.”

“Chocolate bread, too. Caught a glimpse when I opened the doors.”

You groan. “What the fuck…”

Jeongguk laughs, genuinely. His head turns back towards the Eiffel Tower, in awe, and after a few minutes of nothing but morning silence, you sigh and clamber over the sheets. They’re cold, crisp and wrinkled, and Jeongguk looks up at the noise. He frowns, only because you’re wearing barely anything.

“You’re gonna get cold,” Jeongguk points out, his hands reaching for the bed throw that had been kicked onto the floor during the night. “Want me to close the window?”

“No, it’s pretty.”

“It’s cold, though.”

You push your face onto Jeongguk’s shoulder blade. “Whatever.”

He chuckles, resigning from the conversation. You’ll win anyway. A tiny bird lands on the patio rails, and you inhale the morning air, planting a kiss on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?”

This makes Jeongguk look up. His eyes wear confusion and adoration, round and searching as he looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why, why wouldn’t they be?”

“I worry about you, ‘s all,” you reply quietly. “All the time.”

Jeongguk’s heart breaks.

“I’m...I’m good,” he replies honestly. “Really good. I haven’t been doing this great in...well...I don’t know, forever? Call it cringey, or whatever, but having you in my life...Fuck, it’s changed everything.”

You gaze up at him. “You’ve made a pretty big difference in my life, too, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m here for you. Always.”

Jeongguk doesn’t miss a beat- his hand wraps to stroke your hair, curled from the shower earlier, pressing a little kiss to your nose. He nods, and his hair brushes against your face. “Yeah.” He nods, confident, “Yeah. Actually- LOL,” he laughs, “I. Um, I wrote something.”

“Oh? Yeah, what did you write?”

He reopens the book. The pages are littered with lines of writing, alongside small doodles in the margins, words like arrows shooting across the lines. His hands flip to a page that has the corner marked down, the numbers “23” in bold outline at the top of the page. You inhale, nervous, your eyes lazily looking at the lines.

“Just a song,” Jeongguk explains. “Woke up, looked over at you, just got the idea. I had to write it down as soon as I thought about it. Got the melody and stuff worked out, just need to make a note and tell the guys when I get back.”

You hum, genuinely enthralled. You quickly look at him, “Can I hear some?”

If it were light enough, you might have caught a blush across his face. He clears his throat, shy.

“I’m fadin’ away off some kind of drug, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s love,” his voice is quiet, almost as if speaking the words is something wrong, “I know I said I’d straighten a week ago, I feelin’ though, bout to reach my peak, you know. This city’s got me fallin, now, I’m fading away, I’m losing my head…” He mutters the lyrics, singing quietly. As he skims over what he’s got scribbled down, you can feel your heart thudding, soaring, feeling numb and soft and warm and everything else.

“It’s about you, called 23,” Jeongguk says. At some point, you’ve missed the rest of the lyrics, intent on gazing at Jeongguk like he is God’s angel sent down from Heaven. He is so beautiful, so kind and pure. “Sound okay?”

You nod, and maybe Jeongguk sees tears pearling in your eyes. “Yeah. Fuck- it sounds beautiful, Guk.”

A smile immediately reaches across Jeongguk’s face. It lights up the room better than the sun, now reaching higher into the sky. “You’re beautiful. I wanna make you so happy.”

“You do make me happy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, laughing, his eyes turned into moons. “Well...Look. I’ve never had to ask anyone, so it’s awkward as fuck right now, but...like…” He laughs, and you do too, because you know it’s coming, “Do you, like...wanna be my girl?”

“Your girl?”

He laughs louder. “Fine - my girlfriend! Y/N L/N, the light of my small and sad life, will you please be my girlfriend?”

Once your laughter has calmed down, and Jeongguk’s hand tiredly slips from your hair down to the bed next to your own, you really, honestly look at Jeongguk. Above everything else, you can’t quite believe that you are here with him; with somebody you never thought you had a chance with, with somebody who you would do absolutely anything for. The way you presently feel about Jeongguk is overwhelming and dangerous, so strong that sometimes you feel afraid by it. You bite your bottom lip, amusing the idea of actually thinking about it, and then you nod.

