#but damn do I hope this club never goes on to win another title in their life

[paulodybaeeela]

L club, L behavior

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

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

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

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

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

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

song rec(s): playlist here !

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

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

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

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

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

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

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

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

(Fun doesn’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you yell back.

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

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

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

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

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

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

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

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

Well, sort of.

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

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

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

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In front of a wall?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

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

Funny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

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

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

“One.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s a virgin?”

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

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

He’s right.

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

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

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

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

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

“Where were you last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much lon—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

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

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

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

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

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“It’s neither, promise.”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

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

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

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

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

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

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

“I live here, idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Linguistics,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way. You’re lying.”

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

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

“Hurts my ego.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ow,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doyoung’s out of breath.

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

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

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

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

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

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Busy. Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

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

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re disappointing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel something close to guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess you’re right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

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

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

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

You look up at Doyoung amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As what, the start point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(name). Is something wrong?”

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

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

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

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[byunbaekby]

title — the things i know pairing — soccerplayer!jisung x female reader genres — angst, fluff, high school au, strangers to lovers au, first love au, long distance relationship, hurt and comfort, coming of age overall warnings — underage drinking, cancer, character death, language, mentions of hickeys, fainting, mentions and descriptions of hospitals, soccer inaccuracies, lots of angst (you’ve been warned!) word count — 14.8k summary — jisung has never been keen on growing up, or even understanding what adulting means. at seventeen, all he knows is: he loves soccer (and he’s damn gifted at it), and girls are very pretty but also plenty scary. then he met you, his first love who turned his life upside down and made his stomach roll like the soccer balls he loved to kick around the field. but when your cancer comes back after years in remission, jisung thinks, he doesn’t really want to grow up anymore. playlist — falling, harry styles ; your guardian angel, red jumpsuit apparatus ; my first and last, nct dream ; bye my first, nct dream ; orchid, jeremy zucker

additional — for the heartbreak hotel collab hosted by @nct-writers​. my concept in the five stages of grief was “acceptance and hope.” thank you to my babes @suh-insane​ and @astroboy-lele​ for proof-reading!

The thing about knowledge is that you never know when or what you’re going to learn. There’s no way for you to predict what will be of your mind when you fall into bed that night, surrendering to the moon. In the morning, there’s no telling what knowledge your brain will choose to store away for remembrance over the course of the night, and what your brain will decide is unnecessary. What you decide not to remember is a memory you can’t even miss. 

When you wake up every morning, you don’t know if you’ll go to bed having met someone who will change your life forever. 

At seventeen, there are two things that Park Jisung knows. One, he loves playing soccer (and he’s damn good at it, the way his long legs carry him across the field in what seems to onlookers like seconds). Two, girls are very pretty but plenty scary as well. 

The day starts out normally, like any other away game that the team plays.

He wakes up at six o’clock on the dot, and eats a large breakfast to hold him over for the game, then packs a few granola bars into his soccer bag and lets his sister know he’s leaving before he jogs the way to the park where the bus is waiting for his team. The ride is normally an hour long, so he either tucks his earbuds into his ears and tries to get in a short nap or he converses with his teammates. 

Today though, the bus ride is three hours long. Crossing his hoodie-clad arms across his chest to act against the cold air of the bus, he focuses his gaze outside and watches as the town goes by. 

“Yo, Jisung, check this out!” 

At the sound of his name he turns his head, blinking when he sees a number of his teammates in the surrounding area nudging him closer. A few of them are leaning in towards a particular teammate, who displays a proud expression. “What’s up,” asks Jisung as he too leans forward toward his team member, curiosity slightly piqued.

Jaemin, the teammate in question, tugs the collar of his jersey down to reveal his skin. On the milky white curve of Jaemin’s collarbone, he sports a dark purple bruise, surrounded by a perimeter of yellow where the skin seems to be healing. There’s no question as to where that mark came from, and it definitely wasn’t from soccer. 

“Ew, man, that looks sick!” comes from Donghyuck, along with a few comments from others, either approving or disturbed. 

“Where’d that come from?” 

Renjun slaps Mark on the chest, eyebrows furrowed at him. “Obviously, it was from Anne! Didn’t you see the way they were all over each other at last week’s game?” Jaemin grins, eyes going lovesick at the thought of his girlfriend. 

Jisung’s expression contorts into one of disgust. “That’s disgusting, man,” he comments, nose still scrunched in distaste as he leans back into his original spot on the bus seat. Another thing he’ll never understand is why people are so desperate to grow up, as if giving hickeys and sneaking vodka into their Hydro flasks makes them somehow more adult. 

He slips his earbuds into his ears, playing some light muzak to lull him to sleep with his head leaned rather uncomfortably against the cold window. 

-

Jisung doesn’t think that he’s exceptionally smart; he’s gotten passing to above average grades his entire life. He’s not musically talented, nor is he particularly a smooth talker. 

But hearing people call him gifted is a feeling he relishes every time.

With his long legs and strangely large and spacious lungs, soccer called the boy’s name from the time he could run. He dominated the peewee league, then the club teams until this point, at the ripe age of seventeen waiting to be scouted for college teams. 

He wasn’t usually one to brag but today, he had shot the winning goal. 

Everyone has their thing, the one thing that they excel at. For Picasso it was painting, for Yiruma it was piano, for Renjun it’s spending four hours every night researching alien conspiracy theories. For Jisung, it’s soccer. But he’s never been exceptionally good at speaking to people. 

“What’s your name?” He hears a voice, cheery and upbeat, behind him as he’s grabbing his bag on the side of the field. The game is over, and the crowd begins to dissipate while the team members are gathering their things to return to the bus. Turning over his shoulder he sees you, wearing a bright smile. Cautiously he responds, “Jisung Park.”

“Oh, so you’re Korean then. I’m gonna write that down, okay? How long have you been playing soccer?” You ask next, and now Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

“Write what down?” He asks, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible. Even so, how is he supposed to react to a random person at a game suddenly appearing to ask him questions? As he wipes his forehead with his towel he adds, “Who even are you?”

Quickly you say, “I write in the high school newspaper, and wanted to get a close-up of today’s star.” It’s then that Jisung realizes the camera slung around your neck and the notepad in your hands. 

“Why are you writing about me? I don’t even go here.”

“Because,” you say, a slight sigh creeping into your voice now. “Our team sucked today. You straight up stole the show, and no one wants to read about a team that lost. I’d rather give them a peek at the star.”

“14!” His coach yells his number once, causing Jisung to look over his shoulder to the source of the voice, where his teammates are already beginning to pile onto the bus. The boy in question slings his bag over his shoulder and tucks his soccer ball under his right arm before finally getting a good look at you. “Shouldn’t you be writing something to raise your team’s spirit or something? Giving them support, maybe?”

You shrug. “I don’t like underdogs. Don’t like writing about them. I’d rather read about the heroes. So how long have you been playing soccer again?” 

“Jisung!” Now it’s Chenle calling after him, and he really needs to go. Eyes flickering to the street where his teammates are gesturing for him to hurry, he looks back to you. Your eyebrow is raised expectantly, right hip popped out as you wait. Before he starts to run off, he manages a small, “I’ve been playing eleven years. Um… bye.”

Then he turns away and his long legs carry him to the bus a few meters away. Even so, behind him he can hear your loud, proud voice yelling after him with the name of your high school: “Check the online newspaper! You’ll see my article!”

What a weirdo, he can’t help but think as the team cheers for their star player getting on the bus back home. 

-

A week later, it’s another Saturday night following a victorious win against another team in the local area when Jisung gets a call from Chenle. “What’s up,” he asks immediately, leaning back in his desk chair to throw his soccer ball up in the air and catch it with one hand. 

“Wanna party tonight? Celebrate our win a bit?”

“Where?” asks Jisung. He’d never been big on parties. For one, his long legs that were great for running weren’t exactly skilled in dancing or anything of the like. Secondly, he’d definitely be expected to talk to girls and he’s not really in the mood to make a fool of himself. 

“Taeyong’s house. Me, Mark, Hyuck, and Jaemin are going. Renjun’s busy, and Jeno wants to spend time with his cat. What do you say? Wanna join?” 

Jisung sighs. He was honestly just exhausted. “Think I’ll pass. My sister’s been getting on me about my bio grade.”

Chenle groans on the other line. “Lame.”

“Next time, promise,” says Jisung. 

“Fine. Have fun studying, looooser!” This is the last thing Chenle says before hanging up, leaving his best friend alone to shake his head with a small laugh. Then he remembers something, some words that a stranger had yelled out to him a week before. 

Sitting up at his desk, Jisung opens his laptop and types in the name of your high school, along with your town. A few clicks around the website finds him at the online news section, plus a scroll or two past some questionable articles, there it is: a picture of him mid-kick, the winning one if he remembers well enough. His nose is scrunched in concentration and strands of dark hair cling to his forehead. 

Soccer Superstar from the opposing team steals the show and the win!

A small scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, trying to humble himself as he reads over the first few paragraphs. 

Our school’s boys soccer team faced a devastating loss on Saturday in the face of the opposing team’s ace player (pictured above). The game ended promptly when the superstar player confidently kicked in the final shot, though the result had been clear from the first half of the game. 

A short interview with the hotshot player revealed that he has been playing soccer for eleven years! A senior from Neo Culture Prep, it is clear as day that the school is very lucky to have such a prodigy on the team.

Who is this superstar player, you ask?

His name is Jisung Park. 

Geez, Jisung thinks. He knew he was good but not that good. The article did a good job of spicing him up, making him look like he was a lot better than he really was. There’s too much fluff; sure, he’s skilled and he knows it, but—he touches his cheeks. They’re warm—the article makes him sound like a soccer god, and it’s beyond embarrassing. Who even are you?

A scroll to the bottom of the page tells him all he needs to know.

Article written by: (Name) (Last Name).

-

He doesn’t return to your town for almost two months. There’s a tournament today, the hours lurching between games giving him more than enough time to psych himself out about how he’ll play. 

It’s noon, the sun shining overhead causing a sheet of sweat to amass on Jisung’s forehead. His team has just won their second match of the day, and in waiting for their next game, his eyes are scanning the bleachers set up for observers on the side of the field. It’s not hard to find you, same camera hanging around your neck. 

With his long legs, he jogs over to you towel in hand. You’re not at all focused on him, eyes pressed into the camera’s viewfinder as you attempt to capture a good shot of the current game. 

“I don’t like the stuff you said about me in your article.” 

His deep voice suddenly intrudes your thoughts, and you jump in your place. As you turn to him and drop your camera from your face, he catches sight of the way your eyes widen at his appearance. A flood of recognition replaces the shock before you tilt your head. “Why? It was all good stuff.” 

Patting at his forehead with his towel, Jisung responds, “Yeah, exactly. I’m not that good. I could’ve played better that day.” This brings a small snort from you. “Really! They were narrowing the angle on me, I should have flanked or lofted.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s—” 

You cut him off before he can explain. “You’re good. Why are you so shy to accept that?”

“Why do you keep trying to paint me as the main character of the team? Everyone works hard together.” He questions, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Because you are,” you respond matter-of-factly, focused enough to press your eye into the viewfinder again. A few seconds pass, and Jisung recognizes the click of the camera as you capture something on the field. “You’re clearly the best player on the team by a long shot. You’re the main character, the hero.”

At your response, Jisung shakes his head in disbelief and scrunches his nose. There’s really no getting through to you. “I’m more than the hero you think I am.”

You turn to him, facial features contorted into a mischievous expression. “I’m sure you are.” Jisung realizes then that you’re holding something out to him. Taking it, he observes it. A… business card? With your name and number on it. “(Name). Aspiring journalist.”

“You have a business card? Aren’t you like, seventeen?” 

You shrug, smile tugging on your lips. “Never hurts to be prepared. Call me.” It’s the last thing you say before you flitter away on quick feet, leaving to interview the team which has just won their match. He watches you leave, wondering if you know what kind of effect you have on people. 

-

“I don’t know, man. She seems kinda crazy,” says Hyuck from the seat next to him, leaning his head back. However, a sudden bump in the road causes the bus to jump, startling the boy a bit. Jisung had just shared his thoughts about asking you out with his friend, who immediately made a face and shook his head. 

“Crazy?” Sure, you’re a bit forward and maybe slightly reckless, but he doesn’t think you’re… crazy. It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you and from the conversations you’ve shared over text and phone… he thinks he likes you. Like, really likes you. It’s goddamn terrifying.

“Yeah, we all saw her article,” Chenle speaks up from the seat behind him. “She’s obsessed with you.” 

Jisung rolls her eyes. “It was one article. That doesn’t mean she’s obsessed.”

“I think you should do it. It’d be funny to get on camera in case you fail,” snorts Renjun.

Jaemin pipes in from in front of them. “But if you do ask her out, she lives three hours away. That’s a lot of distance.” He’s the only one in a relationship, so maybe he has the only opinion that Jisung trusts. 

“Other people have done more distance.”

Now, it’s Jeno’s turn to pipe in. “But you’re not other people, you’re Jisung Park. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” Should he feel insulted? Chenle also adds, “Jeno’s right. You’re a senior! It’s your year, and you wanna spend it tied down to some girl who lives three hours away?” 

But you’re not just some girl. Mark’s the only one who hasn’t spoken, and most of the time, he’s the most level headed. Jisung turns to him with a sincere expression and asks, “What do you think?”

Though he had been trying to stay quiet throughout the conversation, he stretches a bit in his seat before finally saying, “I think you should go for it.”

“I think you should too!” Jaemin says. “But I think you should be prepared for what it means.”

“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll hype you up.”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jisung asks. “If she rejects me, at least she’s three hours away, right?” There’s murmurs of agreement around the seven of them. He tries to sound relaxed, but the thought of asking a girl out for the first time causes his heart to thump loudly in his chest. Oh god… should he do it?

“So?” asks Hyuck after a few seconds of silence, and it’s then that Jisung realizes everyone’s looking at him. “Are you gonna do it?” 

He gulps. “... No idea.”

A collective groan emerges from the group of boys. Hyuck, ever the genius, straightens his back with a glint in his eye. “How about this? If we win, you ask her out. You’ll be riding on a winning spree and it’ll give you confidence. If we lose then… there’s more girls back home.” 

That… doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But oh god, he doesn’t know which option he wants. 

-

For the first time, Jisung feels like his legs are knotting into each other, tumbling over his feet. 

Soccer had always come easily to him, like breathing. But for some unknown reason, he’s totally off his game today. He knows the play, his strengths, and even the weaknesses of his opponents, but he trips over his feet. 

No, that’s a lie. He definitely does know the source of his nervousness, and it lives in the form of a girl with a camera and a notepad sitting in the bottom corner bleacher. His breath is frantic as he zips back and forth across the field. The sounds of the game are ringing loud in his ear, and he can hardly even focus on the black and white ball being kicked around, let alone what the coach is screaming at them. They’re so close, one more goal should do it. 

He knows what’s going to happen. Jisung Park had always been known for his ending kicks.

But what if he messes it up? What if he fumbles the kick or whiffs it? 

Then again, does he even want to win? That’s a dumb quesiton—of course he does—but the question is: is he ready for what comes with the win? He really shouldn’t look, shouldn’t peek for just one look at you, but he does. You’re scribbling in your notepad, and he swears in that millisecond that you look so pretty. 

Yeah, he wants it. He really wants it. 

He’s ready, and—oh god, Sungchan is passing the ball to him. Suddenly Jisung is on high alert, winding up toward the goal. He captures Sungchan’s ball with ease, no longer tripping over himself as he makes his way to the end goal. 

One kick, just nail this one kick. 

He winds up, turning his body to the correct angle; he kicks it and…

Please go in, please go in, he’s begging. 

The ball flies in straight past the goalkeeper, who jumps toward it but there’s no use. It all happens so quickly, and suddenly his team erupts into celebration when the referee blows his whistle. Still standing there, Jisung catches his breath and stares into the goal. 

He won. 

That means… He glances at you. You’re wearing a huge smile on your face, and without noticing it himself, Jisung has his own proud smile on his. His momentary peace is interrupted by his friends running toward him, nearly knocking him over in their celebration. 

“Yeeahhh, Jisung Park, you’re the man!” 

A few minutes later, Jisung tries to calm his nerves after thanking the opposing team for a good game. When he returns to the sidelines where his stuff is, he can barely get some water down his throat before Chenle is pushing a soccer ball into his hand. “Good luck, dude,” he says, and Jisung can feel the others’ eyes on him. Oh no, it’s time. 

He steals a glance at you, and—Oh. You’re looking at him too. A bashful smile spreads over your lips and you turn away, focusing back to your conversation with your friend. His heart is beating so loud, but Jisung doesn’t think it’s because of the soccer game. Turning back to his friends, he groans, “I need a pep talk.”

“Okay, uh,” Mark attempts. “You got this, you know you’re the man. Um… if she rejects you, then it’s okay, there’s other fish in the sea!” A groan erupts through the group. “That’s not a pep talk, Mark!” 

“Listen,” says Chenle suddenly, grabbing Jisung’s shoulders to stare at him. “She’s not gonna reject you. You’re Jisung freaking Park! The star of the team and my best friend! Go get ‘em, and don’t take no for an answer!” With this, he gives Jisung a small push in the girl’s direction.

“Actually, uh—I think no means no,” pipes in Jisung but everyone cuts him off with a collective, “JUST GO!” 

Pink spreads across his cheeks as he slowly walks in your direction. At a good distance away, he places the coveted soccer ball down on the ground and winds himself up for a kick. Okay, he just shot the winning goal of the game. If he can do that, he can do this. Running forward the slightest, Jisung gives himself a silent pep talk as his foot taps the ball. It goes moving from its spot, flying through the air… and that’s when Jisung realizes his mistake. Instead of gently tapping against your ankle like he had planned, the ball flies straight in the air, knocking the side of your head rather harshly. 

“Not that hard, genius!” Chenle chastises from behind him, and Jisung has to hold back the desire to actually groan in that moment. He immediately runs toward you, hands out in surprise. “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, reaching out for you. You’re rubbing the spot on the side of your head where the ball had hit, and he wants to disappear right there. 

He never should have done this. 

Why was he born again?

“I’m so sorry,” he says again for the nth time, feeling shame and humiliation speed up his spine at the way you wince when you touch the side of your head. “Oh my god, go get me an ice pack,” he demands over his shoulder at his friends.

“No, no I’m okay,” you reassure everyone. Now all the eyes are on the two of you. 

A few moments of silence pass as you eye the soccer ball which has rolled some distance away, crouching down to pick it up. Ball in hand, you scan the outside of it… and destroying all of Jisung’s hopes and expectations, you burst into laughter.

You laugh so hard, the boisterous sounds leaving your lips so vehemently that you have to cover your mouth with your hand. Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “I just kicked you in the head and you’re laughing?” Oh god, he must have done more damage than he thought. You don’t answer, the only sounds leaving you are giggles and guffaws. It’s only making him feel worse; geez, he wishes he wasn’t so tall so he could positively disappear right now. 

You finally look up at him and meet his gaze, your own eyes crinkled in delight. Flipping the ball over in your hands, you present to him the ball. Written on one of the large white spots reads a firm, “Go out with me?” in black marker.

“This is why you kicked me in the head?” You ask, still chuckling the slightest. Bashfully, Jisung nods. You laugh again. Every time you do that, he feels like getting smaller and smaller. “Of course I’ll go out with you.”

Wait, really?

He says these words aloud, eyes wide at your ease. He hadn’t expected you to actually say yes! “Sure,” you respond with a smile. “Though I could’ve gone without the head injury.” 

This brings a laugh from the both of you. He really had been worrying so much about nothing. His frame instantly relaxes, taking the ball back from you. “You sure you don’t need the ice pack?”

“No, I could definitely use an ice pack.” 

-

The first date happens two weeks after that game, and it’s his first real date so he has no idea how to act. Everything goes fine—he takes you to the local arcade in your town, and though he’d deny it to the ends of the earth, you beat him in foosball. 

“Ha!” You had screamed. “Superstar soccer player Jisung Park, and you can’t beat me in table soccer?” His cheeks had burned pink at the sound of your voice reverberating around the public arcade, but honestly the mirth in your eyes was worth it.

His cheeks are red but the air is cold on the walk home to your house. He had promised to have you home by nine, and it’s—he checks the time on his phone—8:45. 

A look at you, holding the giant stuffed teddy bear that you had won (he hadn’t won it for you, because lord knows he’s horrible at skee-ball), and Jisung can see the air leaving your lips. “Hey, you cold?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, though you scoot closer to him on the sidewalk. His tongue laves over his bottom lip quickly, and he almost wants to hold your hand. But that wouldn’t do much to keep you warm. 

He purses his lips, then immediately his hands are working at taking off his hoodie. That’s a cute thing, isn’t it? Boyfriends giving hoodies to their girlfriends? “Here, take this.”

When you take one look at the hoodie in his hands and roll your eyes, Jisung knows he’s in for it. “Seriously? You can’t fool me with some cheesy rom-com moves,” you laugh.

Ouch.

That hurt his pride. He was just trying to be nice, maybe a tad bit romantic, but you clearly weren’t having it. He should have known you would be so tsundere, and maybe he does.

He knows you act strong, like there is no way on the face of the earth that you would ever swoon for his lame attempts at flirting. But when you reach upward on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before you step into your house, he knows you like it just as much as he does.

-

For the longest time, it’s been just him and his sister Naeun.

His parents passed away shortly after his birth, so they stayed under the custody of their aunt. When his sister became an adult, she became his legal guardian. Since then, it’s been the two of them against the world.

Though kids had sometimes made fun of him for not having a mom or a dad, Jisung never paid those kids much attention. Sure, he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to drive or a mom to attend his parent-teacher conferences, but he had his sister and she was all he’d never need. Naeun gave up everything for him: she didn’t go to college, she traded nights out with her friends to help him with her math homework, she worked two jobs so he could play soccer. She had worked so hard, perhaps sheltered Jisung so much that he had always lived a comfortable life.

It never occurs to him just how much she had struggled until the morning she asks him to get a job. 

She sits across the dining table at breakfast, and over his cereal, Jisung notes how shaken and guilty she looks. There must be something on her mind, but that’s how his sister’s always been; she doesn’t like to worry him, and speaks up when she’s ready. When she finally tells him, he blinks, confused. 

“I can’t pay the bills alone. Not with soccer getting more expensive, and the landlord raising the rent—that bastard,” she mumbles under her breath, surprising Jisung. She hardly cursed. “It’s… It’ll just be for a short time. I promise.” She has tears in her eyes. Jisung furrows his eyebrows; she must feel guiltier about this than he thought. Immediately he nods in understanding. “It’s fine, Noona. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, go out looking this weekend.” 

He takes another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, thinking that the conversation will end there. But it doesn’t, his sister’s quiet voice reaching his ears. “Promise me you’ll go to college, Sung. Promise me you’ll make it. Make it all worth it.”

And it’s in that moment, in the way that his sister’s voice is on the edge of breaking, that it occurs to him just how much his sister has sacrificed for him. How quickly she had to grow up, having become his parent at eighteen, just a few months away from how old he was now. And he was nowhere near as responsible as her. 

He swears in that moment that he’ll uphold his promise. He’ll get a scholarship, he’ll help his sister out. He’ll pay back everything she’s given up for him.

-

Finally, today you’re in town.

It’s the first time you’ve come to visit him in his town, and he’s so excited to show you everything: his school, his favorite ice cream place on the corner of the street from his apartment building, and even the park he grew up kicking soccer balls at. Even after all these years, him and his friends still came here to practice their soccer technique.

Today, the two of you are sitting underneath a tree at said park, his head in your lap. You’re running your hands through his dark hair, and wow, he’d never admit that it feels so good. 

There’s a small laugh heard from you as you comb through his locks. “You should dye your hair.”

“Suddenly?” He asks. “I don’t even know what color I’d dye it.” 

“You should do like, a blue or something. Oh, purple! Purple would be nice!” Your excitement causes him to roll his eyes promptly, sitting up. “I’ll dye my hair purple if you dye your hair purple,” he retorts to you. 

“Maybe I will,” you say, standing onto your feet now that he’s gotten off of you. Wiping the grass from your legs briefly, you nod toward his soccer ball a few feet away. “C’mon, let’s play.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna play soccer.”

“Yeah, is that so surprising?” 

“Um, yeah, a little bit considering the fact that you said it’s boring and that you complain having to get up to go to the fridge at two in the morning,” quips Jisung with a laugh. You only roll your eyes in response. “I never said soccer was boring, I just said it’s only interesting when you play. And you’re gonna teach me right now, so stand up,” you say, extending a hand to him.

He takes your hand, rising to his feet before picking up the ball. “Fine,” he relents, a smirk making its way onto his face. “Try to keep up.”

For fifteen minutes, the two of you race up and down the park’s open grass field, chasing the ball in every direction. He evades you, long legs carrying him and the ball while you chase after him. 

“Wait,” you say mid-sprint, slowing to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and slowly Jisung stops his running also. “You good?” He asks from a few feet away.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, reaching a hand up to wipe at your forehead. “Just… gimme a sec.” A minute passes of you catching your breath, but Jisung doesn’t pay it much attention—a person who didn’t play soccer and have trained lungs like him would struggle.

“Okay, okay,” you finally say, shaking your head a bit. “Let’s go again.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, worry seeping into his tone.

“Yeah, yes! Just—just go.”

So he does, beginning to kick the ball down field as he chases after it, stopping past center field to pass the ball to you. You’re racing after him, and though the ball is coming your way, you trip over it, falling straight onto the floor.

Your head hangs low, and he immediately rushes over to you.

“Hey, hey! You okay?” He asks, kneeling down but your eyes are closed. He swipes a hand over your forehead, and it’s that moment when he realizes your eyes are closed. Did you pass out? Had he pushed you too far? “(Name)?” 

No response. Oh god, what is he supposed to do?

Is he supposed to check if you’re breathing? Where can he check for a pulse again? In his moment of inadequacy, he pulls out his phone and calls his sister.

She’ll know what to do, but it pains him that he doesn’t.

His sister arrives quickly, and immediately takes you to the hospital. According to her, you do have a pulse and you probably just had heat exhaustion. He sure hopes so… 

For a few hours he sits in the waiting room as he awaits the arrival of your parents. They rushed over from your town, four hours away, and this definitely was not the impression he wanted to have on them. Head in his hands, he can’t help but worry about you.

You do wake up, eventually but he can’t see you until your parents arrive.

They take you back home. You’re walking and talking again, but as you shoot him a weak smile from over your shoulder, walking down the hall and out of the hospital, Jisung can’t help but feel that something has gone terribly wrong. 

-

He swears he’s never been so tired. 

Working at McDonald’s isn’t horrible, per se, it’s just different. But it definitely takes more out of him than soccer ever did. The second he walks into his room Jisung drops his backpack on the bean bag next to the door and almost collapses on his bed. Throwing his work cap on the floor, he runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone.

The best thing about coming home from work, is coming home to you.

He immediately fishes for his phone from his pocket and opens it to speed dial. Pressing on your contact, Jisung presses the phone to his ear and waits for his girlfriend’s voice on the other end. The line picks up.

“Hey,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips without him even knowing. 

“Hi…” 

Something’s wrong. Your voice is missing its signature excitement, the snarkiness he had grown accustomed to. He sits up in bed, eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything okay?” 

Yes, you’re supposed to say. Everything’s fine. Everything’s just peachy.

But you don’t. “I got a call from the hospital.”

After you had fainted the other day playing soccer with him, the hospital had run a few tests to make sure you were okay. He knew this, you both did. They were supposed to say that you had been dehydrated, that you hadn’t eaten in a few hours. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Jisung…” 

“What, what is it?” 

There’s a momentary silence on the other side, then a shaky breath. “When I was ten… I got really sick. I was always having nosebleeds, always tired—some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed. They took me to the doctor and they told me that… I had leukemia.”

Jisung releases a heavy breath, staring into his sheets. No… don’t say it.

“I fought it for two years, and I beat it. God, it was… it was really hard, and I got through it. It’s been five years now but—but the hospital called and…” Please, no. “My cancer came back.”

Jisung’s never felt this way before; like all the air in his lungs have been pulled from his chest, lost to the universe. Not even when he sprinted across the soccer field, not even when he had gotten punched in the chest. All those times, his chest burned with fire, be it anger or passion. But now… his chest feels empty and hollow and numb. He manages to spit out a few words. 

It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to be okay, you’re supposed to go to prom together. Graduate. He’s supposed to get a soccer scholarship, you’re supposed to study journalism at the same school, and the long distance would cease to exist. You were supposed to be happy. “But it’s gonna be okay, right? You’ve fought it before, you can do it again.” Perhaps it was a bit selfish of him to ask for consolation when you were the one with the illness. But you were a journalist, never a liar. Your voice is weak, like you’ve already given up.

“I don’t know.”

-

“What’s up with you?” Chenle’s voice is almost worried, but Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell because his eyes are focused on the ground. He’s been kicking a soccer ball around with Chenle and Mark for a while now, but there’s clearly something very off about the teenager today.

“Yeah, is something wrong?” Mark asks.

Jisung blows some air into his cheeks. Should he tell them? It’s your private information but technically, you’re his girlfriend right? The news has been troubling him for a few days now, and he’s had no one to talk to. Surely, he can’t talk to his sister about it. 

He should just spit it out. “(Name) has cancer.”

It’s like the world stops, his friends taking in his words. “W-What? What did you just say?” Chenle speaks first, then Mark quickly follows. “Did you say (Name) has cancer?”

Keeping his gaze on the ground, Jisung nods and gives the ball a small kick in Mark’s direction. “Yeah. She had leukemia when she was younger, and… the other day she went to the hospital and they said that it came back. Her cancer came back.” When he looks up, both his friends are looking at him with genuine concern etched across their faces. 

“Seriously? Cancer? And you’re still dating her?” Mark asks, causing Jisung to raise an eyebrow in confusion. Did he just insinuate what he thinks he did?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Chenle speaks up next, trying to defuse the sudden tension. “Jisung, you guys have only been dating like, a couple months. It was just like yesterday that you kicked her in the head asking her out!” 

“And?” Jisung asks pointedly. Suddenly he’s in front of Chenle, and though he technically towers over the latter in height, Chenle’s chest is straight as he makes his point.

“Is it really worth it to stay on a sinking ship?”

Jisung’s voice reaches a new level of low, erupting from a place deep inside of him that he’s hidden away. It’s a place of rage, of anger sizzling and bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly they’re both chest to chest, unwilling to back down. “Now, I know you’re not talking about my girlfriend.” 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mark interrupts, hands coming between them to tear the two boys apart. “Calm down. Both of you.”

“He started it,” accuses Jisung quickly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is not a sinking ship. Neither is my relationship, and I don’t need you to comment on it.” He looks to Mark for guidance. Mark had always been the most logical one, the one he would look to for help, and though he thinks that Mark will agree with him, he almost looks guilty.

“But it’s true, Jisung. We’re worried about you. She’s just a girl. Is she really worth hurting yourself over?” He had trusted Mark to be on his side, but now Jisung just releases a scoff. He had been hoping for his friends’ support, but it seems like he’ll be going through this alone, then.

-

You’ve been avoiding him.

Of course, there’s not much that can be done to avoid him when you live hours away from each other. But you haven’t been responding to his texts, and when you do, they’re mostly short and taut. You’ve been cutting your phone calls short, often saying that you’re tired. Maybe you really are, but it hurts hearing the line cut off, not knowing how you’re really feeling.

Jisung can’t help but feel like he’s failing. He should be doing better.

It’s like your relationship is an hourglass, running out of time with every day that he spends going to school, work, or soccer practice. Like you’re getting further and further away with each short text message.

His entire life has been spent running. Speeding forward center field like a lightning bolt, long legs carrying him far ahead everyone else. But for the first time, Jisung feels like he’s falling behind.

-

It only takes a three hour bus ride (four, with the added stops) but in Jisung’s mind, it’s all worth it. It won’t be the first time he’s gone over to your house, but it is indeed the first he’s ever showed up unannounced, which is a strange appearance given that he lives three hours away. But with everything happening, he’s willing to give up the day and six hours worth of travel for you.

Sitting on the bus, he pulls out his phone. It’s early, like nine in the morning, but he knows you have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours so you’re definitely awake. He presses the facetime button, but you quickly reject his call. His eyebrows furrow, but lighten with an incoming text from you.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : jisung, i’m using the bathroom rn. call you back in a bit.

He nearly rolls his eyes, but it’s a sweet one. You’re always so candid.

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : you act like you’ve never facetimed me on the toilet before.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : wow, call me out more why don’t you

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : pick up my call, brat ♡

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : no, You pick up My call :p

Seconds later, his phone is lit up with an incoming facetime screen. A laugh almost leaves him at your tenacity before accepting the call.

The call opens up to the visual of his girlfriend, you in your PJs fixing the phone up against the mirror in the bathroom. He sees himself reflected in the mini screen, hoodie on and earbuds in wearing a boyish grin. “Hey pretty girl. Make sure you wash your hands.”

You roll your eyes at his remarks. “Hey ugly boy. I’m already doing that. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure, because I don’t think you brushed your teeth after you fell asleep on call the other night,” he teases, clicking his tongue as you’re the only person he can tease so easily. “I’m on the bus to practice.” A lie, but a white one at that. “What are you up to?”

You wack your still dry toothbrush in front of the camera, nose scrunching up in the slightest. It’s a habit of his that you’ve picked up. “I’m also doing that right now.” You wet the brush, putting some toothpaste on it. “I thought you didn’t have practice this Friday? Or was that next Friday?”

Your actions bring a low laugh to his lips, and his eyes momentarily focus on the passing landscape outside the bus window as he’s now three hours out of his normal perimeter. “Uh, Coach wanted to add in a practice today. Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

You nod at his answer, toothbrush in mouth. “I do, I think it’s like, in a hour or something.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies simply as the bus comes to a stop, your house only a short walk away. He stands, gathering his bag. “Gotta go, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, pumpkin honeysuckle,” he snorts, making his way to the front of the bus. 

Your brows furrow as you give him a disapproving look through the screen, shaking your head slightly before moving to rinse your mouth. “Talk to you soon, don’t get hurt at practice or I’ll fight you.”

He scoffs as he steps out of the bus, into your neighborhood. “Like you could take me. Later.” You probably could, given your determination, but he gives you a nose scrunch before ending the call. He’s only taken a few steps when his phone rings with a text message.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : you and i both know i could take you :)

A snort leaves him. Classic (Name).

When he arrives a few minutes later, he hesitates at the door, only praying that the person who opens up is you, not your parents or god forbid, your brother. It only takes a few hard knocks before he hears your voice on the other side, determined to see just who the hell had the nerve to interrupt your laziness this early in the morning. “Who the fu—”

He tsk’s in distaste. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the first words to leave his girlfriend’s mouth are cuss words. “You potty mouth. I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, opening his arms.

