#but when she outright comes out to someone or smth like that

[im-not-a-l0ser]

I think I'm unintentionally giving myself exposure therapy regarding Grace. That queer poll? I absolutely, 100% see her as a cishet person. But, someone (specifically @androgynous-sack-of-flesh-3 ) talked about how she just genuinely doesn't think about it because it's not really brought to her attention that it matters, she's busy with being a terror on society basically

Which, made me think. Both of my parents are greygender. Both of them. Both of my parents were also indoctrinated into a christian cult, into which I was born and lived in for over a decade.

So, here's my first official queer Grace headcannon. Grace is greygender. She doesn't understand gender stuff, and just follows her agab because that's how she was raised, that's how she was directed by God.

So... what do you guys think?

[omoghouls]

I also imagine that Emmrich is too polite to ask the party to stop for a break. He can wait until someone else wants to stop, surely! No need to create a fuss on his behalf! …except he keeps waiting for someone to speak up, but no one does. He finally breaks and asks to stop when things get urgent, but now he’s waited too long and still has to deal with his complicated outfit!

Y E SS AAAA-

He's so sure that Bellara would be asking to a quick pit stop (girlie def has the second smallest bladder of the gang, she gives that energy xD) but nope it seems like everyone seemed to use the privy before they left.

All except Emmerich-in his defense he was a bit busy,,,convincing manfred that he doesn't need the quill knife (many sad hisses as Emm places the knife very high up) so he wasn't able to go!

Poor guy is suffering- nearly stumbling over exposed roots as they walk around the Arlathan forest (they're looking for an artifact that may aid them) his bladder constantly nagging at him with growing urgency as the minuets pass by. But, this is an issues of his own, not something he wants to cause a hinderance for everyone else!

But, it doesn't seems like there is going to be a pause in their exploration anytime soon. So, when Emm feels that jetting leak moistening his inner thighs, he knows this isn't something he can wait on.

He's very flowery with his words, saying the weirdest things, any thing that makes him not have to outright say he needs to pee xD (ofc, Taash or Darvin catch on and are like, "Just go piss, man" which, gets Emm all flustered as he doesn't want to outright admit they're right)

It's all just a bit tooo late- Emm shuffles off to a somewhat private area (after making sure he isn't going to be peeing on any skeletons or smth) and he starts to try and get his pants unbuttoned- his thighs keep pressing together to keep some control over his overfilled bladder, fingers trembling as they try to unclasp the darn belt he had added overtop his slacks- he knaws on the inside of his cheek, trying to not whine or make a peep while little leaks of urine seep out-

His body trembles as he knows it's too late- he body can't take it anymore and those lovely light coloured pants quickly become a lovely dark shade, glistening in the sun as urine hisses out and puddles beneath him.

Everyone is very confused when he comes back with that coat of his buttoned up and him smelling strongly of some church incense (why did he think that would cover up the smell of pee? He panicked okay??).

Then, right on cue comes manfred. A pleased little hiss as he holds out a dry pair of pants for Emm (Manfred is just happy to be there and gets to help- much to Emm's embarrassment as it's infront of everyone xD)

[ardenigh]

kevs?

additional notes in varying order of importance

- idk yet how i want the white accents to show up so it changes every time. is he redhood or not? none of my business yet

- eule-vos as a revan sort of functions as a morally chained and regulated version of whatever was going on with the revan anecdotes in kotor 2. he's still a win-at-all-costs type of guy. he'll still look at people in terms of what they can do to further his goals. he's the butcher on a leash. he's toeing the line for now because bastila and carth get weird when he doesn't but he'll also swan dive past it once they are out of line of sight.

- so ig, like, the butcher on a leash but he can step out of it whenever. he just doesn't want you getting nervous because that will be a whole nother issue to handle. he can heel just fine alright

- its like 1 am and i'm thinking about that post compilation that's like. guard/attack dog metaphors applied to people. or like how the devotion between an attack dog and the one holding its leash is as tenuous, sometimes, as the leash itself i don't know man whatever that's about. eule has shades of that. i think it's hard for any revan to not be a little unnerving on this front

- smth smth hk voice to give the illusion of control until the end comes or smth you know? like master like droid is all i am saying

- if, to solve a problem, a guy has to die - but he's with someone he values and who would disapprove of an outright murder - eule isn't above puppetmastering a circumstantial rube-goldberg execution machine yk. like, after a point does culpability even lead back to you? not really right? it's okay he will make it happen don't worry he can work within your moral constraints. you don't have to feel bad about it and you especially won't if you don't know

- (with all this in mind, outings with hk and canderous are also great times to cut loose a little)

- i don't think he struggles to love per se so much as i think that he can't do it conventionally it's always going to be built with an undertone of implacable duty or something like pity. and if he loves you he'll do it to death, only it won't be his and it might be yours. no single person is worth letting the galaxy fall, not to him

- everyone who has taken darth revan ever and smushed them together with the entire concept of having loved rome more... genius

- as is par for the course he is not a romancer he is barely a crusher alright the only remotely similar thing he's ever felt was for yuthura ban for about .4 minutes and looking back it might have just been that she's amiable and understands the shedding of morality for a goal but also, like, she's really purple and that's super eye catching (read: kev eule-vos is my walking excuse to never not bring up yuthura ban)

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Turn Back Time

Platonic LCF Cast (Rosalyn) / Transported!Reader

planning smth for the transported!reader series soo...

Rosalyn has a lot of memory about you, not a lot compared to Cale, Choi Han, and the kids, but it was still a considerable amount.

Upon the first time meeting, Rosalyn bear no ill thoughts towards you nor Cale despite the amount of stuff she had heard from the people and servants. Instead, she could immediately see you were one of Cale's people and was perhaps the one he trusts the most, having been the one to spend his days together.

You were a wonderful company and reliable, being the one to speak for Cale whenever the man is unavailable. Cale might be subtle with his affection and care, but you were outright with yours and showed it without any shame -- not that it's something to be ashamed of -- and that's what makes it so fun to be friends with you. You were open about your feelings and straightforward with your intentions.

You were always someone eager to help, Rosalyn recalls. Whenever there's a book Rosalyn mentions that she's interested in, you'll be bringing it to her at the end of the day and wished her a "happy reading". If there's a dessert Rosalyn was craving, you'll be pulling her along to a bakery shop and spend the day together.

It was no surprise that Rosalyn likes you so much that she thought of you as her own younger sister. You were always so open with her, going on lunch dates together, learning together, perhaps you and Rosalyn would even complain about things to one another to relieve stress a bit.

Rosalyn felt like she truly does have a younger sister.

But, there are times when she thinks about how at the end of the day, you are still someone she knows nothing about with boundaries Rosalyn cannot see because you've always been so open about yourself that it's almost forgettable that you still have secrets -- scars, that you hide.

Rosalyn remembered that day like it was yesterday.

She had worked too much and the magic stones she had used to train exploded in her hands throughout the day, causing her hands to have slits and splinters. She remembers sitting in her room when the door was knocked.

"Come in."

She had waited that day, watching the door clicked opened and you showed your face, looking concerned while holding a tray with teacups and a pot on top of it. "Rosie?"

Rosalyn smiled. "[Name]."

"I heard you strained yourself too much on today's training," you began, coming inside of the room and shutting the door by pushing it with your leg.

"I'm fine," Rosalyn reassured you, smiling as you placed the tray in front of her on a table. She could see there are some desserts as well as tea. She looked up at you, seeing the concerned look on your face as you stared at her hands which are in the process of being bandaged.

"I brought some ointment for you," you told her, taking out a jar from the pocket of your long skirt. You sat beside her on the couch, unwrapping the gauze from her hands and opening the jar of ointment.

"How did this even happen?" You mumbled and instead of answering, Rosalyn laughed nervously. "Haha, it's complicated."

You touched the rough pads of Rosalyn's palm, being reminded of your own hands in the past before you were transported into this universe. You remember how hard you had worked during college and the way envy would appear and choke you every time your girl friends would be using hand lotion and talking about how important it was to keep their skin delicate.

It sometimes made you feel like you're not a proper woman.

'But... seeing Rosalyn having the same kind of roughness on hers, I don't why but I feel glad,' you thought, smiling a bit as you spread ointment on the red-head's calloused hands.

"You shouldn't be too harsh on yourself," you reminded her. "I understand your ambitions, but don't hurt yourself in the process."

Amused, Rosalyn raised an eyebrow. "I think it is more suited for those things to be said to the Young Master-nim instead of me."

"All you red-heads are the same," you countered with a frown and Rosalyn's eyes widened, not expecting you to say so in regards to her and Cale before she burst out laughing.

"Oh, my, I didn't think you thought of me the same way we all thought of him." Rosalyn's giggles turned uncontrollable when she saw the look on your face that seemed to ask her 'are you being serious?'.

"You're all the same," you murmured, wrapping the gauze back into Rosalyn's hand, being so gentle that it reminded Rosalyn of the time when her little siblings would get hurt and she'll always try to comfort them first before they're taken away by their nannies.

Sometimes Rosalyn has to remind herself that you are younger than her. But there are certain times when you'll appear to be someone more mature or experienced. This isn't an occurrence with you only, but with Cale as well.

"You're all good people."

