#but also fitting for the year this show came out in
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retroaria · 2 days ago
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hiiii >.< i saw ur event and RAN to make a request... could i request the dialogue “I do love you, you know…even if i’m shit at showing it.” with rinnie (i wouldve chosen him even if u didnt ask for it because it fits him SO well and i love him dearly) with a fem reader?? i hope i understood everything right and thank u in advance!!!!! take care (⁠ ⁠/⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠)⁠/⁠♪⁠♪
yaaaay rin brainrot!!! thank you sm for requesting!! :)
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⋆.˚⟡ Rin Itoshi x fem!reader ⋆.˚⟡
a/n: so many people requested this one! this is very soft and fluffy, i hope you all enjoy :)
˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗
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“Do I remind him? I feel like I shouldn’t have to but I also feel like he just isn’t the type to care about superficial things so maybe I should just-” you were cut off by a rather striking groan on the other end of the line.
“For the love of god, just tell him! He probably doesn’t even know it’s something you’d get so worked up about.” your best friend protested to you over the phone. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? If he feels bad then good, he should be a better boyfriend. And if he gets mad then RUN!”
“Oh my god you’re so dramatic, neither of those will happen. We’re both off today so I’m not gonna say anything, I just want to enjoy my day with him and not make it a big deal.” you sighed out, trying to be content despite the subtle stab to your heart. “I’ll text you later ok? Byeee!”
As soon as you hung up the phone you found yourself prancing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, your eyes falling on the subtly slouched figure of your boyfriend standing over the kitchen counter. He was making a smoothie as he does every morning - strawberry, banana, protein powder - average boring Rin activities, unfortunately not appropriate for today’s occasion.
You’ve skillfully avoided much interaction with him since you both got out of bed, and at this moment you realized you aren’t sure if you could enter a normal conversation with him in your frantic state. Instead of blurting out the first thing that came to your mind which was, “TODAY IS KIND OF OUR ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY AND YOU TOTALLY HAVEN’T SAID ANYTHING ABOUT IT SO I FEEL LIKE MAYBE YOU HATE ME!”, you decided to go with something casual, so you say, “Mmm, protein powder”
“What…?” Rin turns around to face you and raises his eyebrow at you, looking more concerned than confused. It quickly dawned upon you that you were in fact not looking or sounding cool, calm and collected right now.
“It uh…looks like a yummy smoothie!” you hoped deep down that your girlish charms could save you from deepening the awkwardness of an awkward situation with the most awkward guy you know. You twirl around on your feet a bit with your hands behind your back, flashing him a warm smile.
“Are you having a stroke?” Rin asks, and he’s being fully serious by the way. Was everything impossible with this guy? You begin to ask yourself how you’ve managed to survive a full year of his cluelessness, but then you remember you should probably respond before he actually thinks you’re having a stroke.
“No Rin I’m not having a stroke I'm just trying to start a conversation, jeez.” you snap at him with an attitude that must’ve come from the punch of him not falling for your attempt at cute girlie gestures. Rin sighs and turns his attention back to the blender. Great, now you’re sitting in the kitchen with him in silence except the blender is obnoxiously loud which somehow makes it all the more awkward. Finally it stops and he pours the smoothie out into two cups, setting one down on the table in front of you as he leans back against the counter with his in hand.
Two cups? He never does that. Is this his way of showing he remembered? Is this one of many sweet little gestures he’ll deliver to you throughout the day before the big anniversary surprise? Your wishful thinking is practically bulldozed as Rin opens his mouth.
“There’s something wrong and you aren’t telling me.” he states, his deadpan expression felt like it was slicing you up into little pieces. Rin knew you well enough to know that you were holding out on him, and he was having a silent little panic attack of his own at the moment.
“Nope! Nothing, what could possibly be wrong?” you said nervously. A part of you knew that you could hide your feelings better than this, but the thought that he might pickup on your feelings and somehow read your mind kept you on your toes.
“Was I supposed to take you somewhere today?” he asks, tilting his head at you slightly.
“Like I said, it’s nothing!” you chuckle, it’s a weird chuckle though, definitely not soothing Rin’s worries at all.
He flashes you an odd look, his eyes are narrowed and he’s pouting slightly, almost like he literally is trying to read your mind. He chugs the rest of his smoothie and makes his way over to you. His expression turns back to his usual plain face and he lifts your chin slightly before placing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m going to the gym ok? I’ll be back in a few hours and then we can hang out, I promise.” he coos at you before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.
He left before giving you anymore time to embarrass yourself with your incomprehensible ramblings - he’s a smart boy. That sweet moment coupled with the promise of quality time together was almost enough to make you forget whatever grudge you were holding against him. However, it wasn’t enough to fight off how shitty it feels to not have your boyfriend there on your anniversary.
You spent the next two hours frantically preparing yourself for Rin’s return. Rin spent the next two hours not going to the gym and driving around aimlessly because he totally lied about that as an excuse to think of a way to make it up to you. While he was blending his smoothie before, he let his eyes wander to the calendar you had hanging on your fridge door - today’s date was highlighted with little green heart. The pieces clicked in his head rather quickly, and instead of speaking up and saving you from your nervous ramblings, he took the opportunity to think up a surprise.
Rin is awful at surprises, not to mention he also isn’t the most creative guy. He ultimately decided it was pointless for him to think so hard about it when he could just go home and apologize. He swallowed his pride and stopped at a flower shop before making his way back, after all, who better to help him decide how the day should be spent than his partner in crime - you!
By the time you heard the front door of your apartment open you were barely half dressed and still losing your mind a bit. Somehow Rin’s two hour gym session turned into forty five minutes and your anxiety was at an all time high. You threw on the closest pieces of clothing you could find and walked out of your bedroom to see him standing in the hallway with a bouquet of flowers and a rather pouty look on his face.
“Hey…so uh, I saw the calendar before…I know I kind of forgot about our anniversary…and uh…I'm really sorry.” he said as he held the bouquet out towards you. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze. You took the flowers from his hands and let out a sigh of relief.
“I was so worried all morning you wouldn’t remember.” you said as you smelled the flowers with a content smile on your face.
“I was so worried you were going to kill me for forgetting.” Rin looked down at you, his pout still lingering as he relaxed a bit, seeing you weren’t so upset with him. “This is just the first year you know, I’ll have like fifty more chances to remember after this.” he chuckled.
“You think we’ll be together for that long?” your eyes widened and you beamed up at him.
“probably.” he said slyly, taking the bouquet from your hands and setting it on the table. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him, his hands moving up to cup your face softly. “I do love you, you know…even if I'm shit at showing it.”
“I know, I love you too.” you cooed at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tender kiss.
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dividers by: @toastray
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pinkprettycure · 3 days ago
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remembered this post i made on twt the other day so im saying it again here bc i seen ppl say wrong things about magical girls
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The genre being overwhelmed with deconstructions after Madoka? Didn't happen. I checked the majority of shows that came out afterward were the same as always and ppl only perceive it because they started paying attention to dark magical girls. genuinely though aside from fucking, MG Site and Raising Project (and MGRP both from what i know has MORE knowledge of the genre than Madoka and also quite literally came out way too soon after for it to be possible as a "copy"). You guys just went right back to not paying attention to the genre.
The brainwashed evil form? Like maybe 4 shows do it. it's barely a thing.
Magic by birth (ie princesses) or chosen by god/earth/destiny is significantly more common than ordinary girls like Precure's being totally ordinary was kind of one of it's main gimmicks for years
The mysterious protector love interest (A La Tuxedo Mask and Blue Knight) can be counted on one hand and falling in love with the alter ego even less so. that's something I associate primarily with mermaid melody 😭 Maybe oldschool style MGs where the girl becomes older has it but it's hardly taken any seriously
Strict sentai-style color coding didn't get popular until the 2000s and even tho ppl cite her as an example, Sailor Moon's team didn't really do it either (Usagi isn't pink or red her outfit is primarily blue, there's like... two characters who wear blue besides her, arguably three. like...)
Color coded personality types are hardly a thing either and 99% of the time you're just thinking of One Single Character and assuming all characters under that color are the same. Like "Blues are always the smart, shy, and gentle type" when we have Mew Mint, Aiko, Hanon, Sayaka, Umi, Even Talia who fits the smart girl trope isn't much of a "introverted gentle" girl. even WITHIN PRECURE there is no "rule" for color personalities: Berry, Marine, Beat, Princess, Gelato, Cosmo, La Mer, and Sky all exist and again like, Aqua is less ~shy and gentle~ and more of a cold and stern person. If like over half the girls within the supposed "color archetype" don't fit it then it was never a rule to begin with. You just assume every blue is supposed to be like Ami.
And what is the "green" personality? What is the yellow trope? People just started retroactively assigning purple girls the "redeemed evil villain" and "mysterious sad girl" archetypes but a LOT of dark/redeemed MGs are black or red and a lot of purples are just as likely to be like, snobby or arrogant or smarty pants types? Like they come up with a girl and then flip a coin on whether she's blue or purple lmaosdfosfafd
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tomorrowxtogether · 1 day ago
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SOOBIN: “I thought I should just try to shine as I am.”
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TOMORROW X TOGETHER The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback interview
2024.11.11
He once strived to become a lush, towering forest. But he realized that people will love him for exactly what he is—a deep, rolling ocean. And so, he decided to remain as whom he always has been: an ocean named SOOBIN.
You took a trip to Vietnam earlier this year with BEOMGYU. I heard you planned the whole thing. SOOBIN: I’m usually the kind of person who just goes around without a real plan, but since we don’t get much vacation time, I figured we’d better go all out and do everything we could in one go, so I tried planning it all out. (laughs) BEOMGYU just wanted to go with the flow, but there was a ton of stuff I wanted to do.
I’m sure it’s not easy taking a trip or spending your off time with the same people you spend all your time with. SOOBIN: I hang out a lot with the rest of the group on my own time too, though. Three of us were all hanging out together just yesterday. To be perfectly honest, it doesn’t feel like anything special since we’re always together 365 days a year, but I’m also most comfortable around them for the same reason.
Sometimes people start bickering with each other when they get too comfortable with one another, but you’re always so kind—like how you gifted BEOMGYU with a nap in that “The Perfect Way to Rest” video when you remembered he was feeling tired. SOOBIN: I think I’m good at picking up on things. I don’t know if I can do it with everyone, but at least with the other members of the group, I’m pretty good at telling how they’re feeling or if they’re not feeling well. As soon as I see one of them, I can tell, Oh, he looks a little rough today, or, He’s sure in a good mood today. (laughs) If they seem down, I go over to them to find out what’s wrong and talk it over.
Your kindness also comes across when you’re with animals, like in the “OUR TOMORROW” video, where you took care of one dog who was so nervous that it didn’t get a chance to eat any treats. Have you always been drawn to people and creatures that are small and left out? SOOBIN: So, so much. In fact, I was really shy and struggled to fit in when I was a trainee. I was really lonely at first. So when time passed and I finally got accustomed to things, if I saw another trainee who was shy and couldn’t adjust, I felt like looking out for them. Kai was among them. (laughs) That’s how I ended up becoming really close with him.
You talked about the cat your sister adopted recently, explaining how it used to be shy because it had a hard life in the past but that it finally opened up this year. SOOBIN: I went to see the cat when my sister first got it, but I couldn’t even see it that first time—it just hid under the couch. It was so shy that I thought I’d never get to pet it, but the last time I saw it, it came right up to me and started purring, wanting to be petted. It was able to overcome its painful past and open up to my family thanks to all the love they show looking after it. Love really does have the power to change anything. (laughs)
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You also said on weverse LIVE recently that you made a new friend who you can talk about dramas, movies, and books with. SOOBIN: For me, dramas and movies don’t end with watching them—after you’re done watching, that’s when things are just getting started. I always look up reviews and analyses online. People can watch the same thing and they’ll all have their own thoughts on it, so I’m curious about all those different views, and now I have someone to talk about that with. They know a lot more about books and movies than I do, so I end up learning a lot when we’re sharing our thoughts together. Just having a friend to share my interests with is really fun.
You mentioned talking about Inside Out 2, and you looked at how it features a place to store things you’ve heard that you want to keep for a long time, which got you thinking about what sort of things you would want to hold onto. SOOBIN: I kept recalling things my friends say after we hang out—things like, “SOOBIN, I’m so happy we’re friends,” and, “I feel great whenever I’m with you.” Hearing things like that really touches my heart. Seriously, how often do you get to hear things like that in life? I used to find expressing things like that awkward and weird, but thanks to my friends, I’m getting used to saying I love and appreciate people. You empathized with how Anxiety works harder and feels more anxious than others because they want to be good at things. Are there things you feel you should work harder at than other people? SOOBIN: I’m actually slower at learning choreography compared to the other members. I assumed I’d get a lot better after debuting and regularly performing onstage, but progress was slower than I expected. I didn’t say anything about this before, and I even kept it a secret from the other members, but I actually got separate choreo lessons on the side when we were doing “Chasing That Feeling” and “Deja Vu.” We’d take lessons as a group, and then once I was alone I’d always spend about an hour dancing and working on the little details. I tried so hard with those two most recent songs that I even practiced on my own like that. Seeing as I’m slow, I have to work harder to keep up with the other members. If I have more time, I want to practice more for this comeback, too.
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With all the touring you’ve done and the encore performances you have coming up, it must’ve been really hectic getting ready for your Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback. SOOBIN: The schedule was really tight this time around—we even had to record vocals in Japan in the middle of the tour since we were in and out of the country—but now that we’re in our sixth year, the five of us were all really fast about things. I could sense that we had grown compared to before since we were faster at recording than we could’ve expected to be in the past and it took us less time to work out the details of the choreography.
The album’s subtitle, SANCTUARY, is a word that’s appeared in TOMORROW X TOGETHER albums before. What’s been your sanctuary these days? SOOBIN: I never used to have a sanctuary, which made getting through tough times hard, but I do now: simple things like working out or reading. It feels like the things that break me away from overthinking and let me immerse myself in something else are my sanctuary.
You were complimented on your previous promotions for your improved vocals and high notes. What about on this album? SOOBIN: Actually, every other album we’ve done had a song in a genre I wasn’t confident in, but not this time. The single “Over The Moon” is really laid-back, and I felt like it was perfect timing for us to try out a song like that. What’s unfortunate is that I caught this horrendous cold during recording. We started practicing for live performances recently, and the director said, “SOOBIN’s singing better than he did when recording. He makes it sound effortless.” So I couldn’t help but think about how much better I could’ve done if only my throat had been in better shape.
You always focus a lot on lyrics. Were there any on this album that have stuck with you in particular? SOOBIN: This album isn’t so much about telling some big, sweeping story as it is about everything we’ve been through together. Now that we’ve been through all that chaos, it’s about the universal emotion of love, which everyone can relate to, and I liked that about it. There’s a line in “Higher Than Heaven” that sticks with me that goes, “I think I kinda get what forever means now.” I even once said, “I never used to believe in the word ‘forever,’ but I think I can now, thanks to our fans.” I didn’t write that part, but it’s like it was written to perfectly capture my feelings.
The other members have probably had an impact on your belief in the word “forever,” too. SOOBIN: I’m pretty sure we’re going to grow old together and that we’ll be together till the day I die. We do the same thing and basically live the same life day in and day out, so we know what makes each other cry the most during concerts, too. Whether it’s my tears of happiness or BEOMGYU’s tears of disappointment from a leg injury, having friends to understand and share those feelings with is nice. They’re all just really kind people—calm and clear, like a stream. None of us is domineering or splashing around, disturbing the peace, and nobody’s dirtying the water, so I think we’ll be able to stick together for a long, long time.
You said before that you had found being onstage tough while touring. Now that you’ve already wrapped up your third world tour, do you still find that to be the case? SOOBIN: I think I’m getting better over time. I still can’t say that I completely enjoy myself, but the worries I used to have before going onstage have gone away entirely. There used to be times where I found it hard to watch myself onstage because I didn’t like how I looked, but now I see myself up there and I think I look cool. (laughs)
The way you have a different outfit on for every sound check when you’re on tour is definitely cool. SOOBIN: For fans who come even though they’re busy, showing up hours before the concert just to wait, doing it purely out of love, I wanted to be more stylish, so I bought a lot of clothes just for sound checks. The glasses-plus-cardigan combo was something I bought in advance for summer, and the reaction from the audience was amazing! They showed me on the big screen and MOA was screaming their lungs out—like, not the usual “wow,” but, “aah!” Like shock and awe. (laughs) I was worried I went overboard with the look, but they showed they liked it, so I was happy.
