#do NOT need to match length!

[xflashbastardx]

closed starter for @ofginjxints

When Aziraphale had left, naturally, Crowley had first tried to drown his heartbreak in alcohol. After all, he'd been using it to try to numb his feelings for the angel for centuries, why wouldn't he turn to it now? But apparently getting blackout drunk didn't help the way it used to. Before, he would drink and maybe pass out for a few days, but he'd always awaken with the knowledge that he could saunter into the bookshop and at least be near him. But now that he was gone, now that Crowley had well and truly lost him, that wasn't enough. And it certainly didn't help matters that he no longer had to only imagine the feel of the angel's lips; he knew it. He knew it and it drove him half mad with longing and heartache.

He needed to forget. And if booze wasn't going to do the trick, something else would have to.

At some point, his regular outings to bars and clubs had turned into desperate searches for someone, anyone, that could make him forget how miserably in love he was with someone who had left him behind with apparent ease. Easier said than done, it seemed. Oh, it was easy enough to find humans that wanted him. The hard part was achieving what he'd set out to do and forget. Even for a short time.

Rarely did it ever progress beyond wandering hands and clumsy, desperate lips, but even when it did, Crowley couldn't shake images of him from his mind. Maybe it would have been easier if he didn't keep choosing men with pale curls or soft, cherubic features. But he couldn't help it; he knew what he wanted, and if he couldn't have that, he'd take the closest thing available.

It never really worked, but bless it, Crowley was nothing if not persistent. Which was why he was once again in a dimly-lit booth in the back of one of Soho's many bars with a man who looked familiar but not familiar enough. With lips on his neck, a hand on his thigh, and nearly a full bottle's worth of whiskey in his bloodstream, he could almost make himself forget about the one he wished was touching him.

[sennenpharaoh]

@flamesignite

It had been a week since his burns have happened and now with the sudden jabbing pain to his side, he had to act. While he originally intended to just allow the burns to his face to heal naturally, for some reason they just... wouldn't go away. Maybe he was using the wrong ointment? Who knows, he was certainly not a doctor.

Alright, suppose he might as well try to heal them himself, or at the very least heal the burns. He did it to his hand a while back, surely it could work on his face as well. One would only hope.

Standing across from the mirror in his bedroom he took a look at his reflection, the burned marks on his face standing out now more than ever. Were they always this bad? He remembered that they were discomforting enough that he for some reason always felt the need to itch, but seeing it in front of him was... huh.

Okay, let's do this.

He pulled out a card from his deckbox. A healing card, one he had been using quite a bit often as of recently, and closed his eyes, preparing the spell. That's when he heard it.

"You IDIOT!!!"

Atem's eyes snapped wide open, immediately recognizing the voice. It was his Colonel's, filled with anger. Anger that he was looking for, but not for the reason he originally wanted.

That's right. The burns on his face were of his own doing, when he tricked-- no, manipulated Roy into snapping so that he could burn himself with his own card, seemingly catching Roy's "anger" for the events of Death Valley. He remembers that night vividly. The yelling, the fighting back and forth, but most of all... not just the anger in his Colonel's voice... but the pain.

That's right. I hurt him.

He lowered the hand holding his card to his side

I manipulated him. I forced him to attack me, all because I wanted him to punish me. I didn't want him to forgive me, I wanted him to be angry. But instead I hurt him. I'm no better than... than him.

He continued to look at the mirror, specifically the burns to his face, though it was obvious to anyone that he was starting to tremble.

I did the exact same thing Haga did to me... played with his emotions behind a false card. How could I have been so stupid?! I remember exactly how it felt when Haga did this to me, and yet I did the exact... same... thing... to Roy. He was right, you are an idiot!

A pause before he looked at the card in his hand.

I can't just... magic this away. I can't just magic these burns, and the hurt I did to him away! I can't! What I did wasn't okay! None of what I did was in any way okay! Actions. Have. Consequences!

Then his eyes trailed back to the mirror, although his vision seemed a bit... foggier than usual. A bit blurry, one might say--

Oh. Oh no you don't.

"You have no right." He scolded, though the only one in the room was himself. "All this time and now you decide you want to cry about it? The time to hide behind those tears left a long time ago when you felt his rage after what you did. Hell it took you to watch your duel against Haga for it to even stick, so don't you dare even try to cry about it now. You have no right. Not after what you've done. You hurt him. You did this to him."

He felt a sting to his cheeks, causing him to shut his eyes, which unfortunately allowed the tears that were building in his eyes to finally fall, making the skin sting even more as they ran over his burn. A horrible cycle. A punishing cycle, one could say. Fitting, as he hurt his Colonel's emotions with that foolish act, so should his emotions harm himself.

At least he was quiet enough, right? Maybe... no one would see him like this?

[councillor-roland]

closed starter for @adrasian

What had it been now, two weeks? A little more? It felt closer to three but then it also felt like an eternity since last he'd seen or held Rhys. The angry episodes were fewer and further between now, the rage mostly having spent itself and now there was just...emptiness. It wasn't numbness, not quite, that might have been welcomed. Instead it was like he existed in a sort of void where colours, sounds, sensations, everything was dulled. He had little motivation to do much of anything, though he was mechanically doing his job, making sure thing still ran, even if he took work calls with video turned off sitting in a robe at his desk. There were still meetings to attend and he dressed himself impeccably with far more effort than it should've taken. Roland felt weighted down, the sadness, the loneliness, and the longing seemed to have some sort of anchor in his chest that kept him pinned. Often times he found himself at the piano and there was a little brightness there, he still played with passion, he couldn't not. More often, though, he sat on one of the couches and put records on, smoking endless cigarettes and just listening to the music. He felt dulled and yet at the same time there were still sharp edges to the emotions if he got too close to them.

The suite was more in disarray than it had been as well. Normally, Roland kept everything tidy, or at least made sure to let the staff in to do their regular cleaning but no one had been allowed in his suite for some time outside of invitation. There were still shards of glass on the floor from where he'd thrown drinking glasses against the wall, broken pieces of porcelain, a scratched and blood stained couch that he'd at least pushed back into a corner but he hadn't cared to have it cleaned yet, if it could even be salvaged. Roland would probably just get rid of it. Overflowing ashtrays littered the surface of several tables beside dirty wine glasses. One of the things that helped, or sort of helped, was having the slaves come up as distractions. Even then, Roland was different with them, much less teasing, confident and playful than usual, just quieter, a little more needy and desperate. It disconcerted some to the point where they didn't even have sex, their behaviour influenced by his mood enough to turn Roland off and send them away though that was rare. He fed, if nothing else, even if he didn't end up sleeping with them, that was something. Still, he even had fewer slaves to his suite than he used to and hadn't been down to the Undercroft himself to pick them, having them sent up instead.

Tonight was one such night. Part of the distraction of having the slaves here was a kind of pretend companionship that helped ease the loneliness a little. The slaves that did stay, that he took to bed, Roland ended up keeping for some time afterwards just to hold them, just to be close. Adrasia hadn't allowed that last time but Roland wouldn't give him much choice tonight. Rather than wait at the door, he waited in his bedroom, clad in a robe, having told the guards to escort the celestial right to the bedroom and then leave. They'd just done that and were gone, the celestial standing before him as Roland looked at him, hands in his pockets, probably looking as dull as he felt but he forced a small smile anyway. "Hello." It was quiet, already a contrast to how he'd greeted Adrasia the last couple times he'd been in the suite. "It seemed easier to bring you straight here."

[lilacheavns]

closed starter for @tinkrbell.

a weekend getaway to her father’s lake house sounded like the perfect remedy for the stressful week she’d had. wedding planning had already begun and it was definitely taking a toll on her. her brain had been busy figuring out what aesthetic they wanted, what flowers would look best, what catering company to go with, what flavour cake they should pick—the list was endless. there was so much fuss about something she still didn’t completely know she was ready for. she hopes this trip will help with that and that the fresh pine scented air would ease her mind a little. it won’t be all pleasure though, she knows she still needs to let the cat out of the bag and finally tell alex about the engagement. she’d been putting it off for some time, she was so worried about how he’ll react to it. briar chews nervously on her bottom lip as she thinks about it, palms getting sweaty at just the thought. she’s pulled out of her thoughts by her fiancé’s voice, their car pulling into the driveway of the house. alex’s car is parked next to them, the familiar sight of it bringing a smile to her face. they hadn’t seen nearly as much of each other since she got into this relationship and she felt guilty about it—she never wanted him to feel like anything but her priority. her partner parks the car and she jumps out, eyes settling on her bestfriend. “well howdy there, stranger!” she cooes, rushing up to him to wrap him in a tight bear hug. “was the drive down okay?”

[denverneumann]

It was with not just a little bit of trepidation that Denver took her first steps into the Tower since she'd been escorted out. It hadn't even been that long ago. Snow, what had it been, a week? Two? Time seemed to be in a state of flux, or else a kind of liminal stasis. In a world without Games there were no bookends to the seasons, no touchstones upon which to ground one's sense of reality. And what a painful reality it had been. But Denver had been promised it would be okay this time. She was going to be okay. She had walked in through the front door, and no one had arrested her yet. Besides, even if someone didn't believe she was here on business, she was still just a low-level loyalist. A rich girl without a rich name to back her up. She'd be safe.

Her kiosk was gone. Denver wondered idly as she passed where it had once stood if there had been any satisfaction in tearing it down. Her manager was dead, she was certain. As best as she'd been able to gather, all of the upper management for the Hunger Games Museum were dead.

She walked in nearly a straight line until she reached the back of the Tower, a window in one of the old lounges. No arrest. She was okay. She sighed at that, a mix of relief and sheer uncertainty, and took a seat. She pulled out her notebook and a pen, lucky finds from the BEEF gift shop, and started taking notes of the world around her. So wrapped up in her observations was she, so bent on mastering the art of recording history as it was actually happening, that she'd missed someone coming up to her until she felt the presence right by her side. She jolted up, startled.

"Hi," she said, resisting the urge to insist she was allowed to be there. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was there. You must have quiet feet or something." She gave a laugh and a smile, but gripped her pen tighter.

[apalestar]

@galefcrce plotted starter.

