#edit: i like it better today than yesterday when i posted it

[moon-mirage]

Katniss friendly hugging with Finnick?

It’s too bad those two never really hugged in canon, right?

And if there’s one part of the story where they really needed a hug it would be in the beginning of "Mockingjay", so this is where I would place this picture:

"I wish they were dead and we were, too."

It’s not the happiest hug but I feel that’s when they would need one the most.

[amerasdreams]

cramps and shaky and my back and arms ache and I have to go running around-- several pets today and the neighbors dogs and moms dogs bc mom and dad are down visiting my sister who i can't visit bc I'm busy

[mikashisus]

MAY THE WIND PROTECT YOU

SYNOPSIS: kinich recalls each time he heard you speak mondstadtian, each memory making him miss you more than the last. meanwhile, you return home to mondstadt.

PAIRING: kinich x gn!reader

TAGLIST ! @aphrodict @wystiix @tragedy-of-commons @pixelcafe-network @papiliotao

contains: poorly translated german, ajaw, intense pining (on both sides), down bad kinich, last part is not edited

word count: 4.4k

notes: THIS IS A PART 2!! writing this was sm fun guys, i had a field day with each scene. i wanted to post this yesterday on his bday, but gwen told me it'd be such a power move if i posted it today bc today is MY bday, so that's what i'm doing >:) crazy that his bday is a day before mine.

i was listening to this ost the entire time i was writing the mond scenes. when the mc mentioned the lullaby, that song is what i was referring to! anyw enjoy! TY ZIRA FOR PROOFREADING!!

part one!

The first time Kinich heard you speak in Mondstadt’s native tongue was two weeks after you arrived in Natlan. 

A merchant from Mondstadt had set up shop at the Stadium of the Sacred Flame. By pure chance, Kinich had been showing you around the Stadium that day. 

(Somehow, it slipped his mind that you were from Mondstadt— despite the fact that you unintentionally made it abundantly clear you were a foreigner by the way you dressed and your poor attempt to speak the language of Natlan.) 

As soon as you set your sights on the merchant’s wares, you were sprinting over to his stall, eagerly shouting in what sounded like an aggressive tone to the people around you. Kinich followed, worry pooling in his gut at the sudden commotion you just made. 

All your worries about wanting to set a good first impression had been thrown out the window the moment you saw a familiar face. With the way you and the merchant were animatedly speaking, anyone passing by would’ve assumed you were lifelong friends. However, that was not the case. 

Mondstadters were well known for being extremely welcoming and hospitable, especially within their own nation. Anyone who ever traveled there always put in a good word about their stay, claiming that although the nation’s ways of greeting foreigners was a bit odd, the entire populace had this unique charm that made everyone instantly feel at home there. Paired with the ever-flowing wind and the ideals of freedom and peace, Mondstadt seemed to be a true paradise. 

The few merchants Kinich had run into in the past were fairly kind people, though there was always this edge to them that made them feel a bit aggressive. Maybe it was their way of speaking… or their blunt honesty. 

Joining your side, Kinich realized you weren’t speaking the universal language of Teyvat anymore, and that now, you were speaking a language that sounded rough and throaty.

This must’ve been the language of Mondstadt. He only ever heard a few words here and there in passing through merchants he met in the past. 

He couldn’t understand a word you were saying, but he liked hearing your voice in its primitive state. 

The merchant made a gesture towards you, and you threw your head back in raucous laughter. Kinich wondered what you were talking about. A few moments later, he heard the words ‘Dornman Port’ fall from your lips, and he assumed that the topic shifted to where you were from. 

“It’s not everyday you see a Mondstadter down here in the South! Where are you from?” 

“Dornman Port!“ You answered eagerly, ”my family’s been living there for generations, but recently my grandparents moved to the city to get better access to healthcare.” 

“Ah, I see. No wonder your accent sounded familiar! My family’s a bit North of Dornman, more inland towards—“ 

From the excited way you two were speaking, Kinich guessed based on context clues that you and this merchant were from the same hometown.

Finally, you seemed to turn your attention back to the merchant’s wares, and your eyes practically sparkled once you set your sights on his entire alcohol supply. 

(You weren’t a true child of Mondstadt if you didn’t cherish your booze.) 

Pointing to a vintage bottle of something that was labeled in Mondstadt’s native tongue, you fished some mora out of your satchel.

“I haven’t seen many Mondstadters down here,” you said, resuming your earlier conversation, “not that we can’t travel to other nations, I just mean—“ 

“It’s strange?” The merchant finished your sentence. “I get that a lot from the locals. Usually, Fontainians visit Natlan the most, though I suppose that’s not too surprising. The hot springs are great!” 

“Speaking of Fontaine, I was suspected of being Fontainian my first year here. The looks on the locals’ faces after hearing I’m from the Crown of the North were priceless!”  

You took the bottle of Dandelion Wine and smiled. “I bet! I got questioned a bit too on my arrival a few weeks back.” 

He eyed the journal in your hands. “Akademiya student?” 

“Yes, sir! Vahumana Darshan!” You nodded. “I’ll be here in Natlan for six months to work on my thesis.” 

Glancing at Kinich, you suddenly felt a pang of guilt rush through you. Unintentionally, you had been making him wait this whole time. You quickly wrapped up your conversation with the merchant, explaining that Kinich was your ‘tour guide’ and you had to leave. 

“Good luck with your studies!” The merchant shook your hand, his grip firm. It reminded you of your father’s handshakes. “Let the Wind lead, youngster.” 

“Danke! May the Anemo Archon bless you! Tschüss!” 

The second time Kinich heard you speak in Mondstadt’s native tongue was when a yumkasaur had stolen your journal and decided not to give it back. 

(He didn’t think he’d ever heard someone curse so much in his life— aside from Ajaw.)

Although he couldn’t understand what you were saying, he just knew you were cursing that yumkasaur to the high heavens. And as soon as he helped you get your journal back, you cursed the yumkasaur out again as it hissed at you and flew away. 

It took a heavy amount of restraint for Kinich not to burst out laughing. You could’ve sworn a small snort had escaped from his lips as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, but that was the least of your priorities. 

Your main focus was on the big chunk taken out of your journal. 

A few pages of your journal were missing, meaning you had to rewrite three pages (front and back) of all the research you found in some Dahri ruins nearby the Scions of the Canopy. 

To say you had been angry was an understatement. You hadn’t stopped rambling in Mondstadtian for the rest of the week, and Kinich was more than a little worried you were going to throw yourself off the balcony outside your villa. 

(You didn’t, but other people from his tribe did say you spent the remainder of the week in those ruins — which, to be frank, was concerning considering you always outright refused to go exploring during the day. 

When he found you, you were mumbling to yourself and teetering on the edge of becoming someone’s sleep paralysis demon. Long story short, he had to drag you back to your villa.)

Needless to say, that was a fond memory of his, despite your imminent despair that entire week. 

It had been five months since you returned to Sumeru. Five grueling months of convincing himself he didn’t miss you as much as he truly did. 

There was a significant decline in his mood since then. 

Ever since he walked you to the borders between the Children of Echoes’ settlement and the Sumeru desert— where an escort from the Eremites was waiting (he remembered you addressing her as ‘Dehya’) —he’d been all down in the dumps. 

At first, Ajaw had a field day teasing him, until eventually, the mini pixelated dragon got tired of his sour attitude and stopped mentioning you altogether. 

One mention of you and Kinich became snappy and pissy. If he saw something that reminded him of you, he began sulking like a kicked puppy. It was amusing to Ajaw… at first. But as time dragged on, it just made him more and more annoyed. 

(“Are they all you think about!?” Ajaw screamed once after Kinich bought a bottle of Dandelion Wine from that merchant you would always talk to. 

Kinich didn’t answer, but the pout on his lips was enough to make it clear to anyone that yes… you were all he thought about.) 

He found himself back at the same merchant’s stall, immediately putting Ajaw in timeout before he could even utter a word. 

The Mondstadt merchant greeted Kinich with a firm, friendly handshake. “Welcome back! Did you enjoy the Dandelion Wine?” 

Kinich nodded curtly. “Yes. It was quite good. My tribe enjoyed it, as well.” He paused. “Where was it made?” 

The merchant’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He probably wasn’t expecting that question. He stroked his chin. “Well, you’ve probably heard of it if you’re a wine lover, but most alcoholic beverages from Mondstadt are brewed by the famous Dawn Winery.” 

Kinich had heard of it, though only in passing from merchants. 

“The Dawn Winery’s the reason Mondstadt’s even known as the wine capital of Teyvat. Without the winery, Master Diluc, Mondstadt’s fertile soil, and the wine brewing methods taught to us by Lord Barbatos, we wouldn’t be where we are today.” 

“The Anemo Archon taught you how to brew wine?” Kinich raised a brow. 

The merchant nodded. “Why, of course! Back when the people of Mondstadt migrated to Cider Lake, Lord Barbatos taught our ancestors the intricacies of wine making, and over time, his original technique had been refined into what it is today!” 

Interesting. So that was how Mondstadt’s wine business began. 

“We even have wine festivals to honor Lord Barbatos,” the merchant continued, piquing Kinich’s curiosity, “Weinlesefest is the most common. Every harvest, families come together to brew wine and offer it up to Lord Barbatos as a sort of ‘welcome home’ gift for the western wind. If he’s satisfied with the wine, he blesses us with a refreshing breeze.” 

Weinlesefest. He heard you talk about it once in passing with a different merchant. He couldn’t understand what you were saying, as you had been speaking Mondstadtian, but he knew it had to do with a festival; seeing as it was one of the first things the merchant had brought up in conversation. 

“I see.” Kinich nodded curtly, making a mental note to ask you about the Weinlesefest in his next letter. “So… does the whole nation celebrate?” 

The merchant nodded. “Yep! It’s a time of gathering together with family and friends. Mondstadters living away from home usually come back for Weinlesefest.” He let out a heavy sigh. “In fact, it’s happening right now. But work is work, so I can’t visit my wife and kids. I can only hope Lord Barbatos will keep them safe in my absence.” 

Kinich was slowly learning how Mondstadt worked the more and more he talked with Mondstadters. He sent a small smile to the merchant and bought three bottles of wine this time, even going as far as to pay extra. 

“I hope you can return home soon and see your family.” A small pang of something bitter settled in his chest. 

Family. 

“Tschüss.” He muttered, the word feeling odd and unusual on his tongue. 

The merchant’s face lit up with pure, unbridled joy. He shook Kinich’s hand once more, firmer and more enthusiastically than the other times. It was obvious Kinich had just made this man’s day, even if it was something so simple as saying ‘goodbye’ in his language. 

“Tschüss!” 

That night, he sat on his bed, writing out another letter. He occasionally glanced at the last one you had sent him, his fingers gently tracing your elegant handwriting. 

(Name), 

I visited the Stadium today to receive a commission. The merchant you always talk to, Klaus?? was there again. He told me the history behind wine making in Mondstadt. 

It’s interesting that your Archon taught you that. He also mentioned that Weinlesefest is happening right now. I remember you mentioning that festival a few times before. Did you go home for the festival? What does your family do to celebrate? Speaking of… how is your family? And your grandparents?

Everything is going well in the Scions of the Canopy. We’re recovering from the losses of the war, along with the nation as a whole, but there is still a large scar. The toll will be great for a while, but all we can do is move forward and honor the fallen. 

You don’t need to worry about us, by the way. Mavuika is strong. Speaking of Mavuika, she’ll be heading off for the final fight in a few weeks’ time. Everyone’s antsy, but we know she’ll pull through. She isn’t the Archon for nothing. 

-Kinich 

P.S. - Mualani insisted on taking you to visit the People of the Springs the next time you’re here… but knowing you, I don’t think you’ll like the hot springs :P 

P.P.S. U BETER RETURN IN 1 PEACE LOWKY HOOMAN OR I W1LL  KILL U  >:( -AJAW

The day your vacation was confirmed, you jumped for joy right in the middle of the House of Daena. It earned you a halfhearted glare from Alhaitham, the Akademiya’s scribe, but you didn’t care in the slightest. You were just happy you finally got your much needed vacation. 

You weren’t close with the scribe. Your relationship was far from anything like that, but you saw him enough on a daily basis to consider him an acquaintance. He often occupied a table in the House of Daena, either reading a book or writing furiously in a notebook. 

There were a few times you visited his office to drop off parts of your thesis for peer review, though he was never there when you did. His office hours were listed right next to the door in bold letters, yet he was never present for them. It made you raise a brow and wonder how he was even still employed if he never even showed up for his required office hours. 

Though, he did give you the proper feedback you needed for your thesis, so you couldn’t really complain. 

“I didn’t know you oversaw vacation notices,” you said, glancing up at your senior as he stood next to you. “I thought your only job was to record things for the Akademiya. Oh! That reminds me, when is my thesis presentation?” 

He sighed. “Being the scribe is more complicated than that. And yes, all proposals for vacations go straight to my office from the drop box.” 

You hummed. “So like, how does that work? Do you just check a box that says ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” 

“If the proposal was sent in during a break period, then it gets approved. Any proposals sent in after the break period are denied. The presentation for your thesis is scheduled for three months from now in the Vahumana Lecture Hall at two o’clock sharp. The Dendro Archon will be present alongside the Vahumana Sage and the Grand Sage. Be prepared to answer any and all questions from all of them.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you waved him off dismissively, “I already received that info in my mailbox.” 

Three months from now… Did you have anything planned for that day? You thought it over. 

“Shit.” You muttered.

“Something wrong?” Alhaitham questioned, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“My hometown has its annual food festival that week… Ah, well, there’s always next year.” It still stung, though. It would be the first time you missed it. “Besides, I’ll be home for Weinlesefest, so that should be enough.” 

Your parents would be upset, but they’d understand. Your thesis was a big deal, after all. As long as you were home for Weinlesefest, you knew they wouldn’t mind you missing out on Dornman Port’s annual food fest. 

You stood up and grabbed your bag. “Well, I should pack. And mail my letter before I leave.” 

“I’ll be stopping off at Port Ormos later. I can mail it for you.” Alhaitham offered. 

Although he didn’t show it, Alhaitham was kind. This was something you had to learn the hard way after a few misunderstandings. He had his own way of showing kindness, and it was often through his actions rather than his words. 

“Really? That’d be awesome! I have so much to do before I leave, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to make it to the mailing office.” You dug through your bag and pulled out a letter, handing it to him. 

His eyes scanned the envelope, his brow raising slightly in surprise. He shot you a knowing look, but he didn’t pry. 

“Thanks, Scribe!” 

“Alhaitham.” He corrected, nodding curtly before taking his leave. 

You smiled as you watched him go. Friendship with the scribe: secured! 

The boat ride home to Dornman Port was long and grueling, but the crew was friendly and had a good sense of humor. You found yourself making a few new friends in unexpected places. 

The soft breeze of eternal Spring shifted to a biting chill in the air as the boat neared your beloved hometown. The wind whipped violently, howling like the infamous Wolf King of Wolvendom. 

Up North, the winds were harsher and colder. There was a legend in your hometown— that a god ruling over this section of land during the Archon War had died with many regrets, and therefore, cursed the land with a wintry wind that would never cease. 

Whether or not that had been true was a mystery. The god’s name was long forgotten from Mondstadt, and so too was their legacy. The only person who could possibly provide evidence to those events would be the Anemo Archon himself. 

The boat docked and the sailors let out heavy sighs of relief. One clapped you on the back cheerfully. 

“How’s it feel to be home?” He questioned, a big smile on his face as he kicked a wooden plank onto the docks. 

You smiled, inhaling the cold air you missed oh so much. The same air that you had been longing to feel on your skin for months. 

“Good… great, actually!” you answered, thanking him as he helped you off the boat. 

You looked around, taking in the sight of the familiar bustling port with navy rooftops and tightly packed houses. Lanterns were strung between lampposts, ornate garland hung from the sides of houses and wrapped around streetlights. Market stalls occupied every corner, accompanied by the occasional yell of a merchant trying to sell their wares. 

Dandelions were blown up into the air as children roamed the streets, waving around wooden swords and weaving between adults’ legs. A stray dog followed behind the group, barking happily. 

The sweet tune of a lyre and a flute rang in your ears from a distance, and you quickly realized it was that same familiar Dornman lullaby that all Mondstadtians knew by heart— specifically those of you born in the far North. The song was soothing and nostalgic to your ears, opening the floodgates to a whole range of memories from your childhood. 

You inhaled the biting air again, this time with your eyes closed. “Yeah… it’s more than great to be home.” 

The sailors bid you farewell, claiming they’d see you again once you returned to Sumeru. Enthusiastically giving them your goodbyes, you watched as they loaded trade goods onto their ship before taking your leave. 

Dornman was exactly how you left it: serene yet lively. 

You stopped to chat with a few of the elders, greeting them excitedly. They asked about your studies, how your thesis was coming along, and wished you luck in your future endeavors. 

Passing by a group of kids you swore were only a few apples tall the last time you saw them, they called out to you and asked if you brought any souvenirs back for them. Showing them your empty hands, they began to pout and call you old as you playfully threatened to kick their asses. 

They ran away giggling, pretending to scream at the ‘scary monster they provoked.’ 

Shaking your head with a smile, you continued on your walk home, greeting other familiar faces as you did so.

Tucked away behind a few hills and farther from the main streets of the port, was your parents’ house. Seeing the same, old rickety wooden gate still standing tall was a surprise. You could’ve sworn that thing had fallen by now, but it was still here, on its last leg. 

The eager barking of two dogs could be heard as you unlocked the gate and walked up the stone path. Spotting the beds of flowers outside the windows, you smiled. It seemed as though your father had been participating in his yearly flower competition again with the old ladies that lived just down the road. 

You leaned down to take in the smell of the fresh cecilias, your favorite. 

The old door of your home hadn’t changed, and the decorative basket of flowers hanging from the front hadn’t either. You picked up the handle of the dove doorknocker and waited, listening as the sounds of barking got louder and louder. 

A series of locks clicked before the door swung open and two black and brown dogs came tumbling out, knocking you onto the stone path. You laughed as they licked your face, excited for your return. 

“Millie! Hashbrown!” You hugged each of them, placing kisses on their heads before you stood back up. 

Your father embraced you, hugging you tightly. You returned the hug, smiling as you pulled away. He took your bags from you and ushered you inside, claiming your mother had baked a few pies to celebrate your return home. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with your family, telling them all about your studies in the Akademiya and your long trip in Natlan. You told them about Kinich, a man from the Scions of the Canopy. 

That’s when your mother sent you a knowing look. Nothing ever escaped her know, especially when it had to do with crushes. You assumed it was because of that rumored sixth sense that all mothers possessed. Or maybe the smile on your face as you talked about Kinich was just too obvious. 

You told them how you and Kinich wrote letters to each other as much as you could, though it was getting harder for you to keep that up when exams had rolled around. 

“Speaking of mail,” your father interrupted, standing up, “we received a letter a few hours ago from a ‘Kinich.’” 

He handed you the envelope and you snatched it from his hands, ignoring the way he snickered at you as you did so. He took another sip of his beer and sighed. 

“Oh, and there was a package too!” He rummaged around on the kitchen table before handing you a tightly wrapped package. 

Confused, you took it. You had no idea what could even be inside it, but assuming it had arrived at the same time as Kinich’s letter, you guessed it was from him. Your mother stood up. 

“Let’s give them some privacy, dear.” She patted your father’s chest and ushered your siblings out of the room before sending you a wink. 

You rolled your eyes and opened the envelope, smiling absentmindedly at Kinich’s somewhat messy handwriting and the complete scribbles at the bottom of the page that were nearly indecipherable. Judging by the chicken scratch, you deduced the last message had been from Ajaw. 

You ripped open the package and set aside the note. Inside was a handmade blanket with a small note that claimed it was made by the Flower Feather Clan. 

You admired the swirling designs and hugged it to your chest. So he had remembered how much you loved blankets. Receiving such a high quality gift meant the world to you, as did the thought of him going to such lengths to have it handmade just for you. 

Digging through to the bottom of the box, you found a neatly wrapped vintage bottle of Dandelion Wine, silently cheering. You’d enjoy this with your family during the rest of the festival.

One last item sat at the bottom, so small you almost overlooked it. Pulling it out, you slipped it out of the velvet bag it was in and your jaw dropped. A gold necklace with purple and blue crystals fell into your palm, cold to the touch. 

Based on the fine craftsmanship, you could tell it had been crafted by a blacksmith from the Children of Echoes, and the crystals had been from the Masters of the Night Wind. 

Kinich really didn’t have to get you all this. Was there some sort of special occasion, or had he just wanted to send you gifts? You weren’t sure, but you were already thinking of some Mondstadt specialties you could send him in return. 

Heading up to your bedroom, you placed the gifts on your bed and grabbed a piece of paper from your desk. You sat down near the windowsill and unclasped the latch, pushing your window open. A cold breeze wafted inside, the scent of dandelions invading your room. The wind chimes hanging from your window sang in the wind, their sound comforting to your ears. 

You began to write. 

Dear Kinich, 

Thank you for all your thoughtful gifts!! Based on the fact you mentioned Klaus in your letter, I’m guessing you bought the Dandelion Wine off him, didn’t you? 

Pass on my regards to him! Möge der Wind dich beschützen! 

Weinlesefest has officially kicked off! Unfortunately, I missed the opening ceremony in the city, but tomorrow we’ll be opening the wines in my hometown! At least I haven’t missed that! The opening of the wines is the most important part of Weinlesefest, as it honors Lord Barbatos. 

My family is doing great as ever! Same old, same old, honestly. I’ll be seeing my grandparents in a few days, as my family will be taking a trip to the city to celebrate the festival with them! Unfortunately, I have to go back to the Akademiya in a week to continue my studies and refine my thesis per the Scribe’s suggestions. I wish I could be home longer, but school is school :( 

I’m glad to hear everything has blown over somewhat smoothly and all of you are safe. I can’t imagine everything you’ve had to witness, but I’ll offer up prayers of my own for the fallen (is that okay? That isn’t insensitive right…? Please tell me if it is). 

I hope the healing and rebuilding is going smoothly. If I was there, I would help in a heartbeat. Oh! I have an architect acquaintance in Sumeru! Maybe he and his team could help…? Say the word, and I’ll request his help! 

NO, I think I would melt into a puddle if I ever even stepped FOOT into those hot springs… Sorry Mualani, but I’m good… I’d rather stay in the brisk trees of the Scions of the Canopy.

Thank you once again for the gifts. I’ll cherish them. 

Mögen die Feuer von Natlan immer brennen. 