“Sure. Of course,” you agree, kissing his shoulder. His head follows you, his breath on the bare skin of your shoulders as he ducks his head to kiss the side of yours. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk feels like he could quite honestly burst into tears. “I’ve got you.”

(“I’m not 23 though,” you say to him once the love has died down. He cracks a smile and pushes you back onto the bed, returning to look at the Eiffel Tower.)

part two (final)

[peachyteabuck]

Please, speak to me of costco

EXCELLENT, LET US BEGIN!

so, i’m kind of obsessed with talking about capitalism (as many of y’all know) - particularly it’s failures. 

but sometimes, sometimes it succeeds. 

and sometimes, it succeeds via subverting all expectations of the shopping experience. 

here’s how i frame how WILD AS SHIT costco to people who have never considered it before:

imagine you’re explaining costco to a white man who is bathing in the riches of the post-world war 2 economy in 1950s america.  

(capitalists speak of this time with fondness, with a tinkle in the eye and a jump in the step. i feel it is the true PEAK of capitalist exploit, and so i use this time period to contrast the world as it exists now).

so, you meet this dude and he’s like - oh my god, are you a queer? and ur like, that’s not relevant. let me tell you about costco. 

let me tell you about costco - a place where the prices are 15-20% cheaper than regular grocery stores like kroger, and where everything only comes in massive fucking quantities. 

and the guy goes, wait, how massive?

and you go: like, 200+ snack sized bags of chips big. 40 rolls of toilet paper big. twenty hot dogs big. 

and the dude goes - wait, women shop there alone and without the supervision of their husband? and ur like homie, focus. and he goes, “fine - but how does this place make money?”

and ur like: they sell MEMBERSHIPS. you have to BUY the PRIVILEGE to shop there. 

and the guy is like “that’s so fucked up. isn’t that a violation of the white man’s right to shop anywhere?” and ur like - no. no one has ever questioned this. and the guy’s like that’s so fucked up, tell me more

and ur like - hell yeah. let’s fuckin do it. costco is the LARGEST SELLER OF WINE IN THE UNITED STATES. the costco wine buyer at one point was a very cute asian american woman who said “i show up on day one, and then im handed about $1.96 BILLION of profits resting on my shoulders.”

and the guy goes, holy shit - there must be HUNDREDS of different brands at this place. 

and ur like - oh, oh no. oh no

costco only holds a certain amount of brands for each particular item - and most of their products come from their OWN COMPANY. 

and the guy’s like, i thought the capitalism gives me all the variety i want. 

and ur like, FALSE! humans get super fucking anxious making decisions, especially when it comes to money, so the CEO of costco spends a shitload of time looking at what sells/doesn’t in order to only keep things that’ll make them money. it literally limits the amount of options you have so you buy more. 

and the guy goes - fuck. isn’t THAT kinda fucked up tho?

and ur like - bro - this place doesn’t even HAVE A DIRECTORY. they don’t have a map, they don’t tell you where things are in one centralized place because you buy more when you’re wandering around. 

and the guy’s like, oh shit. is that it?

and ur like.............................................................................for now. 

(don’t even get me started on the $1.50 hot dog and sodas, which haven’t increased in price IN DECADES, or how much money they save each year in shipping costs/packaging/etc bc of how much attention the CEO pays to price dividends. that shit’s fucking WACK)

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

y’know the one thing that i hate with job interviews in retail is how “not perky enough” is a legit reason not to hire you. like bro. i’m not perky rn bc i don’t know anyone in this room of anywhere between 15-30 people (depending on the group interview set up that a particular company/franchise uses and how many applicants per the job opening come on the day) and y’all expect me to be perky from the get go; when there’s so such thing as shy people in big group settings????

like i’m sorry that i even applied for this job in the first place bc you said that it didn’t need any customer service experience lmao; yet you expect me to have been working in retail since like 14??? and obvs i wouldn’t actually be like this on the shop floor??? sorry that i’ve always done shit with interviews and just fucking hire me anyway???? sorry that i’m stressed and nervous right down to my bones here rn, and so don’t perform to your overly “perky standard” requirement.

