#coincidentally i am also not waking myself up by coughing in the middle of the night anymore but i’m sure that’s unrelated…

[b4rfbrain]

finally quit vaping a week ago because i had a theory that it was fucking up my skin and i was right. to my girls who are allergic to nickel or can’t wear fake jewelry - don’t vape you will literally get an allergic reaction lol. took so long for me to figure it out. and now i am raw dogging life with no vice…

[mintyminyoongi]

Idiots

Pairing: Min Yoongi x ReaderRating: T

Word Count: 7.8k

Trigger warnings: None 

Summary: Imagine you love Yoongi and Yoongi loves you but you’re both idiots and can’t say it. Or better yet, read about it.

Normally, when your phone starts ringing at 2:00 AM, you would curse the living daylights out of the person on the other end of the line. Maybe ask them if they were raised by barbarians or looking to get fully throttled. 

But when you finish grumbling curses under your breath and crack an eye open to look at your screen, you can’t help the way your heart flops over a little. Yoongi. You swipe your thumb across the screen to answer before it goes to voicemail. 

“You better be dead or dying,” you groan into the receiver. 

You hear him curse under his breath and some fumbling around. “I, um, am not dying. Coincidentally. I forgot to check the time again.” 

His low, drawling voice sends a shiver down your spine, as always. “Yeah, you did.” You find yourself chuckling, despite your initial anger. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You were sleeping?” 

You laugh fully this time. “Yeah Yoongi, I was sleeping. Like most people do at two in the morning on a Wednesday.”

“Ugh, sorry Y/N.” He sighs into the phone. 

You frown and roll in your sheets, sitting up fully. “Hey, you okay? It’s  been a while since you’ve spaced on time like this.” 

About three years ago, you met Yoongi. You’d just graduated from university and had been able to get an internship at a tech start up in Seoul. It was shit pay and crazy hours but you loved the work. 

You had met Yoongi in a cafe, late one night. Officially, you were off the clock but you had taken your laptop with you to try and catch up on some of your assignments. The cafe was close to your apartment, open late and had cheap, strong coffee. 

Yoongi had been set up at one of the far tables, feline eyes droopy despite the numerous coffee cups littering his table. He had a fancy set of headphones on and his bleached blonde hair had dark roots growing in. 

The cafe was busy, even during this time of night so you took one of the last empty tables near him. You tried to get work done, honestly. But between your sleep deprivation, over caffeination and this gorgeous boy sitting a table away, it was difficult. 

So he naturally caught you staring at him. And your best way to save face was to point dumbly at your own ear. His brow furrowed but he pushed one headphone off his ear anyway. 

“Sorry, just... I could hear your music through the headphones. It’s a little distracting.” It wasn’t, you could barely hear it over the other cafe noises. “Also, it’s bad for your hearing. To play music that loud.”

You wanted to disappear. Like wholly, from this plane of existence and any others that were out there. 

But he just looks at you with an amused, crooked smile. 

You didn’t know at the time that Yoongi was a successful rapper. He went by the name Agust D, and had just gotten back from his first tour after the release of his mixtape. 

And the formation of your friendship went just like that. He needed a friend that didn’t care about his fame or his reputation. And you just needed a friend. 

So what if you thought he was incredibly hot and talented and funny… Yoongi had never shown you any interest, romantically. And that was fine with you. His friendship meant the world to you. 

Anyway, Yoongi wasn’t the best at taking care of himself. So when he calls you in the middle of the night, it’s almost always because he’s been locked in his studio all day and has lost all sense of time. 

He sighs, not answering you right away. “I’m okay. Just- stuck on a song.”

You furrow your brow. “When did you eat last?” 

A beat of silence. “Um.”

“Yoongi.” You bite your tongue to hold back the full lecture. “How about sleep?”

An even longer pause. “I took a nap this afternoon,” he says. “Or wait. What day is it?” 

“Alright, that’s enough. Go home. Take a shower, sleep in an actual bed. You’re not doing yourself any favors running on fumes.” 

“I know.” 

“Nope, not buying it. I wanna hear you leave the studio.” 

“Woman,” he sighs under his breath. “Fine.”

You can hear him shutting down the programs on his computer, almost feeling the way he’s making mental notes of where to pick up in the morning. 

“So, which song is giving you trouble?” 

Yoongi starts to describe the track, how he wants a syncopated rhythm but it’s not hitting right. He muses all the way during his walk home about different things he can try.

You curl back up into bed, just listening to him and giving what little insight you could. It kind of pained you to admit how much just the sound of his voice affected you. 

Before long, you hear his front chime open. “Okay, I’m home.” You hope you were imagining just how exhausted he was. Even though you know you weren’t. 

“Good. Please take care of yourself, Yoongi. You’re starting to give me gray hairs.”

Yoongi just huffs into the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. I am sorry for waking you up. Tomorrow’s your big presentation right?” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Yeah, it's at nine. So like,” you wince as you look at your screen. “Six hours.” 

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Yoongi. Honestly. I’m used to running on no energy and all coffee.”

You could tell he didn’t feel better with that answer. “We're still on for movie night on Friday?” 

“Yes please. I’ve been killing myself trying to avoid spoiler alerts.” 

“Okay, great. I’ll bring snacks to make it up to you.” 

You thought about protesting but knew it would be pointless. “That sounds like a fabulous idea. Now go get some sleep! And when you eat in the morning, it needs to be something that doesn’t come out of a plastic package, you hear me?”

“Aish, woman, let me live,” he gripes but you know him well enough that you can practically picture the smile on his face. “See you Friday. Good luck with the presentation, you’re gonna kill it.” 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You hang up and have to force yourself back to sleep, always getting a bit of a high from talking to him. 

On Friday night, you were running around your apartment like a mad woman, trying to get it clean before Yoongi shows up. Even though he was terrible with the concept of time, he was never late to your movie nights. 

You had stayed late at work talking to your boss about your presentation from the day before. So when Yoongi showed up at your door right on time you were still in your work clothes, hair a mess. 

“Hi, come in. What the-” Your eyes practically bulge out of your head when you see how many bags he’s carrying. 

“I said I would bring snacks,” he says sheepishly, cheeks tinted a dusty pink. 

“Yoongi, this is like a whole store.”

He sets the bags down on your kitchen counter. “I felt bad about waking you up.”

You shove his arm, eyes widening further as he starts unbagging everything. “I told you it was fine, you dope! This is way too much food.” 

Just as he opens his mouth your doorbell rings. Yoongi looks at you guiltily, a bag of your favorite chips in his hand. 

“I may have also ordered pizza from that place you like.” 

You wanted to smack him and kiss him in the same instant. That pizza was the perfect way to end a long, stressful week. “Well, you answer the door. I’m going to change clothes.”

In your room, you quickly change into sweats and a t-shirt. You fix your hair into a normal, less insane ponytail and make your way back into the kitchen. 

You find Yoongi staring at you as you drop your hands from your hair. “What?” 

He coughs, looking down. “Nothing. The food’s all ready.”

You frown a little but leave it. Then you see the three pizza boxes sitting on the counter. “Min Yoongi you did not order three pizzas and buy all these snacks.” 

He squawks a little, unable to form words for a second. “Will you just take my apology already?” 

Your heart seizes a little at his sincerity and you try not to read into it. “Fine. Apology accepted.” You cross your way into the kitchen, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet. 

“How did your presentation go, by the way?” 

“Oh my god it went great, Yoongi! My boss loved the idea of an integrated software, and he gave me the lead on it.” You turn to see him watching you attentively, a proud smile on his face. 

“And this is the first time you’ve been the lead, right?” 

“Yeah, at least one of this size. It’s gonna be a lot of work but I’m really excited.” 

Once again, Yoongi gives you this unreadable look. His gaze makes you feel squirmy so you hand him a plate. “Well I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’ve really made a name for yourself at that company.” 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You cracked open the first pizza box and could’ve started drooling. “Oh my god, this smells amazing.”

When you’re thoroughly surrounded on the couch with more pizza, snacks and wine than any two people could need, you start the movie.

You and Yoongi had started making movie nights a habit about a year ago. Every month you both find time to make it work. It was kind of your favorite thing but you wouldn’t tell him that. 

You really were trying to reign in your feelings for him. It didn’t seem fair, when Yoongi was only looking for platonic companionship. So you keep respectable inches between the two of you as you queued up the movie. 

Yoongi gave you a judgy look at the moan you let out around your first bite of pizza but a swift elbow to the ribs made him look away. 

The movie was pretty good, it was a slasher movie that came out earlier in the year. You watched with your mouth hung open in disbelief as the killer rose from the dead for the third time and snuck up on the lead actress. 

“Oh, come on, they can’t be serious.” You lean forward on the couch cushion, thoroughly enveloped in the plotline. As the killer brandishes a kitchen knife and raises it above his head, your reflex is to smack Yoongi in the arm. 