An eventful evening not for the soiree or clandestine deals Astarion had in store. No, tonight his palace played host to a friend of old. Admittedly, he and Gale had not ended off on the best of terms. A lover scorned and all. Already a small entourage of Baldur's Gate richest and finest had gathered. The palace had never been more livelier.

And many of Cazador's old clients and connections were all too eager to latch onto another influential person. The infamous moniker attached to his name: Hero of the Gate. Who could resist not coming to his social events? And how foolish Duke Ravengard had been to give him a noble's title! It made him respectable even if the eyes of those who knew him when he was but his slave.

This was the crux of why he even considered extending his lover of old an invitation. Gale wanted something from him; a deal. Something of import for him in exchange for magical tomes the late bastard Szarr kept in his collections. All were property of Lord Ancunín now, of course.

The musicians played a classical tune meant for partnered dancing. The wine and hors d'oeuvres flowed from the kitchens. A perfect evening for playing nobility's game.

Astarion's chamberlain, a slight thing of a woman, approached him. One of the few mortal servants in the household. Every vampire needed at least one for appearances. "My Lord, your guest of honor has arrived." She spoke quietly only once he signaled for her to do so.

"Splendid. The highlight of my evening barring any assassinations. Those always make for an entertaining affair." Astarion dismissed her. He weaved himself in and out of the crowd dodging conversations with a polite, well-practiced smile. His roguish tendencies hadn't diminished since the fall of the cult.

"Gale of Waterdeep." He greeted with the same fervor any good patriar would of an old friend; even one as estranged as him. "So pleased I am to—" A pause. "—see you. I'd fear you'd be half dead before you came to chat."

[innerbeast]

so short was his reprieve. he could almost forgive the spinning of his head once feeling a familiar tug and sway behind himself, a freedom to his thoughts he'd come to miss. but what was spirale city if not a place to pluck one from their comforts?

for no sooner had he expelled a sigh of relief towards some normalcy, did he feel himself lurch forward with an upsetting, familiar dizziness.

there's was a subtle hope it was merely a wave of nausea, an after effect of the prior switch. perhaps he was too eager with such wishful thinking. this was no sickness, just that same soul-gripping tug he had felt before; a sense of grounding becoming non-existent as the world around went black.

...

dizziness followed him once dar'khol was able to open his eyes again. already he was aware of an unfamiliar cieling, a few blinks given to try and determine if he could brush the whole thing away with an adjustment of sight. to no such luck. this was more than some bad dream, he was experiencing a new page of that three-eyed beasts game.

with a grown he's pushing himself up, hand rubbing at his face before running it back through a longer set of hair. for a moment, he finds himself pausing with a palm-ful; staring at the hair and the hand that held it. that's when eyes shifted to the side, the sound of something moving nearby catching his attention.

one might think his heart had stopped with how quickly he froze up.

"repede...?" the miqo'te's voice ( not really his, was it? ) left him quietly; a breath of disbelief as the dogs single eye stared back. there was a look of confusion that they seemed to mirror for a moment, broken by a questioning 'grruff?'.

"shit." perhaps not the most helpful choice of word, but there was a clear panic etched into the stare he gave. realization could not have hit him any harder, the fact emotions could run so vividly like this, too -- not at all stunted like he'd put up with prior.

"sorry, boy," dar finally muttered to the companion he was left with, "afraid i'm not exactly the guy i'm all dolled up to be." though partially awkward, at least he could talk fairly freely, but that wasn't important right now.

sliding from the bed he'd awoken on he was making quick work onto his feet, a hand instinctively reaching for a sword kept nearby. dar'khol held no intention of needing it, yet this body held enough of a routine regarding it. guess he was taking it with him.

"i have a sneaking suspicion where he might be, though." repede offered him another stare, something about it holding a sense of understanding to it. dar found himself rather thankful for it, all things considered.

briefly does the idea strike him to utilize yuri's phone; to give his own a ring to check in... but there's a sense of hesitation. something about it seemed different, yet familiar to how he's felt since they last interacted. no -- no, surely that's just his own still peaking through.

" -- c'mon." forget the phone idea, he knew were he needed to go and repede seemed willing enough to follow.

-- @darkenforcer

[entriprises]

limbs jerking, he moves against the mattress with a start. so close to sleeping through till morning, bradley’s out of luck for another night. managing to fall asleep as quick as he did a couple hours ago was all false hope. 

hand wrapping around his wrist, bradley expects to meet the cold glass of his watch, but under his fingertips is just skin. the watch he means to twist is on the nightstand. his hand rubs at his temples instead, thumb and middle finger on either side pressing before his palm just rests flat on his forehead.

hand slipping down to the side of his neck, bradley turns his head expecting to see bob asleep beside him. instead, he’s met with the sight of an empty bed. it’s not a concern, at first. he guesses bob’s slipped off to the bathroom, and uses the moment of privacy to pull himself upright and try to push through the groggy fog of nerves that’s become increasingly familiar to him. it’s not a familiarity he enjoys. he feels tense, shaken.

when minutes continue to pass, and bob still hasn’t returned, the nerves start to take a worser turn. bradley pushes the blankets away, rising out of bed to find the other and navigate through the darkness of the space. the journey to the door is not without a little grumble and ow when he kicks some dark blob. eventually he makes it to bob's living room where he's not particularly surprised to see bob hunched over on the couch with the light on -- he's only relieved.

a not so little not so surprise starter for bob / @fyrewalks

[kimuraren]

» o'shea's. with @clementinebriar !

“You sound like you have marshmallows in your mouth, dude,” Ren said, absently picking at his nails in the low din of the bar as he waited for Clem to show up for her shift. It wasn’t a surprise, behavior wise, even considering all of Ren’s father’s issues with drinking— the boy hadn’t inherited his father’s addictive personality (or so he told himself) and between that and his insistent chain smoking habit, well, it was safe to say the mechanic wasn’t all that concerned with the state of his health. He’d only live once, after all. 

He tuned back in to the conversation— Ruairi’s low grumbling on the other end of the call earning a grin from him regardless of the fact that the Irishman couldn’t see him. “Don’t be a dickhead, mate, I’m just trying to practice!” Ruairi exclaimed, the sound of papers shuffling distantly somewhere in the background. “You’re just a little rusty, bro, I wouldn’t trip about it,” he assured his friend with a low laugh. “You can get all of your questions out while I wait for Clem and then I gotta go,” he reminded Ruairi, dark eyes shifting around the bar lazily— like he had all the time in the world to find his friend and time enough to make that count for something. 

“Yeah, yeah. Why are we friends again? I’m gettin’ bullied within an inch of my bloody life these days,” Ruairi grumbled in a tone Ren could only describe as fond. He laughed outright— earned a few looks from the other bar patrons that he waved off with a crooked smile and a wiggle of his fingers; he assumed half of the confused looks were from people he’d known his whole life— who still looked at him and saw the little boy who’d hid behind his mother’s legs to avoid conversations with strangers when Moriko had still been alive. “We’re friends ‘cause I’m real cute and you’re not immune to it, man, I hate to break it to you,” Ren teased, glancing over when the door opened and grinning broadly at the sight of his best friend. “Yo, Ror, I gotta go. I’ll text you later, yeah? Give the kiddo a hug for me!” He ended the call half a second after Ruairi’s goodbye and all but vaulted from his chair to greet Clem. “Hey, gorgeous! You mind if I hang out with ya tonight? No one’s breakin’ down the door for drinks so I figured I could get away with it, right? Plus, if I let it go too long I’m gonna forget what you look like and that’d be a shame,” he declared with a dramatic sigh, slinging his arm around her shoulders and pressing an affectionate but more than a little annoying kiss to the side of her head as he went.

[dechevaliers]

Location: Outside the Daily Grind Open to all!

Laurent had never been so broke. Not since he was a kid.

He thought of his Greco-roman style Villa, the one he had left behind in Monaco and almost just started weeping. He thought of the pool and the courtyard, and the fact that he had staff. God he missed having people to do things for him. How he fucking missed having a maid. There was no way he was able to afford one now and who knew using a vacuum could be so frustrating.

With a slim folder full of sheet music tucked under his arm, Laurent was scowling like a leopard with a headache when she reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette. He was just bougie enough to have his own little slim metal case, the kind that even had a space for your zippo if you were so inclined. Laurent was a matches kind of guy though.

Laurent had the cigarette between his teeth, hands cupped around the end to spare himself a non-light situation and was half contemplating a latte when he dropped his folder. The thing was zipped tight, thank god, so nothing went scattering but still. Laurent dropped his head back and had a vicious and violent thought that did little to calm the tension curling like vines around his bones. He wanted to start screaming.

He sucked hard on the cigarette and with his pride long abandoned, bent down to pick up his belongings.

[cnlyfans]

continued from ( x )