Sincerely, 

(Name) 

P.S. I’ll return back safely to you, Ajaw. Don’t worry! :)

notes: including all the german words were sm fun to do bc i'm german (not too familiar with the language but i'm in the process of learning!) and i am a firm believer that teyvat has their own languages, and dialects within those languages. some translations: danke = thank you, tschüss = goodbye, Möge der Wind dich beschützen = may the wind protect you, Mögen die Feuer von Natlan immer brennen = may the fires of natlan stay ever burning

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOST IN THE DARK (THEN I FOUND YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with a blizzard rocking yokohama, you find yourself seeking refuge in nakahara chuuya's apartment because, somehow, his building is the only one that has working generators... yet you find yourself becoming a bit suspicious (and concerned) when you realize the one person you expected to be there isn't. so you decide to go looking for him yourself, forcing chuuya to come along, and you end up maybe biting off more than you could chew.

wordcount: 8.2k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i don't think any other warnings necessary but lmk if i've missed any

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ughhhhhhh i was not going to post today BUT 1) i remembered that it was ghostienon's birthday yesterday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!) and 2) sophie said she was sad so i forced myself out of bed to edit and format. i hope you guys enjoy the background to how reader and dazai started living with each other ;) i love being able to write them as stupid teens HAHAH if u guys can't tell. we also get some hints as to mori's opinion on her and dazai's growing relatioship in this installment, though that will have its own dedicated fic <.<

“God, it’s fucking cold.” Chuuya shivers, tucked beneath a blanket in his apartment, scowling out the tall windows looking over the city. “When will this storm end? I swear it's never ending."

A blizzard has been tearing through the entire Kanagawa prefecture the past two days, and right now, Yokohama is taking the full force of it, has been since three am. The harsh winds knocked the power out hours ago, and none of the building’s generators are working. The easternmost building, the one where you live, was the first to go, so you dragged yourself all the way across to the westernmost building to force your way into Chuuya’s apartment, the only building that’s power was still holding strong by the time you made your decision.

Evidently, you were not the only one that had that idea. Ozaki Kouyou sits primly in a bundle of furs as she reads through mission reports from her subordinates, Hirotsu Ryuro flips through files on an upcoming mission for the Black Lizards, and the Colonel is berating one of his subordinates over a walkie-talkie in the corner of the room. You and Chuuya are huddled on the couch with each other, trying to keep each other warm as you wait for the worst of this to pass.

“Says you,” you say bitterly, burrowed in three of his blankets as you glare at him. “You’re like a furnace, I think I’m going to freeze to death.”

The power in his building had gone out an hour ago, and being on one of the upper floors, his apartment became chilly quickly. Chuuya scowls at you and his hand darts out to press against the back of your neck. You shriek and give him an accusing look at the feeling of his icy fingers against your bare skin, slapping his hand away hard. He snorts, looking thoroughly smug at his actions and you have half a mind to beat him to death with a pillow.

“Better than being out on the streets, hm, boy?” Kouyou says idly, glancing up from her papers, raising her eyebrows.

You watch as Chuuya’s gaze flickers down to the ground, a guilty expression crossing his face. You don’t know much about what happened last year that led to Chuuya joining the Port Mafia—you do know that evidently he’d been monikered ‘King of the Sheep,’ a small organization of teenagers that had stupidly taken to trying to siphon off territory from the Mafia, and he’d been exiled by his kingdom of orphans courtesy of Dazai. You think maybe he’s probably wondering if they’re still out there, trying to wait out this storm in whatever back alleys they can find.

You nudge your shoulder against his, trying to draw him out of his thoughts, and he gives you a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

At least you guys don’t have to worry about any attacks until the storm passes. 

The Dragon’s Head Conflict has been raging for a month now, you came back to Yokohama at the start of it and it's only continued to escalate with each passing day. There are so many foreign organizations trying to get footholds in Yokohama for the money that started this conflict, the entire city has become a bloody battlefield. You’ve hardly slept the past few weeks trying to work with Mori to figure out a game plan for handling Strain, the biggest threat of this conflict by far, but it’s hard when the Mafia’s warehouses and ports are getting assaulted day after day. 

Chuuya’s been taking on the brunt of the attacks, single-handedly pushing them back, but you know he’s getting tired. You see the exhaustion on his face and the bags beneath his eyes—the storm, as awful as it is, is bringing him a break that he very much needs. And Dazai-

“Dazai.”

You sit up straight, blankets tumbling off of you as your eyes widen. Instantly, you can feel all of the eyes in this room on you.

“What about that bastard?” Chuuya asks irritably.

“Where is he?” you demand. You haven’t seen him since the storm started, don’t know where he is; you don’t even know what building he lives in. You figured that he would have wormed his way into Chuuya’s apartment too when he realized his building lasted the longest with power, but you didn’t even think anything of it until now just because of how cold you were. “Where does he even live, actually?”

A month you’ve been in Yokohama and you’ve never been to Dazai’s apartment. You spend a lot of time with Chuuya up in his, and Dazai usually pops in too whenever you’re there; they come up to yours once in a blue moon. But you’ve never been to his.

“Out in some shipping container in the yards in southern Naka-ku,” Hirotsu answers your question and you turn to look at him, appalled.

“What?” you ask bluntly. “A shipping container?”

“The Boss offered him a nice apartment in the central building,” Kouyou hums. “He refused many times.”

“I wouldn’t want to live in the same building as Mori either,” you say snippily. “He’s out there now? In this storm?”

Kouyou lifts her shoulders in an elegant shrug, raising her eyebrows as she finally looks up at you, there’s something chilly in her eyes that you don’t like as she studies you. Chuuya doesn’t meet your eyes when you give him a pressing look.

“Those containers aren’t insulated,” you continue. “He’ll freeze to death.”

Kouyou scoffs. “That boy won’t be killed by something as mundane as the cold,” she says dismissively. “He will be fine.”

You give her a dismayed look. You’re not too close with Dazai, you’ve only known him for a month, and in that time, you haven’t really had the opportunity to spend much time with him besides the occasional invasion of Chuuya’s apartment. The two of you always seem to have missions scheduled at opposite times of each other—whenever you’re free, he’s gone and whenever you’re gone, he’s free. Sometimes, you think Mori does it on purpose, but you don’t know why.

“It’s blizzarding out there,” you argue. “He’s stick and bones in an uninsulated piece of metal that’s probably buried in snow. We can’t just leave him out there.”

“Leave him be,” Kouyou says sharply, and you’re almost taken aback by her tone, giving her a cool look. “Don’t involve yourself with that boy.”

You draw back at the sternness—you and Kouyou have been on good terms, so you don’t really know where this is coming from, and it pisses you off a bit, but that might just be because you’re cold and already irritable.

“Excuse me?” you gape, looking between her and Chuuya, noticing how Chuuya immediately averts his gaze from you. “Chuuya?” 

“You heard me, girl,” Kouyou tells you firmly. “Keep away from him.”

“Why?” You’re half convinced you’re not hearing her correctly because what does that even mean. Your voice rises as you become more incensed. “What do you even mean? Chuuya hangs with him all the time-”

“Mori has forced the two of them into a partnership,” Kouyou interrupts. “Chuuya has no choice in the matter. You-”

You bristle, about to rise to your feet, but before you can say anything, Hirotsu speaks up: “Kouyou-san is right, hime. The Boss has that boy on a tight leash for a reason, he does not like anything trying to interfere with it. Even you. Especially you.”

Chuuya gives you a look from the corner of his eye. “The Boss is weird about him,” he agrees quietly, but he does seem distinctly uncomfortable, like a part of him wants to go out searching for Dazai. “You’ve had to have noticed.”

Of course, you have. It’s impossible to miss the way Mori hangs over him. He has Dazai shadow him everywhere he goes, never far out of sight. He’s harsher with Dazai than he was even with you back when he first took you in years ago, has impossibly high expectations and refuses to accept failure from him. You think maybe it’s part of the reason why he’s always so careful to ensure that you’re on missions at opposite times—Dazai has shown interest in you since your arrival in Yokohama, becoming giddy like a kid whenever he runs into you, and Mori already warned you not to distract him.

You rise to your feet, shaking your head. “I’m not leaving him out there to freeze.”

“Girl,” Kouyou says, voice tight, finally looking up from her reports again to give you a stern look. “I won’t say it again-”

“Or what?” you ask coolly. “What is he going to do to me? I’ve known Mori longer than any of you. I know what he’ll do if he doesn’t like what I’m doing, it’s not worth leaving Dazai out there alone, especially in this weather.”

You toss off the blankets and storm over to where you’d hung your jacket up, looking back at Chuuya over your shoulder. “Are you coming?” you ask, annoyed. 

Chuuya glances between you and Kouyou nervously before sighing and tossing his own blankets off. “Whatever. You’re bringing him to your apartment. I don’t want his shitty ass here.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know why the fuck I agreed to this,” Chuuya spits out complaints as the two of you trudge off the road through knee deep snow to the slope leading down to the shipping yards. “You’re insane. Dazai would not do this for you.”

“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to be in this situation,” you scowl, tossing Chuuya a dirty look before your eyes trail across the shipping yard. “Do you know which container is his? They all look the same.”

“That red one out there, I think,” Chuuya says, pointing out across the shipping yard to one of the few containers not falling apart. You grimace, it’s all the way out in the center of the yard in the deepest parts of the snow. Chuuya sees your displeasure and rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You yelp when he grabs your arm and yanks you closer to him. The Tainted Sorrow is an ability you’ve become well acquainted with over the past few weeks, but it’s still jarring to feel it wash over you so suddenly. Chuuya gives you a sharp smile when he feels your grip on his arm tighten as he uses his ability to launch the two of you in the air; your stomach lurches at the sudden feeling of weightlessness that spreads through you.

It takes a total of maybe five seconds for him to get the two of you in front of Dazai’s supposed shipping container, and you shiver when the two of you land in the knee deep snow, casting him a dirty look when he keeps himself floating right above it.

“Asshole,” you mutter, ignoring his smug look as you trudge forward to the door of the shipping container. “Dazai! Dazai, are you in there?”

Your voice strains as you shout over the howling wind, grimacing and blinking rapidly at the snow pelting your face. You get no response from inside the container and you give Chuuya a scowl.

“Are you sure this is the right container?” you demand as your fingers enclose around the bitterly cold metal handle.

Chuuya shrugs. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I can’t stand you,” you snap as you try and fail to yank open the container, the deep snow preventing it from budging even an inch.

“Here, move,” Chuuya says, coming to stand next to you, finally dropping down into the snow as he nudges you out of the way to use his ability to pull open the heavy, jammed door.

You squint as you look into the dark container—it’s mostly empty and you’re about to turn on Chuuya for having the wrong one before you notice a chair and a desk in the far back corner. The snow spills into the container as soon as Chuuya gets the door open and you yelp as you slide in, nearly slipping to the floor. 

Chuuya snorts. 

You glare at him, but you have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Dazai,” you call again, frowning when you don’t see him in the container, wondering if you came all the way out here for nothing. Chuuya would kill you. “Do you see him?”

“I’m gonna kill you if we came all the way out here for nothing,” Chuuya says, voicing your thoughts. You wince as he jumps down to stand next to you. “Maybe he went over to those other friends of his? That low ranking guy?”

Maybe, you think, taking a few steps further into the container, eyes straining in the dark to try to make sure he’s not there before facing Chuuya’s wrath and leaving. Just as you’re about to give up, you spot a lump covered by a thin blanket in the corner of the container and you frown. You think at first it’s a pile of dirty clothes until you draw a bit closer and see that it’s moving, a slow and steady rise and fall that could only be Dazai huddled beneath it.

“Dazai?” you repeat again, making your way over to the corner of the container and kneeling next to the lump. Chuuya trails a few steps behind you slowly, pausing when you reach out to snatch the blanket off of the lump. “Jesus, Dazai…”

He’s sleeping beneath the blanket—sleeping or just straight up unconscious, you’re not sure. He looks small curled into a ball in the corner of the container, his skin and lips are paler than usual, breath concerningly slow. You reach out to press your hand against his cheek, feeling how cold and clammy his skin is.

“And you wanted to leave him out here,” you hiss at Chuuya, shooting him an accusing look. To his credit, he does look guilty as he looks down at Dazai, brows twisted and lips curled down, an unreadable look in his bicolored eyes. “Help me get him up.”

Dazai is lighter than you expected—he’s tall and gangly but there’s so little meat to his bones that you can almost lift him up on your own but it’s just awkward because of his height. Chuuya grabs his feet, you grab under his arms; his body is limp, like you’re carrying a corpse and not a living, breathing human being.

“Chuuya, hold on, I’m gonna put him down,” you say before the two of you get to the entrance of his shipping container.

Chuuya grunts as the two of you lower him to the ground, giving you a questioning look. You ignore it, pulling off your thick fur coat and wrapping it around Dazai, trying to warm him up even just a little because you fear that if you bring him out in his thin button-up and slacks, he’s just going to get even more sick. 

“You’re gonna freeze,” Chuuya says with a sigh, shaking his head. He pulls off his own jacket and tosses it at you. “I run hot anyway. Take it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, shrugging it over your shoulders and then looking back down at Dazai. “Ready?” 

“Yup,” Chuuya agrees, leaning down to grab Dazai’s feet again.

You grimace as the harsh and bitter winds immediately sting your face, a shiver running down your body. You glance over at Chuuya, whose face is already becoming red with the cold, he looks distinctly uncomfortable although he’s trying to hide it, and you feel a bit guilty. You look to the side, all the way across the shipping container yard up the hill to the road the two of you had come from, all of it covered in several feet of snow.

You realize, a bit dreadfully, that Chuuya will not be able to use his ability while carrying Dazai and you give him an agonized look.

Chuuya looks just as harrowed.

“This is going to suck.”

“Give me your blankets,” Chuuya demands, shivering violently once the two of you get Dazai up to your apartment. 

Luckily, the backup generators had come back on while the two of you were out so you didn’t have to walk up literally nearly forty stories to get to your apartment. The heat is still off though, so it’s freezing and you really need to change into something warmer, but you’re more concerned with the boy curled up beneath your covers, still breathing but still also concerningly slow.

“He’s not looking too good,” you say quietly, reaching out to pull the blankets tighter around him. You brush your fingers across his cheekbone, trying to see if he’ll stir at all, but he remains frighteningly still. “Do you think maybe I should call Mori?”

You don’t want to call Mori and you’re pretty sure Dazai wouldn’t want you to call Mori, but you think that if he doesn’t move or show some kind of life in the next ten minutes, you’re going to have to. As much as you don’t want to get the man involved, you want Dazai to die in your bed even less. You sigh as you take a seat at his bedside, pulling out your phone to try to figure out what exactly you should do if he’s hypothermic.

“Yo, I asked for blankets,” Chuuya says irritably, rifling around your clothes closet for blankets. “Where are they?”

“Downstairs,” you say dismissively, “I thought you weren’t staying.”

Chuuya’s shoulders slump as he scowls at you. “Only long enough for you to figure out if he’s gonna live,” he mutters and then storms downstairs to find blankets as you finally find a website that will load so you can figure out what to do with Dazai.

Be gentle. When helping someone with hypothermia, handle them gently. Only move the person as much as is necessary. Don't massage or rub the person. Vigorous or jarring movements may trigger cardiac arrest.

Move the person out of the cold. Move the person to a warm, dry location if possible. If moving is not possible, shield the person from the cold and wind as much as possible. The person should be kept in a flat position if possible.

Remove wet clothing. If the person is wearing wet clothing, remove it. Cut away clothing if necessary to avoid too much movement.

Cover the person with blankets. Use layers of dry blankets or coats to warm the person. Cover the person's head, leaving only the face exposed.

Monitor breathing. A person with severe hypothermia may appear unconscious, with no clear signs of a pulse or breathing. If the person's breathing has stopped or appears dangerously low or shallow, begin CPR right away if you're trained.

Supply warm beverages. If the affected person is alert and able to swallow, give the person a warm, sweet, nonalcoholic, noncaffeinated drink. Warm drinks can help warm the body.

Well, you think, he’s not conscious for a warm drink and Chuuya changed him into a warm pair of your thick sweatshirts and sweatpants. He’s piled under the blankets in your room and he didn’t go into cardiac arrest from the two of you jostling him out of the shipping yard and into your apartment, so you think the only thing really left for you to do is make sure he keeps breathing.

You can do that.

You turn your attention back to Dazai, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look down at him. You shift into a cross-legged position, hesitantly reaching out to touch his cheek. His skin is cold under your touch but your breath hitches when he finally moves on his own; you almost draw your hand back like you’ve been burned when you see his lashes flutter, but you don’t. Your lips part when he unconsciously leans into your touch, a soft puff of air escaping his lips as he shifts into a more comfortable position, pressing his face into your hand. 

You’re only snapped back to reality when Chuuya walks back into your bedroom, your fluffy blanket from the couch downstairs pulled entirely around him. He gives you a judgmental look, eyes drawing from where you’d very inconspicuously yanked your hand back into your lap before looking back up to your face and your cheeks heats up.

“I was checking his temperature,” you hiss, lying through your teeth. “Don’t look at me like that when you look like an egg.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chuuya rolls his eyes as he waddles over to you, sitting on the bed next to you as the two of you look over Dazai. “How is he?”

“Alive,” you say with a shrug. “There’s nothing else to really do but make sure he keeps breathing. Give him warm water to drink when he wakes up. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” he replies awkwardly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Don’t want to go back so Ane-san can scold me anyway…”

You think it’s more that he feels guilty over wanting to leave Dazai out there while he was suffering but you don’t shatter the facade he’s putting up because if he feels bad, it’ll be easier for you to make him do the things you don’t want to do while he’s here.

“Yeah, she’ll probably be mad,” you agree, glancing down at Dazai again, some of your tension easing when you see that his chest is rising and falling a bit more steadily and much more deeply now. “I’m not happy with her.”

“Why?” Chuuya asks.

“What do you mean why?” you ask. “You know why.”

“She was just trying to look out for you,” Chuuya says with a frown. “She’s right, the Boss gets weird about Dazai. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself but you haven’t been here the past year. I always thought it was weird that he never introduced Dazai to the Flags like he did for me but… I just don’t think he likes it when people get close to Dazai.”

It is weird, you won’t deny that, but it’s not worth leaving him out there to die. Plus… you remember the day you first met him, his excitement at having someone else his age around, his disappointment when he thought you didn’t like him… he’s just a boy, a lonely one at that, and Mori is cruel for trying to keep him isolated.

“I don’t care what Mori wants,” you say tightly. 

It’s a lie—the thought of doing something that pisses him off chills you to the bone. Your throat spasms as your mind is drawn back to the warzone he found you in; the way he’d give you small smiles and pats on the head all the while telling you that if you couldn’t get a hold of your ability, he’d send you back where you came from. The thought is cold and haunting, a constant reminder that if you can’t prove your worth to him he’ll discard you like a useless tool, but…

Your gaze drifts back over to Dazai, still shivering from where tucked underneath your blankets, but he looks much more comfortable. Much more at peace. You think again of the way he was so happy to meet you. The way he was so bothered by the thought of you not liking him. The way he constantly tries to seek you out even though Mori ensures that the two of you have opposite mission schedules. The way he so instinctively leaned into your touch. 

But maybe just this once you’ll do what you want regardless of Mori’s wishes.

Chuuya gives you a heavy side eye before shaking his head. “Wanna play cards?”

“... Yeah, sure.”

The first time Dazai wakes up, he’s not even coherent.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, doesn't know who you are, and is panicked over something. Chuuya had left hours ago once the two of you were mostly certain that Dazai wouldn’t suddenly die, going back to his apartment to face the wrath of Kouyou for disobeying her. You’re starting to doze off when you feel him jerk up next to you; he thrashes under the covers as he tries to free himself, nearly knocking you off of the bed.

“Dazai,” you gasp, startled. You shift around to try to get him to calm down and nearly end up with a fist to the face. “Jesus, Dazai, chill.”

You grab his hand and try to pin him down to the bed but it only ends with him thrashing harder, eyes wild, more panicked. You let go of his wrist and he scrambles away, tripping off the bed and onto the floor, yanking the blankets with him. You curse as you follow after him, kneeling on the floor next to him as he scuttles back into the corner like a frightened animal.

He looks… terrible, actually. His skin is pale and clammy, you think he must have developed a fever from the cold. He looks half delirious, his visible eye is glazed over and full of fear and your throat tightens as you lift your hands to try to show you mean no harm. Dazai doesn’t calm down, kicks his feet out when you try to get close and you sigh before stopping a few feet away from him.

“Dazai, calm down, it’s just me,” you say quietly. 

When he finally starts to calm down, you shift forward to place your hands on his ankles, stopping him from kicking out again if something sets him off. When he doesn’t immediately start thrashing under your touch, you take it as an okay to come closer. Scooting against the floor, you come to sit next to him, pressing your shoulder against his. Dazai instantly is leaning into you, body exhausted, head falling against your shoulder.

“We have to get you back up on the bed,” you tell him but you feel him weakly shake his head from where it’s resting on your shoulder. “We have to, Dazai. You can't stay on the floor.”

“Why are you here?” he croaks out. “... Why am I here? Is this your apartment?”

“You were going to freeze to death out there,” you tell him. “I-”

“But why? Why do you care? I don’t-no one cares so why…” Dazai doesn’t even finish the question, tongue loosened in his half-delirious state. He sounds distressed but more than that he sounds confused, like he can’t understand why you would go out of your way for him. Him.

“C’mon, Dazai, back in bed,” is all you say, voice quiet as you shift into a kneeling position, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him stumble back to his feet.

He’s light, but his limbs are awkwardly long so you stumble a bit when he leans his full body weight onto you, nearly tripping over one of his legs as you help him onto the bed. As soon as you get him situated, you reach back over onto the floor to grab the blankets he’d pulled off the bed and tuck him back under them.

His eye tracks you—big and black and empty as you leave his side to grab the chamomile tea you’d brewed when he finally started stirring thirty minutes ago. It’s not as hot now but it’s warm enough.

You sit at his side, shoulder pressed to his and back against the headboard as you lift the mug to his lips. He stares down at the mug for a moment, making no move to drink it, but then he lets his head fall on your shoulder again, pressing his lips to the rim of the mug.

You tilt the mug back, using your other hand to keep his head steady, watching as he takes a few sips before stubbornly turning his head away, pressing his face into your shoulder so that you can’t force him to drink anymore.

“You should take a few more sips,” you tell him quietly. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled against your shirt. It’s only when he hears you put the mug back down does he finally lift his face. He still looks entirely out of it, but his gaze still somehow manages to take upon a more accusing look. “Why am I here?”