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There’s no way not to bring up your cover of the Choi Yu Ree song “Forest” when talking about you. You said that the people around you are like tall trees in a forest and that you thought you’re one of them, but that you figured out you’re actually more like the ocean. SOOBIN: It’s easy to find people around me who are better looking and sing and dance better than I do. I actually started thinking about that at Lollapalooza. The other members looked so happy and like they were having so much fun onstage, but I couldn’t. I felt eaten up inside seeing myself not being able to fully enjoy it because of all the pressure. Then I heard Choi Yu Ree explaining that “Forest” is about feeling like you’re not good enough and I thought, “Ah, so that’s what I’ve been going through.” I started to understand my emotions a little bit better. Everyone ends up comparing themselves to others at some point in their lives—it’s unavoidable. And they have times where all they can see are the things they hate about themselves, but it’s ridiculous. I was overflowing with negative feelings when I was working on my “Forest” cover, and I wanted to sort of deal with those feelings and express them.
The music video echoes your thoughts that someday you’ll come to shore and become one with the forest. What does the forest mean to you? SOOBIN: Just being a singer who’s good at singing and dancing, interacting with my fans, enjoying performing, and being able to do it all with complete sincerity. I think I was showing how the forest to me means being happy with the other members when they’re happy. Nothing big—just simple things I’m not always that good at.
Do you feel more like a forest now that some time has gone by? SOOBIN: Umm … I saw a ton of comments from fans after I covered “Forest.” My mindset when I was doing it was, Right now I’m like the ocean, but I’ll become a part of the forest just like you guys—so wait for me until then. But once I saw what fans were writing, I changed my mind and thought, Do I really need to become a part of the forest? I could be similar to the forest, but I don’t have to change myself to be one. My fans kept saying, “The whole reason we liked you in the first place is because you’re like the ocean, not because we hoped you’d become like a forest. If that were the case, we’d like somebody else. Why do you think it was you?” The ocean comes with its own perks, you know. You need to have some ocean near a forest to add to the scenery and have more things to do. Now I think maybe I tried too hard to fit in by trying to be like the forest. Now I feel like I can shine bright just by being myself.
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That lines up with what you recently said in an interview you did in Japan when you said that your 20s, the best and most energetic time of life, are dazzling and fun thanks to knowing MOA. What do you think you’ll see when you look back on this youthful period of your 20s? SOOBIN: Joy. Every moment of our lives is packed with good times and bad times, joy and sorrow, but in the end, I think, I’m on a path towards joy. Even things that are so agonizing that you want to die—so bad you feel like the whole world is against you, and so bad you’re certain they’re weighing on you forever, eventually pass.
Doesn’t it almost feel funny sometimes, looking back after all that? (laughs) SOOBIN: Yes. It ends up feeling so trivial somehow. Things that felt massive at the time are like a speck in the distance once you get even a little space between them and yourself. Even after all the hardship I went through being a trainee, I can look back now and see there were a lot of good times. Maybe we tend to romanticize the past a bit? (laughs) Even some of the stuff I’m going through now can be tough, to be honest, but I’m never going to give up. There’s still so much I want to give. The amount of joy I derive from doing this is way higher than the amount of difficulty. I think my life’s amazing, even right now.
So amazing. (laughs) SOOBIN: I think so too! (laughs) As time goes on and I get older, when I look back on my youth, my time with TOMORROW X TOGETHER, I wonder if it’ll look that much more shiny and amazing. Maybe I’ll feel I was even cooler at this time than I feel I am now.
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owl-it-here · 2 days ago
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AU idea - One Piece #1
So I was thinking about this fic I read about a year ago (or re-read it?) -> Luffy was raised as a marine and makes it everyone's problem [An amazing read - I recommend checking it out]
And I really like the idea behind it. Using skills that may have been learned before is always cool, especially if there's a chance that they may be canonical. More than that, I think we should go even further.
So far, we don't know enough about Brook and Jinbe's childhoods to make any assumptions (so I won't touch on them in any depth here - but they are both experienced in diffrent ways), but most of them, to put it mildly, had rather difficult childhoods. And that made them perfectly specialised in the areas they chose to remain safe and survive. Moslty had one mentor or were raised by themselves. All except Luffy and Sanji, if you think about it.
The education system in the OP sucks, just like the real one. But the difference in knowledge and experience should be used as an advantage to make comedy out of this tragedy.
Nami had Bellemere, who probably gave her a basic education. She later self-taught herself out of curiosity and a desire to survive. Her time in the Arlong crew gave her more problems than opportunities to learn (but she may have picked up a few tricks here and there).
Zoro studied in the dojo. He had one sensei, one slightly more experienced rival and one older one to talk to. (Definitely not enough but it sure gave him his rather unique perspective).
Usopp only had his mum. Later, maybe some villagers helped him a bit, or Kaya to thank for the stories - but he is also mostly self-taught.
Chopper studied only under two doctors, and neither of them was sane. Maybe some reindeer instincts from his herd passed on to him before he ate the devil's fruit (but he was young, and later under stress so).
Robin grew up on an island full of scholars, but is still mostly self-taught. And apart from her special interests, everything she learned was from survivalism (so a PhD in history (and related stuff) and random knowledge, if I had to guess - well she's clever enough to learn/teach herself more if need be).
Franky, as far as we know, studied technical fields. We don't know enough about him before he came under Tom's wing, but we can assume that most of his knowledge comes from those years. (He created his own little mafia family, but we don't really know if he learned from anyone how to manage it or not).
And then we have Luffy and Sanji.
Luffy had a grandfather who tried to teach him to be a marine and to fight. Makino taught him the basics (and attempted manners). Dadan and her gang showed him by their example how to be a good bandit. Shanks and his crew taught him the basics of being a good pirate. And of course his brothers, taught him how to be a real jungle kid and a few tricks. And all this probably gave him quite mixed signals - especially with his logic.
And finally Sanji. As a prince born to a scientist (an evil sperm donor, but still the person responsible for his education, who probably with his big ego believed that his children even without modification should be as brilliant as he was) Sanji certainly had some sort of super special royal education (which he tried to perfect because it was probably easier than a physical test and he wanted to fit in somehow). He learned manners, politeness and most of all kindness from his mum. How to cook, fight and be a pirate from Zeff. And probably a few other cooking and odd skills from the various chefs he met over the years on both the Orbit and the Bartie. Working in the kitchen is conducive to conversation.
So I've come to the conclusion that I want to read a fic where both Luffy's and Sanji's upbringing has a greater impact on the strawhats' journey. Yes, I want Luffy to occasionally use his random nautical knowledge to help them escape or get something. (Like the author used it to save Ace, but also to help Robin faster etc.). Someone should also note that the style in which he manages his crew is similar to the bandits. Or they should meet some on the way and only Luffy should know how to behave to be respected. I also want Sanji to talk more about things that pirates should know. Or even about political stuff. (Robin could add more too, but Sanji has a slightly different perspective on it than she does.) Even if he doesn't want to talk about his past, the excuse that he knows everything from Zeff works and is practically undeniable, because no one on the crew knows what he went through as a pirate.
It would have been fun to see Luffy explain to his crew why this marine is bad news, but the other one isn't so bad because his grandfather likes him or something. Or if Sanji, after fighting for Nami's freedom, had stopped and asked the crew if any of them knew a bit of hooks (and Luffy realised that Garp was trying to teach him that - but, as standard, he didn't explain just went on to practice-torture).
Bonus if the only person who can immediately use this random information is Zoro. Who on everything just says: it sounds just about right. Because it perfectly balances the Monster Trio in this way.
This could also be a good idea for a larger crew fic. After the whole situation with Nami, the crew starts talking about heading to the Grand Line and a dialogue like this ensues between them: Sanji: so where are we looking for the other members? The others: We are not looking? Sanji: And what about the watch? Grand Line is very unpredictable. Since you knew some pirates Luffy, I'm sure they talked about it…. Luffy: They told super cool stories! Sanji: Then how do you think we'll be able to have a night shift with just five of us? With such a small number of people, especially with no medic on board, it will affect my cooking….
And let's not kid ourselves but the food argument has a pretty good chance of working.
Luffy: Setting out I thought having 10 members would be ideal! Sanji: For influencing the Grand Line - sure - to just look for them there with the unpredictability and adventures waiting for us there - there aren't enough of us now. We need a few more hands and a pair of eyes.
And honestly this conversation probably doesn't affect Luffy that much, he continues to be as picky about selecting his nakamas as he was in canon, but maybe enough that they select perhaps 3 more people for the lineup. Which allows us to stay fairly ok with the storyline and right away adds diversity and some power. Which may have made some of the arks funnier because we have more room to play. (This Bites! makes it look like a good idea).
I call this idea: Luffy was brought up as he was, and that makes it everyone's problem, but it is Sanji's existence that makes everyone else question it - Zoro you should have a bigger problem with that!
In a nutshell: The gray cells are working!
If anyone ever uses it, PLEASE tag me - I want to devour it in every form. I probably could have outlined it better, but well it's just an idea.
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starlightmoon96 · 3 days ago
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Yandere TFP Ratchet x female human reader(Gundam model builder nerd) pt.3 final
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(warning slight smut/ forced agreement/ one side delusional toxic relationship)
So many things where going threw your mind, the moment that Ratchet confessed that he had feelings for you. Wasn't something you where expecting, after all he was a completely different species from you and never in a million years would you think that someone like Ratchet would end up developing feelings for an organic especially a human. Now because of the Synth-En it had corrupted Ratchet's personality, him telling you how he repressed and ignored his feelings towards you in wanted to see you as just a human like with the children. The more he took the Synth-En the more obsessed he became of you to the point where he accepted that he fell in love with an organic and that organic being you.
Which was situation you where in now, the Syth-En completely took control over Ratchet and now you where at his mercy, you didn't know what Ratchet was going to do next. There was no way to call for help when all the autobots even the great Optimus where drugged up because of Ratchet, you didn't know where he was taking you. By the time you had finished processing what had happened Ratchet had taken you to his room, you had been curious with how the bots lived but never bothered looking in there rooms since you respected there privacy.
"I want to show you something (Y/N)...something I've been secretly working on." You didn't know what was going to happen next but you where to scared to move when Ratchet put you down, you wanted to run since the door was open but he thought ahead and closed the door before he walked over to his privet work space. Your attention was now on a type of strange devise that Ratchet had pulled out that looked like it would fit on ones wrist, you didn't know if it was meant for you or not.
"I wanted to get closer to you, that's when I came up with THIS." That's when Ratchet had put the devise on his wrist and activated it, before you knew it Ratchet's size had changed from a normal cybertronian height to now of over 6ft. Though his new size reminded you of a SD model
"What did you do?" You questioned that to Ratchet not believing what you had seen as he approached you
"Mass displacement, something like it wasn't necessary before." Out on instinct you didn't even realize that you where walking backwards until you felt your back hitting the closed door, before you knew it Ratchet slammed both of his hands on the door trapping you in place.
"Now it is necessary." After he said that you flinched feeling his hand placed on your waist and pulled you close to him with your back pressed against his chest and both of his arms wrapped around your waist, you where too scared to protest seeing how unstable he was and now that he had shrunk his size you didn't want his harming you.
Before you said anything you stopped yourself, feeling Ratchet's hands move up from your waist slowly and feeling his mouth near the back of your neck.
"I wasn't aware this is how humans felt."
"Ahh...Ratchet? W-What are you doing?" Words finally reached your mouth, you where both scared and worry with what he was doing with you. Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse you felt your blood going cold upon feeling his hands on both sides of your chest with a slight firm grip, in those horrible moments for you was when Ratchet purposed a deal with you. Well more like a threat than a deal in your point of view, his deal was his undying love and affection. In return for his love you couldn't say a word to anyone, not even there human allies. Along with keeping your distance from Optimus as much as possible, you also took his threats seriously as well knowing his threats where true after he had put the rest of the autobots in a type of deep stasis.
As much as you didn't want too but you had no choice but to agree with Ratchet's demands...thus was the start of your forced relationship with a alien/robot, it felt like walking on eggshell with Ratchet with his mental state. It was also your first time in a toxic relationship as well.....or a one side since you didn't see Ratchet as a romantic partner as soon as the agreement took place. Even after the Syth-En wore off he acted the same as when he was on it, in front of the others he acted like his usual self. But when he was just the two of you when he would sneak out of the base and showing up at your apartment using his mass displacement devise in entering your apartment, that's when he would change. Whispering words of love to you that made your skin crawl and unwanted fondling in showing his affection for you was something you didn't like and worse was that you couldn't say or protest about it, the worse part was that you could date anyone either. Ratchet had threatened to harm any human that tried to make advances with you or going behind his back abs cheat on him, in his eyes you were his spark mate and didn’t want to share you.
The only thing you where happy about was him not destroying your gundam models or making you stop building either
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wildlyfreemoon · 3 months ago
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s4 of twd... the governor is back... my enemy
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lilybug-02 · 7 months ago
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Eimmet High...temmiE high. OMG!
Part 28 || First || Previous || Next...(Hiatus)
--Full Series--
Next update may take...much longer! I have finals and an internship and not to mention I have to draw- A LOT :')
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whatudottu · 1 year ago
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Bestie I have got to tell you Mal TD totally listens to the Shadow the Hedgehog OST, and depending on the Total Drama timeline it would literally be perfect timing like- you can’t tell me this edgy teen nerd didn’t see a Sonic character with a gun and DIDN’T think it was cool, come on!
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moonscape · 1 month ago
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beginning to think minnie might be stupid
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nightacquainted · 4 months ago
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youtube
Fan video for the episode "Arabesque" from the 80s TV show Beauty and the Beast
#beauty and the beast 80s#{this video shows some important parts of the ep and the description the poster wrote is useful for those who haven't seen it at all}#{this episode was one of the rougher ones for me for sure}#{because there are no two ways about it... vincent definitely assaulted lisa}#{and it was so out of character for him but it also fit so well with these instincts he sometimes can't control}#{this was one of those times where you couldn't quite feel as sorry for him as you wanted to because... nah dude what you did was wrong}#{but at the same time it was such a deviance from his normal behavior}#{and lisa's behavior was odd as well}#{she seemed to like vincent's attention and to keep him interested but didn't have the same feelings for him and kept him at arm's length}#{which was kindof cruel to keep stringing him along}#{then she came back years later as if nothing had happened and everything was the same between them while he's actively keeping distance}#{i honestly found that as uncomfortable as what he did to her}#{lisa was a weird chick for me i dunno heh}#{but regardless... the way vincent internalized this incident and let it define him as a person for so many years was heartbreaking}#{the way he steps back away from lisa in that one scene starting at 2:24... ugh my heart... he's trying so hard not to repeat his past}#{i love that healing moment when he's finally telling catherine about this shame he's held for years}#{and she responds with no fear and no judgement... just encouragement and love... kissing his hands that he feels can give only pain}#{and she says “these are *my* hands” as she holds his in hers... MY HEART}#{an emotional rollercoaster this ep was heh}
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camscendants · 1 year ago
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fingertipsmp3 · 3 months ago
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Now that I think about it last night’s dream really hit a bingo of recurring themes tbh
#i should say dream(s) because they really weren’t coherent and didn’t fit much of a narrative#like i think i woke up and fell asleep again at one point#so i had the dream i went on tinder and listed myself as having a flat butt. which is both uncalled for and true#at one point i dreamt i was at a remote house in scotland which.. i don’t know why but i’m ALWAYS dreaming that#had a dream my dad turned out to have been alive this whole time#he showed up 80 years old (which is how old he would be now) and told us the cia had faked his death and put him in witness protection#i was like and WHY would they not also take me#there’s a point at which dreaming that your loved one came back to life actually stops being sad and kinda starts to be funny depending#on the themes of the dream. like not always but sometimes#it’s something you never think will happen until it does#but he was a really funny old man in this dream#it’s been a while since i had the dream. i had one a while ago where he’d faked his death so he could go live with a different family#but then his new wife kicked him out so he moved back in with my mom and she didn’t seem to mind but i was PISSED#i also had a dream that i was doing a phd or something but my a-level english teacher was my professor/supervisor#and our scenarios were really chaotic and required me to make some kind of tomatoey tofu concoction#even in my dreams i crave academic validation and tofu#THEN i had a dream i accidentally texted p#which… can my subconscious leave him alone PLEASE it’s 2024. this does not need to be happening#i think reading my godawful diary from The Time Of P the other day dredged him up#it must’ve done because when i tell you i don’t think about this man day to day. i just don’t remember about him#he doesn’t even post on facebook. i don’t see him#so yeah we really hit every single recurring dream theme that i have last night#i never have full blown recurring dreams but i have themes#we really only missed out hamsters; me being on a doomed voyage or me being an unwanted house guest in a stupidly big house#personal
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foldingfittedsheets · 5 months ago
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I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.
I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.
This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.
Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.
But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.
Here’s who was on the dating roster:
• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.
• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.
• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.
And finally,
• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.