Rosalyn's heart skipped a beat when you said that. Instead of a look of annoyance, because they all had always made you worry, you had a small smile on your face, as if to say you can't help but love them either way.

"But by the Gods are you all so stubborn!" You added, beginning your lecture and Rosalyn put up an anxious smile. "Seriously, this is what you all get for having Cale as a person to look up to. His ambitions are affecting everyone."

"It's not a bad thing," Rosalyn hummed, smiling at you who's standing up slowly from the couch. "Besides, you'll still love us, won't you, my dear sister? If not, who else would?"

You smiled, picking up a teacup by its' saucer. "A lot of people would."

"It won't mean a thing if you're not included," Rosalyn interjected, accepting the teacup. "[Name], you shouldn't be downplaying your love like that."

You went silent for a moment. "It's a habit from the past. Sorry."

Rosalyn wondered if she had hit a nerve because of how your whole face changed from smiling to timid as if you were caught doing something horribly wrong and were getting lectured for it. "[Name], I didn't mean to hurt you--"

"You didn't, Rosie," you cut her off with a smile and Rosalyn was sure even a blind man could see that smile was forced. "I'm grateful you said that."

"But--"

"Finish the tea and desserts, okay? I hope your hand gets better sooner."

Rosalyn watched you walk out of her room and thought about how unfair it was that you keep your guard up so high with them when you could so easily get them to have their guards down.

If time could be reversed, Rosalyn would have made sure to keep you longer in the room with her, to make sure she could keep you all night even just to talk nonsense.

It's been months since that day and Rosalyn wished she could turn back time.

[aihoshiino]

Do you think that in 45510 what Ai said about her ideal type (someone who doesn't mind her and doesn't get annoyed everytime she messes up becuase she messes up a lot) is her genuine answer or some sort of strategic answer as an idol? Because she before that she said that people would be sad if they don't fit her ideal type so she used her charisma to form this answer? As all the people seem to love ai and would generally won't mind her because people love their idol a bit too much that they willingly would change their habits or behaviour and the answer would make them happy or smth?

I'm pretty sure it's her genuine answer. Partially is just because it lines up with what we know about Ai's personality and what she wants out of her relationships with other people - she wants people to know who she really is, including all her flaws, and to accept her as she is. A person constantly nitpicking at her obviously isn't someone who can do that and Ai framing this as being about fairness for the other person is also in line with her tendency to direct blame at herself rather than anyone else when she is let down or mistreated.

There's also the fact that the emotional narrative of 45510 is about Ai's honesty and Nino's refusal to come to terms with it. Nino talks about how these sorts of streams often end up with you unintentionally letting more of your honest thoughts out than you intended. It's also worth noting that Nino is absolutely the 'villain' of this little story, at least in terms of framing. She spends the entire story tearing down Ai's attempts at sincerity and is hostile and uncharitable towards her in ways we are clearly not supposed to sympathize with. Even when she is finally coaxed into begrudgingly admitting that Ai was opening up about her true feelings and considering meeting Ai in the middle, all it takes is her being met with a version of Ai who doesn't conform to her own image of the woman for her to be so repulsed and shocked that she has to permanently destroy every trace of it beyond recovery.

Ai's sincerity and desperation to connect being met by Nino's disgust and rejection is the emotional heart of 45510, even as it comes in the form of a gut punch. That emotional beat just ends up falling kind of flat if it turns out that Ai was, in fact, secretly lying here the whole time.

It's also worth paying attention to the way Ai answers questions in this little Q&A session - rather than outright lying, she just gives vague, non-responses to questions she doesn't want to or can't answer. Anytime she gives a direct answer to a question, it lines up with things we otherwise know to be true or are accurate to and in line with feelings she expresses elsewhere. The only time she directly lies, imo, is when she describes Aqua and Ruby as 'a relative's children'.

This also lines up with the way Ai answers some of the questions in the Da Vinci interview - pretty and polished, sure, but still pretty in line with like... basic reality.

In general, the rule of thumb when it comes to Ai's lies is that they're lies of omission as opposed to actively making shit up. It's about leaving out anything that dirties up and tarnishes the pretty image people want to see.

[cain-speaks]

Harassing Content/Fanwork Creators

hiya, serious post time.

so i've been noticing some serious harassment towards people who make content or create fanwork. i've been wanting to stay something for a while but i'm not really good at this stuff so i was holding back,, i have decided not to do that any longer.

the lack of empathy or awareness people seem to have when interacting with content creators is kinda appalling tbh?? like i've seen people comparing people's art (telling person A they should do smth more like person B as if there's a more correct way to do it), putting people's ocs in situations the artist has stated they're uncomfortable with, trying to rush artists, or just outright disregarding an artist's boundaries.

the grossest part of this to me is that it seems people grow more obsessed w something when an artist says "this will never happen/please don't do this". i'm not going to tag people bacause i don't want to annoy anybody but as an example: i've seen an a fanwork creator repeatedly state that their oc will not have children of any kind and they're not comfortable with her being put in positions where she's watching over children in any capacity, and rather than accepting this, people try to find ways around it, question it, or outright ignore it.

i don't care if you didn't mean to be rude or if you were genuinely asking. if someone says "DON'T DO THIS WITH MY CHARACTER", don't fucking do it. it's so disgustingly disrespectful among other things (that i can't put into words bc i will just rant for several paragraphs gbhdf).

you wanna draw kids? make your own oc and draw their kids. stop trying to push that on other people.

also about rushing artists: art is fucking hard. people have lives outside of content creation, and even if they didn't, you still have to handle mental health, burnout, etc. on top of it. don't ask an artist "hey when is x coming out?" especially if they're fairly active?? like wtf have some fucking empathy.

to artists, content creators, and fanwork creators: you do not have to put up with ANYONE'S bullshit. your wellbeing and happiness is important. lay out your boundaries and if people disregard them, block them. people have shit to say about it? block them. you are not evil for wanting to be respected, especially over simple stuff, and being blocked is not the end of the world. people will survive and move on, and if they don't, maybe it'll teach them a much needed lesson.

[tadpolesonalgae]

im sooooo curious and excited to see how this will affect mor and feyre's relationship, bc their friendship in canon is smth i adore and seeing it be tested? and seeing them fight/argue is going to be so interesting 🤭🤭🤭 like one of my fav moments in the series is literally when they had a fight during the war bc feyre ran off alone to catch a suriel.. smth abt seeing two ppl who clearly care and love each other having their bond get tested is very interesting to me

also, from what we saw of the cbmthy reader so far in the past chapters, i don't think she'd have a dramatic falling out with ppl in the ic?? she's pretty much very passive but still stubborn in her own way, so i imagine that even if mor comes to her senses eventually and apologizes or tries to make amends with reader, she'd just respond like "oh it's okay, i already forgot about it!" even if she's probably eternally haunted by what mor said and i can see her being cordial and polite to mor bc she doesn't want to put feyre in an awkward situation but never opening her heart to her again or at least not for a veryyy long time 😭

‘smth abt seeing two ppl who clearly care and love each other having their bond get tested is very interesting to me’

I know what you mean? (I think) And sometimes I wonder if it’s problematic thinking on my part but honestly I think it’s a case that on a foundational level there’s something soothing to an unreachable part of one’s mind that glories over seeing two people struggle and have their bond be tested but survive? To see them have difficulties but return to one another so they aren’t left alone.

(In my opinion, obviously)

‘also, from what we saw of the cbmthy reader so far in the past chapters, i don't think she'd have a dramatic falling out with ppl in the ic??’

I honestly agree, but I don’t think that would prevent her from having a negative bond with someone? While it might not be outright aggressive, I think because of the kind of person reader is (someone who readily accepts bad things that happen to her without fight, whether they’re real or whether they’re things she’s told herself) it might make her pretty good at handling that kind of coldness? The worst thing Mor can do (and arguably has done) is confirm reader’s doubts—and reader’s already been putting herself through that hurt.

(At least, up until she tried to kill herself)

‘so i imagine that even if mor comes to her senses eventually and apologizes or tries to make amends with reader, she'd just respond like "oh it's okay, i already forgot about it!"’

Especially since that’s what happened with Az 🤦 I suppose we’ll just have to see how their relationship evolves 😳👀

‘but never opening her heart to her again or at least not for a veryyy long time 😭’

It will be kind of interesting to see whether reader allows that interaction with Mor to define all her future ones too? It was one of the few moments in cbmthy where reader’s the one actively doing something about her situation and it ended pretty badly, so it’ll be fun to see if reader will be able to move past that and do it again, even if it might hurt her :)

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[morikittie]

Jealousy

synopsis: haikyuu boys reacting to a girl that’s not you flirting with them

characters included: Suna, Kenma

a/n: i ended up just choosing 2 random characters, but there will be more parts to this!! feel free to request any characters you might want to see!

Suna ୨୧

Being on the vollyeball team and being friends with the twins meant that Suna was quite popular at school. What he did was never kept a secret, so when the two of you got together it was bound to spread quickly. He never intended to keep you guys a secret either, when he wasn’t with the team, he was right by your side holding your hand.

Sure he was used to getting attention from girls but that all died down after you and Suna made your relationship public. He still got some love letters in his locker, maybe some chocolate on valentine’s day but never has a girl outright flirting with him since your relationship begun.