“Why doesn’t she just turn around?” you demand. “The house is like 800 years old the floorboards are creaking louder than your snoring.” 

You can feel Yoongi look at you in offense. “First you hit me then you insult me?” 

The girl on the screen eventually turns around and a chase ensues. You turn to Yoongi. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you. I just get so wound up at these movies.” 

“Oh, but you meant to insult me?” He says, an eyebrow raised. 

Damn, he looks good sprawled out on your couch. The thought comes unbidden. You bring yourself back to the present, to the sound of screaming and shrill horror music in the background. The present with Yoongi sitting on your couch. 

“Yeah, I mean have you heard your snoring?” 

“When have you heard me snore?” he demands.

You turn to face him on the couch, the movie forgotten for the moment. “Like three months ago, when you showed up at my door, completely wasted. You stumbled around my apartment for twenty minutes and then you passed out on the couch. You snored. All night.” 

Yoongi looks at you with his mouth hung open, speechless. He shakes his head, seeming to snap out of it. “I completely forgot about that night.”

“Yeah, it was after some event at your label. You showed up smelling like cheap perfume and whiskey, barely able to stand up straight. I gave Namjoon an earful the next day for letting you get that drunk.” 

Yoongi scoffs, suddenly finding the hole in the knee of his jeans very interesting. “He didn’t let me do anything. I can be pretty stubborn when it comes to that stuff.” 

You nod, not understanding where the uneasy mood came from. “That’s pretty much what he told me. He said that you showed up to the event pissed off, that you were an asshole the whole night and he couldn’t keep you in check.” 

“Yeah I wasn’t myself that night.” 

He still wouldn’t look at you.

 “I remember,” you say. “I’d never seen you that far gone before. Namjoon said he hadn’t either.” 

Yoongi stays silent. For long enough that you started to turn back to the TV screen, not wanting to push him. 

Truthfully, that night had kind of scared you. He had been almost incoherent when you let him in. Yoongi was a fan of a good whiskey but he usually didn’t get that drunk, let alone wasted like that. You hadn’t known what to do so you kind of just stood back as Yoongi mumbled to himself, shucking his jacket and boots before falling onto the couch and passing out. 

He says something under his breath and even though you were right next to him you didn’t catch it. You wince as a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV screen. He doesn’t even seem to notice it. 

“What did you say?” You ask him, scooting a little closer. 

Again, he stays quiet. At which point you’re starting to get annoyed, so you let out a huff and flop back against the couch cushion.

“You had a date that night.” 

You stare uncomprehendingly at the gory scene on the TV before looking at him. “What?” 

He had turned his gaze to you, but not in your eyes. He’s looking somewhere around your shoulder, you think. 

Yoongi runs his tongue over his teeth before answering you. “That night, you had a date with some guy from your office.”

You think back, remember that you’d had a date with Minho. He was in the advertising department of your company. He had a really cute smile and loved cats so you thought you’d give him a chance. 

You thought if you just actively started dating that you would get over your stupid crush on Yoongi faster. 

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. 

Even though Minho was attractive, and he had really funny stories you only found yourself thinking about Yoongi all night. The date had ended when he walked you to your door, and kissed your cheek. You told him it had been a nice night but you didn’t think you saw him as more than a friend. Things had been awkward around the office for a few days but he took it graciously and you two are friends now. 

Yoongi had shown up not long after you’d gotten back. You were still in your dress, heels kicked off by the door. You remember now, he had given you a once over and scoffed before stepping past you into the apartment. Before you’d gone on the date, you’d told Yoongi about it. You thought maybe if he hyped you up it would help you be more excited for it. 

Instead, he just said “have fun” and didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. Until he showed up at your door, so drunk he couldn’t stand straight. 

He never asked about the date, you didn’t think he even remembered it. He certainly didn’t seem like he cared about it at the time. 

Belatedly, you realize the end credits are rolling on the screen. 

And Yoongi is staring at you. Not at your shoulder or somewhere in the vicinity. Right at you. 

“Yoongi…” You say, because you didn’t know what else to say.

He gulps down the rest of his wine and turns to face you fully. “I-I didn’t have the right to be jealous but I was. Of him. So I went to that stupid fundraising event and focused on the free drinks and the easy women. And ended up here anyway.” 

You swallowed thickly, trying not to overthink what he was saying. “You were jealous?” The words are strained as you say them. Your hands curled into fists because the bite of your nails in your palms helps to ground you. 

Yoongi leans in a little, sucks in a quick breath. He opens his mouth to speak just as the movie kicks back to the main menu, the title music blaring through the speakers. 

You jump reflexively. You didn’t realize how close you’d gotten to him, your face barely a few inches from his. So close you can see his pupils dilate, can smell the sweet red wine on his breath. 

And just like that, Yoongi seems to snap out of something. He stands from the couch and picks up your dirty plates and wine glasses. He’s already in the kitchen, loading the dishes in the washer when you feel yourself snap back into reality.

What the hell was that?

You were pretty sure you weren’t misreading things. He was jealous that you were dating other people. Well, had dated other people. Honestly you were tired of the whole song and dance. You hadn’t been on a date since Minho. When the right guy came along, you would try again. But you hadn’t found anyone that could hold a candle to Yoongi. And you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. 

But… why was Yoongi jealous? He was famous, had tons of beautiful idols and models and actresses he could pick from. Maybe he was just jealous of having a normal dating life. 

Either way when you shuffle into the kitchen with the bowls of snacks, you couldn’t ignore the tension in Yoongi’s shoulders. The dishes were all loaded but he stood at the sink, clutching the edge of the counter. 

“Yoongi.” This was new for you. You’d never felt uncertain around him before. Maybe shy, when you caught yourself thinking about his adorable smile or strong hands. But never uncertain. 

He cleared his throat and turned abruptly. “I forgot I have an early morning tomorrow. I should get going.” 

You frown, not wanting to leave things in this weird state. You follow him to the door where he’s pulling on his coat. “Yoongi,” you try again. 

He falters, head hanging low. 

“Will you just tell me what’s bothering you?” You finally demand. 

Yoongi turns swiftly, pulling you close to him by your waist. He leans his forehead against yours and you suck in a breath, gasping it out at his proximity. Usually you’re the one initiating the contact, little side hugs or poking his cheeks when he’s grumpy. You always tease him about his fear of intimacy.

He huffs out a breath and closes his eyes. His hands tighten their grip on your waist. 

You let him hold you. Part of you can tell he somehow needs this. You wonder if he can feel how heavily your heart is beating inside your chest. It feels thunderous to you. 

Yoongi shifts, turning his face into your neck. You feel yourself relax a bit. This feels more familiar, closer to the hugs you’ve shared before. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around him, hoping to bring him some comfort. 

“Don’t date anyone else.” 

The words are soft, spoken against the skin of your neck. But you hear them perfectly. And your heart skips a beat all the same. “Yoongi-”

He moves, pulling his face from the crook of your neck. It takes him a minute to bring his eyes up to meet yours. And it almost seems to pain him when he croaks out “Please, Y/N.” 

One of your hands seems to have its own mind as it combs through the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes close a little as he waits for your answer. “Okay,” you whisper. 

His sharp gaze snaps up to yours and it takes you aback. Your hormone addled brain thinks that he’s going to kiss you. And it really seems like he’s going to. He moves one of his hands from your waist to cradle your face in his palm. 

You lick your lips subconsciously and Yoongi’s eyes dart down to watch the action. And then something happens in his brain because he’s letting you go and backing away. “I should go,” he mutters as he pulls a mask from his coat. 

Something about his tone is final. You don’t want to push it or question him. He turns back to you when he’s out in the hallway. “I’ll call you later.” 

You nod, thoroughly overwhelmed and incapable of forming a response. And then he’s gone. And you close the door and have to ask yourself if you didn’t just dream the whole thing. 

You were slammed at work the next week, trying to get the initial details of your new project hammered out. And maybe the lack of communication from Yoongi encouraged you to throw yourself headfirst into the work. Because you really didn’t want to stop and think about what your conversation that night had meant. 

‘Don’t date anyone else’? That could really only mean one thing, right? If he didn’t want you dating anyone else it was so you could be with him. Right?

Or maybe he just meant he didn’t want you dating the wrong guys, to protect you or whatever. As if he could know that Minho or any of the other guys you’d dated were “wrong”. 

And this whirling blackhole of a thought process is exactly why you’d been staying late every night this week. 

The sun had been down for hours when you finally left your office building. You’re on the subway home when Yoongi calls you. Your eyes widen and you feel your heart stutter a bit when you see his name on the screen. 

When you answer the phone you immediately hold the receiver away from your ear, the speaker blasting music and overlapping chatter from a crowd. “Yoongi?” 

You think you can hear him saying something in the background. After a few moments you hang up. He must’ve called accidentally. And you have to kick yourself for getting so excited. 