“I told you why,” you frown, side-eyeing him.

“Why am I really here? Did Mori tell you to come check on me? I don’t need-”

“I came because I wanted to,” you say as you become increasingly more irritated. “I’m not Mori’s lapdog. I do what I want.”

Dazai stares at you, more withdrawn now and an uncertain look in his eye. “But why?” he asks, a bit quieter this time like he can’t possibly fathom why someone would come for him because they wanted to. You almost want to reach down and grab his hand but you refrain. Instead, you knock the side of your head gently against his.

“I told you back when we met that I wanted to know you. Wanted to be your friend,” you say, honestly.

“You didn’t say that,” Dazai accuses, averting his gaze. “That you wanted to be my friend. You didn’t say that.”

“It was kind of implied,” you reply, rolling your eyes and that add a bit more quietly, “I do. I do want to be your friend. And friends look out for each other.”

Dazai’s entire expression shifts at your words, expression crumbling. Just as suddenly as his expression changes, he throws himself back into a laying position, turning away from you and lifting the covers up above his head to hide himself from you. You stare at him, unsure of how to take his reaction—a rejection? Or maybe he’s just flustered? He murmurs something that you can’t hear because it’s smothered by the layers of blankets on top of him.

“Huh?”

“I said that I’m allowing you to be my friend,” Dazai raises his voice, pitched and wobbly, like he’s trying to make it come across more snooty than it actually does. As if it’s a bother for you to want to be his friend. It’s almost funny but you can’t help the way you roll your eyes again. “Be grateful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say sarcastically, “for gracing me with this most honored title.”

You hear him sniffle and then sneeze beneath the lump of blankets. “It is an honored title. You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes. Again. But you don’t respond this time, resigning to just leaning back against the headboard and grab the book you were starting before you’d started dozing off. You think maybe he might be right—it is an honored title. Dazai doesn’t have many friends, doesn’t let people get too close and certainly doesn’t let them think they mean anything to him. He’s very selective with the people he chooses to associate with.

“The next time you wake up, as your friend, I’m forcing you to eat some soup.”

You hear him grumble but you think he must be too tired to protest because he doesn’t even get any words out before you notice that his breath has evened out beneath the blankets. You sigh and pull them down a bit so that he doesn’t accidentally smother himself to death in his sleep, ignoring the small smile that twitches to your lips as you turn your attention back to your book.

The second time Dazai wakes up, he’s much more alert and entirely more difficult.

“You need to eat something,” you hiss, trying to wrangle Dazai up out of bed. “And you need to drink something, you’ve sweat so much that my sheets are soaked through. You’re going to be dehydrated and then you’re going to feel worse.”

“Go away,” Dazai shrieks, nearly smacking you in the face as he tries to push you away. “Go away, I don’t want your help, just let me go back to the shipping container to die. I don’t-”

“Oh, would you just shut up?” you hiss, taking the pillow he was laying on and whacking him over the head with it hard. Dazai flops back on the bed hard, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. You raise the pillow again threateningly. “Get up and eat soup or I’ll hit you again.”

“You just whacked me with a pillow while I’m dying of fever,” Dazai says, voice riddled with shock. “I can’t believe you just-”

“Eat the soup,” you demand, winding back your arms again as you prepare to hit him again. 

Dazai gives the pillow a wary look before sitting up and scooching across the bed to the nightstand, staring at the now lukewarm soup with a contemplative expression. “Do you eat or drink soup? It’s liquid, isn’t it? Wouldn’t I be drinking the soup?” 

You stare at him flatly. “There’s carrots in it. You’re eating the carrots, so you’re eating the soup.”

Dazai’s face twists in disgust as soon as the c-word leaves your lips and you know you’ve made a mistake. Everything happens in a split second—you see him look at you from the corner of his eye, you see his gaze dart to the door, and you see his body tense as he prepares to make a break for it.

He doesn’t get more than an inch before you’re bringing the pillow back down on his head, sending him sprawling back down against the mattress with a loud ‘oof.’

“You can’t just beat me until I eat the soup,” Dazai protests loudly, disgruntled as he looks around trying to figure out if he can try to make another break for it, casting the pillow a wary look. Luckily, even if he is more coherent now, his brain and body are still sluggish from the fever. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” you say, and just for good measure, you whack him with it again.

“Stop! I didn’t even move that time,” he cries out. “Now you’re hitting me just to hit me!” 

“You’re not eating it fast enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!”

Dazai bristles like an irritated cat as he stares at you, but his shoulders slump as he drags himself back over to the nightstand. You’re almost insulted, honestly, considering you spent an hour trying to figure out how to cook it properly for him, but you simmer down when he lifts the spoon from the bowl.

He blinks suddenly, eyes wide and owlish. “This spoon is large.”

You stare at him. “It’s a soup spoon,” you say flatly. 

“Can I keep it?” he asks, twisting it around to look at it more carefully.

“No, Dazai, you can’t keep my spoon.”

Dazai pouts at you but then lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh as he gives the soup one last wary look before taking his first spoonful of soup. For a split second, you watch with bated breath to see his reaction to it, but then his face lights up as he spoons up another mouthful of the soup. You pretend that you’re not entirely pleased and smug that he likes the soup you made him, but you can’t help yourself from making a snide comment.

“So after all of that, you like it,” you say dryly. 

Dazai scowls. “I’m just hungry,” he disagrees, but his cheeks are flushed pink. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” you agree blandly.

“It’s true.”

You don’t say anything else after that, staring at the wall as Dazai scarfs down the entire bowl of soup because whenever you look at him, he stops mid-spoonful and waits for you to look away again. You think he’s ridiculous and want to roll your eyes, but you also can’t help the fondness that blooms in you as you pull your knees to your chest and wait for him to finish.

It’s not long before you hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl. When you look over at him, you see the frown on his face as he looks down at the bowl—as if he hadn’t realized that he’d finished all of the soup already. You nudge his shoulder with yours, drawing his attention away from the empty bowl. 

“There’s more in the pot if you want it,” you offer, watching as a conflicted expression crosses his face as he looks back down at the bowl. “It’s gonna go to waste if you don’t. I ate earlier.”

Finally, Dazai mutters, “Only because you’re forcing me.”

You give him a flat look but don’t say anything else, taking the bowl from him and making your wait out of the bedroom to the kitchen. It’s been a little over a day since you first got him in your apartment. It’s dark again, the moon high in the sky and stars glittering prettily—you pause at the towering windows in your living room to look up at the sky and you find yourself thinking of Dazai. 

Or, of his eyes that is.

When you hear people talk about Dazai, they mostly talk about his mass of terrifying feats. They talk about how he’s sixteen and already in command of one of the Port Mafia’s most elite combat squads, they talk about how he’s sixteen and rivaling the Colonel’s success rate on operations, they talk about how he’s on track to be the next promoted executive whenever there’s another opening. They talk about how his blood is blacker than anyone else in the upper echelon, they talk about how he was born to be one of them. You can never tell if they’re scared of him or if they admire him—probably both, and you think they’re probably more scared than anything. 

They also talk about his eyes. Eye. Whatever. Too dark, too emotionless, too dull. Soulless, hollow, creepy. They’re uncomfortable meeting his gaze—they say he’s inhuman, that only a demon could have eyes so hauntingly empty. 

You think they’re wrong, they remind you more of the night sky than anything else.

You love the stars. 

You sigh as you walk over to the kitchen and pour the rest of the soup into the bowl. You heat it back up in the microwave for a few seconds before bringing it back over to the spare bedroom where Dazai is staying. You think you’ve probably not been gone for more than two minutes, but by the time you’re back, Dazai is curled up beneath the covers again, dozing off. 

He doesn’t notice you enter the room and you watch him for a moment, tilting your head to the side as take note of the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes flutter as his eyes droop shut. There’s still sweat beaded on his forehead, a faint flush over his cheeks that proves the fever is still running him down—you find your lips curving up, you think he’s much more pleasant when he doesn’t speak. 

He only jerks back awake when you take a few steps closer to him, eyes wild with panic as if he was surprised by your presence. He doesn’t seem to recognize you for a moment but when he does, he visibly relaxes, brows furrowing in confusion as if he didn’t realize he’d started falling asleep.

“You can sleep if you’re tired,” you say as you place the soup down on the nightstand and take a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I can heat up the soup later.”

Dazai stares at you with an unreadable expression, he looks like he wants to ask you something or say something but his lips remain sealed shut. After a few moments, he sits up silently and shifts into a sitting position. Your shoulders brush and his thigh is pressed against yours as he starts to eat the soup carefully again, slower this time.

Too slow, you realize almost a second too late when Dazai’s head lolls to the side and he nearly drops a whole spoonful of soup onto the bed. Luckily, you’re quick enough to grab the bowl and catch the spoon and soup before it hits the sheets. His head drops on your shoulder and that fondness in your chest starts to spread again. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai so at peace before, and yes, it might be because he’s half dead with exhaustion, but you think it’s a welcome difference from the tight expressions you’ve seen from him when you happen to cross paths with him at headquarters. When he’s not Dazai Osamu, but the Demon Prodigy, the Black Wraith, cold and distant, intimidating and cruel, not a sixteen-year-old boy who dislikes carrots and has a fascination with soup spoons. You think back to his refusal to believe that you were helping him of your own free will and you can’t help but frown a bit.

You let him lay on your shoulder for a second longer than necessary before shifting him back into a lying position and tucking him beneath the comforter. You sigh as you take a seat next to him, back against the headboard as you pull out your phone to shoot a text to Chuuya so you can let him know that Dazai is doing better.

You yawn as you think to yourself that you’ll stay a bit longer—watch over Dazai to make sure he doesn’t get worse again before heading back up to your own room… but you find yourself sinking into the mattress, a bit too sleepy and a bit too comfortable…

Dazai feels better the next time he wakes up. 

He yawns as he shifts in bed to nuzzle into the thick blankets and soft pillows. He feels warm, comfortable, surrounded by a familiar and pleasant scent that leaves his defenses dangerously low. A bit alarmed by how at ease he feels, Dazai’s eyes fly open, trying to figure out where the fuck he is and why the fuck he feels so good.

He tries to sit up, but there’s a weight pressed against his side that makes him pause, so he turns his head to the side slowly, unsure of what he’s going to find. He freezes when he sees you propped up against the headboard next to him, fast asleep, neck turned at an uncomfortable angle.

“Friends look out for each other.”

At once, the past day or so comes back to him—most of it is a fog but he vividly remembers him waking up a few hours ago and you whacking him around with pillows until he got some soup in him. He finds his lips curling up into an amused smile as he looks down at you, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest that makes him feel almost… Dazai doesn’t dare to admit it. He’s never had someone take care of him like that before.

He sighs as he reaches out to shift you into a more comfortable position. Carefully, laying you down against the mattress and placing your head on the pillow where his had been resting. He pulls the covers over you and watches as you let out a sleepy hum of appreciation, rubbing your face against the pillow before settling back down into a deep sleep.

His hands drop back down to his lap and he stares at you for a moment, wondering if you meant what you said, wondering if you were telling the truth when you told him Mori hadn’t been the one to send you to check on him, wondering if maybe… 

Wondering if maybe you really did want to be his friend. 

Dazai doesn’t have many friends. He has Oda, but he pretty much forced himself into Oda’s life by almost dying on his doorstep—literally—so he doesn’t think that really counts. Chuuya… well, he pretty much coerces Chuuya into hanging out with him by antagonizing him into video game challenges, so he doesn’t think that really counts either. 

Dazai might not have any friends, actually. 

He decidedly doesn’t like the emotion spreading through him now. It's light and airy and it clings to his black heart dangerously. It blooms in a way that nothing should be able to bloom in the dark. It’s too… feels too close to hope and Dazai knows better than anyone that hope is a dangerous, dangerous emotion—one that he shouldn’t allow to take root in him unless he wants to be hurt in ways that he’s tried to carefully guard himself from.

He should leave.

He should leave now. 

He’s feeling better, there’s no reason for him to stay now that he can move around and think but…

But this bed is so much more comfortable than the floor of his shipping container… The sheets and comforter are warmer than the thin and ripped blanket he uses to cover himself at night… The pillows are so much softer than the clothes he props behind his head as a pillow. Dazai has never slept so well in his entire life—the nights that he is able to sleep are restless and plagued with faces he’d rather forget and voices that haunt him. This is the first time in… well, forever, that he’s been able to sleep peacefully, that he actually feels rested when he wakes up in the morning. The thought of going back to that metal box almost makes his body itch with discomfort. 

He’s just so warm and so comfortable and you smell so nice… and Dazai... for the first time in his life, he feels content.

As soon as Dazai is awake, he feels his eyes drooping back shut just as quickly, breath evening out again as he drifts back to sleep.

“So he’s just… living with you now?” Chuuya asks, baffled.

“I mean, I guess so,” you shrug helplessly. “He just… never left after we brought him there that day.”

Never left and brought his few belongings into the spare room he’d been staying in when he was sick, but you don’t add that part. Honestly, you don’t mind that Dazai has usurped your spare room—your apartment is too big for just you to be living in, you don’t mind the company after spending two years alone in Kyoto and Dazai is fun to be around despite the awful movie he picked on Friday and his terrible taste in food. 

Plus, you think it’s a bit of a much deserved, subtle rebellion from Mori, who has seemed to do everything in his power to make sure that the two of you never have time to interact with each other. You’re still not quite sure why he seems to be against the idea of you and Dazai becoming friends—probably something to do with a future plan of his, or maybe he really is just worried that you’ll distract Dazai from the carefully constructed path Mori has set him down—but you’ve decided that you like Dazai and you want to be his friend whether Mori likes it or not… which is saying a lot, considering you don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more than you want to impress Mori.

He’s not happy with you—you can tell by the disapproving stares and the disappointed comments that make you want to curl in on yourself, and you have a feeling that as soon as this conflict is over with, he’s going to send you right back to Kyoto, but that’s an issue for you to deal with in the future. 

For now, you’ll enjoy not being alone. Not having to watch your back and sleep with one eye open. Having people to rely on. 

Having friends. 

“And you didn’t tell him to get the fuck out?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” Chuuya demands. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“He lived in a shipping container, Chuuya,” you defend yourself, “and I have a spare bedroom, it’s not a big deal.”

Chuuya stares at you for a moment, gaze sharp and accusatory, and then his expression shifts into one of disgust. “No.”

“Excuse me?” you demand, baffled.

“No. No, no, no. No.” Chuuya shakes his head, taking a step away from you. “You need to see a goddamn shrink. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Something wrong with me? What are you even talking about?” 

Chuuya doesn’t even respond, looking severely disturbed as he storms off in the opposite direction, leaving you standing there, perplexed and slightly insulted. 

“What’s the pipsqueak crying about this time? Is it his height or his terrible taste in clothes?” A familiar voice mocks from behind you. 

You brighten a bit at Dazai’s voice, feeling him hanging over your shoulder as he looks over to where Chuuya had left. His cheek brushes yours from how close he is—he has no concept of personal space, you’ve realized in the past few days he’s decided to make himself at home in your apartment, but you don’t really mind.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answer. “Just ran off mid-conversation.”

Dazai clicks his tongue. “Stupid slug is always getting emotional about something,” he says. “Whatever. More popcorn for me. I finished my assignment early. Movie?”

“You’re not picking this one.”

“What? My movie was great.”

“Hah! If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I have another that you’re gonna looooove.”

“You will literally have to tie me down and clamp my eyes open to make me watch another movie of yours, Dazai.”

“...”

“... Stop looking at me like that.”

“...”

“Dazai!”

[fortemelody]

AHHHSHFBTKFNTLFKGNFMDM SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER IM LOOSING MY SHIT RN

here’s some things i noticed/wondered/loved:

- i think in that scene where tom is on the ground yelling for sonic, he is wearing a special forces suit. maybe he upgraded from cop to working with gun?? if so i think that’s a really good use of his character actually! he wanted to save a life and raise a family above all else yes, but he still got his previous dream of doing more serious cop work!

- shadow just. has a big ass portal?? like holy shit he’s just suckin the life outta earth and ig that’s one way to do it (or maybe it’s just a ring and i’m stupid idek)

- i’m sure we’ll learn more about this in the actual movie so i’m not too worried, but i’m super confused at the very beginning scene. apparently sonic didn’t change his heart…but he did tho? like he learned what being a true hero meant in the last movie. tbh i feel like that’s enough but hey i’m not against more character development for our boy so!! (also that bit where he’s like “in my lungs” was actually really funny to me, ben schwartz’ awesome delivery caught me off guard)

- GERALD ROBOTNIK ALIVE HUUUUH?! tbh i would’ve preferred if maria was alive, i feel like that would be an interesting dynamic. but also ig that would make it harder for shadow to learn anything so i totally get it. anyways i’m just glad they’re putting a little twist on the story, it keeps it interesting. they already sorta did that with the knuckles and iblis thing actually! (even if that show sucked ass and although that probably wasn’t intentional 😭)

- even tho bro only got like… 3 lines, i really think keanu fits shadow. he’s very soft spoken in comparison to the rest of the case which feels nice. also he’s like the “really bad” guy so ofc he’s not gonna be yappin on and on like sonic or robotnik and he’s gonna take things uber seriously.

- where was my girl maddie :( i think she was only in like a singular frame. hope shes in the movie a somewhat significant amount. i heart pretzel lady!! could live without wade tho like pls im so sick of his bowling soap opera 💀

- FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK!!! after fucking 3 movies they finally fulfilled jim carrey’s wishes!! let the man get creative like please i love jim carrey sm aughdfhfnfmschxj. also love how we got so much stobonik content within that short scene like jesus come get y’all’s food

- shadow at one point says something along the lines of “when we’re done, there won’t be anything left.” maybe i’m reading WAY to into this but what does the “we’re” part mean?? is he working with others? i feel like this is either gonna be team dark or some new movie exclusive character(s). edit: someone made a valid point that he’s actually probably referring to gerald (look at reblogs!)

-CHAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lowkey wonder if the room therye in is like an amusement park or somethin like that

- no sign of amy :( but honestly my prediction now is that she’s gonna be the post credit scene teaser cus they always do a new character reveal there. first tails, then shadow. and honestly now i think it might be better that way so shadow can have a chance to breathe and show his story in full. i’m pretty sure i vaguely remember colleen (tails’ VA) being kinda mysterious about amy’s appearance when asked, and also the fact that it was confirmed that this isn’t the end of the movie franchise/universe. but ig we’ll just have to wait and see!

so sorry i stated this yesterday morning to give my initial thoughts but then got busy and completely forgot to post/finish it. and today i started (and am close to finishing) a very long edit of the trailer, so be on the look out for that too!

genuinely i feel like this movie is gonna somehow be even more record breaking than any of the previous movies and i am so here for the hype 🙏

[papayatori]

Don’t Blink! (P3)

LN4 x fém!reader

No warnings

I’m not sure how long I’m going to carry on this series, I guess it depends on how well it does. I’ve got nothing but positives so far, so I hope it stays that way. I also take requests! Feel free to leave me some! (This one is kind of shorter, I’m sorry. Longer one next time!)

My alarm interrupted my peaceful sleeping. I was beyond pissed and could have thrown it across the room had it not simply been doing its God-forsaken job. I decided that, at the ungodly hour of 7am on a Saturday, that I would get up and make breakfast like normal human beings usually do.

How incredibly jealous I was of said human beings.

In about thirty minutes, I had started things in the kitchen. I had my morning cup of Chai and was ready to take on the world; and by the world, I meant the frying pan.

Pancakes were a delicacy that could not be coveted, an art that took decades to master. Pancakes with bacon were even better. Not to mention, keeping my apartment from burning down as an added plus. With that said, I gave all of my attention to the stovetop.

After a long battle with the floury pancake mix and attempting to turn it into a batter(there was now a huge mess to clean up later, yet another reason I have yet to master the art of pancake making), I had finally managed to have a breakfast fit for a king.

Or better yet, a breakfast fit for me.

I had decided to leave the mess to clean up later, I was hungry and it could wait. Though, I was proud of myself and couldn’t help but snap a picture of my breakfast and post it on Twitter.

I ate in a comfortable and relaxing silence. I had earned this after yesterday. Though, I hadn’t really stumbled upon last nights memories until now. Lando and I had texted for a while after I had gone to bed, him insisting that I never answered his ‘question’. At first I was really sure what he meant, but then I had come to the realization that he was asking when our next date was.

Silly me.

I would be lying if the thought of our time yesterday hadn’t sent me into a mess of smiles and butterflies every time I thought of it. Sure, I had always found Lando attractive, but never had I thought anything more than that. Why would I? I hadn’t met him until yesterday.

I’m starting to believe I might be going insane, and I will be blaming Lando for legal purposes.

Ding!

Startled, I looked down at my phone. I usually didn’t get many replies on Twitter, this was new.

And you didn’t invite me? I thought we were friends 💔

At first I was confused as hell, and then I read the name of the person who had replied.

Lando Norris

I shook my head with a small smile spreading across my lips. I wasn’t sure how he managed to find my social media, or why for that matter, but I suppose it wouldn’t have been too hard. I decided to reply anyway.

Maybe next time Mr. Norris

…

…

…

My laptop open, camera plugged in, I knew for a fact that these were going to be the easiest photos I’d ever edited. I plopped myself back down on my couch, satisfied with my breakfast and cleanup afterwards, one hindered percent determined to be productive today.

Woo hoo!

Okay, maybe that was a bit of sarcasm. Though, i wasn’t lying about these photos being easy to edit. The hard part, however, would be keeping my eyes off of Lando’s face for long enough to edit his photos.

Who knew such a thing could be so insanely difficult.

It was honestly frustrating trying to keep my mind away from him. I’ve dated my fair share of men, and I don’t think I’ve ever had this much trouble keeping my thoughts in check. This also begs the question, what exactly were we now? I’m not sure if our date had any romantic implications in the first place. He could have just been being friendly. I would be a fool to mention it.

A knock on the door pulled me completely out of my rambling thoughts, and a part of me was thankful. I got up to open it, curious as who the hell could be knock in on my door at 9am.

The door revealed the most beautiful pair of blue-green eyes I had ever seen.

“I brought you things!” Lando said excitedly, not waiting on me to let him in a pushing past me to the table in my kitchen.

“Good morning to you too, Lando.” I chuckled, following closely after him.

“So, first things first. I’m mad at you.” Lando pushed his bottom lip out, giving me a pout I couldn’t help but giggle at.

“And why would that be, Mr. Norris?” He glared at me.