The team wasn’t meeting for lunch today which meant that he would be able to sit with just you

“babeeeeeee where r u” - suna

“i’m on my way i had to do smth for the teacher” - y/n

“i haven’t seen you in so long hurry up :(((“ - suna

“you walked me to class earlier??, i’ll be there soon just wait” - y/n

While waiting for you Suna just sat on his phone scrolling through instagram when some girl came up to him. He could immediately tell that she was going to be annoying. Her high pitched voice just made him want to cut his ears off and the way she rubbed his arm when trying to get attention made him feel gross.

He wasn’t used to anyone but you touching his body like that and he didn’t want to get used to anyone else either.

“Hey Suna! I saw you were sitting alone and thought i’d come sit with you!!” He didn’t know this girl. He doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen her before today.

“I’m waiting for my girlfriend right now, so you don’t need to sit with me” He really was trying to be nice but she sat so close to him that he could practically feel her arm hairs brushing against him.

“Hmm, well i don’t see a girlfriend, maybe i could fill in while she’s not here” He could feel her start to rub his arm more, it was almost like she was getting impossibly closer to him and he couldn’t handle it.

“Nah” Suna had finally stood up from him seat. “Think imma go find her, she must’ve gotten distracted” He was so close to walking away before the girl grabbed onto his wrist.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with me instead” She said pouting her lips. “Im the one that’s here already, what does it matter if you sit with me. Are you scared your girlfriends gonna get jealous, she doesn’t need to be, i’ll explain to her that we are just friends!!”

He didn’t feel the need to respond and just walked off. He had to sit there with an annoying girl, who isn’t his girlfriend, because his girlfriend’s teacher made her do something. He couldn’t be more upset now. Just as he was about to walk out of the cafeteria doors he ran into you.

“Babeee, I missed you so much, you took forever” He threw his arms over your neck and hugged you tight. He could never get enough of you, even if you guys just spent the last 24 hours together. He still complain about missing his beautifully annoying girlfriend.

Kenma ୨୧

Your boyfriend has never been the kind of guy girls just walk up to and start a conversation with. He’s always been super awkward and couldn’t really keep up if you weren’t talking about something he’s interested in. The fact that you two are together came as a shock to most.

Sure kenma was cute but no one expected him to start dating anyone, let alone someone as pretty as you. You two were both pretty known around school and most people knew that you two were together. He often preferred to hang out with you instead of anyone else. 99% of the time he’s right next to you or trailing behind you.

You left to the bathroom for not even a minute when this girl decided to approach him. He was just planning on waiting for you silently while you did what you needed to do in the bathroom but this girl interrupted.

“Hey kenma, i was wondering if play minecraft. I just got into it and don’t really understand it. Maybe you could show me what to do.” She’s gripping onto his upper arm and she’s a lot stronger than she looks.

“I do, but i only play with my girlfriend, sorry” He barely even looked her in the eye before he looked away, hoping that you would come out of the bathroom in the next few seconds.

“aww but your the only one i know who plays it” she’s pouting now and kenma can’t help but cringe a bit. He’s not used to girls talking to him, but do they usually talk like this? “plz kenny, it will help me out so much”

All he did was look at her with wide eyes in shock, he didn’t know how to respond to anything like that, no one’s called him by that name ever not even you.

You couldn’t have walked out of the bathroom at a more perfect moment. Your normally shy looking boyfriend looks like a cat that got water poured all over him.

“hey kenma, you ready to go?” Of course you noticed the girl hanging off your boyfriend’s arm, but you could also see the look of shock and despair on his face and knew something weird must have just happened.

“Yea let’s go y/n” As soon as he saw you he walked over and took your hand in his while walking off, not even bothering looking back at the girl that was just flirting with him.

[honeybyte]

2, 6, 16, 29, and 38 for the whole gang of new fellas!!! also a and e for you hehe :3c

aaaaa thank you!

2. How easy is it for your chara to laugh?

For Angelo, Jack, and Mama it comes pretty easily. Their whole crew is full of comedy between themselves and it takes very little to get a chuckle out of them. Julia is always grinning but it's a form of hysteria, it's hard to actually get him to laugh bc his brain is always on fire abt smth. Mitch is just. kinda weird if we're honest, he doesn't really emote, altho there may be a reason for that 👀

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

For all of them it depends which laws we're talking abt. Political laws are like. not even on their radar, they largely just do what they want. however, laws within the group keep them safe and in order, so those are immovable

16. What makes their stomach turn?

For Mama, anything happening to her kids (the crew) would turn her whole world upside down. For Julia, anything happening to Angelo or Scottie, and for Angelo, anything happening to Julia. For Jack, seeing people in power or w authority abusing those below them. Mitch. again, he's kinda weird and just doesn't much react to anything besides what's going on within the group, so if smth affects one of them he follows the rest in anger. otherwise, he doesn't have an issue with anything he experiences

29. Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

It's hard to say. the whole crew views themselves in a positive light, but idk if anyone can really call bloodthirsty treasure hunting an "ideal". Julia esp doesn't live up to any ideal he might have, largely bc he's got the highest kill count of the crew. he views the rest of the crew in the same positive light, but doesn't give himself any grace

38. What memory do they revisit most often?

P much all of them revisit the memory of how they joined the crew often. Mama remembers finding the twins and watching them grow up. Jack remembers waking up in Mama's lodge, being cared for after collapsing out in the snow. Mitch is often reminded of when he and Julia first met, their fight to the death which ended in a draw. and since the twins were there for all of it, they remember each "finding" when they interact w the rest of the crew. Julia has another memory he revisits, but it's one he doesn't let anyone else in on, and one he tries to keep buried as often as possible. >:)

A. Why are you excited about this character?

I really love evil found families! but i'm such a softie that it's hard for me to keep characters Terrible. this whole crew is a run at me making characters irredeemable, an attempt to actually make Terrible people and keep them Terrible people. that doesn't mean they can't have trauma to make them like that, but it does mean i can't find A Character That Changes Them For The Better. Scottie is a close call but she can't make Julia a better person, and she doesn't know what Julia does when he's out of town. anyway, i'm just excited to work on them as gritty people without finding ways and reasons to turn them soft, i think it'll be good exercise for me

E. Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

oh absolutely not. Mama is a maybe but she's the only one that wouldn't outright scare me lol

[mistlekissy]

RESAL, need a friend's advice, so I come to you. Apologies in advance for long-ass message! 🥹 Few days ago, there was an internet outage in my building. My neighbor-friend and I decided to walk over to our common friend's place who lives 10 mins away so that we could connect to work from his house. Now, this guy (whose house we were in) and I work for the same company and my neighbor works for a different company. In few mins she shush-ed us and joined a call. I too had my own team meeting at the same time, so to not bother her, I chose to type my responses on the meeting chat. I finished 2 such meetings the same way. My next call was an hour later and it was an HR townhall meeting to which ALL employees usually dial in. So I turned to my colleague to ask whether he's planning to join that call. Also, by this time I had forgotten about my neighbor's work-call. So when I was speaking to my colleague, she turned around furiously and started packing her stuff up and said we were being unprofessional and she needs complete silence so she's leaving and she walked out of the house. The two of us were left speechless by her sudden burst of anger and now we don't know how to talk to her. It's been a whole week of silence now. We used to meet up and hangout almost every day before. I texted her asking if she wanted to go grocery shopping today and her response was so dry and late that it seems she's still upset with me. What do you think I can do now?

um tell her to grow tf up WHAT 😭 how old is she fr omg was it ever that serious...no job in the world could have me acting like that lmao i'm personally not someone who runs after ppl tbh so i'd just let her come to me, especially when she's clearly the one who has an issue, but if u really wanna Do smth about this then i'd just ask her outright if she's upset with u and talk about it (and then tell her she needs to grow up)

[oceanxveiined]

She’d be the kind of person to be screaming something like ‘I’m a fucking GOD’ while simultaneously having a moderate to severe emotional breakdown tbh

[thesleepy1]

One Djinn's Answer

A/N: @estrogen on AO3 and @suomi932654 on Tumblr wanted another part to One Dijnn Wish. They fell in love with Amelia just as much as I did. I’m sorry it took so long for this fic to get out. I’m trying to learn how to accept that I’m writing for the fun of it. Not out of obligation. I do this for fun, not as a job. I just have to get that inside of my little ol’ noggin. I could call it quits any day and feel no guilt because I don’t owe anyone anything. (I also wrote this fic listening to sad Taylor Swift songs so you have that to blame for the outcome of this fic) 

Pairings: Eskel x Mom/Healer!Reader

Summary: After a long year on the Path on his own, Eskel is supposed to return to you for the winter. The thing is he’s late. Or not coming at all. You regret putting your trust in someone despite all the signs telling you not too. The worst part is Amelia is still sitting by the door waiting for the day he comes home.  