He’s out at a club or a concert, judging by the noise. It could be for work or for pleasure. Either way, he’s out with people and probably other girls- 

You have to stop yourself. He’s not yours. 

You get through the train ride and the walk home with a set jaw. This was exhausting. This weird, in-between thing was way worse than just suppressing your feelings altogether. 

It was a little after 10:00 when he started texting you. You’d just finished eating a bowl of instant noodles over the sink when you see it. And from the first text you could tell he was drunk. 

10:11 Yoongi: I MISs you

10:15 Yoongi: Y/N

10:15 Yoongi: This palace sucks

10:19 Yoongi: wis

10:19 Yoongi: I wish

10:20 Yoongi: Wish yu were hr

10:23 Y/N: Yoongi, you’re drunk. Text me when you’re sober. 

Not long after your message he tries calling again. It pains you to do it but you let it go to voicemail. Nothing he says right now is going to keep you from combusting. 

So you try to occupy yourself with a few episodes of trashy reality TV until you think you’re tired enough to go to bed. Yoongi hadn’t texted or called again. You hoped it was because he went home. Your brain strayed to some other girl catching his attention at whatever club he was at. Imagined her taking his mind off of you and his phone. 

You bite your lip to stem off the ridiculous tears that spring into your eyes at the thought. He’s not yours, you remind yourself again.

The incredibly overwhelming sense of deja vu hits you when your ringing phone wakes you in the early hours of the morning. Yoongi’s face is on your screen. Maybe it’s because your brain is more than half asleep or because part of you is desperate to know if he went home alone that you answer the call.

You were grateful that you didn’t immediately hear the noise of pounding bass and drunk people in the background. But you do hear traffic noise, lots of it. 

“Yoongi?” 

“Y/N, what time is it?” His voice is still heavy with alcohol and you wince. 

“It’s like one in the morning, Yoongi. Where are you?” 

“Fuck. I told you I wouldn’t call you like this again.” He mumbles and you can imagine his lips forming that adorable pout. You have to shake your head out of that thought process when you hear a car horn too close for comfort.

“Yoongi, listen to me. Where are you? Are you safe?” 

There’s a moment of silence as you imagine him looking around. “I’m- near the um, that corner store where you spilled soda all over me that one time. ‘member?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Yoongi, can you get yourself a ride? You should go home and sleep this off.” 

He continues talking, as if he didn’t hear you. And maybe he didn’t. He sounded just like that night, months ago. Who knows how much he’s had to drink. “You were so… so flustered and I-I remember you asking me how much my shirt cost because you were worried you wouldn’t be able to pay me back. And I told you it was just a regular t-shirt but really it cost $300 and I never told you that. And you were so cute. You were stuttering, and your cheeks were so red.” 

“You- you kept trying to clean me up and everyone in the store was staring. I kind of realized then that you were maybe the cutest girl I had ever seen. Like, the cutest. But I didn’t… I didn’t know how to say that. Because I don’t like people and there are very few that I choose to spend time around.” 

While (a very large) part of you loved this confession, you know it didn’t count. He was so incredibly drunk and would probably not remember any of this in the morning. And since you couldn’t see him, all your brain can imagine is that he’s about to stumble into traffic at any moment. 

“Yoongi please. I need you to put me on speaker while you get yourself a taxi. I need to know you’re safe.” 

He cuts himself off. All of a sudden the traffic noise is much louder so he must’ve put you on speaker. He grumbles as he’s tapping through the app. “Y/N thank you for taking such good care of me.” 

“You’re welcome, Yoongi.” Your voice comes out whisper-soft and he might not have heard you over the rushing cars, 

He must take you off speaker because he’s easier to hear again. “Says it should be here in ten minutes.” 

You exhale, not even realizing how worried you had been. “Okay, good.” 

“You interrupted me, you know.” Again, you can picture the pout on his face so clearly. 

You chuckle a little, leaning back against your headboard. “You’re right I did.” 

“Where was I?” You notice his Daegu accent is slipping in the more he talks. You wish it didn’t affect you as much as it did. “Oh, that people suck. Not you though, Y/N. You don’t suck and I’ve been scared to tell you that because I love our friendship. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Your heart flutters. You try to keep reminding yourself not to read too much into this. He’s drunk and has never said anything along these lines when he’s sober. He’s had all the opportunity. But maybe you’re a masochist because you ask. “Fuck what up, Yoongi?”

He sighs. “I hate that I’ve never had the guts to say any of this to you sober. I’m such a coward, Y/N.” 

As if you somehow know what he’s going to say, you try to stop him. “Yoongi, wait.” 

“I love you, Y/N. I’m fucking stupid because I love you and I can’t even say it to your face.” 

Tears sting into your eyes because this feels so surreal and it almost physically pains you to hear the words you’ve been dreaming about for so long. 

You think you hear him getting into the cab when a car door slams shut and the traffic noise is much more muffled.  “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he sighs happily, like he’s glad to have it off his chest. 

You have to steel yourself because you can feel your brain slipping into La La Land. “Yoongi, you are drunk. Hang up and call me when you’re sober.” 

He chuckles a little. “So bossy. Just because I’m hanging up, doesn’t mean I’ll forget that I love you,” he croons. 

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath and hang up.

You flop against your pillows and try to calm your racing heart. What. The. Fuck. 

In all of your fantasies about Yoongi you had never let yourself imagine he would say those words to you. It was too painful. 

It was painful even now. Until you could talk to Yoongi face to face, you couldn’t know what he meant, if he meant any of it at all. So you were reminding yourself of this, to keep yourself sane as you lay spread eagle on your bed. Wondering what you did in your past life to deserve this kind of emotional turmoil.

When there’s a knock on your door. And a very drunk Yoongi calling your name through the cheap wood. 

You run to the door to let him in before he wakes up any of your nosy neighbors. When you open the door, Yoongi almost falls across the threshold. You reach out on instinct to steady him and close the door promptly behind him.

“Would you shut up?” you hiss. 

As he straightens and sees you, he gets this lazy smile on his face. 

You decide to speak first and cut off whatever thought process he had. “What are you doing here?” 

Yoongi pouts and rubs a thumb across your cheek. “I missed you.” 

“You were supposed to go home Yoongi.” 

“Didn’t want to,” he shrugs. 

You sigh, knowing you didn’t have the heart to kick him out when he was like this. “Fine. Will you at least take a shower before you crash? You stink.” 

“You just want me naked,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

Instead of answering him, you turn to your room to get him a change of clothes. If he were anyone else, if he hadn’t just told he loved you- this would be hilarious. You would never let Yoongi live this down. 

But it wasn’t someone else. It was Yoongi. And not only had he told you he loved you, it seems like he already forgot about it. He was so unaware of the spiral you were in it was painful. 

He was struggling with his boots when you made your way back into the living room. You swallow back the lump in your throat as you kneel in front of him. 

You nudge his hands away and make quick work of the laces. 

“Y/N.” When you look up, you’re struck with the clarity in his gaze. You’re not sure what changed in the time it took you to get him some clothes but the flirty Yoongi was gone. 

His eyes were still dropping and he was a little sideways on your couch but he seemed more like Yoongi again. 

“What?” you ask and wince when your voice cracks. 

“I meant it.” 

Your eyes close and you sit back on your heels to give yourself some distance. “Yoongi, please.” 

He doesn’t say anything more and when you finally open your eyes again, he’s running a hand over his face. “Okay,” he sighs. Then he grabs the clothes from off the floor and disappears into the bathroom. 

How did things get so complicated so quickly? 

This was exactly the kind of situation you were hoping to avoid all these years. You roughly wipe your eyes to stop any tears from falling before getting to your feet.

You hear the shower turn on as you make up the couch, tucking sheets into the cushion and bringing out extra pillows. And then you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your first instinct is to go close yourself in your room and not come out until he’s gone in the morning. 

You knew you could never do that though. You’d never been good at ignoring Yoongi. It was unclear if other people experienced this kind of magnetism towards him, but you were hopeless.

Because of the war going on in your brain, you were still sitting on the couch when Yoongi walked back down the hallway. And - in a word - oof. 

The clothes were his, some you’d stolen a long time ago but he’d put on a muscle since then so the shirt was a little tight. His damp hair hung a little longer, hanging into his eyes a little bit. 

The shower seemed to do him some good, he looked a little more alert. More himself.

You watch him warily and tuck your knees into your chest. He takes a seat opposite you on the coffee table. Then you two sit there, not looking at and not talking to each other. 

Then Yoongi heaves a heavy sigh and you dare to look at him. “Y/N…” He doesn’t seem to have more to say than that.

You turn to look at him. “Yoongi, I’m exhausted. Can we talk in the morning?” 

He nods, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” 

You shoot up from the couch, ready to get out of this tense atmosphere. “I brought out sheets and blankets. And there’s a stack of pillows there. If you need anything else, you know where everything is.” 