“You know exactly why I’m mad at you.” He clicked his tongue. “Fortunately for you, that isn’t why I am here.” I tilted my head, urging him to continue.

Lando pulled some bits of paper out of the sack I hadn’t realized he was holding. His eyes were too much of a distraction for me to even notice. He smiled then, holding my gaze for a little longer than I had anticipated before finally breaking the silence once more.

“Sign these.” He slid the papers towards me.

“What am I signing exactly?” I asked. As he handed me the pen, our fingertips touched for a moment, sending electricity through my body. My face heated up and I reverted my eyes back down to the paper to keep from falling into his.

“It’s a contract. I worked my magic with Zak, you’re welcome, and he’s written up an official agreement for you to work for McLaren.”

“You’re lying.” I gasped, reading through the paper that said just about the exact same thing Lando had just described to me. “I thought you were joking.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up like that, not even after you had pancakes without me.” I rolled my eyes at his smirking figure. I ignored his comment.

“I just can’t believe it’s actually happening. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted something like this.” This time I looked up at Lando with the biggest, genuine smile he’s ever seen me wear, and instead of smirking, he actually gave me a genuine smile back.

“I’m sure you can believe this then.” He reached further down into the back, balling it up afterwards. “Paddock pass for Bahrain. You won’t need to worry about the flight or the hotel situation, you’re going to be staying in the same one as Oscar and myself. I think Zak will probably also be there this time around seeing as it’s the first race of the season.”

Before I could really think about what I was doing, my arms were wrapped around him in a tight embrace. He was quite taller than me, leaving my face buried into his chest. His muscles were tense, slowly easing as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Thank you, Lando.” I mumbled, my voice muffled from his chest.

“Anything for you, darling.”

Coming to my senses, I pulled away a bit quicker than I would have liked.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-“

Lando was laughing at me now, probably seeing how red my face was.

“I got a bit excited.” I continued to try and explain myself without sounding like a fan.

Well, I was a fan, but that was beside the point.

“Just don’t get so excited that you forget to sign those papers, Miss y/ln.” I looked down at them to find that he was right, I really had forgotten to sign the papers.

His hand squeezed my shoulder as I was writing, causing me to hesitate slightly before continuing. His touch sent waves of heat through me, heat that I could explain but most definitely couldn’t deny either.

I looked up at him when I finished, praying my face wouldn’t give away the things his touch did to me. He smiled sweetly.

“I can’t wait for next week.” He said, as if he were the one who had just signed contract papers with McLaren as their primary photographer.

“Neither can I.”

…

…

…

“This picture? Really?” Lando gave me a look as we pulled my laptop away from me on the couch. I should’ve learned my lesson last time he took something from me, but apparently I had not.

“I like that one! It brings out your eyes.” I stated proudly. He smirked.

“You like my eyes, do you?” I paused, not expecting for that sort of question after the moments we had spent in the kitchen.

“Maybe, maybe not; but one thing is for certain, and that is that the LN4 Twitter fan girls are infatuated with them, and that’s all I need for my entire career to blow up.”

Who was I trying to fool, myself? Lando sent me a knowing look.

“Staring contest, go!” I was completely caught off guard by this, not prepared in the slightest.

His eyes bore into my own, blinding me without any light whatsoever. They were full of so many emotions that I couldn’t place, though the joy behind his iris’s couldn’t be contained. I almost smiled at the thought that maybe I was the reason behind the joy he was feeling.

Don’t blink

I lost myself in his eyes, in my thoughts, perfectly content to stare into him for the rest of our time together. I hadn’t realized that that we had slowly drifted towards each other, my mouth parted slightly in instinctive anticipation. Was this really happening?

Then he stuck is tongue out at me.

I blinked in confusion at first, laughing at his action before realizing I had lost the staring contest.

“Oh fuck off!” I laughed, throwing on of the couch pillows at him.

“You’re just mad because I’m right!” He laughed along with me, seeing the dawning look of realization grow on my face.

The only reason we had a staring contest was just for him to prove the fact that I liked his eyes. This bastard knew what he was doing. Honestly, I was starting to like that.

Or maybe I was just starting to like him.

…

…

…

The late afternoon had rolled around after spending the entire day joking around with Lando.

So much for being productive.

I led him to the door on his way out. I’m not really sure why I didn’t want him to leave; but, his presence sure beat the hell out of being lonely and editing his photos all day.

“Thanks for today, I had a lot of fun.” I said, giving him a small smile as a thanks. He chuckled.

“So did I, other than the part where I didn’t get pancakes.” I rolled my eyes before an idea popped into my head.

“If you won’t hold this over my head anymore, maybe you could come over for breakfast tomorrow morning?” Proud of myself, I gave him a wink. He blanked, surprised I even offered.

“Sure! As long as I can consider it our second date.”

“A deals a deal.” I offered him my hand. He shook it with a triumphant smile, bringing my hand to his lips before gently kissing the back of it.

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning then, darling.”

And with that, he was gone and the door had shut behind him. The only thing he left behind was the faint scent of his cologne.

[pedroshotwifey]

Favorite Bounty Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Chapter W/C: 8.3k

Chapter tags/warnings: Nothing to warn about yet, no use of y/n, reader being a horny cuss, canon-typical violence, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE

Chapter summary: Your day takes an unexpected---but surprisingly welcome---turn when you get caught in the crossfire of a Mandalorian fight.

A/N: Hey, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that these first few chapters will not be the best. Favorite Bounty was the first thing I ever wrote, so please keep that in mind. I have gone through and edited the small things so there is a bit of improvement from when it was originally posted to ao3. After chapter 4 is out, every chapter after that will be brand new and will have better grammar/writing. Thanks for reading! :)

***

You hear blaster fire going off outside.

Quickly, bang after bang ripples through the air and the sharp sounds travel through your window, making your ears ring.

A commotion like this is not an abnormal thing to wake up to on this planet, Jakku is known to house dangerous criminals looking to escape the New Republic. Some thugs get away with spending as many as a couple of months or so slipping around from town to town before getting caught. Even though you have grown used to the fact that there are gangsters sneaking around, you don’t feel comfortable going out without your blaster. You’re not the best shot, but you’re also not the worst by any means.

At least you don't have to worry about Jakku getting super overrun. It seems as though criminals are always being plucked from dark corners and alleyways to be brought in. Despite their best efforts, they always get caught eventually. If the New Republic can’t get to them, it’s likely they will get tracked down by a bounty hunter and hauled off the desert planet imprisoned in carbonite. In your opinion, the better option would be to let the Republic get to you first. You've seen firsthand the fates of crooks after being handled by a bounty hunter and decided it makes getting thrown into a cell by an officer look like a dream.

You don't see the need in panicking about the blaster fire just yet, it seems to be pretty far off. You just pray silently that it won't get any closer. It's still a bit dark outside. You glance at the clock and scowl when you realize it's only about 6:40. You have work today but you don't have to get up until 8:00. You contemplate trying to go back to sleep but decide it's not worth it, you're already awake anyway. And besides, it's probably not the best time to be letting your guard down, even if the commotion seems to be a good distance away.

You sit up straight, letting your bare feet dangle off the bed, and stretch your hands above your head with a groan. You feel your back strain and lock up. Stars, it hurts.

You’ve been picking up extra shifts at the junkyard and it's starting to show. Pulling heavy wagons full of scrap metal really takes a toll on you after a while. You roll your eyes when you remember the large load of parts that was dropped off yesterday. Today’s going to be a long one.

You sit in silence for a second, trying to fully convince yourself to get up. You contemplate getting someone to cover your shift, but you know how dirty that would be. You know you wouldn't be able to enjoy your day with a good conscience.

Suddenly, a loud crash pulls you out of your thoughts and you jump up looking for the source. You turn towards it just quick enough to see a glass shatter on your kitchen table. A blaster shot had torn through your window and by some stupid coincidence, pelted right through the cup as well.

Maker, just what I needed today, you think sarcastically. The disturbance must be happening much closer than you initially thought—either that or the fight has moved closer in the span of a couple of minutes. If that's the case, it must be moving fast, an indication that you probably need to move. You try to snap completely out of your sleepy state and scurry to pick up the glass so you don't step on the shards while you get ready.

You pick up the broom and dustpan nestled in the corner of your small house and walk back to the table. You stop in your tracks once another shot comes roaring through the now-shattered window. What the fuck?! These guys must only be a couple of yards away.

You shoot down to the floor, trying not to land on any glass, but too alarmed to care much at this point—you’ve abandoned the idea of being careful, you need to get out before you’re trapped in here. Eyes wide, you watch as yet another shot intrudes into your home. You follow the fast flash as it shoots through a closed cupboard, probably breaking more glasses as it settles.

Your head whips back around when you catch a flash of metal flying across the window in your peripheral vision. Whatever it is, it’s probably the target that's caused shots to stray into your home. Ok, the fight is right outside your house now. Great.

Your heart starts to pump with adrenaline, and you form a plan in your head in a matter of seconds and jump up. The collision seems to be inching closer and closer every second. You spot your boots sitting next to your bed and tug them on before grabbing your bag full of essentials. You always keep one under your bed just in case. It doesn't contain much, but it has enough water and rations to get you through a few days, as well as a dagger as a backup defense.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror of your open bathroom as you quickly strut towards the door three minutes later. You’re still in your sleep shirt—an old tee that has faded far too much to be worn in public. You had managed to remember to slip on a pair of pants in the midst of your panic as well. (Thank the maker for that). You also decided to slip into a light jacket last minute. Your hair is messy but you had frantically pulled it up just enough that it won't get in the way.

After taking in your disgruntled appearance for a split second, you turn towards the door, already dreading what you might come face to face with once it’s open. You put your hand on the knob and start to turn it until...

BANG!!!

The door slams open and you throw yourself to the side to avoid getting trapped underneath it. Everything seems to happen so fast. You see the same metallic flash you saw earlier, but this time it bursts into the tiny room as the door falls to the ground. Once the dust starts to settle, you can make out the shape of a body–the flash you saw is actually a… droid? No, the flash of metal you saw is a man. Just as you begin to register what's going on, you see a bundle of brown and green tumble from the stranger's grasp. You look back to the door and the heap of tin is suddenly boosted into the air and back on his feet, the jetpack strapped to his back turning off as soon as he’s stable on the ground.

As the warrior straightens, you realize two things. One; the man is a Mandalorian, no wonder he looks so shiny. You evaluate him again as he stands in place for a moment, tall and intimidating, the realization makes your stomach twist with uncertainty. You have heard a lot of stories about Mandalorian culture, some good, some… well, not so good. Recalling some of those not-so-good stories in question is enough to make you weary of his presence. You try not to judge too quickly though when you realize the second thing…

The brown and green bundle that rolled into your home upon the intrusion was a baby. He is still stumbling to a stop when you land eyes on him. Without thinking, your instincts kick in and you’re scrambling toward the child, praying he didn't hurt himself in the fall. You scoop him up and inspect him quickly but thoroughly, trying to keep in mind that he’s not the only thing you need to be worrying about right now.

You’re not sure of the ethnicity of the creature, but he is definitely young, and judging by the Mandalorian’s panicked reaction when he reaches for the child only to find an empty satchel, he seems dead set on making sure he has the baby within his grasp at all times.

Realizing the child is missing from his spot, the man looks around frantically while trying to simultaneously avoid the bullets ripping through the air. You look between him and the child in your hands a few times before you lock eyes, well, eyes and helmet at least. He looks you up and down and stops at the little green ball settling into your arms. Even though you can't see his face, you just know his eyes narrow as he snaps his head back up to look at your face. Oh shit.

If you thought he was intimidating before, it was nothing compared to the energy he is filling the air with now. You try not to seem scared but you feel your eyes betray you as they open wider and you have to swallow the lump stuck in your throat. You subconsciously bring the child closer to you even though you know you should probably be getting him back to his…father? Whatever the relation, you don't have time to figure it out right now. You just know you need to give this baby back before you get a bullet between the eyes.

You tear your vision away from the kid to look at his father as he starts to strut toward you. You feel your stomach clench into a nervous ball from the raw power the man seems to emit the closer he gets. You stagger back a bit, slamming one hand behind you on the ground, and you have to try your best not to fall on it. The man stops after the first couple of steps though, when a bullet hits him on his right shoulder, thankfully covered by what you recognize as beskar, the most robust metal in the galaxy, best known for armoring Mandalorians.

He barely falters at the impact of the blast bouncing off and instead reaches for his own blaster currently stationed in its respective holster. Within a split second, he whips around and shoots the offending crook, and then another standing beside him before turning back around before you can even blink. As quick as the gang members hit the ground, more start to file in, all seeming to have it out for the Mandalorian.

What in chaos could this guy have done to have this many people out for his throat?

Everything just seems to get more and more confusing every second. Who is this guy? Why is he carrying this baby with him? Who did he piss off this badly? Just in general: what the fuck is going on??

The gang is circling around him, trying to surround him completely. He turns every which way, landing hits every time he pulls the trigger, but they just keep coming. As tough as he seems to be, you can tell he is starting to get overwhelmed. It's got to be one to at least 20 right now. He slows for a second, probably trying to figure out the best course of action from here. He knows he only has a second to decide what he needs to do. You watch him from the ground you’re still stationed on as he appears to be weighing his choices. You peer down at the little green creature in your lap. You wonder why he hasn't come to rip the kid out of your arms yet.

“You…”

You look up, nearly snapping your neck out of shock when you hear the baritone voice coming through the Mandalorian's helmet. His head turns towards you slightly, probably to make sure you’re still there. He speaks loudly so you can hear him over the blaster fire he’s still dancing around. His tone is harsh and commanding and you listen for him to finish whatever he was going to say. For a second you think you might have imagined it.

“You need…need to run… take the kid and run… i'll find you”, he calls to you between shots as he continues dropping enemies.

You hear what the man is saying but you don't think it processes because you’re still sitting on your ass staring at him with wide eyes. Clearly, he decided to trust you enough to bring his child somewhere safe. He said he would find you, he trusts you—for now—you need to move before he changes his mind. Your brain is telling you what to do, but all adrenaline seems to have drained from your body because you find yourself unable to move.

He stumbles back a bit as another bullet hits his chestplate, probably knocking the wind out of him. The gang is getting closer. He scans his surroundings and turns to you for a split second. “GO!'' Even though it's breathier this time, the command is louder and more prominent. It's effective though because before you know it, you’re on your feet and pushing out the doorway, bag slung over one arm and the kid tucked in the other. The Mandalorian makes sure you’re going to follow his instruction before turning back to the pack of crooks surrounding him.

You dodge as a grimy hand reaches out to grab you, but the next second, he is lying lifeless at your feet. You turn your head just enough to see the kid's father spin back around, spraying more bullets as he does. You frankly have no idea what's going on right now, why you are agreeing with this man, or why you are still carrying this unknown child as you dash out of sight. Stars, you don't even know where you’re going. Seems like the best option right now, you try to reason with yourself.

You twist and wind down alleyways, praying silently that you’re not being followed. The sun is starting to rise, making it harder to blend in with the shadows as you sprint aimlessly away from the combat. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest as you start to come to your senses. You can’t hear blaster shots anymore, and you think you have been running for ten minutes or so. Your legs have started to burn, but your ears have stopped ringing, so at least there's that.

You decide that there is probably about a mile between you and the battle at this point. The thought convinces you to slow down a bit and you inhale a deep breath you didn't realize you needed. Holy shit… what the fuck. You stand in the middle of an alley, hidden by a dumpster as you crouch down to try to calm yourself. You try to regulate your breathing, you know you can't rest like this for long, so you take advantage of what time you can spare. In and out…in and out...

You look down at the child in your arms and can't help but relax a little more when you see his big black eyes staring back at you. At least he looks comfortable, You think. You feel yourself soften as you smile a bit when the child coos up at you, reaching his little three-fingered hand up to grasp a small handful of your messy hair.

You start to untangle his tiny fist from your hair when you hear something behind you. Your eyes go wide again and you are automatically back into flight mode. You have no idea what made the thump, but it sounds close enough for you to want to get out of that dark crevice as quickly as you can. The ache in your legs miraculously goes away as you stand up. You have the adrenaline to thank for that this time. Looks like it's finally working in your favor.

Clutching the kid up to your chest, you shush him as quietly as you can and start to move around the dumpster, a bit slow at first as to not alert whatever made the sound of your presence, but you pick up the pace as soon as you feel it's safe to do so. You jolt back into a full sprint, looking back over your shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure you don't see anything coming up on you.

You wind down a few more empty streets, trying to spot your next move before you reach it. Even if you panic a bit at first, you have always been good with slowing yourself down and keeping a relatively level head in stressful situations.

You’re smart, you know you can get out of here undetected if it's a member of the gang from back at your house. None of them seemed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. They seemed to be more set on landing a hit somehow than anything else—so probably not too focused on what's going on around them.

You hear another loud thump - whatever it is, it's getting closer. Your pulse strums in your ears and you could’ve sworn it stopped for a second. You gain a bit more speed, pushing yourself as fast as you can. You feel as if you are being hunted, it's an awful eerie feeling. Fear starts to crowd in your stomach again at the thought of it. “Come on…not today,” you mutter almost silently to yourself, the noise coming out slightly distorted from the tremble shooting throughout your body.

You turn your head around again and your blood runs cold when you see a shadow cast onto the building you just ran past. It looks like it's moving slowly, almost casually. It's a large figure… its fucking stalking you. You squeeze your eyes shut for a split second when the thought presents itself. Shit, shit, shit-

You try to collect your thoughts enough to figure out a plan in case it is a gang member on your trail. Some of those guys looked pretty big, and even if they are dumb as rocks, you’re honestly not sure if you would be able to take one on your own—especially while using one hand to hold the kid. You reach behind you for the extra knife you strapped to the side of your bag, but you feel nothing—you must not have grabbed it in your panic to get out of the house. A groan slips out between your closed lips, a mix of frustration and fear apparent in the sound.

You try not to hyperventilate when you begin to fully grasp the reality of your situation. You are in the middle of nowhere, being hunted by a large creature, defenseless, and with no plan in place to protect this baby.

You tell yourself to calm down, you know the creature is starting to gain on you, and you need to think clearly in order to figure out how to either hide or defend yourself. You whip your head around behind you one more time, trying to spot the shadow so you can gauge how much time you have to prepare yourself, but you don't see a shadow.

You don't know if you should be more alert or more scared. Sure, the shadow is gone, but that could mean one of two things; one: you lost him in the last few turns you took, or two: he was somewhere beyond your reach, waiting to pounce. You try to shake off the dread taking over your body as you continue to push forward.

Your frantic thoughts stop short when you run into a hard surface. Shit. Your breath catches in your throat as you find yourself unable to look up at whatever you had run into. But before you can convince yourself to, a large hand wraps around your wrist and you jolt at the sudden connection. Fuck.

Although you are still jumping out of your skin, you almost cry tears of joy when you see the familiar visor of the Mandalorian looking down at you. You may not know this man, but you do know that as long as you have his kid, you’re not going to be caught up in any kind of trouble. You sheepishly give him a half smile and he takes a step backward, releasing your arm.

As scary as he can be, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stare up at him. Running into him is definitely the better alternative than coming face-to-face with a gangmate. You look behind you one more time just to make sure nobody is following and your body relaxes a little once you see the coast is clear.

“Oh, thank the maker Mand-“, you start to tell him you thought you were a goner but you get cut off as he pushes his arm out towards you again.

You are a bit confused when he holds his hand out expectantly, palm towards the sky. “The kid.” the gruff voice tells you flatly. Oh, right, that. Your brain is clearly still mush from the terrifying chase. You feel your cheeks flush as you quickly reach your other arm down to pick the baby up properly, but before you can touch him, the Mandalorian's hand shoots out once again to grab your forearm.

He gives you a hard tug and turns around so your back is almost flush against him as he leans forward a bit, enclosing you into a tight space. What the fuck is he doing?? “Hey wha-”, you start to retort angrily before he cuts you off by cupping a sizable hand around the lower half of your face. Ok, now you’re pissed.

You try to squirm out of his grasp, anger bubbling up as you prepare to give him a piece of your mind. Feeling your struggle, he holds you tighter to him, and you feel a tinge of shame when you can't help the nervous flutter that appears in the bottom of your stomach when he presses you up against tight muscles. “Stop moving” he whispers harshly, somehow managing to make it sound intimidating even in such a quiet tone.

You listen to him, shocked again by hearing him say something. “Listen,” he says, helmet pressing gently against the side of your head as he hunches you down further. Wanting to struggle more but not seeing any other choice, you do as he says. You hear faint footsteps rushing in the distance, getting louder the longer you sit there. By his hurried whispers, you can tell the sound has to be more gang members, out on the search for the man above you.

“You need to listen to me”, he says suddenly. “I'm injured and there are too many of them for me to get rid of right now. You need to follow me closely so we can get out of here.” You shudder at his rushed whisper against your head. The rebellious part in you wants nothing more than to turn around and tell him to fuck off, but you know that escaping with the Mandalorian is your best chance to evade the group of criminals right now.

You know they have seen your face, and they know you took the child with you when you bolted. As dumb as they may be, they have probably put together that this man is not going anywhere without his kid. You need to get out of here, and as much as you hate it, listening to his infuriating commands is the smartest decision you can make in this scenario. You decide ultimately to comply to make your escape quick and easy.

You look up at him as much as you can and give a curt nod, letting him know you are going to follow his lead. As soon as he sees you give in, he takes his hand away from your mouth and stands up. You let him drag you back up to your feet by the wrist he still has within his grasp. You’re surprised at how effortlessly he lifts your weight, but then again, he is a Mandalorian, so it shouldn't stun you as much as it does. Maybe not stun, maybe it scares you, but you can't tell the difference right now.

Before you know it, you are being pulled in the direction the man seems to be set on. Judging by the confidence in each step he takes, he seems to know where he is going, which is a relief on your part because you are still in such a daze that you don't know if you would be able to tell right from left if you had to.

He steers you in between allies and around corners in complete silence, probably still listening for the crooks behind you. After a couple of minutes, he slows from his rushed pace and into a walk when he notices you struggling to keep up with the child growing heavier in your free arm.

You guess the gang is far away enough for it to be safe to slow up a bit. He lets out an annoyed sigh as he switches speeds, just quiet enough to where he probably didn't think you could hear it. You roll your eyes behind his back. He isn't the one holding this absolute boulder of a child, you thought, also getting annoyed.

You have no idea where he is taking you or how long it's going to take to get there. You want to ask him but he doesn't seem like the type to tolerate being bombarded by a million questions. He would probably leave you in the dust after the second one.