there's  a  comforting  lull  between  them  as  the  two  sat  closely  against  the  cushions  of  his  couch  ,  attention  transfixed  on  images  of  ghostface  flashing  over  the  screen  .  they'd  seen  this  film  a  hundred  times  it  seemed  ,  as  it  was  one  of  the  only  he  still  owned  on  dvd  .  cable  had  been  cut  off  months  ago  and  he  didn't  have  the  extra  funds  to  restore  it  ,  having  lost  his  job  a  few  weeks  prior  to  the  bill  .  it  wasn't  in  the  plan  ,  none  of  this  was  ,  but  he  was  doing  his  best  to  keep  her  entertained  despite  it  all  .  putting  on  movies  ,  bringing  her  books  ,  cooking  together  every  chance  they  got  which  admittedly  ,  wasn't  as  much  as  he'd  like  .    his  savings  account  was  quickly  depleting  and  every  day  that  he  wasn't  working  felt  like  a  weight  against  his  chest  ,  crushing  his  spirit  and  making  it  difficult  to  breathe  .  he  hadn't  told  her  just  how  bad  it  was  and  didn't  intend  to  .  as  far  as  she  was  concerned  ,  her  belly  was  always  full  and  he  was  around  more  to  add  enrichment  to  her  otherwise  lonely  life  —  or  so  he  thought  .  her  words  ,  the  request  ,  seemed  to  say  otherwise  .  concentration  breaks  and  in  a  slow  tip  of  his  chin  ,  he's  finding  her  gaze  in  the  soft  glow  radiating  from  the  tv  .  she's  wearing  a  look  he  recognizes  ,  one  he'd  seen  many  times  before  ...  desperation  .  lips  pull  into  a  tight  line  ,  disappointment  quite  apparent  .  eleven  months  of  conditioning  learning  one  another  in  every  sense  of  the  word  and  still  she  has  the  impulse  to  reach  for  her  past  .  to  ask  for  the  one  thing  he'd  explicitly  denied  her  of  over  and  over  again  .  drue  had  been  exceptionally  lenient  with  her  in  contrast  to  those  who  came  before  but  there  was  one  ,  singular  line  he  was  unwilling  to  cross  .  this  was  it  .  this  was  the  line  .  "  you  want  to  leave  me  ,  "  it  isn't  a  question  so  much  as  a  conclusion  .  why  else  would  she  risk  undoing  all  of  their  progress  ?  he  was  finally  beginning  to  trust  her  .  had  been  convinced  that  she  loved  him  ,  that  she  wanted  to  be  here  with  him  .  and  just  like  that  his  doubts  about  her  intentions  are  tenfold  .  he  untangles  himself  from  her  ,  recoiling  to  the  edge  of  the  couch  where  he'll  rest  his  elbows  against  the  area  above  his  knees  .  allows  himself  a  moment  to  consider  the  request  once  more  before  shaking  his  head  no  .  "  we've  been  over  this  —  no  contact  .  not  now  ,  not  ever  .  this  isn't  just  for  your  benefit  ,  but  for  theirs  .  it's  been  almost  a  year  ,  dakota  .  they're  finally  coming  to  terms  with  the  loss  .  what  good  would  it  do  to  tear  open  the  wound  knowing  you  can't  give  them  what  they  want  ?  "  which  was  to  see  her  again  ,  to  bring  her  home  .  he  scoffs  .  over  his  dead  fucking  body  . / @svftlove

[stolenslumber]

hang your head low in the glow (pjs)

In this moment, you’re glad that you’re anchored in his lap, because otherwise you think you might float away into the night sky, on your way to join the stars in the cosmos. Jay is so crushingly sweet; sometimes, you just don’t know what to do with the weight of all his sincerity. For now, you settle for a fervent, “I like you so much.”

OR: A selection of moments in between the parentheses at the end of devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes (some things may not make sense without reading that first, but it's up to you!).

PAIRING: park jongseong x female reader GENRE: established relationship, fwp (fluff without plot), no like seriously this is just straight up fluff and romance and making out with scant narrative WARNINGS: swearing, kms/kys jokes, kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes WORD COUNT: 10k (derogatory)

to all the boys i’ve fake-dated before (you, jay, sunghoon, yeonjun, chan, vernon, mark, and 5 others)

jay: peace out losers (except for my REAL gf whom i adore and cherish)

*jay has left the chat*

sunghoon: omfg no way???? jay bitchless era no more?

you: are u calling me a bitch

sunghoon: NOOOO i would never haha btw do u still talk to my sister

you: yeah

sunghoon: right so i’m just ur humble liege

chan: congrats, you two! well i guess jay can’t see this

you: i will accept your congratulations on his behalf :DD i’m really happy you guys 

mark: stop i’ll cry

vernon: no rly i’m next to him rn and he’s tearing up

mark: they deserve it so much!!! after everything i put them through 

you: excuse me it was mostly me

you: all jay did was orchestrate an elaborate scheme to get you and mina together (okay so he did a lot)

you: but we ALL participated

you: and i had to pretend to DATE you

mark: only for like two hours!!!!

yeonjun: wait this reminds me i’ve always wanted to know what ur ranking of us as fake bfs would be

you: in first place: park jongseong

yeonjun: and then?

yeonjun: hello??????

“Can I ask you something?”

Jay turns his head to you. “Of course, baby.”

Baby. Hearing it still makes you all silly and giddy, though it’s been four days since you started dating him for real and hearing it all the time. Baby, doll, Cinderella, mine. He sure has a way with words. You clear your throat, hoping that your voice won’t crack when you say, “Why were you so weird about the fake-dating thing in the beginning?”

He makes a face at you. “What do you mean, weird? You’re telling me you thought I was weird about it, even after you had to endure Sunghoon?”

“Sunghoon was just awkward. Really awkward, but still. You stalked me to my front door—”

“Your front door is, like, 90 seconds from mine.”

“— and walked with me to Nat’s at a glacial pace, while not saying a word. And then we talked for an hour about random stuff before you promised to help Mark with Mina, even though you weren’t sure you wanted my help. Why were you so weird about it all?”

“Pretty girls make me nervous?” He offers you a winning smile.

“Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Park Jongseong.”

“Yeah, but it’s getting me somewhere, isn’t it?” He rolls all the way over to hover above you and then dips so low that the pendant on his necklace swings in front of your face. The two of you had escaped the party in the frat’s basement after it had gotten too hot down there; Jay said he “knew a spot”, which made you laugh when it turned out to just be his bedroom. But then he pushed open his window and coaxed you out onto the flat roof, and that’s where you had settled on your back, gazing up at a cloudless sky, scattershot through with faint stars. 

Well, you were gazing up at the stars— now, Jay occupies your line of sight, and he’s all smiles and hearts in his eyes. It’s not an unwelcome substitute.

Your hand slips between your bodies so you can rub your fingers over the pendant on his necklace; you laugh when you realize what it is. “J as in Jay? Like T as in Troy?” 

He huffs, rolling off of you to sit back on his heels. “No, J as in Jopping. Yes, J as in Jay!”

You hold your hands up, still laughing as you sit up to face him. “Okay, okay, sorry! Didn’t realize my boyfriend was also a preppy high school girl.”

He rolls his eyes even as he pulls you into his lap. These days, he’s hopelessly afflicted with must-be-close-to-my-girlfriend syndrome. “I have layers, Cinderella. Like an onion.”

“... Are you paraphrasing Shrek?”

Jay flicks at the tip of your nose. “You know, it reveals just as much about you as it does about me that you caught the reference.” 

“You’re not helping yourself in the high school girl category,” you tease, but it’s all syrupy sweet fondness, punctuated by a playful tug at his reddening ear. 

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your wrist. “Do you want to hear my answer or not?”

You nod and straighten your spine with your hands folded neatly against your chest; the picture of propriety, if it weren’t for your legs straddling his waist as he leans back on his hands. “Yes, please.”

“I was… sussing you out, I guess. You know why I wanted to bring someone to my parents, but I couldn’t just bring anyone. I wanted to get to know you a little better, to see if you were someone I could actually see myself wanting to be with, because anything less would be a disservice to my parents. I didn’t want your help if I couldn’t confirm that you were the real thing. And then I saw how patient but also no-nonsense you were with Mark, and how quickly you were willing to help with a frankly crazy plan, and you just… felt right. You felt right to me; you felt like the real thing.” Jay blushes, ducking his head to avoid your gaze. Everything he said is true, of course, and he doesn’t regret telling you any of it, but saying it out loud like this makes his heart feel like it’s going to fall out of his chest.

In this moment, you’re glad that you’re anchored in his lap, because otherwise you think you might float away into the night sky, on your way to join the stars in the cosmos. Jay is so crushingly sweet; sometimes, you just don’t know what to do with the weight of all his sincerity. For now, you settle for a fervent, “I like you so much.”

Jay’s confidence comes back like a boomerang. He leans up and catches your hands in his, draping your arms around his neck before gliding his hands up and down your back. “Who’s flattering who, now?” 

You shrug. “Where’s it gonna get me, gorgeous?”

“Well, only because you called me gorgeous.” And then he’s kissing you, lush and lovely. 

Fall trickles into winter, and there are final exams and goodbyes to your friends before you and Jake leave on a two-week trip to see your family in Australia. You and Jay FaceTime almost every day; he complains about getting pasty staying indoors in the cold while you’re out tanning on white sand beaches. 

“Should I fly out there?” he muses one day close to the end of your trip. “You could be, I dunno, in danger! Because of the sun. No one to help you put sunscreen on your back… or check that you’ve applied enough on your legs… or your chest… It’s really important, you know. Skin cancer awareness.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the PSA, baby. I’m coming back in a few days, though, so I think I’ll be okay.”

Jay sighs mournfully. “I’m not. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you confess. Living across the street from each other at school and seeing him in person almost every day for the past few months has spoiled you. 

“I miss you, too,” Jake mimics beside you. You’re in an Uber on the way to dinner with your parents, so you can’t commit much physical violence against him, but you do punch his shoulder.

Jay pipes up with, “Was that Jake’s voice I heard?”

You glare at your twin before popping out your earbuds to put the call on speakerphone. “Unfortunately.”

“Yo, what’s up, my man!” Jake cheers, shoving his face into view of the camera.

Jay and Jake chatter about some game they started playing with Heeseung, and you have to admit that you’re really happy about how well you and Jay have integrated into each other’s lives and communities. Of course, Jake had never been a big concern; secretly, you think he loves that his best friend is dating his sister. You’re two of his favorite people in the world, though he’ll only admit it when he’s four shots in. 

Soon, you approach the restaurant, and you have to say goodbye to Jay. He encourages you to keep sending videos of Jake falling into the ocean while surfing, which prompts a loud bout of complaining from Jake.

“You better not have shown that to anyone else,” Jake grumbles.

“Yunjin loved it,” you remark casually, just so you can laugh loudly when he jolts in his seat and turns to you with panicked eyes.

He whisper-shouts, “Why would you say that word? And why the fuck would you send it to her?” 

“What word— love? Oh my god, grow up. And she asked for updates on you.” Your eyebrows furrow. “I think she missed you, or something.”

“She did?” Jake beams; he’s entirely a different man now. “What else did she say about me?”

You point at him accusingly. “You have a lot of questions for someone who claims that they’re just buddies with my girl Jen. Which, again— grow up. Anyways, Jay, we have to go, but we’ll see you soon! Love you!”

“Love you, baby. And you, too, Jake,” Jay adds, before Jake can whine. 

A few days later, you’re finally reunited with Jay at the big New Year’s Eve party his family throws every year. The Parks always get to host the last party of the holiday season; you’re excited to experience it with Jay for the first time. 

An hour before the party is set to start, you let yourself into the Park estate and make your way surreptitiously to Jay’s room. His back is turned to you when you open the door slowly, and you stop for a moment to just drink in the sight of him, comfy and cozy in a cable-knit quarter zip sweater— the definition of huggable. Quickly, you sneak in and wrap your arms around his waist. “Hey, handsome.”