Or, “honestly i am here for the father-daughter bonding so maybe something like spending time with the reader and adjusting to the role as a father and just that good domestic fluff :] or maybe something like eskel doing his best to prove that he’s not going to up and leave bc i would imagine the reader would still have some doubts as to whether he really meant what he said or not but honestly these are just my ideas!

i immediately pictured amelia stealing the reader’s things and then giving them back as a birthday present like something off extreme cheapskates 😭 and no worries! if you don’t make one, that’s totally okay whatever you pump out next will be an absolute masterpiece i’m 100% certain and you can’t change my mind 😤😤 if you ever need a beta reader or smth hmu

i’m sure she could pick pocket from strangers, get caught, and they’d probably give her an extra few just because she’s cute like this girl really has a shot as a criminal and i am here for it ✊😤 do what i cannot because unfortunately i am not 6 and laws on planet earth forbid me from stealing from others and no problem!”

Word count: 7,149

Warnings: miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, 

Part 1

It should have been simple. After Amelia had claimed Eskel for a father, you struck a deal with the witcher. He would spend the year on the path as he had always done. But during the winter, instead of heading up to the Keep, he would spend the winter with you and Amelia. This conclusion was not an easy one to come to. On one hand, you felt guilty that you would be taking Eskel from his Keep. On the other hand, you thought it was unfair that he spend nine whole months away from Amelia. 

From you. 

Guilt, nervous, and admittedly fear clung to your skin when you bid Eskel farewell for the year. Amelia hid her emotions poorly. She outright cried at the prospect that Eskel would be leaving. It took much reassurance on your part and many comforting hugs on Eskel’s for her to allow him to go. “I’ll be back in the winter,” Eskel had said with a lump in his throat. Unbeknownst to you until that moment, Eskel felt just as many conflicting emotions at having to leave his loves. “I promise.” 

*****

The first few days Eskel was gone, Amelia would not speak to you. You were not sure if it was because she blamed you for Eskel’s leaving or she needed time on her own. You would leave for the village during the day as you’ve always done. Amelia would be left home alone with strict instructions to keep herself fed and safe. When you returned with sore feet and an empty basket, she would be out in the fields behind your house. 

Your own mind fought with yourself. You never knew whether to approach her or give her time to mull over her own thoughts. She would seek you out if she needed you. However, what if she did not admit to herself that she wanted you? To push forward or to wait behind. You were glad you were not a fisher or a hunter. A healer’s profession was much more straightforward. 

“Ma?” Amelia called for you a week after Eskel had left for the Path. 

You paused in your potion fixing. The herbs could be crushed at a later time. Turning, you wiped your hands clean with a linen cloth and placed it on your work table. Amelia stood before you. Her year old boots were caked with field mud as always. Her dark, disorderly hair stabbed at her big molten brown eyes. She peered up at you through her fawnish eyelashes. She had grown so much in the past few months but she was still your baby. 

“Yes, darling?” you replied, giving her your full attention. 

“When…” She glanced down at her boots, hands fisted in the skirt of her dress. None of her clothes ever stayed clean for long. “When is Da coming back? Is he coming back?” 

You could not help but kneel then. Your knees found purchase on your floorboards, your arms outstretched for your daughter’s comfort. “Oh, come here,” you urged softly. Amelia ran into your arms as fast as her little legs could carry her. The only reason you did not fall back backwards was because of your sturdy wood table. Your arms went around Amelia’s small frame, hands brushing back her unruly hair so you could see her face clearly. “We agreed he’ll be back in winter. He has to work during the year, darling.” 

“How long is it until winter?” she whined into your chest, breathes coming in heaves. Her little fists grabbed hold on your tunic, tugging on the fabric hard enough to rip. “I want Da back. I-I miss him.” 

You kissed the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of wheat, flax, and rice. Your hand went down to her back to rub in circles. With one quick lift with your free hand, she sat on your lap with her face tucked into your chest. “I miss him too,” you admitted for the first time in days. “I wish he was here every day, but I can’t ask him to give up what he loves.” You gently pushed Amelia back so she could look at you. Her brown cheeks still had the remnants of baby fat, doughy and tear stained. 

Unable to help yourself, you brushed away her tears with your thumb. She shook your hand away like you knew she would. “Think about it this way. You would not like giving up your trips to the village would you?” Amelia hesitated but nodded her agreement. “Da wouldn’t like giving up his work and I won’t make him. It would be very mean and unfair of me to ask that of him, wouldn’t it.” 

“I guess,” Amelia shrugged before returning to her place on your chest. She laid her head over where your heart would rest. “I still miss Da, though.” 

“And you have every right to. Winter will be here before you know it.” You kissed her again before she could complain that she was too old for such affection. “He did promise after all.” 

*****

Winter came slowly that year. It took a while for the seasons to change. It was days until the harsh winds of autumn turned into the snowfall of winter. Harvest season came and went without much hassle. Amelia assisted in the village with you during that time. She was quick on her feet running little errands whenever the need arose.

During the day when the drooping sun decided to show itself, you would walk with Amelia bundled from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The extra layers and lowering temperatures did not seem to make her falter. If anything, it seemed to invigorate her. She knew what the first snowfall of the season meant. Amelia had been waiting months for it. 

When night came after a day of tending to the village, Amelia was always insistent about returning home. She did not have much empathy for the sick postmaster who needed someone by his side or the nun with trouble sleeping at night. Amelia did not care for the messengers who struggled with delivering letters and worrying about their superior. Nor did she pay much mind to the grumpy nun who needed sleep like frogs needed water. Amelia wanted to go home once the sun set. 

“What if Da’s returned and didn’t see us? What if he thought we left him?” Amelia urged, your basket already in hand. “He would be heartbroken, Ma. Heartbroken.” Your patients were typically charmed by Amelia’s ability to speak unabatingly but the nun had not had a wink of sleep in several days. “He might be home already!” 

“Amelia,” you stated firmly, hands trying to placate the irritated nun. “If you are unwilling to help then you may wait outside.”

“Could I run home first? I promise to be careful.” 

“When the sun has already set? Da would be terribly cross with me if I allowed that,” you tried to reason with your six, almost seven year old daughter. “He worries for your safety just as much as I do. You wouldn’t want him cross with you, do you, darling?” 

That was the final hit on the nail’s head. Amelia sat fidgeting, yet patient by the door until you were finished. An hour passed but she waited just as you had asked. When you were done, giving the nun a sleeping draught that would not interfere with her existing mediation, Amelia grabbed your hand and pulled you through the door. 

She ran ahead of you, making sure to stay where you could still see her as were the terms. Her footfalls on snow covered ground were music to your ears. You had kept it to yourself, but anticipation curled in your stomach like a night of drinking strong mead. You ached for Eskel’s safe return as much as your daughter did. It was not easy caring for Amelia over the months when you had gotten used to Eskel’s help. His gentle reassurances and strong, yet comforting touches kept you going on the most stressful of days. 

Amelia reached home before you did. You had, foolishly, expected a horse to be tied to a fencepost and a witcher to be at your door front. All you were met with was a lone, small child on a cold stone pathway. She appeared so minuscule on the path that her biological father had helped build. He too was unable to keep his promises, honeyed words nothing but fantastical lies. 

“Do you think he went to the village to look for us?” She shifted on her heel as if to make a run for the village. You grabbed a hold of her shoulder before she could make the sprint. Regretfully, you urged her into the fireless, dark house. “Maybe he’s running late. Da’ll be here soon, right? Let's keep the door unlocked for him.” 

“Come, Amelia.” 

“I’m good at finding liars, Ma. He promised he’ll be back at winter.”

You would regret saying it for days. You would wish with everything that you had to take back your words. “Your ability must have worn over time. You’re almost old enough to realize what’s fantasy and what’s reality.” 

*****

Amelia waited by the door. She wanted to wait outside so that Eskel would know they were home, but to that you would not yield to. She sat herself in front of the door with her hands clenched around her toys. The fish and doll that Eskel had fixed for her. You had never seen her so still, so patient for something that would never arrive. She spent the whole night there, refused dinner, and fought with you about sleep. She had been worse than the nun. 

The next day was the same. Waiting. Sat on the floor with her toys and her eyes set on the door. She shook her head to your offer of going to the village. Ignored your repeated words of faith and trust and the worst place to put them. Her stubbornness was as unfaltering as her strides while sprinting. 

She was there by the door when you returned that night. The fire had gone out untouched and the cooking pot was as clean as you had left it that night after supper. Her determination was still fiery despite all the signs.  Amelia would not listen to your words, she would not head to the warnings. She merely waited by the door. Day…after day. 

“Amelia, please eat,” you pleaded with her. Knees on the floor once more, you sat with a plate of roasted carrots, beef, and collard greens to your side.

“He’s coming.” 

“Please, Amelia. You haven’t eaten all day. I’m worried about you.” 

“He’s coming…right?” There. That moment of doubt. Her gaze left the door for the first time in ages. Her will had been strong. Stronger than yours ever was. But she was not dumb. Foolish perhaps, as all children and heart stricken fools were, but never dumb. She, like you, will merely have to face the truth sometime. 

“You’re awfully good at finding liars,” you began, setting your spoon down on your plate. You addressed Amelia, your sweet, little girl. “You’ll know what you want to hear would be a lie.” 

“Is—is it because of me? Is he not coming because of me?” 