it’s pretty fucking ridiculous if you ask me.... especially when i’m just filling racks & shelves with clothes or homewares or groceries or whatever else a good bulk of the time..... and most especially in the big upscale department stores like myer or david jones, considering that barely anyone fucking goes in those stores where i am, bc many people don’t have the type of disposable incomes that allow them to drop $750 on a sass & bide jacket/$600 trench coat from manning cartel or spend $300 outright (or even on afterpay/zippay) on a dress from witchery or lipsy london where i am, either, even when the economy isn’t fucking dead because of covid.

like you’d think that it’d be much easier for me not to apply for retail and instead apply for admin positions, right???? WRONG. bc nearly all of the admin positions in my area areeither a traineeships where they ideally want an 18 year old fresh out of high school.... and NOT a 25 year old whose desperate for a job even though they have degrees out the wahzoo and is sick of studying bc of that to apply. or they want people who have at the very least 3-5 years experience in an office to apply, because they can’t be fucked to train people anymore.... but they also want to pay you low wages anyway..... because why pay a good wage when they can pay you lower than the right/proper pay grade, and then make you work like a lackey???? like fuck man. what the actual fuck do you even fucking want from job applicants anymore???

although i’m pretty sure the whole “not perky enough” thing is also why i wasn’t hired as an intern at a local charity back in business college in 2014..... bc the two marketing & communications and HR uni student interns that interviewed me were “perky” and didn’t like that i was shy etc throughout the entire interview. like honestly what the fuck.

but anyway. that was also why i didn’t bother doing the “compulsory internship” that i was supposed to do back in 2014 either. because i knew wherever i went to get interviewed, i was going to get the same bullshit feedback after every one, so there was no fucking point even trying with it. like being shy in interview settings and i guess the whole being an “introvert” thing really doesn’t fucking help with anything most of the time.

[guccifloralsuits]

honestly if the apocalypse comes I WILL be fashionably dressed ok! if like half the world dies just THINK about the amount of unused clothes that’ll just be sitting in stores like bro u think imma be rolling around the nuclear wasteland or whatever in cargo and shades of brown???? hell NAH man imma b strolling in all the clothes I couldn’t afford when we had a functioning economy ok!! there’s not enough fashion bitch representation in apocalypse movies lmao

LITERALLY! if the world dies fashion is all we have I will serve looks stolen straight from Dolce and Gabbana head to toe while I carry a semi & kill zombies - I will NOT let myself die just to become some bland ass ghost in a tan cargo pants!!! Fuck no!!

[these-are-the-first-steps]

STORY TIME!!

GUYS!!! I remember!!!! I remember why I don’t work out at the gym or at home anymore!!

OK, picture it— Summer of 2010. The economy is still a shitshow after the winter 2008 bank crash. I’m in college, and NOT A SINGLE SOUL IS HIRING PART TIME.

NO ONE.

My school was the largest in the state but existed in a tiny college town. I applied to 15- FIFTEEN- different places, and not a one called me back, or when *I* called told me there were any openings. (flash forward three years, I’m living in Japan, and the grocery store I applied to back then suddenly sends me an email saying I *do not meet their qualifications to work there*. At the fucking grocery store. While I sit overseas in my relatively cushy international relations job. This happened twice. )

So I decided that if I had all this free time, I should finally take advantage of the school gym (we had a reeeeeeally nice one. Brand new. Filled with Grade A Gym Bros.). So I do. And I also bootleg, I think it was called the “intensity” workout or something? There were a lot of these at-home “programs” coming out then.

Suddenly I realize that I am hungry. VERY HUNGRY. ALL THE TIME.

I had $7.25 to ration on food every week and a half because it was all I had left. No driving unless it was to the grocery store that wouldn’t hire me. I was living off of $2 bagel packs making pizza bagles and milkless coffee until I ran out of coffee, and then out of sugar. I had bagels for every meal. I couldn’t afford anything else.

And I definitely couldn’t afford this sudden spike in my metabolism from all this working out. It was early in the summer when I hadn’t realized no one was going to give me a job yet. I was stupidly buying $6 smoothies with banana in it post workout regularly.

It had to stop. I literally *could not afford the amount of food my body was now requiring thanks to gym activities*.

So....since I couldn’t afford to work out, and I couldn’t afford to go out and do anything, I set asside $14 every month for a world of warcraft sub and I sat, inside, playing WoW for two months, living off of bagels and 69¢ soda, until my student loan money came in (probably my first “quarantine”). I couldn’t even pay rent either- they were nice enough to let me lapse till the cash from school came in. And I couldn’t afford to live there anymore and I had to move. (Ended up having brilliant roommates in a large house with delightful cats and it was a good place to be.)