“Y/N.” Yoongi’s hand reaches out, maybe to stop you or grab you. You just dart a few paces away. You had no resolve left and you were pretty sure if he touched you at this point that would just crumble. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Yoongi.”

His sighs and it ruffles your hair, sends a shiver down your back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next morning, as the sun shone brightly through your curtains, you were praying for a sinkhole to open underneath your apartment building and swallow you whole. Or maybe like a stray asteroid could come in through your window. Less casualties that way. Anything to get you out of this conversation with Yoongi.

You hadn’t slept all night, trying to decode Yoongi’s words and your own feelings. You’d been squashing them down for so long, trying to make them as small and inconsequential as possible. 

It was sometime after the sky started to turn pink that you truly allowed yourself to accept how much you love Min Yoongi. How much you always have. 

For as long as you can remember, you have cherished every moment with him. Your movie nights. When you could bring your laptop to his studio and listen to him produce music while you worked. Getting late night coffees at the same cafe you first met. 

The list goes on. 

Now it was just a matter of figuring out if Yoongi really did… love you. You know that saying “drunk words are sober thoughts.” And maybe it was true in this case. But what if he just meant he loved you as a friend?

Really, it wasn’t that far fetched. You have never met a more emotionally guarded person than Yoongi. He didn’t even want to admit to being friends until after you threatened to send a video of him dressed up as his female counterpart “Yoonji” to Dispatch. 

In short, you were getting nowhere fast. Which is why you finally kicked yourself out from under your sheets to make some coffee. Coffee always helps right?

A quick peek into the living room and you can see Yoongi curled up on the couch, still out. 

You tiptoe past him and into the kitchen. You start to brew a pot of coffee and let the comforting smell wash over you. It seemed to rouse Yoongi as well. Over the back of the couch you see him stretch his arms, groaning as he does it. 

You pour two mugs of coffee and give him time to fully wake up. 

He shuffles into the kitchen, one eye cracked open and trying to smooth his hair down with his hands. “Morning,” he mumbles.

You wordlessly hand him a mug of plain black coffee. He hums gratefully and takes a large gulp. 

Not for the first time you internally coo at his early-morning grumpiness. His eyes are puffy and his hair is sticking up in multiple directions despite his efforts. You sip your own coffee and try to figure out how to start this conversation. 

Yoongi leans against the opposite of the island counter and looks at you over the rim of his mug. “So.” 

“So,” you agree. And then leap into it. “You remember everything you said last night?” 

He takes another large gulp of his coffee before setting the mug down. “I do.” 

You lean your elbows down on the counter and grip onto your mug with both hands to have something to ground you. “Okay.” 

Yoongi looks at you, eyes wary. You can’t look at him, can’t be the one that says something that ruins this friendship.

“Y/N… can we just forget it?” 

Your eyes fall closed. You wonder at the same time if it’s possible for your heart to fall out of place in your chest because it no longer feels like it’s there. “Yeah,” you force out of your vocal chords. “Let’s forget it.” 

“I just- it was wrong for me to say those things. To you. While I was so… out of it.” Yoongi sighs. “Will you look at me? Please?” 

He’s staring at you, fully awake now. His gaze is imploring, like his words are saying one thing but his eyes are trying to tell you something else. 

“Y/N, your friendship is one of the most important things in my life. You found me when I was in a shitty place and couldn’t find any real people to be around. Everyone wanted to know Agust D, they didn’t give a fuck about me. I can’t lose that, I can’t lose you-” 

You take another drink from your mug to distract you and to hopefully hide the tears building in your eyes. This was the most likely scenario, you knew that. But you had still allowed yourself to hope for the best. 

“I get it Yoongi. You love me, as a friend.” 

He makes this noise in the back of his throat and comes around the island towards you. 

On instinct you back away, trying to keep the distance. You throw your hands up when your back hits the counter behind you. “Yoongi, please don’t-” 

He immediately stops a few feet away from you. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” he says, voice breaking a little on the last words. “I didn’t want to upset you.” 

You realize that the tears in your eyes have fallen so you wipe them away hastily. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Yoongi frowns, “You’re crying so it’s not fine.” He looks at you with such concern that it hurts. Like he would do anything to fix it if he could. 

“Please don’t look at me like that,” you say weakly. 

“Like what?” 

You are exhausted, mentally and physically. So your filter is gone. And you blurt, “If we’re going to be just friends, I can live with that but that means you can’t look at me like that. Like you love me more than that.” 

Yoongi just looks at you, jaw slack. “Let me be perfectly clear, Y/N. If we’re going to be just friends I am going to be the one living with it. Because…” he sighs and closes his eyes, as if to collect himself. “Because I do love you more than that.” 

If your heart hadn’t fallen out of place earlier it certainly did in that moment. “What?” you squeak.

He takes a cautious step towards you. “Last night, I meant everything I said. I’ve never been brave enough to say it to your face, but I have been in love with you for the better part of three years. It wasn’t fair of me to say all of that to you or to show up here and have you take care of me. And I mean it, we can be friends. Because I’d rather be friends than nothing at all. But since we’re here I might as well get it all off my chest, even if it means I never mention it again. At least that way I can finally breathe again.” 

Your chest heaves with panicked breaths as you absorb everything he just said. This time there wasn’t any way to misconstrue his words. No doubt about the meaning. Yoongi had just laid himself bare in front of you. 

“Idiots,” you mutter. 

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up past his hairline. “What?” 

“We are idiots,” you say and a somewhat manic laugh slips its way past your lips. When you see the hurt cross his face, you step closer and clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Yoongi.”

He pulls back a step and the action sobers you immediately. “We are both complete idiots, Yoongi. Because I’ve never been brave enough either. Brave enough to tell you that you are what kept me sane during my intern year. That getting to see you is the best part of my day. And I’ve never told you I love you because I was terrified of you not feeling the same way.” 

“Idiots,” he muses. Yoongi looks at you, eyes darting everywhere as if looking for the lie. His lips slowly curl into a smile when he doesn’t seem to find one. He closes the gap between you, cradling your face in his hands.

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s gentle. The tenderness makes your eyes slip shut, makes every time you’ve ever dreamt about this in the past pale in comparison. You could never have imagined how perfect it would feel when his hands roam the planes of your body, wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him. 

The closeness has you overwhelmed, whimpering into his mouth. You find yourself craving even more contact, pull yourself infinitesimally closer by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 

Yoongi pushes against you, making you stumble back a few steps until you hit the counter. Without missing a beat, his hands move from your waist down to your thighs. He grips the flesh there and hoists you up onto the countertop.

You gasp at the lift, legs wrapping around his hips for anchorage. Yoongi takes advantage and licks his way into your open mouth. You let him take the lead, feeling wholly overwhelmed by the way he kisses you. Your fingers thread in his hair, tugging on the roots when the sensations become too much. 

Yoongi groans, pressing his lips harder to yours for another second before pulling away. He immediately presses another chaste kiss to your lips before leaning his forehead on yours. 

You don’t open your eyes right away, almost afraid he won’t be there when you open them. 

“Y/N,” he whispers. Your heart flops over, probably somewhere down near your appendix at this point. “We really are idiots.” 

You smile, finally looking back at him. You tighten your legs around him, your body’s way of telling him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. Yoongi’s eyes slip shut as he lets out a hiss. “Woman, you’ve gotta stop doing that.” 

“Why?” you smirk.

“Because all I’ve thought about for years is being able to love you like I want to. I want to love you in every way you deserve to be loved. But I also haven’t slept in days. I haven’t slept a full night since I was here last, for movie night. If you keep doing that I’m going to take you right here and it won’t be my A game.” He kisses you slowly, making your toes curl in. “I want to give you my A game.” 

You smile fondly at the rant but relent, dropping your legs to either side of his hips. Your fingertips trace the shadows under his eyes “I haven’t slept well either. Since that night.” 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers, slumping into you. 

“Don’t be,” you say as you comb your fingers through his hair. “How about a nap? Because I too want nothing less than your A game.” 

Yoongi straightens and glares at you. You put a hand on his chest and push lightly. He backs up enough for you to hop down from the counter. You take one of his hands in yours, taking a second to appreciate how easily they fit together. 

“What, you’re not going to make me sleep on the couch again?” Yoongi says as you lead him to your room.

“I’m still not fully convinced this is all real.” You turn and pull him close again. “Until I am I need you to stay close to me. So no more couch.”

Yoongi smiles softly. “I can do that.” He kisses your forehead sweetly. 

He audibly groans as he climbs into your bed beside you. You roll your eyes at him. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“You try sleeping on that couch. Whoever talked you into that couch is a nutjob.”

You smack his chest. “You convinced me to buy that couch!” 

Yoongi shrugs, grinning softly. You smack him once more for good measure. Then you give into the instinct your body has been screaming for, which is to snuggle into him. You get comfortable with your head resting on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his. Your fingers fist into the material of his shirt on their own volition. 