After another minute your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to just risk the one. You open your mouth to ask where you are going, but before you can say anything, you get jerked forward by the heavy man as he unexpectedly hits the ground on one knee. He lets out a strangled grunt as a cloud of dirt is lifted up from the force in which he lands. The gang had a sniper waiting, and he had shot an unprotected spot in between pieces of heavy armor lining the man's leg.

“Shit!”, he gasps as he removes his hand from your wrist to instinctually cover his fresh wound. You found your balance as he releases his grip. You look up to where the shot came from and his eyes follow yours, looking just in time for the perp to jump down from where he had been lying prone on a rooftop, probably going to tell his fellow cutthroats your location

Groaning, the Mandalorian rises to his feet and points in the direction he had been leading you, keeping his other hand on top of the gash on his thigh. You grimace as you see the crimson blood start to pool out from under his glove and trickle over his shiny armor. You have no idea how he is standing on that right now. The child in your arms turns to face your chest, apparently having seen the small flood as well.

He was clearly unsteady on his feet because of the amount of blood draining from his body at an alarmingly quick rate. He sways a bit before yanking his head to the side, trying to snap himself out of it. Your attention is pulled to look at his helmet as he instructs you on where to go. “You see that–fuck–you see that ship over there?” 

You look to where he still had his hand raised and spot the hunk of metal. It isn't too far away, you could probably make a run for it and be there in less than three minutes. You turn your head back at him and nod as he drops his hand back to his side.

“You need to get to it… ill… ill meet you there,” he tells you between heavy and distorted pants.

You hesitate, wanting to help him get there as well, but you have to remind yourself that he knows what he's doing. He’s probably done this more times than you can count.

You take off into a full sprint, determined to get to the ship as fast as your feet will carry you. You try not to look back as you hear another storm of shots fired through the air. You don't need to know who has the advantage right now, you just need to get to your destination and pray the Mandalorian comes back in one piece.

You hold the kid tighter to your body, trying to conceal him as much as possible.

You can hear your heartbeat pounding like a drum in your chest, threatening to pop out at any moment. You are running on pure adrenaline at this point, and your brain has definitely checked out. The ship grows bigger as you approach, probably only a minute away now.

Almost there…

It's old and it looks like he could have pieced it together with scraps from the junkyard, but it will have to do. You just hope it can actually get into the air, it almost looks too damn heavy to fly. He had to have gotten here somehow though, so it obviously serves its purpose.

Seconds later, you step onto the open ramp of the ship. You feel like you want to cry with relief. You’re so close to getting off of this maker-forsaken planet. Even before all this, you have always dreamed about getting away from this awful place. Now that you have an opportunity to do that, you are going to use it.

Before you can turn back around, you hear a series of clambers and then a loud thud. You quickly realize that it was the sound of the Mandalorian jumping onto the ramp behind you and rolling until he hit a crate sitting in the hull.

He must have been rushed and still in the middle of a fight judging by the amount of force he used to push himself onto the transport. The beskar-clad warrior lets a deep and distorted gasp escape through his helmet after likely having the wind knocked out of him by the harsh landing. To top it all off, it looks like he came to a stop on top of his maimed leg.

After the initial shock of being dragged onto his ass—even if it was his own doing—he puts his palms out in front of him to hoist himself back up as easily as he can manage. Even though you can't see the man’s face, you know he has to be wincing under his shiny visor. He recovers fairly quickly, but you have a feeling that the Mandalorian is rarely this clumsy. The blood loss is probably throwing him way off kilter.

As soon as he was up he limps his way to the side of the ramp and slams down on a button to bring it back up before turning back around to climb the ladder you could only assume leads to the cockpit. He struggles with not being able to put much weight on his injured leg, but he makes it up nonetheless. You can still hear shots raining onto the ship, but the metal seems sturdy enough to deflect them relatively easily.

You stand uselessly in the belly of the ship as you listen to him stumble around above you, probably trying not to grunt too much as he pushes himself through the sharp pain in his thigh. You take an educated guess when you gamble that he is definitely not the kind of person to submit to showing anyone he is in pain, no matter how much it may be affecting him.

You have to regain your balance when the ship jolts suddenly and you are sent forward as it is lifted into the air. Between all the running you had just done and the shock of having to plant your feet to avoid falling on your ass, you render your legs useless and back up until you feel a crate behind you, taking a seat. The relief you feel as you lift yourself off of your sore feet is almost instantaneous.

You let out an exasperated breath and bring the child closer to you. You feel a faint smile crawl across your face when he balls his hands into tiny fists in the air and lets out a squeaky yawn. Poor thing is probably exhausted from the long morning he's had so far. There's also no telling what he may have endured in the hours before he rolled out of his father's arms and into your house.

Realizing you will finally be able to relax a bit and have time to think, all of the doubts and emotions you should have been feeling come rushing in like a flood. You have no idea what you are going to do now. Where will you go? Surely you won't go back to the planet you just left, even if you wanted to, you get the feeling it would be too dangerous anyways.

How are you going to get back on your feet once you do settle onto another world? You only have a handful of credits stuffed into your bag. Can you trust the Mandalorian to drop you off somewhere safe enough for you to even try? Will you be able to stay alive if you get landed on another planet like Jakku? Is he still alive up in the cockpit right now?

Some of your wordless questions are answered when you hear the bulky steps of the Mandalorian climbing back down the ladder. You realize suddenly that you had been staring into nothingness for maker knows how long. You shake your head and turn towards the Mandalorian as his feet hit the ground, opting instead to stare at him as he walks across the foundation of the ship, obviously trying not to limp.

Even though you can’t see beneath his heavy helmet, you imagine him wincing and feel a tinge of empathy. Just by the way he confidently carries himself even through pain, you can tell he wouldn't dare ask anyone for help with anything if he knows he is capable of doing it himself, least likely tending to an injury.

You know the location of the wound is not ideal for him to patch up himself, and you instinctively want to offer a helping hand, but something in the back of your mind tells you he would never let his guard down long enough for you—a stranger—to touch him in such a vulnerable position, even if it may be only to help. You can't blame him though, that is an iffy situation. You frankly don't know if you would trust a stranger to help you in that way either, especially with the many enemies he seems to have. You wonder why he has so many… what in the universe could one man have done to have that many people against him?

He walks past you and you watch with curious eyes as he pries open a crate near the back of the room, pulling out a bacta patch and a few other medical supplies. He curses quietly to himself as he closes the bin back up and takes a seat on top of it. With a small thump, he leans his head to rest on the wall behind him. You picture now that he is probably trying not to close his eyes, still carefully aware of your presence mere feet away from him. With all the blood loss he's sustained and fighting he's done in the last couple of hours, you can only imagine how much he wishes he were alone to be able to do just that.

Can’t he know by now that you’re not going to try anything? You've been sitting on a bin the entire time, with his kid sleeping in your lap for maker's sake! It's so frustrating to have to sit back when you know you are able to help.

After a moment, he lazily lifts his head back up and reaches for a cleaning solution—bacta spray you can only assume—and attempts to spray it through the burnt hole in the fabric of his flight suit. The hole seems to be positioned to where it's almost covered by the plate of beskar on his lower thigh.

In order to get a good visual and make sure he's actually dousing the blaster wound, he has to cock his head to the side a significant amount. He clearly can't see well enough the first time he tries so he leans a bit more. This time, he manages to get the solution in the right spot, but he also about falls off the bin he's sitting on. He must be dizzy from the amount of blood he’s lost. He tries this tactic three times before he gives up with a frustrated groan and sets the spray back beside him.

You take your eyes off him and spot what looks like a hovering crib in the corner of the hull. Going against your instincts to stay still and quiet, you get up and walk the now sleeping child to the opened sphere. You can feel the Mandalorians' eyes following you with every step. You place the kid inside, making sure he’s comfortable, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk cautiously toward the already pissed-off Mandalorian. You scold yourself mentally, knowing how stupid of a decision you’ve just made.

He tenses and sits up as you approach, no doubt trying to make himself look bigger. You slow your steps and subtly raise your hands, trying to show him that you just want to help. Your heart is pumping a mile a minute and you silently pray that he can't hear it. You know he’s struggling—he knows he’s struggling—you both know that whether he gets it from you, or from a medic on the next planet you land on, he's going to need help dressing the wound.

You look up at his helmet, hoping you’re making eye contact, and nod toward him while darting your eyes toward the spray, trying to make your intentions clear. He loosens his posture a bit and you take that as an invitation to take another step forward. You keep your eyes on him as you reach for the spray. You cautiously look away from his visor and train your vision to look at his leg instead. You can tell from here, before you even try to clean it, that you won't be able to see under the fabric enough to tend to the wound.

You bite your lip and try to think of what to do. You have an idea, but you just know he’s going to hate it. You rack your brain trying to find another option, but you know there's no alternative to what you have to do. You can feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head as you place the bacta spray back down and reach for the pair of medical scissors sitting next to a roll of gauze.

You see him tense back up out of the corner of your eye. You try to take steady breaths as you pick up the scissors and turn toward the intimidating man in front of you. You reach out to grab the fabric of his pants, fingers almost touching when his hand bolts out from his side to catch your wrist. You gasp as the scissors fall to the floor, he seems to have snapped out of his temporary daze at the sight of your hands getting closer to his exposed skin. This man has something against wrists, you think, trying to humor yourself to calm down.

The hull is dead silent, the only sounds are your shaky breaths and his battered ones. Every breath he takes is faint and labored. You stare at each other, neither of you daring to be the first to move. You should be terrified, but something tells you he's not going to hurt you. You keep your composure and glare back at him, doing your best to show him he can’t intimidate you, which you at least know is a full-fledged lie.

You can tell he is barely conscious as it is, and if he tried to land somewhere to get a nurse to look after his injury, he probably wouldn't be able to stay awake long enough for it. This needs to happen here and now, you are his only shot.

You continue to stare, brows furrowed and your mouth screwed tightly shut as you try to ignore his grip. It’s tight and threatening, and it scares you half to death, even though you won’t let him see that. “I…you need to let me help” you manage to stutter from under his grasp. You swallow, trying to compose yourself. “I need to be able to see the area to clean it,” you say, trying again to maintain eye contact.

You’re proud of yourself for sounding more confident, you need him to think he doesn't frighten you. You wince as he slightly tightens his grip on your forearm. Ok, well maybe that didn't quite have the effect you hoped it would.

He stares at you for what seems like forever, obviously weighing his options. He grunts frustratedly but drops your wrist. It's a small victory, but you'll take it. You rub the forearm he had wrapped his hand around. He sees you do so and reaches out again, this time to make sure you're ok, but he retracts it almost before you even notice—which he probably didn't want you to do. He didn't realize how much of a grip he really had.

Taking a shaky but deep breath, you lean down, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your wrist, and pick up the fallen scissors. “I won't cut any more than I need to,” you say, looking up at him. “Promise.”

You wait for a response, not sure if you'll get one at all, but after a moment he gives you a slight nod. He seems to be more cooperative now, probably because he feels a tinge of guilt about accidentally hurting you, but you'll take what you can get. “Okay”, you say, trying to calm your breathing. No looking back now.

You kneel down facing his side and reach again for the fabric of his pants. When you look up to check for confirmation one more time, he is turned facing forward, staring at the wall in front of him.

You hate that you have to do this, you don't know a bunch about Mandalorian culture, but you do know that as long as they can help it, they never show any skin, especially to an outsider. Before you can convince yourself to stop, you carefully loop your pointer finger under the ripped material. You do your best to not touch any skin just yet.

Once you are sure the fabric is lifted away enough to make a cut without touching his thigh, you slowly glide the scissors underneath.

You make the cut as small as you can, not wanting to reveal any more than you absolutely have to.

Luckily for you, he seems to be getting drowsy and more off guard, so you shouldn't have to be too cautious. You spread the material apart and bring the bacta spray to the injury now that you have a clear view. It's still slightly hidden by the plate on his thigh, but it's definitely more accessible than it was a minute ago.

You wince at the gory sight of the blaster wound, it looks like it’s probably big enough for you to fit your thumb in. There is still a small amount of blood trickling out so you use a gauze pad to dab around the hole and then apply a bit of pressure to get it to stop as much as you can.

Now that it's at least a little clean, you spray the solution. It must sting a good deal because the Mandalorian pops back up with a hiss and you feel his fingers—you feel his fingers thread through your hair.

You want to slap yourself when you feel the warmth of arousal building in your abdomen and between your legs. Before you can stop yourself, you wonder what other circumstances might have him pulling your hair. You realize you wouldn't mind being in one of those situations at all.

Stop! What the fuck are you doing? This man is a maker-damned bounty hunter. A cold-blooded killer capable of snapping you in two where you stand.

You do your best to convince yourself the man in front of you is a monster—you should not be thinking of him in that way.

You gasp and look up at him, honestly not sure if it's from the interruption of your inappropriate thoughts or from the sting of the slight grip he has on your hair. “I-”, you sputter, not able to find the right words. You figure his action came as much of a shock to himself as it did you because he retracts his arm as quickly as he had grabbed you. “Shit I-”... “im sorry”, he apologizes quickly. You snap back to the present and frantically reassure him that it’s ok.

You could tell by the way he struggles to find the right words and that he doesn't offer an apology on a regular basis. Despite his hard and intimidating exterior, he had felt he needed to say something to you. You curse yourself again when your cheeks flush from the thought. Shit.

You shake the childish thoughts from your head and focus on the task at hand. You definitely weren't the best nurse in the galaxy, but you would have to do it. As you settle into the familiar routine of fixing up the injury, your thoughts drift to where you had first learned the technique. Your mother was a medic her whole life. It was her passion, and she wanted to pass her skills on to you. One of the first things she had taught you about was sterilizing a laceration.

You smile faintly as you recall one of your earliest memories. She had taken you to her clinic and sat you down on the counter while she sorted some meds. Afterward, as she had promised you that morning, she pulled out the supplies needed and showed you step-by-step how to disinfect an open injury. Your eyes water a bit as you recapture the moment. Stars, you miss her. You catch yourself drifting off and try to snap yourself out of it. This is not the time to think about this… you need to focus.

You work to finish cleaning and dressing the wound as fast and delicately as you can, desperate to get some space between you and the Mandalorian as soon as possible. The last thing you need right now is for this man to pick up on your flustered movements. You have been glancing up at him every minute or so, just to make sure he’s still comfortable and that he hasn't passed out. It would monumentally suck if you were stuck trying to figure out how to get this ancient hunk of metal of a ship to cooperate with you.

You put a final patch on the injury and get back on your feet. You glance hesitantly to the t-visor following your movements. You send a small smile in his direction as you begin picking up the supplies to put away. “It should be fine now as long as you don't run on it for a bit,” you tell him as you open the bin he had pulled the equipment from.

You have relaxed more since being on the ship and your voice is no longer quivering. You need to keep yourself occupied so you don't sound anxious again. You feel the need to make sure the Mandalorian knows you aren't unnerved being around him. You don't want him to think he can intimidate you so easily the way he can with others. The next time you dare yourself to look in his direction, he is still sitting in the same spot. Now that you have had the chance to calm down and take a few deep breaths, you have gained your composure and a slight bit of confidence.

“You should probably try to stand on that” you suggest. “You know, just to make sure it's not going to keep bleeding”.

You think for a moment that he's just choosing to ignore you, and then you think he might have actually passed out this time, but right before you are going to say something else, he starts to raise himself off the bin. You send your thanks to the maker for not making you have to argue with this man. He takes a step forward, testing the waters to make sure he isn’t going to collapse if he puts his full weight on it.

He takes one more cautious step before trusting it completely. Once he's sure it's stable, he walks to the crib you had set the baby in. The kid still appears to be sleeping. After he makes sure he's not injured in any way, he turns back around to climb the ladder to the cockpit. You find it kind of touching that the warrior can be so soft for a child, you can tell now how much he cares about him.

He strides past you and reaches for the first rung. He clasps his hand around it and stops, turning his head slightly in your direction. “Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now that he's sure everything is settled. You are taken aback by the gratitude and stand there looking like an idiot for a moment. He starts to turn his head back once you give him a small nod.

“You’re welcome.”

****

Thank you for reading! Taglist is open!

[koolades-world]

(really, you can tell me to stop if I’m asking too much!) Hello hello! Another idea popped in my head! If I may request an established relationship with fem! MC and Satan: The day before history exam she stays up quite late to get as much done as she could. She scores low, barely passing. So she evades Satan all day because any time she even looks at his direction she starts tearing up the disappointment he might feel even after helping her. Even during dinner where she normally sits with Satan, she sits with Asmo instead and absolutely avoids any eye contact. All that exhaustion, despair, and knowing her behaviour with Satan that whole day leads her to break down in her room. Meanwhile Satan approaches her room with a soft knock and voice offering help. After coming into her room, MC cries harder apologising to him about being a failure, doubts her worth, and mentions how he deserves someone much better who can really keep up with his intellect. Satan comforts MC using prompts 32, and 35! Again, edit the premise to your liking! Have a lovely day/night ahead!!

omg hi again wow so crazy seeing you here haha. no but fr it's great seeing you again :)

i love how this is the like the other side of the coin from the request i wrote yesterday, but it still ends in cute satan fluffy comfort. i love my little wrath cutie haha

sorry for no post yesterday! thought i had something queued and got sidetracked hanging out with friends :)

enjoy <3

prompts 32 and 35 w/ Satan

“You’re gonna do great. Stop stressing. I believe in you and your abilities.” That’s what Satan said to you the previous night while helping you study before you went to bed. You’d stayed up essentially all night studying even after Satan had left, and told you to get some rest. You’d really thought you’d made progress with the content, and even felt confident on the exam. For the rest of the week, your spirits were high. That quickly changed as soon as you got the test back at the end of that week.

When the professor put your test face down on your desk, you had an awfully familiar sinking feeling. After glancing around to make sure nobody was leaning over your shoulder, you flipped it over to see your score. It was a high D. Passing and slightly better than usual, but just barely. It was disappointing to say the least. After all that work you’d put in, especially the night before was for nothing. You knew you didn’t have it in you to face your boyfriend. Not after he’d helped you so much and allowed you to borrow his study materials. What had been the point of all that if your score was only a little better than usual.

While it didn’t solve your problems, you were set on avoiding Satan for the rest of the day, maybe even weekend. You couldn’t look him in the eyes after that defeat. You crammed the test into your bag, and tried your best to focus on the rest of the lesson, and maintain a semblance of normality with everyone around you. Pretending you were fine wasn’t too much of an issue until you caught sight of your favorite blond demon. You’d agreed to walk home with him today. Any other time, you’d be thrilled for such a privilege. Now, it felt more like a curse. He’d told you he’d believed in you, and you’d failed him. You felt as if you weren’t worth his time, and instead opted to head home with some friends instead. You told him they wanted to check out a store which is why the plans changed. Since he was a loving partner, he told you that was fine and that he'd see you later. But, rather than going out like you'd told him, you walked with them as far as you could and went back to the HoL.

You went up to your room, and hid the test underneath a large stack of papers on your desk. You tried to distract yourself by doing things such as reading, playing some games, watching Deviltube, and even scrolling on various social media apps, but nothing was working. You felt absolutely crushed and even remembered that the test was in the same room as you bothered you. The fact that this was the same room you'd been so confident that you'd studied well in just yesterday was like a knife to the heart. The only thing you could think might help take your mind off your utter failure was a nap. You didn't usually nap after school, but it was all you had.

At some point later, likely a few hours after you shut your eyes, Asmo woke you up with a knock at your door. "Mc! Dinner time!" He sounded as chipper as usual.

"Be right out." You quickly looked at yourself in the mirror. You didn't look too bad, so you decided to just get dinner over with so you could get back to resting and avoiding your problems.

"I feel like I've hardly seen you today. I have so much to catch you up on." Asmo took your arm and began talking your ear off. You nodded along, only half listening. It wasn't his fault, but you tried to engage with him to try and distract yourself. When you got downstairs to the table, Satan wasn't there yet, so you didn't have to look him in the eyes when you sat between Asmo and Belphie. Those who were already present seemed a little confused by this fact, but after they heard what Asmo was talking about, they made no attempt to question either of you.

At first, you thought you might be fine, but all of that went out the window as soon as Satan took his usual seat. You would normally sit beside him, but he noticed as soon as he sat down that you weren't in your seat, and instead next to Asmo. You knew he was trying to make eye contact with you, but you wouldn't. You couldn't if you didn't want to burst out into tears. As soon as dinner was over, you were the first to leave the table. Nobody made an attempt to follow you, and you hoped you could spend the rest of the evening by yourself. Maybe you'd feel better tomorrow.

You laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, when you heard a knock at your door. You remained silent, waiting for a voice from the other side. 'Mc, it's Satan. Please let me in. I'd like to talk." While you knew he probably just wanted to comfort you, it only caused you to spiral. You couldn't help but think that your behavior and that awful test score might have made him want to break up with you. After he heard you sniffling, he gently cracked the door.

"What's the matter?" Satan sat down beside you, placing a hand on your back. When you didn't answer, he tried soothing you. "I'm here to help. I'm not upset with you, or anything. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but please don't shut me out." There was nothing you could do to slow the tears. The two of you sat together without speaking for a little bit before you trusted your voice again.

"I got a D on that test that I studied really hard for. The one you helped me with." You felt ashamed saying it out loud.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me today? Love, I'm not mad at you. I know how hard you worked, and the fact that you tried is all that matters to me." He swiped away the tears his thumb, flicking them away.

"It didn't matter. I still did bad." You mumbled.

"I'm sure you still improved, right? That shows that your efforts paid off. Besides, if you're worried about your grade, there's still time to get it back up. I'll help you." Satan sounded hopeful.

"I'm not worth your time. Clearly I'm beyond help. I didn't improve that much. You shouldn't worry about me." You were trying to avoid saying those words, but you felt, no, you knew he could find someone who was more suited for him.

"I care about you. I help you because I love you. I enjoy our time together, and I know how resilient you are. You don't give up, and that's very admirable. To me, you're perfect. I don't care what anyone else says." He hugged you.

"You deserve someone smarter than me, someone who actually understands the lessons and doesn't fail every test. You can do better than me," you told him.

"Have I ever told you you're my favorite human?" Satan proposed a theoretical question, trying to look at the situation from a different light.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better." You didn't know how many humans he knew outside of you and Solomon, but the bar didn't seem very high.

"There's many reasons why you're my favorite. You see me for me, and you're my number one supporter. In comparison to everyone else I know, I haven't known you nearly as long, but yet you're still at the top of that list. You're so special to me. Do you think I'd throw everything we have out the window just because of a test score?" He turned to look you in the eyes. You looked back, seeing the sincerity in his gaze.