Jisung’s not quite sure what he expected. For you to jump in his arms? What a delusional boy. You blink for a few seconds, then suddenly you’re throwing yourself at him, fist first to land a deserved punch to his arm. “I thought you had practice? What are you doing here and why do you look so much cuter than when I last saw you?” 

“Well, I lied,” he snickers, patting your head. “I’m here to annoy you, obviously. But you look too. For a—” A person dying of cancer, but he can’t say it. He won’t. “—person who barely got up twenty minutes ago.”

Your hand immediately begins rubbing the spot that your fist landed, worried that it might actually bruise in a bit. Jisung asks, “So are you gonna invite me in, or?”

“What are you, a vampire or something? I’m pretty sure you weren’t given permission when you entered my heart so just come in and cuddle me before my appointment.” 

Your response catches him off guard so he blinks before entering in silently, sticking his hands back into the loose fitting pocket of his hoodie. Even after six months, he’s still not used to you saying those kinds of things. Hell, he still gets sweaty holding your hand.

“Hey Mom! Dad!” You’re grabbing onto his arm, tugging him into the kitchen. “Jisung’s here!”

-

After a small breakfast and conversation with your parents, he’s given the permission to go with you to your doctor’s appointment. The two of you take the bus, hands interlaced as you sit, and Jisung smiles awkwardly when an elderly woman compliments the two of you, calling you a cute couple. 

He’s never really been in a hospital before. 

For an arduous soccer player, he’s lucky enough to never have suffered a pain great enough to warrant a visit to the hospital, nor had he ever been sickly enough to send him there. It’s for that reason that he feels slightly out of place, tucked in his hoodie whilst trying his best not to gaze at the others in the waiting room. Instead, he tries to keep his gaze focused upon his girlfriend as you remain bright despite their surroundings. Your hands intertwined, he feels a comfortable warmth seeping into his veins, gold in color and feeling. Gold like the ring on your finger, and like your heart. 

He’s so lucky to have you.

“I don’t really have anything planned,” he says softly, giving your hand a slight squeeze. It’s true that your itinerary is next to nonexistent for this impromptu date, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything, a hospital is a strange starting destination for a date but your relationship is a bit strange. Quietly, he says to you, voice low in the hopes that no one overhears, “Don’t hospitals scare you?”

He knows that you spent a good portion of your time here; surely you must have grown accustomed to it, but Jisung was not. Hospitals were cold… white and bleak and much too quiet.

“Nah, not really,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Except for all the souls wandering around.”

Jisung blinks. “Souls?” He gulps.

“Yup. The souls of the passing.” You click your tongue, along with a wink in his direction now that you’ve successfully managed to creep him out. Do you ever stop making jokes?

The door to the waiting room opens and a medical assistant calls your name. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” you tell him, standing and releasing his arm. He gives a hesitant nod, watching as you leave through the door and disappear down the hall. 

When you emerge, some forty-five minutes later, the mirth is gone from your eyes.

He knows right away: you didn’t get good news. His heart is pumping in his chest, like he’s waiting for you to collapse right there. Years could pass, and Jisung swears he’d never be able to erase that memory of you. “Are you—” Okay, he wants to ask. But you just give him a small smile and shake your head. It’s not the time. He cuts himself short, reaching a hand out to you with a small, albeit forced, smile. “Let’s go on our date.”

-

It’s a long afternoon, spent in the arcade where you had had your first date—this time, for memory’s sake, he gets another ring from the claw machine—then McDonald’s and ice cream. He treats you to lunch, courtesy of his employee discount, and the entire day is filled with laughter and mutual teasing. Everything feels like it’s okay again. 

Jisung enjoys these moments the most.

The moments where he doesn’t feel like he has to be anybody: not the star soccer player, not the kind understanding younger brother, or a kid trying to look grown up at an adult party. With him he’s just you, awkwardness and quirks altogether. You’ve never hid yourself from him, and now he doesn’t have to hide himself either.

Now that the day is touching evening, the two of you sit at a park, relaxing mindlessly on the swings next to each other. Now that the romantic buzz is gone, the two of you have fallen into a comfortable silence.

“Thanks for coming this far, Ji. This was… nice.”

A small smile spreads over his lips. “It was nothing. I wanted to do it for a long time.”

“No, really,” you say, turning to him with a thankful smile. Your eyes are serious now, and Jisung feels the sunlight seep into his skin. “I really missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. This moment feels heavy, like he’ll remember it for years to come. “... I missed you too. A lot.” You both turn back to face the sunset, watching the sun fade behind a hill. It’s setting, streaks of gentle reds and soft-spoken oranges staining the empyrean firmament. It’s then that Jisung feels his heart begin to sink, like the sun, into the pit of his stomach.

“Are you scared?”

A moment passes without you saying anything, then you speak up beside him. “Not really. I mean, it’s just the hospital. The only thing that’ll suck is not being able to leave. I never thought I’d say it but, I’m really gonna miss going to school.”

Did you think you were never going to return? “Are your chances good?”

The implications from earlier at the hospital return. What are the chances that things aren’t looking up? “They say so,” you breath out.

That’s not good enough. Anything could happen. Jisung needs clarification, confirmation. He doesn’t want to lose you. “What if you—”

“I might.”

A beat of silence.

Jisung feels like crying. It gathers in the back of his throat. “What would I do without you?”

There it is: the implication that you’ll be gone. That one day, Jisung will have to wake up and face a world without you in it, a world with less happiness and less passion. A world where there isn’t someone who will call him ugly when really they think he’s the cutest to walk to the earth, or where there isn’t someone to make fun of him the way you do. A world with less love. 

Your voice is dry as you speak. 

“You’d move on.”

“I don’t know if I’d ever love anyone like you,” he finds himself saying. 

“L-Love?” You suddenly say, voice the smallest he’s ever heard. You’ve always had the loudest voice, most prominent in his brain, but his words seem to have caught you off guard. “Do you? Love me?” 

He doesn’t know what love feels like. He’s just a teenager, what is he supposed to know about love? About loss? Is it all-consuming, like in the movies? Is it meant to hurt? “... I think I do. I think I love you.”

There’s a sniffle next to him, and he turns immediately, alarmed that he may have made you cry. There are tears in your eyes, but they don’t fall. Being a writer, you talk too much. Your words are eloquent and true, though sometimes Jisung has a hard time getting you to stop talking. But this time, you choose to abandon words altogether, instead leaving your swing to stand in front of him. Compelled by nature, he stands too. Instead of speaking, you reach upward on your tiptoes once more. Except this time, you kiss him. 

Your lips meet, and everything is golden.

And against the backdrop of the setting sun, it feels like the closing scene of Jisung’s very own romance movie. But this isn’t the end, he knows.

-

When he walks you home, he offers his sweater again. 

This time not out of obligation or the desire to appear more romantic than he is, but because you’re cold. Really cold. You’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself not giving enough warmth.

“Here,” Jisung says, already beginning to take off his hoodie, but you stop him with a hand and a pointed look, though your chattering teeth cause you to stutter. “S-Still trying to woo me with cheap rom-com tricks?”

You’re stubborn. You’re so stubborn and he hates it.

“Just take it,” he says, pushing it into your arms. 

“No,” you argue. “You have a three hour ride home, it’s late and you’ll be cold.”

It’s obvious your illness has made you even more sensitive to the cold, and for that reason, Jisung’s fine facing the biting cold as long as you’re okay. “You’re freezing, please just take it.”

“Jisung, I said no.” Your voice is stern now, and he gets the feeling that he’s upset you. He gives up, gnawing on his bottom lip in deep thought. He just wants to make you feel better, doing what he thinks will help but with you, it never does. You’re so independent, too much so and much too stubborn to admit you need his help… “Fine,” he says before putting his hoodie back on. If you won’t take his warmth, then he’ll give it to you. 

He lifts his arm, placing it fully around your shoulders and pulling you to him so your bodies meet. “At least let me hold you,” he mumbles. Your frame freezes in his for a moment, until you wrap your arms around the circumference of his chest. 

Burying your face into his side, you relent into him. “Okay, fine.”

And later, he finds that you’re right. When he sits alone on the dimly lit train, he realizes that the warmth he had been feeling earlier, bathing in the sun’s rays with your lips, is long gone. All he feels now, is cold.

-

“You skipped practice the other day.” Jisung looks up from where he had been sitting on the bleachers, tying his shoes after practice. It had been a tough practice; he had missed quite a few passes and whiffed more than just a couple shots. He can only blame himself. He’s been distracted; alongside his worries about you, he also has a job to attend to and even more, the results for his dream school’s soccer scholarship is supposed to come out soon. His gaze falls on all six of his closest friends, looking down at him. 

“Yeah, something came up,” he says easily.

“More like, someone,” retorts Donghyuck easily. “We know you ditched to go see your girlfriend.”

“And what about it?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, man. You never want to play ball with us anymore, you don’t want to hang out with us. Whenever you invite you to a party, you raincheck. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Chenle spits out, arms crossed over his chest.

“Chenle,” says Renjun carefully.

“No,” interrupts the boy in question. Chenle looks straight at Jisung, who stands now to meet the others’ heights. “He needs to hear this. Ever since that girl came around, it’s like you’ve lost your way. You used to be all about soccer and friendship. Now you always have her on your mind, and—did you see the way you played earlier?—she’s messing you up. Your head’s not on straight.”

“Chenle, stop.” Donghyuck speaks up now, voice low as he tries to stop the younger from going off. “You’re not the same Jisung I met in peewee camp, and I don’t know if I like who I’m seeing,” Chenle finishes. 

That’s enough for him. His voice comes out before he can stop it.

“You know why I never party with you anymore?” Jisung suddenly says, voice booming and clearly at his limit. “Because I’ve always hated partying. Because I have a job now, and because I don’t want my sister to stay up worrying about me while I’m getting piss drunk. I hate drinking, I hate trying to look cool while actually looking fucking stupid, because I don’t know how I can even think about partying when my girlfriend is fucking dying.” 

A hearty scoff leaves his lips, as though he can’t even fathom the words he’s faced today. “You don’t even know me anymore? That’s where you’re wrong, because you never knew me. Not all of me. You only see me as the star player who’s gonna get you your win. She knows me, she knows all of me, and she doesn’t try to change me. Well, sorry that I’m not the same kid you met years ago who let everyone walk all over him. I thought you guys were my friends, but clearly you only want me around for as long as I can play.”

Those are the last fiery words to leave Jisung’s mouth before he turns on his heels, storming off the field and away from everyone else. He just needs to get out of here, away from everything before he ruins it. Mark and Hyuck follow after him, while Jeno and the rest hold Chenle back. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Mark says, ever level headed. “We know what you’re going through.”

Though he appreciates their concern, Jisung spits, “No, you don’t.”

Both of them stop walking, no longer chasing after him as Jisung pulls out his phone. 

A new email.

He immediately opens it, eyes glazing over the text.

Dear Jisung Park,

Thank you for applying to our university’s soccer scholarship. We reviewed every application with our utmost dedication and attention. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept your application at this time. Our soccer program is one of the most competitive at this school, however we encourage you to reapp… 

What a load of shit. 

-

The past few weeks have been horrid. 

Soccer is as tense as ever, though Jisung would be lying if he said that his fight with Chenle didn’t fuel him to work even harder during practice. His job sucks, especially after someone spilled a bucket of old oil on him (it was cold, thank goodness but still gross nonetheless). So far he’s gotten another rejection. Who knew that getting into college would be this hard?

He wishes that he could say his relationship with you is the saving grace, but it’s really not. You’re in the hospital now, and the two of you have been talking less and less. Even now with his feud between his friends, he feels even more alone. Today when he calls, you sound even more tired than usual. 

“Hey, chocolate honeycomb bunny,” Jisung says, giving his absolute worst at giving a cringe-worthy nickname. It seems you’re too tired to even give a repulsed response. 

“Hey.” You’re quiet for a moment, only your breathing heard across the line. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” sighs Jisung, running a hand through his dark locks. “Just exhausted. My coworker is getting on my last nerve.”

“The same one you talked about last week?”

“Who spilled the dirty oil on me? Yeah,” he responds with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve both been working the same amount of time, I just want to know why he’s so slow to pick it up.”

It’s characteristic of you to agree, seeing as complaining is one of your favorite past times. But you don’t, voice only coming out softly across the call, “Maybe just give him some time.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he sighs. “How about you? Are you feeling better?”

“About the same,” you respond truthfully. God, you sound so tired. He almost feels bad for making you talk to him when you clearly sound exhausted. “Any more results?” You ask, regarding his college acceptances.

“No,” he shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. He’s a good student, he’s done community service. Just what more do they want from him? “You said I was special, but I don’t think the colleges see that.” 

He can almost see your small smile in his mind. “You are special. Just ‘cause they don’t see it doesn’t you aren’t.”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Jisung says, playing with a loose thread on his bedsheet. 

What you say next catches him off guard. “Maybe we can both be college-less, together.”

“What?” He asks, brows tightening in confusion. “Didn’t you get into the journalism program at that one university?” He’s caught you. You’re silent on the line for a few long seconds, but the quiet is deafening for him.

“I did, but Jisung, I…” You hesitate. “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean you’re not going?” He asks.

“I… I don’t know if I want to.” In a small voice, you continue, “I don’t know that I’ll make it that long.” What are you saying? What are you implying? Heart racing, Jisung tries to decipher these words in his mind. To him, it just sounds like the end.

“You’re giving up already, I hear it in your voice.”

“I’m not,” you say, a broken promise. “I just… want to be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst isn’t coming. You’re going to get through this. You’re going to beat it. I know you are.” It becomes blatantly clear in this moment that the person Jisung is trying to convince, is himself. 

His pleas fall upon deaf ears, because you argue back in what seems like the strongest voice you’ve made in months. As though you’ve amassed all your remaining energy for this conversation. “I’m not a hero, Jisung. I’m not cut out for this. The doctors said it’s not looking good.” 

“Then prove them wrong. You’re gonna beat it.” 

“I don’t want to be the underdog either, Ji. You know I hate them.” What you say next has his blood boiling. “I don’t deserve it anyways, no one would want me to come back.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jisung raises his voice now, volume growing with each word.

“No one likes me,” you spit out across the line, and he doesn’t need to see you to imagine how incensed you are at the moment. “I’m rude, I’m loud, I cross boundaries and I say things that hurt without caring about who it touches. And before you yell at me that no one thinks of me like that, these are things I’ve heard from other people.” Your voice breaks, as does Jisung’s heart. “If this were a movie, no one would root for me to survive.” 

“I do,” Jisung says, voice strong. “I’m rooting for you. Every. Single. Day. And who cares about how other people see you? You’re rude? You’re crass? I like you because of those things, because you’re different from me. Am I not enough?”

“You’re different,” you relent, voice tired. “You’re the only one who matters. But I—“ You choke up. “I’m just tired of fighting. I don’t want to go to sleep every night not knowing if I’ll wake up the next morning. I want to be strong, and I want to face every day knowing that it could be my last… I don’t want to leave anything behind—”

“You’re not leaving,” he cuts in.

“—and I can’t go through every day letting you think that everything is okay, because they’re not. But I’m ready to let go, Ji. Because I’m happy with what I had, with what we had, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Tears are falling down his cheeks now, suiciding off the surface of his face and staining his bed sheets. He doesn’t know if the tears are the result of sadness, anger, or the pain of loving someone the universe would never let him have, yet it hurts all the same. “But I love you! I told you that I loved you.”

“I love you too,” you cry, and the sound is heartbreaking. “But I just wish that were enough.”

A pregnant silence consumes both of you. All that can be heard is the sound of your mutual crying, along with your breathing that Jisung had learned to fall asleep to. When you speak again, your voice is steady. You had always been the stronger one. “I don’t think you should call anymore.” A few sniffles. He can’t even speak. “Goodbye, Jisung.”

Then the line dies.

-

It’s Christmastime. He knows it’s cold, probably even colder in the hospital where you are.

Now, Jisung knows you don’t want anything from him. You don’t want him around. In the past weeks he must have become someone even he wouldn’t want around. And though he gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again, he figures you could use a sweater. It’s nothing much, and really he thinks it could be better. 

A hoodie, not fit to your size but slightly larger because he knew you well enough to know you’d like it like that. On one sleeve, near the wrist, a patch of a soccer ball. He had learned how to sew it on himself. On the other, his initials. JS.

He sends it in the mail, in a box to the hospital with your name and room number on it. There’s no letter, nothing. Just his bare soul in the form of an oversized cotton hoodie. He’d send it himself, appearing at the door to your hospital bed, but something tells him he’s run out of things to say.

-

His phone rings at three in the morning. 

He knows what it means.

February 2nd, at 2:39AM. The world lost you. 

It would never be the same again, and neither would he.

-

Grief is an interesting thing, someone once told him. 

He doesn’t quite remember who it was, whether it was his sister comforting him after the death of their goldfish, the guidance counselor at his school giving him a required appointment after the passing of a student, or yourself. But as the hours go by, it feels more and more like a weight in his chest that has been sitting on a hollowed place in his heart. 

Grief is indescribable, and Jisung doesn’t know if this is because his limited seventeen year old vocabulary hasn’t collected enough fitting words to even begin to verbalize his emotions, or if because it really is indescribable. 

The first few days had been hell. 

He had almost become someone that he didn’t know, barely stepping out of bed and perhaps worrying his sister out of her mind. It was his way of ignoring the world, dissociating himself from the irrefutable truth that you weren’t really gone. You were still laying in bed, three hours away as usual, struggling but still fighting. If he could lay in bed, sleeping the days away and ignoring his text message condolences from his friends, he could pretend for some time that things were the way they were, eight months ago. 

Eight months before it.

Eight months before he lost you. Before your relationship, a burgeoning dandelion in the nook of spring. But dandelions represent rebirth, the reappearance of hope like a beacon after an arduous winter, and you would never have another spring. 

He could not pretend, because every morning the sun rose again, and he would have to reach his head out from the burrow of blankets he had buried himself in. He would need to face it for himself that he woke up, and you didn’t. His friends texted. His sister knocked on his door and begged him to eat, even going as far as to cook his favorite foods as a means to lure him from the darkness of his corner. He ate. But it was never the same. 

Messy bedheads, earbuds tucked in with muzak playing gently like the thrum of his heart which beat enough for the both of you, tear-stained pillow cases, knees to the chest, light failing to shine in through the blinds which remained closed, counting the seconds between each breath, dreaming insubordinate dreams. 

The first few days went like that. Empty.

Then he was angry.

Angry because the world had given him a love worth changing for, then ripped it from his inexperienced hands. He had never had anything in his life! Not a mother, not a father. Could he not have this one lily, this flower which sought to remind him of the fragility of life? And even more so, he was angry for you. You were a fire—you were a bottle of passion bursting at the seams, a well of untapped potential, a boldness which no one else could emulate—and the universe crushed you beneath its foot. 

And suddenly, the emptiness of your hollow space reflected upon him.

He should have been better, should have done more. A soccer ball proposition? A sweater? It was laughable; that was the least he could give? If only he had called, if only he hadn’t listened to you like the meek child he was, things could be better. 

And above all, he was sad. 

What would he do without you?

Moving on seemed useless. A light at the end of a dark tunnel which stretched for ages. An epiphany that you would never reach. 

He just hoped that it was not cold. That you left the world in a ball of light, surrounded in the warmth of family and love, not the rigidness of the unforgiving world. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he hoped that the soccer ball sleeve had been clutched to your chest, and that his hoodie could have provided just a little bit of that warmth. 

-

The walking pattern outside his bedroom door is different from his sister’s. So is the knock on the door; his older sister’s is much more quiet, reserved, as though she was afraid to wake him. This one is harsh, and it reverberates through the room before the door opens.

The air in the room is still for a moment.

“Jisung.” 

It’s Chenle. And Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, as well as Jaemin. They all take their seats either on the end of his bed, the floor, or his beanbag, but Jisung doesn’t move from his place underneath the blankets. 

“What do you want?” He manages to groan out in a small voice.

Someone places a hand on his leg, a comforting gesture. He thinks it’s Jaemin from the gentle touch. “We’re here for you.”

Donghyuck comments, “You haven’t been to practice this week.” Of course that would be what they would mention first. Jisung scoffs. “I’m kind of going through something.”

“And we’re here.” Mark’s voice.

“We wanted to apologize.” Chenle speaks now, and despite being best friends since they were five, he’s the last person Jisung expected to say sorry. In their decade-long friendship, Chenle was the confident one, the one who charged forward without consequence while Jisung trailed behind, cleaning up his mess. “We’ve been… assholes, simply put.” Had he been in higher spirits, Jisung would have snorted. “We thought we understood what you were going through, and we thought it was dumb. To let yourself get hurt over some random girl… but we were wrong. We didn’t understand your point of view.”

“Not even a little bit,” says Donghyuck, head hanging low. 

“Yeah, we’re supposed to be your friends. Your team! We’re supposed to lift you up when you’re down and… well, we haven’t been doing that. And we’re sorry. I’m sorry.” Chenle says. Slowly, Jisung lifts his head from below the blanket to face his friends. They all wear a variety of expressions, all somber. “And we know now… she’s not just some random girl.”

Yeah, they’ve all been assholes, some more than others, and Jisung can’t exactly say that they were any help in his struggle. But perhaps this was something he needed to go through alone. At the time, he needed you. But now… he just really needs his best friends. 

Tears sting at his eyes for the nth time. 

“Come here, you crybaby,” says Jaemin, opening his arms.

-

It’s Monday, meaning he has to go back to school today. He’s not ready, how could he be? It hasn’t even been a week since you… left, but he knows he has to go back. His sister, God bless her, had let him take the first few days off but now that the weekend has ended and school has rolled back around, he has no choice.

“You look like shit.”

Donghyuck has always lacked a filter. It would hurt if Jisung didn’t know that Donghyuck meant that in the best way possible. You look like shit, he says. So I’m glad you found it in you to come to school, is what he doesn’t say. 

Jisung closes his locker with a sigh. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” snickers his friend, and Jisung turns his head to find Mark and Jaemin approaching. “Morning,” greets Jaemin as he taps the top of Jisung’s head, despite being shorter.

“Hi,” responds Jisung quietly, clutching his chemistry textbook to his chest. The three of them look at him with quiet and somber eyes, but don’t say anything. Mark places a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a small rub.

“You got this.” 

The truth is, he can’t do this. The world feels quiet and empty, lacking a particular passion that you used to always embody. It could be worse. Thank goodness your relationship was rather private; he doesn’t know how he’d be able to function at school had there been curious eyes on him, if you had gone to the same school as him. 

The day goes rather slowly, and Jisung busies himself with catching up on his work that he had missed. He could almost pretend like things are normal. It’s not until fifth period calculus that something strange happens. 

An office TA pokes her head in and scrambles over to the teacher, who was in the midst of a very enthralling lecture on integrals that Jisung was definitely not paying great attention to. The TA whispers something into the teacher’s ear, then hands her a piece of paper. Mrs. Huang nods, then suddenly Jisung finds her eyes on him. “Jisung, Mr. Moon wants you in his office.” 

Him? Why him of all people?

Mr. Moon is the guidance counselor at their school, and Jisung has a moment of internal panic—had he somehow found out about you? Should he prepare himself for a lecture about grief and moving on? 

With a gulp, he nods. 

Mr. Moon is a fairly nice man, with a friendly smile and a reputation for being a pushover teacher. Jisung had met with him a few months ago to discuss his desire to pursue a soccer scholarship but he highly doubts that’s the case now.

When Jisung enters Mr. Moon’s office, the first thing he sees isn’t Mr. Moon but a tall man with a stoic expression standing behind his desk. In contrast to the stranger, Mr. Moon wears his trademark smile. “Jisung, good to see you. Still getting a kick out of that old ball?” 

Of course, Mr. Moon doesn’t know that Jisung skipped practice all last week to mope in his bed, but Jisung nods politely. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” responds the teacher with a smile. “Take a seat.”

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and cautiously does Jisung take a seat. The tall, bruff man is still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, having not yet said a single word. Somehow the atmosphere is tense, and Jisung’s quite sure he knows what this is about. 

“Now, Jisung, I’ve called you in today because—”

“Is this about (Name)?” Perhaps it’s a bit rude of him, but Jisung doesn’t want to be prodded at, at least not by people who think they know him. The last thing he wants is pity. 

Mr. Moon’s eyebrow raises just the slightest, and he leans forward on his desk. “Why, yes, it is. How did you know?”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, but it’s much weaker than he would like. “My question is, how did you know? Who told you?” Who was it that shared information on his personal life? Was it his sister? His friends? 

“Nobody had to tell me, Jisung. (Name) sent the letter to me herself.”

Wait… what? 

Jisung blinks, hands falling slack on his lap. “W-What? What letter?”

Perhaps his staring is a bit too obvious, for Mr. Moon gestures to the stranger in question with a hand. “Jisung, this is Johnny Seo.” Finally, the intimidating stranger has a name. “Johnny is the head coach of the soccer team at Greenwood University—” Wait, Greenwood University? That’s Jisung’s dream school—well, it was his dream school, until they rejected his application for a soccer scholarship. What would they want to do with him? “—and he wants to offer you a full-ride scholarship.”

What? 

Jisung’s mouth falls open. What? What the hell? Hadn’t they just rejected him three months ago? His eyes must be bugging out of his face, so he blinks repeatedly, trying to find the words to say. 

“W-Wait, what? A… A full ride?” He stammers, unable to find his tongue.

The man named Johnny only nods. “Full ride. Covered tuition, dorming, and soccer costs. All you have to do is keep your grades up and keep scoring those fancy goals of yours I’ve heard about.”

“But—But, you rejected me… why now?” 

For the first time, Johnny gives a small smile. “Because of the letter.” There it is, that letter again that Jisung has no idea about. He looks to Mr. Moon for guidance. All the counselor does is open his desk drawer and pull out an envelope, which he slides across his desk. “(Name) (Last Name) wrote a recommendation letter to the university, and honestly, it was stunning. It was enough to make the admissions board… bend a little, to say the least.” 

Reaching forward, Jisung grabs the envelope and examines it in his hands. It’s opened, but yes, on the front is your handwriting. He’s cried so much this past week that he doesn’t know how many times tears have touched his eyes, but they sting once more. This time, he doesn’t let them fall. 

“She… wrote a letter. For me?” 

“That she did,” responds Mr. Moon. 

“She’s right,” says Johnny suddenly. “In our work at the university, we’re always looking for the best of the best. We should look deeper, sometimes.” The words sink in the room, and Jisung finds himself staring down at the envelope in his hands. What things had you had to say about him?

Honestly, all he can think about is his failure. How he failed to be there for you, how he cowarded in your presence when you told him to leave you alone. He bites down on his lip. 

“So? Will you accept our offer?” 

Jisung looks up again, meeting Johnny’s expectant eyes. “I…” His mouth suddenly runs dry. “I don’t know, I… I need to think about it.”

“You’re not graduating for another four months. Take your time.” Slowly, still in glassy-eyed disbelief, Jisung nods. His fingers find the edge of the envelope, tracing its pointed edge. You wrote that for him. From across the desk, Mr. Moon speaks up. “You should read that letter, Jisung, and realize what’s coming for you: good things.” 

-

To Whom It May Concern,

Hello. My name is (Name) (Last Name), and I am a high school student writing this letter to appeal a rejection by your university. Not of my own application, but of an extraordinary person with the name Jisung Park. In my humble opinion, I believe that your institution has made a grave mistake in not offering a scholarship to Jisung. So, I write this letter to appeal such a rejection, and to do something that he hated, though it was what I always did best: write about Jisung. 

Now, Jisung is a humble person who never speaks up about his struggles, but the truth is that of all students, I believe he is the most in need of this scholarship. His parents passed when he was young, and he grew up in the care of his older sister who raised him. Their small but strong family made sacrifices, gave up luxuries, and endeavored to survive. 

In the midst of this crisis, Jisung found his one savior: soccer. 

He is, without a doubt, the best soccer player I have ever seen in my entire life. He can sprint across the field in half a normal player’s time, and I’ve never seen him miss a goal or a pass. But his soccer prowess isn’t what makes him great. Moreover, Jisung is the person you want on a team. He believes in teamwork, but is always striving to be better. He doesn’t want to stand out, but does so anyways. He is never arrogant, nor boastful. If there is one person who deserves this, it’s him.

But, I am sure that you are thinking: why should this letter mean anything to you? I’m not a highly valued individual in the community, nor have I done anything significant for my name to mean anything. I’m only a seventeen year old student, a struggling journalist. 

The answer to that question is, I know Jisung Park. You only see his grades, the shallow things on his application. You will never get to see the Jisung Park that I knew and loved. 

In my time alive, Jisung Park made an impact on my life that will never be forgotten. Even when life seemed the darkest, not a beam of light in the field's view, Jisung picked me up and made me see the sunset. I know now, the sunset is beautiful, warm, and comforting—everything that Jisung is. He never left my side, and never for a single moment did I ever feel alone in his presence. The world often overplays the saying “a heart of gold,” but the truth is that Jisung has one.

I used to think that love would be red, like the burning of one’s lungs racing down a soccer field, or black and white, made to be simple. But the truth is, love is golden. Golden like the sunset painting streaks against the floor, golden like Jisung. It’s a warmth that covers you from head to toe, relenting into a future that you don’t know. 

He is my golden boy, and he can be yours too. 

I may not have a future, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that Jisung deserves one. 

I’m a journalist. I don’t write love letters, but perhaps this is the closest I can ever get. And should Jisung ever read this letter, I hope he knows that with this, I dedicated my last spark of sunlight to him. 

Sincerely,

(Name) (Last Name)

-

Your funeral occurs on February 13th, a week and four days after your passing. 

Jisung stands in front of the bathroom mirror, nose scrunched in concentration as he makes a feeble attempt on his necktie. This is surely not as easy as throwing on a soccer jersey. “Ugh,” he groans, fingers getting confused again.

“Need help?”

His sister’s dainty voice calls him from the bathroom door. Dressed in all black, she’s ready too. Turning his head, Jisung sighs. “Please.” She makes his way toward him, fingers coming to work on his tie already with steady hands. 

“You’re too tall now,” she says softly, with a chuckle. It’s true; he used to look up to her, physically and figuratively, but now he’s an entire head above her. “You’ve grown up a lot.” 

It was his eighteenth birthday just a few days ago but to be quite honest, he hadn’t had the heart to celebrate it. If anything, he had always thought that his eighteenth birthday would be like an epiphany for him. As though he would wake up the morning of, feeling like an adult with all the answers to the world.

The truth is, he’s eighteen now and he still feels like he has no idea what he’s doing. 

“I don’t feel any different,” he admits. “I thought eighteen would mean something.”

“You’ll get there, trust me. And anyways, I always told you not to grow up too fast.”

For a moment there’s a silence as his sister swoops the tie in and out, weaving it to form the perfect knot. Feeling something scratch at the back of his throat, Jisung speaks. “... I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for, silly? I was the one who never taught you how to knot a necktie,” she chuckles. 

“Not for that,” he says. “For last week. I… probably scared you.”

Suddenly, his sister is wearing that demure smile of hers again. The one that is small and polite, but always seems to carry more weight in it than he can see. “No. It’s okay, I knew you’d be better.” 

Naeun finally finishes the knot, tightening it the slightest around Jisung’s neck. “There you go.” He offers her a small thanks as he turns to look in the mirror, and she begins to leave. A sigh leaves him; there’s no avoiding it now, he’s ready to go.

“You know, Jisung,” she suddenly speaks up from the doorway. “I’m glad that you met her. Even if it ended up like this… you’re different. In a good way, and I think she had a lot to do with it. Even if you don’t feel different… you are.”

-

In the months of your relationship, Jisung had come to learn your insecurities. You were loud and proud, but with that confidence came an unwavering insecurity that you were unliked by those you spilled your tongue to. At the funeral, Jisung sees that that’s not at all true.

People give speeches for you, place flowers on your grave. The school newspaper had even written an article to commemorate your presence on their team, and the president of the club reads it aloud. A number of hospital staff make their appearance.

Even Jisung’s friends show up, despite the clear memory of them calling you crazy early on. Maybe they were right, maybe you were crazy. But he probably was too.

It doesn’t rain a single drop, though it had been pouring for three days before. Instead, the sun peeks through the overcast clouds, gifting sunshine. 

Jisung smiles. 

He probably looks like an idiot, carrying the soccer ball around the entire funeral but he knows what it means to him, and what it means to you. When he places it on your grave, the grass still fresh, his eyes catch the carefully written words on a singular white spot.

I love you. 

He knows that he means it. 

At eighteen, there a lot of things that Jisung still doesn’t know. But even so, there are a handful of truths that he can hold onto forever. One, he’s still an incredible soccer player and girls are still very scary. But like soccer, maybe that just takes time and practice. 

Two, growing up isn’t about a number. It’s not about partying or drinking, nor is it about rushing into relationships that have little meaning. For years Jisung had wanted to grow up, to face the world with no fears and be able to cruise through. But he knows now that growing up is about being strong in the face of sadness, pain, grief. About waking up every morning even if you feel like you have no reason to. 

Love is the same.

Love isn’t about making out on the bleachers after practice or trying to copy the coy clichés seen in romance movies. It’s about the sacrifices, like four hour bus rides. It’s about communication and connection, like a recommendation letter traced in gold. Because of you, he’s moving forward. He can go to college, and the day will never come when he stops being grateful toward you and everything you’ve done. That’s love, and he will spend the rest of his life loving you. Maybe the love will change but it will always be love. 

It hurts that you’re gone, it really does. Jisung doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting.

But the last thing he knows is that things will be okay.

Life moves on, and he will too. 

[my-fragment-of-peace]

I've made some lighthearted posts about it, but I want to talk about Lewis' potential retirement in a more serious light now. It's taken me some time to gather all of my thoughts on the situation (and it is kind of an essay so...)

Lewis Hamilton is genuinely the greatest of all time. He has broken so many more records aside from just the WDC record. He is just period, end of story, the greatest driver the sport has ever seen. And it goes beyond his talent - he has an incredible work ethic, is focused, and manages to keep priorities sorted outside of the sport. He's just an impressive person overall.

I know even if he does retire, he'll continue to have a fulfilling career in a different arena, like fashion or filmmaking or music or all 3, even. I truly hope he does find peace and happiness from his decision, whatever that looks like for him. Even if it means walking away from the sport for good. But the thing is, and it's been said time and time again, Lewis Hamilton can exist without f1, but can f1 exist without Lewis Hamilton? I mean, of course the sport will go on. Of course there will be races and people will watch. Some people still support Masi and his horrible decisions, the show will go on. But f1 as we know it will cease to exist.

Will there be any more of the "We Race As One" moments at the beginning of races? Maybe for a while there will be. For a few months, or even years because Seb seems to genuinely care about equality, and apparently Mick and Lando do too (based on comments Lewis had made in the past). But what happens without his influence? Does it all go back to the same-old same-old? How difficult will it be for drivers of color and drivers of lower income families to get involved in the sport? Will it go back to simply being the "good ol' boys club" that it once was? Will all of the progress that's been made be undone? If that's the case, I have no interest in ever watching a race again or ever supporting the sport or its entities ever again. And what's unfortunate for f1, is that they don't realize most of the young generations (millenials and younger) feel the same way; we don't want to support an industry that's racist, classist, and exclusionary while refusing to take any steps to create a more inclusive environment. Eventually, maybe not now, but within the next decade, hype for the sport will eventually fade out if they don't get their shit together.