So....that’s the story about why I don’t actively work out- I can’t fucking afford the food intake. :| Every now and then I forget, but the shitiness of that summer still sits in at least my subconscious, reminding me why.

Isn’t that a mess.... 😂

[melodiouswhite]

Classic literature vine compilation - Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde pt. 07

Hyde: Before I was moving, I was going to give each one you a gift, but I want you to have them anyway. *Hands out presents* 

Utterson: Why, Hyde, how sweet! 

Lanyon: Oh, boy, you shouldn't have! :D 

Jekyll: *unpacks his present* Oh, Edward, this is so lovely and so familiar! *holds up a grey bowler* This is mine! I thought the hatter lost it! 

Hyde: I told you he lost it! I took it, I needed something to go with my blue jacket!

Lanyon: *opens his own present* This is MY blue jacket! 

Hyde: I know! It goes great with- 

Utterson: *flatly* -My gold watch. 

Hyde: Well, enjoy and be healthy! *runs off* 

Lanyon: I wonder, if he's seen my cane with the ivory handle. 

Utterson: You know, I haven't been able to find my silver locket. 

Jekyll: *stands up* Come on, I think it's time to search his flat again. 

---

Fruit Seller: You're crazy! This nectarine is beautiful, I never saw a more perfect piece of fruit! 

Alma: No? Then try kissing my behind!

---

Jekyll: His love of life is so wonderful! 

Hyde: No, it's not, you're just fucking suicidal. 

---

Alma: What an ordeal this ride was, I can't imagine anything more terrifying! 

Sameer: *holds a silver plate to her face* Booga, booga, booga. -_- 

Alma: … 

Lady Summers: *sighs*

---

Lanyon: I can't sleep and it can't be the coffee, because all I drink here is decaf! … Right? 

Sameer: *innocently* Of course! Ü 

Sameer: Why don't I bring a nice soda in to pick you up? 

Lanyon: … *suspiciously* Alright, but make sure it's caffeine-free! 

Sameer: Of course! Ü *takes out the normal Soda, as soon as Lanyon is gone*

---

Poole, to the ceiling: *exasperated* Oh God, is there a bigger buffoon in this world?! 

Hyde: *Bursts in* I came here as fast as I could! 

Poole: …

---

Young!Jekyll: So, tell me, Hastie: what did you do to kill the day, before I came along? 

Young!Lanyon: Well, truth be told, my life was a little empty. *smirks* But now I have a hobby! 

Jekyll: *stands up* I loathe you. 

Lanyon: *stands up* I despise you. 

Jekyll: Prude. 

Lanyon: Philanderer. 

Jekyll: Ginger. 

Lanyon: Himbo. 

Jekyll & Lanyon: *angry kissing*

---

Jekyll, to Utterson: You have the right to remain sexy!  

Utterson: … 

Jekyll: Anything you say can and WILL make me bust a nut! 

Utterson: O.o

---

Hyde: Hey there, demons! It's me, ya boy!

---

Jekyll: Hey there, little guy, I'm your dad! 

Hyde: I gotta be ugly. -_- 

Jekyll: What? 

Hyde: Bring me a mirror. 

Jekyll: *points him to the one in the corner* 

Hyde: Now take it away, goddamn. -_-

---

Lady Summers: Good morning, cruel world. 

Jekyll: Don't you mean 'Goodbye'? 

Lady Summers: No, I meant 'Good morning'. This world may be cruel, but I'm still kicking. 

Jekyll: … Oh. *admiration intensifies*

---

Lady Summers: You get one on your knee from “tripping” and now this?!

Alma: Luise, for the last time, this is not a hickey! *points at her bruised elbow*

---

Hyde: *is fighting with some random guy*

Alma: *jumps to his aid* I’ve got this, bro!

Alma, to the guy: This is why your sister is gonna die of consumption! D:<

Guy: *starts to cry*

Hyde: O_O

---

Utterson: There is nothing that can make me really angry. 

Someone: Your mother is a slut. 

Utterson: *pulls out a gun* WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY????