"Are you sure?" He sounded like he meant it, but you could never be too sure. It could all be some cruel joke and he might take it back at any moment.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm lucky to have found such a catch like you." He gave you a smile, one that made you fall for him initially.

"I love you." While his words didn't erase the bad score, you felt much better about it now. He loved you for you, not because of superficial reasons like you feared. It was strange in retrospect that you found comfort in what some might consider the devil himself, but you were both happy, and that's all that matters.

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 24.7k+

warning | car crash / mention of injuries / not edited since the first time i posted this story ​

parts | one, two, three

Minho waited anxiously at the table. His fingers tapping rhythmically against the thick table cloth, which was long enough to drape over his shaking knees. His eyes glanced from one side of the restaurant to the other, not so much making observations as his mind was occupied with thoughts of his own. 

He did not get a lick of sleep yesterday night. He stayed up staring at the dim ceiling, recalling everything you told him and reevaluating all his decisions for his marriage. And he has come to an understanding that your sudden awakening was nothing short of a blessing to him. It was a route to guide him to a happier marriage, considering you had not been yearning for the divorce papers when you two saw each other during breakfast this morning.

But despite that, Minho knew he has to be careful with every step he takes onward from this point. Just because you haven’t been actively asking to be divorced did not mean your heart would be set on him and that you would be sitting quietly and waiting for him to be better. The ring sitting in his pocket was kept as a reminder that someone else could very well snatch you away from him any second.

He scowled at the thought, especially when Changbin posed as the greatest enemy at the moment. He reevaluated this jealousy to be a sign of possession rather than love. To be fair, he didn’t think he was ever in love with you. He cared about you, an extension of his responsibilities in this arranged marriage. But he was never in love with you. Not like you were with him. You’ve snapped away from that now. He has never been in love with anyone else either. Perhaps the biggest reason why he was willing to work through this was that he knew nobody else would catch his interest. Nobody has. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he jumped at the intrusion. Pulling it out, he didn’t bother to look at the caller before he accepted the call and greeted with a hushed, annoyed tone.

“Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Minho perked up at your voice. He did another scan around the restaurant and his frown only deepened when he could not find you anywhere. You giggled on the other end, your surprised voice coming through rather staticky as you spoke, “I said don’t frown and you go ahead and frown even more!”

He relaxed into himself upon your careless laughter. Scoffing out a short laugh, he spoke, “Tell me a joke then I might just laugh.”

“A joke? Okay.” You rolled your eyes. “You know who invited me to lunch today? You.”

The joke did not receive the reaction you were hoping for. What you expected would be a sardonic smile turned out to be a remorseful grimace and a flash of guilt before those pretty eyes of his. You gasped out in shock, your eyes widening as you immediately moved out of your hiding spot and approached the table he sat at.

“I’m sorry. I genuinely thought that would be funny,” you said as your feet tapped their way across the marble floor. When you were finally of reach, you hung up the phone and sat across from him. Perking up, you gave him a brief nod before quickly diving into the real deal. “Wait, give me another chance. I have something really funny to say.”

Minho didn’t speak. He nodded at you and sat there waiting for a joke to be delivered to him patiently.

“Okay, why do cows have hooves instead of feet?”

Minho blinked at you and tilted his head. “Because they lactose.”

He wasn’t supposed to get that. You assumed that he would give you a legitimate answer, something knowledgeable and scientific. Then you would jokingly scold him for not having a sense of humor before you tell him the punchline, and then he would laugh and you could regain your throne as the God of Humor.

You pursed your lips as you stared him down, then you pressed your lips into a scowl. “You weren’t supposed to tell me the punchline.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I gotta start the joke somehow!” you retorted.

Minho allowed himself to find your frustration more endearing than unfair, but still, he suppressed a burst of laughter from bubbling up his throat when you started to throw that mini tantrum of yours.

“Okay, don’t be mad,” he laughed as he reached to the middle of the table and pushed the small basket of bread towards you. “Here, eat some breadsticks.”

Your eyes trailed down to the basket and they widened in excitement. You jumped slightly in your seat, almost pouncing over to get the bread the was only a few inches away from you. “Oh wow, these are one of those places that serve bread before the appetizers, huh?” you commented as you picked the bread that was fresh out of the oven and coated with the right amount of salt, then you carelessly popped it in your mouth.

Minho nodded, slightly confused at your choice of wording. “Yeah. This is your favorite restaurant, shouldn’t you know?”

Choking on your saliva, you continued to chew on the bread but you covered your mouth to hide the shock that you unexpectedly showed to him. Oh, you really have to be a little more careful with your words. You have almost forgotten that this wasn’t your life, and it would be a pain for anyone to be suspicious of your identity.

“I know, I just was stating the obvious.” You shrugged as a slow smile appeared on your face.

Come to think of it, you knew nothing about Minho. All the memories you have of him were horrible, and they were all new and fresh. None of which you could use to strengthen the idea that you were the real ‘you’ and not somebody who just infiltrated into a stranger’s body. You have been so focused on people problems that you forgot the important goal of gaining relevant information for future references.

“So!” You cleared your throat, clearing your head and settling the brand new goal down in the middle of your head. This would be the perfect time to discreetly learn more about Minho; you just have to be careful with what you say. “How was work this morning?”

Minho did not seem fully convinced about your sudden gentle outburst. You’ve asked him about work before and stopped when he made it clear that it wasn’t your business. This was relatively new, but you acting weird was not a topic he wished to proceed with for the remaining lunch, therefore he didn’t press on and simply flashed you a knowing nod and a reply. “It was fine. The same routine, just different days.”

Well, not only did you have to be careful, you needed to be a little smart with your words too. That answer gave you zero new information.

Smacking your lips obnoxiously, you grabbed the menu that has been sitting on the edge of the table and opened it. Glancing carelessly at the dishes, once again grimacing at the fact that there weren’t any price tag printed on the papers, you asked with a casual tone, “That’s cool. What did you do?”

Minho looked away, thinking. “I just had a meeting with my dad this morning and listened to the departments pitch their new ideas.”

“I think I’ll get the pasta.” You slammed the menu shut upon his vague answer. Putting it down on the table, you folded your hands on the table and glared pointedly at him with a smile that caught Minho off guard. It felt calculating, which was true to its nature. “What kind of ideas?”

“Oh, just the usual things–why do you suddenly want to know?” He furrowed his brows as he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You have never asked me about work.”

��I have never? I remember I have before.” You feigned a gasp while you mentally took a note down to not ask him too much about work problems. It wasn’t like you particularly cared about it anyway.

“No, not in detail.” He shook his head, an innocent pout evident on his face. As you hummed thoughtfully, he conveniently added, “I don’t… umm, I don’t hate that you are asking though. Just thought I can tell you.”

His head was turned to the side when he spoke. His face scrunched up and his muscles hardened to express how foreign and uncomfortable it was for him to express his feeling so openly like that. You almost wanted to coo at how adorable he was acting; he was one cheek blush away from being the perfect tsundere.

But, more importantly, you could tell he was trying. Starting from him asking you to have lunch with him this morning, with a surprisingly timid voice and jumpy gaze, to this exact moment. You hadn’t expected him to change—or at least attempt to change—this quickly. All it took was one speech from you! Regardless, you appreciated the effort. With caution tipped only to the side, you chose to give him a generous chance at redemption.

"I am glad that you enjoy my curiosity, and thank you for telling me your truest desire.” You dipped your head playfully and smiled.

Minho mirrored the expression on your face. His head turning to you slowly after seeing that fond smile of yours. He couldn’t pinpoint whether the quirk of your lips was made for him or simply just a part of your response, but he was going to take any positivity he could get out of you.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his eyes grazing past the tablecloth nervously as his mind jittered at what he was about to say. He cleared his throat, pressing his lips together to keep the smile away for a moment before he asked, “So, uh, I am going to be home for dinner today.”

“Hmm, great! Let’s eat together then,” you said with excited eyes, your smile never fading. Then, with a sudden scrunch of your brows, you told him, “I’ll see what I can do about that. You don’t have to get anything.”

“O–oh, yeah, no problem.” Minho nodded, then he added, “Are you going to cook?”

You hummed thoughtfully. You haven’t gotten the time to cook in a while. Back when you were still on your Earth, while knowing how to make food, you lacked sufficient time or energy to actually cook anything, so most days there were only choices of instant noodles or takeout food. You were afraid your skills might be off the scale now.

“I don’t know yet,” you replied, squinting your eyes at him teasingly. “Do you want me to cook you something?”

He held up his hands awkwardly at the sudden attention, a scoff leaving his lips and a flustered blush creeping up his cheeks. You breathed out quietly at his out-of-character reaction. It was either he just suddenly changed overnight or he has been hiding this side of him professionally well for the past few days. Both of these could be possible in a drama, which you still believed was what you got stuck in.

“I didn’t even know you can cook until recently. How can I want to try your food?” Minho said defensively. He let his hands down and snorted with an eye-roll. “I bet it’s garbage anyway.”

Ah. There was the Lee Minho you knew of. You smiled, realizing how atrocious it was to be talking as if you have crossed the mountains and the seas with him when you have only known him for days.

“Hey, my food can be many things. Too sweet, too salty, whatever,” you pointed at him, slightly offended even though he might not be wrong, “but they are not garbage.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it.” He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile made its way to your face. This was a ploy—he was discreetly asking for you to make dinner tonight without sounding like he wanted it. Or maybe your assumption was wrong but you would very much like to shower yourself with some attention right now.

“Fine! We’ll see after tonight, Minho,” you said.

“I’ll be anticipating,” he retorted with an arch of his brow, a grin slowly making its way to his way when he saw the childish pout you showed him.

Wasn’t that great? Minho wondered why it took him so long to do this, to just have a normal conversation with you. He really was a spoiled brat. His delusional mind always thought you would love him unconditionally, even without the reciprocation. He was glad to be corrected. He would have continued to be on his snobby path if you hadn’t snapped at him and took the ring off.

You noticed the sudden change of expression on Minho’s face as he stared down at the table. It was guilt-ridden. Twisting your pinky finger, you decided not to say anything and just let him think in peace.

“Okay, hear me out–hey, Minho! Hear me out!” You held back a short laugh when you saw the disappointed look on his face. Gesturing towards the takeout bags on the tea table, you got up from the couch and shook your hands to get his attention.

“I thought you said something about cooking dinner tonight,” Minho muttered under his breath as he placed his bag down on the dining table, then he slowly made his way closer to the couch area so he could stand there gazing down at you with a semi-irritated but ultimately humorous glance. “Whatever happened to that.”

“Well, that’s why I said hear me out, big guy,” you retorted. Once again gesturing towards the takeout bags, you licked your lower lip and explained, “I was planning on cooking dinner but I figured why not have some pizza instead? You’ve never had takeout pizza before, have you?”

Minho furrowed his brows at you in confusion. The things you say kept getting weirder and weirder lately. He was probably a pinch away from getting you to see a psychiatrist. “I have eaten takeout pizza before with my friend.” He shrugged, his eyes darting away as if to recall the memory. “Yeah, during college.”

You hummed, but your grimace disagreed with him. He could have eaten takeout pizza before. But you were almost a hundred percent sure it was one of those extravagant, over-priced, too little cheese and not enough bread kind of pizza. You did not head outside to get one of those; not only were you unaware of any expensive pizza restaurants, you also weren’t interested in having any kind of pizza that wouldn’t grease up your stomach so bad it makes you spend a full day on a toilet. 

What you did, instead, was ask the driver to drive you out to the streets so you could get the kind of pizza you usually get. The oily garbage kind. The kind you eat in front of a television that you couldn’t hear because everyone was talking too loud. The kind that leaves stains on your couch because nobody bothers to use a napkin anymore.

“Trust me, it is not the type you are used to eating.” You beckoned him over to sit next to you on the couch. Reaching over to take out the oily paper boxes and setting them on the tea table, you glanced over to see Minho staring at you unsurely. You sighed, “Sit down, Minho. It’s pizza, not poison.”

“Looks like it to me,” he reluctantly replied, but following your directions, he took off his blazer and neatly folded it over the edge of the couch then he found the spot next to you. His eyes followed as you laid all the food across the table, popped open the cola can, and grabbed the television remote before jumping back onto the couch comfortably.

“It might be poison, but it’s the good kind of poison.” Your eyes fixated on the switching programs, you took a bite out of the big chunk of fries you grabbed with your fist. Though chewing your food, your eyes widened when the drama you wanted to watch finally flipped on, and you carelessly dropped the remote to the side before pointing at the screen. “Oh! Here we go, I have been waiting for this!”

“For what?” Minho followed your gaze and furrowed his brows at the screen. He could recognize the celebrities acting in the show but he had no idea what kind of show it was.

“You’ve never watched it, I figured. Don’t worry, I got the briefing speech down this afternoon.” You reached over to cut out a piece of pizza before pulling out and cutting the stretching cheese. Sitting back on the couch, you propped a leg up and leaned your hot pizza against it. Your eyes were careful on the screen as you waited for each character to appear. “All you need to know is that the suit guy likes the short-haired girl. The girl in the green dress likes the suit guy. Jumper boy is short hair girl’s best friend. You can figure out the rest.”

After explaining, you snorted out a giggle. That plot certainly sounded familiar. It was great to know that the drama within a drama would also be cliché like that.

“I think she is about to get slapped but the guy is gonna come save her. Watch them cut to the hand around the wrist,” you said before taking a big bite of the pizza, your eyes anticipating the plot unfolding in the screen. Sparing a glance towards Minho, you frowned at the way he just awkwardly sat on his spot, eyes glazing past the food on the table with a slight look of distaste.

“Try something. They’re good,” you urged, putting your foot down on the floor and dropping your half-finished pizza on the empty side of the box. You took the liberty of cutting a small piece out, making the round shape uneven but it was for a good cause. Scooting closer to Minho, you moved the food towards his face with a teasing smile. “Come on. It’s good. It’s pizza.”

“That’s fine,” he said, then he pressed his mouth shut and shook his head to refuse the suggestion.

You sighed in faint annoyance. How could this be it? You were supposed to go through the classic montage of teaching the rich boy all about the wondrous world of poor people traditions, starting from deliciously poisonous food, of course. And you two shall bond immensely during the one-minute montage and ultimately, he shall fall head over heels for you.

Not that you particularly care much for whether he falls in love with you. It’s whatever.

“Minho, don’t make me tackle you and force this down your throat.” Your gaze sharpened as you lowered your hands to reveal your face. “Just one small bite. I’ll even play airplane for you if you want.”

“There is no need for that,” he said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ugh, big words, over a conversation about pizza.” You rolled your eyes. “Just try it. One small bite. If you don’t like it then I’ll finish everything here by myself.”

Minho side-eyed all the food on the table and he snickered, “That’s a lot of grease. You’re gonna get a tummy ache.”

“You underestimate my digestive ability.” You clicked your tongue and glared at him. “Look at you! You got me over here talking about bowel movements!”

“I didn’t force you to say anything regarding that matter.” He shrugged.

Then your mind simply decided it was enough talking for him. He needed something to chew on, and that would be the garbage food you were holding in your hand. Minho seemed to sense the burst of devilish instinct through your arched brows, and he quickly moved back against the couch just as you grinned and crawled on top of his body. You paid zero minds to the position you put yourself in while Minho tried not to think too much about your legs straddling his abdomen as he forced himself to keep his eyes up at your face. You rolled the pizza up as you would fold a piece of bread, curling it into a sandwich-like figure before poking it to Minho’s mouth.

“Come on, Minho, I can’t beg you for too long. This one-minute montage has lasted about a page now,” you whined, shimmering yourself closer to his body by moving your thighs.

The unnoticed friction below forced Minho to open his mouth for a surprised gasp. His eyes widened to stare at you while a heated blush crept onto his cheeks. You took the chance to shove the roll of pizza into his mouth, and all Minho could do was chew on the food. His brows arched as seconds passed, tasing the cheesy food on his tongue and chewing the far too rigid bread.

His hands have found their place at your hips now as he concentrated on the paradoxical food in his mouth, his previous panic mode coming to a halt suddenly. It was bad, he could point out exactly why it was bad too but he liked it somehow. Inhaling a sharp breath, his eyes trailed towards you and he nodded. “I like it.”

A grin broke out then and you clasped your hands together in pure joy. “See? I told you you would like it!”

Minho tried not to smile too much due to the food in his mouth, but you could see his eyes arch into a moon shape and it was enough compensation for the lack of smiley lips. After that, it was just quiet. The only sound being made was from the television; it sounded like the second female lead was crying once again as she desperately spilled out her confession.  

You turned your head over to focus on the screen, your brows slightly furrowed and a grimace appearing once you saw how heartbroken the female lead was. Your expression was not out of sympathy, it was annoyance at the fact that she never stops crying.

While you were watching the people on the screen, Minho was watching you.

Your hands have fallen to his chest, unbeknownst to you. Your fingertips pressing against the fabric of his button-up shirt; just a thin wall until they reach the surface of his warm skin. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, no ill intentions provided, it was just the force of daydream.

“Ugh, seriously?” you muttered under your breath as your face scrunched up in dismay. “Do you see this shit, Minho? He just kissed her. Disgusting!”

You turned to look at him, catching his gaze immediately. Confusion faded quickly and your belly tightened when it hit you that Minho has been staring at you for the entirety of this moment. Not to mention the rather intimate position you two were seated in. Clenching your fist tightly, you gasped out and quickly prepared to back off his torso.

“Wait–hold on, I have something to ask!” Minho tightened his grip on your hips, his voice urgent.

“What–what? Yeah?” you breathed out.

Minho’s lips started to quiver, a sign of nervousness you could tell. His eyes moved away from you to the television and back to you again. He cleared his throat a few times, his fingers still gently fixing at the hem of your shirt, unknowingly making your heart pump furiously at the tingly sensation.

“I… uh, basically I want to ask… “ he started, “It’s just… if you are okay with it, of course, I would like you to… um, sleep with me?”

You blinked down at him, rubbing the back of your finger near your cupid’s bow as you sniffed. That was an unexpected question but you came prepared for it. While you knew things have changed drastically starting this morning, all the courtesy to the event last night, you didn’t want things to happen too quick and easy for him. Heading back to sleep on the same bed with him, an act that fosters closeness, you were not willing to just hand it to him yet.

Damn. You selfishly smiled to yourself. This is what it feels like to be chased.

“Thank you for the offer, Minho, but… no,” you replied softly, glancing down at him kindly. “Maybe someday soon.”

He nodded at you, disappointment lacing in the heaves of his chest. “Yeah. That’s no problem.”

“But I do want you to know that I am glad about you taking the first step to change,” you said. “And for not making a fool out of me, you know? I was hoping I hadn’t given the chance to the wrong person.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” He nodded. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Breathing in the silence, you gave him one last smile before backing off his body once and for all. You returned to your designated spot and pulled your legs close to your chest to make up for the sudden loss of warmth. A small smile played at your lips, you almost felt like you were back in high school talking to your first crush again.

“You’re welcome,” you muttered. “We’ve stalled long enough time. Let’s just eat and watch the soap opera together.”

He nodded in agreement, then he laughed. “I still have no idea what is going on though.”

“No worries, I will fill you in.” You waved your hand at him, tempting him to sit a little closer to you. Looking at the food, an idea popped into your head and you yelped, pressing a fist to your palm. “Ah! How about I make it up to you by making your lunch tomorrow?”

Minho bit his lower lip as he reached in to pick up a piece of pizza, his hand greased up with just a single grip but he couldn’t care less. He bit back a soft smile, only offering you a nod in return, “Yeah, please. I’d love that.”

You watched Changbin pop the last spoonful of kimchi fried rice into his mouth, your mouth creasing up into a smile upon the delicious hum he let out as he dropped the metal spoon onto the bento box carelessly, trying to savor the last taste of your homemade lunch. You made extra this morning when you were preparing the food for Minho’s lunch and you decided why not pack one for Changbin too? That way you could share the food and get some reviews in return.

Killing two birds with one stone. I see you were unusually thriving, [Name]. Why was that, one might wonder?

“Since when did you learn how to cook so well?” Changbin asked when he turned to you, a bunched up piece of tissue in his fist.

Oh great. If Changbin thought the food was good then Minho most likely would too. You did doubt the possibility of him complimenting you on the food straightforwardly, though. He would probably say something irritating first before discreetly slip in some happy words here and there, ones which you would be too annoyed to catch, but that wouldn’t be Minho's problem since he did, in fact, compliment you. He could check that box off.

“I had a lot of free time lately, and I decided why not become an improved version of myself?” You smiled smugly at him. A hand reached up to your shoulder to fake a sassy hair-flip as you hummed in satisfaction. “I am a whole new person now, Changbin. I can cook, I can–” your smiled dimmed funnily–“I don’t know what else I can do but I am sure I will think of something eventually.”

Changbin breathed out a faint giggle, his eyes casting down at the empty bento box in front of him once again. He was reluctant to taste the food you made when you first presented it to him, talking about not needing to go to some expensive restaurant and whineing about receiving a giant plate of a chip-sized spaghetti. It started from him doubting if you actually made it since it looked presentable, and then it was him being suspicious of the taste.

“It was really good. Thank you for making me something,” he said, squishing your cheek casually. His gaze softened when you grinned at him, joyous and genuine in the truest way possible. It made him feel as if he had missed out on something, like all the smiles you have shown him before served no value compared to this one. He sighed, folding his hands together and clearing his throat shyly. “Don’t make this weird but you feel happier lately.”

You tilted your head at him. “I do?”

“Yeah. Well, you have never really come to me about any problems and you were always happy when we hang out. But…” Changbin paused in thoughts, trying to phrase them in the best way possible. “It just feels like you’ve been doing much better than before. Like, I am not insinuating anything about your life and your marriage but you didn’t feel like you were genuinely happy before.”

You would never understand why ‘you’ never talked to Changbin about this broken marriage before and instead chose to talk to Minho’s mother. Even in the dramas that you have watched, books that you have read, the main character always tells their best friend about everything. To a point where it may backfire on them. Or perhaps that was the reason why? The reason why Changbin was not informed of the truth was that they were trying to keep him from causing a scene, from acting on his feelings?

Your brows furrowed. But it didn’t seem like Changbin has feelings for you though? The worst thing that could happen would be him sucker-punching Minho in the midst of a normal conversation because “how dare you treat my best friend like that, you piece of shit!” or something along the lines of that. It wouldn’t be you choosing him over Minho and thus, humiliating the latter with a sudden divorce.