I think when Masi made that call, he thought he was just going to get away with making a bad call. Maybe he expected a bit of a bad press that he could spin in his favor, but I don't think he expected things to turn out the way they did. And certainly, I don't think he expected to be in a situation where that one small decision would actually end up being one of the biggest, if not the biggest, of his career that will ultimately end up being the one thing he's remembered for.

If Lewis does stay in the sport, I have no doubt he will continue to be the greatest the sport has ever seen. It's just who he is. I think he'll continue to win races and titles. I think he'll continue to strive to make it a more inclusive place, to help up-and-coming drivers, and speak out on important issues. But the sad thing is, when he does end up retiring one day - whether this year or still another 5 years from now - it will be far too easy for everything to "go back to normal" as far as people like Masi are concerned. And that's one of the biggest issues with this whole situation. If the sport and those in it had been actively advocating for change (outside of Lewis and Seb, because they're only 2 people and Lewis shouldn't have to fucking advocate for himself to have a space in the sport all the damn time), there is a chance the whole Abu Dhabi incident never would've happened in the first place. Because a sport that allowed for and even encouraged fairness and equity would never have space for bullshit like that to happen. What people don't seem to realize is that without advocacy and real change in the sport, things like this will keep happening over and over regardless of whether or not Lewis is there. They may take a pause or happen less frequently because of his presence and the work he does, but we all know where these people stand at the end of the day. And that's the biggest tragedy of it all. Because yes, it's been fucking awful for Lewis...but if this is the precedent being set, it's going to continue to negatively affect so many others in the future.

[papergirllife]

This is part of the addiction collab hosted by @127-mile​.

Pairing :  Underground fighter Jaehyun x step sister reader

Warnings : Criminal activity, minor character death, step siblings crossing the line, suggestive content.

Wordcount : 15k+

Pain and the constant flirting with death is a monotony to Jeong Jaehyun, the adrenaline rush he gets from it ignites a flame inside him, the only way he feels alive is by being on the edge of a great death, but he knows that he won’t die in the ring he fights in at the infamous underground fight club in Seoul, as sadist as it sounds, the chances of his opponents dying at his feet is a much larger possibility. Jaehyun isn’t a man of morals, especially not after the incident that made him escape the states after years of living away from his mother and step father in Seoul, he thought he’d be living in Michigan for good after the many years he’d been there.

Things have been like this for the past year or so, until he follows his step sister out the house in the middle of the night one day, thinking he’d get to know what dirty secret she was hiding from her father and his mother, her step mother. In the pair’s eyes, you are nothing but perfect, the family’s treasured filial little girl. What he didn’t know, is that this night, would change him forever. He had never found a cure for his malicious addiction towards pain and danger, but she might just be a close second.

The sweat drips of his face as he takes another blow to his stomach from his opponent, the familiar ache in his abdomen rings from his head to his abdomen, yet he doesn't mind the pain, he just needs to wait for the right time, to let his opponent think that he's going to win, to have his ego swell up his head so that he wouldn't anticipate Jaehyun's next move. 

Jaehyun levels his body downwards as if his body was responding to the pain, that to him, is nothing at all, in fact, he's addicted to it, knowing that he'll get the upper hand by just enduring a little bit of pain, and when his opponent doesn't expect it, he punches his opponent under the jaw with all his might, the familiar crunch of bones against his knuckles brings a maniac smile to his face as he watches his opponent fall to the ground after a slight lift off from the strength of the up thrust force from his fist. A loud thump could be heard when his opponent fell on the floor, and soon after, the countdown begins.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1... And you're out!" the referee shouts, blowing his whistle right after, the familiar chime that alerts Jaehyun of his victory.

Manipulation. It's something that's become a monotony in his life. He's the best fighter in Monster, the biggest underground fighting club in Seoul, yet there will always be new people challenging him for the title. Bunch of idiots filling up his bank account in attempt to steal his glory, he's grateful for them, in this regard.

His lips stretch into a cynical smile as he looks at his opponent on the ground, the money presented to him made him let out a piercing laugh, everyone thinks he's mad, but there's still people betting for his victory whenever he turns up for a fight, people would do anything against their principles for a little more money, but yet again, what principles would the people who come here to watch people getting beaten up have, betting on him yet they have disgusted expressions on their face, whispering about his mad aggression only a few feet away. Everyone is feared by him, yet they would do anything for a few extra pennies, let principles be damned. To Jaehyun, only one person is better than those lot, the girl with the platinum blonde hair who's always betting so much money on him, but doesn't collect her earnings. He could only pick up a few details of her before the hordes of people rush to collect their winnings of the night from the handlers Johnny and Lucas. The way she always wore the same black leather jacket and black baseball cap, her hand came up to adjust her cap, her wrist glinting, was it a Rolex or a Jaeger Lecoultre? It had minimal diamonds and a classic face. Classic, that's what he thinks of her as. She likes the fancy things that aren't over the top, yet that's also the way Jaehyun describes his black themed closet. Johnny, one of the handlers, approaches him. He once asked them who she was, but the only info they gave was that she was constantly betting on him with a large sum. Jaehyun had tried to follow her multiple times, but no matter how quick he collects his earnings, she would be gone by the time he’s out.

"Do you want me to convert it to a check for you?" Johnny asked, lifting up the bag to get Jaehyun’s attention.

It was a standard after fight procedure, to have a feel at the notes in your hands, and maybe a whiff of the scent of wealth before changing it to a check, nobody would be dumb enough to walk out of here with a bag full of cash. Jaehyun passes him back the bag of money to Johnny as he heads to shower off, his thoughts filled with that mysterious girl. Hopping onto his bike before taking off for the night, leaving behind his alter persona, Mr. J, his stage name, feared by all and defeated by none.

When he reached home, there she was again, Y/N, his little step sister, sitting in front of her laptop in her oversized sweater, her bedroom door slightly ajar, allowing him a clear view of her. She's always up late working for this small programming firm, diligent and filial as always, the family's little pride of joy, he wasn't jealous, in fact he admires her tolerance towards this perfect family. It might not seem perfect to others, since their parents were both divorcees before, but it was perfect enough for him to feel like a black sheep. He hasn't felt this way towards his family before, until that incident. He pushes his thoughts away as he utters a goodnight to her. Y/N returns one to him, her soft voice calming his nerves, but that is all she says, she never asks about how he's always back so late, or how he's covered in cuts and bruises, a little more than from the time when he left the house earlier. Jaehyun retreats to his room, crashing onto his bed for a well earned night’s sleep.

It's Chuseok dinner tonight, the whole family is having dinner together, something which Jaehyun wouldn't have chose to sit through if it wasn't his mom's nagging outside his bedroom door the whole afternoon. His mom is currently asking about your job again, you didn't like talking about your achievements at work, from the way you looked down whenever she complimented you, you've grown to be so shy after he left for the states. He finds you so endearing, and not in a brotherly manner either. He knew it was wrong, but the pull you had over him clouds the remaining morals he possesses. It was only when his mom shouted at him made his chain of unholy thoughts snap.

“And when are you going to get a job, Jaehyun? Two months you've been back and your still on your 'break'. Look how hardworking Y/N is, and she actually listens to us," his mother said as he glared at him, arms folded as if she’s actually expecting a clear answer from him.

He's only asking for one dinner from his mom to not compare you to him, and here she goes taking a jab at him once again.

"When I'm ready mom, I already told you, the states were a drain for me, I just want to relax and ease back into my life here before I get a job."

His mom was going to scold him from the looks of her open stretched mouth, before she was interrupted by his stepdad, a hand laid on top of her shoulder to stop her from lashing out on her son.

“If you needed time to recover from his dad, he will too. Let him have some time to sort out his feelings. The kid's seen enough for you not to shout at him for reacting normally," Jaehyun’s stepfather said in an assuring tone in hopes to calm his wife down before this dinner turns sour like the ones before.

His mom's gaze instantly softens as she has a memory jog of what she had been through before meeting his stepdad, those were hard times for her, leaving that bastard with young Jaehyun to start a clean slate. Yet the court cruelly allowed his father to have co custody over him, and as per his father's request to have him from the age of 13 to 18, then making him stay for university as well, thinking back, he should've just left even though his ass of a father agreed to pay for everything.

Jaehyun silently goes back to eating his dinner, his interest peeking up as he caught you looking at him silently with an unreadable expression. Was it worry? Curiosity? He had a desire to know, to understand the thoughts swimming through your head at this very moment. He held your gaze for a few seconds before you stopped, and much to Jaehyun’s relief, his stepdad had switched the topic before his mom could pin anything on him further, telling everyone about a class clown in his class he teaches.

It was 2 am and Jaehyun was laying in bed, music playing softly as he scrolled through the news on his phone, but his music session was interrupted by a sound coming from the hallway, he had his earphones on, but the break between songs gave him a chance to focus and catch the shadow of a frilly dress rush by the crack of his door, it could only be one person, Y/N, who owned dresses like this. Soon, the familiar tune of their front door opening rang. He silently follows you out, slipping out of the door before it shuts, he sees you waiting at the lift lobby of their floor, eyes looking around in worry. The lift arrives quickly at this odd hour, he rushes in right after you, his body immediately caging yours against the wall of the lift, making your eyes open as wide as saucers, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Where do you think you're going at such an hour baby sister?" Jaehyun asked in a menacing tone, the familiar one sided smirk gracing his face.

Jaehyun could see the fear in your eyes as you momentarily froze at such a close distance.

“And I thought you were our family's little angel, never involved in anything deemed shameful, yet here you are, caught sneaking out by your brother. What a pity." Jaehyun said before he tutted at you, a coy expression on his face.

Jaehyun leans back to the other side of the lift, his eyes scanning you up and down, taking in your pretty legs and adorable lips that were set in a slight pout.

“Let me come with, I want to see what my baby sister does for real fun. Is it a boy? A girl? Or both?" Jaehyun needs to know what the family’s precious pearl is hiding.

The way you shook your head as your eyes were avoiding his made the beast inside him threatening to break free. He tugs you over into his embrace with the ribbon from the bow of your dress. His chest rumbling in joy as he felt the curves of your body, and the way your eyes looked into his in awe before looking away from his intense gaze. His arms wrap around your waist, head placed on top of yours.

“I came out in a rush and forgot my jacket, you're fine with lending some warmth to your dear brother who's only in his pajama shirt, right? Like the good girl you are?" Jaehyun’s voice laced with a sweetness that could make any lady drop on their knees for him, and he knows it, just like being in the ring, toying with emotions is a game he aces at as well.

Jaehyun didn't receive an answer, just a shy little nod as permission, your eyes avoiding his trained gaze on you. He finds you so, so adorable now, but his thoughts linger somewhere darker, his need to corrupt you evident in his lustful eyes, pupils blown wide and dark, his hand holding onto your waist in a possessive manner.

Jaehyun could see the way you swallowed down your nervousness, fingers playing with the hem of your dress as you stared down onto your baby pink ballet flats. When the doors of the lift open to the ground level of the condominium, Jaehyun slings an arm over your shoulder and guided you out of the building.

"Where are you taking us, my dear baby sister?" Jaehyun asked in a hushed tone by your ear, stopping you in your tracks for a second as he let you lead him.

Jaehyun could see the way you shivered after he spoke into your ear, he adores how responsive you are to him, and he hasn't even touched you yet.

"J-just around the block," you stuttered.

Jaehyun wasn't expecting to see anyone or anything that would surprise him, you're most probably meeting your boyfriend or at most the wildest he would give you is directing him to the night club located a few blocks down the road. What he doesn't expect is to find you crouching down suddenly to feed some stray dogs at the alley in between your condo and the convenience store.

“This is what you do for fun, little sister? Feeding dogs?" Jaehyun deadpanned.

"Dad says I can't have any, and they lost their mother to a car accident a month ago, I just want to help them," you said as you reached into the pockets of your dress for more doggy sticks, looking even tinier than you did before, somewhat childlike to Jaehyun, given how pure of an action this is.

Jaehyun didn't know what came over him, but he crouched down next to you and asked for their names.

"The sister is Bella, the brother is Toto," you said before focusing back on your furry friends.

When the two of you were done, Jaehyun took your hand in his and dragged you to the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" you asked as you tried to keep up with Jaehyun, not used to walking at such a speed in your ballet flats, trying your best to not let them slip from your feet.

“You successfully snuck out of house and you're not going somewhere at least a mile away? The night is still young, Y/N. Let's go get ourselves a mini adventure," Jaehyun persuaded, his tone was rather cheerful, which would be foreign to you, given that Jaehyun mostly kept to himself at all times.

Jaehyun led you to his bike, his hands helping you up front and securing a helmet on top of your head. Your eyes saw the reflection of Jaehyun without a helmet on the rearview mirror, the one he gave you must've been his.

"What about you then?" you asked after you swiveled your head to check if he had somehow found another helmet.

“There aren't many cars at this time, and I trust my own skills. Don't worry, it's just a quick drive close by," Jaehyun reassured you as he started the engine of his bike.

When Jaehyun pressed on the accelerator, you weren't prepared for the jerk and lurched back, which is why he put you in front of him, other than the fact that he likes the feeling of your body against his of course. Jaehyun loves the feeling of being on the bike, the way the wind pierces his skin and the speed gives him the adrenaline kick just like his fights, but instead of being caged in a ring, he feels free.

The journey came to a halt when the two of you reached someone's house, a large landed property, which was a sign of wealth in a city like Seoul, Jaehyun guided you into the back door that leads to the big pool, all the lights in the house were off.

"Jaehyun, are you sure we're allowed here?" you asked in a worried tone as your eyes scan around for a presence.

"Chill, baby sis. This is my friend's place, he's okay with me coming here all the time," Jaehyun said as he lightly pushed your back, guiding you further into the estate.

Jaehyun started stripping right in front of you when he halted by the pool, which caused you turn around as an immediate response. Jaehyun let out a laugh at how you reacted, knowing that you’d be just like how he expected, shy and innocent.

“I still have clothes on, baby sister. Don't worry," Jaehyun chirped behind you.

Jaehyun was leaning against the rail, waiting for you to turn around, and when you did, albeit slowly, just in case, you immediately turned back.

"You said you had clothes on!" and he did, but only his underwear.

“I said some, and I'm not naked. Why are you making such a big deal?" Jaehyun teased.

Jaehyun saunters over to you, hands on your waist, pulling the bow free from your dress, then he leans down to your ear.

"Why don't we take a swim, little one?" Jaehyun asked in a hushed but persuasive tone.

Jaehyun then steps away to give you space and heads into the pool, your eyes wide like you're under his spell, silently pulling down your dress to reveal a simple pastel pink cotton set. Jaehyun loves how innocent you look, the swell of your curves just nice, your smooth baby like skin makes you look even younger than you are, Jaehyun stopped swimming to admire you from front to back as you joined him in the water, but not before testing the temperature of it with your feet first.

The two of you were genuinely swimming for the first fifteen minutes, until Jaehyun took a break to admire your figure swimming freely, he could see how you've relaxed a bit since the two of you had first gotten here. When you reached the end of the pool to take a breather, Jaehyun used quick strokes to get to you, stopping a mere millimeters away from your face, hands on the either side of you, leaning his weight onto the pool, his head cocked to side in great interest.

"You look beautiful."

Jaehyun has never said that to his flings, but he'll make an exception for his dear little sister, you did tolerate his annoying antics as a child. Jaehyun leans towards your face, his lips dangerously close.

"Jaehyun... We shouldn't, we're siblings," you protested weakly.

“Step siblings. We aren't related by blood, remember that, Y/N. I know you want me as much as I want you. I'm not blind, I've seen the way your eyes lingered when I walked around the house without a shirt after my shower, I've seen the way you reacted for the past hour towards my advances. Let yourself go, Y/N, do what you want for a change," there it was again, Jaehyun and his silver tongue.

Jaehyun suppressed the rumble in his chest when he felt your hesitant lips on his, the peach flavored lip balm igniting his taste buds, craving to taste more of you, his arms tracing your back towards your butt, giving it a light spank, a moan finally slipping out of your lips, breaking the heated session between the two of you.

"You like that, baby? You like how rough I treat you?" Jaehyun questioned, but it sounded more like a statement.

Jaehyun lifts you up from the pool and onto the edge as he opens up your thighs for him, sucking and biting onto the insides of your upper thighs, dangerously close to his destination. You had tangled your fingers into Jaehyun's wet hair, pulling at it when he spanked you again, your whines of his name driving him crazy. 

Suddenly, someone who sounded like he was in his late forties, came out and shouted at the two of you for trespassing. Jaehyun quickly lifts himself up from the pool and carries you over his shoulder as he picks up all of your discarded clothes and quickly drives away. He could feel you shuddering from the cold after a while, and stops his bike to allow the two of you to get dressed, grateful that they weren’t any cars on the road at this time.

"Jaehyun! You said it belonged to your friend's!" you nagged as you tried to sound as mad as anyone half dressed and embarrassed could be.

“If I didn't say that, you wouldn't have gone in. Plus, I did it many times before without getting caught. This proves how loud you were, baby," Jaehyun teased, but it clearly was the truth. 

Jaehyun made you shut your mouth in an instant after he mentioned how loud you were for him. It egged on his ego to see how shy you are now, just because he mentioned what happened minutes prior. Jaehyun lifted you up his bike once again to head back home, but not before giving your neck a kiss, he could see the way you were more relaxed after his little affection. He was going to have fun corrupting a sweet innocent girl like you, mind games are his favourite pass time.

When the two of you got back, both of you retreated into your respective rooms after saying goodnight. You and Jaehyun acted as if nothing happened the next day, Jaehyun going to the gym for most of the day, and you staying locked in your room. 

It was only two nights later, after Jaehyun's next fight when the two of you were alone, Jaehyun got back from the fight with cuts on his arms, his opponent had worn old leather gloves that scratched him up and he wonders if the tears in the gloves were purposely used to hurt people, he could've called a time out, but he wasn't a pussy. He was running the scratches under cold water in the kitchen sink when he accidentally cursed aloud at the pain. That's when he heard footsteps coming out, fearing it to be his mom, he quickly closed the tap and dashed under the kitchen island. The footsteps were getting nearer, but instead of his mom's normal house slippers, ones decorated with bunny ears came into his view, followed by your head.

“The whole house could hear you, thank goodness they're fast asleep. Come out. I'll patch you up," you called out in a hushed tone before reaching a hand out to help him up.

Jaehyun followed you into your room, greeted by the desk lamp illuminating your closed laptop and the book shelf next to the desk, while the fairy lights casted a warm glow over your lilac sheets decorated with many cute plushies. That’s when he realised that he's never been into your room.

"Sit anywhere you like."

Jaehyun took a seat on your bed as you dug through your cabinets, coming out with bandages and ointment of all sorts. You took a seat on your study chair, wheeling to him, taking a closer look at his wounds. 

"Did a cat attack you or something?"

Jaehyun sees you wheel back by kicking your legs cutely, hurrying into the bathroom and coming back out with a washcloth. Jaehyun scratches the back of his neck, thinking of how to answer you. 

"I... 

"I know, I don't go to these places but I know of their existence," you replied in a rather mature tone, which was shocking for Jaehyun, since you constantly acted like a child half the time, but not in a bratty way, just filial. 

"Is that why you never asked me why I come home late at night with bruises?"

Jaehyun sees you nod as you started wiping his wounds gently, the blood going onto the clothe that will definitely leave stains.

"How are you going to explain the blood when you wash it?" Jaehyun questioned, worried that someone’s going to find out about his late night rendezvous. 

"Menstrual cycle," you answered, as if was the most obvious thing in the world, which made Jaehyun feel like an idiot at that moment.

The way you're patching up his wounds was pulling at Jaehyun's heartstrings the wrong way, Jaehyun doesn't want to fall for anyone, and certainly not for his step sister. Once you were done, you were looking at him with those innocent doe eyes, Jaehyun couldn't really tell what was up with his attraction towards you, was it purely sexual? Was it affection? He pushed those thoughts away when he pulled you by the waist, his lips capturing yours in a frantic matter as his hands make way to under your nightgown to hold onto the flesh of your thighs. The roughness of his palms sending shivers up your spine. Jaehyun took this as a good sign and started toying at the waistband of your panties. He breaks off the kiss to let his lips travel southwards, his teeth nibbling at your mounds, what surprised him was the lack of bra.

“What happened to being my good girl? Why aren't you wearing a bra? Are you tempting me on purpose? Hm?" Jaehyun said after bouncing you on his lap slightly.

“I was going to sleep. Didn't know you'll need help."

The way you answered so breathlessly when he continued his ministrations on you only urged him to act on his desires further. He reached a hand up to pinch at your nipple, but your hand accidentally slipped and held onto his arm instead of his hair, which made him wince due to the fresh wound, and the heated session between the two of you was immediately ceased.

"Jaehyun, are you alright? We can do this another time. You should let your wounds heal first," you said in a worried tone before checking his arm once more.

Jaehyun was cursing at himself, but nodded at your suggestion, not wanting to feel anymore pain after that fight. Jaehyun pecked your lips one last time before bidding you goodnight and carried you off his lap.

"See you tomorrow, baby."

Jaehyun looks at his opponent straight in the eye, he wasn't supposed to fight tonight, but there was an empty spot and he wanted to make up for the off day he took to heal from the scratch wounds, he doesn’t mind though, his hands had been itching to punch someone or something for the past few days now, just like a junkie hooked on drugs, he’s hooked onto the feeling of hurting someone. His opponent tonight was twice his size, but according to Lucas, nowhere near his standards, since the standard earnings for this match is relatively lower from the ones he tends to fight in.

Jaehyun didn't even have to manipulate his opponent into thinking he was on the weaker scale, he took him down like the countless sandbags he broke in the gym, big but definitely does zero damage. Once the match was over, he spotted that girl again, ushering her way out of the crowd. Instead of following the usual procedures of collecting his earnings, Jaehyun made his way out of the club.

"Jae! Your earnings!" Johnny shouted, making a mistake of calling name by his name, thank goodness people can’t differentiate between Jae and J.

Jaehyun couldn't bother about the money now, he had to know who she was. He followed the streak of blonde hair into a car park nearby, which was empty since office workers are long gone by now. She made her way to a sleek black BMW i8, not what he had expected, but certainly unique compared to the Mercedes he keeps seeing at Gangnam District. However, before he could approach her, a hooded figure was behind her, a pocket knife produced from his right pocket. Right when Jaehyun was about to shout a warning at her, a flash of movement happened.

She turned around and kicked him squarely in the chest, he wasn't buff, and from what Jaehyun heard, that was a straight kick to the heart, she must be professionally trained. The figure fell down with his hand clenching his heart, he had a surprised expression, which was quickly replaced by a scowl, he definitely wasn't expecting that. She then kicked the pocket knife far away, her body slid down expertly with her handbag out reached, the huge steel chain of her handbag wrapped around the figure's neck once she kneeled down onto one of his arms, a huge crack resonating from the action.

“What kind of fucking psycho bitch are you?! I just wanted some money!"

She didn't reply, instead she dragged his body to a nearby pillar which had the emergency button for dire situations like this, she lifted him up and hit his head against the button. Immediately, the whole car park's alarm was triggered and soon after some guards rushed to see what happened. Once she saw the guards coming, she released the chains and threw him on the grown, Jaehyun could see the obvious frown on her face, but not any other feature due to the baseball cap she was wearing.

"You messed with the wrong bitch," her voice was as cold as ice.

When she opened her car trunk to retrieve something, Jaehyun approached her with his hands held high, he doesn’t want to trigger her any further, nor wish to fight a lady, especially not her, even if it’s just self defence.

"Miss?" Jaehyun called to her uncertainly.

When she looked back with her head held higher to see who it was, Jaehyun was floored. How could this be? 

"Y/N? It was you all along? You're the girl with the blonde hair who always placed bets on me?" Jaehyun questioned, thinking that this must be some sort of big mistake.

You didn't know whether getting your latest Bottega Veneta ruined by some motherfucker was unluckier, or the fact that your step brother just found out about your secret, how could you not figure out it was his voice?

"Jaehyun, I... Let's talk, I'll take us somewhere," you said with uncertainty, but your eyes weren’t avoiding his strong gaze anymore, nothing like the little step sister he thought he once knew.

You didn't know what was Jaehyun thinking, other than the obvious disbelief on his face. The two of you were silent in the car ride, you didn't really know where to take him for a secluded and life altering conversation, other than the cliff which overlooks Seoul's skyline, you hope there aren't any couples here tonight.

"How long have you known about me going to Monster?"  Jaehyun asked when he could no longer stand the questioning in his head, piercing the silence.

"Since the first time," you said, which made Jaehyun’s head jerk in surprise, but quickly composed himself to quickly solve this puzzle of mysteries.

"How did you know?"

“There are some things that I can tell just from my observation and just a bit of help from social networking. Like how I know you take a girl home after every match then leave in the middle of the night coming home with a scent of cheap perfume lingering in the air," you didn’t know why you wanted to add the last part, maybe you were a bit tired of playing the cat and mouse game with him when he has so many people lining up for him.

“You're not that clean either, are you? How did the money come about? And what would your dad think about this? Or my mom who thinks you're the most precious daughter in the world? What if I slipped up and accidentally told them about this little roleplay you have going on here?" Jaehyun taunted, a natural reaction to how you had threw around his private matters in such a snide manner.

"You wouldn't, because I know the reason why you came back to America so abruptly," you replied in a calm and cool tone, suppressing your anger.

Jaehyun's face instantly paled at the mention of his past.

"What do you mean?" Jaehyun asked in a rather hollow voice.

“Jeong Jaehyun, birthname Jeong Yoonoh, was born in Seoul, South Korea on 14th of February 1997. Your father is Jeong Eunsan who divorced your mother and moved to Connecticut on his own, he's an alcoholic and drug addict, he filed for a lawsuit to have you in his custody for five years for education reasons after he came clean from alcohol and drugs, the United States High Court approved of his appeal. So you left Seoul in 2010 and moved in with your father. But he got back on alcohol and drugs didn't he? That's why the two of you fought."

"How did you know all this?!"Jaehyun rounded on you from the passenger seat, seemingly wanting to hit something or someone for the frustration he’s feeling, but held himself back when he remembers it’s you, and nonetheless, a girl, he doesn’t hit girls. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, nearly black as his voice dips a lower intonation, the sight dangerous to anyone but you.

"I did some digging of my own," you replied calmly.

"Who are you? Are you even the baby sister I knew when I was a kid? Or the girl I took out for a ride just a few days ago? Who are you and what do you want from me?! And how are you filthy rich?! What do you even do for a living?! I feel like my whole life's a lie!" Jaehyun spats out, feeling like the ground underneath him shifted drastically, on the edge of loosing his footing, just like how he could barely comprehend what’s happening now.

“I don't want anything from you, Jaehyun. Some lies are said because they're easier to accept than the truth," you answered, hoping that this will be a suffice explanation to him, but knowing Jaehyun, you doubt it.

"I can't believe you lied to me, to our family, after all this time?!"

“Like you weren't planning to mess with me, seducing your little step sister, eager to expose my identity to my dad. A kettle calling a pot black, don’t you think? Do you enjoy inflicting pain upon others and yourself so much that you'll hurt anyone in your grasp? Your mom, your dad, the girls you slept with and left alone with broken hearts the next day, aren't those people enough for you? You think you're the only one who knows how to toy with people's hearts here, Jaehyun? What I'm doing to you now, is just a taste of your own medicine. You think I'm still that little naive 7 year old girl you had play dates with? You were gone for so long, things happen, and people change, and so did you Jaehyun."

Jaehyun's heart sank as he heard your piercing words he didn't mean to leave you as a child or become the monster he is today he didn't mean for any of this to happen, yet you lied to him after all this time the money, the fight club, your whole personality or what he thought it was all just a front.

His fingernails dug crescents into his palm as he took in all this information. For the first time, in so long, he was the one who was manipulated. Jeong Jaehyun defeated in his own game.

'Who is Y/N really? The girl with the frilly dresses who has her cute round glasses on whenever she's on her computer? Or the girl who sneaked out late at night in her leather jacket with all the money she wanted in the world?' Jaehyun thought to himself.

“Just tell me, how are you this rich? Where do you get all this money?" Jaehyun asked, not letting you off the hook, if it’s what he wants, you’ll give, it’s his consequent if the answer scarres him for life.

“Do you know how I played you so well, Jae? Because it's my job, I put up fake fronts for other people's real identities to be hidden. And you'd be surprised by how many people require these services from me. You think I'm the cruel one here? Open your eyes, pretty boy, it's a cruel world, and if you're not even half as evil as it is, then you'll naturally be the ones that are being deceived on your little fabricated rainbow bridge. I know what you did Jaehyun, I did some digging before you came back from the states, mom and dad bougt your little front, but I didn't. I was shocked when I made the discovery, just to let you know, he was pronounced dead by impact to his head. You and I both know what that means."

Jaehyun couldn't believe what he was hearing, he thought he had successfully left his past behind him. Only to have you uncover his crimes like popping a lid of a beer bottle, his hands are shaking from the shock of hearing you speak of what went down after he left his father.

“How am I still here then? Why isn't anyone cuffing me back?" Jaehyun questioned aloud, his mind completely mushed after hearing about your true profession and the truth of his sudden return from the states.

“I was there that same day to make amends of your faults, I was curious of how you were doing there. Only to find out that you weren't the same person anymore. They were worried every single day, I just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you, little did I know my skills would be needed there instead," you weren’t holding a grunge for what he’s became today, but till this day, it’s still hard to accept the fact that he was a whole different person entirely now.

"You cleaned up the body?" Jaehyun prodded further, hoping that you weren’t one of those cleaners for crimes.

“Do I look like I'll get my hands dirty? I was living there for two months just to observe, and I found out that there would be loan sharks asking for money everyday, not the most believable lot, carrying huge sticks and sometimes even knives, no? They even had criminal records beforehand. So I hacked into the security system and did some movie magic. The video of you going home and leaving with bloody hands was deleted and replaced with the video of the loan sharks looking for your father from the day before. And so the court was convinced that they were the killers given that they had existing brutality offences. And that's how I got you off the hook," you explained, somewhat proud that you could pull something off without any preparations at that time.

“Why did you help me? In America, the money I earn now, it's all your doing. Why?" Jaehyun questioned.

You didn't really know why either, you helped him escape his crime in America because you took pity on him, after all, he was in your life for a short period of time. But you couldn't really put a finger on why you wanted to help him here, other than the fact you did get money from his fights, albeit not that decent of an amount compared to your other earnings.

“Because my dad loves you, he wouldn't want anything to happen to you. If he knew, it would kill him, and I do appreciate your mom being in my life, this is the most I can do for them. As for the bets, it's just as form of gambling and quick cash, nothing to it."

Jaehyun hummed, his mind in deep thought.

"So is anything going to change between the two of us?" Jaehyun was directing the question to you as much as to himself.

You fingered the tiffany on your wrist, ignoring his line of sight.

"Nothing is going to change, I'll continue to bet on your fights at night, then I'll be your little sister in the morning who stays out of your way," you finally looked up after replying his question, an unreadable smile on your lips that leaves Jaehyun curious.

"Deal," it’s not like there’s any other better way to access the situation.

"I'll drive you back to the club to retrieve your bike."

You decided to crash at Irene and Seulgi's for the night, not knowing how to comprehend what just happened. However, when you got there, a man you didn't recognize was sitting on the couch. You quickly pulled your gun from the back of your pants, pointing at the back of his head.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" You questioned in a cold steely voice that you used only in missions you once particapated in.

When the man turned back, a handsome face greeted you, his brow quirked up in a questioning manner.

"I should be asking you that, little girl."

“I'm no little girl, answer the goddamn question!" you were loosing your cool, scared that something happened to Irene and Seulgi.

"Y/N! Put the gun down, that's Irene's boyfriend!" Seulgi said as she came out of her bedroom, hands flailing, not knowing whether to grab your gun or stand in front of the man.

"Seulgi? You know this man? What do you mean Irene's boyfriend? Why haven't I ever met him? you asked, lowering your gun slightly.

"I go to the toilet for one minute and I see my baby pointing a gun at my boyfriend that she's not supposed to know, just fucking great," Irene said before plopping down the sofa next to her boyfriend, hands reached up to massage her temples.

"So he's not a threat?"

"Not to us, you can say," Seulgi chipped in.

“I'll do the talking Seulgi ah, don't interrupt. Y/N, this is Junmyeon my boyfriend of three years. And Junmyeon, this is Y/N, she's like a sister to me, so don't you dare hurt a single strand of her hair.”

“Wait a minute. Junmyeon, as in Kim Junmyeon, EXO Suho, Kim Enterprise CEO? Head of criminal syndicate EXO Suho?" You spewed out, bewildered that the man of many identities, and many of them dangerous, was sitting on this very couch that you’re too familiar with.

“That's why I didn't want to let you know. I didn't want to rope you into any danger, you're so young Y/N, you shouldn't be involved with anyone who has any relations with a mafia leader," Irene explained in a disappointed tone, her head looking down in shame.

"Irene rejected him a few times because of your safety, and also Yeri's, but since she's at London, she's much safer," Seulgi supplied, hoping that telling you this would decrease the chances of you having an outburst of emotions, you must be facing some difficulties if you’re here at this hour.

You sat down on the couch, trying to take in all the information that's being thrown at you for the past 15 minutes or so, your brain trying to connect the dots and piece a proper response to this.

“Y/N ah, why are you here tonight? And why is your favorite bag in shreds? Did someone attack you?!" Irene quickly takes your face into her hands, checking for any injuries, then checking your hands, gasping at the slight scratch.

"What happened?!"

“Someone wanted to rob me on the way back after I came out from your fight club. In other words he's probably suffering from a rib damage, skull damage, et cetera," you replied in a monotonous way, tired from all the events of late.

"I’ve taught you well," Seulgi said with a proud smile on her face, she was, after all the one who taught you her vast knowledge of martial arts.

"Thanks Seulgi," you said, thinking back to the time when you first joined them, but your thoughts were cut short when your eyes laid back on the man in front of you.

"Anyways, tell me a bit about yourself, Junmyeon, since we're going to be stuck with each other until end of time, unless you deicide to cross Irene, then I'll have to feed your head to the hounds," you added the last part in a threatening tone.

“Feisty just like her mom. I'm Junmyeon of Kim Enterprise, the oldest brother of the four Kim brothers. And I'm also EXO's Suho, Seoul's largest illegal weapons manufacturer," Suho rattled off the facts that everyone in Seoul knows, but this isn’t going to cut if for you.