You pulled her close to you on the floor. You heard her bones pop at the moment from disuse. “Why would you think that? What could possibly possess you to think it's your fault?” Your hand went to her back as you felt the telltale uneven breaths. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“I have…I’ve done something bad. That’s why, Eskel—” Not Da. “Doesn’t want to come back to us. To me...” She cried, though it was not the right word, felt the most immense pain imaginable was a tad closer. “I-I stole this from him.” Amelia pulled out a metal spike that had been hidden in the twine of her doll. The doll she held close and embraced at night. At first, you did not know what she had in her hand. Then the metal glinted off the light of the fireplace and you suddenly recognized it as a spike from Eskel’s tunic. 

“I’m really sorry, Ma,” Amelia sobbed, words so slurred you could hardly make them out. Dark bags circled her eyes from nights she stayed awake waiting. “I only wanted a part of him. I-I never meant to make him not want to come back to you. I’m sorry I ruined everything.” 

You tucked her into the crook of your neck as Eskel had done all those months ago. The weight on her was heavy in your arms but you held her regardless. Amelia clutched at you as she had done her toys, nails digging into your skin, hand unwilling to let go. “No, no, darling. You haven’t ruined anything. None of this is your fault. You did something any child would. Only a monster would find fault with what you did.” 

“I wanted him as a Da so bad, but he doesn’t want me as a daughter.” 

*****

Amelia cried for hours before she was too exhausted to continue. Your knees ached and your muscles screamed for you to move but you did not dare stop Amelia from letting out her emotions. You stayed on the floor with her in your arms until her sobs stopped. Even then you waited for her to fall asleep before daring to move. Her arms went lax and her breaths evened out.

You carried her to bed and pulled the covers over her so she was nice and snug. It was the least that you could do. This small bit of comfort for the days to come. You still remembered what it felt like when her biological father had left. This was going to feel a hundred times worse. Amelia remembered Eskel unlike her biological father. Eskel was a good man unlike the other. You hardly expected this pain to go away the next morning. It would linger for ages to come. You could only hope you were strong enough to help Amelia through it. 

*****

With the morning came a snow storm that forced you to stay home. Amelia slept with minimal stirring. The fire roared, flames making the logs crackle. Furs and blankets were piled high on beds. Stores of cheese and cocoa powder were brought out for hot chocolate when Amelia woke. Until then, you went about tidying your home. Anything to keep you busy until Amelia emerged and another conversation was needed. 

Despite the snow coming down hard, window panes completely frosted over, a weighted knock sounded at the door. Your broom was quickly put away in case there was a patient you needed to tend to. Years ago, Petros, a little boy in the village that Amelia would play with, fell terribly ill in the first days of winter. His poor mother had braved the cold to come calling for aid. You would rather not make the woman wait, swinging the door open. 

Eskel stood in front of you. 

His shoulders were hunched over to protect the rest of his body from the winds. His bags were swung over his back, his sword a gray rod of ice. He looked at you as if you were a crackling bonfire in the middle of a freezing mountain range. There was hope, and more importantly guilt and worry in his amber eyes. He stood alone on the cold stone pathway. He appeared minuscule in the snowfall. 

“I’m sorry.” Amelia’s ability to find liars must have come from her biological father because you almost believed Eskel. “I do not deserve your forgiveness but please, I beg of you, know that I am sorry.” 

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The rush of snow, dusts, and whatever else the snow carried covered you both in a fine layer of grayish white. Your body ached to shiver from the cold but you did not want Eskel to see even an ounce of weakness from you. The fire hissed and popped, the wind carrying inside of your home. 

“Do you realize the damage that you have done?” 

Eskel looked down, eyes brimming with sorrow. He did not shiver from the cold. His witcher mutagens would allow him to stand in the storm for hours. You were tempted to send him away without another word, force him to trudge away with his tail tucked between his legs. You did not like the sight of him there, but alas, some part of your heart urged you to speak to him. 

“I could only imagine but I will never begin to fathom.” 

“She waited for you for days.” I waited for you. “Day in and day out she waited by the door, Eskel. She didn’t eat, didn’t move from her place on the floor. All because she was waiting for the day you would stumble through the door.” You clenched your hands into fists until your nails dug into your palm. You could feel the sting of pain when you drew blood. You knew Eskel could smell it. The furrow of his brow and his hesitant step forward was telling. 

“I promise you, I did everything in my power to be here on time,” his voice came in rough rumbles. It took a moment for you to realize he was on the verge of crying. “My horse was stolen. My trek here was on foot.” He sucked in a shallow breath, body trembling with the action. “I sent word that I would be late. I’m sorry that I am.” 

“Sent word?” you asked, flabbergasted at his words, at his person. “I don’t want your flimsy excuses. I don’t want your sugar coated apologies. I am the one who has to deal with the aftermath of your actions while you can up and leave any time you want.” You sneered at him. He might have been a witcher but the look on your face was enough to scare anyone. The wind howled in your aid. 

“I’m so, so sorry, my dear. Truly I am. Please give me the chance to—” 

You cut off his words with a hand. Out of the storm a lone figure approached your home. You could see them at the fence posts, a figure who moved with haste. Eskel peered at them and stepped to the side of the path, having deemed them innocent. You recognized the figure then, close yet still coated with snow. He was one of the postmaster’s messengers. 

“I apologize for the delay, Healer,” the messenger, Szczepan said while trying to catch his breath. Despite the cold, sweat formed on his brow from his run. “The message was marked urgent but I couldn’t get it to you what with the postmaster being sick. Thank you again for saving him.” Szczepan smiled with missing teeth and handed you a small, cloth wrapped note. “Good day, Healer. Try to stay warm,” he jested, waving you farewell and nodding politely to Eskel as he left. 

You watched Szczepan leave. Ignoring Eskel, you opened the cloth wrapped message. You may not have seen the writing often but even you could recognize who it belonged to. It was short, sweet, and to the point. It, unfortunately to your terrifying act, made tears form at the corner of your eyes. You allowed your body to shiver from the cold, from the note in your hand. 

Dear Loves,

I’m so sorry but I will not be able to make it on the first day of winter. I got into some trouble with some bandits. I no longer have my horse. I will be making the rest of the trip on foot, but know that I am coming. Please wait for me. I should be there in a week’s time. Know that I am not there with you right now because of something outside of my control. If I had it my way I would already be home with you two. I love you two dearly.

Please wait for Da, Amelia.

You looked up at Eskel. His gaze was no longer on the frozen ground. He looked at you with the same, desperate, warm seeking eyes. Wiping the stray water from your eyes, you tried your hand at firmness. Your eyes harden on the missing spike on his tunic. Eventually you landed on his amber eyes. “How do you expect me to console Amelia still? This delay, this letter doesn’t fix the fact that she waited for you for days. Did you really think you could appear from thin air and expect her to forgive you so easily? She’s almost seven, Eskel. Instead of spending the days leading up to her birthday spending time with her Da, she spent them blaming herself for you not coming.” 

“Please give me the chance to remedy my mistakes. I honestly tried to be here in time. Let me speak to her.” He took a step closer. You allowed him to because you were helplessly a bleeding heart. “Let me prove to you that this was a one time mistake. I wouldn’t abandon you and Amelia.” 

You held the note tightly, a deep sigh leaving your lungs. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness, Eskel. We both know how stubborn Amelia is. She won’t be happy with you.” You could pinpoint the moment where Eskel’s eyes hardened with determination. It was a similar expression to the one Amelia wore waiting for him. “Know that it will take time for her to trust you again.” 

“I understand—.” 

You were rudely shoved to the side as a quick body push passed you to run and jump into Eskel’s arms. Despite his heightened senses, you could tell that he was not expecting the small body that was suddenly clinging onto him like a lifeline. His arms immediately went around her so as to not drop her, to not cause her anymore unnecessary pain. 

“Da! You’re home. You’re home!” Amelia squealed, a smile painted across her face. The few in days. She shivered at the snowstorm but refused to let go of Eskel. Of her Da.

“I’m home, Amelia,” Eskel cried, tears streaming down his scarred face. “I’m so sorry I was late. I tried to send word but I’m sorry you did not get it in time. Please forgive me for not being here like I said I would,” the great, intimidating witcher begged for the mercy of an almost seven year old. 

“I’m not sorry that you’re here.” Amelia pushed back from Eskel so she could look at him. Even from a distance you could feel the scrutinizing look that Amelia gave the witcher. She took note of all of his new scars, at the frost burn on his skin, the purplish mark near his brow. You knew she thought he looked incredible. “I’m not sorry that you’re late either. You’re here. My Da’s home because he loves us.” 

“I love you both so much.” 

*****

While you were still unsure about Eskel, Amelia had no such qualms. She was wholly and truly glad that her Da was home. The two were sewn together at the hips with the loose ends tied with a pretty knot. Where Eskel went, one could expect to see Amelia not far away. You pushed down the pang of jealousy only because you had Amelia’s attention the rest of the year. You could put up with three months of Amelia’s attention on Eskel.

Hopefully. 

“Can I open it now?” Amelia begged for the nth time that day. The box wrapped with parchment and ribbon was clenched tightly in her hands. It was no bigger than the size of her head but she acted as if it contained a dragon’s hoard. Amelia pleaded with Eskel with big, joyous eyes. Her lips were curved with a big pout. You knew that it took everything within Eskel not to give in. You knew that if it had been you, you would have given in the moment her lips began to quiver. 

“Not until after dinner,” Eskel replied, playfully teasing her hair. 

“Da! That’s ages away. Can I just please open it now? It is my birthday.” 