So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.
Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.
She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.
“Do you want it?”
“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”
But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.
So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.
I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.
I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!
What about the table?!
“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”
Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.
There on my doorstep. The table.
It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.
“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.
“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”
“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”
“Make me an offer.”
I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.
This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.
“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.
I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”
They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.
But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.
“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.
With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.
It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.
So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.
I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!
Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”
I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.
For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.
Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.
It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”
“Did you like it?”
“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”
My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.
Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.
“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”
“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.
So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.
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atrwriting · 2 months ago
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thinking about stripper reader with old man logan.
he came in every week or so — disheveled outfit and hair. he was older, sure — but not in the way most men his age looked. no — the years didn’t wear on him, but whatever he did that day did. his wrinkles weren’t deep, but the bags under his eyes were. his smile lines weren’t permanent, but the distant look in his eyes was. his bones didn’t crack because they were old, but because they were under too much stress. you couldn’t help it — you wanted to take that pain away.
no one wanted to approach him because he seemed to keep to himself — worried he was a creep or something. he was quiet, too — only speaking when he ordered a drink or another after that. he replied in nods or shakes of the head, and his eyes were always on the stage. despite the fact that he tipped well — no one bit.
you were feeling brave that day when you approached him. you kept it simple — black lace teddy, black lace thong, and black heels. hair bouncy with light makeup, hoping to keep the star of the show your eyes and smile. you knew he could see you out of the corner of his eye, and it threatened your confidence — but he had peaked your interest for too long for you to toss and stumble now.
“hey, handsome,” you spoke, keeping your tone light. “need another?”
he didn’t cock his head towards you, keeping his gaze in front. he swirled the small sip of whisky left in his glass, appearing to contemplate your question. after a moment, he responded, “dancers don’t take drink orders, darlin’.”
“no,” you spoke, laughing slightly. you bent at the hips, hoping to be lower than his eye line. “but they don’t when they give private dances — interested?”
“no, thanks.”
his voice was final — and even though you were disappointed, you didn’t want to push it. you stood then, taking a step back. “okay — i’ll send a waitress over.”
after working the room — it was your turn to take one of the side stages. you had your pick of which — but you decided to keep it as far away from the man as possible. if he didn’t want to be bothered, who were you to threaten a good tip? curiosity would not be killing the cat tonight — especially not when there was more money to be made.
a few men had gathered during your set, throwing a few dollar bills here and there as you swung your hips to the music. you had switched into a falls cowboys cheerleader outfit — white shorts, blue top, and white bra. cliche and overdone, but by the look of your tips — you couldn’t care less.
you also couldn’t care less when you noticed a set of eyes on you — the man’s.
he was unashamed in the way he stared at you. he had gotten another round at some point — but wasn’t drinking any of the contents. he simply gripped it tight as he stared at your swaying hips and perfect curves. you bit your lip at the thought of him regretting turning you away, the confidence intoxicating you. before the song ended, you made sure to lock eyes with him — letting you know that this was your stage and your body he was silently and secretly drooling over. when you sent a cheeky wink his way, he shook his head — downing his glass in an instant. you smiled when he stood from his seat, immediately darting for the “vip” lounge in the back that proudly boasted a sign that read “private dances.”
when you made your way into the back room, you were told that a certain someone had specially asked for you. once you made your way back there, you found what you were looking for.
“make me feel young again, darlin’.”
you couldn’t help but smile. he didn’t say it in an insecure way, but in a way that suggested that his day had been too long and too tiring.
“tell me how you like it?”
he didn’t say anything — he just watched you. his eyes never left yours as you flung off your top, exposing your breasts. he drank his entire glass of whisky before you had planted yourself on his thighs. the flesh of your ass was like to pillows, fit for his large hands. he didn’t touch you — but by how hard he gulped, you could tell he wanted to.
“touch me, sugar,” you whispered. “i won’t tell.”
there was hesitation in his eyes, but soon his gaze darkened. restraint had fallen through the cracks, gone and forgotten. was a shame he had already paid for the dance — you would’ve fucked him for free.
now it was time to make it worth his while.
the man beneath you ground your round hips down into his pelvis, groaning at the friction. he hadn’t seen peace or pleasure since never, but it held his facial feature hostage as his nostrils picked up on the scent of your arousal. warm, tangy juices that leaked through the lace in your panties onto the denim of his jeans.
“take off your pants,” you breathed. “i’ll remind you how young you are — if you promise you’ll show me the skill that only comes with age.”
he had you bent over the table, hands behind your back held by his belt. he planted two heavy feet next to each of your ankles, keeping your legs spread and ready for him. his thrusts were hard against the back of your hips as you only had the table’s edge to support you. you felt him repeatedly hit your cervix, wincing at the aggression.
“that’s not the spot, huh, darlin’?” he spat.
you stayed silent — wanting to see how he reacted.
“i can feel it — resistance,” he grunted. “that sweet pussy needs more, doesn’t she?”
his hard, calloused hands rotated your hips so the tip of his cock repeatedly began to smack into the softest and gummiest part of your inner walls. a moan ripped through you like no other — your back arching upwards as your hips desperately tried to meet his thrusts.
“there it is — that’s it, darlin’. come on, fight back.” you could feel the rough skin of his finger tips dig up and into your pelvis, welcoming the pressure. one of his hands moved underneath you — hauling your hips upwards — pressing against your lower abdomen. he could feel the outline of his cock fucking into your womb, stuffing you full. “i can feel how deep you’re takin’ it, darlin’ — pussy so greedy, ain’t she? — always wantin’ more? those young boys just ain’ it? i’ll take care of her, darlin’…”
you were a whining mess beneath him — practically incoherent. he could hear, smell, feel, taste everything you were feeling. he had every part of you in his hands — completely vulnerable to his mercy and touch. and when your hips started to shake — fighting with him and against him — all he could do was force them down as you took his cock. you whined and whine and whinedwhinedwhined for more until the glam makeup began to melt off your face.
the man watched as your body shook for him — him and only him. you found his wrist, holding onto it for dear life as you tired to anchor yourself. the pleasure was too much, causing your head to spin. you could feel the man rub the skin of your ass tenderly, coaxing you into your orgasm. your womb bloomed for him, wanting to suck him dry and never let him go. his groans were animalistic, filling the room as you begged him to fill your pussy. he smacked your ass once, twice, thrice before he pulled out and painted your back with his cum.
once he pulled out, you were still on your stomach on the table as you tried to catch your breath. he bent down to meet your eyes — a youthful glow on his face — before he pressed a kiss to your lips.
“you just ruined men my own age for me.”
“get your things, doll — takin’ you away from here.”
———
depravity - L xoxo lmk what u think ;)
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dunmesh · 9 months ago
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this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.
as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.
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and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.
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but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.
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so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.
but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.
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so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.
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gyuswhore · 2 months ago
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Statistically Speaking...
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part of the svt TA collab
kim mingyu x reader
word count: 21k
contains: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise [gyu gets his soul sucked while he's reciting statistical models I mean what]
words of conviction from @highvern: Kim Mingyu, total asshole , 1-800-HOT N DUMB , THEYRE IN LOVE MINGYU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOSER , sick fucking freak , i know when you wrote this you put your head in your hands , OHHHM YW GOD
synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.
[a/n]: this fic is set in the same universe as @highvern's wonu fic endpoint [read here!!!], some insight for wonu's pov is included here as is some of Mingyu's pov in cam's fic if you'd like to see more about what happens in the gaps!!
I want to start by thanking everyone who chose to be part of this collab fic and for being the reason cam and I were able to open up @camandemstudios in the first place. everyone's been so kind and cooperative and I still cant believe we managed to convince such amazing writers to join us on this collab journey 🥹 I love u guys
Thanking my wife camothy @highvern for brainstorming with me since day one and for betaing for me. @seokgyuu and @miabebe for also looking over the doc and reassuring me. I'm for sure forgetting someone and I'm really sorry about that, know that I appreciate you just as much 🤍
on that note, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, im HELLA nervous for some reason so plsplspls remember to reblog and send me feedback on how you liked it, I will love you forever <333
masterlist
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Monday
A normal person would’ve cried. Perhaps even sued the entire institution for all it was worth. Burn down the world, if it came to it. 
But as you stare at the tiny 37/100 on your screen, you feel…nothing. 
You could’ve said you saw it coming, which you did, but something about blaming someone else for an exam you took was beginning to feel a little manipulative. 
Clicking off the student portal, you huff loudly, five in the morning too early for you to begin breaking down over a grade that was completely unreflective of what you were taught. 
Or maybe it was, because as you count one, two, three hours till your dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, you can only hope you’ll hold back from spitting in your professor’s coffee. But alas, you can only shut your laptop harder than necessary for what it costs and push the grade out of your mind.
You were tired enough to sleep for a couple more hours, and you take it as an opportunity to spite the entire course by giving just as many fucks as your professor did.  
Which was little to none. 
That was a lie—on your part anyway. Because you continue to show up, and probably will until you can put this course and all of its trauma behind you. Even now as you feel the inclining beat of your pulse sitting in the white lecture hall, you know this is all but you versus the universe. 
Dr. Cho might as well have wheeled himself into the room on a skateboard with the way he struts into the room. 
He’s wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and jeans of a matching finish that do not fit him properly. There’s pins in every last colour on this earth, littering the front of his jacket with sayings that toe the silver controversial lining. There was one that said Vote for John F. Kennedy, another plain black one with I Eat Kids, and of course, the blaring Cunt written in cursive, pink sparkly letters. 
This man that’s pushing into his 60s stands before his slightly wilted class in his crocs, hands on his hips as he heaves a long breath. 
“I have to say, not the turn out I was expecting on that last report.”
He’s talking about the report you coincidentally failed, the same one you were pushed into with little to no direction and a deadline tighter than any you’ve had to bully yourself through. 
“All I can say is to read through the feedback I’ve given and try a little harder next time.” His voice is somewhere bordering comical exasperation. Feedback that consisted of sparing ‘?’’s and ‘no’’s with zero further explanation. He could say more, but you’ve learned that he simply chooses to not. 
Besides the man that drones in the front of the room, there’s another person in the other corner of the lecture hall. He’s hunched over a giant pile of papers, sifting through each and every one with a pen in his other hand. 
The TA doing a mundane task is somehow more interesting than whatever seminars of disappointment your professor was giving. He’s crossing something out on every single leaf of paper that he flicks through, and you vaguely wonder if those were today’s worksheets. 
“...and post hoc tests last week, we can start on Bayesian today. Mingyu will be handing out the tutorial papers.”
The poor TA looks like he thought he’d have more time, snapping his head up to look at the professor with an expression of pure incredulousness. He staggers for a moment before he’s flicking past the pages even faster somehow, striking out what seems like the same instruction in the giant pile of papers meant for an entire lecture hall. There’s a rustle as about a hundred laptops are being pulled out and booted up, waiting for the worksheets to land on the desks. 
You hear the familiar warble of papers being passed out and you watch as the TA pulls chunks of sheets out of the giant stack in his arms to slam down onto the front tables. 
“Pass it down, please… pass it down, please…”
There’s a voice that calls from one of the front seats, “What formula is the sheet talking about?”
Mingyu looks startled as he snaps back to look at the blaring empty whiteboard. In the midst of passing papers, you watch him sprint to the rolling whiteboards, pulling one of the giant flats of white over to the other side, the mechanism slamming into place with a louder than comfortable slam. It reveals another whiteboard underneath with the detestably long formula already written (and the one you’d have to figure out yourself).
 The professor remains with his chin in his hands behind his laptop, unphased. 
By the time you’ve registered the foreign symbols on the board, one of the tutorial papers has made it into your hands.
Sure enough, there’s a quick line across one of the steps with a thick black marker. 
Blinking hard, you attempt to pull yourself into the zone, staring at the white sheet with words that are barely stringing themselves together. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially as you lift your head to find hunched shoulders and furrowed brows all around. 
There’s one person that’s zipping back and forth, just like there always is. 
You watch as Mingyu hunches over certain laptops and whispers in rapid explanation before moving on to the next, a looming sense of dizziness that trails behind him as he shoots up the stairs to the back rows to help someone else. 
There’s a brief consideration to raise your own hand to ask for help, but one look at his disoriented gaze and the amount of hands that shoot up by the second, you guess it wasn’t going to help.
Back you go, hunched over the same wretched paper as everyone else, and praying for some divine revelation. 
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Tuesday
Divine revelation did not come to you, but the good sense to make use of office hours did. 
So here you are, a printed copy of your supposedly horrid assignment and a pack of multicolour pens in your tote, and determination in your stride, you make your way to the department building. 
You’ve double, triple, quadruple checked the times to ensure you don’t dip in at the wrong moment, swiping open your phone to re-check the room number yet again. 
Standing outside the door, you knock with mustered confidence, waiting for something akin to an affirmative from the other side of the door. 
Nothing. 
You knock again.
Silence. 
You glance around the empty hall before grasping onto the cool brass handle of the door, wrenching it open just a peep. Poking your head in, you find the room…empty.
The chairs and tables that usually buzz with discussing students lay barren as you step into the room. Moving to look at the front of the room, you inhale sharply as you realise the professor’s desk has been occupied this entire time. 
Except he’s asleep.
No, that’s not the professor. 
Moving closer, you watch the way his back rises and falls ever so slowly, head resting on his arm as his hand hangs limp off the table. Whipping your head around with more attention this time, you attempt to find an explanation written on the walls. But there’s none, even in the papers that litter the table he rests his head on.
You don’t need to see his face to know it’s the TA. But as you stand in the empty room, clutching the straps of your tote, you aren’t quite sure what to do. 
Another glance around the table and you realise his laptop remains on, the screen yet to sleep. Before the obvious issue of a blatant invasion of privacy can befall you, you take a step forward to take a peek. 
It’s his schedule, a million colours blaring on the screen in a colour coded regard with barely any white spaces. It doesn’t take long to find his time slot for right now, red with importance. 
Glancing down, the man remains fast asleep, pen still in hand as it inks a faint line on the page. You look around the room for the nth time, taking constant glances back at his laptop that tells you he’s actively missing something right now. Clearing your throat, you hunch over a tad bit. 
“Um, excuse me.” He hardly moves. So you try a little louder, hunching over his sleeping form even further. “Excuse me.”
You could’ve sworn you heard a snore. 
Out of instinct, you bring a hand forward to his shoulder, shaking ever so slightly as you call for him again. “Excuse me!”
There’s a sharp inhale and he shoots up quicker than you can back away, ensuring you get an entire back’s worth of force as he bumps into you, hard.
“Wh–ow!” The noise is collective, yelps and thuds as you both back away from each other. 
“W–what’re you doing here?” he asks, hair still ruffled and eyes barely open as he stands at the table. There’s a bright yellow sticky note on his right cheek, ink scribbled on in something you can’t decipher.
“Um, it’s office—”
His eyes land on the same screen you were peering into just before and it looks like his life flashes before his eyes, widening at the sight as he slams around the table looking for something. 
“I have to go,” he announces, gripping onto an unstrapped watch as he registers the time, his other hand shoving his laptop and a few papers into a dark messenger bag. 
“Wait, isn’t it still office hours?” you call out as he whizzes past you. 
He’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and half tripping to the door as he calls out, “Wednesdays and Thursdays.”
“But—”
“It’s on the portal.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it—” he pauses as he exhales loudly, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to rub across his tired face. “I’ll double check. But it’s Wednesdays and Thursdays from now on. You can wait till I get back if you really want help.”
“How—”
A loud slam! of the door. 
“—long…” 
You’re left draped in silence yet again, the echoes of the slammed door ringing in your startled ears. It all happened too fast for you to process, blinking rapidly as you registered that you were now alone in the room. 
He said he’d be back, but left you with no indication as to when. By the looks of his god awful schedule, it looked like he had something else to attend to right after whatever it was he buggered off to right now. 
Fingers clenched into a fist, you consider your options. You could wait, sit on one of the desks and try to get some work done until he gets back. 
The universe gives you your answer as the door opens with a loud creak in the empty lecture hall. It’s another professor who looks quite startled to find an overenthusiastic student already present for class. 
She stares before craning to look at the room number outside the door, “Am I in the right room?”
“Uh, yes! I was just leaving,” you buffer out, moving to shuffle out immediately. 
You’re halfway out the door when you hear another call of an “Excuse me!”
“Are these your papers?” The professor’s full arms are up as she gestures to the still littered table. 
The No is ready on your lips. Until it isn’t. 
Later on, you’d consider how you left that room with an armful of papers that did not belong to you. How you’d ducked under the table to ensure you’d gotten everything, down to the leather strap watch with the cracked clock face. 
But as you stare at the stack of files and sheets that lay on your desk at home, you only know of the decent act that you’d committed.