---

Hyde: Owo, owo, owo, owo, owo- 

Jekyll: *holds a gun to his head* 

Hyde: What are you doing?! 

Jekyll: I'm taking myself hostage. Now stop that or I'll shoot myself.

---

Some rando: *insults Lady Summers* 

Lady Summers: *superior chill of superiority* 

Rando: *insults her loved ones* 

Lady Summers: Perish.

---

Hyde, in a blanket: I no longer wish to adult. From now on I shall remain a cozy burrito. If you need me, I will be in my fluff top here.

---

Utterson: *singing* Making my way back home, been a long day, time to see my-

Hyde: *comes running down the stairs* 

Utterson: *singing* -fluffy dog, lalalala! 

Hyde: *trips and rolls down the rest of the stairs*

---

Jekyll: For so many years, I thought that something was wrong with me, that I was the black sheep, and I needed to change my personality. 

Jekyll: And after a long time of consideration, I realised, who I was. 

Jekyll: I'm a piece of shit. Ü

---

Utterson, singing along to the radio: WHAT ABOUT US? 

Jekyll: *bursts in to sing along* 

Both: *singing* WHAT ABOUT EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH? 

Utterson: *singing* WHAT ABOUT TRUST? 

Jekyll: *singing* YOU KNOW I NEVER WANTED TO HURT YOUUUU! 

Utterson: *singing* AND WHAT ABOUT MEEEE? 

Lanyon: *snickering and filming in the background

---

Hyde on 1st November: *throws the Halloween decoration out and starts to decorate for Christmas*

---

Lady Summers, to Lanyon: Read the opposite of these words out loud. *points at a whiteboard* 

Lanyon: What do you mean, the oppsite? 

Lady Summers: Never … 

Lanyon: Going. 

Lady Summers: Yes. 

Lanyon: To. 

Lady Summers: Yes. 

Lanyon: Give … you … up. 

Lady Summers: *singing* NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UUUP- 

Lanyon: *laughs*

---

*different types of people shopping* 

Edwina: *the cart rider* 

Lady Summers: *the one who gets hella crisps* 

Lanyon: *the mum said "put it back" - throw* 

Jekyll: *the one who puts it in a random spot*

---

Jekyll: Do you ever wake up and just think: Wow. What a beautiful day to be alive. 

Jekyll: Just kidding. Fuck my life.

---

Lady Summers: These are three life facts you need to know. 

Lady Summers: Number one: If you want to have a conversation with your friend, you need to talk. Talking is when words come out of your mouth. 

Lady Summers: Number two: If you don't smell good and you want to smell good, you need to shower. Showering is the only way to clean your body. 

Lady Summers: Number three: If you want to brush your teeth, but only have a little bit of tooth paste left, run over the tube with your car and then throw it into the rubbish. Then go to the store and buy a brand new tube of tooth paste. Now it'll be so much easier to brush your teeth.

---

Lanyon: *singing* I used to be so fucking ugly, now look at me- 

Lanyon: *singing* -I'm still really fucking ugly, it's clear to see- 

Everyone else: LANYON, NO!!!!

---

Young Jekyll, when Lanyon calls himself ugly: I'M GOING TO HAVE TO PUT ON YOUR BLOODY SUN GLASSES, BECAUSE I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO SEE THE AMOUNT OF BULLSHIT COMING FROM YOU!!! 

Young Lanyon: …

---

Jekyll's mother: A little birdie told me, that you don't respect the sanctity of marriage. Is that true, you spawn of Satan?! You spawn of POSSESSION?! I BANISH THEE TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL! BEGONE, SATAN!!! *throws a book at Jekyll* 

Young Jekyll: *runs away*

---

Jekyll: It all started, when my parents' increasingly high expectations met my crippling internalised fear of failure. Then they met my nature. Then the declining economy and impending recession met my college education. And they'd meet my student debt. Then my student debt met my mental health problem. And they made insomnia. Then this morning my insomnia met four cups of coffee. Ü

Jekyll: Hi. My name is Henry and I'm about to shit my inexpressibles. ^^

---

Utterson, if he was bi: If you're a woman, you might want to keep scrolling, unless you want to get a lady boner. In three … two … one … 

Utterson: *proceeds to wash dishes, cook dinner and clean the house* 

Edwina: … I'm suddenly sad that you're married.