He pulls you closer with the arm that’s under you, not seeming to be satisfied until every gap between the two of you is gone. 

“From now on, let’s be idiots together, okay?” 

Yoongi chuckles and drops a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Deal.”

[caladblog]

this whole life’s a hallucination

Captain Isabel Lovelace has a chat with the dead, shortly after she's left that land for the third time.

Plus, Aperture Futuristics, everyone murdering everyone else, magical girl transformation sequences on LSD, communal blood, and the embarrassing thing that happened at your junior prom.

[Big-ass spoilers for basically everything through Episode 46: Boléro. I fudged the end of the episode a little because you're not my real dad.

This fic is brought to you by Variations on a Theme, my personal philosophy on identity/reality, and me being super gay. Please consider supporting these sponsors on Patreon

Only two months til it gets jossed! *pops champagne*]

The thing in the body bag writhes.

No.

Lovelace, in the body bag, writhes.

This is the tableau for a solid thirty seconds, set in the U.S.S. Hephaestus's picturesque cargo bay: A captain who was shot in the head roughly ten hours ago seizes and coughs, wrestling motion and consciousness from the early stages of rigor mortis. Nearest to her, drifting closer, a communications officer stares blankly. Opposite side, drifting further away, a man who makes things that break other things also stares blankly. Perpendicular to them and several feet away, a recently-usurped colonel presents his handcuffed wrists with a pleasant smile that never reaches his eyes, watching, sharklike, the final person present in this scene. Nearest to the door, a sometimes-lieutenant sometimes-commander looks back at him, clutching her handgun like it's the only thing in the universe that still makes sense (which it very well could be).

Compulsory musical accompaniment: Boléro weaving in and out with static as an autopilot/mother program struggles for control of the station. This might be easier if she knew the specifics of what she was struggling against, but, then again, maybe not.

In media res. Diabolus ex machina. Ready to begin?

(Your answer to that question is irrelevant.)

Hera silences the overture with a synthetic gasp and several things snap at once.

Jacobi scrambles backward as effectively as he can with his hands and feet chained together, mumbling a crescendo of "what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck Colonel what the fuck--"

Kepler ignores him in favor of jangling the handcuffs and saying sweetly, "Limited time offer, Commander. It's in everyone's best interests if you take it. Just think: all the answers you've wanted, all the answers you've killed for--"

Minkowski clicks the safety off and takes aim at his center mass, nerves drawn taut as a bowstring, shouting, "For once in your miserable life, shut your god damned mouth--"

All of this leaves Eiffel the only one left watching the-- Lovelace. Her movements are less epileptic now, more... deliberate, waves of tension rolling down her body as muscles contract and relax in rhythm. Her breathing is still too deep, too harsh, but even that's starting to smooth out. He's close enough to see her pulse through the thin skin of her throat, rapid but steady, and as everyone else yells in the background she begins to settle. Not limp, but at ease. Not dead, but unconscious. And then her head turns a little and she frowns and mutters something inaudible, incoherent, almost like she's... having a bad dream.

"I think she's waking up," he says haltingly, freezing Jacobi and Minkowski in place.

"It, Officer Eiffel," Kepler corrects without looking, calm as ever.

Minkowski lunges forward and jams her gun against his mouth and snarls, "I told you to shut up. Do it before I make you."

Kepler holds up his hands in surrender. "But of course, sir. Working with zero information is a... unique command choice, but if sir has made a decision, I can but follow sir's wisdom."

She swallows and her gun falters for a moment, but her eyes never leave Kepler's face. "Eiffel, what's-- what's going on?"

"How in the three hundred and fifty-nine circles of hell am I supposed to know?!" he all but shrieks.

"You're not-- You don't--" Hera says, barely intelligible through the glitches and echoes. "You don't come back! You don't do that! You don't--"

"Hera!" Minkowski snaps. "Focus on keeping us in orbit. We'll-- We'll figure this out and keep you updated. Eiffel!" He startles and glances up at her, sees the way she's desperately trying to hold herself together. Her voice sinks into familiar biting sarcasm. "You could start by observing and then communicating your observations, unless it's too much to ask for you to carry out your basic job description--"

"She's--" He has to clear his throat. God, his hands are shaking so bad. "Like she's asleep, but... restless? Moving around a bit. Breathing normally. I think she--" and then his voice cuts off in a yelp as Lovelace's eyes fly open and she jerks upright, struggling out of the body bag.

Utter silence. She swivels around, taking in the cargo bay, glazing right over their faces without actually seeing a single one, and the brief flashes of her expression are just-- confused, pained, frantic, afraid, and all Eiffel can think of is the way she looked at him, chained in the armory of the Urania at his side with Kepler's gun pressed to her forehead. Wide eyes, but calm. Settled. The look of someone who's finally stopped running. She never got her revenge but she got her peace and now she doesn't even have that.

"Captain Lovelace...?" he whispers.

She jolts, meets his gaze for the briefest second, then turns away from him sharply and zeroes in on the gun in Minkowski's hands. "What in the..." Her voice is shaky, rough, but distinctly hers. "Fourier, what are you-- Why aren't you working on the-- Where is the-- Where am I? What just..."

"Lovelace!" Minkowski barks, clearly terrified, falling back on protocol as she always does when she doesn't know what else to do. "Get your head together!"

"Oh, now that's just insensitive," Kepler murmurs, and Minkowski actually pistol-whips him, the sharp crack of metal against jawbone doing nothing to fracture his obnoxiously congenial attitude.

"We need your help, Lovelace, wake up, we need you with us--"

"Where else am I going to be? Don't you take that tone with me, Fourier, I am still your commanding officer despite--" Lovelace cuts herself off, scanning the room rapidly once more, and the naked fear in her eyes tells Eiffel that she isn't... she isn't entirely here. "The hostages. Who...? Why are you, but I'm not-- I'll be right back."

And with that she's through the hatch, off like a shot. Minkowski jerks her head in the same direction. "Go after her! I've got these two."

He nods once and shoves himself through the hatch and calls, "Captain! Captain, wait!"

She doesn't, but the words freeze her for a split second, and that's all he needs to nearly catch up.

"You're not Sam," Lovelace says under her breath, brusque, tense, moving at a rapid clip down the hallway to the armory. "I don't have time for you. Fourier and Selberg are working triple overtime to finish the shuttle and you're not going to make me curl up in my bunk and cry like a little girl. If you were really Sam you wouldn't be trying this, you wouldn't be trying to weaken me like this. There's shit to get done, Sam. You can haunt me when we're all back on Earth so until then you stay out of my way and you stay out of my head." Her voice cracks under the strain. "If you were really Sam you'd be proud of the way I'm handling this. Staying focused, staying in control. Not checking out like I did when Fisher..."

A deep, ragged breath instead of an end to the sentence. The armory's hatch doesn't budge under her hands and she frowns at it. "Rhea, what kind of game are you playing? Open the door."

"I can't let you do that, Dave," he says, and it's really, really not funny. "Hera, lock down the armory. As securely as possible."

"Already done, Officer Eiffel." Subdued. Businesslike. She's... well, processing, for lack of a less punny word. No fight-or-flight to drown out her ability to productively think about what the hell just happened, no adrenaline making things messy. Eiffel can taste it, coppery on his tongue, his heart trying to pound its way out of his ribcage.

"Rhea, what is this? Rhea!" Lovelace hauls back and punches the armory as hard as possible, a deep, resounding clang that makes him jump, and then once more with a faint sickening crunch underneath, and there's blood on her knuckles, and she turns around and leans against the door with her eyes closed and an almost beatific look on her face.

"Oh. That's right," she says serenely. "Command took you too. Not in cruelty, not in wrath/The Reaper came that day. You liked Longfellow. I just liked Portal. Remember when I called you a companion cube and then the hot water just coincidentally crapped out every time I tried to shower for a week? I meant it as a compliment, Rhea! Mostly. A devil visited this gray path/And took the cube away and they took everyone else too and now I can't even get a door to work."

Eiffel moves close, afraid to actually touch her and take her by surprise. Unarmed, injured, recently dead, and he still has no doubts about who would come out on top in a fight. This... this weirdly candid way she's speaking, this otherworldly calm, though, is scarier than anything she's ever done. "Captain Lovelace...?"

"You're not Sam," Lovelace laughs, almost a sob. "Sam died too quickly to leave a trace. It came on in the middle of the night, and by the time Rhea got us awake you were twitching in a pool of your own--" She sobs, almost a choke. "Selberg tried his best, but when you've lost that much blood there's no bouncing back. All he could do in the end was try to make you comfortable." She chokes, almost a laugh. "Isn't that what we always tell people? We made him comfortable. It was quick. There was no pain, no fear. But I know that no matter what, there is always time for pain and fear. You know that too, now, don't you? I swore to myself after Fisher died that none of you would ever know that, and now all of you do."