And nothing of the hourglass you’d just turned over. 
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Wednesday
In your Sent box are three emails sent on three separate days, all asking the same recurring question, all responding with the same recurring reply.
I wanted to confirm the days and times for office hours. I’m aware it’s on the portal but I’d like to reconfirm. 
Regards, YN
Dear YN,
Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.
Kim Mingyu, T.A. 
So there you were on a Wednesday afternoon, 3:59 PM sharp, outside the lecture hall where office hours have always been. With the same tote hung on your shoulders, with the same printed assignment and pack of multicolour pens, and a separated stack of files and folders, you wrench the door open with bated breath. 
The blended murmur of the usual hustle and bustle of the appointment reassures you first, the sight of scattered students of familiar faces reassures you second. And most of all, a conscious TA that sits at the professor’s desk, speaking to another student over a laptop screen. 
The man does nothing to acknowledge your arrival, continuing above the babble of students that occupy the chairs and the discussion. It isn’t too full, but considerably busy nonetheless despite how early you’ve swooped in. 
There’s a brief consideration whether this was in the TA’s job description at all, craning your neck to take a full sweep of the room to find a sparing glimpse of the man who should be here. The professor and his loud fashion choices are nowhere to be found. 
The sigh you let out is heavy and full of an emotion you cannot possibly begin to unpack, taking a seat on one of the unoccupied chairs to slump against. Shoulders sagging, you feel every fibre of your being screaming against your better judgement to pull out some work and to be productive while you wait. Reading over your failed assignment for the nth time, the same one that seemed to be some sick form of rage bait. 
You pull a couple things out so as to not look awkward sitting and staring into nothing on an empty desk, uncapping your pen and pulling up your sleeves like there was business to be done. Which there was, but none of which you wished to entertain. 
People watching, you realise, is a lot easier when most of the room is preoccupied with whatever it is they’re doing, too busy to notice your blank stares. 
The faces are familiar, none of which are people you’ve interacted with before but classmates nonetheless. The room is full of shaking legs, spinning pens and hunched backs, not an un-scrunched brow in sight. There’s a particular gaggle of girls somewhere around the front, their tables suggesting a work environment but between the whispers, giggles and glances to the front of the room, you assume there’s one thing in common the both of you weren’t doing. 
Speaking of the front of the room, your matched glance finds you face to face with the student at the main table in the middle of pushing himself off his seat. Your reaction is immediate, hand coming over to slam against the flat of your bag to find the lost straps, moving out of your seat as you keep your eyes on the front of the room. 
Bad luck must be a lover, because you realise quickly that somebody’s already beat you to it. Before you even noticed the first’s intentions to. The student stands beside the chair ready to keep it warm as the previous occupant leaves. 
Slamming back down on your own seat, you realise very quickly that trying to get an audience with this TA was going to be harder than you anticipated. There’s multiple other sounds of frustration around the room, and you doubt the slowly increasing pool of students was going to help anyone’s time management. 
Realising you needed to be a little more tactical if you didn’t want to sit here for the next month and half, you find an empty spot near the gaggle of girls you’d noticed before. It was right up front, just enough for you to hear when the conversation would begin to conclude at the main table. 
Once again, the TA doesn’t seem to notice any of the hustle and bustle of the room as his mouth continues to move rapidly, eyes on the question as he invests himself in his explanation. 
It was unfortunate that the only remaining seat was right next to the louder than necessary group, but you take it as a blessing anyway. It’s then that the one right next to you turns to stage-whisper to you. 
“Are you here to see him?”
You don’t expect a conversation, ears straining to eavesdrop on the other conversation in front of you to find your cue. You snap to look at her in surprise. “Pardon?” 
“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”
“Uh—” Wasn’t everybody? “Yeah, I had a couple things I wanted to clear out.”
The revelation makes her shoulders drop as she lets out a loud sigh, “God, I can never get anything this professor says. I've been here nearly every week trying to figure it all out.”
“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”
“He’s unorthodox too.” She looks over to the main table towards the TA, chin in her hands as she gazes. “A face like that is rare.”
It wasn’t that she was wrong, it didn’t take more than a glance to convince yourself that Mingyu was possibly one of the more attractive people you’d meet in your lifetime. But the appeal lasted for all of five minutes for you, flitting away when you noticed that he dragged along a very…overwrought… suggestion wherever he went. 
It was clear he was stressed seemingly all year round, nearly just as relaxed as your professor seemed to be. 
But Mingyu was attractive. And you realise how much of a fool you’d sound if you admitted to anything other than such. 
“It is. His willpower’s somehow even rarer,” you add. “Don’t know how he does it.”
“God, tell me about it. Forget getting his number, trying to have more than a three sentence exchange with him without some statistical nonsense involved is near impossible.” Her face has fallen, a tight little frown on her face as she irritates herself with some other memory. 
Taking a glance down at her notes, you find the printed sheet littered with glitter gel pen ink lining the edges, doodles of stars and hearts and small anime characters next to p values and z scores. 
There’s a distinct sound of a chair screeching, and it’s like a large GAME OVER sign is hanging above your head. 
You jerk in your seat, like you could jump over the table and land in the emptying seat with some god-given stroke of luck, like the person already standing next to the chair wouldn’t hold a lifelong grudge against the insane girl with an unnatural acclimation to statistics. 
Although, nothing was more unnatural than the way this TA seemed to know more than the professor. Or you were just really behind. 
Alas, you don’t tumble over the table or kick back your chair, merely making a forceful motion in your seat, palms itching terribly as you watch the girl with her open laptop balanced in her arms move to take a seat. 
You were preoccupied, hence you do not notice that the TA has also noticed you. 
Suddenly, the girl looks startled as she’s told to wait. 
“She’s been waiting nearly a week, I really hope you don’t mind,” you hear him say, voice strained as you turn to look at him. His hands are outstretched to motion towards you a few feet across from him. 
For whatever reason, you had no thought that he might’ve remembered you. Something about his half asleep state when he’d spoken to you, perhaps he might’ve thought he dreamt it. Or he’d just forgotten it altogether. 
The girl glances at you, and her shoulders sag a little as she nods in formality. 
“Thank you.”
It comes out of both of you, snapping to look at each other hardly a moment as you go back to smiling at the retreating student. 
“You can come right after her,” he reassures, his own upturned mouth tired and fading. 
Never have you felt more awkward trying to come around the elongated student tables. 
You pause at first, staring at the table in front of you like it was worth trying to climb over or even crawl under it to get to the desk. Another moment of eye contact as he stares at your unmoving form with a blank look, and the heat pools your skin. 
Staggering for a moment, you end up moving past your chair and walking the way round anyway, the screeching of the chairs only nurturing the existing budding humiliation for no apparent reason. 
It only gets worse when you sit across from him finally, backside barely touching the plastic before realising you’d forgotten your bag in your seat. 
Mid smile in a timid greeting when you make a sound resembling something of an “Oh!” as you spring back up immediately. It’s easier to reach for your bag over the table you were sitting on, reaching across to grab it off your vacated seat. 
The girl you were sitting next to just before makes a motion like she’s trying to help and you have to remind yourself to smile at her as you retreat. 
Mingyu has the very beginnings of an amused expression on his face once you’ve finally made yourself comfortable across from him, clearing your throat just for something to do. 
“Right. How can I help you?”
Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring out the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him. 
One look at the sparse format of the cover page, he blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page. 
“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell. 
“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he actually wanted to know. 
It stumps you regardless.
“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer. 
“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.
“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and presentation was off.”
“You marked them?”
He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”
“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”
“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”
Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words. 
Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. You don’t have an explanation, but it’s somehow easier to feel helpless in front of the man that’s meant to help you. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he has to say it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”
He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand. 
Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.
“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”
You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”
“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”
“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.
Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”
“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”
“Dr. Cho—”
“Is no help.”
“I understand—”
“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”
It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger. 
“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”
Help, he did. 
Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered in a rainbow of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag. 
You only remember when you spot the segregated file of papers in your bag.
“I almost forgot,” you say, slipping the files and tidbits out and in front of him. 
“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply, eyes widening as sees the familiar blue. 
“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”
“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”
You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”
Pausing, you wonder if you should make the next comment, the words tumbling out before you can make a decision. “Maybe don’t run out of rooms still half asleep.”
By the grace of God, he laughs, “No, you’re right. I should be careful.”
It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he continues. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”
“Pardon?”
He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.” 
Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”
He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”
You smile, “No problem.”
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Thursday
True to your punctual nature, you make yourself known at exactly 3:29 PM.
Mingyu is at the desk, conscious and on the phone, eyes closed as he rests his face on his fist.
“I don’t know if I can make time for that—no, I understand, sir,”
Another pause as the noise from his speakers fill his ears, his rubbing over his face a little harsher than you doubt he’s entirely comfortable with. 
“I’ll see what I can do.”
His phone hits the table with a heartbreaking thud, both hands covering his face as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. 
“Light on your feet or something? I can never tell when you come in,” he startles when he notices you. 
Sheepish smile on your face, you move to sit down. “Sorry.”
You know it’s invasive, and you also know you might be asking him to break some unknown university code of conduct, but curiosity takes charge as you ask a casual question. “Important call?”
“Uh, yeah, um, just work stuff,” he states, shaking his head swiftly like he’s trying to shake the thought out of his mind. 
There’s a pause while you're slipping your papers and laptop out of your bag, during which he seems to have decided to divulge a little more. 
“It was Dr. Cho. More stuff for me to do,” he says. “As always.” 
“Does he do anything other than show up to class?” you ask through a snort. 
“Of course he does. He cusses out every article he doesn’t agree with, is anything but objective and…the occasional relay of blatant misinformation.” 
For the record, you’d never really heard Mingyu speak at all for the months he’d been TA-ing for the semester. It was small whispers of choice words in a vague voice, the distant murmur as he exchanged with the professor too far for you to hear. 
The voice of the seemingly quiet and diligent TA was never known to you, not until yesterday as he explained statistical models and the flaws of your data presentation. 
Passionately too. Incredulous for a discipline so dry and unapproachable. 
That being said, something about the grit in his voice as he positively sneered through his teeth, badmouthing his professor—it was something you couldn’t quite believe he was capable of. 
“I’m sorry you have to put up with him.”
Once again, by whatever stone of tolerance the universe bestowed in his heart, you watch him sigh and smile, “Anything for that recommendation. And the pay too, I suppose. Besides, he’s done a lot for the area, can’t discredit him entirely.”
With your eyebrows raised, he seems to catch your expression. He pants out a laugh, and your stomach lurches as you watch it reach his eyes, teeth on display, a lurch in his chest; a true laugh. 
Raising his hands in surrender, he responds, “I’m stuck.”
There’s nothing you can do to stop the smile that reaches your own face, turning your laptop screen towards him with the JASP software display. “I am too. Help.”
Help, he does.
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Monday
Mingyu ended up giving you an entire hour on that Thursday. 
The thirty minutes before office hours began soared by like they were nothing, and you were ready to take your leave the minute students began to scatter in as the clock hit a swift four. Except he kept going, another 30 minutes in deep concentration as he retaught you nearly everything from scratch. 
Perhaps his proven determination to ensure you don’t tragically fail is what prompted you to do this, standing at the till of your regular coffee shop as you ask, “Make that two, please.”
It might also be important to mention the 7:30 AM on the dial on a bright Monday morning as you walked into your slightly less dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, knowing there would only be one other person insane enough to get to the lecture hall this early. 
Something isn’t right. 
Mingyu is in a position all too familiar to you and everyone else who shares this class, hunched over something or the other in deep focus. The sun pours in through the lifted blinds, the lights of the class turned off as natural light does more than enough of the job. 
It also shows you a blaring hot pink post-it note on his face, all too familiar to a previous interaction you’ve had with him. 
He notices you before you need to announce yourself, brows separating as he recognises you in the doorway. “‘Morning!” 
“...Morning.”
“You’re early,” he comments, straightening his back with a hand behind him for support as you approach. 
“Figured we both needed this,” you hand him a tray with his cup of coffee, eyes still trained on his lower cheek with the paper stuck to it. “It’s a latte with no sugar, but I added a couple packets on the side anyway. Just in case.”
“O–oh, thank you. And you’re right I did need this.”
Now that you’re closer, the scrawled writing on the post-it note is clearer. 
To Do:
Call mom
Shoot myself
“You, um—” It’s alarmingly difficult for you to say it, despite the words being so simple. Hey! You got a lil’ something on your face.
But all you do is dumbly point to your own cheek, eyes trained on the loud piece of paper that tells more than he might like the world to know. 
There’s a loud slap of his hand on his own cheek as he crumples the paper in his hands, bringing it forward to see. “For fuck’s sake.”
“It’s okay! I wanna…shoot myself too sometimes.” 
What the fuck?
“I mean!” you correct louder than you anticipated, before covering with a laugh. “It’s okay, it happens. Good thing I caught it before someone else did.”
It’s all the more petrifying when your voice echoes across the blatantly empty lecture hall, reverberating like it was a punishment for you and your horrid lack of volume control. Meeting his eyes feels like a sin right now, so you keep them downcast and pray he doesn’t try to sabotage your education. 
“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”
Just you.
“Anyways, I think I’m done with prepping for class. Do you wanna squeeze in twenty minutes of ANOVA?” 
“Have you seen the time?” 
“Not a morning person?”
“Nope!”
“And yet it’s 7:40 on a Monday morning and you’re absurdly early.” His brows are raised as he pulls around the professor's chair to bring it to you. 
“Do you want the coffee or not?” you ask, watching as he drags another chair for himself. 
The both of you sit away from the professors table, coffees in hand as you watch Mingyu run a hand through his hair. 
He gives you a crooked grin,“I apologise.”
“To be fair,” he continues. “I’m not much of a morning person either.”
You narrow your eyes the slightest bit as Mingyu takes a sip of his unsweetened coffee, “I’m starting to think no money’s worth this job.”
Mingyu snorts, coffee suspended in his full cheeks. He swallows with much difficulty before answering, “You’re right. Not sure why I’m still here either. I could get an offer from another professor.”
“And that isn’t happening because…?”
Elbows on his knees, Mingyu swirls his capless coffee cup, the beige liquid moving in a growing tornado. “I like Dr. Cho.”
“You—”
“I know,” he laughs loud, a deep, echoing sound that shakes in your ears. “I know. I sound like a lunatic.”
“I don’t know about lunacy, but insanity can have its reasons.”
“Another would argue that insanity was the very absence of reason.” 
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“Excuse me for doing my job.”
He takes another sip of his coffee, and you ask again, “No, but really. I can’t imagine this man having too many redeeming qualities as an educator.”
Mingyu lifts his chin as he presses his lips together. “When I was in my first year, there was this other class I had where we had to write a lab report for the first time.”
“PSYCH101?”
“That’s the one. I’d never written one before, but I liked statistics enough to do a little more digging than what the assignment called for. I ended up finding one of Dr. Cho’s studies, read the entire thing, word for word. I was up all night reading nearly everything he’d published, some of ‘em before any of us were even born.” 
“Oh. So you’re a fan.”
“Everyone tells you to never meet your idols,” he snickers. “He’s done amazing things, but I guess he pays for it with his flawed personality.”
“I’m sorry it had to be you,” you half joke. 
Mingyu looks at you sheepishly, “That might also be my own fault.” 
“Don’t tell me you offered.”
“I might as well have. All my assignments referenced his work the most. I was always talking to him about upcoming research after class, and it was like he was a different person. Forget differing opinions, some of what he was saying was just…plain incorrect. He welcomed the argument though, and I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true. He was always emailing me extra resources which…I’m pretty sure he isn’t supposed to do. Only reason I did so well in his class was because I taught myself.” 
He sighs a loud sigh, straightening his back, “I guess he liked me more than I thought, because next thing I know I’m getting a call over the summer telling me I have a job.”
“Did he…have a TA when you were in his class?” 
“Four.”
“Four?!”
“Two at a time. All of ‘em quit at some point. Said they didn’t want the recommendation or the pay.”
“Would he…not give you a recommendation anyway? You said he liked you.”
Mingyu shakes his head solemnly, “He’s a tough cookie, everyone in the field knows that. If you’ve impressed him, you’ve impressed everyone.”
You take a moment to really absorb everything you’ve just learned. “That’s a sucky position you’re in.”
“Tell me about it. But it’s okay. Three—three and a half more months to go? This isn’t even the worst of it, I’m just dreading study week when I’m gonna have to handle all the crying.”
You wince as he mentions something even remotely close to exam season, still barely at a stage where you can accept you’d be alright with this class. 
“I know you’re not nearly as qualified or experienced as him, but I think you could take over his class.”
“Ever heard of barriers to entry? I’d be ruined if I wanted a career in this.”