---

Young Lady Summers, to her father: I'm going out for lunch today. ^^ 

Margrave Alexander v.H.(her father): Are you going somewhere? 

Lady Summers: A-a rendezvous … o///o 

M.A.: This is an emergency! Alright … take this. *holds up his swordcane* 

Lady Summers: Papa?! e_o 

M.A.: Oh, sorry. Would this work better? ^^ *holds up his hunting rifle* 

Lady Summers: No! That's not necessary! 

M.A.: No, no. I'll be going, too! Ü 

Lady Summers: YOU DON'T HAVE TO COME!!! Q_Q

---

*Types of kids in class* 

Alma: *kid always sleeping* 

Lady Summers: *the kid in a wheelchair* 

Hyde: *the creeper* 

Lanyon: *the heartbroken guy* 

Utterson: *the girl in love* 

Jekyll: *the depressed kid*

[likeshipsonthesea]

I just saw that post about what would you do if you became disgustingly rich and the one indulgence, but can you imagine that sort of conversation taking place between the frogs? Or even the house occupants? I feel like it would be an interesting avenue for a character study! Especially since recently you mentioned the whole low income to ivy league feels you can get out of Bitty and Dex!

{hey so sorry i took so long to respond to this! work got crazy andthen i moved my entire life back home in a nissan ultima that did not have enough room and then i spent theremaining time cuddling my cats.. so yeah, just watched kingsman for the firsttime, am IN LOVE, and ready to respond to an ask.. i don’t understand my braineither}

the above? written three days ago.. to you and to everyone who’s sent in asks/prompts, please know that i DO want to respond, but my brain has been half-dead recently and i’ve started a bunch of things but can’t seem to finish them (my drafts are unfortunately filling up and my desktop has like seven starts of wips and i am Tired) so i am going to do my best here to respond to this ask now

(also the link for the post referenced above is here and for my amended thoughts on bitty’s relationship to wealth see this add on to the post you mentioned in this ask)

i was going to write out a whole fic but it’s going to have to be a fic outline kind of thing because my brain is not in the Make Words mode rn so this is what we get..

i think the conversation starts on a random night when all the boys are in the haus, let’s set it during bitty’s softie year (so zimbits and shardo are not yet together, frogs are still in their first year, jack is still captain, you get it) and let’s make it a random night where they’re all hanging out but it’s not a kegster

maybe it’s the night after a kegster, a weekend, no game or anything, and there’s leftover tubjuice to get rid of so they cut it with some orange juice (a Bad Idea) and sit on the floor of the living room and just, like,, talk for hours. the kind of meandering, heavy-and-then-not kind of talks, where you feel comfortable and languid and forget what time is, for a bit. maybe you break out into showtunes for a while, maybe you play truth or dare. who knows. it’s great. and when you notice the sun has risen and you’re well and truly fucked, well. at least you have the memories to get you through the following day

so it’s one of those nights, yeah, and it hasn’t reached morning quite yet but it’s late, sometime after yesterday (”it doesn’t count as tomorrow until you fall asleep” shitty asserts, at six a.m., leaning heavily between jack and nursey with a joint hanging out of his mouth) and they’re all sitting around, in somewhat of a lull in conversation, where everyone’s relaxing somewhat into their seats and thinking about the last topic of conversation (top hats) or maybe the one before that (family dinners) and emotions are flowing strangely and nothing seems exactly real

and then someone, we don’t know who, puts it out there, says, “what do you think you’d do if you were rich?” and yeah we’ve got a bunch of college students in this economy in the room but, well, we’ve also got a room full of ivy kids (we know, at least, that shitty and nursey and jack are not strangers to this concept) so when people blink at the asker all, ‘i dunno man’ they clarify and say, “if you were stupidly rich, like, what would be the ridiculous thing you’d do? that the tabloids would report on, people would be outraged about, you know?”

and, well, that takes a moment.

after some thinking, bitty decides he’d want a ridiculously decked out kitchen, with a rotating pantry that’s always fully stocked (either by magic or a 24/7 team of shoppers, he hasn’t decided yet)

jack frowns for a long time (probably busy storing bitty’s idea for an anniversary present at a latter date, though he doesn’t know he’s in love with bits at the time) but eventually comes up with his own private hockey rink, except the ice is made of maple syrup.