Jay cranes his neck around to look at you. “Hey! You’re here early.” 

You let go of him so he can turn around and hug you back properly. “Couldn’t wait to see you,” you confess. 

“Thank god.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply. “Mm, the world is finally rightside up again.”

You laugh softly. “We are so dramatic.”

“Unavoidable for hot people,” Jay reasons. He pulls back up to wink at you; it’s so cheesy that you have to hold your hands up to his face to avoid looking at him. He laughs outright, and the return of that sound so close to your ears— as opposed to through the phone across an ocean— makes you smile uncontrollably wide.

“I really missed you,” you murmur. Finally, finally, he leans in and kisses you. It starts as something innocent and comforting, then quickly gets subsumed into fire and passion. You fist your hands into the collar of his sweater, hauling him closer to you with an enthusiasm that makes his fingers dig into your waist.

“Missed you so much. Missed this so much,” he says, right before sliding his tongue against yours. Soon, he transitions to sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, breathing a litany of love you, love you, love yous into you. The kiss is so deep it makes you go lightheaded, and when you separate for air, the sound of your mouth parting from his elicits a faint pop that makes you shudder. He’s considerate enough to back off briefly for you to catch your breath, though he doesn’t make it easy. “Pretty, so pretty,” he whispers against your cheek.

You have to close your eyes to calm yourself down. Right now, you think you could power a whole city with the desire that vibrates underneath your skin. “As much as I want to keep going,” you begin, already doomed with how hoarse your voice is, “I think you have to start getting ready.” The way your fingers pull at the zipper of his sweater is wholly unconvincing. 

He sighs and straightens up to rest his chin on the top of your head. “I should really learn how to reconfigure the time-space continuum. Time needs to stop when I’ve got my girl with me.”

You hum in agreement, curving around him slightly to scrape your teeth over the birthmark on his neck and grinning when he hisses into your ear. “You’re a smart guy; I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you offer, continuing to tug at his zipper until you’re met with the end of the quarter zip. A frustrated sound escapes your throat at the obstacle.

“What’s your new year’s resolution?” Jay asks suddenly.

“What?” You blink hazy eyes at him; he has to pinch his own wrist behind your back to fight the urge to kiss you again.

“Just trying to kill the mood so I don’t go out there with a hard-on,” he explains, half bashful and half serious. “I have to make a speech, you know.”

“Thanks for coming, everyone! Hope you had a great last year, and here’s to an even better new year. There, speech done.” You withdraw your hands from his sweater to make jazz hands at him. “Wow, I’m such a speedy speechwriter! With all this extra time, we should keep going.”

“Brilliant,” he says dryly. “But you were right before; I do have to get ready.”

You frown and rest your cheek against his chest. “Past me was such a cockblock.”

Jay chuckles. “So, tell me, what is your new year’s resolution?”

Your eyes drift to the offending sweater in your peripheral vision. “Throw out all of your sweaters.”

“Very noble of you.”

“And get into grad school,” you say, more serious now.

“They’d be crazy not to take you for the Rhodes, baby.” Jay presses a final kiss to the top of your head. “I, um. I already asked to start in the London office of the company.”

You whip your head up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. “Really?”

“Really. I want to be wherever you are.” He smiles so tenderly at you that your heart breaks and then mends itself back together in an instant; shattered and restored all at once by the strength of his devotion.

Sadly, there’s only so much time you can spend swooning at your boyfriend (Jay’s right; you do have to learn how to reconfigure the time-space continuum). He truly does have to give a speech soon, so he starts getting changed, pulling his sweater over his head and swearing when it gets stuck on the wire frame of his glasses. 

You laugh a little breathlessly at him, distracted by the strip of toned stomach revealed by his current position with his arms stuck above his head in his sweater. “My last new year’s resolution is to close the gyms,” you announce, finally moving into action to help him unspool the yarn of his sweater from his glasses.

“All of them?” His voice comes out muffled from inside his sweater before it’s over his head at last, and he’s shirtless in front of you. 

You drag your fingertips from the top of his waistband to the warm skin of his sternum. “Especially the ones you go to. You’re too tempting like this.”

He shivers at your touch but still manages to smirk when he says, “Just for you, doll.”

You groan. “Seriously, don’t call me that if you want to make it out there in time for your speech.”

“We should get rid of speeches, too,” he declares. He eyes the top of your fingers against his chest forlornly. “But I guess I’ll have to give the last one. Now, for real, tell me something extremely unsexy.”

You quip, “To help you get flaccid?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Excellent work; we’re headed in the right direction.” 

Your phone vibrates with a barrage of texts at that moment, which you check as Jay disappears into his walk-in closet to get dressed. It looks like your friends have arrived, and they’ve brought your outfit with them (you had come straight from the airport, dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt from high school). You tell Jay just as much, raising your voice slightly to be heard in the other room. “I’m gonna go get my stuff and change!”

He sticks his thumb out the door of the walk-in closet, pointing it upwards in assent. He assumes you saw it when he hears the door close, and then his phone goes off as well, inundated with a flood of texts from his newly arrived friends. 

hsm 3’s most underrated song: the boys are back (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, jungwon, and sunoo)

jake: alright i have to k*ll myself

sunoo: why r u censoring all of a sudden

jake: i don’t want my fbi agent to take that seriously. although i do wanna kms

jungwon: why what happened

sunghoon: oh it’s HILARIOUS

jake: stfu

jake: so there’s eggnog being passed around right? and i see yunjin so i go to hand her a cup to be nice

heeseung: ~to be nice~

jake: kys

jake: anyways then i realize that the cup was really hot so i go and blow on her drink, like a fucking weirdo, and then i blow on SUNGHOON’S drink to make it seem less weird, except he’s drinking a HIGH NOON like an absolute idiot

sunghoon: hey i got the bartender to put it into a nice glass at least

sunoo: that’s my big (derogatory)

jay: perpetual bachelors jake and sunghoon! who’s surprised

sunghoon: NOT true i’m pretty sure the student government’s social media chair was flirting with me in the library before finals

jungwon: ??? wonyoung is a lesbian

jungwon: and she was just asking u to get out of the way bc u were spacing out in front of the printer

heeseung: L + me personally i’d kms

sunghoon: oh i know YOU are not talking

sunghoon: lee “the only time i feel the touch of a woman is when i go to yoga class at the university gym once a week” heeseung

heeseung: THE WOMAN WHO TEACHES IT IS HOT OKAY

sunghoon: oh heeseung mommy kink era?

heeseung: SHE IS MY AGE

sunoo: shouldn’t u be more concerned about breaking ur back every time ur there, grandpa?

heeseung: uncalled for wtf

heeseung: also tbh i wish SHE would break my back

jake: okay i’ve recovered from my earlier embarrassment. upon seeing what heeseung is texting, i’m thinking what i did wasn’t that weird

sunoo: bffr

jungwon: jake why don’t u just ask her out? instead of being emotionally constipated

jake: ew why would i ask her out i don’t want to be in a relationship that’s for pussies (respectfully) (i love women)

jungwon: yeah that’s definitely super emotionally mature of u

sunghoon: it’s 2023 pussy is a gender-neutral term

jay: you rly just say whatever the hell you want don’t you

sunoo: oh hey i see felix flirting with yunjin

jake: WHAT

jake: suddenly i have to go

sunoo: u r literally so pathetic

jay: btw i’m coming down now but if any of you see my gf before i do can you tell her she can change in my room

jake: gross

jay: GROW UP + stay single + kys

heeseung: GET HIS ASS

Jay’s idiot friends aside (he loves them so much), he actually is looking forward to seeing a bunch of his classmates and their families at tonight’s holiday party. Senior year seems to have crept up on him unannounced, and now he’s feeling slightly (a lot) sentimental about the idea of not living down the hall or at most across the campus from all the people who have made the last few years so formative (and entertaining as hell). 

He’s still thinking about how much he’s going to miss that place and those people when he hears your voice floating down from the top of the staircase. It sounds like you’re arguing with Kazuha about how many jello shots is too many for the after-party of the next phase of new member initiation at your sorority, which makes him chuckle quietly to himself. With four humanities and fine arts majors between the two of you, neither of you sound like you have the correct math. 

He opens his mouth, ready to give his two cents, but then he freezes at the sight of you descending the stairs. Vaguely, he processes the fact that Kazuha seems to have stopped arguing and even stopped coming down the stairs herself, just so she can give you two this moment.

This moment, which is making his brain short-circuit, because you are incandescent in a slinky, silvery dress that reflects all the candles that he’s now glad his parents made him light around the place. Countless points of light impart an otherworldly glow upon you, and you’re smiling at him; Jay thinks he must have saved the country in a past life.

When you reach him at the bottom of the stairs and he still hasn’t said anything, you tilt your head quizzically. “Jay? Everything alright?”

“You look like you just stepped out of a fairytale,” he breathes out. He moves on autopilot, bending at the waist as he takes your hand and kisses the top of it before straightening up to simply look at you some more.

“And right into the arms of my Prince Charming,” you respond, only half-joking. Right now, the dreamy look in his eyes makes you want to believe in happily ever after, as if it’s something he could forge with his own two hands. You kind of think he could, with the force of all his ardor.

Multiple phone cameras going off breaks the two of you out of your spell; you turn towards your nosy friends, who hold up variations of thumbs-ups and finger hearts. 

“Sorry, you guys are just too cute,” Yunjin says, not sounding sorry at all.

“Your parents would never forgive me if I didn’t get that on camera,” Sunghoon insists.

“Speaking of, I gotta go find them to make sure everything’s set.” Jay kisses your cheek. “See you later, Cinderella.” His fingers hold onto yours until the last second; your arm and his stretch out absurdly, as if you were parting for years, not minutes. 

“So dramatic,” Kazuha teases, joining you at the bottom of the staircase. 

“Unavoidable for hot people,” you explain wryly. You turn your attention to your gathered friends next. “I’m so glad you’re all here!”

“In 50 years, you could be hosting this party,” Sakura quips. Secretly, you hope it’s a lot sooner than that. 

“New Year’s Eve on Mars?” Jake suggests. 