You roll your eyes playfully, “All I’m saying is I’ve learned more from you in barely a couple hours combined than the last two months I’ve spent cursing this very lecture hall.”
If you weren’t lying to yourself, you could’ve sworn you saw a blush creep up his face, and paired with his shy laugh and hand at the back of his neck, you can’t help but bite back your own smile. 
“If I can help you then it’s worth losing myself.”
Your heart is in your fucking throat.
“I’m glad when students tell me that,” he continues, utterly oblivious to the landslide happening in your digestive tract. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”
“You’re—” you swallow thickly because you sound like a toad. “You’re doing more than just something right. You’re saving us therapy and an extra semester.”
He laughs at that, and you wish he’d let you breathe. 
“Feels like I’m doing something wrong sometimes,” he huffs. “My friend’s a TA too and he’s got himself a girlfriend on top of everything else he’s got going on.” 
He goes on, “Do you know how many times I need to ask people to quit twirling their hair? To look at the page and not my face? Asking for my number, I have an email for a reason, for fuck’s sake—”
Mingyu is cut off because you’re laughing, hand to mouth as your shoulders shake through your sniggering. “W–what?”
“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “It’s just…It sounds like you don’t know what you look like.”
“What’s wrong with how I look?” he frowns.
“Nothing!” you exclaim. “But that’s the problem isn’t it.”
Mingyu doesn’t seem to buy it, even through your coaxing as you attempt to explain to him that he is, in fact, desirable.
“Can’t possibly be enough to distract people,” he huffs in earnest, still hung up on the students he can’t get through to. 
“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”
There’s a pause as he registers what you imply. 
After a few moments, he drops his head, opening his mouth, “Would… you also—”
There’s a loud creak of the door as you hear the immediate noises of shuffling feet and chattering mouths, as low and tired as they sounded. Turning back to look at Mingyu, he’s already jumped out of his seat, wrist to face as he checks the time on the same leather strap watch you returned. 
“That’s our cue,” you breathe, pushing your chair back behind the professor’s desk as you manoeuvre around Mingyu who’s suddenly frantic. 
Of course you realise there’s people other than just the two of you in the room, heightened in seats that are designed to ensure they can absorb every detail that goes on right where you stand in the front of the room.
But you feel the soft of Mingyu’s shirt over his wrist as you give him a gentle squeeze despite it all, barely enough pressure. Half your index finger brushes the skin of his hand, just enough to register how cold your fingertips are and how warm his body is. 
“Relax,” you whisper. “You’ll be better off without all the panic.”
You don’t see his face as you brush past him and up to your seat, looking up to see him disappear somewhere in the corner hunched over another stack of papers. The next time you see Mingyu’s face is when the professor arrives and has begun his regularly scheduled tomfoolery, and realise all the age that can accumulate in the span of five minutes. 
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Thursday
Midterm season is nothing you’ve ever really had to worry about. 
Something about the halfway point did make it obvious that the clock was ticking, but danger was far enough away to prevent the ultimate breakdowns reserved for the peak seasons. 
Except this class isn’t ordinary, and it’s all you’re able to worry about all semester. And as Dr. Cho in his Thrasher vest announces the date for the in class midterm, the glass once half empty, suddenly looks very half full. 
“I’m not ready.”
“You’re more ready than anyone else in class.”
“How do you know that?”
Mingyu stares at you blankly, “If I don’t know that, then who else does?”
You have tears in your eyes, which is embarrassing enough since this is the second time you’ve teared up in front of him, but also because you’re in a library following Mingyu around like a lost duck because he insists on putting the books he borrowed back onto the shelves himself after registering the return. 
“But I don’t feel like I’m ready,” you whine, turning the corner as he searches for the last spot to place his final book. 
“You’ll realise just how ready you are when all those hieroglyphs on the page start to make sense to you,” he grunts the last bit out as he reaches on his tippy toes to shove the book back up. 
Dusting his hands off, he adjusts his shirt before turning to you, “You only feel that way because I’ve been giving you harder problems to work on. You’re past the level you need to be at right now. Trust me, you’re more than prepared.”
“But—”
“Listen,” he waves to the librarian as you both leave the library, your eyes still glistening as you fiddle with your sleeves. “It’s only the midterm—”
“Only the—”
“If this goes wrong, I’m just gonna have to work you harder for the real thing. Even though I know it won’t go wrong because I said so.”
You fall into silence as he walks you towards the coffee shop across the courtyard. 
“I’m assuming…” you start. 
“Hm?” he looks over to you.
“I’m assuming you can’t hint at what’s on the paper.”
Mingyu barks out a laugh of disbelief, “You assume correct. I’m not going through hell with this job just to lose it because of a paper leak.”
“But it’s just the midterm,” you mumble, not even close to remotely audible. 
“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks. 
“Nothing,” you huff.
“You know, I’m a little offended you don’t trust me.”
“Who said I didn’t.”
“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”
There must be something written on your face, because as you pass Mingyu standing at the door he keeps open for you, entering into the coffee shop with fallen shoulders, he seems to change his mind. 
He brings you a coffee, sits you down, and gives you something else you need. “I made the paper. Every question. And I taught you. Every concept. So I definitely know you’re gonna be fine.”
In that moment, with the large glass walls of the warm coffee shop, the afternoon sun comfortably resting on every last object of the room, you don’t see it illuminate anything other than the man before you. 
Perhaps you're being dramatic at the revelation, but you don’t take anything into account as you note Mingyu’s eyes and how they sparkle like they were gifted from the centre of a flaming volcano, brown and polished more than any jewel or stone you’d ever seen. Reaching out to touch him, you know you’d feel nothing but smooth stone, the indentations only possible by a being beyond what you could comprehend. 
He’d given you more than just reassurance, and at times, his timing makes it feel like he was sent from the heavens itself, just for you. 
You sniffle. 
His hands brush over yours as he hands you a napkin, and even more so, cover your own as he takes your freezing fingertips into his own palm, the contact burning you like hot coal. 
You know he’s real. And you don’t know why quite just yet, but that reassurance is enough to give you calm.
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Monday
You were alright, but it seems that Mingyu seemed to disintegrate right after he was done reassuring you to the moon and Saturn and Jupiter and back.
It’s midterm day, and as always on every Monday morning, you enter the empty lecture hall with two warm coffees in your hand, ready for whatever shitshow you’d have to perform for today.
It seems Mingyu must defect from at least one regular string of behaviour to remain as Mingyu, who on this occasion, stands before you in a baby blue polo sweater. 
Except you only know that because you can see the unique collar, but it might also be important that his back is turned towards you. 
“Morning, champ,” he gruffs, nothing encouraging about his voice in the slightest. 
Your breath hitches when you finally see his face, eyes sunken in and face pale. His lips are chapped and peeling, eyes half closed. 
“Why’re you looking at me like that, why has everyone been looking at me like that?” he huffs in one long, rapid question. 
“Um, I mean,” you stare at his shirt that’s backwards. And inside out. “I can’t tell if that’s a choice or a mistake.”
Looking down at his front, he looks back up, “What?”
“Your collar is…not at your collar, Mingyu. And your shirt’s inside out.”
Hand at his nape, he reaches his fingers down and finds the unmistakable starched planes of his collar, eyes closing at the realisation. He’s immediately pulling his arms out of the shirt with his eyes still closed like it’d all disappear if he keeps them like that. 
“Wait!” you exclaim before he strips entirely, scrambling to put your coffees down to push him out of the room towards the restrooms. “Do you wanna strip for the CCTVs?”
You only hear him sigh as he moves out and into the hall, doors closed behind him. 
You’ve nearly forgotten about the midterm at this point, your concern now growing in a completely different direction. By the time Mingyu returns, he’s blabbing about wondering why everyone he ran into since he left home was giving him the strangest looks, and then something about you always swooping in to save him before the real bout of disaster strikes. 
It’s hard for you to listen to him when you’re more worried about him passing out, his face doing him no favours to reassure you that he wasn’t a breathing corpse. 
“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”
“Hm?” His eyes are glazed over and unfocused. 
“Sleep? Rest?”
“Oh,” he frowns. “Not really. I had emails coming in all night.”
“And you were replying?”
“It's the midterm today,” he responds flatly, like it should’ve been enough explanation. 
You almost don’t believe him. “Doesn’t mean you stay up to answer something that should’ve been cleared out beforehand!”
“Couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves,” he dramatises. 
“Yes, you could!” Your voice comes out louder than you expected, eyes wide as you realise what he’s doing to himself. “You barely look human and it’s only the midterm.”
“What’re you trying to say?”
“I don’t know if this job is really worth as much as you think it is.”
Mingyu’s jaw is clenched, fists tight as he releases them to grip paper weight on the desk, knuckles white. “I can’t get anywhere if I don’t—”
“Mingyu, please. This isn’t good for you.”
He says your name. Declarative, almost like a warning. “If you think this job isn’t worth it then you just don’t know.”
“Mingyu—”
“No, you don’t, because I’ve seen how good of a job I’ve been doing.”
“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”
Mingyu’s own voice is raised, a hard impenetrable floor to the words he spills. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a corpse!”
And then he’s getting out of his chair with so much force it almost knocks it backwards, “Why on earth do you care so much? So what if I look like a corpse, if I‘m doing my job?” 
It might’ve been better if he knocked the chair right into you, your breath dissipating in your chest like it never existed. His face is morphed in an expression of exasperation your anxieties fear the most, every line on his face committed to irritation and anger. 
Why on earth do you care so much?
Right. Why do you? 
“Are you asking me that?”
“What?”
“Are you asking me why I care?” 
Mingyu only sighs, shoulders dropping and eyes closed. Like so many times before, you watch run a hand through his hair, except this time he yanks on the strands harder than ever before. 
His eyes are bloodshot. 
“I have to get the exam pack.”
Marching out the door in front of your own eyes, you’re left with a feeling that’s right in the back of your throat, curling and whirling into something you wish you could hack and gag out. Gripping the corner of the professor’s desk, you feel the peeling wood cut into your skin. 
There’s a draft, the delayed slam of the door has only hit its wind now, a delayed reaction. It’s like it registers in your mind as you feel strands of your hair shift, the clarity that comes with it.
Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.
Everything you’d subjected upon yourself. A whimsical fantasy between pages of logic and numbers, a story that simply didn’t fit where the laws wouldn’t allow it. 
The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.
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Monday
Your favourite commonplace box, where your mother once placed all her most prized jewels, had a finicky latch. 
It wasn’t broken, simply worn in from years of opening and closing. It took a few tries to get it shut. Simply pressing down with pressure didn’t work; you had to open it again, press down on the individual elements of the latch and then try again. 
You were never satisfied until you heard the distinct click of the latch fixing itself, the box closed and ready for you to hook your lock through.
Earlier on in your undergraduate career, you remember a professor talking about the effects of external factors on the mind, how they can sometimes cause it to ‘shut down’ when overwhelmed or stressed. 
It’s happened to you on many a occasion; like when you stayed up too late on a school night to watch a documentary about the Stanford prison experiment, or when you’d neglect food or water on busier days, or when you’d stop paying attention in class because you were too preoccupied thinking about Taco Tuesday. 
Regardless, you’d found a way to recognise when your brain would fall into some strange kahoots with daydreams, or whatever was bothering you, and learned ways to give yourself a reset. 
Pressuring and forcing the attention wouldn’t work, just like how the latch wouldn’t fit when you’d do the same with your beloved old box. So you’d take a walk, drink something cold, spray yourself with a garden hose, or even take a nap altogether. Opening yourself up, so the latch can finally click. 
On the morning of your midterm, when you’d ensured your brain was in optimal condition for the exam you knew would be one of the worse ones you’ll have to take, you were sure the only external force that could ruin your vibe was from God himself. 
Having been so preoccupied with your mind and its functions, you’d seemed to have forgotten where your heart had wandered off to. 
Somebody else might consider it a minor disagreement; an anxious squabble if you will. But your breakfast in your throat was enough reason to deem what happened that morning much more than that. At least for you. 
“Pass it on, please…pass it on, please.”
The sound of his voice is tectonic. Rattling in your head like a superior force had slammed into your skull like a padded hammer to a gong. 
You hated it. You hated everything. You hated yourself. And as the midterm paper reaches you with your pen in your clawed fingers, the first three questions already making perfect sense, you realise you hated Kim Mingyu the most. 
That was a lie. You were lying to yourself, yet again. 
Because it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t hate him. 
As you drift past every question of conditional experiments and screenshots of data and tables on a software, you hardly remember what you circle and what you don’t. Hardly remember what words you picked for the short answers and labels. You hardly remember taking the steps down from your seat to the front of the room, where the professor sat scrolling through his Skateboarders [!MEN ONLY!] facebook group, placing your paper down and leaving the classroom. 
Throughout your years of living, you’d learned what you needed to get your brain out of its clouded muffle, to refocus when you needed it. 
Everything. You tried everything. 
But on that day, when it mattered most, your latch never clicked.
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It’s Wednesday. 
You order lunch from the Italian place a few streets down. Ravioli; it’s safe and you know you’ll like it. 
Savouring it is easy in front of another true crime show. You pull a lone soft drink from your fridge, one that your friend left weeks ago. It tastes just as bad as the last time you tasted it from someone else’s cup, but you drink it anyway, the empty can now in your trash. 
It’s 3:30 PM, and you sit at your desk. It’s strange. It feels like you’re missing something, which in ways, you are. But as you pull your laptop from your nightstand instead of out of your bag, you slow your movements. 
The papers are the same. But you read them anyway. 
Parameter estimation: Make inferences on characteristics of the population, including distributions of the variables and the effect of one variable over another. 
It’s accursed the way the universe won’t let you live. 
There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, estimation cannot be perfect. 
Estimation cannot be perfect. 
[_]
It’s Thursday
Class. Eat. Drink. Work.
Hypothesis testing: Determine whether null hypothesis is rejected or not after data observation. 
There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, no null hypothesis in bayesian approach!!
[_]
It’s Friday
Eat. Drink. Work.
Latent means to have meaning but is yet to be manifested. The greek letters are placeholder values for values yet unknown. 
There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue; values that you will find out
[_]
It’s Saturday
Eat. Drink. Work.
P(A|B) = [P(B|A)P(A)
              ——————
                     P(B)
There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;
 it gets less complicated
 promise :/ 
[_]
It’s Sunday.
Eat. Drink. Work.
The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt. 
There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;
you’ve got this!!! < 3
You give up.
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It’s Monday.
8:14 AM. 
You barely glance at the front of the room; swift turn to the left and right up the steps. Dr. Cho’s outfit almost goes unnoticed by you, tamer than most. Bright Barbie pink with large polka dots, untucked into too tight white jeans. His crocs are sparkly, at least that’s what the twinkle from up here looks like. 
He’s insulting another author, the man’s ProQuest journal article open for the world to see like a mediaeval scandal. 
There’s another person next to the whiteboards, back to the wall, hands clasped in front of him. His hair is messy, shooting lasers into the carpet as he rocks the slightest bit, listening to the professor rip this author to shreds. 
An hour later, you’re staring into the JASP software like it was written in a different language. 
Glancing next to you, the boy in the spongebob hoodie is playing sharkboy and lavagirl by himself. On your other side, the girl has the same thing as you open on her laptop, her pen occupied with drawing about a hundred tiny gojos on a bright pink sticky note. 
Bright pink sticky note. 
You snap your gaze back to your screen quickly after that. 
9:58 AM. You start packing up, shoving everything into your bag. 
Dr. Cho doesn’t even notice you slip out of the room, hardly a minute to the end of the lecture.
In the hallway, you take your first real breath in two hours. 
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It’s Tuesday.
You’ve come down with something, head heavy as you feel yourself burn up. Skipping class is easy when you sleep through your alarm and every phone call from a friend asking where you are. 
They drop by, armed with medicine and soup. You almost feel better. 
It’s silent after they leave, and you realise in that moment how much you hate it. 
Opening your laptop for the first time in over 24 hours, you turn on a random podcast to play in the background, needing something to fill the air before you lose it entirely. 
The screen lands right where you left on the incredulous data presentation, unsolved tutorial paper crumpled between the screen and keyboard like a wilted leaf. 
Hot, scalding tears sting your eyeballs when you realise there was nowhere to turn to.
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It’s Wednesday.
After a long day of doing nothing, still sick from whatever plagued your body, you go to bed earlier than usual.
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It’s Thursday. 
Walking out of class, your mind is empty. You’re still sniffling, still achey, but better than you were. The shawl wrapped around you is warm, and your hood covers the cold tips of your ears. 
This other class makes you feel better about yourself, especially when the content is digestible and so is the professor. The TA feels like a mere accessory in the room, something you’ve learned to appreciate. 
With your gaze lowered, you only see midriffs as you walk out the classroom into the busy hallway. 