Eskel kneeled down so he was level with Amelia. His expression was free of irritation or annoyance at Amelia’s constant begging. There was just amusement at the antics of his daughter. At this point, that was what Amelia was. Eskel’s daughter just as much as your own. If the way she looked at him didn’t give it away, it was the way he peered at her little brown eyes. “Don’t you want any honey cake? We spent all morning on it. Won’t you like to give it a try first?”

“Before dinner?” Amelia asked, side eyeing Eskel as if she did not care of his answer. You hid a chuckle in the sleeve of your—Eskel’s tunic—because she was fooling no one. 

“After,” Eskel stated, assertively. 

“Ma?” 

“After,” you echoed, trying to hide your grin at her defeated expression. She graciously returned the box wrapped with parchment to Eskel’s hand with a lowered head. 

“Can I at least know what’s in there?” 

This time Eskel did not even attempt to hide the laughter that burst from deep within his chest. His laugh was contagious, a booming sound that would catch anyone’s attention. His scars stretched as a grin overtook his face. “That would defeat the purpose of it being wrapped, wouldn’t it?” 

*****

It was a complete coincidence that yours and Amelia’s birthdays were both in winter. Amelia’s was near the beginning and yours was at the end of the first month. You were not as excited about your birthday as the now seven year old was. Your birthdays were always just another day, another reminder that a year had gone by. 

Amelia on the other hand had been ecstatic. Spending her birthday with Eskel was perhaps the best in her life. He had gifted her two handcrafted, Oxenfurtian dolls that must have cost him a fortune. One was of a silver wolf with the softest fur you had ever felt and the prettiest tail. The other was of a little goat with brown markings on her face and little horns. Eskel had explained he asked the dollmaker to make the horns out of velvet so Amelia would not hurt herself. 

You had gifted her a pair of new boots and a dress you had sewn, but it was clear which she favorited.  

“What kind of cake would you prefer for your birthday?” Eskel asked you the morning of yours. The dusty, decrepit cookbook of yours was placed in front of the witcher. You had not personally touched the thing in years, but it still somehow managed to have loose pages. He turned the pages with the tips of his rough fingers, his callouses getting caught on the edges. “Honey cake seems to be Amelia’s favorite, but Sernik might be good with the cheese from the market.” 

“What are you doing Eskel?” you asked the witcher with an apron on. You were not so similarly dressed in your winter coat, skirts, extra layers, and boots. For some reason you weren’t able to find your fur lined gloves and you had looked everywhere for them. Your healer’s basket hung on the crook of your arm filled with medicine for the village and an extra coat. Eskel on the other hand had barely tied his tunic that morning. You could see his dark chest hair sticking out of the opening on his torso. 

“Making a cake for your birthday.” 

You narrowed your eyes in slight confusion. He must have recognized the look because he quickly went on, “Would you rather I make a different pastry? Amelia said you didn’t mind cake, but that could have been a ploy for her to get more.” Eskel chuckled, gently turning yet another page. “I could try my hand at pączki if you’d prefer.” 

“But why?” you asked honestly. 

“A little selfish on my part but I quite like pączki. I’ve never made them before but my father used to make them when I was younger.” Eskel shrugged, “I thought perhaps you might like them as well.” 

“Not the pączki, Eskel,” you rolled your eyes, setting down your basket to approach the monster hunter. “Why are you going through the trouble for this? It's just another day.” 

“It’s not just another day. It’s the day you were born and we should celebrate the fact that you’re here and alive.” Eskel stepped away from the cookbook with a fraying spine. He took your face in his large hands. You let him, curious to see what sweet words left his tongue. “I want to honor one of the strongest, bravest, and most compassionate people I know. I’ve known many people in my life but none as unwavering as you.”

“Must I wait till dinner to open my presents as well?” you teased, brushing away the wetness at your eyes. Eskel seemed to take you in for a moment longer than necessary. Your heart beated quickly and he must have been taking note of it. 

“After cake. Or pączki. If you don’t decide on something, we’ll have to settle for krupnik.” You laughed at Eskel’s mock exasperation. The sound was more common now that Eskel had come back. The thought should have been unnerving but you could not bring yourself to care. You found yourself chuckling more. 

“Pączki. Please.” You laid a hand over the one on your cheek. Your hand was miniscule in comparison to Eskel’s but it seemed to bring warmth all the same. His scarred face heated with the faintest of blushes. You leaned forward and pressed a hesitant kiss to his cheek, the side with rigid, uneven scars. “I’m sure Amelia would love to try them.”

“Try what?” came Amelia’s voice from behind you. “What are you making Da?” You turned, not stepping away from Eskel to see your daughter rubbing the sleep from her eyes. With winter came longer, colder nights and more sleep. Amelia still wore her nightdress, the blanket from her bed draped over her shoulders. 

“Good morning, Amelia,” Eskel greeted with a smile. Just as hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around your waist. His hand did not stray, it merely settled where he placed it. I’m making Pączki for your Ma’s birthday. Would you like to help me?” 

Amelia’s eyes lit up like a fireplace. A mirrored smile painted Amelia’s face and she raced back to her bedroom. She returned as quickly as she had left. In her little hands was a wad of clothes. She happily held them up to you, urging you to…unravel it to find what was inside. “Happy birthday, Ma!” 

Eskel watched over your shoulder as you slowly made work of the wad of clothes. Amelia really did not want anyone to know what was inside. A big knot in the middle of the work required an extra set of hands that Eskel was more than happy to provide. Eventually, the knot was dealt with and your present was revealed. 

It was the fur lined gloves you spent an unholy amount of time trying to look for. 

“I was wondering why you were going out without them,” Eskel smirked, a smug laugh in his tone in response to your side-eye. 

*****

Amelia held Eskel’s hand in the marketplace. The spike on Eskel’s armor was returned to its proper place with many reassuring words and quite a few warm hugs. Amelia was inseparable from her gifts from Eskel. It took much pleading from both you and Eskel for her to leave wolf and goat at home while the three of you went out to run errands.  

In actuality, you needed to go to the marketplace for supplies but Eskel had wanted to tag along. If Eskel was going somewhere, Amelia wanted to follow. That was how the three of you ended up in the middle of the bustling market. Some traders from the neighboring city were visiting and the whole town was out to see what goods they could bargain for. You, yourself could not miss the opportunity to get your hands on rarities. 

“I hope I don’t have to remind you two to be careful,” you said to the father and daughter, hand in hand. Amelia looked up at you with the most innocent face she could muster. You knew better. “I have errands I must run and I am trusting you to stay out of trouble while I am busy. Have we come to an understanding?” This was directed at the pair but your eyes were locked onto Eskel’s. He gave you a soft smile and lightly squeezed Amelia’s hand. 

“No trouble, ma’am,” he said in mock formality. His smile made the cleft in his lip stretch. Internally you scolded yourself for how much you wished to kiss it. You were in public for saint’s sake. 

“Amelia?” 

“No trouble, ma’am,” Amelia echoed. 

*****

“Da, Da!” Amelia beckoned to Eskel, a finger pointed at the stand with steaming pastries with berry fillings. It was difficult to see her through the swarm of people passing but Eskel’s heightened senses could pick out the sound of her voice anywhere. His large body also helped with wading through the throng of townsfolk. 

“Can we please get some?” She bounced up and down with excitement, grinning at the ones with a lemon custard filling. The patreis seemed to have her name written all over them. 

The man behind the stand smiled down at Amelia’s eagerness. His long dark hair was tightly braided and wrapped with a cloth embroidered with lilies and lilacs. He was already wrapping a couple pastries with beeswax paper before Eskel even made it to the stand. “How much for the two?” Eskel asked with what he hoped was a friendly expression. There was little he could do about the appearance of his face. 

“For your little girl? Free of charge. Just make sure she doesn’t eat them both too quickly or she’ll end up with a stomach ache.” The man handed the wrapped pastries to Amelia’s waiting hands. 

“I can’t ask that of you.” Eskel reached into his pouch to pull out a few coins but they were immediately rejected. 

“I have two of my own.” The man smiled at Amelia, whose face was already coated with jam filling. The red of the raspberry jam made her appear like a rabid beast digging into her kill. Eskel reached for the linen cloth you had made him pack just for this occasion. “I know how they can get when they haven’t had their morning pastries.” The man chuckled, grabbing a flask of water to wet Eskel’s cloth. 

Eskel thanked him, grateful for the help. Once Amelia was relatively clean of any carnage, he tore a piece of flaky confection. The buttery layers melted in his mouth. The jam filling had just the right amount of lemon juice to cut through the sweetness. He had wanted to try the lemon custard one as well, but Amelia had taken care of it. 

“Is it good?” Eskel asked, the beginning of a laugh in his mouth. 

Amelia nodded through a mouthful of pastry. “Thank you, sir!” Amelia said to the vendor once she had finished chewing. 

“Seeing how much you enjoyed my baked goods was payment enough. Thank you.” 

Once Amelia had had her fill, she handed Eskel the beeswax paper and wandered with a promise to not go too far. Despite Amelia’s quick feet, Eskel had his heightened senses to keep an eye on things. He trusted her word. Amelia knew better to go off on her own in such a busy crowd. 