Heeseung groans. “I’m scared of heights; can we not?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, dude, that’s not how space works!”

Half an hour passes happily like that, chatting and joking with some of your favorite people in the massive foyer. You don’t know exactly where Jay went off to, but the answer to that becomes clear when the music goes low and Jay clears his throat into the microphone set up at the front of the foyer. 

“Thanks for coming, everyone! Hope you had a great last year, and here’s to an even better new year.” Jay pauses to chuckle. “My girlfriend and I were joking earlier about me just saying that and calling it a night, but unfortunately for all of you, I am much more verbose than that.” Another pause for a light round of laughter from the gathered crowd. 

Jay works the audience like a pro as you watch with unbridled pride. A few minutes later, he winds down to the end of his prepared remarks, which you only know because he has asked you to proofread the speech weeks ago. You’re expecting him to wrap up with a final Happy New Year!, so you’re surprised to hear him keep going. 

“A couple of last things. To my parents, and everyone at the company, thank you for putting your trust in me.” Jay bows deeply. “I won’t let you down next year.” He straightens and looks right at you. “This year has been nothing short of wonderful. I’ve been so lucky my whole life, but the last few months have been particularly special to me. I’ve gotten to know people who I want to continue knowing for the rest of my life, who make me feel like my heart is too big for me, because I couldn’t possibly fit all of the kindness and love they give to me in the confines of my chest. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I do know that my life would be bereft without it.” Jay has to tear his eyes from yours because he knows he’s liable to cry if he sees you do so. “Bereft without you,” he continues, sweeping his gaze across the foyer. “All of you, who I’m so glad to call my friends and family. So, please stay healthy and happy this year, and I hope the new year treats you as well as this year has treated me. Happy New Year, everyone!”

Champagne glasses clink around you and people applaud, but all of it sounds far away. The only thing you can focus on is Jay, who’s making his way slowly through the throng of well-wishers to get to you.

When he’s finally in front of you, you have your misty eyes under control. He drops his hands to your waist and smiles gently. “Hi, pretty lady.”

“Hello, my favorite hopeless romantic.” Your palm goes to the sharp curve of his jaw. “You just had to go and say such sweet things. What’s gonna happen to my cool and unbothered reputation?”

“Right, your reputation.” He leans into your touch. “I can think of other ways to ruin your reputation,” he remarks, low and rough.

You roll your eyes, although you can’t stop your other hand from curling into the lapel of his suit jacket. “Romantic and horny! Duality of man.” 

“I meant what I said, you know.” His eyes soften at you. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year. Maybe ever. I have a lot of great people in my life, but only one you.”

“I know. You always mean what you say, and I love that about you.” You lean in to press a quick kiss to his mouth. He chases after you, tipping your chin up with his hand to kiss you deeper. Sadly, it doesn’t last for too long; you’re both aware that your friends and their parents are nearby.

But later, Jay makes sure to kiss you from this year into the next one, and you hope that you never forget what it feels like— fireworks exploding above your head and in your veins, lighting you up from within. Radiant, in the glow of someone who loves and is loved.

girlbossing soooooooo close to the sun (you, yunjin, chaewon, kazuha, and sakura)

yunjin: do u think it’d be weird if i got jake something for valentine’s day

you: yes extremely

sakura: don’t ask me i’m gay

yunjin: ???

yunjin: okay thx guys this was super helpful!

chaewon: i thought you weren’t dating?

yunjin: WE MIGHT AS WELL BE. i’m sick of waiting for him to actually ask me out

you: jokes aside, i think he’s really into you, like genuinely. but his head is so far up his ass he will never make the first move

sakura: boooooo emotionally repressed playboy how cliche

kazuha: omg u should try to do something romantic

yunjin: absolutely not i can’t be a SIMP

sakura: boooooo emotionally repressed maneater how cliche

yunjin: WHATEVER

yunjin: more importantly, what are we doing for galentine’s!!!!

kazuha: spa day i thought?

you: yes but i have to leave a little early :(( sorry ladies the community kitchen is doing a pre-valentine’s day dinner and jay and i are signed up to help

chaewon: i can’t even be mad at you that is SO CUTE

Jay gets sick in the week leading up to Valentine’s day, which puts a spanner in the works of his grand plans for your first Valentine’s together. You tell him that it’s not a big deal and he should just focus on resting and getting better, but that doesn’t stop him from moping about it. 

mother is mothering (you, niki, and jungwon)

you: can i just say that this gc name is not helping to put to rest the joke that jay and i are ur parents

you: also i Don’t think u guys know what this phrase means…

you: but anyways what’s up… children

niki: pleaseeeeee fix jay hyung

jungwon: fr we’re desperate

jungwon: he’s been playing sad john mayer songs for like three days straight I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE

niki: he called the coffee shop yesterday to see if we could set up a valentine’s day surprise for u

niki: we can’t, so i’m not ruining the surprise

niki: but he literally had such detailed plans for the surprise like WE R JUST PART-TIMERS

you: omg… my bf is so cute :(

jungwon: that is SO not the point actually that’s like the exact opposite of the point

you: dw i was gonna come over today after the community kitchen’s pre-valentine’s day dinner anyways

jungwon: THANK GOD

niki: YAY can u ask jay to help me with research material for my history paper btw

you: ask him urself?

niki: i’m scared he’s going to rope me into some other crazy plan to make it up to u for ruining ur valentine’s day plans

niki: which sounds like a HIM problem??? why is he getting ME, a CHILD, involved

you: oh so ur a child now but not when u want to sneak into frat parties

jungwon: omg SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PPL IN THE BACK

you: jungwon i know ur the one who helps him sneak in

jungwon: haha. love u mom :)

you: IM NOT UR MOM

you: btw i’m bringing back extra vegetables from the community kitchen and i expect u to eat them! jay mentioned u were stressed lately and not eating well

jungwon: okay ty… not-mom

It’s almost 10pm by the time you get to the frat house, bundled in your winter coat and weighed down with containers of food. You leave one in the fridge, labeled with a note that says “for jungwon— eat this or niki will forever be taller than you”. You take everything else with you to Jay’s room, pausing at the door when you realize you don’t even know if he’ll be awake or if he’s still sleeping off his illness.

The door swings open before you have the chance to knock, and you’re met with the sight of Jay in a bathrobe, shower caddy in hand. “I must be hallucinating,” he mutters. 

You hold back a laugh. “Nope, you’re still in the land of the lucid. I brought you some food, and I figured we could watch something while we eat. Go shower; I’ll set up.” 

Jay blinks rapidly. “Oh my god, you’re really here?” He drops the shower caddy to the floor carelessly, moving forward to hug you before he halts abruptly, inches away from you. “Wait, no, you shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

“It’s been, like, five days. I don’t think you’re contagious anymore,” you argue, sidling past him to drop your stuff into his room.

“Really?” The hopefulness in his voice makes your heart melt.

“Really. I’ll ask Heeseung to ask his special friend to confirm, if that will make you feel better,” you offer.

Jay's eyebrows furrow. “We should probably stop calling her that, but yes, that would make me feel better. Ask while I shower, but seriously, I’m not touching you if she says no.” 

You salute him. “On it, captain.” Heeseung’s special friend is the girl who teaches one of the yoga classes at the university gym, and she’s also a nursing student. She has a name, but Heeseung refuses to tell any of you what it is. Truthfully, it wouldn’t be hard to look her up, but you think it’s kind of cute how nervous Heeseung is about whatever liminal space he’s in with her.

you: hey can u ask the love of ur life if it’s okay for me to be with jay rn?

heeseung: first of all DONT CALL HER THAT second of all why tf would she have an opinion on that

you: i wouldn’t have to call her that if u would tell us HER NAME

you: and jay came down w/ that nasty virus like five days ago remember

heeseung: oh my goddddd yeah he wouldn’t stop whining about how his valentine’s day plans were ruined

you: ur special friend is in nursing right? so can u ask her

heeseung: i’m starting to think i should tell u her name just so u stop coming up with new ways to refer to her

you: that’s what I'M saying

heeseung: but yeah sure anything to get jay to stop being so annoying

you: thank uuuuu i’ll leave u some cookies in the kitchen so give some to her okay?

heeseung: omfg u made COOKIES i am so glad jay is dating u

Ten minutes later, Heeseung texts to let you know that you’re probably in the clear. More specifically, he says that his friend says it’s ultimately best practice to stay away from Jay for another couple of days, but she thinks the two of you are so cute and she gets why you’d want to be with him, and you’re outside of the most contagious window now, anyways. 

You figure that’s close enough to a yes, which is what you tell Jay when he returns from his shower. He’s at your side in an instant, hugging you like his life depends on it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers eventually.

“What on earth for?” 

“Our first Valentine’s is going to be so lame, just because I got sick.” He sighs deeply. “I wanted to make it special for you, especially because you’re always running around helping everyone, and instead you’re here, taking care of me.”

“Jay.” You pull back from his chest to look at him. “Nothing is lame, and nothing is ruined, okay? It’s literally just a day. And you always make me feel special. Being with you is like— ahem.” You cringe at the words that are about to come out of your mouth; Jay is always effusive and free-wheeling with his declarations of affection towards you, but it doesn’t come as easily to you. The way you feel about him makes you want to try, though. “Being with you is like Valentine’s Day every day.”

He smiles gently at you, one dimple carving a crescent into his left cheek. “You deserve it, baby. And even if you didn’t, I’d still want to give that to you.”

The two of you stand like that for a while, swaying underneath the unattractive lighting in Jay’s room. His hair starts to drip onto your shoulder, though, and you remember that you need to go back down to the kitchen to set aside the cookies you promised Heeseung.

“Why does Heeseung get to have some of the cookies you made for me?” Jay pouts.

“Troll bridge toll I felt compelled to pay, all because you wanted a second medical opinion,” you respond dryly.

“I’m supposed to believe you were the first? And I’m telling Heeseung you called him a troll.”

“Keep that up and you won’t be getting any cookies, Park.” 

Of course, you feed him a cookie as soon as you’re back in his room. Jay has changed into his pajamas while you were away, and he points to another set he’s laid out for you after he’s done eating the cookie. Once you get changed, you settle on the rug in front of Jay’s bed and start an obscure history documentary together while eating the food you brought him. You warn him that it won’t be as good as what he makes (you are a far better baker than you are a cook). Undeterred, he makes an exaggerated effort to fawn over every dish and praise your skills.