It happens in an instant, the flash of a clenched hand as the owner walks by in quick stride. An unmistakable leather strap watch with a broken clock face on the wrist.
You freeze like you’ve been caught. 
The hard bump of someone coming out the room behind you is welcomed, the annoyed “Hey!” knocking you back to earth before you could even exit the dimension. 
You’re off centre. But it’s fine. 
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It’s Monday.
“Midterm results are out Tuesday morning. If you have any questions I’ll be sitting at office hours on Wednesday and Thursday, four to six in the evening. Or you could send me an email, either’s fine.”
Dr. Cho isn’t here. Something you only found out when the pitt sank in your stomach as Mingyu cleared his throat at the full hour. 
You want to leave, not caring about how strange it’d look if you did. Not caring about how he would definitely notice if you did. You want him to shut up, to stop talking, for anything to halt the way his voice infiltrates your entire being, talking about things you don’t understand but more familiar than anything else. 
Mingyu’s voice is hoarse, and you loathe the way you can tell the difference. 
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It’s Tuesday.
Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.
—  92/100
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It’s Wednesday. 
4:10 PM. It’s almost too much for you. Almost. 
The screech of the door is loud, the slam of the handle’s rebound even more so. The room doesn’t so much as glance at you at the door, the half full seats preoccupied with more important things. 
The front desk perks up immediately, eyes shooting towards the door for the nth time that day, like he was expecting someone that never seemed to show up. 
It’s ironic, you think, how Mingyu never seemed to notice you walk into the room for the many months you’ve walked in just for him. And now, as you walk in fists clenched and jaw set, eyes wild and burning, he’s breaking away from a student to look at the door before you even come into view. 
“Did you feel bad?” you spit.
“What?” he whispers. He seems to come around, glancing back before continuing, “Can we talk? Please.”
“Answer the question, Mingyu,” you snap. You don’t care there’s a confused student sitting right across from the both of you, his slot interrupted by your barge. “Did you feel so bad you had to give me something I didn’t earn?”
He’s stood up now, half confused. “Is this about the midterm—”
“I did not get a ninety two, I know I didn’t,” you grit. “Whatever happened before that stupid paper made sure I wouldn’t.”
Mingyu says your name and the sound makes you want to vomit. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I fucked up because of you?” you announce, louder than before. 
The world disappeared, your tunnel vision pointed at Mingyu’s face that wears an expression you cannot even begin to read. The unbecoming tears in your eyes are of a type of unadulterated rage you’ve felt only a few times before. Your heart is going about a million miles a breath, everything else only triggering an added bout of infuriated tremble in the forefront of your emotions. Nothing makes sense. 
Mingyu pushes back his chair in silence, stalking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. He shuffles around for a minute before returning. 
There’s a packet being thrust into your fists when he reaches you. He does not meet your eyes. 
A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.
“Here. It was all you, if you can’t believe me.”
It’s a careful mark, unmistakable lines and curves of the nine and the two. 
Reality is slow to sink in, but for some reason it’s only making you angrier. The paper curls under the pressure of your fingertips. You don’t open the packet. You refuse to flick through the pages. 
Because you know you’ve lost.
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It’s Thursday. And it’s full of regret. 
There’s a sickness in you, from that dreaded day, something beyond what affects your body temperature and your energy. It’s in your mind, flooding the nerves that swim through every crevice and cave of your brain, a physical venom that does the opposite of kill but also the opposite of letting you live. 
There’s a feeling in you, that even if you were to open your mouth, unhinge your jaw, try to scream as loud as your throat would allow, there would be no sound. Something like a horrible dream, that you need to screw your eyes tight shut to fall out of. Except you aren’t waking up from this one. 
In a coffee shop, where Mingyu held your hand in a reassurance you now bleed for, you were sure he was real. Real like some deiform image; too good to be true. 
In your bed, dry tears on your face, midterm packet sifted through that showed you absolutely everything that you did right, thanks to him. He feels too real. Real like a cloud of obsidian that follows you everywhere, like the sad that’s been sleeping with you every night. 
If there was a way to hate someone more than a human limit, you’ve crossed it with the resentment you’ve now fostered for yourself. 
Barging into office hours like that, accusing him on a basis of nothing but your own dangerously stewed thoughts. If there was a hope of salvaged parts, you took a hammer to it in disregard; tearing it to ribbons that lay at your feet. 
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It’s Friday.
At least it was. It bled into Saturday before you realised the 3:23 AM on the dial. 
Two weeks of no help and you already feel lightyears behind. The hour is getting to you, and you feel the frustration pool into tears, that turn into full fledged sobs. You’re crying over Bayesian inference and it’s somehow more pressing than any other emotion you’ve ever felt. 
Impossible numbers on your data sheets taunt you, not a single reference to if it was a button you clicked wrong or if you were playing a fool’s game altogether. 
Ding! You pick up your phone, the weight of it is enough gravity to pull you back to earth. 
[Mingyu]: switch to bF10 
[Mingyu]: you’ve been pulling numbers from bF01
It’s immediate the way your eyes dart towards your lit screen, clicking off tables to get to the drop down menu you need. And there on the left, two tiny buttons, one clicked on bF01. 
With shaking fingers, you move your cursor to hover over the tiny bF10, anticipating. You click. It takes a moment for the numbers to change, but they do. The nominal values turn into something you can actually work with. 
Something akin to a tut leaves you, hidden in the breath of another sob. It’s stupid, unreasonable, absurd. Your fingers hover over your phone, shaking as tears drop onto the screen, faster than before. 
Do you not miss me?
Do you not want me around?
Talk to me
I miss you
Please talk to me
“I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true.”
Mingyu is a product of his personality. You can only imagine he’s helped because he saw you struggling in class, heard from someone else, or perhaps, he just knew the very thing you’d make blunders out of. 
The reasons come to you, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. Then why does it hurt? Why does it feel like the knife’s twisted a full 360, that despite the way you accused him of the thing that would strip him of everything he’s bruised himself for, he helps you. The very thing that caused this rift in the first place. 
There’s a reason for that, and it is again, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. 
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It’s Saturday. 
Perhaps you relied on your olfactory senses to remain calm, because you always knew you could count on a coffee shop to forever and always smell the same. 
The universe seems to want to ruin that for you too. 
“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”
“We have a one plus one for the week! Would you like to receive another latte?” The lady taking your order looks no older than 17, a pep in her voice. 
“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”
She looks taken aback, a reasonable reaction to anyone turning down a free drink. But you couldn’t bring yourself to walk home with two cups in hand. 
You’re plucking a napkin from the pickup counter when you hear his name. 
“...that he manipulated her grade because they were hooking up.” 
“He has time to hook up?”
“I remember hearing about that! She barged in during office hours and asked why he fixed her grade or something.” 
“A ninety two? In that class? Oh, they were definitely fooling around with each other.”
“Whatever, at least we know he’ll entertain you if he likes you enough. I’m just glad those two are over so I can swoop in.”
There’s an eruption of giggles. You press your head down further. 
“Unless he flirts in variables.”
“All is forgiven when you’re born with a face like that.” 
Another explosion of giddy laughter, through which your drink is slid across the counter towards you, like it was waiting for you to hear the damning evidence before you could leave. You grab it anyway, grip tighter than usual. 
Turning around, your eyes search, finding a group of people that sit in smiles and in various states of trust-falls. 
There she is, the girl you sat with on the first day you attended office hours, the one with the glitter gel pen doodles on her notes and her blatant fawns over the TA you slipped under just as easily. 
She locks eyes with you and her face falls, eyes widening the slightest bit in recognition. 
Pressing your lips into a smile, you hope it doesn’t look as menacing as you feel. You don’t wait for a response before you walk out the large glass doors.
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It’s Sunday.
It seems every sip of water you’ve taken during the week has been used up in all the tears you’ve seemed to be shedding. By the bucketload.
Alas, even blurry and puffy eyed, you pour over statistical formulas anyway, running on no energy and all antagonism. It’s another tutorial sheet left incomplete, a single question taking a pour that lasts in at least an hour of struggle. 
Reading the same question for the nth time, your palms press into your temples as you stare lasers into the paper, like the revelation would come to you if you stared it down hard enough. It doesn’t make sense, the commands you’ve toggled on and off identical to the instructions on the page. 
Hence the question begs why the data was coming out like someone pressed the ultimate on a number generator. 
With a heat of unreasonable embarrassment, you find yourself checking your selection in one of the drop down menus, switching to bF01 and back just to see the difference. It does nothing to help, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved it wasn’t that particular snag. 
The library is as silent as it could possibly be on a Sunday morning, near empty as you occupy the mostly vacant seats. The librarian is having her own day off, as you could swear she’s playing computer games behind the counter instead of actual work. 
The only noise in the room is your own breathing, and that seems to be enough to mess with your concentration. You’re going cross eyed staring at the page for so long, the words doubling and  disappearing before going back to normal. 
Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…
Wait. 
It’s like you can see it in front of your eyes right now, the scribble of someone else’s dark blue on your notes.
no null hypothesis in bayesian approach
Bayesian approaches don’t use null hypotheses. And z scores are in…
“Oh my god, this is a t test,” you whisper to yourself in disbelief. Immediately, you’re scrambling to shake your laptop out of its sleep, switching over to a t test to redo everything, following the instructions on the same data set. 
And there it was…a clear 0.067 under the p value. 
In a moment of questioning, you laugh out a breathy sound, the absurdity of it all becoming too real. T tests were the first thing you learned, the foundation to all your statistical knowledge. Coming so far, and it took you days to realise the instructions under a Bayesian approach were for a different realm entirely. 
It was stupid of you. But in this difficult aftermath you can’t help but feel victorious. Laughing to yourself quietly in this empty library. 
When the initial adrenaline fades and you’ve double, triple checked to ensure you were right, you can only stare at the tiny mail button in your shortcuts on the screen. It was clearly an error, one that was given out to nearly a hundred students. 
The first step was clicking, your inbox coming to life as you drift towards the big blue button with the readily available NEW MAIL. So you click. 
There’s an attached file in the email you draft. 
The tutorial paper has titled t test instructions as a Bayesian approach. Just wanted to point it out and ask if I could receive a corrected version. 
Regards, YN
It’s almost like you’re trying to remember how it feels like when you type an experimental m in the To bar. His name pops up immediately, email address typed out in full, full name clear on top as a regular contact. 
You don’t need a suggestion to remember, his email came easier to you than your own. 
But you don’t email him, backspacing till it’s empty once again. 
Dr. Cho’s email sits in that place instead, a first for you. 
SEND.
You don’t expect him to reply on a Sunday, in fact, you aren’t sure if he’s going to respond at all. You’ve already shut your laptop, half out of your seat in an attempt to pack up. You’re forced to consider. 
Would it be terrible to go back and cc him as well? 
A spiteful part of you might find joy in correcting him for a change. The rational part of you wants to actually finish the tutorial before tomorrow’s class when you’d have to tackle another beast for the rest of the week. 
Sitting back down, you move without thinking. Your mind is still cooking up possibilities as you swing your screen open once again, still weighing as you click back into your inbox. 
There’s a new email in your sent box after you’re done, a copy of the one you sent your professor, the same attachment and the same question; word for word. The only difference, a more familiar name in the address bar. 
Before you can chicken out, you slam your laptop shut for the actual last time, shoving everything into your bag before the speeding thoughts can infiltrate your mind's barrier. You’re out the door before you know it, ready to be done with this. 
You’re afraid if you put a hand to your stomach it’d be met with kicks and punches, especially with the way you feel the aggressive cartwheels slashing away at your insides. The butterflies are making it to the end of your food pipe, and you briefly wonder if you need to break into a sprint to make it to a safe throwing up zone. Your entire being jolts as you feel a buzz in your hands, a loud click that signifies a new email in your inbox. 
Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, you stop. 
The grip you have on your phone is unyielding, your fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure. There’s no way to tell if you’re shaking or not, but you bring your phone to your face anyway. The screen flips on, a lone notification on the screen. 
RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you sent that email, the library still in sight from where you stand. At the same time, it’s almost funny you expected any different from him. 
The kicks and punches in your stomach halt, the cartwheels have calmed, the butterflies have fallen asleep. The grip on your phone has loosened, and it’s like every nerve in your body went from on fire to serenity in a whiplash inducing shift. 
Clicking on the notification, the email opens. 
Noted. I have another tutorial sheet for you if you want it. I’ll be in the room where office hours are held for the rest of the morning.
Kim Mingyu, T.A.
There was no way he didn’t have a softcopy he could send you in less than a minute, and you’re sure he knew you’d realise that too. You should scoff, be upset, roll your eyes. 
But instead, you find your feet making a 180, turning around to go right back to where you came from. You walk, eyes still half trained on the email, reading and rereading as you walk back onto campus, towards the building you’d once considered a second home. 
You walk, and walk and walk, in through the doors, up the stairs and then another set of them, you take a left and look up. The hallway is empty, the door on the right coming into view as you slow your steps significantly. 
Closer and closer, you realise the light surrounding it is brighter than usual. The door is open, and you can see the empty rows of tables and chairs, set neatly against one another. It’s strange, you’ve never seen it wide open before. 
Walking even closer, you can see the beginnings of the professor’s desk come into view, and it only takes you one more step forward. 
Standing in the doorway now, you find yourself in the direct path of the sun that pours in through the open windows. It’s warm, but just enough to combat the cooling weather. 
The desk up front is occupied, as it always is. 
Mingyu is only in a t-shirt and trousers, glasses perched on his nose as he scrawls away on the paper in front of him. His laptop is turned on, screen facing the door where you stand, his inbox open and available even on the weekend. 
It wasn’t that you were waiting for him to notice, but you found yourself inadvertently taking your time looking at him. Every other situation, you’d done your absolute best to avoid your eyes grazing over him at all costs, hardly drifting over his form before flitting away. You never did it on purpose, but it was more like you were unconsciously protecting yourself.
 Like looking at him would only make the ache in your heart worse.
If that was the case, you would’ve been right. There’s a tug in your chest, and in that moment, it all comes flooding in like a gate destroyed. 
Mingyu looks up and sees you in the doorway, standing immobile. He sets his pen down, taking his glasses off. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face as he greets you, “‘Morning.”
You take it as your cue to move forward, stepping foot into the patch of sun slowly. “‘Morning.”
You reach the desk, standing in front of him, the only thing blocking you being the littered table with files, papers and stationary; the trench between you both. 
It’s so silent it tears at your insides, gripping the strap of your bag to have something to do. 
“I, uh, double checked when I saw the email. You were right, nobody noticed in class either.” There’s an airiness in his voice, like he might be struggling just as much as you are right now. 
He clears his throat when you don’t respond, looking back down at his workspace like he was looking for something. He finds a paper from some stack, handing it over to you. 
“Thanks,” you hoarse. It’s the same tutorial you had, except the instructions had been crossed out, replaced by a list of handwritten instructions instead, detailed in their annotation. You recognise it, because of course you’d recognise his handwriting. 
“I didn’t have time to print one out right now. I’ll probably send a corrected copy to everyone tonight,” he explains. 
“That’s alright.” You look up, lips pressed together, eyebrows forced into a regular position on your face. Nodding, you thank him once again. “Thanks again. I’ll…get going.” 
Every fibre in your body screams at you to turn back around, hollering profanities at your inability to deal with this. You’re already halfway to the door though, and your pride’s already deemed it too late. 
Please stop me, please stop me, please stop me, please just say something and stop me—
There it is. Your name, from his mouth, in his beautiful voice. 
Turning back around is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 
Mingyu has stood up from his seat, out from behind the desk. He looks like he wasn’t expecting you to turn back. “Can we talk?” 
And then he’s pulling out the chair he was sitting on, presenting it like a piece offering. If you heard correctly, you could’ve sworn you heard his voice break the slightest bit when he pressed, “Please?”
So there you were, in a position all too familiar as you sit across from the man that’s haunted you for the past weeks, trying to keep your chest from falling in. 
“I guess I should start with an apology,” he’s fidgeting with his own fingers. “I don’t need to give you excuses about stress or exhaustion because…”
He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. You were only trying to help and I was too preoccupied with myself to notice. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that when you didn’t deserve it.” 
For about the millionth time, you realise you’re tearing up again. He continues. “And then…right before the midterm too. You were right, I did feel horrible. But I swear that grade was all you, I didn’t touch those numbers.”
He really didn’t, because the papers he had thrust into your hands on that fateful day in this very room proved that you earned that mark. You wince regardless.
“I thought I could apologise before the exam started but I couldn’t find you, and then you were gone right after. I didn’t text or call because I was sure I’d fucked it all up.” 
“I’m sorry too. For barging in in front of everyone and basically accusing you. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You look up from your lap, wet lashes and all. “I really hope you didn’t get into any trouble.” 