“That is a good thing,” you said. “I am happier, I guess?”

“It is. I am just wondering why?” Changbin questioned. “Did something happen with Minho?”

“Changbin–“ you pressed your mouth shut.

You almost asked if he has feelings for you, just like that, bluntly and honestly. Thank god you caught your tongue before spilling such conceited bullshit. Just because you were the main character of this story didn’t mean you plan to assume your attractiveness just leveled up like that. And you would much rather you hadn’t met anyone’s standard in this world, unlike how most dramas work. You’ve spent your entire life being mediocre at best, too much attention would serve as nothing but a mere nuisance.

With the bottom lip jutted out, you puffed some air into your cheeks just to have something to do while the silence rolled on. Changbin was waiting patiently for an answer, dedicated to knowing whether your change in mood had anything to do with your husband. Your head pounded—technically speaking, it did have something to do with Minho, but even more than him, it had something to do with yourself.

The body switch changed ‘you,’ whoever they were. If your theory was correct, the people back on Earth could possibly be asking the same question depending on how ‘you’ decided to act. Or you could be sleeping, stuck in an unreasonable coma, unmoving and weak. You closed your eyes for a moment. Oh, you could see it, you could see the flashing images!

All the five people you knew being worried sick (or not) about you, the doctors were all gathered together to examine your body in hopes to find the cause of your deep slumber, paparazzi’s roaming outside your room! You better be the talk of the country when you wake up. You wanted to be interviewed, to be taken magazine pictures of! You could write a book about this experience; people would probably call you crazy but how would they be able to explain the coma, huh?

[Name], darling, your thoughts were going awfully off-track. Please spare a moment and take a look at the young and handsome man sitting next to you.

“Well, it might be because of him,” you replied carefully. “But it is mostly me. Like I said, I am improving myself! I am learning things and charging myself with knowledge!”

Changbin stared at you for a prolonged moment and you waited nervously for what he would say. The velocity of the wind was just perfect, blowing at your hair without disrupting the beauty of your features but also a sort of feminine flair to the situation; he was staring at you intently with curious eyes, which was enough to make your heart pound. This felt like the perfect time to say something cheesy and thus, mess up your feelings.

“[Name].”

You flinched invisibly, your eyes widened as a squeak left your pursed lips. You looked at him, asking him to continue.

Changbin laughed. “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright? If Minho ever tries to pull any stunt, you tell me.”

You blanked out for the rest of it, relieved that it was not a confession you heard. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, you already knew what Changbin would say. Probably something along the lines of “I will hunt him down and kick his ass,” which would always sound romantic coming from a good-looking man but absolutely hilarious coming from an average-looking one. Either way, it did warm your heart to hear that someone cared about you enough to bother standing up for you.

“Thank you,” you said, rolling your eyes up at the sky and looking faraway. Minho popped into your head and a smile graced upon your lips, unbeknownst to you. “But I think Minho is fine. He may not be the best husband but he is trying, and I think I should give him credit for that.”

The way he treated you when you first met him was unreasonable, but at least he took the first step. Instead of ignoring your words and going on to be the asshole he was, thus prompting you to return the favor, he was the first to attempt at a change. You could always stand by the rule of ‘an eye for an eye,’ but sometimes you need to kill the cycle before it kills you.

“Alright then.” Changbin nodded at your reply and he stood up.

“Thank you, seriously,” you said as you stood up from your seat and as he did. Confidently, you reached your arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. He pressed his hands to your back without hesitation, engulfing you fully with his (very eye-catching) arms. You could never get used to this—his hugs, absolutely god-sent.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you said, your voice muffled in his shirt.

“Always.” Changbin rubbed your back, smiling to himself. When he pulled away, he tilted his head with a question. “Wanna get out of here and go shopping?”

You smiled. Spending money? Sounds like fun. 

Wait. Shopping?

You almost forgot about that generous credit card slipped sluggishly between the five one-hundred-dollar bills in your wallet. When Minho heard that you planned to hang out with Changbin today, all he did was quietly take out his wallet and flip the card out for you to take along. You planned to deny the offer at first but as soon as you caught sight of the thick blackness of the card, you knew this was no normal credit card. 

No, no. That was no grocery store credit card. That card could pay off a mortgage loan in full. It was one of those reserved, royal, luxurious card made out of silk and velvet. You were too busy puking blood, sweat, and tears trying to sustain the weight of that one, stupid card that you didn’t even notice the look of dismay Minho flashed you when he reminded you to get home early. You knew he was rich, but you didn’t know he was this rich. What would be next, huh? A private zoo overlooking a private waterfall?

Changbin raised a brow at you, concern plastered on his face when he saw the uncomfortable look on your face. He stepped closer to you and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally.” You nodded, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “Let’s go. Just remind me not to buy anything too expensive.”

He frowned in confusion. “[Name], what? You married Lee Minho. The word expensive doesn’t exist.”

You spent so long chanting ‘eat the rich’ only to end up becoming one of them. “I don’t think it works that way, Changbin.” You laughed sarcastically before pointing to a random direction. “Can we just go get ice cream or boba. Anything normal like that.”

“Yeah–you are being really weird,” he said, patting you on the shoulder. “Are you taking the whole improving yourself thing too far?”

No, definitely not. If anything, you didn’t just get a mild improvement, you got an upgrade.

The first thing Minho did when he got home was to look for you.

He hadn’t thought about why and what he would do. It wasn’t like you would give him a welcome kiss or anything. He just thought seeing you after an eventful day at work would be a breath of fresh air, considering for most of the day, he had been putting up a professional front. He also wanted to thank you for the delicious lunch he spent minutes trying to figure out where he should eat it at.

He placed his shoes neatly by the door so the housekeeper would pick it up and return it back to his closet and walked over to the couch where he lightly dropped his briefcase at the corner. His eyes laid elsewhere, glancing through the kitchen and the dining area to find not one trace of human life anywhere in the living room. The house was eerily quiet too, unlike usual when you would be at home (especially not recently when you’ve started to get so talkative).

Minho heaved a sigh. You had not come back from your friendly date with Changbin yet.  

Glancing up at the television, he let a smile reach his lips as he recalled the pizza night you two had. He remembered being able to relax with you screaming and whining at the screen that night, and how he genuinely liked being able to lay back and feel nothing for a while. Heck, you even managed to get him invested in the episode half-way down. He was huffing and cursing by the end of the cliff hanger.

It was a great experience; simple and lovely. He missed it, quite a lot.

“Oh, Minho! Welcome back!”

He looked up at the housekeeper, strands of her white and black hair falling over her wrinkly face as the aftermath of domestic chores. She was wiping her hands on her jeans and she walked up to Minho, a gentle smile on her face as she said, “[Name] isn’t home yet if that is what you’re wondering.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said as he reached into his bag and pulled out the wrapped bento box, handing it to the housekeeper politely. “Oh, this is the lunch box if you can wash it for me. Thank you.”

“So you are wondering if they’re home yet?” She took the box in her hands and held it close to her chest, staying on her spot instead of heading straight to the kitchen. Her gentle smile has changed into a knowing smirk, her eyes flashing a rare mischief when she saw the way Minho stuttered with his eyes. “You don’t used to ask for them like this, do you know?”

She was the kind of lady ‘you’ couldn’t fool into thinking the marriage was a good one. Even if she had not been your housekeeper and had not been keeping a careful eye on how you and Minho interact with each other, she would have known just by watching you two stand next to each other. But she kept her mouth shut, for it wasn’t her place to say anything, and for she had faith that something would change eventually.

“Sometimes I just wanna smack you out of it. I could never understand why you were so distant before, even though I can see you are a nice person,” she added. “But I guess I can’t blame everything on you either. Your parents and their parents were too rash.”

Minho pouted slightly at her words. It felt like she was finding excuses for him and it felt wrong. He never knew why he acted so distant either, to be frank, he just knew he started out that way and he had stuck to it for this long. Until you suddenly changed, you had enough of him and snapped back, you took the expected affection and turned it into something he has to earn.

The lady spoke, patting his arm. “But your parents should have given you more time so you can fall in love with them too.”

Minho would have loved you normally, but he was young and he was reckless with sensitivity. Suddenly tying him down with a ring, giving him no choice but to accept and act grateful—it made him go blind with stubbornness and he acted so stupidly in the relationship to prove a point that people would forever be ignorant of.

“How…” He shook his head. “But what if I don’t fall in love with them?”

“Oh, how am I supposed to know? That is in the past now, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, the soft pats on his arm turning into a weak hit. “You enjoy their love, Minho, and you do care. You can admit that. It’s not a bad thing.”

Minho pulled on his fingers, one by one he tugged on them harshly until he reached his ring finger. A gasp breathed from his chest and never out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing uncomfortably as he recalled back when you took yours off and returned it to him. He had it stored carefully in the original box, stuffed to the front of his desk drawer in his workroom.

And suddenly, all he could focus on was to put the ring back on your finger.

A knock came from the big doors, gaining his attention immediately as he turned his head over. Dropping his hands to his side, hope swelling within him, he went over and quickly opened the door only to be left disappointed when he saw that it was Yuna standing before him instead of you. He glanced at the clock slapped around his wrist, his frown deepening as more seconds ticked by without you being home.

“Minho!”

“Hey, Yuna,” he muttered, glancing up from his watch and looking at the girl. “What is it?”

“What is up with your face. Aren’t you at least a little happy to see me?” she questioned, her smile dimming with a faint scoff. She walked inside the house, closing the door on her way in.

“No, not particularly,” Minho replied honestly, sensing nothing wrong with his answer.

Yuna was used to his bluntness by now, but even then she went ahead and kept trying to shorten the bridge Minho set up between the two of them. Her progress wasn’t obvious, she couldn’t even be sure if she had made any type of progress. But one thing she knew for sure was that Minho acts a hell lot more closer to her than he ever did with you. That, she could stand by. Or so it used to be, at least. She wasn’t sure what’s changed recently. Perhaps your snapping made him take a turn for the better, or worse for her. 

“Bummer, I am very happy to see you.” She put on a frown. “Well, maybe not this time because I have something to show you.” Clutching her phone in her hands, her pretty brows furrowed in a look of sympathy mixed with distaste. How she managed to put two opposite emotions together on her face was beyond imaginable but it was, undeniably, a skillset. “Did you know [Name] was out with their best friend… what’s his name? Changbin! They were together today!”

“Yeah, I am well aware of that,” Minho sighed, glancing at his watch again.

“Don’t you find their tension weird?” Yuna asked, stepping up tauntingly. “They are so close! Honestly, if I didn’t know you two are married, I would have thought they were a couple. Especially what happened at the park today!”

Minho blinked slowly. Whatever Yuna was trying to pull here, it was definitely up to no good. He trusted you, whole-heartedly. Back when you were meek and quiet, and now when you were bold and honest. But what he thought was concrete. You couldn’t go behind his back and fool around with somebody else so long as you both haven’t gotten an official divorce yet. However, even if you weren’t cheating, could you possibly be falling in love with another secretly? Yes. He thought it possible, and he was intimidated by that idea.

He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth to keep the accusation at the tip of his tongue. His paranoia shouldn’t be stronger than your morals. Yuna raised her brows at the reaction, her chest thumping in triumph at the assumption that her plan to pin the unfaithfulness on you was working. She jumped over to Minho’s side and circled her arm through his so she could pull him down to her level, and she whipped out her phone with the gallery prepared.

Minho could barely take a glance at the first picture when the door burst open. You came waltzing into the house, a tired groan escaping your lips as you kicked your shoes off and used your feet to shove them to the side. When you finally looked back up, your gaze sharpened at the sight of Minho and Yuna. You wanted to let out another groan of frustration; besides your sore feet, there was another, bigger, hassle in front of you. But you were more curious than annoyed at the sight. 

“How is it that I always catch you two together?” you asked as you crossed your arms.

Minho removed himself from Yuna, his eyes wide in alert and his mouth hung open with a silent explanation. To see him so riled up with fear just because you saw them in a rather friendly position caused none other than jealousy within the girl standing next to him, so she huffed and retorted with her phone clutched tighter in her hand.

“You are one to talk! You were out with Changbin the whole day today!” She flashed you her phone. “Explain this, cheater.”

You had to laugh. Cheater, right. Hilarious accusation. First of all, never in hell. You would not cheat for the fuck of it, not even when you were about to have your grade drop to a C and you have a teacher who sleeps during testing hours. Second of all, you forgot how quickly characters of her archetype liked to jump to conclusions. All those times screaming at the screen about them being a, as you like to call then, stupid fucking bitch, you never thought you would get the chance to experience one.

God, let’s just hope that Minho did not take the claimed cheating evidence the wrong way or else it would be a pain in the ass trying to clarify to him that you and Changbin were nothing more than friends. That was if it wasn’t already enough pain to have to deal with the second female lead over here.

“Oh! Yeah, I did cook lunch today. I had leftovers so I decided to share some with Changbin too, and I was being playful so I spoon-fed him like once before he smacked my hand away,” you laughed at the picture of you shoving a spoon too far down his mouth. “Hey, send this to me, will you? I can blackmail him with it. Look at how ugly he looks.”

Yuna gasped in disbelief. She couldn’t ask why you were spoon-feeding him, it wasn’t like friends are banned from playfully feeding each other food. If she nitpicked on something so trivial, she would sound desperate. Oh, think Yuna! Think hard and clear on how to make Minho hate his devoted spouse! Remember that you were indeed very desperate!

“But–but I saw you two hugging each other. Look!” She swiped her phone and showed it to both you and Minho.

You wished there were cameras present for you to stare into them. It was just a hug, first of all. Secondly, need you to remind that girl the position she caged Minho in when you first saw her in the office room. Hypocritical, dumbly so! This female lead was no fun at all! The deadpan expression on your face seemed to rub off on Minho quite a bit, as he pursed his lips together to hide a snicker at how ridiculous this situation was. You opened your mouth, inhaled a mouthful of air to stall time as you think of a response, and when you finally exhaled it was a defeated one.

“You got me, Yuna. You really got me,” you said, nodding. “I forgot I signed the contract where I can never ever hug my best friend anymore. I am so sorry, I messed up, I was wrong.”

She dropped her arms to her side with a huff. You were right once again. Something you could only say in a drama world and never in the real world, but we shall not go into that for the time being. Anyway, it was just a hug. She could argue that it was much more than just a friendly hug but yet again, she had no reason to show for it and she didn’t want to appear desperate. Even though she was, in fact, very desperate.

“If you aren’t talking then I guess it’s my turn.” You clapped your hands together at the silence. Looking at the girl, you kindly gave her a tilt of your head and a questioning gaze as you spoke, “Why do you have pictures of me and Changbin? Were you stalking me or did you pay other people to stalk me?”

Minho widened his eyes, a shocked yell erupting as he held out his hand. “Woah, [Name]! Yuna might be a little crazy but she isn’t–“

“Trust me, Minho. I have seen this scenario for at least fifty times now. It is not uncommon for the second lead to hire random, scary, useless men to take out the main lead,” you interrupted him quickly, with your palm shot out and facing him.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Yuna asked, baffled.

“Too long, don’t listen. It just means I know how to handle this,” you explained briefly before nodding at her. “Care to explain? Did you take the pictures?”

Yuna heaved a sigh, her pretty eyes staring hopelessly back at you. She glanced at Minho once even though she knew she wouldn’t receive any form of help, and when she looked back at you, she nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

That was much easier than you expected.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you said. “But I want you to know that I don’t like what you did, and I especially don’t like you accusing me of cheating when I didn’t.”

She didn’t apologize; you didn’t expect her to.

Stepping aside, you eyed Minho quickly and gestured for him to take care of the girl. He hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more than to talk to you, and he complied when you glared at him. You stood on the side, not paying attention to what Minho was saying as he walked the girl out, presumably to send her home.

“She really likes you,” you mused the first thing when Minho retuned from his mini-trip. You stirring a cup of tea in your hands, walking out of the kitchen in your slippers. When you saw the confused look Minho gave you, you shrugged. “Just an observation. Don’t tell me you never noticed?”

Minho titled his head to the side. “I don’t think too much of it.”

You hummed. These second-leads; always spending more than half of their life in love with someone only to get a “haha, I don’t think too much of it” in return. Sometimes you wonder if they were created to strengthen the plot and relationships, or just to slap reality right in the face of the audiences. 

Just because you love them doesn’t mean it deserves to work out for you, and most of the time it doesn’t work out for you.

“Heartbreaking,” you commented.

Minho sighed heavily, looking away to grab a mug so he could pour himself a cup of water. “Yeah.“

You eyed him carefully. Whether he was annoyed because of work or whatever just happened, you planned to clarify one thing. “I didn’t cheat, just so you know,” you said. “I never will.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. I trust you,” he said, gulping down the water and putting the mug down on the kitchen counter. He licked the droplets remaining on his lower lip and sighed. “It’s just…”

How does one talk about the feeling of jealousy without having a clear explanation as to why they feel it? How does on talk about the green monster when they were never prone to seeing it? How does one even talk about feeling jealous at all? It is such a taboo emotion for some reason. Minho grimaced, annoyed at himself for being unable to put his feelings into words, right now and back when he was talking with the housekeeper.

He shook his head, deciding to change the topic. “Thank you for the lunch today, I really liked it.”

A small smile appeared on your face as you pressed the lid of the mug close to your lip, not sure if you planned to drink the tea or just to have the heat stay close to your mouth so you could feel the warm humidity. “You’re welcome, I figured you’d like it since Changbin liked it too.”

“Cool,” Minho laughed, a painfully obvious sarcastic tone laced all over him he wasn’t even aware he was dripping with what you could recognize as jealousy. Mildly, not too much of it, just lingering on the fact that you didn’t make the food especially for him when he thought you did.

Amusement tingled in your head and you thought hard about whether you should tease him for it. You wanted to, for sure, but with someone whose dignity and feelings were so reserved, he would never admit to being jealous of anything. He would be hard to tease because he would fight like hell to deny it while his ears betray him in shades of red.

You took a sip of your drink. Fine, at least you knew he felt that way. “I can make your lunch again for tomorrow,” you said casually. “I should probably count my portion right this time. Wouldn’t want to make so much extra food again.”

Minho cleared his throat, a sense of giddiness bubbling up his chest but he pressed it down until he would be out of sight to celebrate this small victory by himself. Carefully placing the cup in the sink, he wiped the wetness on a towel hung on the oven handle, not looking at you as he spoke, “Yeah, sure. Thank you again.”

“No problem.” You moved over to the sink and rinsed your cup before putting it on the dish rack located just at the side.

“Oh, I got news today that my dad’s company is going to hold a gathering soon,” he said, his voice louder when he knew what he needed to say. He rubbed his knuckles against his pants discreetly, clearing this throat. “They basically have people working in other companies come over and each department would pitch an idea and see if they want to invest in the idea.”

You nodded. “Oh, that’s fun.”

“Yeah, and uh, I would like it if you can tag along?” he asked.

“Won’t I have to anyway?” you responded light-heartedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes and no. You don’t actually have to show up all the time, contrary to what we have been doing for almost every single company gatherings I have been to. I just want to see if you want to go this time since my dad–well, he is finally giving me a chance to pitch an idea by myself,” he muttered under his breath before quickly adding. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to! I’m not gonna force you to go to those events anymore.”

This felt like some type of prom proposal but a much less expected and underprepared version of it. This was the first time you have ever been asked to join anything that wasn’t a club activity or a family gathering. Although it was a company gathering, you would still be attending as a plus-one, and the thought of that boost your confidence quite a bit.

Besides, you would probably leave the scene half-way through and, if everything goes according to the book, Minho would follow you out and you two would bond in this magnificent garden you miraculously stumble into. One that should not exist in the middle of a vibrant city behind a company building. 

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you accepted. “Gonna go cheer you on, of course. Not loudly but you know.”

“Oh… okay, thanks,” he breathed out a sigh of relief at your reply, the weight dropping off his shoulders.

You turned to Minho then, a faint smile on your face due to the lack of things to say. The tension was rather awkward. You two simply stood before each other in the kitchen, with no words to say and speechless eyes focusing on each other. Minho moved after a while, his hand flying up just a fraction. He looked as though he wanted to talk but he wasn’t sure how, and so you waited for him to pull his mind together.

“Um… I just wanna say welcome home,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I was gonna greet you when you come back but Yuna was here.”

Your eyes softened. Well, you’ll be. Who would have thought Minho had the ability to stir up the shy romantic in you? Cheeks slightly tinted pink, disbelief eyes darting everywhere but you, hands in pockets, and a naturally pouty lip. Muttering some cheesy lines that would escalate the affection both of you feel for each other, all the while trying too hard to make it seem casual. This man was a whole tsundere and you were living for it!

Laughing, you nodded as you looked around the room you have come to be more familiar with. “Thanks. I’m home.”

“Did you have fun today?” he asked.

“I did,” you replied. “But it’s always nicer at home.”

Minho quirked his lips up for a moment before his expression returned to the bewildered, confused one. His gaze was hard with uncertainty as he moved slow. His arms reaching up unconfidently, his legs wanting to bring him forward but they were unmoving. You tilted your head with squinted eyes, deciphering his movements while he huffed out curses at himself.

“Actually, nevermind,” he said. “You didn’t see anything.”

Oh, for god’s sake, [Name]. Just give the poor man a hug! You want to!

“Minho,” you called to stop him before he could turn and leave. Boldly, you opened your arms. “Come here, it’s fine.”

He reluctantly moved closer to you upon the invitation. His arms carefully going around your back to engulf you in his arms, his head dipping slightly just enough to smell the lingering scent of street food you ate this afternoon. It felt nice, as much as he forgot how touching other people feel. Steadying himself in your embrace felt warm and safe. He blinked at the floor, unsure of what else he could do aside from just standing there with his arms around your torso.

“You smell like sweat, Minho,” you complained with a frown, your chin pinning down on his shoulder as you slapped his back one. “Go take a shower. I’ll make some dinner.”

Minho clicked his tongue, his brows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t mad, though; your remark made him feel less awkward if anything. Reminding him that this was just a hug, and he should not have to take it so seriously like he was heading to war or something. He could do this every day if he wanted to, and he sure wanted to.

“Your hair smells like grilled octopus so maybe you should go deal with that too,” he said. “Did you get me some of that?”

“No, I didn’t know you like that.” You shrugged as you pulled away after one last smack to his back for commenting on how your hair smelled like barbecue as if you didn’t already know. “Let’s go get some next time, just the two of us.”

“Sure, I know a restaurant.”

“No, Minho. I mean the street stalls kind,” you said, waving your hand, “You know? The ones in the crowded streets. The food stalls?”