Afterwards, you sit on the edge of his bed and let him lean his head on your lap as you blow dry his hair. “I heard you were being a pain in the ass this week about Valentine’s Day,” you mention. 

“That… is a distinct possibility, for sure.”

“Seriously, I think you scared away all of Niki’s coworkers. He wants your help with research for his history paper, by the way. Oh, that reminds me— what’s the name of your group chat with Niki and Jungwon?”

Jay grimaces. “Glucose father slay.”

You suppress a snort. “That’s… creative, if unsubtle.”

He hums contentedly from the just-right warmth of the hairdryer and the just-right softness of your hands. “We’ll get to have lots of Valentine’s Days together, right?”

"Of course, baby."

When it hits midnight, you’re curled up together in his bed, with his laptop still playing the credits of the history documentary. You enter February 14th like that, tucked under his chin, exactly where you want to be.

On one of the first randomly hot days that pop up in late March before the weather actually gets warmer, you’re holed up in the library, eyes aching after staring at the tiny text in ancient manuscripts for too long and shivering in the temperature-controlled special collections section of the library. While the rest of your friends are out at the college’s golf course enjoying the warm weather at a joint charity tournament, you’re stuck here, beholden to the block in your calendar which says “manuscript time :/”. The rare manuscripts you need for your thesis are only available to be looked at during certain times, but today’s research session has proven to be less than fruitful, given how often your eyes wander to the door to the exit and how empty your notes are.

You can feel yourself dozing off for the umpteenth time when suddenly, warm hands land on top of your shoulders, and a smooth voice murmurs in your ear, “Working hard or hardly working, Cinderella?”

Jay. You turn your head to meet his gaze; crescents of affection reflect back at you. “How’d you get in here?” Appointments are usually required for the rare manuscripts room.

He flashes you a smirk. “Charmed the librarian.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you pulled with the 40-and-up demographic like that.”

“Yeah, I told her I missed my girlfriend so much I’d cry if I couldn’t see her today.” He drops a kiss to your cheek, then maneuvers the chair next to you sideways and backwards so he can sit as close to you as possible. He crosses his arms on top of the back of the chair and rests his chin against his arms to stare at you, soft and beckoning. “You look like you want to leave.”

You sigh and turn fully sideways towards him, letting his long legs bracket yours while your knees push up against the back of his chair. “You look like a reason to leave,” you admit. It comes out breathy in a way that you hadn’t intended, but who can blame you— Jay is dressed for the golf tournament in a navy blue polo and crisp white slacks, and as always, his clothes fit like they were made for him. 

In the back of your mind, you make a note to ask where he gets his tailoring done. In the front of your mind, your attention roams from the clean line of his shirt sleeves against his biceps, to the inviting curve of his mouth, to the planes of his chest that peek out behind the top two undone buttons of his shirt. All these months later, looking at him still hasn’t gotten old; truthfully, you don’t think it ever will.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Jay inquires, peering closer at you with a sly grin on his face.

“Like you have to ask,” you grumble, reaching out to pinch his cheek in retaliation for the teasing question.

He grabs your hand before it reaches him and gently bites the tip of your index finger, laughing when you make an offended face and pull your hand back. “C’mon, let’s get out of here, yeah? We should at least make an appearance at the tournament we organized.”

You glance back at the heavy tomes you’ve pulled out today— pages and pages of dense Middle English to get through. Then, you look at Jay, who has chosen that moment to skate his fingertips up and down the top of your right thigh. The decision is almost comically easy to make. “Yeah, fuck this. Let’s go.” 

You dutifully return your books and say a polite goodbye to the librarian, who coos at you both. Jay waves your joined hands at her. On your way out to the main section of the library, goosebumps form on your arms from the change in temperature: arctic vortex to plain old frigid, both of which are wholly inhospitable environments for the sleeveless golf dress you’d worn today in hopes of eventually getting to the tournament. 

“Cold?” Jay halts you both and sweeps his hands across your shoulders and down to your wrists, frowning at the chill he encounters on your skin. Normally, he’d offer you his jacket or sweater or something, but he just has the shirt on his back today. “This won’t do,” he murmurs, and then he’s pulling you in the direction of the secluded stacks.

It’s dark and shadowy there, with not a single soul occupying any of the carrel desks spaced in between the rows of books. Your heartbeat picks up despite yourself; you think you have a good idea of where this is going. This is also something that hasn’t gotten old yet and likely never will. “You know, I’ve always thought it would be kind of hot to hook up in a library,” you comment.

Jay trips over air, then quickly rights himself and shakes his head as if to clear it before looking at you again. “You would, you nerd,” he says, but it comes out low and contemplative. 

As soon as you reach the carrel desk located in the most isolated corner of the stacks, he brings his hands to your waist and lifts you up to sit on top of the desk. Happily, you hook your ankles behind his legs and draw him in to stand between yours. “You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“I just wanted to kiss you for a bit, so you could warm up,” Jay insists. He leans in closer, until your chests are pressed up against each other. “But now that we’re here…” 

“Now that we’re here,” you agree. Then you’re tilting forward to kiss him, and the tension in your body from a long morning at the library dissipates into the heat of his mouth and the softness of his hair.

Jay kisses you long and luxuriously, like he was born to do nothing but stand around and kiss you. “You did so well with planning the tournament,” he tells you in between kisses, smothering the words against your mouth. 

“You did, too,” you reply, dispensing the compliment in airy gasps against his ear as he moves down to your neck, feathering open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. A whimper escapes from your throat when he bites down at the juncture of your neck and your clavicle, transforming into a breathy moan as he soothes over the sting with his tongue. His name slips out of your mouth in a dragged-out whine: “Jongseong.” 

He shudders against you. “Warn a guy before you do that, will you? I don’t actually want to come in my pants in the library.”

You giggle, tugging his head back so you can look at him. You’re met with shiny lips, slow-blinking eyes that drag up and down your body, and tousled hair, messed up from Jay’s meticulous styling by your wandering hands. Temptation, personified. “Fuck,” you breathe out. “What if I do?”

“You’re not wearing pants,” Jay points out cheekily. His demeanor switches to sultry in an instant when he presses down on your bottom lip with his thumb, and he groans when your tongue darts out over it. “God, you’re so hot. C’mere, doll, let me sort you out.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re slipping out of the back door of the library and into the parking lot. You shoot off a quick text to Yunjin, asking her to hold down the fort for a little while longer at the tournament, and then Jay is tugging you into the backseat of his car with an urgency that makes your heart pound. Now, you get to sort him out, and it’s so much better than staring at old books.

yunjin: what is taking so long i sent jay to get u like 45 minutes ago

you: sorry be there in a bit love you babe!

yunjin: woooooooooow remember when i said i would never betray u for dick

yunjin: guess u DO NOT FEEL THE SAME

yunjin: ah well have fun don’t do anything i wouldn’t ;)

to all the boys i’ve fake-dated before (you, sunghoon, yeonjun, chan, vernon, mark, and 5 others)

you: were any of you fuckers going to tell me that jay’s birthday is TOMORROW?!

you: help!!!!! what do i get for him!!!!!

sunghoon: believe me that man wakes up every day thanking god that ur his gf. u don’t need to get him anything

you: as much as i appreciate the reporting of his simp behavior, i am IN A PANIC his birthday is in 12 hours why the fuck didn’t anyone say anything sooner?!?!

vernon: i’m gifting him a new speaker for the basement

chan: bro you’re getting that gift for ALL of us bc you BROKE the speaker in the basement

vernon: and jay is one of the many recipients of that gift!

you: FOCUS on me and MY problem please

mark: yooooo u could write him a song? i still owe u a favor so i’d be down to help

you: and make him listen to me perform it? i’m trying to keep this relationship going, not obliterate it

yeonjun: mans has one single move in his arsenal

mark: HEY it worked out pretty well for me

yeonjun: only bc u had like a million ppl helping u

sunghoon: i got jay tickets to that japanese singer he likes

you: FUCK that’s such a good idea why didn’t i think of that

sunghoon: bc u didn’t know his birthday was coming up

you: thanks genius

sunghoon: but anyways jay never makes a big deal out of his birthday

sunghoon: it’s mostly like a sentimental thing for his parents bc they tried for so long to have him

vernon: strictly speaking, they were trying to have ANY of the sperm inseminate ANY of the eggs so like it didn’t have to be him specifically

mark: dude wtf

chan: i’m sure jay will love whatever you get for him! maybe you could paint or draw something for him?

you: okay yes yes i can bang something out real quick in the studio 

vernon: that’s what she said

yeonjun: this is why ur still single

you: the sperm and egg comment didn’t give it away?

vernon: guys stop ganging up on me wtf

you: okay thank you ONLY to chan the rest of you were useless

you: chan u could start a business. like a gift-giving idea business

mark: like santa claus but without the actual gifts?

yeonjun: ghost santa claus

chan: none of you should ever be allowed to start a business

It’s 5am by the time you’re finished in the studio, and you know your sleep cycle is going to be all sorts of messed up for the next few days, but it’s a small price to pay so you can slide into Jay’s bed and mold yourself against his body, knowing that your painting of the scene of your first date is leaning safely against the wall across from you. 

Unfortunately, the swift arrival of sunrise and birds chirping outside of Jay’s window leave you unable to fall asleep (not to mention the energy drink you’d chugged at 2am). You give up on it quickly, comforted by the fact that you don’t have any classes today and can afford to sleep in when your body eventually gives out on you. 

Staring at Jay is not an unenjoyable way to pass the time, so that’s what you do. Sleep smoothes out all the muscles in his face, but the sharp angles of the underlying bone structure turn him into marble; idly, you wonder how many sculptors would kill to be able to craft something this beautiful, this timeless and exquisite. You’ve tried to sketch or paint Jay multiple times yourself, and you’re still trying (that senior portfolio is going to be the death of you), but to date, you’ve been left unsatisfied. Something about Jay is just too expressive, too lively, too attentive; you haven’t been able to nail down the exact way he moves through the world, much less the way he looks at you like nothing else exists. There’s so much love to give in those steady hands, and so many meanings to divine in those familiar eyes—

Oh.