“I–no, I didn’t.”
“Are you sure? Because—”
“I promise I didn’t.” He locked eyes with you when he said that, hoping you’d believe him. You nod slowly. 
“It wasn’t even that bad, what you said,” you sniffled. 
He scoffs at that, “I’d beg to differ.”
“I would’ve gotten over it,” you continue, bracing yourself to admit to something you’ve had trouble admitting to yourself. “I should’ve gotten over it. I don’t know why it hurt so much, why watching you walk out felt so horrible. But I haven’t been acting like normal ever since, and I’m sorry for stretching this whole fiasco out into something that didn’t need to turn into…this!”
“You were hurt because I hurt you.”
“People have said worse things to me. And you were practically a zombie, I should’ve just left it for another time. It was a little bit my fault too. But…yeah.”
There’s a silence as you try to remind yourself to breathe. You speak up again. “I just want us to go back to normal. I’ve missed you. Alot.”
“Me too. The go back to normal bit. And the…missed you bit.”
Mingyu’s half smiling when you look up, biting your lip hard as you try to keep a smile of your own at bay. “I’d thought if I gave up and admitted I was struggling that day, that’d be admitting defeat. That you’d think I…couldn’t do it.” 
Why on earth do you care so much? It rings in your ears. 
You sound light when you say it though, knowing now it wasn’t what he meant.“Since when are we on caring terms?” 
Mingyu cringes. "We are. I am, at least, if you aren't anymore, which is fine. I care about you. A lot."
It’s hard to not let out a laugh. He looks half constipated as he tries to navigate his words. 
“Oh well I’d hope you’d care, since you’re my TA and all.”
“Not in a TA way.”
“Tutor way.”
“Um.”
“Friend way? A human way?” 
“No.”
You both know you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you aren’t sure why. Maybe you just like to watch him squirm. 
“You know what?” he rasps. 
“What?”
Your answer comes in the form of Mingyu lurching to grab the legs of your chair, pulling the wheels to crash into him where he sits. You’re not expecting it, the clashing legs causing you to swerve forward, hands on Mingyu’s lap. 
And then his hand is on the back of your neck, and his lips placed on your own. 
You’re stiff as a board, brain computing the fact that Mingyu is kissing you in a classroom. 
It’s short, hardly a few moments before he pulls away. “Does that clear things up?”
There’s nothing you can do but blink at him, the reality of it all settles in. “Hm.”
He laughs at your half dazed state. It’s a purely instinctual part of you that speaks after this. “Maybe one more time. To make sure.”
Mingyu doesn’t even wait to laugh again as he wastes no time, putting his mouth on yours properly this time. There’s more of a drive in you this time, moving your mouth against his and he keeps your head close. 
The ecstasy is slow but sure to build in your stomach. Mingyu is kissing you. Mingyu is sitting with you and kissing you so good you’re already half faint. 
His mouth tastes like coffee and remnants of berry, a combination you can’t believe you could enjoy this much. Licking into his mouth, you let your tongue drag over his, like the tactile would convince you this wasn’t some too vivid fever dream. 
He pulls away for a moment, but hardly so as his lips remain pressed onto yours. 
“For the record,” he pants. “I love that you care. And I hope you’ll keep caring. Because I don’t think I can handle it if you walk away after this.”
Mouth back on his own, you decide there’s only one way to convince him you weren’t going anywhere without dragging him with you. 
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MINGYU'S APARTMENT IS CLEANER than you expected. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, perhaps more mad scientist than anything else. But the most you find is a mug and plate in the sink, and a moderately crowded study desk, which is to be expected. 
Mingyu decided to abandon his work for the day to spend it with you, to which you contest that it was Sunday anyway. His response is making you change into something comfortable of his so you could laze on his couch. 
Like you would run away if he didn’t, Mingyu keeps his arms around you in a tight hold, fingers curling around your shoulders as you lay on top of him. Your head rests directly over his heart, his cheek and lips taking turns to occupy the top of your head.  
You fill him in on everything, and realise the most eventful weeks you’ve spent were actually quite uneventful in hindsight. He feels up your cheek and forehead when you tell him you got sick at one point, to which you have to reassure him it was either something going around or stress that you subjected on yourself. 
“I went to a frat party,” Mingyu mumbles into your forehead. “For Halloween.”
The information has you shifting to look up at him in bewilderment, “You went to a frat party?”
He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”
“Oh my god,” you voice in mild horror. “Do I wanna know?” 
“Wonwoo and I matched,” he hums as he pulls out his phone, scrolling his gallery to look for pictures. “I was Mario, he was Luigi.”
“How adorable.”
He only gives you a look and shoves the phone in your face. By some grace of god they aren’t wearing moustaches, but the distinct red and green outfits are enough to give you enough recognition. 
“Thing 1 and Thing 2 were also possible contenders,” he informs. 
“That might’ve been a little better.”
“What’s wrong with Mario?” he asks sharply.
“Nothing. But I do hope you weren’t sporting an Italian accent throughout that.” 
“I was,” he pushes. “A horrible one too.”
You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll. 
“You could’ve gone as Peach. We could’ve matched.” 
“I don’t know if I’d wanna wear any available Peach costumes during Halloween time.” You crinkle your nose as you think of all the racy costumes that unearth every October. 
“Maybe in private,” he says with an insufferable smile on his face. 
Placing your hands flat on his chest, you rest your chin and look up at him. “I’m not sure I want to interrupt whatever you two have going on.” 
“Who?”
“You and Wonwoo, you’re practically married.”
Mingyu laughs out loud, and you can feel the rumble in his chest against your hands, his body moving against your own that’s stuck to him. “Not with whatever he has going on with his girl.”
“Oh right,” you frown in remembrance. “What happened to not understanding how he does it?” 
“Hm?”
“He’s a TA too. Probably just as busy as you. You said you didn’t know how he could juggle a relationship and his job at the same time.”
His eyes spark in remembrance, pausing for a moment. “I may owe him an apology.”
“Do you?”
Mingyu frowns, “Actually no I don’t. I don’t think he and his lady are doing too well right now. He’s been insufferable lately.”
“Is it because of the TA-ing?”
“I never know with those two,” he sighs.
There’s silence once again, in the midst of which Mingyu leans over to kiss you a few times, soft and lingering. Like he’s trying to familiarise himself with the shape of your mouth, the tactile feeling of kissing you. 
“Do you…know about us?” There’s hesitancy in the way you ask. But you can’t help but ask anyway.
Mingyu thinks for a moment, and it has your heart beating out of your chest. “I know that I want us to be concrete. That I wanna work around whatever life throws at us. You can decide what to call it, but I know I’m in it for the long run.”
“I’m glad you’re smarter than your husband,” you smile.
He only rolls his eyes, “He’s only good at one kind of chemistry.” 
“D’you think they’ll be okay?”
“Oh yeah,” he assures. “They’re just going through a…rough patch.”
“Like we did?”
“If you’re asking me, I’d say they’re being a little more stupid about it.”
The snort that leaves you is unanimous with his own. He continues, “They’ll be okay though.”
“I hope so. I’d like to go on double dates with my boyfriend’s husband’s girlfriend.” You start giggling in the middle of your sentence, too ridiculous even for you to voice. 
“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes. 
You only hum against his mouth, “Do I have to take your husband's blessing before we can move forward?”
“For fuck’s sake.” 
You’re both laughing again, a sound that comes from your stomachs, true and uncontrollable. For a moment, you can’t help but be conscious of how light you feel, how happy you feel with his scent infiltrating your nostrils, his presence known where his fingertips touch you. 
“I did the sticky note thing again too,” Mingyu says into the silence, and there’s nothing you can do to stop the fit of giggles that erupt all over again. 
“Said something worse this time,” he continues as you laugh into his chest. “Accept that you’ll die alone or some other shit like that.” 
There’s comfort in this moment. In your giggles and in your tears, in his voice and in his affection. His lips are another sanctuary you’ve found, and perhaps even another way to make your dreaded latch click. 
Nose nuzzled in his cheek, the feeling of his skin so soft against yours, fingers at his chin where a slight stubble grows, you relax in ways you cannot comprehend. 
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MINGYU'S LIPS BECOME A feeling you’ve grown dangerously accustomed to. 
It isn’t that he has them on you too much, regardless of what an outsider might suggest; to you they simply aren’t on you enough. 
The following Monday went as usual, for you anyway. You weren’t avoiding Mingyu this time, and you were grateful for it. It was two hours of following him with your eyes as he darted around the room. You could hardly constitute it as not paying attention when Dr. Cho was preoccupied with explaining every reason he hates JASP over SPSS, but also ultimately, hates them both. 
You don’t even notice his loud outfit (overalls and a neon green sweater underneath), happy to watch Mingyu flit about and whisper incoherent explanations to students. 
The tutorial paper is barely looked at by you, because you know your boyfriend will be happy to help you out later at his place. 
You’re barely through the door that night when he gets a hold of you, tight grip across your waist as you’re catapulted into his arms, door slammed shut behind you. 
Bag still on your shoulders and your shoes still on, Mingyu’s slammed his mouth onto yours before you can take a proper breath. You stumble, squealing through the kiss as you realise you aren’t escaping the iron grip he’s got on your face. 
Somehow between it all, you manage to slip your bag off to let it drop to the floor of his doorway, shoes kicked off one after the other as he leads you inside, littering the way. 
“You aren’t actually paying attention in class anyway,” he breathes against your mouth before kissing you again. “So why don’t you sit in the back where you don’t distract me.”
“Who says I’m not paying attention.” You open your as your back lands on the couch, looking at him as he looms overhead. 
“You’re paying attention to me.”
“It was in my job description when I signed up for the girlfriend position.”
He’s all over you now, hands at your sides, mouth underneath your earlobes as he husks, “Was letting me take you in front of the entire class also a clause? Because if this goes on I might have to take up on that.”
If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he’d been possessed, everything about his behaviour screaming the opposite of the well behaved, restrained man you’ve been accustomed to. The fact that he’s whispering directly into your ears isn’t helping either, a conspicuous shiver dragging across your spine. 
It lands with precision, right at your core. You’re too hot to tell, but there isn’t a doubt you’ve begun to pool. 
There’s a ding in the background. 
He’s suckling underneath your ear, his hands roaming in ways that would smear your reputation altogether. 
Another ding. 
He’s reached your mouth once again, groping your right breast lightly. Like he’s testing the waters.
Ding. 
Mingyu makes a noise of annoyance, the other hand trailing underneath your shirt. 
His ringtone blares throughout the room, whoever the caller was having reached wit’s end. 
“Gyu…” you whisper. 
“Ignore it,” he growls. The ringing has stopped. 
He ducks underneath to kiss at your stomach, lifting your shirt oh so slowly. He goes higher, and higher and higher, leaving a trail of kisses at the skin, taking deep breaths as he drags his mouth over your torso. 
His phone begins to ring again. 
Your head is spinning, your senses overcome. If you weren’t sure before, the air of wetness between your legs is definitely obvious now. 
He brings a hand to your centre, pushing inwards at your jean clad core. You exhale sharply yet shakily. 
The ringing stops. 
Mingyu makes a gumbled sound that you can’t quite make out, too preoccupied with the way your shirt is now up past your bra, at which Mingyu has taken to leaving open mouthed kisses to your cleavage. 
There’s a ding. 
“Mingyu, I really think—”
His phone begins to ring again. 
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he curses, rearing his head like an interrupted animal, wet mouthed and bleary eyed. He looks at his buzzing phone on the floor in an accusatory glare, like he wants to chuck it out the window and go right back to burrowing into your chest. 
“You should answer.” 
He looks irritated as he takes his phone in his hands, and you find a flash of Dr. Cho’s name on the screen. “It’s eleven O’clock.” 
“It might be important.”
“The last time he did this he asked where his peacock feather pen was,” he grunts as he silences his phone. 
You laugh, running a soothing hand through Mingyu’s hair, a tiny attempt to calm him down. Pulling your shirt down, you attempt to sit up. 
Mingyu makes a noise of denial, attempting to stick his face into your now clothed chest, knocking you back down, “Nooooo, I’m gonna ignore him.”
“He’s not going to leave you alone,” you sing quietly, running your nails across his scalp lightly, holding his head to your chest. You place your cheek on his head, playing with his ear. 
As if to prove your point, Mingyu’s phone begins to ring again, and he groans at the prospect. 
“Go on.”
He swipes to answer it. A loud sigh and then a tired, “Hello?”
His volume is bumped up enough for you to make out what’s being said on the other line. “Where have you been?”
“It’s nearly eleven, sir. I was in bed.”
“My flash drive won’t open up on my computer.”
You have to stifle a snort. 
“Is it…plugged in?”
“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”
“Is it showing up on your files?”
“Disk…is not…formatted.”
“Erm, it might be corrupted.”
“How did that happen?”
“Did you download something off the internet onto it?”
“Hardly matters, I need the attendance sheet on it!”
Your fingers are massaging Mingyu’s temples as you feel him tense on top of you. 
“Your attendance sheet is on the teacher’s portal,” Mingyu grits before adding, “sir.”
“...I have other things on there too.”
Mingyu exhales ever so quietly and you tighten your hold on him a smidge. “This sounds like something tech support could help with.”
“Why can’t you help?” he asks sharply. 
“I…I don’t know how, sir.”
There’s a noise of indignation from the other end, and you can’t help but keep from laughing. 
Mingyu sighs into the phone, this time doing nothing to hide it. “I’ll take it to tech support for you tomorrow. And I’ll send you a direct link for the attendance sheet for Monday and Tuesday’s classes.”
The line beeps shut. Mingyu brings the phone for you both to see the professor’s hung up as soon as the words left Mingyu’s mouth. 
“Wow,” you whisper into the silence, the weight of Mingyu’s head heavier on your chest. “Not even a thank you.”
“Absent father behaviour,” Mingyu grumbles as he moves his face to burrow into your shirt. 
It’s a bad joke, but you laugh anyway. 
“Will I be an asshole if I say I’m not in the mood anymore?” he murmurs. 
“Absolutely not. Everything sucked right back in the minute I heard his voice on the line.”
“Gross,” he comments, but he’s laughing too. 
“Should we call it a night?” he asks, rearing his head. 
Nodding, you rise with him. By the time you’ve reached the bedroom, you’ve already begun taking off your accessories, fiddling with your bracelet as you voice. 
“I need a shower.”
Mingyu throws you a towel and a t-shirt, which you catch and move towards the bathroom. Halfway through the door, you sneak a look at him fiddling with his belt. 
“Do you wanna come in too?” 
Mingyu looks at you peering through the door frame. You’ve never seen anyone leap across the room as quickly as in that moment. 
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THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE just as eventful as that phone call, Mingyu running around as the midterm low passed and the line creeped up towards finals season. 
Perhaps it was better that you stopped attending office hours, because the room seems to become increasingly packed as the days progressed. 
You only ever saw Mingyu in the wee hours of the night at his place, where he begged you to camp out till the end of the semester so he “doesn’t move to insanity”. It might even be better for you, going about your day as usual, without the usual added distraction of a partner.
Coming home to him was easier, where he could clear up your doubts while in ratty pyjamas and starfished across the bed, where you could find solace in Mingyu’s chest without prying eyes when the information became like filling an already stuffed junk drawer. 
It was a Friday night, you’re alone at Mingyu’s place sitting cross legged on the floor. The table in front of you is pouring over the final question of this week’s tutorial paper, everything seemingly whizzing right past the top of your head. 
Despite that, as Mingyu stumbles inside past eleven, you know you shouldn’t ask him for a thing. 
Tired was a look on Mingyu you’d gotten quite used to, so you’ve learned to not comment and simply let him fall into the couch cushions with all his weight. 
His face is parallel to yours as he closes his eyes with a light groan in greeting. Moving forward, you kiss the flutter of his eyelids softly, down to the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. 
Your fingers run through his tangled and distressed hair as he mumbles against your mouth. “Did you finish the tutorial paper?”
You huff in mild annoyance, that despite his state he still thinks about work. “Not yet. One last question and I’m done.”
He hums and waits a moment before reopening his eyes. With a loud groan he’s pushing himself off the couch, sliding off of it to sit with you on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”
“You would’ve been done by now if you could,” he answers. It’s annoying that he says it but he’s also right. 
Mingyu holds the paper a mere inch from his eyes, the sight almost comical if he also didn’t look an inch from passing out. 
He mumbles the question as he reads, “It’s nothing, just worded weird. Toggle this off and move this to mixed factors and you’re done.”
The toggles are done for you, and Mingyu takes the liberty crossing he question off with a pen he finds on the table. 
“Did you get everything else?” he asks in earnest. 
“Hm? I think so.” 
“Good.” And then he’s throwing his head back to rest it on the couch cushions behind him, breathing slowly. 