(”how would that even work,” holster asks incredulously. ransom just fist-bumps jack solemnly. o’canada plays vaguely in the background)

holster decides he’d want to be carried everywhere (”what about the dudes from wall-e bro?” ransom asks, wide-eyed, and holster pats his shoulder. “i’d come down for leg day, bro, don’t worry.” dex is ignored in the background, throwing his hands up, utterly done)

ransom wants a smart-house, completely decked out with ai, and when shitty points out that movies say that ends with the house murdering him, ransom says that if he didn’t do everything a movie told him was bad, how would he ever have any fun in life? shitty frowns for a moment, confused, but eventually proceeds without questioning too hard.

shitty, on the other hand, wants his entire house to be a library. “i don’t know exactly how i’d organize it yet,” he says, “hopefully something clever, like shit books in the bathroom or something, but i have time to work out a system.” books would be stored in ridiculous places, like the microwave, or inside the couch, and finding them would be either a delightful surprise or a frustrating adventure. dex laments to no one in the background while nursey fist-bumps shitty in solidarity.

lardo says she’d buy housing developments, lower the rents to next-to-nothing, and paint ridiculously sized murals all over the walls, make sculptures out of skylines and left-behind furniture. (”hey that sounds nice, i thought the rules were we had to be ridiculous,” ransom protests. lardo grins. “let me finish”) she would eventually amass so much wealth and real estate that she would eventually buy entire countries, until she could rule the world as a benevolent dictator.

everyone in the room shivers, because they know it’s a possibility.

nursey, mellowing the tone, says he’d get a jetpack. he hates flying but he thinks he’d be okay knowing he’s in control, and he could travel anywhere he wanted without going through the hassle of an airport. “all i’d have to pay for is the fuel,” he says, grinning, and dex rolls his eyes. “yeah, and all the inevitably property damage resulting from you operating a flying machine.” nursey, very maturely, sticks his tongue out at dex in response.

dex, for his part, doesn’t really know what he’d do. he can’t imagine having enough money to spend it irresponsibly, at least not to that degree. securing his family, with houses and cars and savings accounts, securing himself. maybe going on some fun trips. buy a nice pair of shoes. “come on poindexter, one thing.” nursey pokes dex in the side and he squirms. “if you could pick one stupid, ridiculous thing to do with your money, what would it be?”

dex thinks, trying to be outrageous but also something he thinks he would enjoy. after a series of long moments, he decides. “i’d have a swimming pool installed in my house so i could swim from room to room without having to get out once.”

the room blinks. nursey grins and pats dex on the shoulder. “there ya go, you nerd.” dex smiles, pleased, and also now wanting exactly that.

chowder, who’s been waiting patiently the entire time, finally bursts out, very quickly, “i would buy the san jose sharks and an aquarium and once a year i would make them switch places.”

“how would that even…” ransom shakes his head. chowder is beaming too much to dim his spirits.

“on that note, y’all, i think it’s time to head to bed.”

the night sky is steadily lightening and a series of yawns disperse across the room. and then the team, like their author, rises from their spots, stretches, and leaves to find their bed, dreams of stupid wealth dancing in their heads.

thank you, and good night. ;)

[infinitydoublevenus]

ok so i was thinking and just. holy shit. let this sink in:

we pay to buy things like food, clothing, shelter, water... those are all basic necessities.

we’re paying the government, full of people most of us don’t even know personally (or trust, in my case) to be even remotely able to live on this planet without resorting to caveman survival measures. 

we didn’t ask to be born on this planet. hell if it was up to us we could’ve chosen Mars or something. but no, because we live on Earth where humans first evolved our society came up with the idea of government, and now we have to give money to strangers in order to not die. 

if i recall correctly the Constitution says everyone has “the right to Life, Liberty and Happiness.” but a lot of us cant even afford to fucking buy actual good food or a house that isnt shitty. so those who are disenfranchised get stuck with the lowest of the low basic-needs meagre tiny ass survival resources, while the people who we’re paying to live on this planet, who constantly screw us over if we deviate from the norm, are living in their fancy ass mansions gorging themselves on 20 hamburgers at once, even though they dont need that much. they could share their workplace with homeless people who need SOMEWHERE to stay be it a house or a fucking thrift store, but no. runaways trying to get away from abusive family or partners need SOMEWHERE to be safe, but no, “it’s illegal to house a runaway”. the law is literally trying to prevent us from being decent human beings. how on earth is that fair. its not. 