Jay’s eyes have flipped open, displaying his least endearing habit: sleeping with his eyes open. It unnerves you to no end, even though it makes him look kind of silly, so you have to flip around with a small grin on your face. “You’re lucky I love you so much,” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

His arm tightens around your waist. “Tell me something I don’t know.” The words come out slightly slurred, and the movement of his lips against the back of your neck makes you shiver. 

You flip back around to meet his now closed eyes. “You’re awake?” Jay usually sleeps like the dead.

“I’m trying really hard not to be,” he drawls. Eyes still closed, he tugs you closer to press his lips to your forehead. “Go to sleep, doll.”

You hum tunelessly and fidget with the pendant of his necklace. “Happy birthday, Jongseong.” You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, but you’re quick to nip that in the bud. “Or should I say… traitor? Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was coming up? I had to find out from Jungwon.”

“Typical mama’s boy.”

You giggle, even as you admonish him with: “Seriously, that joke needs to die. One of Riki’s coworkers actually thinks I’m his mom, and I just have a really good Botox supplier.”

Jay’s chest rumbles in amusement underneath your ear. Afterwards, it’s quiet for a long moment before he finally opens his eyes to peer blearily at you. “Are you upset I didn’t tell you about my birthday?”

You give him a tiny shrug. “Just curious, I guess. Plenty of people don’t like to celebrate their birthdays. Sunghoon said it’s usually more of a thing for your parents than it is for you.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Jay rubs his thumb over your cheek. “I’m spending the day with them, actually. We go to the same place for brunch every year, and then we just kind of walk around until dinner, which I’ve been cooking for the past couple of years.”

You smile automatically at the thought of his parents. They adore you, and the feeling is mutual— how could it not be? 

Jay’s thumb halts its movements as something occurs to him. “Well, hey, do you wanna come with us?” 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can spot Jay’s Mr. Nice Guy gestures from a mile away. “Nah, you should keep up your tradition with your parents. We’re still getting lunch with them this weekend, right? So I’ll get to see them soon, anyways.”

“My mom said she loves the insoles you sent her, by the way.”

“Right? Super comfortable. I can stay on my feet in the studio all day in those.” Just then, you’re hit by a yawn. “I guess I did the equivalent of a full day last night.”

Suddenly, Jay sits up straight, making you whine about the loss of coziness. “Wait, yeah, why are you here so early? Not that I don’t love waking up next to you, because I really do, but you weren’t here last night, and… oh my god.” He cuts himself off when he spots the painting against his wall.

You sit up as well. “Don’t freak out,” you begin. “I had fun making it, okay? And I don’t have class today so I can sleep alllllll day and if you’re not tired after dinner we can hang out afterwards, and seriously, Jay, light of my life, apple of my eye, etcetera, etcetera— let me do something nice for you without you feeling guilty about it, okay?” You draw in a deep breath. “I know I’m, like, afflicted with a chronic need to be helpful, but c’mon. Pot, kettle.” You point to yourself and then to him. “I love that you’re humble and kind and you know how lucky you are, but there’s nothing… to prove. You hear me? Just because you’ve had a good life doesn’t mean you have to give 110% of yourself to everyone else to deserve it. Please don’t make yourself feel bad because you get to take something from me for once instead of giving.” At the end of your rant, you blink in surprise at yourself. “Sorry, I don’t know when that turned into a lecture. All I’m saying is that you told me once that you’d want to give me Valentine’s Day every day, even if I didn’t deserve it, and I want to give that to you, too.”

Jay’s eyes flick between you and the painting and back to you, staring at you like he’s never seen you before. He’s speechless for so long that you count to 33 in your head in Mississippis that are definitely longer than one second. Finally, he crushes you to his chest in a hug that has your arms flailing around him with the force of it. “I feel like you just crawled into my head,” he says against your ear.

You make a face that he can’t see. “Didn’t need that visual in my head, but okay, baby.”

“I mean… I’m just feeling very perceived; that’s all. And I don’t really have anything else to say except that I love you so much, and thank you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.” He sniffles, and then preempts you with a, “Shut up.”

“Noooooo, I made you cry,” you coo at him, leaning back in his hold to swipe under his eyes with your thumbs. As you continue to fuss over him and he pretends to bite at your fingers, he hopes you know just how much he’s affected by your words and just how much you mean to him. Golden boy Park Jongseong, the prodigal son, the miracle child— he doesn’t think it could fairly be called a burden, because how could it be a burden to be so lucky, to be so loved, to have never truly suffered? But somehow, you get it. Maybe because you’re cut from the same self-sacrificing cloth, or maybe because you just understand him at an atomic level, but you get it. You get that he has dedicated his life to deserving his life in the first place; you get that he tries so hard, all the time, because he wants to be worthy of what he’s been given; you get that he gives, and gives, and gives, and he never wants to take, because he feels like he hasn’t done enough to pay back the gifts with which he was born, let alone take anything else from this world. And here you are, giving him your heart on his birthday— a day he doesn't think is anything special except for the joy it gives his parents— because you love him. Because you're just glad that you were born in the same timeline. He has never dared to ask for a gift like this.

Pathetically, all that he can get out is a simple, “I love the painting, by the way.” He nudges your nose with his. “I’m going to have it framed for our place after we graduate.”

“Our place?”

“Oh, yeah.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I guess this is me asking. Do you want to live with me next year? Wherever it is that we end up. It would be, you know, economical.”

“Right, because we totally didn’t just have a conversation about your hang-ups with being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. And mine, too, I guess.”

Jay tsks at you. “Okay, or maybe I just want to wake up next to you every day. And make you food when you forget to eat, and listen to your horrible true crime podcasts while we clean up around the place, and hold your hair when you get sick because you forgot to take your Lactaid, and make sweet, sweet love to you every night—”

“Okay, okay, stop!” You’re laughing uncontrollably now, putting your hands up to stop Jay and the obnoxious kissy-face he’s making from coming any closer to you. “I didn’t need that much convincing, although I’m not sure how effective your convincing is when you’re just listing my bad habits, Mr. I-Sleep-With-My-Eyes-Open.”

“Yeah, but aren’t I lucky that you love me so much?” Jay smirks at you before tackling you down into his bed.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you repeat to him. Sunlight slants in through the window behind his head, haloing him in a light so ethereal that you could be convinced the sun shines just for him. Like this, your words fade away from you, until all you’re left with is a quiet, heartfelt, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll live with you after we graduate.” Softly, you stroke through the hair at his nape. “Stop wondering, by the way.”

Jay’s eyebrows furrow. “Wondering what?”

You reach up to smooth away the crease in his brow. “Wondering if you’re allowed to be this happy. I just told you, like, a million times. You are. The heavens have decreed that Park Jongseong shall be happy for as long as he lives, and a long time after that.” Dramatically, you tap each of his shoulders, as if you’re knighting him. “It is thus decided.”

Jay swoops down and plants a chaste peck on your lips. “Well, since it’s thus decided. Let me add something to that decree, though: I’m going to make you happy for as long as I live, and a long time after that,” he promises. 

And you know he will.

(London is overcast and dreary when you touch down at Heathrow; typical, for a mid-September day. You and Jay still carry tans from a summer of island-hopping around Asia and the Mediterranean, but you’re sure those will fade soon. Still, there’s nothing you can complain about when Jay’s arm is snug around your waist and he looks like a dream in a light wool coat and admittedly unnecessary sunglasses.

You tease him about the sunglasses all the way to the doorstep of your new, shared apartment. But then he kisses you across the threshold and whispers about how much he loves you and how excited he is to be with you for the rest of his life, and you are so, so happy. Unbelievably happy. Beautifully happy. 

Happy, forevermore. This, the heavens have decreed.)

[anhxdonia]

@godsunderfoot — antioch university, august 5th, afternoon. trigger warnings: religious references!

PERHAPS  THE  MOST  ELEGANT  FORM  OF  BEAUTY  IS  THE  STORY.  Smithed  words,  struck  when  molten,  and  shaped  until  piercing  at  first  strike;  others  daintily  crafted  and  cut  gems  of  prose.  A  professional  fabulist  drips  jeweled  sentences,  their  carats  reflected  in  the  bright,  yearning  nebula  of  the  human  iris,  a  rapt  audience  caught  in  the  splendor.  As  simple  as  it  may  be,  this  truth  bears  repeating:  we  are  a  species  wrapped  up  in  aesthetics,  fabrics  of  our  imagination...  seeking  beauty  in  the  forms  that  cover  the  ugliness  we  harbor.

Many  believe,  quote  rapaciously,  that  beauty  —  some  unspoiled,  earthly,  carnal,  tactile  essence  —  is  terror.  But  one  is  gripped  by  fear,  horrors  that  subsume  underneath  one's  skin  when  encountering  the  unfamiliar,  unknown.  When  one  believes  they've  never  witnessed  it  before.  Beauty  is  a  terror  when  it  is  FOREIGN.

Maharth's  fingers,  ashen  at  the  tips  with  the  finest  dust  of  Hagoromo  chalk,  underline  the  word  terror  on  the  blackboard.  He  is  still  a  lover  of  the  Classics  and  basks  in  Inquisitive  stares  following  the  arc  of  his  arm  as  he  encircles  the  truth.  He  faces  their  eagerness,  matches  with  a  spark  of  his  own,  and  lovingly  tosses  in  his  kindling,  a  speech:

"  How  we  view  one's  beauty  becomes  one's  truth,  one's  belief  in  the  world  we  live  in...  All  religious  art  has  a  motif  of  untouchable  beauty,  the  peerless  perfect  faces,  serenity  in  the  expression  both  present  and  empty,  seeing  a  world  that  a  mortal  onlooker  could  never  comprehend...  "

The  projector,  more  like  a  banner  that  floats  down  from  the  rafters,  depicts  Michelangelo's  Last  Judgment,  capturing  a  sliver  of  its  phenomenal  flair.  The  professor  summarizes,  "  Michelangelo's  Last  Judgment,  his  final  painting,  stirred  controversy  at  its  time.  The  Catholic  Church  was  in  its  Counter-Reformation  movement,  and  the  Council  of  Trent  deemed  the  Last  Judgment's  Neoplatonic  influences  heretical.  Nudity,  in  fact,  was  the  issue...  I  hear  the  snickering,  students.  Stay  with  me  for  a  second.  "

"  Now,  we'd  think  it  baseless,  quite  prudish,  no?  Given  the  fame  of  the  Statue  of  David,  the  Ecstasy  of  St.  Teresa  of  Avila…  The  bodily  beauty  of  mimicked  flesh  and  blood,  as  a  means  of  extending  the  greatness  of  its  Saints  to  the  people,  was  now  rejected  for  being  baseless,  vulgar,  and  Godless.  "

Maharth  wonders  briefly  how  the  indictment  fell  on  Michelangelo  when  the  commissioners  who  pulled  art  after  art  from  him  betrayed  him.  Did  the  artist  burn  up  in  shame  when  the  poet  Pietro  Aretino  accused  him  of  defiling  the  Sistine  Chapel,  of  denigrating  it  to  a  whorehouse?