“How old is she?” the vendor asked Eskel. He was also keeping an eye on Amelia. Eskel did not need to know the beat of his heart to know he was a father as well. The man’s hands were busy making sure his stand was clean but he always had sights on things around him. If Eskel had to bet, he’d say the man’s children were also running about. 

“She just turned seven,” Eskel said with pride. “Yours?” 

“My eldest is eight. Youngest will be five in a month.” 

“I know she’s barely turned seven, but I can’t help but feel like she’s going up so fast,” Eskel admitted honestly. “I still remember when she was just six and playing in the rice fields.” 

The vendor chuckled, a laugh that came from somewhere deep and old. “If I had a coin for every time I heard that.” He gave Eskel a knowing look. “They just can’t help it. One day they’re learning how to walk and the next they’re already helping you at the market. Before you know it, they’re off to start their own life.” 

The fear must have been evident on Eskel’s face because the vendor’s expression softened. “They might be growing quickly but that doesn’t mean they’ll immediately forget you. Sure, they might have new interests the older they get. Some good interests, some not so much.” The vendor shrugged. “Yet they always remember you.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“My brother had a little boy a decade or two ago. He was always busy with work, now with another mouth to feed he wasn’t home very often. I had to spend the majority of my nephew’s life caring for him. Then my brother got a new job that paid a hell of a lot better. He was home more often, more involved with his boy’s life.” The vendor’s hands stilled. “I always thought once the boy grew up, he’ll forget about me. Who cares about some uncle who's a baker when your father was a wealthy trader?” The man’s eyes lost their focus. A memory seemed to take him, regardless of Eskel’s presence. “But just the other day, my nephew came to visit. He has a family of his own. A kind husband and a farm all to himself. He came to thank me for what I did for him as a boy. Brought along goods from his farm, toys for the cousins, and enough stories to last me until his next visit.” 

“Trust me when I say, they won’t forget you. As long as you do them well.”   

Eskel did not realize a weight was on his shoulders until it was lifted. “Thank you,” was all he could think of to say. “Thank you.” 

“No need.” The vendor brushed him off. “Us fathers have to stick together. Raising children is no laughing matter. It's better if we work to—”

Eskel’s head whipped around at the sound of Amelia’s abrupt stop. He had been keeping his ears opened, listening to the sound of her footsteps darting between stands. The pause in her dash had him taking long strides into the crowd. A handful of people bumped into him but once they saw the look in his eyes, they quickly darted out of his way. Soon, a path through the crowd was made for him. 

Eskel listened hard and he listened close to find his daughter. The sound of her heartbeat was different from the rest. It was as familiar as his own. The quick flutter of it had his senses kicked into high gear. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.” The sound of her voice was distant but once Eskel heard it, there was nothing that could have stopped him from going to it. 

Amelia was in a conversation with a well dressed woman. Two coins were in Amelia’s hands. Eskel could only guess how they ended up there. “You dropped these,” Amelia said with the most polite tone. The skip of her heart beat gave her away. 

Eskel was about to step in when he saw the look on the woman’s face. “Oh my, thank you, dear,” the woman said with the biggest grin. “How sweet of you. I have quite a few coins to spare, why don’t you keep those?” 

“Are you sure, ma’am. It would be very rude of me to take it. They’re yours,” Amelia thrusted her handful of coins back to the woman, urging her to take them back. Eskel did not know when Amelia had the time to become such a convincing liar. For all her talk about finding lairs, she was an expert at the craft herself. Eskel did not know whether to be impressed or disappointed. 

“Oh gracious me, what saint did I please to have such a sweet girl such as you come to my aid?” The woman reached into her pouch of coins and pulled out a couple more. “Here, dear. Take these as a token of my gratitude.” 

“But I couldn’t,” Amelia insisted, her expression of worry enough to convince Eskel. 

“I must insist. Why don’t you go buy some sweets?” The woman turned away the hand of coins that Amelia offered. “Thank you again, dear. Have a wonderful day.” 

The woman walked off just as Amelia spotted Eskel in the crowd. She at least had the decency to look sheepish at having been caught. “Hello, Da,” Amelia greeted with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

“Hello, Amelia,” Eskel greeted in turn, raising a brow in question. “Would you please care to explain what I just witnessed?” 

“She said it was a token of gratitude.” 

“Must I lecture you that stealing is immoral?” 

Amelia looked down, the scent of shame soon filling the crowded streets. It was acidic to Eskel’s nose. The smell was one of Eskel’s least favorites. “Are you mad with me? A-are you going to leave?” 

Eskel kneeled so he was at Amelia’s level. He did not care for the dusty streets or the crowd that kept bumping into him. “Not mad, no. I’m not going to leave either.” He sighed, placing a hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “I just thought you knew better than this.” 

“Are you going to tell Ma?” 

“What do you think?” 

“Let’s make a deal,” Amelia tired instead. Eskel did not know where she got this trait from. “Don’t tell Ma and I’ll buy you a pastry.” 

“Amelia.” 

“...and I’ll stop…” 

“Promise?” 

She nodded. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise,” she echoed. 

Eskel raised himself onto his feet. He held out his hand as Amelia tucked the coins into a pouch he did not notice was tied around her neck. Concern made his brow furrow. There was hardly any way of stopping Amelia once she had her mind set on something. She was much like her Ma in that way. Eskel could only hope she stayed safe while doing it. That usually meant he would have to teach her how to stay safe. 

“I want the lemon custard one,” he said in place of the thoughts swimming in his mind. 

“I’ll get you two.” 

[pdrrook]

There was an old ask about Ros suspecting MC cheating and you answered that Nino, Alan and Reed would run a investigation and then clown themselves in front of MC but what does that mean? 😅 Do they accuse MC of cheating or does MC find out about the investigation? 😬 Also, Flavio and Laurent 'seethe in silence' but wouldn't that eventually build up and come out in a really unhealthy way?

Well, Nino's been cheated on before, albeit by someone she wasn't serious about, but still she's a bit trigger-happy with her assumptions. She wouldn't outright accuse MC of cheating, that's why she'd 'investigate' a bit, like if MC was coming back late with some excuse she'd just barge in to see what's going on lmao, then when it'd turned out to be smth minor she'd feel like a clown for overreacting/doubting

With Alan it's the same, but he has more uh ways to find out if MC is cheating or not, so he's clowning himself in front of his contacts more than in front of MC (Reed loves to see that, let me tell you that). And MC pretty much knows that Alan keeps tabs on the ppl he loves/finds important after what happened to his brother (and knows that it includes them as well later in-game lol)

Reed adsad he's amazingly patient right until MC is involved, then he's running like a headless chicken. And you already know how he reacts to stress (car scena anyone) so 🙃

For Flavio, he might try talking about it in a joking way with either MC or one of his friends. Later, when he's more secure in the relationship he trusts MC explicitly, but he still gets jelly. Though then he doesn't shy from talking about it anymore

Laurent's shit at lying and trying to keep things from MC so 🤣

[spencerlouis]

Hey, can you write smth about Spencer getting out of a bad relationship with someone who made him feel super insecure about his body. The team tries their best to build his self confidence back up now and make him feel comfortable. Maybe emphasis on a parental relationship with Blake or Rossi?

Warning - Past abuse, Body shaming

Spencer was awoken by the sun beaming through the window and the sound of birds chirping. He yawned, stretching, and then rubbing his eyes. He blinked, taking a second to register his surroundings, oh yeah, he was in Rossi’s spare room.  Spencer felt a slight ache in his heart, he had been staying with Rossi ever since he and his girlfriend Melissa had broken up. 

Spencer sighed but got up, he grabbed some clothes and put them on. He had to tug and suck in his stomach to get his pants on, and his tummy strained against his cardigan. He walked over to the mirror and started to sort out his curls. Spencer’s eyes glanced over his body, not liking what he saw. Over the past few weeks since the break up Spencer had put on a few pounds, probably from all the Italian food and baked goods Rossi and Garcia were stuffing him with. He grabbed his chunkier tummy, giving it a jiggle, he hadn’t exactly been in the position to afford extra pounds as Melissa tended to remind him. 

Insecurity filled Spencer as he remembered their relationship. Spencer had met Melissa a few years ago, when he was just a little on the heavy side, she would make comments about him being squishy and soft. Even though these comments hurt his feelings he didn’t say anything because they weren’t outright mean. But as he gained weight throughout their relationship, they turned cruel. She would harshly jiggle his tummy and call him a pig, and would laugh at and taunt him for his weight at every opportunity. She was constantly on him about going on a diet and losing weight, asking if he really needed to eat that when she caught him eating a snack. Even at dinner she would say things like, “no wonder you’re so fat with how much you eat.” 

Spencer wiped his eyes where tears had started to form and made his way to the kitchen, where Rossi was busy cooking. 

“Oh, Spence, you’re up. You can help me cook this, the team is coming for lunch,” Rossi told him as he mixed up a salad. 

~

When the team arrived, they all made their way to the table out back, where Rossi and Spencer had set up the dishes and food. 

“Mhhh, Rossi this is really good,” JJ exclaimed as she swallowed some of the antipasto salad. 

Rossi chuckled, “thank you. I can’t take all the credit though, Spencer helped me.” 

Spencer blushed as everyone’s eyes fell on him and they gave him and Rossi various compliments on the food. 