“I know that already. I did my research when I helped Kim Jongin transfer his dirty funds to the offshore accounts I set up for him. Tell me how your family started EXO," you suggested, always had an interest to how such a large scale syndicate started off.

“My great grandfather was part of a Japanese weapons manufacturing base, he was a spy for the Korean government many decades ago. He left the mission after he had successfully acquired enough knowledge on how to make their weapons, along with establishing connections inside so that he'll always receive updates. When the war was going on, he reported everything to the Korean government, then the war ended and he started his own business since that was the only knowledge he held worthy of putting bread on the table, and so the business has been going on ever since. Since I told you my origins, tell me yours, that is only fair," Junmyeon prompted.

“I met Irene when I was 14. I had no friends then, other than Yeri who was a year older than me. Irene spotted us exchanging a perfume bottle of this bitch who bullied us into a bottle full of onion juice, since she liked spraying it onto her face obnoxiously. Yeri caused a distraction while I hid underneath the stands, exchanging the bottles. She saw everything and offered us a job in her greatest money heist, I stole a key card while Yeri made a fuss about wanting to see her mom who doesn't even work there. After we pulled that off, Irene and Seulgi took us in, Irene teaching me her digital hacking skills and Seulgi teaching me her martial arts skills everyday after school. Then I branched out on my own after acquiring a different set of skills I learned on the dark web."

"Let me guess, the off shore accounts?"

"Bingo. I wanted to be independent too, can't always depend on Irene, and it proved me right, since she's probably going to get married and stuff soon,” you said, eyeing him expectantly. 

"Hey, who said I was leaving you?" Irene complained, a hand slapping your head lightly before going back to your wounds.

"You'll have real babies to baby in the future, I'm excited," you said sincerely, knowing that a couple this good looking would have the most beautiful children in the world.

"To be off the hook?" Junmyeon quipped in.

"That as well," you said before bursting into laughter at Irene’s shocked expression.

"I can't believe my boyfriend and my baby is ganging up on me," Irene said in a huff.

"Seulgi's enjoying the show," you said after glancing at her gleeful expression.

"I live with this woman, I can't talk shit about her, so do please continue."

“I'm done patching you up Y/N, Seulgi prepare her room, she's gonna stay here tonight. And as for you mister, you better head home, don't keep your mom worried, I'll see you tomorrow,” Irene said before ushering a reluctant Junmyeon.

All of you said your goodbyes to Junmyeon, grateful that Irene knew you needed some time alone. You quickly washed up and changed into comfy pjs, Irene sitting on your bed waiting for you to talk. You crawled into bed, laying down your head onto her leg.

“I'll say it once, and I'll say it again. I'm really grateful for what you've given me, although illegal for most things, but I can't imagine life any other way. So please don't kill me because he found out."

"Who?! Jaehyun?!" Irene asked, immediately assuming the worst ‘he’ she could possibly think of.

"Yeah. He rushed out from the club, and followed me. He's not telling them anything, but we had a talk about his past and stuff."

"Was he shaken up?"

“He handled it as best as he could you can say, he's a fighter, not a killer. It's different to us compared to him," you guessed.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about the Junmyeon thing as well, I just wanted to keep you safe."

“It's fine. He's nice, for now. And I want you to be happy too," you said genuinely.

"Thank you. What about Jaehyun? What is he to you?" Irene asked, always had a hunch about your feelings.

"A friend."

"That's all?"

“I'm not going to fall for him when all he does is pick up girls after fights. What about the Kim brothers? Are they hot?" you asked, curious to see what else the family holds.

“Jongin's a player, but you already know that. Jongdae's married with a daughter, and Minseok is a mystery. But I don't want you marrying into a mafia family, Y/N. Don't make the mistakes I'm going to make, I want you to be safe," Irene lectured.

"I'm fine, I can protect myself perfectly well."

“I just want what's best for you. It's getting late, I'll make you a cup of tea in Bunny and Rabbit's take away cup tomorrow, okay? In case you get there after they wake up," Irene said, mindful of your parents.

You smiled at how thoughtful Irene is, always leaving her cafe's paper cups in her home as a decoy for you to use when you get back in the morning.

"Yeah. Goodnight mom."

“I'm your sister, Y/N ah, stop making me sound old. And Goodnight to you too."

“Here are two tickets for a cruise trip,” you said, handing the tickets to your dad.

Your dad’s eyes light up at your surprise, along with your step mother’s who stopped watching her latest drama, letting it run on the tv.

“What? How come?” Your dad asks as he reads the details of the tickets.

“My boss gave me a larger bonus this time around, so I decided to get you guys something, since dad would be off for summer holidays in a week’s time, it’s just in time to board the cruise,” you explained.

“Honey, you should spend your hard earned money on yourself.”

“It’s okay dad, I have enough money, don’t worry. I wanted to get you this, since you were so stressed about your students the other day. A change of scenery from the university would be good for you,” you said before taking a seat on the sofa across them.

“Y/N’s right, you deserve a holiday this summer. Thank you so much Y/N, you’ve always been such a good daughter to us,” your stepmom said, grateful that you never once shunned her off like most people she had read about would.

“No problem. It’s getting late, I’ll head to bed. Night dad, night mom,” you said before giving your dad a hug.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You got into your room and shut your door before texting Irene.

‘It worked, I can attend the gala with you.’

‘Great. Can’t wait to see you there.’

It was around 1 a.m., when someone interrupted you from your work by knocking lightly on your door. You got up to open it to reveal Jaehyun’s fluffy mob of hair poking into the small gap of your door.

“This is unexpected.”

“Can’t I come check in my little sister?” Jaehyun replied with a boyish smile.

“Right, very convincing,” you said, sarcasm evident.

You are skeptic of his motive, but nonetheless allowed him into your room before anyone comes into the hallway. Jaehyun laid down on your bed, his large frame taking up most of the space, so you opted sitting on your desk chair.

“What are you really here for?”

Jaehyun sat up from your bed, his dimples obvious because of his cheeky smile.

“My little sister truly knows me best, doesn’t she? I’ve been wondering why are you suddenly sending away your dad and my mom for two months straight?Definitely not because of some bonus you made up.”

“My step brother still knows me best, doesn’t he? There’s this gala hosted by Kim Industries, and my friend’s going, but she doesn’t know anyone there. Since I know some of the attendees, I volunteered to attend it with her,” you supplied, leaving out the part about Junmyeon.

“You’re going to a gala without a date?” Jaehyun asked like it was the most outrageous thing ever.

“I just thought of going alone,” just like back in junior high’s prom. 

“Can I come?”

“You like galas?” you were surprised to say the least.

“Just because I fight for a living, doesn’t mean I can’t do elegance,” Jaehyun said in a defensive tone, deeming your shocked expression somewhat offensive.

“Sure, just don’t get bored and beg to go home,” knowing how impatient he is.

“As long as you get me a suit,” Jaehyun said before crashing onto your bed, he had taken a liking to lying down onto your fluffy sheets.

“You look beautiful,” he said as he takes in your dress for tonight’s gala.

Jaehyun stared at you with awe in his eyes as he does a once over, not the ones that he usually does that make him look like a predator eyeing its prey, but a look filled with slight admiration and wonder that would’ve made your blush obvious if it weren’t for the artificial blush on your cheeks.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Dior suites you.”

“Thank you.”

You were wearing an A line Louis Vuitton skater dress with a belt of the same brand to highlight the curve of your waist. You were wearing your usual red lip gloss that Jaehyun first caught eye of. Heels and bag that matches Jaehyun’s suit, and last but not least, a diamond necklace from Van Cleef and Arpel’s adorning your collar.

“Why are you driving?” Jaehyun complained whilst getting into the passenger seat of your car.

“Because this is my car, and you drive like a reckless mad man on your bike,” you deadpanned as you revved the engine to life.

“Fine, fair enough,” Jaehyun said in a sulking tone.

Jaehyun wanted to give a go at your car, but obviously you cherish it like your own bone and flesh, given its price, making Jaehyun grumble in the passenger seat.

The venue of the gala was the Kim family’s holiday estate up on a cliff, the  location, based on your knowledge, costed a fortune that even you’ll have to save up from at least 20 jobs. You parked your car inside the estate’s huge underground parking space, next to cars that costed just as much, at least you don’t look like a fish among sharks here.

A servant guided you up to the center court of the estate, where everything is happening, a waiter immediately passing you and Jaehyun a flute of champagne.

“Do you always attend fancy parties?” Jaehyun asked as he takes in the scene.

“No, this is my first,” you said before taking a sip from the glass.

“Then how are you so calm?”

“I’ve been in enough life threatening situations that these parties don’t have an effect on me anymore,” you said as you scan the crowd for Irene.

“Sounds interesting, where do I sign up?”

“That adrenaline seeker inside you would kill you one day.”

“Can’t help it, I’m addicted to danger.”

“Y/N, you’re here,” Irene said after struggling through a crowd, Junmyeon following close by.

“Irene, Junmyeon. I know who are the best dressed couple tonight,” you said in awe at their matching dress and suit, looking like modern royalty.

“And you must be Jaehyun. I’m Irene, Y/N’s close friend. How nice to finally meet you,” Irene introduced herself before sticking a hand out for him to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Irene,” Jaehyun said as he shook her hand with a friendly smile.

“This is my boyfriend, Junmyeon,” Irene gestured at her beau.

The two men shook hands and gave each other polite smiles. Irene directed you and Jaehyun to your respective seats for dinner after Junmyeon excused himself to get ready for his speech. The three of you sat down at the table as dinner started. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, other than the applauses given to Junmyeon after his aspiring speech on how he would improve the company came to an end.

There were people at the table who questioned Irene of her background rather rudely but you didn’t take any drastic actions other than throwing back mildly sarcastic remarks because Irene kept a hand on your knee, squeezing your leg whenever you’re on the edge of crossing the line, with Junmyeon resisting to laugh at the such an amusing scene.

“You should’ve let Y/N continue, I love how she roasted Aunt Soohyun about her wig being bigger than her brain,” Junmyeon whispered.

“Junmyeon! Don’t encourage her.”

Jaehyun was mostly silent, until Junmyeon chatted him up about the recent football season. Jaehyun was surprisingly helpful, asking the waiter to refill your cup of water when you finished, reminding you that your lip gloss had faded  significantly after you finished your meal. He even helped you hold your hair back as you had dinner.

After dinner, all of the guest started socialising, walking and talking freely. At one point when Jaehyun left your side for the washroom, a handsome man made strides towards your direction.

“Y/N. It’s been a long time,” the blonde male said.

“Kun. How long has it been? Two three years?”

“I suppose so, and you still look at beautiful as ever.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself too,” complimenting him back.

Qian Kun, the CEO of WayV, a communications company in China and Korea, as well as some other hidden companies that not everyone knows about, the reason he contacted you the first place years, and one of the very few customers you slept with.

“What brings you here tonight?”

“I’m friends with Irene.”

“What a small world, isn’t it? Junmyeon and her look so well together, imagine their kids.”

Kun was pointing at Junmyeon and Irene who were dancing flawlessly in the middle of the ballroom.

“They’ll make the Kardashians cower in shame.”

“May I have a dance, Y/N?” Kun asked when the last song came to a stop.

“Lead the way, Kun,” how could you say no to a handsome face like him?

He took you hand in his and guided you to the dance floor. When you placed your hands on his shoulder, you could feel that he had gotten much more fitter these years, muscles flexing at every tiny movement. His eyes never left yours, other than the little flickers down to your lips when he thought you weren’t looking.

“I missed you Y/N.”

Next thing you knew, Kun was kissing you with those plump lips of his. The two of you had danced to the side of the room, Kun broke free from the kiss and led you to an empty hallway where you kissed him back immediately. Kun’s hands wandered freely over your figure, one of his hand going under your skirt, the slight squeeze on your inner thigh making you moan into the kiss. Just when his hand was reaching higher, someone pulled him off you.

“What?”

“Who the fuck are you and why are you touching her?!”

Kun scowled at the sight of Jaehyun, laughing at his angry face.

“When did you get yourself this boy toy Y/N? I would be a much better candidate for you tonight, Y/N.”

“Get away from us!” Jaehyun hollers, his anger getting out of hand.

“My apologies, I didn’t know she was taken.”

Kun walked away, leaving you with a livid Jaehyun.

“What were you thinking Y/N?! Letting a stranger touch you like that!”

“Stop shouting! He’s not a stranger, he’s someone I used to know and it’s none of your business to care!”

You stormed out of the estate, heading to the garden which led to the edge of the cliff, the sight of the beautiful sky calming your nerves immediately. You heard footsteps following you, no doubt it was Jaehyun, wanting to shout in your ear furthermore.

“Y/N!”

“I don’t want to see you, Jae. Go back inside,” you said as you let your legs take you further out into the open.

But Jaehyun and his damned long legs caught up with you in no time, he held onto one of your arms, tugging you back to look at him. When your eyes landed on his apologetic face, your heartstrings tugged lightly against the anger in your mind, but you remained your cold composure, eyes narrowing at him.

“What was that huh, Jaehyun? You think you really are my brother or boyfriend? That you can boss me around as you please? What makes you think you can stop me from touching other men when you sleep with every other girl after each match? Why can’t I do the same thing as you? Say something! You have nothing to offer? What are you? Five? Cat caught your tongue so easily? Fuck you, Jeong Jaehyun, you don’t even have the guts to admit your feelings.”

You tugged your arm out of his grip, walking as quickly as you can to the edge of the cliff, taking off your heels. When you started walking to the end slowly, you were pulled back by Jaehyun, the two of you falling onto the soft grass.

“I admit it! I admit it! I love you, okay? Just don’t fucking jump off the cliff. What were you thinking?”

You sat up from his embrace, the cold of the night grazing your exposed skin immediately, the tears in the corner of his eyes caught you by surprise.

“You mean it?” You questioned, shock that he’d be so honest about his feelings so suddenly.

“Of course I mean it. God, you gave me a heart attack.”

Jaehyun pulled you into his arms once again, his head on your shoulder, his nose rubbing the curve of your neck as his hands hold you tight, not wanting you to leave.

“You’re addicted to the adrenaline rush and inflicting pain, just thought this combination would make you own up to your own feelings.”

“You planned this?! What if I didn’t stop you?!”

“I had faith in you.”

“You’re crazy. What did I do in my previous life to end up with a mad woman like you? And what do you mean I’m addicted to inflicting pain? I mean to some degree for adrenaline rush, but pain?” Jaehyun questioned acting out shockingly, hoping that his denial may be able to mask this issue of his, or more accurately put by you, one out of two of his addictions.

“Just admit it, no one other than you fights with such madness, Mr J, I can see it in your eyes after every one of your victories,” you rounded on him, eyes narrowing at his, purposely using his stage name instead.

“Fine, I might be addicted to the pain I receive as well as inflict on others physically, and maybe the girls I slept with, but that’s more of an after match celebratory thing and I wasn’t considerate of their feelings, but nonetheless, I never wanted to harm you, yes, I might have wanted to manipulate your innocence at first, but that was before I started having feelings for you, I meant it when I said I love you,” Jaehyun explained, pouring his whole heart out to you, his eyes silently pleading for your understanding.

“I guess I love you too, coward, now let’s get back inside, it’s getting too cold for my liking,” you said as you wore your heels.

“What do you mean you guess? Hey, wait up!” Jaehyun stared at your retreating figure, trying to decipher your words before jogging up to pester you further about it,

Although Jaehyun and you hadn’t spent that much time together, but the bond since you had as kids never really faded, things just felt like they fall into place whenever you’re with him, the beauty of the little pieces of emotions clicking together like an intricate puzzle, just like how his aggressiveness balances your cool and calm exterior.

Jaehyun and you have surprisingly got along well, he was more honest with you about his feelings and trauma towards his past. You suggested him to find professional help, but he didn’t want anyone suspecting him of killing his father and said that talking to you already helps a great deal. The two of you would talk about anything and everything on a Thursday night, a time where both of you would sit down and genuinely talk to each other over a bottle of wine as your parents still aren’t back from their trip yet.

“You can say anything you want, especially if there’s things going through your head. I don’t want you to bottle up your feelings anymore okay?”

“Okay,” Jaehyun said as he caressed the curve of your side gently as you leaned your body against his, his warmth seeping through even with the layers of clothing.

It hasn’t been an easy journey, being with Jaehyun, but all couples go through ups and downs together regardless, you didn’t care if it was relatively harder, with his anger management and trust issues, the happiness he has brought into your life has etched inside your heart like an anchor and its ship.

Jaehyun wanted you to stop bidding so much money on him after the two of you got together, but you didn’t want to stop, since this was the reason the two of you had bloom into lovers. You are a rather sentimental person towards particular milestones. The person you were years ago would’ve been in disbelief towards your change of attitude towards a relationship commitment. 

Every night, you’d go to bed wishing that these beautiful moments wouldn’t ever cease into nothingness.

Monster is rather crowded tonight, the underground fighting club is getting more and more popular among the young in Seoul, which makes pending background checks on the attendees before matches rather hard for the staff of Monster. The pending invites take around 2 months per person. But the amount of new faces and old faces alike never made Jaehyun nervous, in fact he could spot a few banners with his stage name, Mr J scrawled messily among the club goers.

Jaehyun used to fight with turmoil in his head as he uses fighting as a form of therapy for his past traumas, but ever since you helped  him through things, it has cleared his head of anger and finds it easier to focus on his opponents’ movements. Ever since then, he started calling you his lucky charm, if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have made such a large improvement on his skills.

The fight began as usual with you watching him from a nearby balcony on the second floor. His opponent was a man who’s around his strength and height. Jaehyun although changed his way of thinking during a match, hasn’t changed one bit of his favourite tactic, manipulation.

Jaehyun took a painful hit on his stomach from his opponent. Although he told you he won’t take pain as a form of stress relief anymore, he still takes it like a champ in order to take down his opponent. Right when he feigns hurt, hugging his stomach slightly, his opponent chooses to use a wide swing as his grand finale, planning to finish Jaehyun off. But because of Jaehyun’s quick eye and experience, Jaehyun immediately lifts his right arm up to punch the joint of his opponent’s elbow forcefully bending it to an upwards angle that definitely hurts a lot, the crack of the bone being dislocated loud even amongst the crowds’ cheer. What Jaehyun didn’t expect was that his opponent took a swing at him with his other hand even through the midst of all the pain he experienced from his injury Jaehyun inflicted upon, bruising the corner of Jaehyun’s eye.

Jaehyun could feel anger boiling up his chest as he charges at his opponent like a bull, throwing hits all over his opponent’s head as well as stomach. At first his opponent tried to stand up, but gave up when he moved and felt the pain of his injuries digging into his flesh, hitting the floor of the ring five times to admit his defeat.

Jaehyun pulled himself up when he heard the bell rang, waking him up from his haze of anger. He looked up, hoping to see you smile because of his victory, yet you had disappeared.

There was a slight error with the cameras for the live stream of the match for fans online, so Lucas went to get you to fix it before the club loses any earnings just because of a slight malfunction, forcing you to leave Jaehyun’s fight. When you were done fixing them, the walk towards your spot of the ring was rather long, so the match ended before you reached there.

Jaehyun’s left eye started to swollen from the hit he received from his opponent, making everything look blurry if he concentrated his sight on the left. Just as he was about to leave the ring, a girl got up and kissed him. He immediately pushed her away when he realised it wasn’t you, although a similar shade of platinum blonde.

“Jaehyun! Did you miss me? That was such a great match. Wanna hang out at my place after this?” The perky blonde chick suggested in a rather annoying voice, immediately getting on Jaehyun’s nerves, like the throbbing in his eye isn’t giving him a bad headache already.

“Who are you? And why the fuck did you kiss me?” Jaehyun questioned, anger laced in his voice.

“I’m Brittany, we met here, and fucked at a night club downtown, remember? Why don’t we do just that now, you loved it the last time,” she praticcaly purred at him, ridiculous. 

“What the fuck?! Fuck off!”

When Jaehyun pushed the girl away, he could see you standing outside the ring, anger and disbelief written across your face. That’s when you took off right in front of him, running towards the exit faster than you’ve ever before.

“Jaehyun, who is she?!”

Jaehyun ignored the girl, and pushed past the masses of people, running into the carpark where you usually parked your car, but when he got there, you were already gone, only a familiar whiff of your perfume in the stale air left.

You were speeding way past the speed limit, but you didn’t care. Nothing matters when your heart feels like its been chewed and spat out like it was dirt. You didn’t cry, even though you want to. You can only hear the voices in your head taunting you for your foolishness.

‘You knew he was a player and still you fell for him.’

‘You should’ve seen it coming, just because you pour your heart out for him, doesn’t mean he’ll cherish it.’

‘You were just like him a few years ago, this is probably karma.’

You pulled into Irene and Seulgi’s place, a miracle that you arrived without a single crash. You were so glad that your parents’ cruise lasted until next month. You leant back into your seat, the stress and fatigue you felt for the past moments finally crashing onto you. That’s when you received a call from Jungwoo, the money launderer you worked with.

“Yo, Y/N. I got a job for you.”

You have to leave for Switzerland, where Jungwoo was based at and where you arrange off shore accounts. You had to meet with a client in Incheon to discuss the details of the deal before boarding your flight hours prior.

The client wasn’t a hard case, so you had time to kill before you need to board for your flight. So you typed out the details to Jungwoo in an encrypted message to speed things up when you got there, right when you’re done, it was time to board the plane. On the flight, you mostly slept and watched movies to pass time, trying to distract yourself from the constant ache in your heart that was starting to numb into emptiness. You remember a conversation you had with Jaehyun about Switzerland once. 

“I really like the snow capped mountains and green hills there. It’s beautiful all year round,” Jaehyun said as he watched the tv play out an episode of some show on Discovery.

“I can take you there if you want to, since I’m so familiar of the country from all the jobs,” you offered.

“I’d love that. Spending time with you in a cabin with a beautiful winter scene right outside our window sounds like heaven to me.”

You hate how your mind just instantly clicks everything back to Jaehyun, you scooted lower into your seat of the taxi to avoid the once beautiful scenery now scarred in your memory.

“What brings you here days earlier than you should? Family problems? Not likely. Boy problems?” Jungwoo egged on as he takes in your rather disheleved look.

You only sighed in response, you loved Jungwoo with all your life, but the events from these past days made your patience run on thin ice.

“Nothing, Woo.”

“Come on, tell me. You already talked to the client and I looked through the files, nothing needs to be amended, so we have plenty of time,” Jungwoo said as he pops in a chocolate truffle in his mouth, all ears for the latest take on your personal life.

He was patting the seat next to him on the sofa, you plopped down reluctantly, not expecting an ambush this soon from him as it was already 2 a.m. Switzerland time.

“Remember Jaehyun?”

“The hot step brother that had you chasing his tail and fixing his shit in the states?” Jungwoo asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes, that one.”

“What happened? Not another crime I hope, the only thing illegal he does now is fighting at Irene noona’s club. Unless?”

“No, it has nothing to do with the law.”

“Then?” Jungwoo has his attention trained now, he didn’t even bother to reach for another chocolate.

“We fell in love.”

“Thought so, but something happened recently, I suppose?”

“Yeah, I caught him kissing another girl after his match when I walked away to fix something, you know, like last time, when he would sleep with girls after every match.”

“Honey, Y/N. Not every fuckboy is ‘fixable’ no matter how much care and affection you shove up his ass. That’s just how men work,” he said with a click of his tongue, thinking back to the problems he had with men.

“You’re a man.”

“I’m gay, we think differently, and I’m out of my hoe phase. Doyoung is so adorable, you can meet him after we settle the accounts tomorrow.”

“Sure, Woo. I’m gonna head to bed, night,” you said before leaving to Jungwoo’s guest room, which is more of your third home now.

“Night.”

After you were done with the job and checked to make sure you received the fees, you decided to stay a few more days with Jungwoo, meeting his boyfriend as well as taking road trips to different parts of Switzerland all over again, trying to forget about the ache in your heart. It was a few days later at a resort where Jungwoo cornered you at the pub, since he didn’t want to say anything in front of Doyoung, and that man was rather clingy at times, which was a perfect match for Jungwoo

“You know you’re welcomed to spend time with me, but don’t you think you should talk to him? Instead of spending lonely nights drinking different cocktails in different hotels? Hell, you’re not even looking at those hot dudes that were checking you out, usually you’ll take one back for the night. What happened to the old Y/N?” Jungwoo questioned.

“I’m still me, Woo. I’m just not feeling it I guess,” sleeping around after a heartbreak was one of your known as one of your coping mechanisms to Jungwoo, but this heartbreak feels closer to home than the others, which was a given.

“You know, you didn’t even give a chance the poor boy to explain himself before you hopped on a plane and travelled oceans away. It might be a misunderstanding, you never know. Girls in that club can be really crazy, drugs and alcohol, that chick might have mistook your man for someone else. Go home, Y/N. Talk it out, and if he really did that on purpose, well I know a few assassins in Seoul.”

“I don’t want to kill him, Woo,” you deadpanned before downing another shot.

“Just kidding, but I’m serious, take the next flight home, since we’re this near to the nearest airport.”

“Fine, okay,” you sighed.

“Good, now last one, no more alcohol for you tonight,” Jungwoo holds his own shot high for yours to clink.

Once you landed in Incheon, it was around half past ten at night, the duty free shops were starting to shutter after you checked out. You booked a cab and left the airport. Before reaching home, you received a call from Lucas, which was odd, since you told them not to contact you unless it was an emergency.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, thank god you picked up. Where are you?”

“I just landed and I’m reaching home. Why are you calling me?” you asked, checking the time on your watch to predict what problems they’re facing.

“It’s Jaehyun, he’s drunk and he got himself into a match.”

“Why did you let him?!” you questioned in disbelief, a hand reaching up to ruffle your hair, a habit you had whenever you needed to think up of a solution quickly.

“Well, the people were protesting because we didn’t let him fight for a few days already, since he was drunk as well, but the people demanded for winnings from his matches, and I don’t think I can hold off the people’s demands. They won’t listen to me or Johnny, and Jaehyun is being an ass here, insisting on fighting no matter what,” Lucas said over the line, the voices of the audience in the background, it sounded very pack tonight.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you said before hanging up.

You cursed under your breath, telling the driver to speed up. If you needed to save his ass, you can’t do it with your real identity.

When you reached the fight club, you ran as fast as you could to the front, the people giving you space to move willingly. They weren’t sure who you were, but from the way you ordered Lucas and Johnny around, you must hold power over this club. As you neared the ring, you could hear a gruff voice shouting over the cheers of the audience.

“You’re gonna die, Mr. J! I waited for this day long enough, sweet, sweet revenge!”

Jaehyun was lying on the ground, movements shaky as he tried to scoot away from his opponent as he prepares to strike one last punch on Jaehyun’s head, without thinking twice, you jumped into the ring as fast as your legs could take you, you slid down and tripped Jaehyun’s opponent by sliding a kick as hard as you could on both his legs, making the large burly man fall onto his knees.

“How dare you stop me from my victory?!”

“This match is unfair! Mr J is drunk! Leave at once!” You ordered.

“I don’t care, no matter how much you pay me, I’m going to settle this once and for all! And a little girl like you isn’t going to stop me! I’ll fight you if I have to!” Jaehyun’s opponent threatened.

“Bring it on, motherfucker,” you said before putting on the gloves that Johnny had thrown on your side of the ring, mouthing the word sorry before getting back to the monitors.

Jaehyun’s opponent charged at you, like a bull that was tempted by the colour red, his eyes wild in frenzy after almost defeating Jaehyun. You jumped as high as you could, legs pointing at him like an arrow, striking him down like a target dummy, taking advantage of his crouched position when he charged at you. You started punching his face as you held him down with your legs, constricting his hands, but unfortunately for you, the amount of muscles he had on his abdomen enabled him to sit up and slam you onto the ground.

You hissed in pain as you felt the pressure of the way he threw you down from that height. You quickly rolled over when he wanted to land a punch on you, the only upside about your opponent being large was that he was slow as well. So you jumped onto his back, your thighs choking him as you landed punch after punch on his head. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep it up if you didn’t finish him once and for all, so you placed all your weight onto him as well as tipping your figure downwards, forcing him to fall back forwards, you used all your strength by rising up your feet slightly before stomping onto his stomach, making him lose his balance, the fall made the pain in his stomach increase tenfold as you had him sandwiched underneath the force from your feet and the hard floor. The sound of something cracking underneath your feet loud as the audience had silence themselves to take in the extraordinary fight in front of them, it must’ve been his ribs.

The man underneath you coughed out blood along with the words of surrender and medic. Once the coast was clear, you rushed down the ring where Jaehyun was, he was unconcious.

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked the medic attending to him.

“We think he had too many punches on his head, it’s best you send him to the hospital immediately Ms Y/N.”

“Johnny! Take him to my car!”

“Right away.”

You checked your limbs and your eye sight, your legs were a bit shaky, and you were littered with bruises, but you didn’t care as you ran to where your car was parked a few blocks down, Jaehyun in Johnny’s arms. Johnny placed Jaehyun in the backseat once you opened the car doors.

“I’ll take it from here, take care of the situation at the club, don’t let things get out of hand.”

“Okay, you’re sure you can drive?” Johnny asked one last time, he knows you’ve been in worse situations, but he didn’t want to lose his boss.

“Yeah,” you said before closing your door, your limbs going into autopilot to get the car started.

You sped as fast as you could, shifting gears every once in a while to make it to the hospital in record speed. You didn’t stop until you reached the hospital’s emergency drop off.

“Help! He’s heavily injured, someone tried to rape me and he fought the guy, but the guy hurt his head a few times before he gave up,” you said in a frantic tone, making the lie seem even more believable. 

The nurse you were talking to quickly flagged down a team of medic, putting Jaehyun onto a stretcher and wheeling him into the hospital.

“Are you fine, miss? You look injured as well,” the nurse inquired when she took in some of your visible injuries.

“I’m fine, I need to park my car then I’ll get checked myself.”

“Very well.”

You quickly parked your car and retrieved your leather jacket from the trunk, not wanting to draw attention on yourself because of the bruises. You dashed to the reception desk, asking for Jaehyun’s whereabouts.

“He’s currently in Room 512 Level 3 receiving surgery, he’ll be out in 2 hours.”

“Thank you,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

“There you are! I’ll be tending to your wounds.”

Just your luck, the nurse from before cornered you once you turned back. Directing you to one of the emergency area.

“There are bruises all over your arms as well as behind your head, and these are the only ones I can see,” she said as she pressed gently onto the slight swell behind your head.

“I’m fine, miss, thank you so much,” you said as you sat up from the bed.

“Wait, at least let me check your eye sight. You might have damaged your brain from the injuries behind your head.”

You reluctantly sat back down, frustrated that you couldn’t be with Jaehyun. Once she was done, you rushed to the surgery room just as Jaehyun was being wheeled out.

“How is his condition, doctor?”

“He only had a gnash behind his head, fortunately missing his neck. He was unconscious mostly because of the hits he received on his head and the alcohol in his system. He should wake up tomorrow morning after the anaesthesia passes.”

“Thank you so much, doctor,” you said before bowing to him.

“You’re welcome.”

You followed the nurses who wheeled him in, tucking him in the blankets, since he was always sensitive of the cold.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow. I promise,” you said as you squeezed his hand before leaving his room.

When you got back to Irene’s condo, a collective gasp rang out as you took off your leather jacket.

“When Johnny said it was bad, he wasn’t lying,” Seulgi said as she poured a glass of water for you.

“The guy I took down was second to Jaehyun in the club, I think I did okay. I always got bruises from our jobs anyways,” you said before crashing onto the sofa, the familiar ache ringing out in your senses.

“Maybe you got a bit rusty,” Seulgi said as she passed you the glass.

“No I didn’t.”

Right after you finished your sentence, Seulgi threw a knife at you. You avoided the knife by moving your head at a speed that you were very much used to after the many training sessions as well as missions.

“Not bad.”

“Seulgi! What did I say about impaling knives on our walls?!” Irene complained, eyes widening at your wounds, but let out a sigh of relief when she could smell the medicine on your skin, but continued eyeing your wounds with worried eyes.

“I was just testing her, I’ll fix it tomorrow, promise,” she replied with a cheeky smile, hoping that she wouldn’t get an earful from Irene by looking cute.

“Y/N ah, there’s something Johnny sent me after you left for Switzerland.”

Irene handed you her laptop, a CCTV footage of the club showing up. It was taken from the camera that was right on top of the ring that had 360 degrees angle, just in case anyone played unfairly.

The video showed the night of the match right where you walked out from, you could see yourself run out of the scene. Followed by Jaehyun pushing the girl off him and seemingly shouting at her before rushing out to look for you.

“I think he wasn’t cheating on you, Y/N ah, he didn’t seem too happy about the girl,” Irene suggested.

“I might have jumped to conclusions too soon,” you said solemnly, realising that you have mistaken Jaehyun because of his past.

You had unconciously began twirling at the necklace on your neck, something you did whenever you held much uncertainty, which Irene noticed.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, I would’ve freaked out if I were in your shoes as well,” Irene consoled.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head to bed, night,” more like lying on bed thinking about how you’re indirectly the cause of what happened tonight.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

Jaehyun was wincing when he opened his eyes, the white lights and the white ceiling blinding him temporarily. Where is he? When he tried sitting up, he could feel how sore his whole body was, what did he do after he got out of the pub? That’s when he felt it, your familiar touch and soothing voice.

“Hey... Take it easy.”

“Y/N? Y/N? You’re back,” he sat up abruptly to see if he was dreaming, but the pain that came with the rushed action was too painful to be just a gimmick in his head.

“I’m back.”

You were wearing your usual flowy dress again, delicate hands cutting up his favourite fruit, a peach. You had on the lilac scrunchie he had given you a few weeks after you guys were a couple, as well as the Bulgari ring he had gotten you after a month. You poured him a cup of water before feeding him little peach cubes, the necklace dangling on top of him, a familiar sight that comforts him.

“I’m sorry for taking off like that, I thought I wasn’t enough for you anymore and I just assumed the worst,” you said truthfully, knowing that he must’ve felt like shit when you were gone.

“I don’t blame you, I know my reputation isn’t the best, and only time will prove how much you mean to me, and I’m fine with that, I’m willing to wait for your trust, Y/N,” Jaehyun explained in a sincere tone, his way of forgiving you.

Jaehyun took your hand in his, his thumb tracing lines on your palm. His other hand cups your cheek, holding up your face to see you clearly for the first time in a while, that’s when he saw the slight bruise on your jaw.

“Y/N, what happened?” Jaehyun asked as he touched the bruise, wincing under the sudden pressure on your wound.

“You don’t remember what happened last night?”

“No. Did I hit you?!” Jaehyun said as his eyes were frantically scanning your whole body, only to find more bruises around your wrists, if he had done this, he’d hate himself for eternity. 

“You joined a match against King Laz, the guy who hates your guts. I just landed from Switzerland last night, then I received a call saying you were drunk but you were in a fight, so I rushed there only to find you lying on the ground. He was going to finish you off, so the only logical thing I could think off was to fight for you, since he didn’t want to leave without defeating someone,” you explained recounting last night’s events.