and it’s not like we asked to even exist in the first place. we’re born into this society without some great deity asking “hey do you want to exist” no we’re just fucking thrown into this universe whether we like it or not. 

how can America claim we have the “right to Life, Liberty, and Happinwess” when the very system that its foundations are built on prevents anyone who doesn’t fit society’s narrative from acquiring said rights? 

people like to complain about the economy and say that if people were to get food, water, etc. for free it would fuck up finances or whatever. but like... how much of a heartless monster do you have to be to suggest that we should just let people starve because your thousand dollar salary might get lowered a bit? how fucking selfish do you have to be to think that?

and then there’s the fact that there’s this assumption that if food, water, shelter, etc. didn’t have to be paid for that people would get greedy. bro people are ALREADY greedy and this system is only making it worse because we’re always competing on the basis of who gets the most money is considered the most successful which leads to people caring more about a paper with a number on it that only has value because we, humans, gave it that value, than other actual human beings. we’re a social species. we’re meant to work together. it shouldn’t be like this. 

also, there’s such a thing as rationing? sure, that might have led to starvation back on the fucking Mayflower or whatever, but it’s 2019! we’re in the space age for god’s sake! scientists are figuring out how to make lab grown meat! and if GMOs, which are essentially the same process as what humans did to turn wolves into dogs but with more sciencey technology involved, were less stigmatized and more legal, we could feed so so many homeless or orphaned people! we would have enough food so that at the very least MOST people might not starve! its not like we subsist off of one food, either. there’s hundreds of different fruits and vegetables, hell there’s different kinds of grapes and that’s just one fruit! there’s meat, there’s snack food, there’s chocolate, I could go on for days. the point is we have access to more food than we did back in the 1970s or whenever the fuck. rationing wouldn’t be as deadly as it was back then. 

and like?? to imagine that all of humanity would be greedy enough to take all of those resources away from people who need it is just plain bullshit. i know for a fact if i was eating a tomato, for example and some starving person came up to me ribs visible and everything i’d give them the rest of my tomato and probably some more of them that i wasn’t going to eat that day as well. not everyone is as individualistic as y’all people spouting these arguments make it out to be. how about instead of demonizing a more accessible system you call out people who are being selfish. how about instead of discouraging this kind of thing you actually encourage people to be generous Karen? how about you stop demonizing being a decent human being?     

tl;dr Capitalism is bullshit. If you need more of an argument than “it benefits the rich and disenfranchises the poor,” read the whole post instead of scrolling past it.                 

[feyrytale]

Bit of a spicy take ahead regarding the economy.

Jfc. People are getting bold...

I just watched a dude stuff his pants with veggie seed packages, looking me right in the eye while doing so, then proceed to try and leave without paying despite me following him to the register. Like bro. You KNOW i saw you.

And then he throws a fit when I call him out... The entitlement...

He should have been thanking me for not calling the police because that's technically company policy along with an instant ban across all stores. After the way he cussed me out I kinda regret it...

The current recession is really having people justify breaking the law.

Guess what bitch, our company recently closed one of our inner-city locations because keeping it open wasn't feasible anymore due to the combination of stagnating sales thanks to people not being able to spend as much money anymore and insane amounts of losses due to stuff going missing...

Who's hurting? Not the company, they don't care. They just cut costs to stay in the green.

But the people who are now out of a job? That did nothing to deserve this happening to them and were literally just trying to get by like all of us?

THEY care.

Their families care.

I'm by no means a defender of capitalism but legit, I see so many shitty takes regarding corporations and how hurting sales is good or whatever and it makes me so fucking mad. It really shows that the average person on the Internet has no clue at all how companies run, how prices are set and how finances are managed. Absolutely infuriating.

Block me, get mad, I don't care.

I personally know some of the folks affected and trust me, if you had to listen to a fresh father of three telling you in a horribly depressed, deadpan tone how he now has to move his family into a tiny apartment out of the city so they can survive on the state funds his wife is still getting after giving birth you would feel the same way.