He’s in a navy sweater, collar of his undershirt peeking through the top. Your gaze leads up further, to the exposed area of his throat—clean, tan and naked. You realise this might not be a good time, but it’s only natural your mind cooks up other ways to translate your helplessness as you watch your boyfriend push himself to the brink. Release is never a bad idea. 
Besides, it’s a Friday night. No reason to not. 
“Gyu,” you shuffle closer. 
Lolling his head to look over at you, he answers in a small voice, “Yeah?” 
You put on the guiltiest face you can muster, complete with darting eyes and fidgeting fingers. “D’you think…d’you think you can go over post hoc tests again?”
“Post hoc?” He furrowed his eyebrows. You bite the inside of your cheek, having blurted the first plausible model you could think of to ask him. It’s an older bit of the syllabus, something you should already be well versed in. 
Not that you care what he thinks right now, he’d figure out why you were asking anyway. 
“Post hoc, um,” he rubs a hand over his face as if to jog his memory. 
Shifting forward, you plaster you front onto his side. He thinks nothing of it. 
“Analysis tool after you’ve already run the data,” he begins. 
Placing your chin on his shoulder, you let your nose nuzzle against his cheek. Trailing up, your lips find the shell of his ear. 
“Results have to be…they have to be…” He falters when your hand reaches his front, running across the expanse of his clothes stomach, nails digging ever so slightly as you reach his abdomen. You continue to place open mouthed kisses at the space of neck you can reach. 
“Hm? Has to be what?”
“Statistically significant,” he breathes when your palms reach the tops of his thighs. “To run a post hoc test.”
His trousers are less barrier inducing than regular jeans, something you’re both grateful for as you begin to palm his clothed bulge. “Results of what, baby?”
“For the love of—”
“Go on,” you whisper in his ear. “Please.”
One flick and his trousers are unbutton, pulling them aside as the zipper pulls open. You're pushing down his boxers when he answers you. “ANOVA.” 
“What’s that again?”
“You little shit.”
You move your mouth forward to kiss him.
“Analysis of variance.” 
You hum against the column of his throat at that, his half hard member in your hands. Light touches, that’s all they are, running the pads of your fingers across the pulsing length, coaxing him into full length. 
“What’s it for though? We already got our results.” Bending forward, you stick your tongue to kitten lick at his tip. Mingyu hisses, hips shifting. Your tongue swirls around the tip, pushing into the skin on the head where he’s most sensitive. 
“Ugh, fuck, for um,” he falters as you begin to suck at his head, tongue running over each hollow of your cheeks. 
“For…for…” His chest is moving up and down in quick breathes, every sound from his mouth coming from a deep rumble in his stomach. 
Letting go of his cock, you continue to pump him with your hand as you gaze up at him from your position. “For? Keep talking, baby.”
“For…To identify groups,” he grunts out. He lets out a louder moan when you place your mouth back on him, going past his tip and taking as much as you can of him into your mouth. “Identify…the differences, shit, hmph.”
He takes a loud breath before speeding through it again, “Identify which groups actually differ, oh my god.”
The bit of him that you can’t fit on your mouth is being pumped by your hands, fingers pushing into him like you were trying to indent them on the base of his cock. A glance upwards and you find his head thrown back, hands coming to tangle in your hair. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek.
“How many groups?” you ask, before diving back in. 
“Three,” he chokes out. “Three or more, oh I’m gonna cum, fuck don’t stop, holy shit.”
Both of his hands are at your head, guiding you as you suck him harder, faster, more tongue digging into his slit. You hum against his dick on purpose, making sure it’s coarse enough to get the reaction you want. 
You succeed, because immediately after you hear Mingyu rip out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard, his grip on your strands harder than ever. He cums into your mouth, hips stuttering as you place your entire weight on him to keep him in place. 
You let some of it dribble out your mouth and back over his softening dick like a hot coating, sucking him through shooting spurts of cum that land on your tongue. 
When you emerge from underneath, Mingyu looks like he got the soul sucked out of him; eyes closed, stuttered breaths raking through his entire body, a light sheen of the beginnings of sweat that glisten in the low light of the room. 
Reaching for the tissue box and water bottle on the table, you soak the napkins and bring them to clean him up. He whines when the cold tissues touch him where he’s most sensitive right now, you want to kiss him but account for the cum that is actively stuck to the walls of your mouth. 
You leave for a few minutes, much to Mingyu’s hoarse protests. He’s almost on all fours, hands on the floors as you promise to be back. By the time you’ve hauled his tired ass into bed, you’re just as ready to knock out as the half asleep man beside you. 
Mingyu’s face is plastered into your neck, arms and legs thrown over your form as he hugs you close to him. 
“I might love you,” he says into the darkness. A secret, just for you and the walls to hear. 
You hide the way your heart absolutely leaps, conceal the way your hands tighten around his form into an affectionate caress, hold your breath to prevent the inevitable hitch. 
I might love you too. 
You hide that as well. For now. 
Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.
“Feel free.”
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[Mingyu]: class ended early 
[Mingyu]: be there in 5 
[You]: ???
[You]: wdym ended early
[You]: kim did u end class early to come home
Your response comes in the form of the front door lock jiggling loudly. You’d stayed the night at his place, knowing you didn’t have anything to do but study by yourself. Sickly as you were, you doubt you could sit through two hours of even more statistics. 
He’d left you in bed with a kiss, needing to be extra early since Dr. Cho decided to dump the last crucial few weeks leading up to finals season entirely on his TA. As much as there was on Mingyu’s already overflowing plate now, you couldn’t deny the elated feeling of your attendance being taken care of regardless of whether you show up to class or not. 
A very real violation, but no one truly notes one skipped student in the midst of hundreds. Besides, the bag under Mingyu’s pretty eyes might be enough for anyone to have mercy and let the supposed mistake slide.
As Mingyu walks into the room, shoes flying and back dumped on the floor, he finds you still half clothed with leftover sleep in your eyes, standing in the middle of the living space like you were lost. 
He drops his things to come and drown you in his arms, loud kisses all over your face as you talk. “You’re getting too comfortable with this job.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t possibly expect me to teach a bunch of half asleep idiots when my woman is all alone at home, sickly and cold without me.”
You grumble wordlessly as you feel him check your temperature with the back of his hand. “How’s the congestion?”
“Bad,” you respond nasally. “I can’t find my Afrin.”
“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”
“No, it’s not.”
Still wrapped in his hold, Mingyu begins to take steps forward that lead towards the bed, pushing you to walk backwards.
“I’m not awake enough to navigate,” you sniff.
“I’ve got you,” he lowtones, pushing backwards slowly. 
The back of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back into the unmade sheets. You crawl back under the covers as Mingyu navigates between used tissues, water bottles and pills on the bedside table. But no sign of your nasal spray. 
You have to breathe through your mouth and you hate it, but you send a remark his way anyway. “Told you.”
Mingyu bends down and emerges with a familiar red capped bottle. He stares at you while you stare at it, choosing to simply snatch it from his presenting hands and be done with it. 
“Good thing I came back early, hm?” 
“Shut up.”
He leaps over your form to claim the spot in bed right next to you, still fully clothed as he burrows under the covers next to you.
There’s nothing flattering about the way you stick the nozzle up your nostrils and sniff hard, but the gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes might as well suggest you were trying to get him to look at you like that. 
“Are you gonna keep doing this till finals?” you ask throatily, shifting under the covers. 
“Teaching during class time is just extended office hours, I’m gonna go insane if I keep going like this. Probably just today. Or…once more if I feel it.”
“Didn’t you say you were gonna extend office hours to Fridays too?” 
Mingyu moulded himself against you, giving warmth to your shivering body even under thick blankets. 
It seems throughout the course of your relationship, your time with Mingyu is either spent laying down or in the process of doing so. Not that you mind, you’ve found that remaining horizontal was what worked best for someone like Mingyu who seemed to want to fuse with your very being whenever you were together.
“Ugh, not this week. Do not have the patience.”
“I’m proud of you,” you say, eyes closed, already on the highway to dreamland. 
“Thank you, I do think I’ve been very brave.” Even while slipping into dreamland, you find the good sense to find his nipple through his sweater and give it a hard pinch. He jerks away in a yelp, clutching his chest. 
“What’s that for?!”
You ignore him and simply run your hand over the area you just attacked. “You’ve gotten better at knowing when to slow down. I’m proud of you.”
You’re too far gone to make out what he answers you with, but with the hot breath against your already warm forehead, you decide it's more than enough for you. 
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MINGYU DOES IT FOR the fourth time, but this time round he’s smart enough to not tell you. 
It’s the Friday before finals week officially begins, and you remain in your own place for once to crack down on the last bits of syllabus you want to go over, away from your extremely distracting boyfriend. 
There’s a text when you check your phone after a couple hours of hyperfocus, and you narrow your eyes at the notification. 
It’s Wonwoo’s (actual) girlfriend, and she’s sent you nothing but a picture of both of your men on Wonwoo’s living room floor, thoroughly occupied with the floored expanse of sheets, pillows and cushions. 
It’s a pillow fort.
Your boyfriend is building a pillow fort in his not-husband’s living room mere days before the final exam for the most dreaded course of the semester. All while he’s actively meant to be available for office hours.
You want to laugh. The man that stayed up multiple nights to answer stupid questions in emails, is now less than concerned about the pandemonium that is probably ensuing in the department building. It isn’t that you’re upset, because this was what you wanted from him. To learn to take a break when it was needed. But you would also prefer he’d time them a little better. 
Inevitably, you text him, but not before sending an encouraging text to your girlfriend-in-law for putting up with the both of them all by herself. 
[You]: where are you
[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?
[You]: office hours?
[Mingyu]: mhm
[You]: are u and ur husband conducting them under a pillow fort in his house
You imagine him sending Wonwoo’s girlfriend a betrayed look. Perhaps even throw a frilled throw pillow in her unassuming direction. 
[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME
You let him suffer in your silence, clicking your phone off and leaving it somewhere you won’t be tempted to look. 
Besides, it wasn’t long before there was an incessant banging at your door that you ended up needing to get up to open. He looks so timid, the face of an innocent perpetrator that waltzes into your space. 
“I’m sorry,” he begins, following you to your desk like a lost duckling. 
“Whatever for?”
“For lying.” 
You snort as you sift through tutorial sheets, “Might wanna take that up to the poor hopeless student that thought you were their last hope.”
Mingyu’s head sinks to your shoulder where you sit at your desk. “God.”
“Him too.”
In another few moments, his arms have come around to cage you into your desk where you’re sat, hands placed on the table as he towers over the top of your head, mouth to crown. 
“Rumour has it,” he starts. 
You make a face. “Now you’ve joined in on gossip? Maybe I have steered you wrong.”
He ignores you valiantly as his mouth drops lower, down to the beginnings of the tips of your ears. You can smell him. He smells good. 
“That a textbook recitation is all it takes to get you all bothered down there.”
Lifting your head from its craned position over your papers, you stare straight ahead. Blank and unassuming. 
“Take a hike, Kim.”
“...Sorry.”
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NO MATTER HOW FAKE annoyed you were at your boyfriend, you cannot possibly credit anyone else for how smooth your finals had gone. 
Not a single tear, hack or whine. Your meals were on time, your sleep schedule the healthiest it’s been for months. You even managed a movie night break in the midst of it all. A record for you. 
The very first thing you do after walking out of the exam hall, stretching and sighing, you find Mingyu waiting with nervous eyes. 
“Well?” he asks, eyes wide and lips pulled into his teeth. 
You merely grab for his hand and pull him out of the crowded hall and past a few familiar turns. 
“For the record I didn’t want some of the questions on there,” he yaps as he follows behind your stalks. “Hard ones weren’t mine. I promise I’m not a sadist.”
Then, in an un-CCTV’d corner, marked by the broken, empty vending machine, you round up on him. In seconds you’ve pulled him down to meet your lips in an eager, full kiss. 
In the moments your lips remain intact, you can feel all the horrid statistical knowledge you’d gathered over the months slip out the cracks and crevices, relieving you. 
Mingyu is careful to let you pull away first, eyes sticky to open when you do. There’s a smile on your face. “It went great.”
A strong tug against your waist and you’re suddenly pressed into Mingyu’s all too familiar hold, so everloving tight you can hardly breathe. His lips are smacking and pressing into your skin, all over your face, neck and hands. Anywhere he could possibly reach. 
There wasn’t much he could do standing in a huddled corner at nine in the morning on a Tuesday, where anyone could pass by and question what in the high school was going on. But there was more than enough Mingyu could do behind closed doors. 
In true Mingyu fashion, he’s begun to grope in every way you love the minute the lock clicks shut of his apartment, every fibre of both of your beings giddy and jumpy, giggles erupting from your tired mouths. You haven’t been touched in ages, always too tired to do anything even when you would find the time. 
It isn’t remotely strange that you're wet from only a few kisses and hot breaths against your neck. Although Mingyu’s hands haven’t been modest either, already reaching your clothed cunt as you fall into bed. 
He says it was your reward, for doing so good, his illustrious mouth suctioned onto your naked core, moving and grinding in ways you can more than just appreciate.
His tongue is nothing below made for you, like he knows exactly when to flick his tongue, graze his teeth and all but suck the daylights out of you. It’s marvellous, even more so as you realise he won’t stop. One, two, three mind blowing orgasms later, your legs still shake around his head as you cry out for him to stop. 
Not that he was going to listen, as he did not the last fifteen times you tried, simply pushing a finger into your abused hole to chuck you into yet another climax. You’re sobbing, trembling, sweating; but also half hearted in your attempts to stop him. 
By the time he’s relented, you’re sure you won’t feel a thing down there for at least a week. If Mingyu will even let you go untouched for that long. 
But as you’re finally able to catch your long lost breath in bed, and Mingyu has curled up right beside you, like he always does, you let the finality of it all sink in. You were done. And so was he. And you could now begin to experience a Mingyu that wasn’t exhausted, stressed or tired. Even now, the long indented layers of fatigue begin to melt away, revealing a less strained man. 
Mingyu was beautiful either way. 
“Are you okay?” he asks you, his fingers tracing your features. 
The pads of his fingers glide across your eyelids, down the slope of your nose, tracing the outline of your lips. You kiss his fingers as they reach you there, hand coming up to hold his wrists. You kiss the tips of his fingers, down to the palm of his hand. Eyes closed, you keep your lips there. 
“More than okay,” you mumble. 
“Good. Thought I lost you there.”
Stretching unceremoniously, you drape yourself over his naked form, head on his shoulder. “You’re not losing me. Not after being the sole reason I pass this devil’s module.”
“Is that all it takes? Make sure you don’t fail?”
“And give head like that.” It’s a half joke. “But also be Kim Mingyu comma TA.”
He mimics you between a breathy laugh, “Comma TA. Not anymore, I guess.”
“How happy are you?”
“Still have to grade the last set of papers. But I got what I wanted.”
“The recommendation? You deserve it.”
“That, and not having to be in Dr. Cho’s presence every other day. And you.”
You kiss his shoulder. “Look at you. All grown up with your big boy grad school on the horizon.”
“Not just yet.”
“You’ll get there too. If you can power through this hellsent semester, you can power through anything grad school applications throw.”
Mingyu shifts where he lays, taking a turn to lie on his side to face you. The afternoon sun peeks from behind his form, his outline made of pure gold. His breath is in your face as he talks, and there’s comfort in the air it penetrates.
“I only powered through this because of you. I hope you know that.” He’s smiling. 
“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly. 
“I mean it. I knew I was walking into disaster with how this stupid job was going, all that work was just a distraction. I didn’t wanna believe this was a bad idea. And then you walked in.”
You cup his face and pout, “Oh, my damsel in distress.”
“Hm, my knight in shining armour,” he giggles. “Galloped in and saved me from myself.”
“You saved me too. From the world and its horrible creations.” 
“I’ll start talking in formulas if this keeps up.” 
You can only grumble in mild annoyance. 
“I’m glad I asked you to come in early that day,” he says.
“I’m glad I was a good samaritan and gathered all your stuff that day.” You grin.
Mingyu leans in and kisses you. It’s soft, slow, and drips of the romance he’s trying to bring into the conversation. His lips are bliss, the feeling of him is bliss. 
It’s almost scary how easily you’ve been able to give yourself to him. How quickly he’s placed himself in every nook and cranny of your heart. With his tired eyes and stronger than himself smile, the hand he extended in ways beyond you could ever explain to him. It’s terrifying when you realise what remains on the tip of your tongue, ready and bursting. 
But it’s true, and you can only pray it remains that way. Because in that moment, naked and tangled between Mingyu’s limbs, his heart in your ears, your hands on his being, you just know. 
“I think I might love you too.” 
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