“You fought against him?! Are you mad?!” Jaehyun questions, eyes going over all your injuries, worried about how painful they look.

“Oh come on, Jae. I’m a trained fighter, that fight was nothing,” you said dismissively. 

“He’s a strong opponent, Y/N. No wonder you got so many bruises,” Jaehyun said as he hangs his head down, upset that you had to go through so much to save his sorry ass.

“It’s nothing, Jaehyun. It was just like every other mission I went through, nothing to be alarmed of. And these bruises are nothing, I get bruised easily. Don’t be so hung up over it, it’s already over, I kicked his butt and is now lying in bed with several broken ribs, so be quiet and eat your peach.”

“Several? Impressive. Thanks for the peach, baby, but I would much rather eat yours,” Jaehyun suggested, tongue in cheek with a playful smile gracing his lips.

“Sometimes I don’t know what I see in you,” you said as you popped another peach cube in his mouth.

“Shh... I know you love me, now give me a kiss for quick recovery,” Jaehyun said before his hand reaches for you.

“You’re such a dork, Jeong Jaehyun,” but you kissed him nonetheless, no matter if his lips were bruised or cut, you’ll always be there for him, for you are his cure to the monsters in his head, the poison and its cure.

[aceandsparrow]

Survivor 39: Episodes 8 & 9

[A] I just got a parental warning for these episodes. Has that always been there or just for this set?

[S] This episode is titled "we made it to the merge." Wonder if there is a merge. 

[S] LOL Noura can't keep a secret. Kellee, how did you not see Noura spilling the beans?

[S] "You never try to play an underground game with Noura." Exactly! [A] TRUTH.

[A] Glad Kellee found the idol because she sure will need it.

[S] Wow Dan, that toast was cringeworthy. 

[A] I'm hoping that it's editing, but it sure seems like these guys didn't even take a few seconds to just enjoy the merge feast. Just straight to business.

[A] "Lumuwaku." Gesundheit.

[S] Yeah, Dan was being super inappropriate since day 1. I thought for sure they were gonna vote him out. [A] I'm sorry, back up. Are they playing up Dan's inappropriate touching to get him voted off? Fuck. Everything. About. This.

[S] This immunity challenge would make a physical therapist cry.

[S] They are all going to get so sunburned. Sunburnt? Whatever to correct word is.

[A] Bets on Noura dropping first.

[A] I type that and Noura dropped her first ball.

[A] There goes her second ball. 

[A] And she's out. Shocked.

[S] Glad Jamal is okay. Also glad Aaron ran over when he realized Jamal had collapsed. I imagine insane cramps, which are brutal.

[A] All the focus and talk from Kellee leads me to believe she's going home. Likely with the idol in her pocket.

[A] I realize that there could be a sense of "why give the (supposed) perpetrator air time," but I am annoyed that not once has Dan been given air time to talk about these allegations.

[S] FUCKING SNAKES! (The animals, but I guess everyone in this game too)

[A] Did she really just find another idol? Damn. Now she'll go home with two idols in her pocket. [S] So fucking sick of immunity idols. 

[A] Shouldn't the jury members be only those that got voted out after the merge? Why is Jack on the jury?

[S] Hoping to see Dan gone but I have doubts.

[S] Dan talking about spelling while misspelling Kellee's name.

[S] We went to commercial as Jeff goes to tally the votes? Something is about to go down. 

[A] WITH TWO IDOLS IN HER POCKET. She's the new James. [S] Ah, the rare going home with two idols club.

 ---------------------------------

[A] Oh, NOW we get Dan airtime, but only in the context of Janet drama and now the other girls are playing it up and FUCK THEM. [S] I feel extremely bad for Janet here. [A] I'm not only mad at this whole situation, I'm also mad that they are throwing Janet under the bus when she 100% did nothing wrong.

[A] Janet, preach. This is too powerful to play with. The defensiveness of these girls is disgusting.

[S] YAY! Janet found an idol!

[S] LOL Jamal got owned. [A] That is the best troll I have ever seen. I wish Karishima had been the one to grab it. [S] I would have laughed if, when Jamal opened the second parchment, it was like, "YOU LOSE YOUR NEXT VOTE TOO!"

[S] I would have just thrown the parchment away. Too tough to sell. Either that or show it to others and tell them it's you getting an extra vote. [A] Ooo that would have been smart.

[A] Jeff was a little too gleeful in describing his power at the immunity challenge. Glad to know he's still having fun after all these years.

[A] I hate when they do gendered immunity idols.

[S] Lauren, they are all on the same bar. If yours is moving, everyone's is.

[S] So wait...they are completely ignoring Janet, and are considering voting Janet out, because she was concerned about the other girls' safety? I hope Janet blows shit up at tribal! 

[S] This tribal is going to be super awkward.

[S] Jeff just opens up tribal with Noura cause he knows she'll speak her mind. 

[A] I cannot rage more at this. You did not just say that Janet is playing a victim role.

[A] Thank you, Jamal.

[A] Oh and now Aaron is backtracking and throwing out the "I have a sister/I know females" card.

[A] I just can't with this tribal.

[S] Yes Janet, you should stay. You have done nothing but be absolutely amazing. [A] If any woman wins this game outside of Janet, fuck them.

[A] Bye Jamal. [S] Guess Jamal is going home. Rooting for Janet for the rest of the season.

[artificialqueens]

Got To Have You All the Time (katlaska) - kamylove

Katya’s hurt. Alaska’s far away. Anxiety, adorableness, and soul-searching ensue.

AN - Somebody asked for sick katlaska. This is not quite that. But it’s close! 

Takes place in the same fictional universe as my story They Don’t Love You Like I Love You, a few years later. The title is from a song by Faye Richmonde. There’s some icky medical stuff, but I don’t think it would qualify as graphic.

Alaska’s backstage, at an early show not far from her house, when she gets a call from an unexpected number.

“Trixie?” she says. “Or did my boyfriend lose his phone?”

“No, it’s really me,” Trixie says. “I mean, he doesn’t have his phone, but he didn’t lose it, we–never mind. How are you?”

“You sound tense,” Alaska says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. And so is Katya, I swear. She’s damaged. But she’s fine!”

Alaska’s brain fills up with images of Katya ODing in a filthy alley and drowning in vomit, because that’s always the first thing that pops into her head. She knows it’s not true, but her lizard brain is convinced.

She’d bet that Trixie has the same problem. 

“What happened?” she asks, forcing her voice to be steady.

“She’ll be fine! But she kind of walked off the stage. Because we both know she’s an idiot.”

Alaska can’t help it. She barks out a laugh and says, “Oh, no, poor thing!” It’s very Katya to get too wrapped up in whatever she’s doing to notice the edge of a cliff.

“I know, right?” Trixie says. “She was laughing at herself in the ambulance. But she broke some bones.”

“Oh, God, which ones?” Alaska asks, hoping they’re not bones that will keep her from working, or worse, force her to sit still and do nothing while they heal.

“Nothing she needs for sex.”

Alaska shakes her head at how differently she and Trixie thought the same thought. 

“You might have to do a little extra work for a while, but-”

“I think we’ll be okay,” Alaska interrupts.

“Right. Sorry.”

Across the dressing room, an old friend of Alaska’s, a WeHo queen who should have been on Drag Race years ago, laughs loudly. Another slips out the door, letting in the sound of a Shea Coulee song.

“Are you at a show?” Trixie asks.

“I’m at ——-. It’s not a big deal. What did she break?”

Trixie hesitates, probably expecting Alaska to throw a fit. God knows Katya would if it was Alaska who was hurt, though with Katya at least 40% would be for comedic effect. Katya’s actually very calm in a crisis. Alaska’s not.

“Her arm, definitely,” Trixie says. “Probably her knee, and maybe a finger or two.”

Alaska gasps. “That’s awful.”

“Don’t panic!” Trixie says. “I’m at the hospital with her, and they already took care of the arm, and now they’re x-raying everything else. She wanted me to call you right away, but I didn’t want to leave her until she had a distraction, sorry. You know how she is.”

Alaska feels a twinge of irrational anger–it’s been at least four hours. But she knows it’s irrational. “No, it’s fine,” she says. “It’s not like I can do anything to help from here.”

“You’re not freaking out?” Trixie asks tentatively.

“No, you gave it a great intro, thank you.”

“No sympathy pains?”

“Not yet,” Alaska says. “But there’s still time.”

Trixie chuckles. “I’ll have her call you as soon as she can, okay? There’s no signal on the first floor.”

“Give her a kiss for me? With tongue?” Alaska asks, because that’s what Katya always tells each of them, whenever they’re going to cross paths without her.

“Consider it done,” Trixie says.

“Alaska, five minutes,” the club manager calls from the door as he sticks his head into the dressing room.

She’s very glad she has work to do. 

<><><>

Trixie goes back inside and waits impatiently. There’s no signal here, either, and she really needs to upload more books, or games, or something.

She’d lied a little bit to Alaska, and she tries not to feel bad about it. At least one out of the three of them needs to stay calm, and Alaska wins out simply by being a few thousand miles away.

She does feel bad about leaving the show, though. She never cancels shows. 

Also it will fuel rumors about her and Katya, which will be a pain in her ass, but will actually be better for Katya and Alaska, Queens of the Big Secret. 

There are pluses and minuses to everything.

She yawns. The adrenaline from the stage had been pumped up even more by seeing Katya fall off it and worrying about Alaska’s reaction, and now it’s wearing off. She wonders if there’s a cafeteria that sells coffee in the middle of the night.

Before she can investigate, a tech wheels Katya and her IV cart out through the metal doors. She’s groggy and miserable, but when she sees Trixie, she calls up a smile and tries to wipe the pain off her face. So Trixie calls up a smile, too.

“How’d it go?” Trixie asks as she stands up to join them.

“It hurt, but I made a new friend! This is Steve!”

Trixie holds out her hand to shake. “Hi, Steve!”

He grins and says hello.

“Did you call her?” Katya asks. “Did you? Did you?”

“She says I should give you a kiss with tongue.”

“Oooh!“ 

“Not happening,” Trixie says.

“Some support system you are,” Katya says. “Is she okay?”

“Of course she’s okay. You’re the one in the fucking hospital.”

Katya pouts. Trixie can’t tell if it’s fake. “She’s not worried about me?”

“Of course she’s worried about you. But she’s fine. She’s at-”

“I know where she is,” Katya cuts her off.

Right. Trixie knows better than to drop any potentially identifying information. Or she usually knows better. “Sorry,” she says. “Does your shared calendar list when you’re going to take a shit?”

“Of course it does,” Katya says. “We’re not animals.”

The orderly–Steve–snorts and turns it into a cough. “Sorry,” he says.

“Steve?” Katya asks. “Are we making you uncomfortable, Steve?”

This kid has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, Trixie thinks.

“I’m gay, honey. I know who you are.”

Or, he knows exactly what he’s getting himself into, and how to use it to distract his patient. 

“Wow, I did not clock you at all,” Trixie says, looking him up and down.

“It’s the scrubs. You can’t be fabulous in this shit.” He gives them a triple snap.

“And you didn’t even let on that you knew me?” Katya says. “I love you, Steve.”

“So you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? They-friend?” Steve asks Katya.

“I do,” Katya says coyly, biting her lip. Trixie rolls her eyes. 

“And it’s not this one?” He jerks a thumb at Trixie and winks, making sure Trixie knows they’re on the same side.

“Hell no,” Trixie says. “And if this ends up on Reddit, I will come find you, Steve.”

“Steve would never do that to us,” Katya says. “Would you, Steve?”

“I go there for spoilers, not drama.”

Katya’s mouth opens in a delighted O. “Do you know who makes it to the finale this season?”

“Do you?” Steve asks.

“Oh, no,” Katya says. “I don’t know a single spoiler ever.” She crosses her heart and holds up her free hand. “I swear to god.”

It’s not true, of course. Katya always knows more than she wants to, because Alaska knows more than she wants to, from getting called back to appear in every damn season lately. 

“I don’t believe you,” Steve says. “Don’t you all talk?”

“I only talk to the non-snaky ones,” Katya says.

“Oh, my God,” Trixie says with a startled laugh. Katya’s replaced all of her old addictions with whatever high she gets from skirting the edge of outing herself, and it always catches Trixie by surprise.

“Steve?” Katya says. “My boy-slash-girl-slash-they friend is really pretty.” Even through the pain she’s glowing, like she always does when she talks about Alaska.

“You want to tell me who it is?” Steve asks.

“Never,” Katya says. “Sorry, Steve.”

They’re back in the emergency room now, and Steve wheels Katya into a curtained-off cubicle. A nurse follows them in and helps him get Katya onto the bed.

“Gotta leave you ladies here,” Steve says.

Katya waves goodbye and says, “Thanks, Steve! It was nice to meet you!”

“Thank you,” Trixie says.

“He was nice,” Katya says. “Wasn’t he nice?” she asks the nurse. 

“Very nice,” the nurse says. Her name tag says Mariela, and she looks like she’s at the end of an 18-hour shift but would otherwise be a friendly person. “How’s your pain level?”

“Excruciating,” Katya says brightly.

“You sure you don’t want codeine?”

“Unfortunately, yes, I’m sure,” Katya says. 

“We’ll get you another nerve block, then,” Nurse Mariela says. “Back in a few.” And she walks away crisply.

“Steve was a sweetie,” Katya says. “Boyfriend material?”

“He had a ring on. Are you sure they didn’t give you the good stuff?”

“What? I don’t check anymore. I am a spoken-for woman.”

“You never checked,” Trixie says.

“I did! Most of the time.” Katya holds out her good hand in a grabby motion. “Give me your phone.”

Trixie hands it over. There’s no use objecting.

Katya looks at it, unlocks it. (Trixie’s password is another thing Katya somehow always knows.) She checks the settings, shakes it, holds it up in every direction. “No signal,” she says finally. “Fucking hospital.”

“Katya, she’s fine.”

“I know. I just want to talk to her. I like her.”

Trixie knows they always talk after shows. And before, and often during. Before going to bed, after waking up, during breakfast … It’s cute and Trixie’s over the moon for them, but it does sometimes make her own love life feel like child’s play. A preschool romance, how cute, let’s push each other off the swingset.

She’s not jealous of Alaska. She’s jealous of both of them for this ethereal freaking connection they have, and she can’t even be mad about it. She likes them too much.

“God forbid you should go an hour without making googly eyes at each other,” Trixie says.

“I could make googly eyes at you instead.”

“Please don’t. Please don’t.”

Katya laughs maniacally, wheezes, and slaps her thigh. Trixie knows it’s a mistake as it’s happening, but there’s no time to stop her.

“Ow! Fuck!” Katya says. “That fucking hurt! OW! Oh, my God!”

“I’m sorry,” Trixie says, wincing.

After a few breaths to calm herself down, Katya says, “You should be." 

"I’d really like to hear you explain how any of this is my fault.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll come up with something.”

Mariela returns with a tray of needles and vials. Katya distracts herself by playing with Trixie’s phone in her free hand. She hates shots. She never even did intravenous meth, Trixie’s been reliably informed more than once.

“Hey, you have a voicemail!” Katya says. “Oh, that’s better already, thank you,” she tells the nurse.

“I do?” Trixie says. She takes the phone back as Mariela finishes up and leaves. “But it didn’t ring." 

It won’t transcribe or play, either. She can just see that it’s from Alaska.

"Is it her?” Katya asks excitedly.

“Yes, but-”

A young doctor interrupts by walking through the curtain, introducing herself, and asking Katya to confirm her name and birthdate.

Katya rattles it off, and turns immediately to Trixie. “Go call her?”

“I don’t have anything to tell her yet,” Trixie says.

“Caaalllll heeerrrrrrrr,” Katya says.

“You may need to leave for privacy reasons,” the doctor says.

“No, you can tell him anything,” Katya says quickly. 

“Significant other?" 

"Chosen family,” Katya says, and points at the phone. “That’s my extremely significant other. Caalllll herrrrrr!”

“Okay, I’m going!” Trixie says. 

As she leaves, she hears the doctor saying, “Let me just pull this over so we can take a look at your films.”

She goes outside to call, walking away from the entrance to escape the smokers, and she doesn’t bother listening to voicemail first.

Alaska answers before the first ring ends. “Trixie?”

“I told you not to panic,” Trixie says.

“I’m not!” Alaska says, but her chuckle is rueful. “I was just walking home and I thought it was worth a try.”

“Believe me, she’s dying to talk to you, too.”

“Aww,” Alaska says, just the way Katya says it.

“There’s a doctor with her now. She was about to give her the x-ray results.”

“Oh! Go back in, go back in!”

Trixie has to laugh. “That sounded exactly like her. I’ll let you know what they say, okay?" 

They say goodbye, and Trixie hurries back inside.

<><><>

Alaska’s not panicking. She’s not. But she is worried, and not used to being cut off from Katya; their relationship is founded constant, instantaneous, and frequently sarcastic contact, and has been since before they even knew they were a couple.

It’s not the codependent, drug-fueled separation anxiety she had with Sharon, no matter what Trixie might joke about. It’s more that she wants to tell Katya everything, and having to keep it all in is making both her brain and her fingers itch. 

And lurking at the edge of her consciousness are things they should have discussed by now–in all the thousands of words they exchange every day–but haven’t.

She only has one number to perform, and when she gets home, she has nothing to distract herself with but packing. Which is a lot less fun without Katya’s commentary, in person or on facetime or even in texts.

She makes herself a sandwich and only eats a quarter of it, then stands in the middle of her drag room, lost and staring at the racks. Maybe she can just grab half a dozen dresses and stuff them in her luggage and hope for the best.

She pulls out her phone, knowing it’s pointless.

She puts it away, then takes it out again. Then she goes to the bedroom and leaves the phone there, but goes back and gets it a few minutes later.

She hates the thought of Katya in pain. It’s bad enough when Alaska’s with her. (Katya had twisted her ankle in a fucking Target a few months ago and fully enjoyed Alaska’s coddling.) It’s torture to hear about it through an intermediary, even if the intermediary is Katya’s best friend.

Damn. She shouldn’t have come home. She should have stayed to cheer on the others, or dragged someone back here to talk it out. She’s still in half drag, for fuck’s sake.

She can’t call her mom, or Katya’s mom. It’s too late. All her local friends will be either drunk, in bed, or on stage. She tries her brother, who would make her laugh if nothing else, but his phone is off, and she doesn’t leave a voicemail.

"Dammit, Katya,” she says to the room. “You could have at least waited until we were on the same damn stage.”

That’s a dumb thought to think. Sighing, she lays out her suitcases, and after staring at them for a while, she grabs a random armful of clothes, half a drawer of Capezios, and her three favorite wigs, and tosses it all on a chair. And then she stands there staring at the chair.

Maybe she can fix this mess once she hears from Katya. But she has no way of knowing when that will be, and her flight is in five hours.

“Stop it,” she tells herself. She sits heavily on the floor and starts rolling up clothes and bagging shoes. She packs them, and unpacks some of them because she didn’t do it right the first time, and unpacks some more because she can’t make a single damn decision.

Finally, her phone beeps with a tone that isn’t Katya’s.

“Three broken fingers,” the text says. “Dislocated kneecap.”

Alaska recoils in sympathetic pain. Knee stuff is bad. Knee stuff could fuck up her splits permanently.

“And don’t be mad,” the next text says. There’s no time to reply before the next one appears. “She had a compound fracture in her forearm but they took care of that and sewed it up before I even called you. She’s fine!”

Horrified, Alaska starts typing before she finishes reading. “You didn’t tell me it was a compound fracture!" 

"Sorry. I knew it would freak you out. She’s FINE. They’re keeping her overnight and I think there’s a signal upstairs.”

“She had a bone sticking out of her fucking skin!”

“But she doesn’t anymore! Look, I don’t get to lose it and you don’t either. I can only handle one of us right now and that’s KATYA.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Alaska replies quickly. “You’ve been great tonight and we’re both lucky you’re there.”

There’s no response, and Alaska can’t blame her. Katya on a good day is A Lot, and while Alaska doesn’t feel overwhelmed by her anymore, she understands why Trixie does. And Trixie doesn’t need Alaska also being A Lot, on the other end of the phone line. 

She stands up, paces, glares at the suitcases, and makes an iffy life decision: she’ll go to sleep now, calm the fuck down, and get up when Katya calls or when her alarm goes off, whichever comes first.

<><><>

Alaska’s subconscious knows Katya’s ringtone, and she grabs her phone before she’s really awake. “Kati?”

“Aaaaaaal, I am a pitiful, broken shell of a biological woman.”

The humor in Katya’s voice improves Alaska’s mood immediately. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. God, I’m a dumbass.”

“I’d like to disagree with that, but-”

“But you can’t!” Katya says, laughing a much less energetic laugh than usual. “You can’t! It’s demonstrably true!”

“Well, you’re my dumbass, for what it’s worth.”

“Stop it. I’m emotionally fragile today. You’re going to make me cry.”

“I would never. How much does it hurt? Is Trixie still there?”

“Not too bad, and no. They have an early flight. Latrice brought me my phone and some clothes, and then they both had to go.”

Alaska’s heart drops, along with her momentarily heightened mood. “Fuck. I don’t like you being alone in the hospital. When can you leave?”

“Later today, but I can’t fly for at least three days, so I-”

“Three days?!”

“They said a week is better. Something about swelling, or an aneurysm, or-.”

“An aneurysm?”

“No, no aneurysm! That’s just what can happen if you fly too soon, and I’m not flying!”

Calm the fuck down, Alaska tells herself. “No. Okay. You’re fine. Trixie kept telling me you were fine." 

"Stop,” Katya says. “Breathe.”

Alaska sighs. “I’m breathing. I’m just–can you even take a piss by yourself?”

“I’ll figure it out. And I have no shame about pissing myself if necessary, as you well know. And there’s room service!”

Alaska looks at the clock and tries to figure out the math of her flight–when’s the latest she can leave, how long can she continue to put off packing, when does she have to be out the shower–but her brain won’t cooperate.

“I can hear you thinking,” Katya says, “and no, you can’t cancel South America. You have never cancelled a show in your life. I’ll be fine!”

“You’re not fine,” Alaska snaps. “You’re alone in a hospital room on the other side of the country with I don’t even know how many broken bones, I lost count.”

“I’ll keep count. You don’t have to. Al. Are you packed?”

“Half. What do they have you on? Is it working?”

“It’s a Tylenol drip or something, and they keep giving me these shots that I swear are a fucking miracle. I made them write ‘no opioids’ on my chart.”

“See?” Alaska says. “That’s why you need someone with you! Doctors fuck that shit up all the time!”

“Al. Is your flight still at 7:55?”

“I–yes.”

“Then you need to finish packing right now. Oh, no,” she says to somebody else. “No eggs, please. Could you take them away? Thanks.”

“They’re feeding you food you don’t even like!”

“No, they’re not. I have toast and cornflakes and orange juice and I’m fine. Pack.”

Sniffling, Alaska squeezes her eyes shut. They’re burning. “Kataya.”

“Pack.” Katya crunches on something, and then yawns loudly.

“I’m keeping you awake,” Alaska says.

“Fuck you, no you’re not. The lack of research into non-opioid pain relief is keeping me awake.” She stops for a second. “Are you crying?”

Alaska sniffles again. “It’s so dumb. I’m tired and pathetic, and you’re the one who’s hurt.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been entertaining everyone else to keep myself sane for hours, and I know you’ve been ruminating instead.”

Ruefully, Alaska says, “I ruminated so hard I had to go to sleep.”

“I knew it! I have got you pegged, gurl.” There’s a brief pause. “Don’t make a bottom joke. If you make a bottom joke, I’m breaking up with you.”

“I won’t make–oh, my God, you’re still doing it!”

“Huh? Breaking up with you?”

“Entertaining me. You shouldn’t have to worry about that!”

“Of course I should. It’s in the job description. Now pack.”

<><><>

They hang up when a gaggle of doctors and med students swarms into Katya’s room, which frankly does nothing for Alaska’s anxiety level. She goes to splash cold water on her face and finds she never even took off her makeup. So she showers as quickly as she can, throws on some clothes for her flight, and goes back to sigh over the open suitcases on the floor.

Nothing fits the way it usually does; her favorite lashes disappeared somewhere between the club and now; the sunscreen isn’t where it’s supposed to be; she has to check her phone to see how many shows she’s doing, because she can’t keep even basic information in her head anymore.

Frustrated, she throws a Louboutin at the wall and refuses to cry again.

If sleeping earlier was an iffy life decision, the one she’s about to make is unquestionably awful.

No, she corrects herself. It’s a bad decision professionally. But she’s reached a point in her life, and in her career, where she’s allowed to put her personal life first, once in a while. 

Anyone who hates her for it can just send her a million snake emojis again.

<><><>

Katya wakes with no concept of time. There’s sunlight in the room, but she doesn’t know which direction the room is facing. There are loud voices in the corridor, but that means nothing. Her stomach is empty. Her broken fingers are throbbing, but strangely, not her knee or her arm. And she smells…

“Al?” She looks around, and finds her boyfriend curled up in a stylish, upholstered chair that suggests she’s going to pay through the nose for this room.

Alaska’s got one foot under her, and the other leg thrown over the arm of the chair. She’s hugging her old backpack to her chest, with her glasses practically off her face and her neck curled at what can’t be a comfortable angle. There’s no product in her hair–she doesn’t leave the house without product in her hair–so a wisp of frizz is flopping down over her eyes.

Katya’s never been so simultaneously overjoyed and enraged to see someone in her life.

A nurse bustles in, knocking perfunctorily on the door. “Mr. McCook, you’re awake! Let’s change out that drip and get you ready for dinner.” She notices the sleeping form in the corner. “I heard your husband was here. He’s as cute as you are!”

Katya doesn’t react to the word husband–you do whatever you have to do to get into a hospital room–but it seems to wake Alaska up.

“Your wh–Kati?” She jerks up straight and looks right at Katya. She might still have a little purple shadow in the corner of one eye, but Katya can’t be sure.

“Yes, darling,” Katya says. “I’m here, and you’re an idiot, and you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

Alaska startles when she sees the third person in the room. “Oh, hi,” she says.

“Hi there. Are you Mr. McCook also?”

Katya laughs. Alaska, barely awake, takes it seriously. “No, I–I mean, we don’t have–professionally it’s just-”

“Honey, stop,” Katya says. The nurse changes out the bag on Katya’s drip in a few practiced movements, and Katya squints to see her name tag. “Tina here isn’t going to kick you out. Hi, Tina. I’m Brian, and that’s Justin, and he’s an idiot who shouldn’t be here.”

“Fuck work,” Alaska says. She already looks less anxious than she sounded on the phone, and she starts stretching her long neck, to wake up. Katya knows which muscles Alaska will work through first, second, third, knows exactly where Alaska will be sore from sleeping like that, and she smiles.

“He’s also a workaholic suffering from temporary insanity,” Katya adds.

“Oh, no, I agree with him,” Tina says as she checks Katya’s pulse. “Family comes first, right? There are no meds in that bag. The doctor wants to switch you over to oral administration before we let you go. How’s the pain?”

“It’s actually okay. Did you give me another injection while I was asleep?”

“An injection of what?” Alaska asks.

“I told you about the miracle shots,” Katya calmly reminds her.

“Yes, we did,” Tina says, and explains what they use to numb the nerves, which Katya hadn’t known was possible until they gave her the first one. “Are you hungry, Brian?”

“I could eat a horse,” Katya says. Tina leaves with a smile, and Alaska bursts out in a laugh at the secret innuendo.

“You slut,” Alaska says lightly. “You won her over fast.”

“Hearts and minds, one fracture at a time. Remind me to tell you about Gay Steve. And Luis. And Marie Adeline. Her son’s a nurse here, too! And Kang, she’s my doctor.”

“Everybody loves you.” Alaska finally stands up and approaches the bed.

“God knows why, but I’m used to it. Hi.”

“Hi.” She leans down to kiss Katya on the forehead.

“That is not the kiss I was expecting.”

Alaska winces, and runs her tongue over her front teeth. “I don’t think I’ve seen a toothbrush in like a day, I forgot to bring it. You don’t want-”

“I do,” Katya says, and puckers up. Alaska gives her a little peck. “Ew, that was disgusting,” Katya complains.

“I warned you. The pain’s really okay? You looked like you were sound asleep.”

“I think I was. They gave me an SSRI I used to take a long time ago. Knocked me right out,” Katya says. “Now, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m an idiot, like you said.”

“Also demonstrably true.”

“And what your new friend said. Family comes first.”

Katya’s heart feels like it could jump out of her chest. She reaches for Alaska’s hand. “That is the corniest thing I have ever heard you say, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Alaska gives her that soft, crooked smile Katya loves, and squeezes her fingers twice, like a heartbeat.

Then she deflects with a smirk. “You know,” she says, “between Trixie leaving the show with you, and me cancelling six shows-”

“Six? That’s the whole tour!”

“-Reddit’s going to have plenty of things to talk about. I’ll reschedule, it’ll be okay. I’ll make it okay.”

She’s telling herself that, too, not just Katya. Katya rubs the back of Alaska’s hand with her thumb, and lets the subject go.

“Let’s make up a long, complex love triangle narrative,” Katya says, “where you’re the sad but sublimely gorgeous third wheel, and I’m married to a prick who can’t get it up, and I’m the quirky, unnaturally pretty girl you come to blows over.” She sighs happily. “It’ll be beautiful. It’ll be heart wrenching. I’ll cry. And then I’ll dump both of you for Willam.”

Alaska cracks up, and Katya joins her, gratefully. 

“Are you sure they didn’t give you the good stuff?” Alaska asks.

“That’s what Trixie said.”

“Because at your highest level of functioning-”

“-I come off high as a kite. The bird, not the toy.”

“There’s a bird called a kite?”

“I told you you were an idiot. Or maybe it’s like a stingray? I’m an idiot, too.”

“I couldn’t leave you here by yourself,” Alaska says, scrunching up her nose. “Somebody has to keep you alive and entertained.” She thinks about that, and adds, “Maybe the next time you do a faceplant off a stage I can be cold and detached.”

“Maybe next time you’ll be with me.”

“One can only hope,” Alaska says. Then she winces again. “Oh, fuck, I need to send flowers to Trixie. Don’t let me forget.”

“Why? She said you were an absolute gentleman. A credit to our relationship. A credit to the species homo." 

"She did not say that, and you are a lying liar.”

“She almost did!” What Trixie actually said was that Alaska was a grown-up and could handle herself, but Katya could read between the lines.

“I was a credit to the species homo,” Alaska says, “right up until I turned into a scared little goblin. I’ll tell you about it later. Did they say when you can leave?”

“They said they’d check on me before dinner and decide for sure.”

Alaska ostentatiously checks her phone. “It’s 4:30.”

“Be nice,” Katya says. “My mom’s a nurse. We like nurses.”

“I know your mom’s a nurse, shut up. Do you need me to do anything? Does the hotel know you’re extending?”

“Yes, they know.” Katya thinks for a minute. “I’m sure there’s something practical you could be taking care of, but I don’t care. Just squeeze in here, we can watch Golden Girls and you can tell me how much you love me.”

She tries to inch away to make room on the bed, but pain stabs her in at least five different places. “Ow, fuck!”

“Let me help you, for fuck’s sake!”

Alaska was right. Katya would have starved or died of filth alone in a hotel room. She grumbles about moving anyway.

Eventually they get Katya settled and the pain back down, and Alaska sits up against the headboard next to her. “Tina’s going to kill me,” Alaska says, but Katya can feel her starting to relax.

“Oh, the irony. Now shhh, I’ve never seen this one,” Katya says. Alaska’s on her intact side, her hips by Katya’s head and her legs stretched out along Katya’s body. Katya lets the warmth seep under her skin.

Alaska quotes along happily with the first episode, but then goes quiet for the second. Halfway through, she asks, “Do we know a good gay lawyer?”

“Mmm,” Katya says. “Hospital visitations.”

“Power of attorney.”

“Healthcare proxy. All that stuff.” She tilts her head back to see Alaska’s face. “Did they give you a hard time?”

“No, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Not the most queer-friendly state.”

“No. And the amount we travel…”

Katya nods. “Somebody will, eventually. You up for this?”

Alaska scritches Katya’s scalp, and Katya sighs in appreciation. “I’m in for good. You?”

Katya nods. “Till death. And then I’ll be haunting you, and we’ll have all the kinky ghost sex.”

“Well, if you’re going to haunt me anyway,” Alaska says, slow and deadpan, “it’s only fair that I get to decide when to pull the damn plug.”

Katya laughs until she wheezes, and Alaska resists for a bit before joining in.

“Luckily,” Alaska says once they’ve calmed down, “I’ve got nothing to do for the next week but help you pee, and search for lawyers on the internet.”

“Not nothing. You’ll also be giving me a lot of head.”

“That goes without saying.”

They share a suggestive smile and go back to watching TV. Alaska starts quoting the dialogue again as the last bit of tension leaches out of her body, and Katya virtually melts into her side. One scene later, she gets bored and throws a possessive arm over Alaska’s leg, tapping out a restless beat on the inside of her knee. 

They’ve talked about marriage, and decided it’s too heteronormative for them. But this, the legal shit. The legal shit matters. It’s only luck, and the privilege of having supportive families unlike so many couples they’ve known, that’s allowed them to ignore the odds for so long. 

Nurse Tina returns to find Alaska happily voice acting all the roles in one of her favorite episodes, and Katya happily tapping out a song that will make Alaska laugh when she recognizes it.

“I should make you move,” Tina says. She’s got a cup of pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. “But you two are just too cute. I guess gay marriage isn’t so bad, after all!”

Katya tilts her head back to look at Alaska’s face. “Your point.” But she smiles at Tina anyway. 

Alaska smiles, too. “Exactly,” she says, squirming to get her phone out of her pocket. “Never mind tomorrow, I’m going to start that search right now.”

[missyslittlepet]

Truth or Dare

So I'm gonna try a thing...

Adding gifs throughout a fanfiction isn't something I've really done but we could all use a little more Louis in our lives, right? Here it goes lets hope the gifs stay in the right order because Tumblr really likes jumbling my stuff up.

((Summary; Louis and you are bored as hell and decide to play some truth or dare until the others come back from their daily tasks.))

"Come on (f/n), what's wrong with a little bit of truth or dare? It's a game played by man and beast alike. A game played before our time and a game that will be played long after. The only game there is... Come on I'm bored." Louis leant against the back of his chair as he watched you expectantly, shaking the deck of cards.

Louis had been itching to get you to play this with him ever since you had arrived. So far you had avoid it for two weeks due to work duties but tonight was a different story. Everyone else had left after dinner to finish up their tasks leaving you and Louis alone for the evening. You were ready for a peaceful couple of hours but Louis was having none of it. He must have been at it for at least half an hour trying to get you to play cards with him.

"Oh, so I'm just here to entertain you then? And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company." You chuckled.