Eiffel leans against the opposite wall and says, very quietly, "That's a promise that nobody can keep, Captain."

"You're not Sam," Lovelace whispers, eyes still shut, "but it's good to see you anyway, Sam. Can I talk to you for just a minute, Sam? I know you're not here, I know you'd disapprove if you were, but I promise I'll go back to my post in a minute, I will, Sam, I'm just so tired." She huffs out a weak attempt at a laugh. "Do you remember that one time Fisher and Fourier and I actually managed to con you into playing strip poker with us? See, most guys I would accuse of losing on purpose, but I think you are actually just that bad at cards. Two rounds, was it? three? before your scrawny ass was chewing us all out about codes of conduct this and dangerously unprofessional attitudes that and not an approved team-building exercise whatever, in nothing but regulation underwear and a single sock. I'll never forget the color you turned when I laid down my hand and told you to finish the job. You ran away, Sam, probably the first time in your life you'd ever defied a direct order. It was fucking hilarious. Didn't even take your clothes, just left them in the cargo bay. I don't think I've laughed that hard since."

They breathe in silence for a very long moment.

Lovelace opens her eyes, slowly, like it takes every ounce of energy she possesses, and she focuses on his face. Actually seeing him, not just looking through him. "Officer Eiffel," she says, calm and formal and resigned. "So you've come to haunt me, too? I'm afraid you'll have to get in line."

"I'm not--" He frowns. "Captain, I'm here."

"The shuttle exploded, Eiffel. Even if Minkowski and Hera weren't lying about radio contact with you after the bomb went off, it still pushed you out into deep space." Another weak laugh. "I pushed you out into deep space. It's been... months? A year? If I didn't kill you, I let you die, and that's even worse."

"You didn't, though. I survived the explosion. I survived what came after it, too." Her expression crumples, and Eiffel continues quickly, "I mean, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, I christened it the good ship Horrible Unending Nightmare for a reason, and like... the nightmares haven't ended but the Nightmare did, y'know? It's over. A tiny speck of radioactive space junk, floating in the void. I have fingernails again, and my hair grew back, and sometimes I can wake up in the morning without tasting cryo in the back of my throat! And all of that's because I'm alive." He takes a deep breath. "And I'm alive, in part, because of you."

"What?" So small and strangled it's barely a word.

"Jesus, Captain, what do you think kept me going all those whatever-hundred days?" A bit of a humorless laugh. "Something goes horribly wrong and it's Minkowski reciting Pryce & goddamn Carter in my head. I'm staring down the barrel of one hundred days of food and six thousand years of distance and you're there telling me to quit whining and survive already. Every time I wanted to give up, and it was, it was, it was a lot of times, I'd think of you and Minkowski and Hera holding things together with sheer stubbornness, and I'd think of the person you guys deserve to have out here with you, and I'd try to get within a light year of being that person. And it worked. I'm not dead."

He stretches a hand across the corridor, and she stares at it for a long second, and she reaches out cautious and trembling, and she gives a tiny sob and seizes it tight when their skin makes contact.

"You're not dead," Lovelace chokes out, gripping his hand even tighter, and wow okay semi-heroic speeches aside he hasn't magically stopped being a wimp and this is really starting to hurt. "Oh, God, that's right, you're not dead. We thought you were for months and there was no contact from Command and then you stepped out of the Douchebag Express looking like a fucking skeleton but you weren't and there's-- there's SI-5 and secrecy again and paranoia again and planning again and something went wrong, it went really wrong, Kepler was going to shoot you, Kepler-- he-- I--"

"I would love to fill you in on the details, Captain," Eiffel says with only the slightest manliest hint of strain, "the very second you stop grinding my bones to make your bread."

She laughs at that, nearly manic, and lets go of him to fold her arms over her chest. He rubs his palms together, casually stretching the one she crushed.

"Okay. Um. I'm not really sure how to say this, so, kind of stalling to be honest. Hera, can we get a quick status update?"

"Turbulence appears to have settled down for now," she says, sounding a bit more like herself. "Nothing else is really... happening? Commander Minkowski's still got a gun on Kepler and Kepler's still got his stupid smile and Jacobi kind of... looks like he's about to throw up, maybe. I'm pretty sure that's the face he's making? He's really hard to read."

Lovelace's expression snaps into focus. "Wait, where's Maxwell? She's the most dangerous--"

"Yyyeah." Eiffel hunches his shoulders. "Not... not anymore."

"Oh." She closes her eyes briefly. "I know you didn't want anyone to die, but--"

"It's--" a heavy swallow-- "fine, Captain."

She gives him a look, but lets the subject drop. "Anyone else?"

"Hilbert."

Lovelace blinks. "That man's a cockroach. Are you sure he's dead?"

"Well, Jacobi got to him with explosives and kept the comms open, so, yeah, we're pretty goddamn sure."

"God." She scrubs at the back of her neck. "This is... Please don't take this the wrong way, or tell anyone else, but I sort of... lose time, every now and then? But this is a lot of time. It's never been more than an hour before, I don't think, but now-- The last thing I remember is being chained up in the Urania's armory, and then I think I was in the Hephaestus cargo bay but everything's so hazy until a couple minutes ago when you were talking about the shuttle. What, um, what happened?"

Eiffel clears his throat and looks down at the floor. "Okay. Previously on the Mutiny Fuckup Power Hour: We get taken hostage by Jacobi and brought to Kepler in the Urania's armory. Maxwell messes with Hera and forces her to tell them Minkowski and Hilbert's position, but Hera manages to warn them and they get away from Jacobi into the air vents. Guess all that plant monster hunting was good for something, eh? They split up--Minkowski goes after Maxwell in the bridge, Hilbert goes after the napalm. Minkowski takes Maxwell hostage. Hilbert is... not so successful. They... they had the room bugged, and they knew about everything, and Jacobi packed the floor full of C-4 with a remote detonator. He wants Maxwell's release in exchange for Hilbert's life. Minkowski doesn't budge. Jacobi blows up Hilbert. Minkowski shoots Maxwell. Kepler demands her surrender. Minkowski and Hera put the ship in a decaying orbit. Kepler gives up because, crazy as he is, I guess he's not suicidal. So, uh, there we are. Bad guys handcuffed in the cargo bay. Good guys won. Yippee."

"Hm." She stares off into space for a short while, then looks back at him with a small frown. "You're leaving something out. Where was I during all this? Still with you and Kepler in the Urania's armory?"

"...Yeeeeees? Yes. That is where you were."

Lovelace narrows her eyes. "Officer Eiffel you are the worst liar I have ever met and I worked with Lambert for chrissakes. Tell me the truth."

"I did!" He hunches his shoulders even further.

"Eiffel..." she says warningly. When he doesn't respond, she cocks her head to the side. "Okay, then. What was I doing? What was I saying?"

"Um, a lot of really cool and badass stuff that made Kepler cry?"

"Eiffel I swear to God I will get a real answer if I have to rip it out of you with my bare hands--"

"Nothing, okay? You were doing nothing." He buries his face in his hands. "You were doing nothing because you got shot. That's why Minkowski took the napalm route. Kepler shot you and gave her an ultimatum."

"Wait, what?" Lovelace looks down at herself. "Where? I feel fine."

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to be really calm, and openminded, because I am absolutely telling the truth this time even though it sounds completely crazy--"

"Eiffel!"

"In the head. Point blank. I was right there." He screws his eyes shut. When nothing happens, he cracks them back open to see Lovelace staring at him flatly.

"That's not possible."

"Yeah, well, you know what else isn't possible?" he says with a bitter laugh. "Sentient plants forming their own religion. A red dwarf up and turning blue. Friggin' aliens beaming out classical music whenever they're not busy copying people's voices and memories. This star does nothing but redefine 'possible'."

"No, no, you must've... seen something different. There's no way I could--" Her voice cuts off abruptly, and he has to watch the horrified realization settle over her face.

"Yep." Eiffel tips his head back against the wall. "You were dead, Captain Lovelace, for hours. I got a... body bag out of the lab, put you in it myself. That's why we were all in the cargo bay. For your funeral. And then, ten minutes ago, you started gasping for breath. Kepler knows all about it, apparently, because of course he does."

There's a hand clamped over her mouth, and she's shaking her head slowly, and her eyes are wide and terrified. "No. You're wrong. I'm-- I'm normal. I feel normal. I've been back on the Hephaestus for two years, there's no way I could be--"

He shrugs and looks away. "The Jacobi outside the craft that one time sure sounded like he felt normal."

A sharp intake of breath. "Oh, God, you're right. You're being honest, God, I'm not even real--"

"No! No, stop that, that's not the point." Eiffel's eyes flick back to her, and he almost looks angry. "We already just lost you, we're not going to lose you again."

"If what you're saying is true, you never had me in the first place!" A little hysterical laugh bubbles up. "I-- Lovelace probably did die in the star, and then the--God, this is ridiculous--the aliens spat me back out for whatever goddamn reason. You've never even met Lovelace."