“Hey, pretty boy. Why aren’t you eating?” Morgan questioned, noticing Spencer was simply moving his food around on his plate.

“Just not hungry,” Spencer mumbled, feeling self-conscious as everyone turned to look at him. 

Rossi sighed, knowing exactly what this was about and put a hand on Spencer’s, “Bambino, please eat. What Melissa said was not true, there is nothing wrong with your body or your weight.”

The rest of the team nodded in agreement, pity in their eyes. They were all made aware of how Melissa had treated Spencer when she had informed him she was leaving him to be with the guy she was cheating on him with and told him he would never find someone as long as he was the fat cow he was. And she had done this in front of the entire team, wanting to humiliate him as much as possible. 

“I gained weight again,” Spencer told them, avoiding their eyes, “my clothes are getting tight.” 

“That doesn’t matter, you are perfect no matter your weight.” Morgan tried to comfort him. 

“I’m not,” Spencer sadly said, getting up and walking into the house, brushing away tears as he did so. The team looked around at each other, unsure of what to do.

“You know what, I’m tired of my cuddly genius hating his soft body and putting himself down. So I propose a plan,” Garcia plotted, a serious look on her face, “first me and the girls will take Spencer shopping for clothes that fit him and make him feel comfortable. And we will all work to make sure he feels better about his body. Compliment him and stand up for him if people are rude. 

~

Spencer followed Garcia, JJ, and Emily around the shop. Them helping him pick up cardigans, sweater vests, shirts, and pants. All his style and all in a size up. The girls had him feel the textures on them to make sure they were good, knowing that could sometimes be an issue for him. 

Once they had picked out a decent amount of stuff, they led him over to a changing room to try them on, insisting he model for them. Spencer came out wearing a lilac cardigan, he spun around to show the girls. 

“It looks so good on you,” Emily told him, Garcia and JJ nodding along.

Spencer smiled but then looked down with a frown, “are you sure? Melissa always said lilac made my love handles stand out,” he ran his fingertips down his side as he spoke.

“Baby, don’t believe anything that witch said about your beautiful, cuddly body,” Garcia said with a hint of anger in her voice.

“Do you like the cardigan, Spence?” JJ asked. Spencer turned to the mirror to study himself, a smile appearing on his face and he nodded. “Then get it,” she told him. 

“I don’t know,” Spencer murmured, studying his body again, “maybe I should try to lose weight instead of needing new clothes.” 

Garcia walked up to him, and turned him to face her, “you don’t need to lose any weight. And I’m not letting you feel bad about yourself everyday because you're squeezing yourself into clothes that are too small.” 

Spencer blushed as Garcia pulled him into a hug, “thank you,” he whispered.

Later that day, they left the store with lots of clothes Spencer liked and that actually fit him.

~

Morgan strolled into the bullpen one day when he saw two female agents standing around Spencer’s desk and giggling. He smirked until he saw the upset look on Spencer’s face. He stormed over, his ears catching what they were saying.

“Who even let you into the FBI with all this blubber?” one jeered as she reached out to pinch Spencer’s chubby belly. Spencer flinched away, shame on his face as he hurried to wrap his arms around his stomach. 

The other girl laughed, “I can’t imagine his team members like having tubby in the field with them,” she spoke as if Spencer were not there. 

“What did you say!” Morgan demanded, his fists clenched as he glared at the girls. 

“No-nothing,” one of them stammered out seeing Morgan standing there.

“Then get back to work,” He growled at them, and they quickly scurried off. 

Morgan pulled up a chair to Spencer’s desk, “hey,” he gently said, Spencer not looking at him, instead studying his hands, “Reid, what they said isn’t true. You’re amazing in the field and I don’t know what we would do without you.” 

“I should get in better shape though,” Spencer muttered, his body tense. 

“You don’t need to, you already do your fieldwork perfectly. And if this is about how you look, then remember there is a reason I call you a pretty boy,” Morgan told him with a smile.

Spencer let out a little laugh and looked up at Morgan, a small smile on his face.

~

Spencer nervously stood on the scale as Hotch took his measurements for their health checks. 

“Okay, you can get off,” Hotch told him, writing on a piece of paper. 

“How much do I weigh?” Spencer asked, his voice quiet. Hotch looked up at him and saw how self-conscious he looked, his eyes on the floor and fidgeting with his hands.

“Um, do you want to know?” Hotch hesitantly asked, not sure if he should tell him. He didn’t want to make his body image worse. But Spencer nodded, and he was an adult who could make his own decisions. 

“Um,” Hotch cleared his throat, “237 pounds.” Hotch watched as Spencer’s face fell at the number. 

“Reid,” Hotch said as Spencer turned to leave, “it’s just a number on a scale, don’t let it determine your worth.” Spencer's only response was a nod as he exited the room.

~

The team had done their best to help Spencer feel better about his body and weight but the person who helped the most was Rossi. He would cook yummy meals for Spencer and would never let him feel guilty about eating. He would compliment him, calling him handsome and he spent a lot of time with him, taking his mind off Melissa.

“Rossi?” Spencer said one day as they were playing chess together.

“Yeah?” Rossi asked.

“I just wanted to say thank you for helping me after Melissa. It means a lot.”

Rossi smiled, “you’re welcome, Reid. You’re like a son to me, I’ll always be here to help you.”

Spencer blushed, “I guess that’s why it means so much. My dad… he would make comments about my weight as a kid, I was chubby even then. And when I saw him a few years back he did the same thing, he seemed smug that I was still on the heavy side.”

Rossi sighed as he moved his rook, “The more I find out about your father the more I despise him,” Rossi said, causing Spencer to laugh, “but remember, your weight isn’t a failing for him to be smug about. It’s just how your body is.”

“Thank you, Rossi. Really.” Spencer gave him a look of genuine thanks.

“Anytime, kid.”

If anyone wants to send me chubby Louis Tomlinson or chubby Spencer Reid concepts, ideas, or requests you can. The only thing I don’t want is anything with full on s3x and outright f33derism. Any ship is fine as well.

Also feel free to ask me questions as long as they are respectful

[nonclassyparty]

Genuine question, why did San never consider Y/N? Like, okay, he could be just looking for someone to warm his bed but in the beginning you said he helped her just because he was being nice and not because he wanted something out of it, that 'the rest' just happened. Okay, I understand. But then, after that, he wasn't interested in her, yet he went and made it up to her whenever they fought (I recall you mentioned smth like that, that he goes all vanilla whenever he upsets her). Why didn't he just drop her to find someone else?

I'm just curious about at what point San thought 'nope, she's not for me' or just, what he didn't like in her. Because can't say he doesn't want commitment, he's dated Boyoung. I wonder what makes guys drop a girl like Y/N. San particularly? As he only judged her shell? Never bothered to have a full conversation with her, nor a date?

Thanks! 🫶🏻

OHHHHHHHH okay i'll try to explain in the best way i possibly can 😭

first of all, it's important to know that san isn't rich and of status like y/n. it was mentioned in the beginning by wooyoung, san comes from the countryside and has spent his entire life working- college, part-time jobs etc etc he even works now at the car repair shop while studying to be an engineer (which is NOT easy😭 but he has to do it) that immediately makes him have a disdain for rich people who got everything handed to them (y/n). when you grow up working hard for money, the 'money doesnt buy you happiness' is just bullshit so obviously he never cared about y/n's struggles or problems bc san is like "u are rich and never worked for anything in ur life why should i care if u are sad?' its also why he thinks he doesn't have more in common with her than just sex.

second of all, san doesn't drop girls 😭 y/n mentioned it in the first chapter, he likes having options whether it's girls he hooked up with before or new ones he meets, san always had more than one girl he was hooking up with. and he wasn't interested in y/n romantically but he definitely was physically. yn is HOT (i mention it all the time but it's important bc she's with all these men for a reason which is that they're attracted to her physically), she's also rich and of status (she had like an entire monologue about this in act 1). she mentioned how he let her in his circle of friends and its bc it makes him feel good for other people to see that someone like her is in his presence. it's a totally human thing, hanging out with people everyone deems important makes you feel more important as well😭

and san didn't do commitment, boyoung is the girl that 'changed' that but he stayed as far away from relationships as he could before he met her.

when y/n would get mad at him, san didn't make it up to her bc he felt bad it was more like 'ah shit, she's pissed now i gotta do something nice for her' yk? it was more like a chore to sweeten her up again bc y/n was his main girl, he prided himself in getting to hook up with her and he doesn't want to seem like a bad guy even tho he sometimes is😭 it's also the reason he avoided her when he started getting closer to boyoung bc he knew it would hurt yn and he doesnt want to seem like a dick. nobody likes being the bad guy, that shit doesnt exist, nobody outright claims they're an asshole instead they do sneaky shit like san for example and make you believe you're at fault for catching feelings or getting attached to take some burden off of themselves bc they know they didnt exactly treat you fairly but if they manage to split the guilt with you then they're like 'oh okay so it wasnt all MY fault, you're to blame as well bc u knew what this was from the start'

conclusion; san likes knowing that y/n wants him. of all people someone like her (and san only looks at it from a materialistic perspective so someone rich, pretty, popular and with a high status) could have, she wants san and it makes him feel better about himself.