"I think we all know I'm the entertainer in this group. Come on, please? Don’t get me wrong, totally digging the whole mysterious thing but..."

You snorted and looked away.

"What?" Louis' eyes widened. "I want to get to know you." He flashed you a toothy grin while batting his eyelashes.

You looked from him to the cards in his hand and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Ugh fine, do your thing card master." You smirked.

Louis' grin widened as he began shuffling the deck.

Louis expression became serious as he shuffled. "Card master? You should feel honoured to be in the presence of such a powerful cards-man."

"Shuffle the cards, Lou. Before I get bored." You laughed.

He placed the now jumbled up deck in between the pair of you and waited for you to take a card.

You took the top card and flipped it over revealing a four of clubs. Louis then took his card and flipped it.

"Boom! Ace of spades baby! Truth of dare?" Louis asked grinning again.

"Truth?" You raised an eyebrow questioningly hoping he would go easy on you.

"Hmm," Louis paused for a bit. "since it's your first game of this I'll not get too personal... yet. How about... what's your favourite instrument?"

"Umm, guitar? It's the only thing I ever really learnt. I knew a few tunes on the piano but I'm not great at it or anything I just dabbled."

"You see," Louis smiled again. "we're getting to know one another. Bonding, if you will. Mine is piano by the way, in case you hadn't already figured it out."

"You play that out of tune piano almost every night. I caught on fairly quickly, don't worry." You laughed. "Despite the tuning you're good at it though."

Louis takes a bow from his chair and you smirk at him.

"Guess that means I have a new duet partner." He seemed hopeful.

"Maybe... it's been a while." You muttered playing with your card.

"Well," Louis said taking your card and putting it to the side with his. "a maybe is better than a no, so that's good enough for me."

He flipped over a new card from the original deck. "Ten of hearts, nice."

You followed suit and got the seven of spades.

"Aha! I win again! Truth or dare?" Louis chuckled.

"Truth again please." You sighed.

"Okay, we're going to step it up a little bit. Have you ever had any close calls? Like with the dead or someone living?" He wasn't smiling anymore and he seemed genuinely concerned.

"Who hasn't?" You asked.

"What was your worst one?" Louis frowned.

You stood up and lifted your shirt slightly revealing a large jagged scar on your stomach.

"What happened?" He raised his eyebrows at how painful it looked.

"I was part of a supply run that went wrong with an old group." You started. "Half of the people in it were injured so they turned to me to help out despite me being only like 14 at the time. Someone got spooked by a Walker and stumbled backwards pushing me into a broken rail. The metal sliced clean through and I got off supply runs for a while. They weren't sure if I would get an infection from the rust so it was basically a waiting game."

"I bet your parents were pissed."

"They weren't around to see it. They died in the beginning." You lowered your gaze and fixed your shirt before sitting back down.

"I'm sorry." Louis muttered grabbing the cards and putting them in the used pile.

It was silent for a while and then you took another card.

"Come on, I'm determined to win at least one." You chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

Louis' smile slowly returned as he took another card from the deck.

"King of diamonds." Louis smirked. "What did you get?"

You threw your card down on the table and crossed you arms. Louis looked down and laughed.

"Three of clubs. Damn."

"Three out of three? This is ridiculous... Are you cheating?" You frowned.

Louis' mouth fell open and he placed his hand on his chest in mock shock that you would even ask that question.

"Oh, you didn't know? I am the greatest card player of all time. You never stood a chance really... So, (f/n), truth or dare?"

"Truth again." You laughed. "I don't trust you enough to pick a dare yet. I don't know what you're capable of."

"Beware this is your last truth. The next one is a date. It's the rules." He took your card and his and put it on the used pile. "Okay, we need something more light hearted but still a little personal..." He thought for a moment and then smiled shyly at you.

"Have you ever umm..." He looked away briefly. "had a boyfriend?" He regretted asking as soon as he had finished.

"Why? You asking?" You laughed.

"You'll only know if you answer it." A small smile tugged at his lips.

"Not really, there has been people I've liked in the past but never anyone I'd consider dating."

"Interesting. I haven't had a girlfriend by the way. Just if you were wondering."

"Oh come one... I don't believe that for one second." You weren't blind, you knew he was an attractive guy. That paired with his charm, well, he must have had girls throwing themselves at him.

"What? I haven't." He laughed. "When all of this started I was way too young. Hey, I still thought girls had cooties. Now that I'm older my opinions have changed drastically. Just, not exactly many people left in this world to 'like like' y'know?"

"What about the girls here? Surely you have your eyes on someone? Violet?"

Louis laughed and shook his head. "Oh I have my eyes on someone but it's definitely not Vi. She doesn't exactly swing my way if you get what I mean."

"Oh... I didn't know." You chuckled. "Who do you have your eyes on then?"

"Oh no, you've asked more than enough questions for someone who had the lower card." Louis smirked picking up a new card from the deck.

You picked your third card and looked up at Louis.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He felt himself blush instantly. "The cards I mean- obviously the cards."

You laughed despite the way you could feel your own face blushing and flipped over your card.

"Queen of hearts." You smiled.

Louis flipped over his card and frowned. Five of diamonds... His winning streak had been killed.

"Ouch, you've defeated the great and powerful card master." He clutched at his heart dramatically and chuckled.

"Your reign is over. My turn." You rubbed your hands together and smiled.

"You'll find I'm an open book. Go ahead, ask away." Louis smiled at you.

"Okay, truth or dare?" You asked.

"Well there hasn't been many dares happening for a game that has it in the title, so dare I guess." He looked worried but smiled nevertheless.

"I dare you to go and kiss the girl who you have a thing for. Ruby will freak."

"What makes you so sure it's Ruby?" Louis raised one of his eyebrows with a smirk.

"Well, Marlon and Brody seem pretty close, Violet isn't into guys and you barely know me so that leaves Ruby."

"Huh." He laughed. "I think you'll find Aasim would kick my ass if I tried anything with Ruby."

"Better make it fast so he doesn't see then." You whispered.

"I'm not kissing Ruby." Louis laughed shaking his head.

"You picked dare and that is the dare. Go kiss her."

"Think you'll find the dare was to kiss the girl I like. I don't like Ruby like that."

"So, it's not Ruby. Brody then. Think she's helping Marlon with plans for the next run so that will be super awkward for you but funny as hell to watch for me."

"Wrong again. Not Brody." Louis sighed.

"Well who then?"

"Look I pass. Next turn." Louis felt himself blushing again.

"No way are you chickening out. You picked dare so you do the dare."

"Fine, fine but you aren't going to like this?"

Louis took a deep breath before leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. The kiss started off slow as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Louis sighed into the kiss and you instinctively wrapped your arm loosely around his neck and gripped his coat collar.

"(F/n), Loui- woahhhhh! What's going on here?" You heard Violet begin laughing hysterically.

Both you and Louis jumped apart.

As the other got closer and realized what was going on they all started laughing too.

"Two weeks and you're already making a move on her? I'm impressed." Marlon chuckled.

"What can I say, I'm irresistible." Louis winked.

"He finally did it huh?" Said Aasim with a smile.

Louis locked eyes with Aasim and smirked. "Why don't you go tell Ruby?"

"Nice try Lou, but you aren't getting out of this one." Aasim laughed.

You shook your head and chuckled to yourself. You liked having these kind of moments, they were few and far between in this world.

Slowly you leant in close to Louis again.

"Thanks for the game Lou." You kissed his cheek. "Stop by my room later... We'll talk about this more then." You whispered in his ear.

Louis paused for a moment and let out a breathy laugh.

"Hell fucking yeah we will." He was so giddy.

You stood and made your way back inside the school ignoring the wolf whistles coming from Willy, Marlon and Violet. The rest giggled madly like the school children they were.

Louis watched you leave in disbelief, a wide grin covering his face. Maybe he had finally found someone who liked him back. His stomach was filled with butterflies and he suddenly found himself really excited for later that night.

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

/1/ /2/ /3/ /4/ /5/ /6/ /7/ /8/ /9/ /10/ /11/ /12/ /13/ /14/ /15/ /16/ /17/ /18/

Chapter 19.

“It’s Terminator!”

“It's Terminator 2,” Noble mutters, glancing overhead at the oversized television screen in the corner of the bar.

“No, dude.” His friend Andrew -- the groom-to-be in this group -- insists across the pub table from us. The loud rendition of the Beastie Boys’ Hey Ladies plays over the one minute window of time each trivia team in the bar has to answer the question: What was the first Arnold Schwarzenegger movie to win four Academy Awards? “Terminator 2?” Andrew disputes. “Fuck no. It's never a sequel.”

“Terminator 2 is like, the known superior Terminator,” Noble argues.

“You guys,” Sebastian cuts in, another guy in our group. “It's Jingle All The Way.”

“It's Kindergarten Cop!”

“Oh my god,” Noble complains, shaking his head at me as I can't help but laugh at the idiotic suggestions from his friends. “Fucking write something.”

“It's kind of hard to top the original though,” I offer.

“Exactly,” Andrew points his pen at me. “See? He's a lawyer, he knows.”

“But that's not the question,” I reason. “The question’s about awards, not which one you feel is a classic.”

Noble's friend glances down to start scribbling. “You guys are clowns. It's Terminator.” Then he stands up and takes his slip of paper with the answer up to the deejay who stands in front of the TVs.

Amused, I reach for my beer and shake my head. When Noble -- who is strictly Nick tonight -- told me we were bound for a bachelor party, sitting with four other guys in a mundane sports bar playing pub trivia is not what I expected, especially considering Noble's usual knack for finding trouble. But it was entertaining enough and I wasn't exactly interested in waiting in a long line outside some insufferable club.

The music fades as the deejay pipes up, “Allll-right. What was the first Arnold Schwarzenegger movie to win four Academy Awards? Believe it or not, it was Terminator 2: Judgment Day--”

“What?!” Shouts an incredulous Andrew and Noble tips his head back with a dramatic eyeroll.

“You're fired,” Noble announces, reaching over to steal the pen.

“The category is sports,” the deejay calls out as he goes to his laptop and clicks to the next question on the screen to display on the television. “In boxing, who is the youngest, undisputed heavyweight champion of all time?”

As he draws out the last word of the question like a typical radio announcer, the opening of Santeria by Sublime settles over the bar.

I tilt over to Noble. “It's Mike Tyson.”

His pen stalls as he lifts his gaze to me. “It's Muhammad Ali.”

I reach over and pull the pen from his hand before I lean in to write what I know is the correct answer on the small piece of paper.

“Dude,” he calls out, dismayed with hands spread as I push my chair back.

I glance back at him over my shoulder with a smirk. “I'm right.”

“You better be right, Jamie,” Sebastian scoffs as he turns to survey the bar. “Because I'm about to forfeit and order some shots.”

“Shots are a good idea either way,” Noble decides.

When I return, I don't miss the chance to lay a firm hand on his shoulder and I give it a rough squeeze.

He clears his throat and adjusts in his chair. “Are we winning?”

“No.” I chuckle, settling in beside him. “But I know my boxing titles.”

“Well I know Schwarzenegger movies,” he announces to the table, pointing his beer bottle at Andrew before he intentionally gets louder -- “but nobody listens to me!”

Already it takes considerable effort not to respond to that the same way I would in private so I just let the curve of a smile tease my mouth before I hide it with my beer.

“Allll-right--” The deejay cuts in, the way he does every time he's about to declare the answer, the music fading. “In boxing, who is the youngest, undisputed heavyweight champion of all time?” He recites. “The answer was Mike. Tyson.”

Half the tables in the bar cheer for themselves while I tilt my head to give Noble a look.

He spreads his hands to answer to it. “I doubted you. What was I thinking?”

“You should never.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh hey, was the answer six Jägerbombs?” Sebastian declares returning to the table with a bartender close behind to help carry the tray of glasses. “Because now it is. Forget the game.”

I know I grimace a little as the cocktail server sets the highball glasses in front of us. “Oh damn, seriously?”

“Are you…” Noble starts, lifting a shiny gaze to the waitress. “Legally allowed to serve us these? I'm like, ten years over the acceptable age limit for drinking Jägerbombs.”

“Ha! I dont buy it.” The blonde tilts her head with a grin, glancing to him as she distributes the shots. “You're the youngest guys in this bar anyway, so you get a pass.”

“Yeah, well--” Noble scoffs. “That's not saying much.”

“Here's a game I like--” She starts, straightening back up to rest a hand on her waist. “Show me some ID without showing me your ID.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Oh I get it.” Noble nods, then eases back in his chair as if to consider it. “Let's see. How about this? The very first date I ever went on was in seventh grade,” he recounts. “--To the movies to see Mighty Ducks 2.”

My head falls back and I let out a loud laugh.

The rest of the table claps their amusement. “You sure it wasn’t Terminator 2?” Andrew teases.

“It wasn’t,” Noble laughs. “But I like sequels apparently.”

“That is hilarious,” the waitress approves. “I love it. And you're definitely too old to be ordering Jägerbombs.”

“Who was it?” I question.

“Who was who?”

“The date. Do you remember?”

“Ahh.” He smiles down at the table, his shoulders shifting a little with a bouncy chuckle before he answers. “Lisa Palermo.”

Everyone at the table hollers and entertained cackle. “Lisa Palermo!” Andrew proclaims as if he knows her, then he picks up his shot glass. “Let's cheers to Lisa Palermo.”

“What the fuck?” Noble laughs. “No, dude this night's about you. We have to toast you.”

“No,” Andrew dismisses it. “It's not like this is going to be our last shot of the night.”

“What happened to Lisa Palermo?” Sebastian cuts in. “We should call her.”

I sputter another hard laugh and slap my palm on the table. “Yeah dude, was Mighty Ducks 2 just the beginning?”

“Um, she had her friend dump me at the ice skating rink at Central Park but thanks for making me remember that pain, Jamie.”

The whole thing is cracking me up and I'm just thankful I don't have to keep a straight face around him, especially when he nudges me in the arm with his own.

“Alright. To Lisa!” Andrew calls out, raising his glass and prompting everyone else to do the same. “And Nick, her biggest regret.”

We all let go of the shot, dropping the Jägermeister into the highball glass of fizzy Red Bull. I down mine, swallowing hard before I clear away the lingering spicy sweetness in my throat. “Good god, that was a flashback.”

“Yeah dude,” Noble agrees, setting his glass down hard on the table. “I'm picking the shot next time.”

“Let's do one more round,” Sebastian suggests, pointing over his shoulder. “And then we'll roll out somewhere else.”

Pushing my chair back, I stand up. “Be right back.” Then I cross behind the table to make my way to the bathroom.

I can practically feel Noble's gaze as it trails me but I don't look back. Winding through the crowd between the pool tables, I turn down a dimly lit hallway and push into the men's room.

I'm only in there a couple minutes before the door opens while I'm at the sink.

“How about those Jägerbombs bro?” Noble teases.

“Bro--” I laugh. “Your frat brothers are pretty mellow. I expected to be plastered in a toga by now.”

“I can make that happen.”

Another guy approaches the sink beside me, washes up quickly and moves to pass through the door, leaving the two of us alone.

“I know you can.” I toss my paper towel in the trash and turn to him. “Were you in a fraternity in college? Please say yes.”

“Alpha Phi Delta at Stony Brook? Hell yeah man.” He grins. “Weren't you?”

I glance up at him, cutting a slow shake of my head. “Definitely not.”

“You should pledge.”

“Yeah?” I smile at him with a tilt of my head, unable to resist playing along. “That could be cool, I'm new on campus--”

“Ss--shit.” He hisses a tempted laugh. “Don't you dare.” Then he steps closer and his hands go to the sides of my face. “God and you question how much porn I've been watching.”

I exhale a soft laugh as he backs me up against the outside wall of the nearest stall. Tilting my head up, I accept the weight of him as he presses into me, the sly friction of his hip at the top of my thigh.

“Are there pictures?” I wonder, lifting my gaze to him, the corner of my lips curve. “Of you washing cars or playing ultimate frisbee or something?”

“You sick fucking jerk,” he whispers before his lips skate over mine. “Don't be a tease tonight.”

My heart pounds with this hot, jumpy thud considering the door just beyond Noble’s back. But I kiss him. And then I’m quick to leave his bottom lip with the slow pinch of my teeth. “Why not?”

He mumbles his answer into the side of my neck. “Because you look too damn hot, and you smell too fucking good right now.”

“Hmm.” I merely offer a scratchy hum and let my eyes close for a beat to appreciate the heat of his mouth on my skin.

Drawing in a deep inhale just at the collar of my shirt, he draws his face up to the edge of my jaw, “So I don’t think I can handle the tease.”

With a cleansing breath, I arch my neck back before I straighten up in front of him. Reaching down, I quickly flick the dark brown leather of his belt from its buckle. I see the way his lips part, his gaze flicking down, a hopeful jump of his brow just before I maneuver out from between him and the wall. “You can,” I assure him with a smirk as I head for the door. “You’ll like it.”

[abbydraper]

Bachelorette Bio Breakdown. Again.

I have said for like three years now I am done writing about this show, but the bios are just too damn fun to mock. So, here we are again. You’re welcome. 

Brian

They’re claiming he loves math so much that he is a teacher at the high school he went to. What that translates to is that he loves math so much he still lives in his mothers basement. The same one from high school. His favorite holiday is “Flag Day” which isn’t a real thing. 

Cam

He loves to be the “life of the party”, calls himself the “Dance Floor King”, can freestyle rap and play the harmonica. Basically what this means is that I will never attend a social event with Cam as he sounds like the actual death of the party. 

Chasen

Is that a real name? Chasen loves watching “The Bachelor” while drinking cocktails with his mom and has re-gifted Tiffany’s to his sister. I think Chasen would have more luck chasin’ the heart of a dude. 

Connor J. 

He says his biggest turn-off is a girl who gossips, which inevitably means he will be the first to run to Hannah with gossip because the people who say they hate gossip are the biggest gossips of them all. 

Connor S. 

Connor S. LOVES (all caps in bio, definitely not by me) Justin Bieber and listening and dancing to Spanish music, although he doesn’t speak the language. What this means to me is that he blasts “Despacito” and fucks up all of the lyrics. He does kind of resemble Luke Cafferty though... 

Daron

I feel like Daron was on FX’s “The People vs. OJ Simpson” and I just want to know what it was like to work with Sterling K. Brown. 

Devin

Devin is a talent manager who is good friends with a former “Bachelorette” suitor... so, I’m going to say Devin is here for the wrong reasons. I’m also curious if his haircut is intentional in this photo. I hope not. 

Dustin

I hope he put that he can beat anyone at Jenga so he can claim his pull-out game is strong because that’s my all time favorite pick-up line. Next to, “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” 

Dylan

It says he is the co-founder of a fitness company that allows people to workout while donating food and this makes no sense to me. He also claims the majority of his friends are women and I’m going to guess that’s because he has a boat.  

Garrett 

Garrett is from Alabama and the date he mentioned involves football, so they’re just going to make out and yell, “Roll Tide” until he goes home for thinking Georgia has more romantic cities than Alabama. 

Grant

Grant is an actual asshole and quite proud of it. He has no interest in hearing about a workout or Instagram, so we’d totally get along. JK, he’d hate me. He also promises to call other men out this season who aren’t there for the right reasons. I see a two-on-one in his near future. See ya never. 

Hunter

A pro surfer living in California, still with his parents, that loves the water and wants to start a creative agency. What an enigma. 

Jed

How many singer/songwriters in Nashville do you think are named Jed? Jed is going to get out of the limo with his guitar and sing something stupid to Hannah. Calling it. 

Joe

His job title is, “The Box King” and I truly hope it is for the reason I want it to be. Joe has been to Vegas (from Chicago) four times this year so the box king enjoys gambling, strip clubs and pool parties. Yep, it means what I want it to. 

Joey

Honestly, I am shocked this guy isn’t a trainer. Look at him. Also he’s kind of old and boring to be on this show. 

John Paul Jones

Don’t even have to read further, I hate him. Then I read further to learn he requires you use all three of his names when addressing him AND he “rarely uses words that are less than three syllables long” so I actually hate him. Also, who fucking knows that about themselves? 

Jonathan

He claims he is the life of the party and we’ve already had another suitor claim that title, so, like -- life of the party-off? He also, “love sparklers” which seems like a weird thing to be passionate about. 

Kevin

Kevin seems like the kind of guy that has had at least two restraining orders filed against him. He wants to travel more but won’t go anywhere there isn’t a gym. Umm, I’m fairly certain cities all over the world offer hotels with a fitness center on-site, Kevin. 

Luke P.

This is definitely this seasons virgin. Maybe a “born again” virgin if that’s a real thing, but for sure a virgin of some sort. I feel like people who don’t have sex talk about sex more than people that do have sex. Relax.  

Luke S. 

Luke S. looks like the little kid in “Love Actually” who locks himself in his room because he is in love. He claims he looks like Nick Viall (he does not) and hit on Emily Ratajkowski, so he’s definitely not here for exposure. 

Matt Donald

Why are these men using more than one name? Also I won’t be able to look at him without singing, “Old Matt Donald” to the tune of “Old McDonald”. He claims he’s already in love with Hannah despite having not met her. We all know what happened to Shawn B., so things aren’t looking great for Old Matt Donald. 

Matteo

Um. "On the side” Matteo is a sperm donor with 114 children running around and I have so many questions. How does he know the number? How many times has he been intimate with himself and a cup? Why? When money is tight, don’t most people just ask their family for help? Is this normal? Is there a term for someone whose hobby is to donate sperm? WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE? 

Matthew

If Matthew wasn’t 23, I’d drive down to Newport tonight to meet him. What a dreamboat. 

Mike

Who was that guy on Kaitlyn’s season that was so arrogant and then he got down on his knee at MTA to apologize to all women? IAN! This is Ian reincarnate. Or rIANcarnate. 

Peter

He lives his life by thinking that simply by expecting good things to happen to you, they will. If that’s the case I’m expecting to win the lottery tomorrow and be a millionaire by Friday. 

Ryan

Ryan will be the first one this season to cry.

Scott

His bio is about as cliche as his name. He likes to day drink with his buddies, he acts like an asshole in public, he hits on waitresses when he’s drunk. If you’re looking for a “Scott” you can throw on a pair of short shorts and a cleavage-bearing tank top and head to your nearest rooftop bar. Scott will have a shot waiting for you. I promise. 

Thomas

Thomas played basketball over seas which I think means he played professional JV basketball. His nickname is “Mr. Fourth Quarter” and that doesn’t sound like something a man should brag about. 

Tyler C. 

There’s a lot to take in from Tyler. He has his MBA, but is using it in Jupiter, Fla.; He was drafted by the Ravens but couldn’t play because of a shoulder injury; He’s been in a serious relationship but it didn’t work out and now he’s on The Bachelorette. Tyler is the “almost made it” guy. Maybe he should be called “Mr. Fourth Quarter”. 

Tyler G. 

Tyler G. loves SoulCycle so much that he wrote it in his bio. I love you, Tyler G. However, he later admits that he adheres to a strict Keto diet, so like, let’s hit up a class, but I refuse to do brunch after. Ya know? 

Who do you think Hannah will choose? Also how many episodes until I am annoyed? 

[fatcatsarecats]

JayTim Rec List 1/?

In an effort to extricate myself out of the deep, dark, dank cave that is the marvel cinematic universe (or just marvel in general) for more than two minutes, here is a list of jaytim fics that I recently read, enjoyed and or generally love under the read more. 

Please remember to kudos/like/bookmark and tell the author how much you enjoyed their work! 

READ:

dick grayson, snooping? it’s more likely than you’d think by dragonryder94 Words: ~3k | Complete

dick knows that something is up between jason and tim. he just doesn’t know what...not yet at least.

Comment: A Dick armed with memes and trying to have good ol’ brotherly Bonding Moments™ with Tim and Jason is just downright hilarious. A quick laugh and an absolute banger.

In Which Conner is Meddlesome for Tim's Own Good by GeneratorCat Words: ~2.7k | Complete

“Homecoming dance!” it proclaimed. “Saturday, Oct. 24th”. And then, at the bottom some bastard had written, “Do you have your date yet?”

Tim wanted to scream because no, he didn’t have his date yet, and he probably never would. He was too scared to ask them.

Comment: *slams fist on table* you have no idea how much I love high school aus goddamn and this is the cutest!! Do you want awkward teen angst? Kon being chill but also hilarious??? Tim making a fool of himself??? Then this is it. This wins all.

Plus note: Anything by GeneratorCat is great. Puns everywhere, a humour that will hurt your gut laughing, and a writing style that’s tighter than Jason’s abs.

do you wanna feel a little beautiful, baby by Sister Words: ~42k | Complete

"They're watching me," Jason says, when Daisy Mae has left.

"Who, the drag queens?" Tim says. His face is an inch from Jason's chest, and when the strobe lights flash their way he can see a drop of sweat moving down Jason's pecs. His mind feels staticky, bouncing from general outrage to a general desire to put his mouth on Jason's skin. He's too horny to be rational about any of this.

++

Tim goes to a gay club and finds himself embroiled in one of Jason's cases. Glitter is involved. Also crises of morality. Also booty shorts.

Comment: Case fic, baby!!! Listen, I have many weaknesses and they’re usually words starting with C and case fic happens to be one of them. The case was a riot, the secondary cast was a riot, and the jaytim was a blazing hot riot. This fic is lit from beginning to end. Guns, gangsters, glitter and gays everywhere. Really hits the G spot.

this pen was inked with the promise of you by clarityhiding  Words: ~21k (4/5) | WIP

Everyone has a mark-match, someone whose mark will match their own. No matter what, you will always meet your match after your mark comes in and before you die, it's just a fact of life.

Tim's mark starts to come in the summer he turns twelve. Less than a week later, his match is dead. He doesn't meet anyone at all in the time between.

Comment: I usually steer away from a/b/o fics since gender dynamics is not my thing but this is a goodie. I’ve only read the first chapter of this but I already know this is going to be a great time!!! But by great time, I also mean in a dark sense— @themandylion​ really hits the melancholic, listlessness, apathetic vibes of depression in the most wonderful, nuanced way, and when the emotions come, they’re explosive. Plus, the world building is amazing, and this is all in one chapter!

Cats, Bats, Kittens, and Hatchlings by ThePackWantstheD Words: ~72k (18/?) | WIP

In which Selina finds Jason trying to steal Batman's tires and offers to make his sticky fingers a bit stickier, Bruce finds Tim taking pictures of him and thinks that an orphan can take care of an abandoned boy, and the boys learn that life is a lot easier when there's another sidekick around to talk to.

Comment: This fic took my broken heart—my broken, fragmented, crowbar-shaped holed heart—and lovingly stuck cat shaped plasters all over it. This fic was sweeter than a raspberry mocha with one sugar and cream on top. This fic will probably give me diabetes faster than any sugar addiction. This fic is just pure and warm and will shield me through torrential storms. It’s just that good.

Selina and Bruce as great mentor figures and Stray!Jason (not something I see quite often!) with Robin!Tim. Slow Burn.

Day 5: Fake/Pretend Relationship // Royalty AU by  CatChan

Tim stayed deathly silent, hoping that his iciness alone would convey the weight of his disapproval.

No such luck. The old earl kept prattling on about how much more suitable to rule Tim was compared to his older brother because at least Timothy had been adopted from a ducal family and not street performers.

Tim took a deep breath to calm himself, then smiled as sweetly as he could, and told the old fart that he would be sure to relay his message to his father the king.

Earl Duchamp blanched, and started stuttering. Tim didn't give him any sympathy, or wait around for his rushed excuses, instead storming out of the room.

Comment: Historical AU with exposition that’s so fascinating, it doesn’t feel like exposition. That’s a amazing feat alright. It’s just a lot of fun for such a short chapter (Like a fun pilot episode to a historical tv drama) and I don’t want say too much of the interactions because it might spoil the fic. Suffice to say, the world it builds leaves you wanting more so might as well jump in and read the whole collection while you’re at it.

"Mi cama es su cama" by redrobinfection (ChristmasRivers) Words: ~9k | Complete

JayTim Week 2018 - “Bed Sharing” (Day 6)

Tim and Jason aren’t friends. They’re barely allies at this point. But for whatever reason, they keep crashing each other’s apartments, lairs, and safehouses, all in search for a bed to crash in for a bit. It starts out simple - it’s just a safe place to catch a nap, a safe place to recover after an injury, a safe place to hang - but with each visit, it turns into something more - it’s a welcome place to hang, a comfortable place to recuperate, their safe haven in dire times. It might take awhile, but, slowly Jason and Tim turn into something more too. 

Comment: So I read small bits and pieces of this during Jaytim Week, and while I haven’t fully read it cohesively in one sitting (before I fell into the marvel hole *cough cough*), what I do remember it was that it was a very soft and healing fic. If I had to describe the feelings and associated scenes this fic evokes, it’s a cosy, intimate blanket, and a warm body snoring beside you. Comfort packaged in a fic. Tim’s sleepy/sick talk was damn hilarious, and I really liked the gritty details involved with wound cleaning. I thought it was skilfully described.

Mania by Pisces314 Words: ~6k (3/?) | WIP

“I didn’t realize,” Dick’s voice startles Jason, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on Tim. When he looks up, Dick is staring at them with wide eyes. “That you two were...uh.”

It hits Jason then, what the position they’re in might look like from Dick’s point of view. His restraining hold on Tim, and Tim’s now submissive posture, curled up against his chest, probably look to an outsider like a comforting embrace between two people who are much more acquainted than they actually are. His face flushes, but he doesn’t bother to correct Dick’s misunderstanding.

Comment: @glaciya​ is almost always an auto-read for me. The fact that she can flip from cute space, jolly ranch kisses that kills you from sheer amount of fluff and goodness to this is mind blowing.Just from the first chap, it’s already got a great emotional reveal (count me shooketh), descriptions that really immerse you in the terse atmosphere between all the characters and writing that captures a great deal of nuance/overtone of hurt/comfort. It’s wild. 

Dreams From the Sargasso by RivetingFabrications Words: ~46k (17/?) | WIP

Timothy Drake ventured out to solve the mystery behind his parents' deaths, but being taken captive by the most wanted pirate in history hadn't been part of the plan. 

Comment: RivertingFabrications is also another auto read for me, and while I read this a long time ago, I remember that the JayTim interactions were fiery and terse, on the brink of something great, and the camraderie between Jason and the secondary characters was an absolute joy to read. 

Viking AU | The Red Hunter by @drabblemeister​ Link is only to the first instalment

Comment: The only way I can describe the writing is just, lush. Amazing descriptions of the environment which intermingles with Tim’s inner monologue to create a tension that is off-the-charts and an action scene that demands heavy drums and an orchestra. It’s suspenseful, gripping, and engrossing, and this is only the first two drabbles. 

Casebook of Detective Timothy Drake by chibi_nightowl Works: 5 | Words: ~150k | Series in Progress

Comment: The thing about @chibinightowl is that if you asked me to rec one of her works, I’d probably just start listing off her ao3 portfolio. Everything she writes is gold and I will accept it as actual currency if they let me (one day). 

If I had to pick one (a harsh, cruel, gruelling etc. ask for a mortal like me) it would be this series. A series of case fics with never-was-a-vigilante Detective Tim, a fully fleshed out cast of secondary characters (Tim’s partner in particular is a favourite), exciting, intriguing cases that will keep you guessing and friction with Batman that is riveting to read. Gives me Nora Robert’s Eve Dallas Series and Karen Rose vibes. Love love love love love this series. 

TO READ: 

These are fics on which I plan to read, but the premise sounds too good not to be advertised:

If You Don't Grow by GeneratorCat Words: ~28k (8/?) | WIP

“I need to take care of myself. I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to, you’re just a kid.” God, does Dick know that. He knows what it feels like to be doing things you shouldn’t have to do at such a young age. About feeling like you have to take care of yourself, be strong and useful.

He knows now it’s bullshit.

(Officer Dick Grayson meets Jason on the street.)

((Alternatively titled: In which Dick pulls a Bruce))

Comment: What more can I say. I’m a sucker for flawed mentor types who try their best!!! 

Build A Dream With Me by Myoneloveismusic Words: ~10k | Complete

Tim fell hard and fast when Batman and Robin first appeared in Gotham. He followed them for years, taking pictures, and watching in awe form the shadows. But after one fateful encounter with the second Robin, Tim found himself falling in a different way. Everything got torn apart when Jason died and Tim forced himself to take on the role of Robin if it meant keeping Bruce sane. But when Jason returns from the dead and makes his reappearance back in Gotham, can the two repair what had been blown apart or will they be separated forever?

Comment: Teen!! Angst!! *throws confetti* but also paired up with @my-one-love-is-music​‘s crafty way to frame fic like a movie scene and this sounds like a fun time.

Astra Inclinant by SociallyAwkwardFox (Maze_Runner_Fae) Words: ~30k | Complete

Every hero has a story. A tale spun by the Muses destined to pass from generation to generation, until the end of time. At the time of their conception, Fate already knows the paths they will walk in their lifetime and how it will end. She knows the stars they will see, the people they will meet, the scars they will bear-like badges of honor etched into their skin. With this knowledge, She designates a few to ensure every hero follows the correct path and completes their duty to the universe. These immortal beings act as a hero’s guide and watch over their lives, until their journey is complete. From one hero to the next they go, dedicating their lives to the universe and Fate’s will.  

Comment: A ‘Hero’s Journey’ narrative never gets old (like BP!) and mix that with Greek Mythology and like a great, angsty jaytim fic. Featuring Seer!Tim and Hero!Jason.

Flying Blind by TheSkyIsALie Words: ~4k | Complete

In the wake of a catastrophic loss, it's the path Jason sets that Tim follows back to safety.

Comment: I mean damn look at the summary already! It’s premise I haven’t seen for jaytim before and the tags have the dangerous combo of Domestic Fluff and Hurt/Comfort aka just looks amazing.

Making Amends by writemydreams Words: ~11.8k (3/12) | WIP

A new drug called Cupid’s Heart arrives in Gotham and Blüdhaven. Highly addictive, it also serves as a potent aphrodisiac. Jason enlists Tim’s assistance in rooting out the drug in Gotham and discovering the source. Along the way, Jason hopes Tim will see he’s changed and that he’ll learn to trust him.

What started out as a simple drug case becomes more complex when Dick discovers Cupid’s Heart comes from a resort for struggling couples. Jason and Tim go undercover as pretend fiancés to find the drug, something difficult for Jason since all he wants is to be in a genuine relationship with Tim.

Comment: A case fic!!! And damn, the tags looks delicious, ‘Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fake/Pretend Relationship, and Dick Grayson is a Good Brother.’ It just looks like a really good time.

Turnabout is Fair Play by Skalidra Words: 5.5k | Complete

When Jason gets an invitation to the Continental's latest competition, a simple game, he gladly accepts. It's a bit of fun, an opportunity to win a couple prizes and some recognition. That is, unless one of the other people assigned to his group gets in his way. May the best killer win. 