"I've met you." The tension makes him jittery. Every word has the potential to blow up in his face and he's never been good at this. "No matter what the hell Kepler says, you're-- I've been thinking, well, I am thinking right now because this is all happening really fast and it's just that-- You. The person three feet away from me. I met you when you stepped off your terrible duct-tape shuttle already planning eight steps ahead of the rest of us. When you were putting a ship made of cannibalized space station and righteous fury back together and making it work. When you were telling horrible jokes, and saving my life, and saving Minkowski's life. Beating Kepler at his own game. Keeping calm through every stupid crisis that pops up on this useless tin can. Whether you were born on Earth or space-Xeroxed two years ago doesn't matter. I know you."

"Nice speech and all, but you can't just--" Lovelace makes a frustrated abortive gesture before falling back, all her fear suddenly drained into exhaustion. "You have to be wondering why I'm here. Why they'd go through all the trouble of putting me together, putting my shuttle together, pushing me back to the Hephaestus. Sticking me in your midst while they've got this, this contact event thing planned. I doubt I'm meant to be a peace offering."

"Yeah, okay, it's suspicious." He fists his hands in his hair. "Maybe you're some... alien sleeper agent, and when the contact event happens you'll go full Winter Soldier on our asses. But you know what else? Maybe Kepler and Jacobi will get free somehow, shoot us all, and book it out of here on the Urania's secret luxury escape pod. Or maybe Minkowski will finally snap and Here's Johnny her way around the station til she accidentally chops through the hull. Or maybe Maxwell left some virus buried in Hera's code that'll turn her into GLaDOS and I know there's no friggin' cake on board so don't even try that."

"We do what we must because we can," Hera chirps on cue.

It earns a shadow of a smile from Lovelace. "I've always wondered about that. Isn't GLaDOS, like," she waves a hand, "offensive to the AI community? Misrepresentation or something. All of them, SHODAN and HAL-9000 and that guy from I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream?"

"Actually," Hera says, almost prim, "I always found GLaDOS somewhat inspiring."

"That's..." Eiffel tips his head back and stares upward. "Hera, you make our oxygen. Please don't say things like that."

The shadow stretches into a tired grin. "Did you have a point to your little spiel about how everyone could murder everyone else, or are you up the stream-of-consciousness without a paddle as usual?"

He jabs a finger at her. "Excuse me, Captain, but there is always a point to my communications. Almost like I'm an officer of them, or something. Actually, I have three points. Number one: there are bigger problems right now, and we never know what's going on, and we're always flying blind, and that hasn't--" He stops abruptly and frowns. "...Well, I was about to say 'that hasn't killed us yet,' but all three of us currently present have been dead before, so, uh."

"Flawless delivery, Officer," Lovelace says dryly. "I see now why you're the communications expert for this mission. What a stellar job you're doing! I hate myself for that pun."

"No, no, hold on, I can salvage this. We're here, aren't we? More or less intact. Despite all kinds of fingers in our brains," he points at the ceiling, "and friggin' drowning in outer space, and bloodthirsty mutant viruses, and being stranded on a nonfunctional craft for a period of time that my sanity has deleted out of self-preservation," he flattens his hand on his chest, and then sweeps it toward her, "and you! I've known you for two years and I was gone for like half that time and I've still witnessed you shrug off a mountain of shrapnel to the guts and a gunshot to the face! Captain Lovelace I have personally heard your heart stop twice and it's still beating. The universe has thrown every stupid death it can cook up at us and we. are. here. So what if you're... whatever you are. The situation hasn't changed. We still have to figure out what to do about the contact event and how to get back to Earth, first of all."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Eiffel--"

"Still got two points to get through, please save all questions for the end of the presentation. Number two: you still eat and drink and sleep and feel things like you did before you popped out of a star in a magical girl transformation sequence on LSD or whatever the hell actually happened. And Hilbert operated on you pretty extensively due to the aforementioned shrapnel-in-guts incident. Wouldn't he have noticed if you were significantly different from a human being?"

"Counterpoint: I am significantly different from a human being in that you just watched me come back from the dead."

"Counter-counterpoint! That time when you dumped like twelve gallons of your own personal blood into my veins--"

"As opposed to what, my communal blood?"

"--and yet here I float, no telepathy or lasers shooting from my eyes or anything. Which, non-sarcastically, thanks, but also, sarcastically, thanks, because despite all the horrible Decima crap I am still thirteen years old and kind of want to be an X-Man. Blood transfusion by a secret alien is a much better superhero origin story than non-consensual medical experiments."

Lovelace buries her face in her hands, inhales, holds to a count of four, exhales. "Are you done?"

"Point number three!" Eiffel says loudly. "If there is anybody on this station who does not get to be the grand arbiter of the difference between a person and a thing, it's Colonel Goddamn Kepler. You think like Captain Lovelace. You act like Captain Lovelace. You remember being Captain Lovelace down to every tiny detail of, I don't know, the embarrassing thing that happened at your junior prom or whatever. Congratulations, you get to be Captain Lovelace now. Hera would've printed out your certificate but she's kind of busy keeping us from dying all the time. If your thoughts, your actions, your memories... If that's not what makes you you, what does?"

She's quiet for a minute. "I'm not gonna lie, being Captain Lovelace kind of sucks. Can I roll a different character?"

"Yeah, the backstory's a hell of a thing. On the plus side you've got the best stats by a mile and that was before your level-up bonus was revealed."

Lovelace snorts. "God, you're an idiot. How are you... How can you possibly be this chill about everything?"

"Oh, no no no no no, I'm not at all. I'm just so freaked out that it's looped back around to composure. You can fully expect a nervous breakdown in the next two to four business days."

"Well, at least we have that to look forward to." She drops the sarcasm and just looks at him, a little lost, a little vulnerable. "I'm. You can't ignore the fact that I'm not human."

"Okay, well," he rubs at the headache behind his eyes, "maybe that's true. But, like... the only thing that's gonna change is I'm more likely to hide behind you at sudden scary noises now."

"Eiffel, for God's sake, take this seriously," she snaps. "I could kill you."

"To be fair, Original Recipe Lovelace could probably have killed me too. I'm kind of the scrawny tech loser to the badass space commando thing you have going on."

"Eiffel--"

"I mean," Hera interrupts, slow and hesitant, "I'm not a human either, but I'm still... y'know, a person. An individual. A part of the crew. I think that's what he's trying to say? Maybe one day you'll kill us all but I've almost killed you all, like, a dozen times! Not to mention the fact that you've already tried to kill us all before. We got through that. We'll get through this."

Lovelace swallows and her hand goes to the spot on her arm where the dead-man's switch used to rest, an unconscious habit she seems to have picked up while Eiffel was off gallivanting through deep space. "I... okay," she says, taking a steadying breath. "Okay," she repeats, squaring her shoulders, gathering the pieces of her psyche and slotting them back into place til she's the same unstoppable force of nature that has held her position on this station for years despite every possible kind of turbulence. "Okay. If I walk back in there with a gun, Minkowski's gotta be jumpy enough to shoot on sight, and I'd rather not... test the limits of this regeneration-whatever more than I have to, yeah? So. Game plan?"

"Um." Eiffel ticks off on his fingers. "Give you a proper burial at sea, which has been taken off the docket for obvious reasons. Extract information from Kepler, filter out the bullshit which makes up at least 75% of what he's saying at any given moment so that should take way too long. Survive the contact event, which kind of sounds like it's about to start any second now. MacGyver the Urania back into flying shape. Get back to Earth. Kick Goddard Futuristics' ass--this'll be the climax of the third act, I'm thinking lots of cutting-edge laser guns and brutal hand-to-hand combat and Hera's got a super dramatic scene where she hacker-fights the evil AI at the center of the compound, it eats up most of our CGI budget but it's so worth it--and then we all walk away in slow motion as the building explodes and some really badass music plays. Then pizza? Definitely pizza at some point."

Lovelace gives him a look. "You're literally a child." He shrugs. "New game plan: don't die. It's a classic for a reason. Sound good, Hera?"

"I don't know, Captain, Eiffel's had me compiling a list of potential end credits songs for quite a while and I think I've got a pretty good set going..."

"Thank God someone's looking out for what's important," she says dryly, then heaves herself back towards the cargo bay. "Alright, kids, let's go. Time for me to meet my maker."

[midlifemom-blog1]

Three days ago I stopped drinking.  Am I an alcoholic?  No, but I drank every night.  Never got wasted, never missed work, never fought with my kids or my friends or my ex, never blacked out, didn’t gain weight.  Oh and I never drank before 5.  I exercise every day so always “sweat it out”, get my kids to school on time (well, mostly), get myself to work, to the gym, have healthy food on the table at least three times a day.  My kids do well in school, have friends, my house is clean, my car has gas in it, my kids clothes are clean….you get the gist.  So, why stop?  Because I REALLY didn’t want to.  Because I LOVE having wine at night.  I look forward to it.  It is a treat. Because I really like drinking and don’t want to give it up.  I could throw a tantrum about it!