"  That's  what  I  want  you  to  think  about,  students.  Expressions  of  piety.  What  is  religious  beauty?  What  is  artifice  and  truth?  Upon  completing  his  last  painting,  Michelangelo  wrote,  'Neither  painting  nor  sculpture  will  be  able  any  longer  to  calm  my  soul,  now  turned  to  divine  love.'  What  divine  beauty  drives  a  pious  servant  to  agitation?  "

His  lecture  ends  with  synchronized  silence  before  students  and  some  faculty  onlookers  remember  the  time  and  place.  Then,  as  if  coming  out  of  a  daze,  they  shamble  out  of  their  desks,  the  nooks  at  the  edges  of  the  room  to  leave.  As  the  newest  member  of  Antioch  University's  roster,  Professor  Chandrasekhar  fields  ravenous  last-minute  questions,  chatting  with  the  engagement  of  a  beloved  old  friend  who  has  a  train  to  catch.  It's  only  after  the  regulars  dip  and  the  field  of  people  thins  out  that  the  professor  notices  someone  in  the  midst,  stately  and  tall  even  when  far  back  in  the  room.

There  are  continuing  education  courses  for  adults  at  the  university,  so  the  age  of  the  man,  sculpted  in  rugged,  well-defined  features,  does  not  illicit  any  curiosities  from  the  professor;  however,  the  lack  of  academic  equipment  (no  papers,  pens)  hints  at  Maharth  that  the  visitor  may  not  be  a  simple  course  auditor.  Well,  there  is  no  hurt  in  asking.

Or,  there  shouldn't  be.

"  Good  afternoon!  The  lecture  wasn't  too  long-winded,  was  it? "  Maharth  calls  out,  hand  cupped  around  his  mouth.  He  follows  his  greeting  with  easy,  long  strides  to  the  man.  Hand  out,  fingers  loosely  together,  knuckles  forming  soft  ridges  like  a  clam's  shell,  he  signals  his  invitation.  "  Professor  Maharth  Prasad  Chandrasekhar.  Charmed  to  make  your  acquaintance.  "

[tired-gage]

It was a very strange thing to be in the headquarters of a brand new regime. Gage hadn't chosen the location for herself - hadn't chosen anything since her decision at the reaping to save Wiley - but she was grateful for it, and grateful for her life, nonetheless. The air was full of excitement and hope in a way she had never seen before. Never in District Six had there been this many genuine smiles, and in the Tower previously everyone had been miserable with worry over the Arena.

Gage wondered idly if she might move out of Six, to somewhere she might never have to see snow again. She entertained this thought for just a moment before she threw it away. A new regime didn't mean everything was different. There were still districts. There was still her home. And Wiley's home.

Gage had asked Wiley to move in with her, when they got back. Wiley had agreed. It would be a strange arrangement, but then, everything was strange these days. Wiley was too old to be her daughter but there wasn't another word for where Wiley had landed in her life the past few weeks.

And then there was the man who had stabbed her daughter, or whatever Wiley might be, in the abdomen, and left her to die.

He'd been injured. A coma, so the rumor went, and just woken up in the past few days. Gage thought a visit was in order. The tributes who survived would all have to live with what they'd done, or what they hadn't.

She checked in with the nurse, and then knocked on his door.

"Hello, Mahlon," she said as she stood waiting in the doorway.

@mxhlon

[eievuimultimuse]

@eyeknowmayhem | CLOSED STARTER ( from SUPERFLY; for MONDO ! )

     IT WAS SUNRISE when the fly mutant arrived back at the truly abandoned shipyard for the third morning in a row. It was kinda CRAZY to think it’d only been THREE DAYS since he’d finally escaped. Three days out of a whopping SIX MONTHS. Six months since they turned him back, since he was no more than a fly in a jar, since his FAMILY turned against him . . .six months since he lost everything.

     He’d made it part of his new habit to wander New York’s streets at night and to return here during the day so as to not get caught by any humans. He only used it to have a safe place to crash at this point, feeling exhausted after staying awake and alert all night. Not like he had much reason to use it for anything other than sleep; not when it was so…EMPTY now, save for some few things. He knew it wasn’t the smartest thing, frequenting a spot like this. He knew it made him more likely to get caught in the long run. But truthfully…he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

     When he enters the cavernous abode, he’s got a duffle bag strapped over his shoulder — just some items he nabbed while he was out, things that he needed to, y’know…LIVE. He plans on just taking it and himself to his room  ( which, surprisingly, seemed to be only part of the place that remained mostly intact. guess they didn’t care enough to clean it out like they did the rest of the place )  before settling down to sleep the day hours away. Sleep away the day, just to wake up by nightfall and do the whole thing over agai—

     Shortly upon entering, he suddenly pauses full stop, antennae twitching suspiciously. He swears that he hears something.  ( Maybe it’s just the lack of sleep getting to him ? )  No, he really does. Or, at least, he senses that something’s amiss. There aren’t any immediately noticeable changes to the place, yet he can’t help but feel that something’s changed regardless. Someone’s been in here in his absence.  ( Shit. Did they find him again already ? ) 

     Paranoid thoughts running through his mind, he ditches the bag — simply lets it drop to the floor, to which it lands quietly — to go investigating.  ( He’s honestly not sure if he has the stamina to go for a round two with these guys if push comes to shove — they certainly put up one hell of a fight when he made his escape — but he sure wasn’t going to run away. IF NOT EVEN HERE IS SAFE, THEN HE’S S.O.L. )

     He’s naturally taken to flying up towards the rafters to get a better view, compound eyes scanning every possible area. It becomes evident — much to his benefit — that even if there are any of those ASSHOLES around, there can’t possibly be that many. The ship is BIG and has plenty of places to hide, but not so many that he wouldn’t have spotted a whole pack of ‘em already if there was one. At the very least, if there is an intruder  ( he may be beginning to doubt; may be beginning to think it really is just poor sleep catching up to him ), it’s only—

     Wait. He’s spotted movement below, somewhere. It’s in his peripheral, but he caught it. So someone IS here. The place is so dark at this current hour that he can’t really make heads or tails of who or what he’s looking at — but if he’d wager a guess, this isn’t TCRI coming to bust down his door. Again, it’s hard to tell, but the individual looks far too skinny compared to TCRI goons’ habit of wearing some of the bulkiest armour seemingly known to man. That doesn’t exactly ease his concern any, though, because if it’s NOT them, then— WHO THE HELL IS THAT ?  And what the HELL are they doing in HIS home ?

     He observes for some time longer, keeping himself hidden while he does, just to try and piece together what’s going on. Eventually, it becomes apparent that this— TRESPASSER is poking around at some of the few remaining things left around. HIS things.

     ( Oh, HELL no. He KNOWS that this guy isn’t trying to freakin’ ROB him right now. )

     When he shoots down, he’s as swift as a bullet, landing a few feet away with a pretty hefty and angry THUD. He just so happens to land in one of the few sunny spots there is, leaving no part of his person a secret. He’s speaking before he’s even given himself a chance to LOOK, already running his mouth as he moves closer, moving to close the gap. “ Man, I dunno WHAT you’re thinkin’ you’re gonna find in a damn shipyard, but I suggest you— “

     He stops in his tracks suddenly, as if he’d just been struck. Demeanour completely changes; the defensive, hostile expression is immediately replaced with a wide-eyed look of SHOCK. Now that he’s closer to this mysterious guest, he can actually see that this isn’t just some weird, rando human that’s somehow snuck their way in here. He’s not sure which part he registered first: the tail with the skate attached, the faux hair, the eccentric outfit that Superfly could NEVER talk Mondo out of in favour of something a little tougher  ( not that he tried particularly hard; he quickly accepted that with some things, he was better off just letting his youngest sibling do as he pleased rather than try to fight it ).

     What DID occur to him at that moment, though, was that he quickly realized that, seeing as they ALL BUT CLEARED THE PLACE OUT, he’d neglected to consider the possibility that…any of them would actually…COME BACK. And FIND HIM here. So, as he’s standing there, STUNNED, it’s…probably pretty EVIDENT that he was not at ALL prepared for this.

     “ . . . Oh. “ His voice is flat, but the surprise is still evident. " It's just...you. " He's aware that he's saying it as if he HASN'T been separated from him for months. In his shocked state, he's just...BLANKING on what else TO say.

[denverneumann]

Denver stared at the mural. It was new, as far as she could tell. She wasn't too far from the Tower, physically, which a month ago would have surprised her, but Enna didn't have to hide anymore. Vox Parva could paint wherever she liked. Denver wished she had a calling like that. Instead she had the already far-away memories of a temporary home with two men who had become her brothers, and further still of a museum and documents and artifacts and a lost dream.

Denver had no idea what she was doing, besides looking for the artist formerly - currently? - known as Vox Parva. All of Denver's friends and family were unaccounted for - the only people Denver was sure were even alive were the ones in the Tower. Which meant that, despite how loathe Denver was to do it, she had to get back there. She had to, legally this time, get back into the Tower, and figure out what her life looked like now. And for that, she needed help, from Enna, the only Vox she could trust.

(Well, Enna and Cain. If Cain had ended up Vox after all.)

She turned, determined to wander the streets around the Tower, which seemed much friendlier since Nerissa Snow was killed, but stopped less than a block over. Denver finally caught a lucky break.

"Enna," she called out, though still quiet, out of habit. She walked over slowly, uncertain what reception she'd meet even if she was sure Enna wouldn't kill her. "Fancy seeing you here."

@ennalydonsbee