Comment:  I mean, Skalidra is a guaranteed good time, and she does action scenes better than most published writers. The way she balances detail and action still results in a fast-paced, tense scene so this sounds like a perfect murderific jaunt for a bad day.

At Cosmos' End by RivetingFabrications Words: 11.8k (4/?) | WIP

Tim has quit Starfleet and gone rogue – the system can’t help everyone, despite its best intentions. But when he finds an olden spacecraft in the outermost reaches of space where none should be, he finds more mysteries than answers.

Comment: The tags says you don’t have to be a hard core trekkie to get the gist of what’s going on. It sounds amazing nonetheless.

SPECIAL MENTIONS:

@sociallyawkwardfoxwriter​ and @my-one-love-is-music​ who are both doing Write 365. A crazy feat and not all of the drabbles are JayTim. List of AUs are only from what I recall and there’s more on their blogs!

Write 365 by @sociallyawkwardfoxwriter​

Star Wars AU; Dancer AU; Pacific Rim AU; Tomb Raider AU; Oracle!Tim AU; Werewolf!Jason AU and more.

Write 365 by @my-one-love-is-music​​

Barista!Tim AU; Werewolf!Jason AU; Mermaid!Tim AU; Hunger Games AU and more.

and:

JayTim Week

A place for ongoing JayTim weeks.

Remember to kudos/like/bookmark and tell the author how much you enjoyed their work!

—

Published: 4th June 2018

[wrestlingisfake]

G1 Climax B Block finals preview

Kenny Omega (12 points) vs. Kota Ibushi (10 points) - This is for 2 points in the G1 Climax tournament’s B block.  Omega’s IWGP heavyweight title is not at stake, although if he loses that would virtually guarantee Ibushi gets a title match later, regardless of who wins the G1 tournament.

I already ran through all the scenarios of who can win B block (to face the A block winner in the finals).  If Omega wins this match, he wins the block.  If Ibushi wins, then either Ibushi or Tetsuya Naito wins the block, depending on whether Naito loses his match.  If this match goes to a 30-minute draw, either Omega or Naito will win the block, depending on the outcome of the Naito match.

As far as I could determine this is the first one-on-one Omega/Ibushi match since August 2012, when Ibushi defeated Omega to retain the DDT championship, during their original run as the Golden Lovers tag team.  I haven’t seen the match, but people talk about it in awestruck tones, and the NJPW English announce team has alluded to Kota and Kenny refusing to rematch for fear that they would go too far trying to top it.  Watching both of them damn near kill themselves against other opponents, I can see why there’d be concern about them working with one another.  So the hype for this thing is off the charts, and it’ll be very difficult to live up to.

The Golden Lovers gimmick is that Omega and Ibushi aren’t just friends but in an ambiguous romantic relationship.  I mean, it’s not ambiguous to the fans, but the wrestlers themselves don’t directly spell it out and New Japan seems to actively avoid commenting on it.  Regardless, the idea is that Kenny was damaged and incomplete while the team was disbanded, but their reunion this year has turned everything around and contributed to Kenny winning the IWGP title.  What matters here, then, is that neither man wants to seriously harm the other, but they can’t go easy either, so we’ll be seeing a lot of mixed emotions beyond the usual “friends have to fight” match.

The “Bullet Club OG” group (Tama Tonga, Tanga Loa, and Bad Luck Fale) have basically made it their mission to ruin this tournament, especially where it concerns Omega and Ibushi.  They started out taking blatant disqualifications to protect one another from being pinned, but then they escalated to interfering in matches they had nothing to do with, and then to forcing a no-contest in the Omega/Young Bucks vs. Ibushi/Scurll/Owens match.  I can’t see this match ending in a draw or a double-disqualification, but the NJPW bookers clearly want the idea in your head.

Given the choice between Omega, Naito, and Ibushi to win B Block, I’d pick Ibushi just because I think that’d be more novel.  However, I’m increasingly thinking that Omega is going to pull off the big “win the G1 as reigning champion” feat.  One way or another, I think he’s going to come out on top here.

Tetsuya Naito (12 points) vs. Zack Sabre, Jr. (10 points) - Sabre is already mathematically eliminated from winning the block, and Naito will be too if Sabre wins this match.  If Naito wins, he’s still alive, but he needs Omega to lose or draw.  Even if this match goes to a time limit draw, Naito is still alive, but he needs Omega to just plain lose.  Sabre has scored some key wins to get him into the midcard title hunt, but I don’t see him beating Naito unless it’s necessary to set up a plot point in the Omega/Ibushi match.  And maybe it is, but since I’m not sure I gotta pick Naito to win.

Juice Robinson (4 points) vs. Hirooki Goto (6 points) - Robinson is the United States champion and Goto is the NEVER champion, but neither title is on the line.  Juice cannot strike with the “cast” on his left hand (more like a plastic splint wrapped in wrist tape) or he will be disqualified.

Robinson’s run this year has been interesting.  On the one hand, he’s stepped up his game since his G1 debut last year, and he’s a champion.  On the other hand, he suffered a (legit?) broken metacarpal a few weeks back, which is particularly disastrous because his specialty is his left-handed knockout punch.  Robinson gutted through the injury (and the added stip about the cast) to win the US title, but competing in the G1 is a longer, more relentless task.  After mounting losses (which translates into many future challengers), Juice started removing the cast to bring his knockout punch back into play, but that also increases his risk of aggravating the injury and prolonging his recovery time.  It’s a simple and delightfully effective storyline.

It’d be a nice feel-good moment for Juice to get one last victory to end on a high note, but this isn’t the part of the story for feel-good moments.  That will come later in the year, I think, when he has to defend the title against all the guys who beat him in this tour...but his hand will be 100% and he’ll be steamrolling through them.  (I hope.)  So for now, the right finish is for Goto to get the win.

Tomohiro Ishii (8 points) vs. SANADA (8 points) - Ishii always gets rave reviews for his G1 matches, but I can’t ever get fully invested in them because I always know he can’t actually win enough matches to constitute a push.  He does have a win over Kenny Omega and I’m sure he’ll get a title shot this fall, which will be well-received.  But I don’t believe for a second he’ll ever be IWGP champion, so it all feels kind of hollow.  Sanada is more or less in the same boat, though, so at least this match should be competitive.  It doesn’t matter who wins, really.

Tama Tonga (6 points) vs. Toru Yano (4 points) - Tama has basically stopped giving a shit about winning his matches or even trying to prevent the referee from noticing his rule-breaking.  Yano, on the other hand, has turned sneaking things past the ref into an art form.  In other words, they’ll both cheat like crazy, but Yano is more apt to get away with it, which means either Yano wins by DQ or Yano wins by sneaky pinfall or count-out.  The only thing working in Tama’s favor is that it’s a running gag that Yano acts like he’s literally a spooky demon or something.  Me too, Yano, me too.

Kazuchika Okada & YOSHI-HASHI & Gedo vs. Hiroshi Tanahashi & Togi Makabe & Tomoaki Honma - Okada and Tanahashi are coming off of their big match to determine the A Block, but the big story here is actually Honma, who suffered a neck injury during a March 2017 match, which nearly left him paralyzed and required surgery.  Honma returned to the ring a couple of months ago, but this is only the second match in his comeback.  This was originally going to be an eight-man tag with Elgin on the Tanahashi team and Jado on the CHAOS team, with the idea that Honma could seek revenge on Jado for the move that nearly left him paralyzed.  But Jado hurt his foot recently so he had to pulled from the tour.

I’m concerned Honma’s comeback is premature or ill-advised, and I’m not sure it’ll be much fun watching him work knowing how important it is to keep him safe.  You’d hope the other five guys can carry the match for him, but if that’s what it takes he probably shouldn’t be back in the ring yet.  Or maybe he’s really made incredible progress and he’s back to 100%. But I doubt it.  Honma should probably get the pin on Gedo, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they just have him set Gedo up for Makabe to finish him off.

EVIL & BUSHI vs. Minoru Suzuki & El Desperado - Just a random undercard tag match, doesn’t matter what happens.

Nick Jackson & Matt Jackson & Marty Scurll vs. Jay White & SHO & YOH - Scurll and the Young Bucks are the NEVER trios champions, but that title is not on the line here.  (Neither are all the other championships the Bucks currently have.)  This could get interesting since White has been teaming with Yoh, and treating him like shit, throughout this tour, but now he’s also teaming with Yoh’s regular partner Sho.  Also, Yoh and Sho’s coach, Rocky Romero, has been losing his fucking mind about White’s shenanigans on English commentary.  In theory a win for White’s team would put them in line for a trios title shot, but I can’t believe this trio can coexist for more than ten seconds.  That won’t stop White from trying to direct traffic, I would imagine.  The Bucks will probably pin Sho or Yoh after slapping their thighs a lot.

Bad Luck Fale & Tanga Loa vs. Hangman Page & Chase Owens - Page and Owens have been regular partners on this tour, but they’re kinda fucked against two of the Bullet Club OG group.  This is either gonna be a win for the Tongans or a DQ loss preceded by a savage mugging.

Michael Elgin & David Finlay vs. Toa Henare & Shota Umino - This was originally going to be Finlay vs. Henare, but Jado’s injury caused Elgin to get bumped from his match, so here we are.  If you’ve been listening to English commentary you’ll recall that there was some ironic hype about Finlay/Henare--which had been the one and only non-tournament singles match on the schedule--which was jokingly referred to as “C Block.”  So Kevin Kelly and Rocky Romero might be unusually jazzed for this one.  I’m pretty sure Finlay will just pin Umino, but watch the announcers treat it like Wrestlemania.

[juliaroleplays]

Because I haven’t seen one yet, here is a masterlist of lyrics from Taylor Swift’s sixth album, reputation. You can use them as starters, memes, character tags, otp/brotp tags, thread titles, verse titles, blog titles etc. Anything in parentheses I feel like you can omit, usually for pronouns or length, but you can do whatever you want. If you find this useful, please give it a like or reblog!

Trigger warnings for: allusions to drug use/getting high

...Ready for it?

I know I’m gonna be with you I see nothing better, I keep him/her/them forever Let the games begin Lights down low No one has to know Touch me and you’ll never be alone You should see the things we do

End Game

And I heard about you And you heard about me Drinking on the beach with you all over me I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put them I can't let you go, your hand prints on my soul I don’t wanna hurt you I don’t wanna miss you I don't wanna be just another ex-love (you don’t wanna see) I got a bad (boy/girl) persona, (that’s what they like) I got issues and chips on both of my shoulders I got some big enemies I gotta reputation (girl/boy) that don’t precede me I swear I don’t love the drama (it loves me) I wanna be your end game I’m one call away whenever you need me I've made mistakes and made some choices, that's hard to deny It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold Reputation precedes me (they told you I’m crazy) The truth is, it's easier to ignore it We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't With four words on the tip of my tongue You and me, we got big reputations You and me would be a big conversation You like the bad ones too You hold me down and I protect you with my life You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks

I Did Something Bad

Crimson red paint on my lips Don’t throw away a good thing For every like I tell them/him/her, they/he/she tells me three Go ahead and light me up I can feel the flames on my skin I don't regret it one bit, 'cause he/she/they had it coming I let him/her/them think they saved me I never trust a narcissist (but they love me) I never trust a playboy (but they love me) If a man/woman/person/someone talks shit, then I owe him/her/them nothing If he/she/they drop my name then I owe him/her/them nothing If he/she/they spends my change then I owe he/she/they had it coming   Most fun I ever had (and I would do it over again if I could) Now all he/she/they think about is me They got their pitchforks and proof, receipts and reasons They said I did something bad (but why’s/why does it feel so good?) They’re burning all the witches, even if you aren’t one This is how the world works (you gotta leave before you get left) Why’s/Why does it feel so good? You gotta leave before you get left

Don’t Blame Me

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy (if it isn’t you ain’t doing it right) Echoes of your name in my mind For you, I would cross the line (For you,) I would fall from grace (just to touch your face) For you, I would lose my mind For you, I would waste my time I get so high every time you’re loving me I get so high every time you’re touching me I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay I'm insane, but I'm your baby I’m just gonna call you mine I’ve been breaking hearts a long time I’ve been toying with them older (guys/girls/people) Lord save me, my drug is my baby (that I be using for the rest of my life) My name is whatever you decide They say she’s/he’s/they’ve gone too far this time Something happened for the first time (in the darkest little paradise)

Delicate

Come here, you can meet me in the back Do the girls/boys/people back home touch you like I do?   I don’t wanna share I know that it’s delicate I pretend your mine all the damn time Is it chill that you’re in my head? Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? Just think of the fun things we could do Long night, with your hands up in my hair, (echoes of your footsteps on the stairs) My reputation has never been worse so, you must like me for me Oh damn, never seen that color blue Sometimes I wonder when you sleep, are you dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I pretend you’re mine (all the damn time) Stay here honey, I don’t wanna share This ain’t for the best We can’t make any promises now can we babe? (but you can make me a drink)

Look What You Made Me Do

All I think about is karma (Honey,) I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time I don’t like how you laugh when you lie I don’t like you little games I don’t like your perfect crime I don’t trust nobody and nobody trusts me I’ll be the actress starring in your bad dreams I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined Look what you made me do Maybe I got mine, but you'll all get yours The world moves on, another day, another drama You said the gun was mine Your kingdom keys once belonged to me

So It Goes

All eyes on us But, honestly, baby, who's counting? But when I get you alone, it's so simple Get caught up in the moment (lipstick on your face) Gold cage, hostage to my feelings I do bad things to you I did a number on you I know what you know I make all your grey days clear I'm so chill, but you make me jealous I’m tripping when you’re gone I’m yours to keep I’m yours to lose Met you in a bar Our pieces fall, right into place So it goes… You know I’m not a bad girl/boy/person You make everyone disappear We break down a little We can feel it You did a number on me When you get me alone, it’s so simple

Gorgeous

He's/She’s/They’re in the club doing, I don't know what Ocean blue eyes looking in mine I feel like I might sink and drown and die I got a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner, he's/she’s/their older than us If you’re single, that’s honestly worse If you've got a girlfriend/boyfriend/partner, I'm jealous of her/him/them I'm so furious at you for making me feel this way (but what can I say?) There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad You make me so happy, it turns back to sad You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk You should take it as a compliment that I'm talking to everyone here but you (but you, but you) You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much You're so gorgeous, I can't say anything to your face You're so gorgeous it actually hurts You've ruined my life, by not being mine

Getaway Car

A circus ain't a love story And now we’re both sorry (we're both sorry) Don't pretend it's such a mystery He/She/They poisoned the well, I was lying to myself He/She/They was the best of times, the worst of crimes I didn’t mean it and you didn’t see it I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed I left you in a motel bar, put the money in a bag and I stole the keys I struck a match and blew your mind I wanted to leave him/her/them, but I needed a reason It was the great escape, the prison break I'm in a getaway car It's no surprise I turned you in, because us traitors never win Nothing good starts in a getaway car That was the last time you ever saw me The ties were black, the lies were white There were sirens in the beat of your heart Think about the place where you first met me Shades of grey in candlelight Should've known I'd be the first to leave We never had a shotgun shot in the dark We were flying, but we'd never get far X marks the spot, where we fell apart You were driving the getaway car We were flying, but we'd never get far We were jetset, Bonnie and Clyde, until I switched to the other side While he/she/they was/were running after us, I was screamin', "go, go, go!" With three of us, honey, it's a sideshow

King of My Heart

All the boys/girls/people and their expensive cars, (with their Range Rovers and their Jaguars), never took me quite where you do And all at once, you're all I want I'll never let you go And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for   Baby, all at once, this is enough I made up my mind, I'm better off being alone Is the end of all the endings? I'm perfectly fine, I live on my own King/Queen/Ruler of my heart, body and soul The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury Up on the roof with a school girl/boy/kid crush, drinking beer out of plastic cups You move to me like a Motown beat You try on calling me baby, like trying on clothes Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Baby can we dance (through an avalanche)? But we were dancing with our hands tied Darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis Deep blue, but you painted me golden First sight, we love without reason I could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets I had a bad feeling I knew there was no one in the world who could take it I loved you in secret I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us I'd hold you as the water rushes in, if I could dance with you again I'd kiss you as the lights went out, (swaying as the room burned down) I’m a mess (but I’m the mess that you wanted) My love had been frozen Twenty-five years old, how were you to know? You said there was nothing in the world that could stop it People started talking, putting us through our paces Picture of your face in an invisible locket We were dancing like it was the first time

Dress

All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting Carve your name into my bedpost Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me Even in my worst times, you could see the best of me Everyone thinks that they know us Flashback to my mistakes, my rebounds, my earthquakes Flashback when you met me I don’t want you like a best friend I only bought this dress so you could take if off I woke up just in time If I get burned, at least we were electrified Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo My hands are shaking from all this My hands are shaking from holding back from you My hands shake, I can't explain this My one and only, my lifeline Now I wake up by your side Our secret moments in a crowded room Say my name and everything just stops They got no idea about me and you There is an indentation in the shape of you You kiss my face and we're both drunk

This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you said about me? Everyone swimming in a champagne sea Feeling so Gatsby for that whole year Forgiveness is a nice thing to do Friends don't try to trick you Here's a toast to my real friends, they don't care about the he-said-she-said Here's to my baby, he/she/they ain't reading what they call me lately Here's to my momma, had to listen to all this drama I can’t even say it with a straight face I took an axe to a mended fence It was so nice being friends again It was so nice throwing big parties I'm not the only friend you've lost lately, if only you weren't so shady I'm shaking my head and locking the gates Jump into the pool from the balcony So why'd you have to rain on my parade? There I was, giving you a second chance There are no rules when you show up here This is why we can't have nice things, (darling/honey) You stabbed in the back while shaking my hand

Call It What You Want

All my flowers grew back as thorns, windows boarded up after the storm All the drama queens taking swings All the liars are calling me one, nobody's heard from me for months All the jokers dressing up as kings Bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right Call it what you want, (call it what you want to) I brought a knife to a gunfight I did one thing right I know I make the same mistakes every time I want to wear his/her/their initial on a chain round my neck It fades to nothing when I look at him I'm doing better than I ever was I'm laughing with my lover, making forts under covers He/She/They built a fire just to keep me warm (He/She/They) love(s) me like I'm brand new My baby's fit like a daydream My castle crumbled overnight They took the crown, but it's alright (Slowly I said,) "You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?" Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

New Year’s Day

Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor Don’t read the last page Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you I can tell that it's going to be a long road I stay when it's hard or it’s wrong or you’re making mistakes I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you’re turning away I want your midnights I will hold onto you I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day I’ll be there if you strike out and you're crawling home I'll be there if you're the toast of the town Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere There's glitter on the floor after the party, girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi

[junker-town]

College basketball’s top 100 players for 2019-2020 season: No. 100 through No. 51

Colorado’s Tyler Bey, Michigan’s Jon Teske, and Xavier’s Paul Scruggs all appear in our top 100 college basketball players countdown.

Counting down the top 100 players in college basketball for the 2019-2020 season.

We’re counting down the top 100 players in college basketball for the 2019-2020 season. Find players No. 50 to No. 1 in a separate post later today. — ed. note

100. Collin Gillespie, JR, G, Villanova

Gillespie was handed the keys to the Villanova offense a year ahead of schedule last season, and it showed. Expect him to benefit from that experience and be an all-conference performer for Jay Wright as a junior.

99. Daniel Oturu, SO, C, Minnesota

Oturu established himself as a fierce inside presence in his first collegiate season, leading all Big Ten freshmen in rebounding, field goal percentage and blocks. With Jordan Murphy and Amir Coffey gone, Oturu will have to thrive in an expanded role if the Golden Gophers are going to make it back to the NCAA tournament.

98. Tulio Da Silva, SR, F, Missouri State

The Brazil native and South Florida transfer was the MVC Newcomer of the Year last season while averaging 14.3 ppg and 7.4 rebounds. Da Silva, who set a school record for dunks last season with 42, will be the unquestioned star for a Missouri State team that is the preseason pick to win the Missouri Valley.

97. Jay Huff, JR, F, Virginia

Tony Bennett has a history of taking guys with pedestrian stat lines but a handful of flashes of brilliance and turning them into standouts by the time they’re juniors and seniors. Expect Huff, a 7’1 forward who can shoot the three and handle the rock a little bit, to be the next who follows that path.

96. Nathan Knight, SR, G, William & Mary

William & Mary is one of only four original Division I programs that has never made the NCAA tournament. It’s on Knight, who averaged 21.0 points, 8.6 rebounds and 3.5 assists per game last season, to remove the Tribe from that dubious club in his final collegiate season.

95. Trent Frazier, JR, G, Illinois

Frazier has been Illinois’ most consistent performer over the last couple of down seasons, and figures to maintain that role in a year where the Illini hope to return as a national player. Ayo Dosunmu is the guy getting all the (deserved) NBA buzz, but Brad Underwood doesn’t get this team into the Big Dance unless Frazier performs like an all-conference caliber player.

94. Remy Martin, JR, G, Arizona State

The man with the perfect name to be a highly entertaining Arizona State point guard is back for his junior season after helping to lead the Sun Devils to back-to-back NCAA tournament appearances for the first time in 30 years. Martin battled through injuries throughout his sophomore season, but still earned Second Team All-Pac-12 honors after averaging 14.2 points and a league-leading 6.2 assists per game.

93. Trent Forrest, SR, G, Florida State

Forrest, who has been nagged by injuries throughout his college career, will be the heart and soul of a Florida State team talented enough to once again be a threat to the top of the ACC. Forrest is a dogged defender and a consistent performer on the offensive end who’s always at his best when the stakes are the highest.

Photo by Elsa/Getty Images

92. Jordan Bowden, SR, G, Tennessee

Bowden and backcourt mate Lamonte Turner have had their fair share of shining moments in Knoxville already, but they’ve never stood directly in the spotlight. With the Grant Williams/Admiral Schofield era now a thing of the past, that’s all about to change. Bowden was a double-figure scorer a year ago, but his 10.6 ppg is going to need to increase if the Volunteers are going to make it back to the NCAA tournament’s second weekend.

91. Samuell Williamson, FR, F, Louisville

A late-blooming McDonald’s All-American, Williamson is a silky-smooth wing who should benefit greatly from the attention that preseason ACC Player of the Year Jordan Nwora is going to receive from opposing defenses.

90. Elijah Hughes, JR, G, Syracuse

Hughes was a surprise standout for Jim Boeheim last season, averaging 13.7 ppg in his first season after transferring in from East Carolina. He’s the only returning starter from last year’s 20-win team, and should be the Orange’s No. 1 option on offense this season.

89. Nick Rakocevic, SR, C, USC

Rakocevic may suit up for a program that has a reputation for being a little bipolar, but personally he’s about as reliable a player as there is in the Pac-12. He ranked among the Pac-12’s top-10 in six categories last season, scoring average (10th), rebounds (third), field goal percentage (eighth), blocked shots (fifth), offensive rebounds (first) and defensive rebounds (third).

88. A.J. Lawson, SO, G, South Carolina

Lawson averaged 13.4 points, 4.3 rebounds, 2.9 assists and 1.1 steals per game while being forced to play more minutes than Frank Martin would have liked as a freshman. His 6’6 size makes him a matchup issue for pretty much every opponent on the Gamecocks’ 2019-20 schedule.

87. Chris Lykes, JR, G, Miami

The diminutive — he’s listed at 5’7 and that seems generous — Lykes figures to be one of college basketball’s most entertaining players in 2019-20. He ranked ninth in the ACC in scoring (16.2 ppg) last season and figures to have an even bigger green light as a junior. That’s welcome news for a guy who seems willing to pull up from just about any spot across halfcourt.

Photo by Patrick Gorski/Icon Sportswire via Getty Images

86. Joe Wieskamp, SO, G, Iowa

Assuming Jordan Bohannon is never healthy enough to play this season, Wieskamp is going to be the guy for Fran McCaffery. He’s already an established marksman from the outside, but Wieskamp’s offensive game will need to become a bit more diversified if he’s going to approach the overall numbers Hawkeye fans would expect to see from a healthy Bohannon.

85. Jared Butler, SO, G, Baylor

Baylor found its stride last season when Butler found his and began running the show for the Bears at the point. He averaged 10.2 points, 3.1 rebounds and 2.7 assists per game for a Baylor squad that advanced to the second round of the NCAA tournament, but which has loftier aspirations in 2019-20.

84. Jahmius Ramsey, FR, G, Texas Tech

The former five-star recruit significantly upped expectations for his freshman season by dropping 44 points in one of Texas Tech’s August exhibition games in the Bahamas. Ramsey figures to be one of the offensive focal points for a Red Raider team looking to replace the production of Jarrett Culver, Matt Mooney and Tariq Owens from last season’s national runner-up squad.

83. Jeremiah Robinson-Earl, FR, F, Villanova

Trying to predict who’s going to do what for this year’s Villanova team feels damn near impossible. Jay Wright has a bunch of similar pieces to work with, and it’s likely going to take a bit of time to figure out who goes where. A super versatile 6’9 wing, Robinson-Earl feels like the ‘Nova newcomer best equipped to come in and be consistently productive from night one on. He’ll be a double-double threat every time he steps on the court this season.

82. Admon Gilder, SR, G, Gonzaga

One of the top grad transfers in the country, Gilder comes to Gonzaga by way of Texas A&M, where he was forced to miss all of last season with a blood clot in his right bicep. Before that, he was the driving force for two highly successful Aggie teams. Gilder averaged 12.3 points, 4.1 rebounds and 2.6 assists for a Sweet 16-bound Texas A&M team in 2017-18, and 13.7 points, 3.9 rebounds and 3.9 assists the year before that.

81. Paul Scruggs, JR, G, Xavier

Naji Marshall is going to be the frontman for this year’s Xavier team, but Scruggs showed glimpses down the stretch of last season that he has the ability to be an All-Big East performer. He was terrific in March, most notably when he scored 28 points and handed out seven assists in the Musketeers’ overtime loss to Villanova in the Big East tournament semifinals.

80. Kahlil Whitney, FR, F, Kentucky

Another five-star Kentucky freshman, it’ll be interesting to see exactly what role Whitney winds up playing for this year’s UK team. Whatever role it is, Whitney’s freak athleticism and ability to play and defend multiple positions demands that it’s going to be a prominent one.

79. Omer Yurtseven, JR, C, Georgetown

The versatile 7-footer averaged 13.5 points and 6.7 rebounds per game for NC State in 2017-18 before deciding it was time for a change of scenery. He’ll fill the void left by the graduation of Jessie Govan, and should serve as the perfect compliment to the explosive backcourt duo of James Akinjo and Mac McClung.

Photo by Scott Winters/Icon Sportswire via Getty Images

78. Ochai Agbaji, SO, G, Kansas

Agbaji’s redshirt was burned in the middle of last season out of necessity, and he responded more impressively than Bill Self could have ever imagined. He hit a bit of a wall down the stretch but still posted respectable — all things considered — averages of 8.5 points and 4.6 rebounds per game for the season. If his outside shot improves enough, he’ll have all the tools necessary to help Kansas make a run at the national title and then bolt for the greener pastures of the NBA.

77. Dejon Jarreau, JR, G, Houston

In 2018, Rob Gray passed the torch to Corey Davis Jr., who then passed it on to Jarreau after the Cougars had their hearts broken by Kentucky in the Sweet 16 last March. A former top-50 recruit, Jarreau was impressive enough last season to earn the AAC Sixth Man of the Year award despite playing just 18 minutes per game. With its three starting guards from last season all gone, Jarreau will be asked to do much more in 2019-20.

76. Davide Moretti, JR, G, Texas Tech

As a sophomore last season, Moretti became the only player in the history of the Big 12 to shoot at least 50 percent from the floor, 50 percent three, and 90 percent from the free-throw line in a season. He’ll be asked to up his scoring output now that Jarrett Culver is getting paid to play the game.

75. Tyler Bey, JR, F, Colorado

With McKinley Wright injured last season, Bey stepped up to lead the Buffs with 13.6 points, 9.9 rebounds and 1.2 blocks per game while shooting 54.1 percent from the field. Now Bey is ready to team up again with a healthy Wright to form what should be one of the best inside-outside duos in the country this season.

74. Precious Achiuwa, FR, F, Memphis

The “other” five-star freshman on Memphis’ loaded 2019-20 squad, Achiuwa should reap the benefits of the extreme amount of attention James Wiseman will receive from opposing defenses. His ability to knock down the outside shot should also allow the Tigers to adequately space the floor in Penny Hardaway’s halfcourt sets.

73. Javonte Smart, SO, G, LSU

Smart had an ... interesting ... freshman season in which he averaged 11.1 points and 2.4 assists per game. He was sensational at times, most notably when he scored 29 points in an 82-80 OT win over Tennessee that proved to be the deciding factor in LSU claiming the SEC’s regular-season championship. His production should increase as a sophomore as he steps into the role previously occupied by Tiger star Tremont Waters.

72. Xavier Johnson, SO, G, Pittsburgh

Johnson was a monster for Pitt in his freshman season, breaking the school’s 34-year-old freshman scoring record and establishing himself as the only player in Division I to average at least 15.5 points and 4.5 assists per game. He achieved those offensive numbers despite often being asked to defend the opposition’s best player on the other end of the floor.

71. Matt Haarms, JR, C, Purdue

The man with arguably the best head of hair in college basketball is back to man the middle for another year in West Lafayette. The 7’3 Haarms is an established defensive force who will be looking to improve his numbers (9.4 ppg, 5.4 rpg, 2.1 bpg) in a season where the Boilermakers figure to be less reliant on the outside shot.

Photo by Steven Ryan/Getty Images

70. Mustapha Heron, SR, G, St. John’s

The cupboard isn’t entirely bare for new St. John’s head coach Mike Anderson. In his first year after transferring in from Auburn, Heron averaged a solid 14.6 ppg last season, but often seemed unsure of how to coexist in a backcourt also occupied by score-crazy point guard Shamorie Ponds. Ponds is gone now, which means Heron and fellow veteran guard LJ Figueroa should have an opportunity to post some gaudy numbers on a team that will be otherwise extremely thin on scoring.

69. Jon Teske, SR, C, Michigan

Already one of the top interior defenders in college basketball, Teske became a legitimate offensive threat for the first time in his college career last season. If his improvement on the end of the floor continues, he should be one of the most well-rounded big men in the country this season as a senior.

68. Lamine Diane, SO, Cal State Northridge

The best player in the country you’ve never heard of, last season Diane became the first ever Big West player to win the conference’s Player of the Year, Freshman of the Year and Newcomer of the Year awards all in the same season. He broke single-season school records for points (818), rebounds (368), field goals made (340), blocks (72) and double-doubles (20), and was also the only player in the country to average above 24 points (24.8), 10 rebounds (11.2) and two blocks (2.2).

67. Xavier Sneed, SR, G, Kansas State

Sneed is the top returning scorer (10.9), rebounder (5.5), three-point shooter, and minutes leader (30.7) from a Kansas State squad that shared the Big 12 regular-season title with Texas Tech in 2018-19. He’s also the player most responsible for making sure the Wildcats don’t take a dramatic step backwards in 2019-20.

66. Aaron Henry, SO, F, Michigan State

Henry entered the starting lineup midway through last season, and every now and then provided Michigan State fans with a glimpse into a very bright future. He can knock down the outside shot, he’s explosive when he needs to be, and his Miles Bridges-esque frame should allow him to be one of the better finishers in the Big Ten this season. He also figures to have more opportunities than originally expected with Josh Langford (who would be on this list if healthy) sidelined until at least January, Henry is going to be an NBA Draft pick, the only question is when.

65. Bryce Aiken, SR, G, Harvard

Aiken enters his senior season with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. His junior year ended prematurely after he dropped 38 points in the Ivy League tournament championship game, but still saw his top-seeded Harvard squad upended by arch-rival Yale. The Crimson are the overwhelming favorites to win the Ivy in 2019-20, and Aiken, who dropped 33 or more points in four of the 17 games he played in last year, is the pundits’ pick to once again be the conference’s top performer.

64. John Mooney, SR, F, Notre Dame

Mooney was the lone bright spot in an otherwise dismal season for Mike Brey and Notre Dame in 2018-19. He led the ACC in rebounding at 11.2 rpg, and his 20 double-doubles were six more than any other player in the conference. Mooney figures to have significantly more help in his final college season.

Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images

63. Nojel Eastern, JR, G, Purdue

A Big Ten All-Defensive Team selection a year ago, Eastern will be asked to up his offensive production now that All-American Carsen Edwards and senior sharpshooter Ryan Cline have moved on. Despite playing on the wing, Eastern led the Boilermakers in rebounding a year ago at 5.5 rpg.

62. Antoine Davis, SO, G, Detroit Mercy

The nation’s leading returning scorer at 26.1 ppg, Davis was outscored last season by only Campbell’s Chris Clemons (30 ppg) and Hofstra’s Justin Wright-Foreman (27 ppg). Davis became the first freshman ever to lead the Horizon League in scoring, and his 132 three-pointers broke the Division I record for triples by a freshman that had previously been held by Stephen Curry. Expect the coach’s son to fill it up at an even higher clip for the Titans this season.

61. Josh Green, FR, F, Arizona

Nico Mannion is the Arizona freshman everyone is talking about, but Green is going to get his fair share of headlines during the season as well. The Australian native is an off the charts athlete who has the potential to be the perfect running mate with Mannion in transition.

60. Neemias Queta, SO, C, Utah State

One of the nation’s most surprising freshman stars last season, Queta shattered Utah State’s previous single-season blocks record of 59 by swatting 84 in his first collegiate season. He also led the team in rebounding at 8.9 rpg and ranked second in scoring at 11.8 ppg. Expect Queta’s second season with the Aggies to be his last before bolting for the NBA.

59. Charles Bassey, SO, C, Western Kentucky

Everyone assumed Bassey’s first season at Western Kentucky would be his only season at Western Kentucky, but here we are. Bassey was the C-USA Freshman of the Year and Defensive Player of the Year after averaging a team-best 14.6 points, 10 rebounds and 2.4 blocks per game in 2018-19. There aren’t many teams in the country, and there certainly isn’t another one in Conference USA, that have an inside presence who can do the types of things Bassey can do.

58. Kellan Grady, JR, G, Davidson

A First Team All-Atlantic 10 selection last season, Grady ranked third in the conference in scoring at 17.3 points per game. He eclipsed the 20-point mark on 13 occasions, including a 31-point effort in Davidson’s final game of the season, an NIT loss to Lipscomb.

57. Skylar Mays, SR, G, LSU

Mays was the only LSU player to start all 35 games last season, averaging 13.4 points per game for the SEC regular season champions. He’ll be asked to shoulder a larger chunk of the offensive load with Tremont Waters now cashing checks from the Boston Celtics.

56. Lamonte Turner, SR, G, Tennessee

Injuries delayed the start of Turner’s 2018-19, but the former SEC Sixth Man of the Year still wound up averaging 10.9 points, 3.8 assists and 2.8 rebounds per game on that loaded Volunteers squad. He’ll be asked to up that points per game average in his final collegiate season as Tennessee adjusts to life without Grant Williams and Admiral Schofield.