I would tell myself that it wasn’t a problem. And it wasn’t in the typical way that it is for many alcoholics. But it is a habit. I didn’t like that I wouldn’t stop.  I would tell myself that I would, but then find an excuse to have “just a glass of wine”.  I deserve it.  I have two kids, I do 80% of the domestic part of raising them, am in the process of separating from my husband of 15 years, work for myself, exercise, am involved in their school….but they are all excuses.  I didn’t want to give up the habit.  It seems like such a lovely ritual, have a glass of wine while making dinner….  but when ritual becomes something you depend on….not so good.

 And it’s a depressant. Yes, it increases the likelihood of depression and I am already prone to depression and have a history of low grade depression.  Not the “can’t get out of bed, lost interest in things that you enjoy depressed” but more of a “going through the motions, know there is more, want to feel more, see more, do more, lethargic” kind of depressed

But I did it.  I’m on day 4. Has it been hard?  Yes. 

It coincidentally (or not) coincided with being sick.  My son got a wicked bad cold and was up in the middle of the night coughing (on me) so I got sick too.  I would have thought that being sick would take away the desire to drink. It didn’t.   I really wanted a maragarita to soothe the fire in my throat or a glass of wine to take the edge off.  Being sick didn’t help me not want to drink at all. But, in some ways being sick and feeling shitty is a good time to stop drinking because you already feel shitty so what’s a little more shitty? And which comes first feeling shitty and wanting a drink or drinking and then feeling shitty the next day? Yea, that depressant thing.

But I am finding my desire to keep going. To stay sober. Partly because now I have evidence that I actually can. I’m curious about what, if any, changes will come. I really haven’t noticed any remarkable results yet. One thing I have noticed is that I am remembering my dreams every night.  Maybe I was drinking to keep my dreams at bay?  Maybe my dreams have something to tell me? Maybe even something good?  Why do we resist the things we know are good for us and that would make us feel good?

At 8:30 last night after a day home with my sick son, picking up my daughter  and a few hours of work, I did feel slightly more present when my daughter was practicing her “TED talk”.  I didn’t have that sleepy, slightly checked out feeling.  Why wouldn’t I want to be more present for my daughter?  Maybe because being present is intense and requires tolerating feelings without finding a way to check out?

 Day 8.  It has definitely gotten easier.  But it is still not easy.  Yesterday was a hard day for me. Lots of feelings.  Last night would have been a perfect night to have some wine.  But I stayed sober.  SOBER. It’s such an interesting word. Not altered by substances.  But also very serious.  When something is sobering it really wakes you up to reality.   You “sober up” pretty quickly.  I can’t numb my feelings anymore when I’m not drinking.  And times are tough for me.

I have been in the process of separating from my husband for a year now.  We have been living in the same house and raising our children together.  We are really good at that.  But we sleep in separate rooms and have separate lives. We have two amazing children that we have parented well.  We are really good co-parents.  But not a great couple.  So we are separating.  It’s painful.  It’s scary.  It’s overwhelming.  It’s confusing.  Sometimes I don’t know if I am doing the right thing.  Sometimes I feel clear.  I often wonder why I am not more clear?  And then I think about my kids and I remember.  This is inevitably painful for them.  And I am inflicting this pain on them.  That’s a hard place to be as a parent.  The last thing I want to do is hurt them. I want to ease their pain.  And that I question too.  Life is painful and if they don’t learn how to deal with their pain, life is even harder.  That is why many people drink.  To numb the pain.  Maybe this is an opportunity to be with them in their pain and to help them learn ways to be with their pain compassionately.  We are all so scared of our pain, our instinct is to run from it, to numb it,  get as far away from it as possible.  We are so good at distracting ourselves.  But, ultimately the healing comes in being with the pain.  The joy comes in holding the hurt.  As Glennon Doyle Melton says “first the pain, then the rising” in her beautiful speech on Oprah’s SuperSoul Sessions. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpBnGHjda14

In some way, I think this is the ultimate life lesson.  Learning how to be compassionate with ourselves as we go through something that hurts. 

 My husband is planning to move out in the next few months.  There are times when I feel extreme relief at that thought.  The idea of having my own space not contaminated by his negative, low vibe energy.  But I love him and he is an amazing dad.  And he is my friend.  And no one knows my kids better.  And no one loves them more.  It’s scary.  When do we tell our kids?  A question I have given a lot of thought and  asked a lot of people about.  Not too much in advance so as not to add to a lengthy period of anxiety.  But not too close.  We want them to have time to process their feeling while he is still living here.  It’s gonna hurt.  I feel scared when I think about it. 

I think unconsciously I chose this time to get sober so that I could be really present for my kids.  To be able to be there for their feelings and my own. 

Why am I separating?  Because I am not happy in my marriage.  Because I don’t feel deeply connected to my husband.  Because I want something different.  Because we have struggled for a long time.  We have been in couples therapy three different times.  We have tried to make it work.  It just doesn’t feel right.  I want to live a higher vibe life.  To vibrate at a higher frequency.  To be elevated. 

Day 20.

I had some wine last night! It was great!

I went over to a friend’s house.  I needed it.  Wanted it.  I’m not sure why.  I sat with my feelings for a couple hours and still wanted to drink.  What was I feeling?  Insecure.  Scared. It started around 4. I sat with me feelings.  Drank some coffee. Had a snack.  Still wanted wine.  Went over to a friends house and she graciously offered me a glass of crisp cold sauvignon blanc, my favorite.  I had another glass of wine at home with my kids and we had a great night together.  Do I regret it?  Not really.  Will I get back on the wagon?  Maybe….

Ugh. This week sucked so badly.  SO BADLY! But alas….I am coming out of the hazy foggy shit of it……

A couple things I have been reminded of….things do pass and listen to your gut…

So, as far as the drinking, remember that one night where I drank with my friend?  Well, it turned into 4 days with two drinks a day….

The next day was my good friend’s daughters bat mitzvah and I had a couple glasses of wine there which was fun.  The next night, not so good…..I drank at home alone which I am realizing is the thing I want to stop for sure.  Didn’t get drunk, didn’t do anything “bad” but it is a waste…..next night out with friends for dinner and had two drinks.  The night was very reassuring and good in the sense that I have amazing people in my life who are here to support me.  I repeat…I have amazing people in my life who are here to support me.  My friends encouraged moderate drinking when out with friends but no drinking at home alone and no drinking every night.  So,…..I am now on day 4 of no drinking and it is feeling right.  One of the things I noticed after four days of drinking is a kind of “creping” of my eyelids which I am already self conscious of.  I feel as though as I age that is the spot on my body where I see the most aging.  So, out of vanity I am definitely cutting back on the wine.  I feel like my eyes look better as the days of not drinking increase.  So, for now, I am going to experiment.  I will see what drinking one night looks like the next day…..but I am committed to not drinking at home alone. 

The other thing that happened this week had to do with work.  Someone entered my practice who did not mix well with me.  Our energy was no good and if I wasn’t worried about money I might have been able to tune into that better.  But because I need money, I took her on….and it wasn’t good.  She is gone now and I am super grateful for that.  It is a good lesson.  The universe is good. 

Thank you universe for re-affirming my faith.  I am grateful to have my faith restored to me. 

I am grateful that the weekend is here. 

 Fast forward a few months…..not drinking again….this time its been a week.  I feel better.  Last time I was slightly underwhelmed by how I felt.  I expected to feel much better and I didn’t.  This time, I am aware of how much prettier I am when I’m not drinking.  I wake up feeling as though I look better, no puffy eyes, no bags under my eyes, no obvious signs of dehydration.  Vanity?  Seems as good of a reason as any.  Drinking isn’t the only thing I have given up.  I have also given up/ sworn of/ detoxing from…..dating apps.  Ugh.  Another love/hate relationship for me.  I have been single for a year and a half now, single as in “separated from my husband, so I am not cheating” single.  The dating apps have been a mixed bag for me.  I have met some nice guys and had some fun.  One guy I even dated for 4 months.  He was really nice and I think restored some faith that I could/would ever meet someone again.  But ultimately he wasn’t the guy for me.  After him, I decided I just wanted someone to have sex with, no strings attached, friend with benefits…..but that has its own share of complications.  It is all so complicated.  And it takes a ton of energy! And a lot of the time I feel like shit while I’m doing it, the swiping that is.  I swipe right and he doesn’t, he swipes right and I’m not interested.  So why do it? ????? Because it, like drinking, is really insidious.  It gets under your skin.  Hope! I might meet someone! And it’s a distraction.  I would check the apps like I check my phone. It’s addictive.  None of it was feeling good anymore.  I want to be present for my life.  I want to show up.  I want to feel good.