Photo by Mitchell Layton/Getty Images

55. Grant Riller, SR, G, Charleston

An extremely safe bet to win CAA Player of the Year and finish in the top 10 nationally in scoring, Riller is coming off a junior season in which he averaged 21.9 ppg and shot just a hair short of 54 percent from the field. He set a single game school record when he scored 43 points in a 99-95 loss to Hofstra last February.

54. Derek Culver, SO, C, West Virginia

Bob Huggins was forced to throw his freshmen into the fire last season, and Culver came out looking like a true Targaryen. The big man averaged 11.5 points and 9.9 rebounds per game on the season, and his eight double-doubles in conference play were the most of any player in the Big 12.

53. Reggie Perry, SO, F, Mississippi State

After flirting with a professional turn, Perry ultimately opted to return to Starkville after a freshman season in which he seemed to just brush the surface of his potential. He averaged a respectable 9.7 points and 7.2 rebounds per game, but struggled with consistency. That inconsistency figures to be a thing of the past if his play this summer — when he earned Most Valuable Player honors at the FIBA U19 World Cup — is any indication.

52. Marcus Evans, SR, G, VCU

Despite dealing with injuries throughout his college career, Evans has been a First Team All-Conference selection in each of his three collegiate seasons. A year ago, he averaged a team-high 13.6 points, 3.2 assists and 1.9 steals per game for a VCU squad that dominated the Atlantic 10.

51. James Akinjo, SO, G, Georgetown

Georgetown fans are heading into the 2019-20 season dreaming about a return to the Hoya glory of the 1980s (and 2007). The biggest reason why might be Akinjo, who earned Big East Freshman of the Year honors last season after averaging 13.4 points and 5.4 assists per game for a Georgetown team that surprised many by winning 19 games and finishing tied for third in the final league standings.

[yuki-d-raizel-blog]

Hero

Chapter 9/??

Relationship: Todoroki Shouto x Reader (Your/Name), (Full/Name)

Summit: It all begin at the Sports Festival when Shouto’s other half met Endevour by mistake. The student never thought to see his partner fight against his father just to show him that he is wrong. It started from that instant, Shouto’s new path started exactly from that moment thanks to his friends and his beloved one.

— 

Fortunately, All Might is nearby and Tenya calls for him. The living legend literally lifts you up and drags you to Recovery Girl again, while Midoriya and Iida are following him, watching you anger up. You tried to escape but the hero is blocking the exit, so you stand immobile to stare at him for five minutes straight, then go back to the seat in front of the heroine and drop your hands on the table.

<<The next time I’ll fucking crush his skull against something so strongly that his bones will turn into dust…>> the student whispers evil murdering plans with a very adapted gaze, <<I’ll beat the shit out of- Ow!>>

<<It’s the same as before.>> says the old lady, <<Your muscles are too tense, I can’t pierce them, you need to relax. I don’t wanna give you more medicines.>>

<<Are you trying to kill me? Ok, I get it, I’ll relax. God fucking dammit- Ouch!>>

<<A lady shouldn’t say those words.>>

<<Grr… Am I allowed to break something?>>

<<No, you must use your hands the most less possible.>>

<<I can use my legs to->>

<<This is my office, you are not allowed to destroy anything.>> her voice is angry but when she sees the student hits the head on the table and stays like that, she pats her gently, <<Calm down, sweetheart.>>

<<Can I have my phone at least? I need music.>> Izuku takes it from your pocket, he searches the title, presses play and leaves the phone near you.

A beautiful song comes out from the speakers, an instrumental one played with violin and other instruments which blend so wonderfully together. It’s so relaxing and well written that Beethoven is a stupid in confront; the compositor selected all deep notes and when it goes to the higher ones, the rhythm doesn’t change so much, it’s the same deep, touching and relaxing song. (Y/N) closes her eyes and softly sings along.

<<It’s very beautiful, young (Y/N). Who wrote it?>> All Might leaves the door now that you’re relaxed, in fact his colleague can do her job easily.

<<Me and my mom.>> she replies with a sleepy voice, <<I love this song…>>

<<You did a wonderful job. Please tell it to your parents too.>>

<<They died in a car accident ten years ago…>> a tear is resting on the edge of your eye, <<This is the last song we composed together… I couldn’t even say sorry to her for what I’ve done.>>

<<Oh… I’m sorry, I asked something bad.>> the hero caresses your back kindly with his big hands, <<But I’m sure they are proud of you. You are strong, gentle and smile everyday->>

<<My father hated me due to my quirk… Control seven forms it’s difficult, I was little and I was training to master a new one, but I burned down the garden… and after that, nothing could grow again on that soil.>>

<<It’s a science reaction, the fire destroys brutally the ground, it takes ages to go back like it was.>> explains Tenya hoping to cheer you up a little, <<It wasn’t your fault.>>

<<Yeah, as if kids can understand that sophisticated mechanism.>> she mutters, <<My father never called me by name, never told me lovely words, never said “happy birthday” or caress me even once… My mom was my light. She was a huge fan of you, All Might-sensei.>>

<<What a big honor.>> the teacher is moved by your story, as Midoriya and Tenya, <<I wanted to meet her.>>

<<She was smiling and saying super cool things about you, she was always arguing with neighbors because her strong sense of justice…>> the girl smiles sadly, <<She taught me how to play the violin and the piano, and was during those days that I decided to become someone like her.>>

<<Can I ask why you hate Endevour so much?>> this time is Recovery Girl who asked the question.

<<Because he is like my father. I know how it feels when you’re bent and broken, how it feels when your dignity is stolen, I know how it feels when someone keeps their chains on you.>> she raises the head and rests her chin on the cold surface, <<Day after day, I defended mom from him, and when we went to a company to produce our last song, my light was taken away from me.>>

<<I see, so you should treasure a lot this song.>> the doctor starts to bandage your hands, <<You father played an instrument too?>>

<<No. Mom’s compositions were so good to be sold almost immediately, he married her just for fame, money and his ego. I feel always so bad when I go to see her… That day, was the first time I argued with her, she was too kind with that shitty husband… I’ve said bad things to her and never said sorry for that.>>

<<You were in the car too?>> Iida asks as he watches your hands be covered by bandages.

<<Yeah, but I don’t remember anything from the accident, only a truck coming towards us, a bright light and then, a few doctors were talking about permanent damages on my back with my grandparents.>> she turns off the music and opens her eyes, <<Ah don’t worry, that damage is only a scar, nothing else.>>

<<Ok sweetheart, you can go.>> Mic announced that in few minutes the next round starts, <<Don’t use them too much, am I clear?>>

<<Yes ma’am! Then->>

<<How can you talk about this tragedy smiling?>> Izuku questioned seeing you like the old days at school.

<<Because if I let this win over me, I could never be a hero.>>

—

(And here we are at another round! Fighters, get on the stage! We have the ordinary section with a psychic quirk that we haven’t seen yet! He is (choose a name)! And on the other side we have the student who is the most voted to win the festival! She fights with logic and strategy, during this event, we have seen her quirk for the first time, and damn that was cool! I’m talking about (F/N) of the hero course!)

You and your opponent stand in front of each other. Meanwhile, your brain is thinking a way to beat that guy without hurting him. It’s a little bothersome but you must stick up with it.

((Y/N), Recovery Girl reported that your hands aren’t in conditions to fight.) Aizawa’s voice brings you back to the field, (And said that you took a few medicines, do you feel to fight anyway?)

“He looks like a jerk but deep inside, Aizawa-sensei is a good and kind person.” moving the hair behind the ear, you reply with a strong nod, <<Yes, don’t worry Erased Head-sensei. I have all under control!>>

(What, you injured?! (Y/N), how?) Mic is too curious and shocked, Recovery Girl reported that to Aizawa only, and not him.

<<I fell down the stairs… Hehe.>> you admit touching your neck, <<I wasn’t pay attention. Please do not worry, I’m really fine and I can fight until the end!>>

(If you’re ok with this, then should we begin? Ready?! Go!)

The hero course student runs at full speed towards the rival, obligating him to attack for defense but the match is converted in a one-way game. The psychic boy uses his quirk to accelerate and reinforce his attacks but they are all futile, they don’t even hit the target. This situation goes for a while, until you stop and wait with your joined hands on the back, that the opponent reaches you.

(Oh, (Y/N) stopped to dodge and play with her enemy! Is she ready to end the match or she is done? Until now, she dodged everything with a majestic agility, her legs were moving so fast that she danced on the ring! Did you take meds? Your body is too elastic and agile to be numbed by them! Anyway, here we are, (name of the student) charges but (Y/N) doesn’t move!! Wait… Does (name of the student) slowing down?)

The girl closes her eyes as a punch is going to hit her, but the rival falls heavily on the ground almost touching your feet.

<<Please, take distance (Y/N).>> Midnight gets off the pedestal to check the adolescent, <<He passed out…>>

“Maybe I went too far?” you stay still and far from your comrade as ordered. “I was careful to not use it too much…” the teacher stands up and points the whip on the woman.

<<(name of the student) is unconscious! (Y/N) advance to the final round!>>

While the entire stadium is cheering for the overwhelming victory, you make a few steps forward and call the heroine.

<<Excuse me ma’am, can I do something about him? It was my power, I can wake him up. May I?>>  

<<If it was your quirk, then go ahead.>> the woman steps aside and watch over you while kneeling, rest a hand on the student’s back and free strange purple flames. “Three different forms…”

(Woah, what are those?! A new side of your quirk? (Y/N), how many cards are you still hiding?)

<<It’s a secret.>> flames are absorbed by your rival and after a few seconds, he wakes up, <<Are you ok? I apologize, I went too far.>> even with those injured hands, you offer a help to get up, <<Nice fight.>>

<<You too.>> he stands up and shakes your hand gently, <<Congratulations.>>

(These two are the spirit of this festival!! Look at them, shaking hands friendly! Give them another clapping! Oi mummy hero, say something!)

(What should I say? She never used her hands, still her victory was obvious. We don’t know how her quirk works, so as her future opponents. She charged first to move him and do what she wanted, the rest, I suppose she was using her quirk in an efficient way. (Y/N) fought with logic and strategy. As always.)

—

When you come back to the bleachers, you find Izuku waiting with an opened notebook. You smile and follow him ready to answer all his questions. Iida and Momo are trying to stop him but you first apologize for what happened before, covering yourself with an excuse. Gladly, everyone forgives you laughing and then, they sit in circle.

<<W-what is this?>> you ask a little uncomfortable, <<Maybe do I need to do something to make up?>>

<<(Y/N)-chan can you explain me what happened? Please!>> Izuku is like a leader of a fan club, <<Please!>>

<<That was my third form: Greed.>> she explains, then decides to make everything more interesting, <<But how it works?>> she touches Midoriya and he drops the pen, <<Make your guess.>> with the other hand, she evokes the purple flame from before, but this time is so tiny.

<<I can’t close my fist…>> whisper Izuku, <<How?>>

<<Can I try it?>> Kirishima stands next to you, <<Thanks- What?!>> he falls on his knees and the flame on your hand increases its volume, <<I feels dizzy and heavy…>>

<<How about now?>> smiling, the girl touch Eijiro with the fire and it’s absorbed by his body.

<<Oh!>> he jumps up, <<It’s back!>>

<<And you Izuku?>> she does the same with her friend, <<Can you close your hand now?>>

<<This form steals the energy of other people…>> he starts to write down everything, <<If she touches you, the force is stolen and the same amount is converted in purples flames. Your body is unable to move due to the huge lack of energy and when the flames are absorbed by your own body, the strength you’ve lost is back.>> he stops and looks at you, <<What was its name? I forgot, I was too focused to understand how it worked.>>

<<Greed.>> every time, every time he enters in this mode, it always makes you smile.

<<Greed, the name it’s perfect for- Ah, then the two forms you used in the cavalry battles?>>

<<This is my second form, Lust.>> you touch the ground and the flames freeze everything until you retire them, <<As you saw, it keeps going until I stop it or turn it off.>>

<<I see, so as the deadly sin, this form can’t be satisfied if is free from your control… Cool and dangerous. He has other characteristics?>>

<<Yes, but I won’t say it until I’m obligated to show them.>> Midoriya finishes to write down his thoughts and asks the last one, the lightning one, <<Fifth form, Melancholy.>> after evoking it, everyone shouts their shock.

<<Are flames and not lighting? What?! How!>>

<<I, I!>> Uraraka stands up proudly and explains how it works, and adds: <<So far, she has always the weaker forms between the seven she ha- Ah, now I remember! You touched the earring! So, this mean that you used a strong one!>>

<<What? Earring? Seven forms? Wait, wait!>> Izuku writes something again and asks for more information.

<<Did you not tell him?>> Tenya and Ochako shake their heads, <<Then, I’ve said it to them, so you guys have the right too. My quirk has seven forms that I keep sealed with this earring. It’s almost impossible for me to controlled all of them at once, so and if I take this off, probably I walk with seven fires all around me.>>

<<Amazing!!>> Midoriya writes again when you stop him on his drawing, <<Did I get it wrong?>> you explain that the seven fires are disposed in a semi-circular way upon your head, <<Oh, like this?>>

<<Yes.>> everyone pushes to see the sketch, <<This is how I look like if I don’t have the earring.>>

<<You idiot woman.>> and then Bakugou speaks, <<I’m here you know, and now I know most of your secrets. Are you underestimate me? In the finals, I’ll take my revenge.>>

<<I’m hard to take down.>> you reply, <<And you know that I have another four forms to show and use? Don’t get too cocky or you’re gonna end like our last match, yelling angry hero.>>

<<What?! How did you call me? I’ll kick your ass, you fire bitch!>>

<<Hahaha, I wanna see it if you can actually do it.>> he tried to hit you with a surprise punch from behind, but you block it successfully and easily, <<Mph, try next….>> the girl jumps from her seat holding the hand, <<You fuckin’ ugly son a bitch…>> she crouches down, <<It hurts so much, you jackass…. Fuck me, god fucking damn it->>

<<Uhm, (Y/N)-chan, your another personality is out.>> Izuku’s words bring you back, you are not alone!

<<!!>> she closes her mouth with both hands, <<N-no, I didn’t said->>

<<Pff, ahahaha! (Y/N) you’re really the best!>> Kirishima laughs, honestly amused by your reaction, <<Don’t worry, we are used to Bakugou, and you don’t need to hide from us, we are friends!>> those words are a bless for you, no one is afraid by you or your rough personality, this class is like your new home.

<<What a loser!>> Bakugou stands and goes to the stairs next him, when he’s about to say something, he slips on the ice and hits the head, <<Fucking fuck!>>

<<Watch your step…>> you’re hiding your laugh so hard, <<Izuku don’t laugh!>> everyone is doing the same, that scene was priceless.

<<You motherfucker!>> Katsuki is stopped by your smile, it’s too sly, what else did you do, <<What!>>

<<Nothing.>>

<<Stupid bitch!>> he turns his heel and walks away, without notice that his pants have a modify on the back zone.

<<(Y/N)-chan that was…>> Izuku is trying his best to not cry and laugh at the same time, so your friends. See Bakugou’s underwear was priceless, first the epic fall and then the big humiliation.

Quite evil for someone who aims to be a hero.

—Continue…

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 21.5, 22, 22.5, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, Last Chapter

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart Part 8/10 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Thanks so much to artificialmeggie for the read-over and feedback on this update!!  And thank you to everyone who’s been reading and commenting. Fanfic takes a village, and the AQ village is everything.

We’re getting close to the finish line, and I hope to have it all done and posted within the next week so that I can stop worrying about canon messing with me. Also, if you want to know the inspiration behind this title and lip sync, check out Brooke Lynn Hytes’ performance of “Elastic Heart” on youtube.  Dear God, do it now.

Brock has this thing about winning. 

It’s a mean thing.

An ugly thing.

And it’s worked for him, for countless pageants, for Miss Continental, for Drag Race (for most of Drag Race, anyway.) He knows it’s connected to anxiety and perfectionism and self-esteem and whatever, knows it’s got something to do with that gasping hole in his chest (below the breastbone, left of the third rib) the one that’s always hungry, the one that can never be full. 

It’s a - whole mood.

It’s why he hasn’t had any real relationships, just short breathless hookups that ended in ignored texts and missed calls.

It’s why the thing with Jose was such a consummate disaster. Because it messed up the plan, the strategic and well-designed flowchart that Brock had for his life and the direction it was going to take.  Jose was not part of that plan.  A crown was.

And Brock had chances to change it, to back out, to cut ties. He had so many chances and after the Snatch Game - he tried. Like an asshole, he tried.  It was safer for them to be separate; Brock wasn’t so confused then.  It was safer when Vanjie wasn’t looking at him with those slanted eyebrows and soft smile, it meant Brock could focus. Could feed that part of himself that told him he wasn’t good enough.  

Told him he wasn’t enough, period.

If they had been talking much at the time he would have told Vanessa: I can’t think when you’re near me and I’m not going to put us both in the bottom two and that look on your face makes me forget what I’m doing here.

But instead he said nothing.

He watches the latest episode at a club in Nashville and performs some Ariana for them when it’s over.  As he leaves the stage, he realizes that his knee is throbbing.  It’s an old dance injury that returns now and then (a ghost to keep him company.)  Brock tries to stay and mingle but the pain is making him pricklier than usual; around 1 am he leaves in full drag and catches a cab home. He changes into his usual t-shirt and sweats, and is taking off his paint in the bathroom (leg stretched out on the toilet, icepack on his knee).

Then the phone rings.

When he sees Jose’s name, he almost doesn’t answer it. 

He’s just not in a place to talk to him right now.  He’s too wound up, and he’s in pain, and he’s worried his heart might give out like his knee if he hears Jose’s voice. 

The phone rings. Rings.

Fuck you, heart, Brock thinks and picks up.

At first there’s silence on the other end.  Then a breath.  Then another.

“Hey mama.”  The sound of the other man’s voice is like a lighthouse. “Weren’t you s’posed to call me or somethin’? I thought we’re gonna plan all this shit, all our statements and - then I get the cold shoulder, what’s goin’ on?”

There’s something a bit more musical than usual about the way Jose’s talking. A rolling rhythm, a slight drag on his vowels.

“You’re drunk,” Brock says, and Jose laughs, a gorgeously painful sound. 

Of course he’s drunk. Why would he call Brock if he wasn’t?

“Nah, girl, just - well maybe.  Back from the club, celebratin’ that my ass still on the show. You know. Everyone’s been talking at me about you, thought I better hit you up.”

“What club?” Brock wipes off his lipstick, turns slowly back to his beige-coloured self. “Where are you?”

“I’m in…” Jose pauses too long. “Shit.  Where’m I? Chicago.  That’s right.  Bitch, I’m from Chicago. Where you at?”

“Home.” 

“Damn. You on the other side of the world.”

Brock snorts, peeling off his lashes.  “A seven hour drive is the other side of the world, eh?”

“Look at you, soundin’ all Canadian.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking aboot.”

Jose laughs again, and the tipsy affection in his voice makes Brock squeeze his eyes shut, as if that will somehow block out the sound.  He doesn’t want to hear it.  It makes him miss Jose like he’d miss a vital organ, his left arm, his tongue.

“So.  So. Why did I - oh yeah, we’re planning. Scheming.  Gonna rob a bank or something.”

“Girl, you are so wasted.” 

“I’d be your getaway driver. You know, Fast and the Furious style.”

“Maybe if the whole drag thing doesn’t work out.” Brock’s smiling stupidly to himself, and he catches that look in the mirror.  It’s the expression he’s only ever seen on the show - the ‘Vanjie smile’, small and hopeless.  Seeing it in real life is a bit terrifying. “You can be Vin Diesel.”

“Shut your lyin’ mouth, ho! If I’m anyone it’s the Rock.” 

“Fine, Jesus. Be the Rock, if that’s your deal-breaker.” Brock leaves the bathroom, only half finished but unable to stand in front of a mirror any longer.  He sits down on his sofa, leg propped out on the coffee table with the ice pack balanced on it.  He smells terrible, like sweat and hairspray.  Christ, he needs a shower. “So. Just a couple more episodes left, and then -”

“Then you burnt it down. Not something I’ma forget.” The laughter in Jose’s voice fades. “How you feelin’ about watching it all?”

“Not great.  I don’t know – how it’s going to look, how they’re going to make it look.” Brock was basically moving on auto-pilot after it was over. There are a lot of pieces missing. “What if I, like, blacked out and did that Celine Dion impression again?”

“I dunno if I’d call what you did an ‘impression.’”

“And the library is open.” Brock winces a bit at the memory, because the reads during that last episode were too affectionate.  He’d been trying to play it cool then, make it clear he was all about the show and not just some sucker for a gorgeous face. But watching the edits, it’s almost like he went too hard in the opposite direction.  No wonder they were both fucked up about it.

“Also bitch, I was there that night. I think I woulda remembered if you went full Celine. Had flashbacks and shit.”

“You might have repressed it. On account of the trauma.”

“Guess we’ll both be in for a surprise then.”

God, Brock hopes not. That whole lip sync against Vanessa still feels unreal.  Some parts are so clear they’re like photographs, and others are like kindergarten drawings.  He knows they’re meant to mean something, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what. 

“So what are you going to say? When it airs.  We’ve got, like, two episodes left.”

“Does it matter?”

It does matter, it matters to Brock so much almost can’t put words to it.  

“Yes.”

“I’ll say… ha, I’ll say I paid you off.  Like boxing and shit. I was betting on the winner and gave you all my meme money to throw it.” Jose’s tone is bright like he’s joking, but there’s something underneath his words that’s a bit sharper. Something that sets Brock’s teeth on edge. “Or maybe I’ll say you’re a damn fool who forgot how to dance.”

“Yeah, you could.”

“Or maybe I’ll say -” Jose suddenly stops talking. Brock hears him rummaging around, hears some sort of movement in the background.  And then there’s silence.

“Hey. You good?” Brock asks after the silence goes on too long.  

He’s only a little concerned that Jose may have passed out, when Jose breathes a quiet laugh in response.

“So good, boo, you got no idea. Just - livin’ my best life. You know, walkin’ backwards.” There’s something tragic in his tone, and then more movement. “Brock -” 

The way he says the name sounds urgent, but then it trails off into nothing. Brock waits for the rest of it.   Waits.  

“Yes?”

“What? Nah, I jus’ like sayin’ your name. Brock.  Brooke. I like ‘em both.” Jose makes an odd choked sound on the other end of the line. “What you doin’ now?”

“Taking off my face. I was working tonight.”

“You get those dollar bills, mama?”

“Of course I did.”

“You got anyone there with you?”  

There’s an intensity in the question that makes Brock hesitate.  

“Anyone as fine as me?” Jose continues, and Brock’s mouth goes a bit dry.  

“No.” He swallows. “Um. Do you?”

“Fuck no. Who’d that be? Ain’t no one -” Jose cuts himself off, and Brock feels something rising inside him, a wave of wanting that started at the first rasp of Jose’s voice on the line.  “That damn lip sync of yours is still all over my pages.”

“Yeah?” ” Brock doesn’t know where this conversation is going, but something feels - too intense.  Too desperate. His heart beats against his chest a bit too hard.

Jose whistles. “Been playing it on repeat just to look at Yvie’s ass.”

“Bitch.” Brock grins, even though he’s starting to feel all blurry around the edges. “I knew it.”

“But damn, girl, you were fine as hell. I remember thinkin’ - watching you dance -”

Heat rises to Brock’s face.  Jose is drunk, there’s no way he would be saying any of this otherwise.

“- like how the fuck did she somehow - how did she end up -”

There is a feeling like electricity running over Brock’s skin and under it.  Through his bones, his veins. He can’t say anything in reply.

“ - with me? Like I get to to look at her, and fucking - kiss her -”

“Jose -”

“Wish I could see you now.  Miss your stupid face, your fucking hands.  I miss your mouth -”

“Jesus,” Brock gasps.  This is not how he thought this was going to go. “I miss you too.”

“Don’t - you don’t gotta talk none, just let me okay? Just let me.” Jose’s breathing is heavy, and there’s another sound like rustling fabric. “Gotta take my shirt off.”

“Jesus,” Brock says again, sweat breaking out over his neck, his chest.  This can’t actually be happening.  He hasn’t had anything but water and energy drinks tonight, he’s not - prepared. He’s entirely too sober.  He’s going to do something stupid, say something -

“You think about me?” Jose continues, voice rough. “You want me?”

What could it hurt to be honest? For fucking once, Brock. “Fuck yes. All the -”

“I think about you, about riding you.  Bet you would fuck like you dance, hey? So damn pretty.  Are you touching yourself?”

Brock wants to but he isn’t, doesn’t know the rules here. He’s hard in his sweatpants, and his free hand has started to travel down his abdomen, trace the fine hairs below his bellybutton.

“I am,” Jose gasps, “Brock, baby - please -”

“Oh my god.” Brock closes his eyes, imagining Jose on some shitty hotel bed, shirt off, pants undone. It’s like he’s there, right in front of him, almost close enough to touch. Brock can smell his sweat, smell his cologne, wants to drag his tongue up the crease between his hip and his thigh. His hand slips beneath his waistband and he - his body wants this, but the rest of him feels -

“Get off for me, baby,” Jose’s voice breaks. “I wanna hear what you sound like, wanna hear you -”

Brock strokes himself, feeling a bit like he’s having an out-of-body experience. He’s never done this before - sent the odd pic, but never - nothing like this. His body feels overheated, every inch of his skin is sensitive. Goosebumps are rising all over his shoulders, and his cock is so wet, like he’s already there, seconds away.  He can only hear Jose’s rasping breaths on the other line, a rhythm that’s rising. Brock wishes he could see him. Touch him.  

“If you were here - fuck,” Jose moans into the phone, “I’d let you do anything you wanted, let you -”

Brock’s hand is speeding up, his hips making tiny thrusting movements into his fist.  He drops his head back against the couch, lets Jose’s voice wrap him up in rough silk.

“ - touch me all over.  Those big hands of yours, I been thinking about them. Want your fingers in my mouth.”

“Jose -”

“I wish you were touchin’ me right now, wish it was your hand. I’m so close just - oh fuck, fuck I’m -”

Brock recognizes the sounds that follow. Recognizes them from that one night in the hotel room during Drag Race, his mouth between Jose’s legs, his hands everywhere and lit up from the inside like all his bones were matches. 

He can see Jose’s back arching from behind his closed eyes and it’s too sweet, too much. Brock’s voice breaks as a strangled, foreign sound forces its way out of his chest. He can still taste Jose in his mouth, and the memory brings everything to a crescendo.  Suddenly Brock is coming in his hand, and he doesn’t know how it happened so fast but it’s been so long and Jose’s voice and his laugh and oh Christ, oh my God, oh - 

He trembles as he strokes himself through it, breathing like he’s just run a marathon. There is silence on the other line and Brock drops his head, doesn’t move. 

He tries to catch his breath, sticky and uncomfortable and boneless with longing. His knee throbs and he realizes that at some point the ice pack slid onto the floor. 

This was not what he envisioned when he thought about his first time getting off with Jose. (But what had he envisioned? Rose petals and champagne? Had there been an ending anywhere in sight or was it just about the show and the rest of the timeline was blank? Had he thought about it, or had it just been a fucking dream?)

Brock’s almost afraid to say anything, break the silence.  What does this mean for them - anything at all?  After everything that’s happened, is there a reason to think this matters? Or is it just something that Jose does on the daily when he’s buzzed and lonely?

“Jose?”

There is no answer.  Brock can hear slow breathing, just barely, on the other line. 

“Have you fallen the fuck asleep?” he says, a bit louder. Nothing.

Unbelievable. Brock would laugh if he wasn’t afraid he’d start crying. He says Jose’s name a couple more times, only to get mumbling in response (and a frankly adorable snore but don’t let anyone know he said that.) 

Jesus Christ.  He feels like an idiot. He feels - feels - 

(“Now the real reason I keep kissing you,” Brooke’s heart is beating like a kickdrum in her chest, be cool, be cool for once, “is to get you to shut the fuck up.”

Vanessa’s smile in response is something to write songs about. It’s shy and proud and embarrassed and everything that always seems to smack Brooke in the face, knock her to the ground. 

“I’ll take that.” Vanjie tilts her head and Brooke forgets all the reasons that she wanted to slow things down, forgets how to count money and block out her eyebrows, forgets the name of her first grade teacher and the smell of her hometown. Forgets why she’s even in this competition, and that - that’s a huge fucking problem.)

“Night, boo,” Brock says to the universe, before he hangs up. He finishes taking off his face, and gets in the shower, and tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about the water running over his skin the way he wishes Jose’s fingers would. Tries not to remember anything about tonight, lets his mind go blank and blissful. Lets his body take over, go through the motions of drying itself off, and dressing itself up, and swooning into bed.

The text he’s expecting comes the next morning (well, morning for drag queens so around noon.)

“Sorry bout last night i was white girl wasted”

“Brock im so so sorry shit im stupid”

“next time i call you late don’t answer :(”

Brock doesn’t text back. 

* * *

And the music plays.

“Oh why can I not conquer love?”

Brooke moves the way she’s born to, feeling each beat of the song in the bones of her hips.  She’s a fucking performer, this is what she does. She tries to focus on making eye contact with Ru, with Michelle, tries to command the stage and dare them not to want her. She glances over to see Vanjie more than matching her, hitting each beat of the music with a punch. 

Brooke looks away before she can get distracted, crossing the stage and posing where the lights hit her just right. She spins, she stretches, she waits for the moment to make her move.

“And I might have thought you’d be the one..”

Brooke glances over at Vanjie again. Girl has dropped to her knees and is crawling across the floor, back arched like a cat. Her skin shines, perpetually glittery, and Brooke can remember the taste of her tongue, the sweet pressure of her mouth.

And then Vanessa rises to her knees, tilts her head toward the stage lights. Brooke’s about to look away (FOCUS) but before she can - 

- she sees a tear runs down Vanessa’s face. 

Just one.  

Black with mascara. Delicate as a line of calligraphy. 

Brooke snaps her head forward.  She doesn’t - she can’t - she won’t think about that right now, she’s not hear to think about that. She’s a drag queen and this is a fucking competition and she came here to win it.

She listens to the music, and it swells, it swells.  Sia’s voice crescendoes and Brooke takes a breath, prepares to slide into the splits and then -

(Once upon a time, in a small Canadian town, there was a boy who wanted to be a dancer.  

He was late to start but he worked harder than the other students, practiced longer.  This boy had a dance teacher, and even though he worked harder and practiced longer, his teacher did not like him. She only saw his flaws, and saw them often.  She was constantly finding something to criticize - the height of his jumps, the strength of his arms.  And though the years passed and the boy learned to dance and dance well, his teacher did not change. She was never satisfied.

When the boy left the small Canadian town at last, at long last, he asked his teacher why.  She waited for a moment before she replied. 

“You dance with your head. Your head is in control of your performance. Technically you have the skills, but a truly great dancer must listen to their body.  Listen to their heart.”

The boy left the small Canadian town, and kept dancing.  And he listened to his head, and he built walls made of brick and stone, and he never looked back.)

Brooke takes a breath, prepares to slide into the splits and then -

She doesn’t move.

NO 

It’s not even a decision, it’s just a moment and the moment is gone. And it’s - fine, Brooke’s a dancer, she can turn it the fuck out, it’s not too late. She can - she’ll just - Brooke spins into the music, prepares to fall flat into a death drop in time with the beat and then.  

And then she doesn’t.

NO NO 

Her body is not moving.  Her movements are stopping (there was a tear on Vanessa’s face, it was black like ink.) 

DON’T DON’T YOU’RE THROWING IT WHAT THE FUCK ARE 

Brooke can’t get enough air, sees fireworks across her vision. It’s not too late, she just has to - move, she has to -

But she doesn’t. She slowly comes to a stop on stage. Why isn’t she moving? What is happening? She can’t even look at the judges, can’t meet their eyes. She clenches her hands into fists, the possibility of winning this moving farther and farther, waves carrying it beyond her reach. 

“You won’t see me fall apart.”

And then all of sudden, Vanjie realizes what’s going on.  Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke sees Vanjie stiffen. It’s like a stutter in her heartbeat, and Brooke can’t help but turn to look at her. She sees Vanessa’s wide, dark eyes, sees her give a horrified little shake of her head, ‘no’.  

Vanjie doesn’t stop dancing, though, and Brooke stands in one place, staring at her, trying to breathe. Vanessa finishes the song with her signature twisty death drop, arching off the floor with her hand out-stretched (“That’s a star, right?”) as Sia half-whispers half-sings the last line.

“I���ve got an elastic heart.”

When it ends, Brooke is shaking.  

Her hands are trembling so much she has to hold them behind her back so nobody notices and calls for a medic. There are applause from the judges but Vanessa is not smiling.  A smudged tear-track still lingers on her cheek.  

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WHAT DID YOU

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo,” Ru says, not even taking a moment to think it over. “Shantay you stay.”

Brooke hears cheering from Silky and A’Keria, and she nods.  The sounds seem to be coming from somewhere far away, another room.

Vanjie releases a shaky breath, whispers, “Thank you so much” (barely audible, voice breaking) and then is suddenly crossing the stage and in Brooke’s arms. Brooke can’t speak, can’t understand what’s happening, can only hold Vanessa like the world is ending, breathe in the smell of her skin like it might be the last time she gets to. 

She doesn’t know what to say.  She doesn’t know how to let her go.

“Brooke -” Vanjie is shaking like a leaf, pulse racing.

“You -” Brooke searches for words but they scatter like ashes. So she says the only thing she can remember.  “- you want a ring or some shit?” 

Vanjie pulls back, eyes flooding with tears. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Ru’s voice makes them split apart and the absence of Vanjie in her arms is like a broken bone. 

Brooke tries to get it together. Tries to remember who she was before this whole mess started.  She’s Brooke Lynn Hytes, she was Miss fucking Continental, damn it, she had a plan -

She doesn’t remember how she gets offstage. Ru says something in parting, and she smiles and plays the grateful queen, and as she passes the girls Yvie grabs her, hisses “What the fuck did you -” but it’s all like moving underwater. Somehow Brooke’s back in the werkroom.  Somehow Brooke’s staring shell-shocked into the camera, holding the statuette in her hand.

“Brooke,” a producer keeps repeating, “Brooke, do you need a minute? Are you ready? Brooke, are you okay? Can someone get her some water?”

She blinks, stupidly. 

“I’m - in love with him,” she says to herself.

As soon as she says it, it’s like a bomb going off.  There’s a ringing in her ears, and her mouth tastes like honey and thorns. How can this be possible? The werkroom looks the same, Brooke’s hands and arms are the same shape, but that doesn’t make sense. The whole world should be a different colour if Brooke is in love. There should be fish swimming through the walls. 

Everything should be changed in the wake of this earthquake.

“Oh my god.” Brooke looks at the camera with wide, horrified eyes. “I love him.”

That’s when she remembers she’s on television.