“I do know. I just don’t go to those places,” he said, pulling a face. He has been wondering what your image of him was. It seemed you’ve considered him under the spotlight of a very stereotypical rich man. 

You poked your tongue against your inner cheek. You should have expected that. Maybe that was where your one-minute montage would come from. You could already see the episode title: love and food, where [Full Name] teaches rich man Lee Minho the art of shoving people in crowded streets to get to your favorite food stalls, thus making Lee Minho fall in love with you because wow, this is such a different scenario than what he was used to! No one has ever brought him to places like this before, even though he was fully capable of going anywhere he wanted!

“Then we have to go at least once,” you huffed. “But for now, let’s worry about dinner.”

“Of course,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I will go take care of my… body odor.”

You burst into laughter as you nodded, moving over to the refrigerator, “Yes, you do that, sweaty. And I will deal with my hair later.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and spun on his heels. Moving out of the kitchen and back to the couch where he could get his bag, he paused for a moment when he caught the black television standing there, and a thought popped into his head.

“Hey, [Name]!” He yelled out, looking up to find you peeking out the door. He played with his fingers, “Should we just order some takeout?”

“Oh?” You looked around the clean kitchen with a soft frown before you nodded with a shrug. “Sure. That’d save me the effort. What do you want?” you asked, walking out of the kitchen as well. “Chinese? Thai?” You hummed with a playful smirk. “Pizza?”

You saw him smile.

Pizza it is.

The clinking of the teaspoon was rhythmic as you stirred the cup of jasmine tea in the quiet kitchen. Night has descended long ago. The housekeeper and driver have already returned to their home. You just peeled off your face mask and you could still feel the essence on your skin. The living room was dark with only the kitchen light illuminating the area. It was one of those silent times in a day where you look around and it hits you once again that you were someplace else.

But this house wasn’t strange to you anymore. This house was where you slept in for weeks, where you ate pizza and cooked meals you could never imagine having the time to cook, where you found yourself gradually approaching the mortifying idea that was falling in love with another human being.

Blowing air out of your lips, you groaned at the thought. Falling in love; you have fanaticized about it so long yet it never really happened. The deepest form of affection you have ever felt was classmate crushes and celebrity admiration, nothing stronger than that has ever occupied your heart before. And you were never sure if you wanted anything more than that, ever, because you have always been afraid of rejection, of the one-sided love television talked so much about.

It wasn’t just the rejection. It was all those witching hours spent being cautious and overthinking every interaction you make with the other person, imagining scenarios that you already deemed impossible, wondering if you should fall in love or if you are worth being fallen in love with.

But the rejection part wouldn’t apply to you in this situation since you and Minho were already married, not to mention he was trying to become a better person for you, therefore you shall have no problem going forward from here. Alright, maybe you would have some trouble with showing affection but that wouldn’t be because you don’t accept Minho and only because you were never taught how to properly reciprocate another’s love.

“Made you jasmine tea, you lame-a-thon!”

Minho looked up from his desk with a deadpan expression. You and your nicknames just get worse and worse as time passes, and he painfully awaits the day when you finally unleash the worst nickname you could muster. When you saw his frown, you hummed, “Oh, stop that frown, boy. Your face will get stuck like that.”

You kept telling him that and he knew for a fact that it is impossible for facial expressions to be stuck on his face. Yet, every time you tell him that, he found himself whole-heartedly trusting you for just a second and he would revert to a neutral expression. It was stupid, it was the kind of stupid only you could bring out in him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name].” Minho received the tea gratefully, giving you a nod of acknowledgment. His eyes bounced down to the pattered mason jar you were holding and he tilted his head, holding up his own mug. “How come you get a pretty jar and I just get a white mug?”

You shook your jar. “My drink is iced, yours is hot. Hot drinks and glass jars? Not cute. Iced drinks and glass jars with straws? Very cute.” You took a sip of your fruit juice before pulling the straw away and added with a giggle. “Also, you don’t look like someone who would use something like this.”

“Judging a book by its cover now, huh? I see.” He rolled his eyes and returned to his papers.

You decided to stay at home with him too, the idea only floating out of your head during the third day when you impulsively knocked on his workroom and sat down on the couch with a random book you pulled from the bookshelf. He let you sit there with him in silence, the only sound reverberating around the room were papers turning, keyboards typing, and an occasional chatter about the book you were reading.

Minho wondered why he has never done this before. He always thought he liked to work alone, and he still does. But having you stay in the same room with him felt more comforting than the deafening silence he has to face whenever he allows himself a moment to rest. He could look up and be reminded that someone is there with him, and that defeats the hidden loneliness he never liked to confront.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” you asked, grimacing. Not sure why you felt the need to urge Minho to stop working when you were also one to sit in front of a computer with papers piling up at your work desk too. It was always much easier to point a bad habit out for somebody else than yourself, you supposed. “You’ve been here the whole day.”

Minho shook his head, pouting slightly. “No. I’ll be done with it when I feel like I’m done for today.”

“Are you slacking behind?”

“No,” he said in a soft whisper, glaring up at you for even thinking he would let himself fall behind.

You sneered and removed yourself from his desk. Walking back to the couch you’ve sat on for days, staring at a book or scrolling on your phone, you jumped back on top and placed your drink on the lamp table just behind your head. Laying your body down and extending your legs, you grabbed the thick book and opened it once again to pick up where you left off.

Minho glanced at you, a gentle smile quirking on his lips and his hands slowing down with the papers. He never noticed it, but the couch was placed at the perfect angle for him to look at. Even if you caught him staring, he could always laugh it off as him looking at the clock just above you on the wall. It was perfect, very discreet, and wish-fulfilling.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You didn’t bother to take your eyes off the book but you had stopped reading the lines. You shook your head. “No, I don’t feel like leaving you here alone with the clock ticking. Also, this book is interesting. I want to finish it quickly so I can grab another one.”

“Huh? What is it about?”

“Some random Math stuff? I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention to the context, I just like to read the words,” you said, looking over at him with confident eyes briefly before going back into the book, where you would be saying the words and not stringing them together to make any sense. “It makes me feel smart when I read them.”

He chuckled at your response, his brow arching slightly at the unpredictability of your actions. He made no further comment, letting himself dive back into work as he planned to. Time flew quickly when he was focused, and another hour passed before he knew it. When he granted himself another break for his eyes and neck, he could see that the time was inching closer to sunrise, and when he cast his gaze downwards, he could find you sleeping with the book open on your chest.

Dropping everything at his fingertips, he stood up slightly to give himself a clearer look. Your breathing was slow and your eyes were closed. You also have not been making any comments for the past hour so that should be enough indication for him that you had fallen asleep. Fully standing up now, Minho walked out of his desk so he could approach the couch where you laid. He glanced down at you, debating whether he should wake you up or carry you back to your room.

He grimaced. It would be best to wake you up, right? What if you didn’t want him to bridal-style carry you? But he also didn’t want to disturb you from your sleep either, you looked so peaceful! Minho paced back and forth across the floor, his index nail stuck between his teeth as his eyes shook with thoughts. God, you would laugh so hard if you knew he did this—what a dilemma! Do you or do you not carry your spouse back to their bed when they have fallen asleep?

Just carry them back, Minho, stop worrying.

He paused in his track, his eyes rolling up at the ceiling with a faint murmur. “Carry them…?”

Uh, yes, Minho. That was what I said.

Minho frowned with a scratch on the back of his neck, but he complied with the voice in his head and moved back to the couch. He crouched to your level and carefully removed the book from your hand. You stirred, causing him to freeze immediately, but there was nothing more than that. He dropped the book on the carpet floor before he fumbled around in the air with his unsure hands, not sure where to place them.

Alright, calm down a moment, Minho.

Breathing out slowly, he attempted to calm his messy mind as he let his arms drop back to his side and he stayed in the crouching position. Minho’s gaze blinked over to your face and his heart softened. This utterly relaxed, unguarded face of yours was one of the many faces Minho loved about you; even though it might take him some time to get around to that strong word, he wasn’t denying how much he felt a genuine fondness over it.

At moments like these, when you couldn’t hear him, Minho thought he would spill his deepest, darkest secrets to you, or even confess the inner feelings he got. Maybe about how he honestly would much prefer to have a cup of water instead of tea, or maybe about how he kind of preferred Chinese food over pizza after you made him eat General Tso with rice that one time, or even about how he really enjoyed strolling through the street with you even though he had protested going outside the other night.

But he didn’t. He just watched, trying to match your breathing with his own, trying to keep the gentle back of his fingers to himself instead of running it down your cheek.

It was supposed to happen this way, the cliché scene where one watches the other sleep. When did such a quiet, loving moment become a laughing stock? Did people forget that it has always just been about the serenity of watching a loved one breathe so peacefully and finding immense solace in the idea that they will be there with you until the night comes and the morning sun rises? What is so cliché about feeling at ease with a loved one by your side?

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed.” Minho smiled to himself when you stirred once more on the couch. He finally slipped his hands under your legs and your torso, making sure he found the right place before he pulled you up. However, instead of hoisting you up into his arms, your breathing quickened in the wake of being disturbed and you were quick to open your heavy eyes.

Minho whispered out a laugh. “Hey, good morning.”

You furrowed your brows. That was Minho, you knew even though your mind was too groggy to make out his face. You couldn’t even see those pretty eyes of his with your eyes half-opened and your brain not functioning normally. You just knew you were exhausted and you wanted nothing more than to head back to sleep.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, shifting your weight so you could turn to him and roll straight into his embrace.

He sat back against his feet, a startled groan paired with the curling of his arms when you hugged him by the neck and laid your face at the crook of it. He froze for a minute, wondering if you planned to move at all only to find that you were asleep once again. Looking around the room, he flashed a hopeless look, asking for help from above.

The above won’t answer you, but I could help, I suppose. Sigh… what would you both do without me?

Just lay down and rest, Minho. It’s about time you sleep too.

Minho licked this lower lip. Your gentle breathes fanning against his skin disarmed all the walls he has built up to guard his heart, which currently thumped heavily in his chest. Oh, how crazy it was! He felt both giddy and baffled at the same time, loving and fearing this reaction! Carefully standing up, he held you close to his chest and moved the both of you back on the couch, where he tried to slide underneath your body first before laying you down.

“Jesus, Minho, stop fucking moving.” You squeezed his neck lightly as your irritated voice echoed in his ears.

He apologized with a nod, toning down the wriggling of his body as he wrapped you up in his arms and, cautiously, placed one leg on top of yours to secure your position. He gulped and exhaled. This was the first time he has ever been this close to someone and it would be the first time he has ever slept in a cuddle position. He has never longed for it, not even when he had to third-wheel his friends on party nights, and he wondered what sorcery caused his indifference toward something so amazing. 

The heaving of your chest pushed against his, reminding him to breathe. He held you close, the corner of his heart filling up the tighter his grip on yours was. He thought you would whine about it again, smacking him and telling him to loosen his grip. He waited until that moment for a long time. It never came. 

The gathering was as extravagant as you expected it to be but it was definitely much more wedding-like than you anticipated. People were leaving their expensive cars left and right at the drop-off area, some greeting each other while some walking straight into the building due to the evening cold.

Seeing the obnoxiously loud interactions of other rich families, you grimaced with a firm reminder of what goal you set for yourself this night: smile and nod, pretend you know the people and fake an emergency for escape! You’ve thought this over thoroughly—what kind of medical emergency would be publicly acceptable in the eyes of the rich? You had no idea, but you figured you’d roll with it when time comes!

“I thought this gathering is just for business people,” you muttered to Minho when he led you into the building.

He looked around with a blank expression, his eyes tired and his heart hammering loudly in his ears upon the bright setting. “Yeah but they bring extra people,” he replied with a low gruff, annoyed and not trying to hide it.

You glanced at his face. He has had this same pained expression on his face the whole day. It has been here since the morning when you got down to the kitchen and found him devouring a piece of toast while looking at the script he prepared for the presentation. You figured he was just nervous. After all, he did mention how important this opportunity was for him. His father was finally allowing him to contribute instead of simply sitting in on meetings and critiquing others’ work.

He was stepping out of his father’s shadow and showcasing his capability, to not just his father but all the other staff as well. You recognized how important that was, so, not wanting to disturb him, you had chosen to keep a good distance for today and only encourage him before he has to go on stage to present his idea for the company. 

Instead of bothering him with your unnecessary commentary about the place, you have decided to keep it all to yourself as you observed your surroundings while following his lead into the gathering hall. There wasn’t much you could say about places as such because you were, for one, inexperienced when it came to excessive places like this. Bright lights, velvet carpet, wide stairs, and marble columns decorated with white flowers.

Honestly, this could really pass for a wedding venue if you didn’t know any better. If they got porcelain white napkins hidden somewhere inside, you’d probably be stuffing some in your pockets just for the fun of it. It would be the closest you’d ever come to actually eating the rich; you would be stealing from them. They were not very similar in action, but at least you’d be doing something, unlike those who were often all bark and no bite.

Minho could feel the burning pit in his stomach growing the more he stepped closer to the actual venue. Pressing a hand to his abdomen in hopes to calm himself down, he spared a glance your way and let out a curious a chuckle when he saw the way you were examining the place—with focused eyes, like you have arrived at a crime scene and you wanted to find hidden clues left by the criminal.

This was the first time he has seen you react like this. You were never bothered by these types of places, much due to the fact that you grew up going to these events. But it was a sight for sore eyes, his sore eyes, and perhaps his sore heart too. He felt like he was about to die from nervousness despite all the times he spent preparing for this moment, and the fact that you shouldn’t be amazed by something so familiar blew over his head.

It was too significant for him not to be anxious over how he could potentially fuck up. Looking at you took those thoughts away for a brief moment before it hit back at him again, and he returned to that stoic expression he had earlier.

“Oh, you are finally here!”

Minho’s mother opened her arms as she approached him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down to hug him better. You smiled at them from behind, your hands clasped at the front and waiting for her to notice you. And she did, immediately after she sent Minho away to find his father. She gave you the same enthusiastic response and hugged you tight like she hasn’t seen you in years.

“I am so glad you came. Somebody needs to be here and cheer my boy on,” she laughed, moving over to the long table filled with treats and drinks. “He has never dealt well with stage fright, unless when he is dancing, then he just turns into this whole other person!”

“Oh, I see–excuse me, what?” You paused in the middle of your sentence, your eyes blinking in disbelief as you turned to her. Forget the almond cookies and the chocolate cupcakes lined up waiting to be greeted by the impending death! Minho and dancing? That was the real deal, you’ve got to get as much information on that as you could!

“Dancing! [Name], you know this! Minho used to dance when he was younger but he stopped when he started university!” she said, hitting your forearm.

“Of–of course! I haven’t seen him dance in a long time, I kind of forgot what it looks like anymore,” you giggled, causing her to scoff.

“Why didn’t you just ask? I have so many videos saved. I can just send them to you when I have time,” she said, to which you beamed. That must be a sight to behold; you wondered if Minho never talked about it because he was embarrassed by it? But then again, judging by the tone of voice his mother was using, she was more proud than amused.

As she looked away at the stage, a nostalgic smile on appeared her face. “He was always so excited to dance. Sometimes I wonder if he would have gone down that path instead of this if his father didn’t force him to quit dancing.”

You hummed in thoughts, wondering the same question. He seemed rather intent with what he has right now, not to mention he was far too determined and hard-working for someone who doesn’t like their job. But that wouldn’t eliminate the possibility that he didn’t choose this for himself. Perhaps you should ask when you get the chance, maybe after the gathering is done and he is back in a good mood again.

“Oh, [Name], I’ve got to leave for a momentl.” She patted your arm to inform you, pointing her finger at a group of older ladies sitting around a table.

“Okay, have fun!” You nodded.

“Of course,” she said, her smile dimming slightly before she walked closer to you. When she spoke, she was whispering, “Did you and Minho fight again? Where is your ring?”

You gasped. You almost forgot about that! Looking away, you cursed yourself for never asking Minho for the ring back. You would be more than happy to put it back on your finger now, considering how you and Minho were getting along splendidly. Witty remarks were thrown at each other, but there were also hints of care and affection left here and there; you two were simultaneously hatching down each others’ emotional walls, waiting to meet each other at the very core of your beings eventually.

Besides, it’d be awkward if other people noticed. 

“No, we didn’t!” You pulled at your fingers and laughed, genuinely. “I took it off when I was cooking earlier this week and I think I misplaced it. I haven’t been able to find it since then, but I will make sure to double-check again.”

She was quick to breathe out a sigh of relief. “Ah, and I was over here wondering what he did this time! You got me on my toes ever since you asked me about a divorce.”

“No, no! Everything is much better now.” You smiled, biting your lower lip as your mind filled up with Minho’s image. “I think I–“ you cleared your throat–“like you said, I loved him through it.”

Oh, you almost said it! It was a close one but no worries, there is always next time. Just make sure you won’t be too late for it.

Her smile widened at your words, her eyes glistening in threatening tears. She held your hands. “That’s great! That is all I want to hear.”

She gave your hand one last squeeze before she bid you another farewell and left your side. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel too anxious having to fend for yourself in a crowd of strangers. For one, you thought if you stuffed your face with enough food, people would leave you alone. For two, your mood was heightened so much after having a talk about Minho, from knowing about his previous dancing passion to indirectly admitting your feelings for him. It made you feel all jittery inside, your heart beating like jelly, sweet and weak.

Facing the sea of sweets laid out in front of you, you quickly reached out for the nearest cookie plate and stuffed two almond cookies into a napkin you grabbed from the corner. When you were done, you looked up and scanned the place for a quiet corner where you could eat your snack in peace. There seemed to be none. This place was riddled with rich people talking, bragging, and whining.

Taking a bite of your cookie, you squinted your eyes in hopes to find traces of Minho anywhere. At a time like this, talking to strangers would be inevitable, and if you were going to do that, you would much rather do it with him by your side. At least he could carry or save the conversation if you started to act weird and say poor, irrelevant things these people wouldn’t understand, like how you like to buy fruits wholesale and that thousand dollars mini purse was so not worth it, ma’am! What the hell do you have in there? Air?

Speaking of mini purses. Your bored gaze trailed across the top of people’s heads until they settled on a familiar someone. You hummed curiously, casting your gaze a little to the side and bingo! There Minho was, as you expected. You were bound to find Minho around if you see Yuna. Swallowing the cookie and stuffing the remaining one into your pocket after wrapping it up neatly in the napkin, you quickly made your way across the hall where those two stood talking.

When Minho saw you approaching, he first breathed out a sigh of relief. He had been trying to get rid of Yuna but it was to no avail. Not saying the girl was persistent in her chattering but because his mind was too hazy to think about anything to say, he could only glare hard at her in hopes to focus at least a little on the one-sided conversation. Yuna should have probably guessed from his eyes that he wanted to take a break but you really shouldn’t expect much from her. She’s a bit stubborn.

She stopped abruptly when she saw Minho turn to the side, a groan leaving his lips. His heavy steps made his way over to you, her brows furrowing as she sucked in a puff of air after she noticed your presence. You laughed in startlement when he placed a hand on your shoulder, ready to give him a snarky remark. Then he suddenly dropped his head down to your shoulder and rested there. You were taken back; he must be exhausted. 

You caught Yuna’s eyes without him blocking your view, the dissatisfied look on her face sending a shiver down your spine. Way to make yourself on top of her blacklist. Not that you cared much, but under a setting like the one you’ve been forced to live in? It would not hurt to plan for some mafia-related accident that may or may not happen.  

“Woah, Minho. Feeling a little too nervous, are we?” you joked, your hand flying up to the back of his neck so you could give him a comforting pat.

As soon as your hand touched his skin, it flinched back on instinct at the burning hot sensation. You grimaced, confused and very concerned. Where did the sudden heat come from? Pressing your palm to the back of his neck again, your faint grimace turned into a deep frown as you patted against him a few times before pulling away to look at him.

“Minho, you’re burning up,” you said as you pushed him up from your shoulder. Your hand went to his forehead despite his protest and back to your own for comparison, not that it was much needed because he was very obviously heating up. You focused on him, watching his chest heave up and down slowly like he was trying to take very deep breathes, and his eyes were struggling to open. “Shit, you have a fever–all of a sudden?”

Yes. All of a sudden. Does nobody care for illogical surprises anymore?

Now his gloomy moods made sense, although it was quite a shock that he just suddenly came down with a fever like this. There were no signs of it just this morning. He probably accumulated too much stress these few weeks from him isolating himself in the workroom. Not to mention the nervousness that built up to today adding more weight to his health.

Before Minho could say anything, there was a muffled clap echoing through the hall. The speakers were turned up for the host standing in the middle of the stage with a microphone in hand, a podium next to him ready for the speakers to go up. He cleared his throat and welcomed everyone in a cheery tone before asking the guests to return to their assigned seats.

You pursed your lips, a sudden tinge of uncertainty flowing into your mind. You forgot he was supposed to go up this evening. 

“You can’t go up there like this. You should go home,” you suggested, giving him a rather commanding glare.

He shook his head, rubbing the side of his temple as he squished his eyes tight. “No, I have to… I have to do this tonight,” he said, “It’s fine, I can hold on until the end of the presentation.”

“But–“

“[Name],” he took a deep breath and smiled at you. He stood up straight, breathed in deep, and kept that smile on his face. Forcing his eyes open, he looked back at you and nodded in confirmation, “I’m going to be fine. I just needed a little rest from the noise. We can leave immediately after I’m done. I promise.”

You bit the inner part of your bottom lip, still unsure and wondering if you should insist on going home early. Him being sick was one thing, but another thing was that you did not want to be the person who ruins his opportunity to show himself in front of important figures within his community. He worked so hard for today, maybe you should put some faith in him when he told you he could make it till the end of his pitch.

Minho relaxed when you placed your hand on his cheek, ever so slightly he leaned against your palm to feel its softness. You almost laughed at his reaction, a light-hearted laugh that shows nothing more than how fond of him you have become. Stroking his cheek with your thumb, you nodded. “Okay then.”

Ah, so sweet. What a miracle that nobody was paying attention to the two of you standing at one corner of the hall, drowned in each others’ eyes like the sun drowns in the sky. It was the exact manifestation of that description where your surroundings go white and it is as if nobody is there. And instead of a kiss, you just have your hand on his cheek.

Get to your damn seats, the story cannot go on without you both at your assigned spots.

The introduction going into the line-up for each presentation prepared for this gathering was boring at best. You were too busy making sure Minho was really feeling okay that you paid little to no attention to what the host was saying on stage. When his name was called up, you flashed him one last concerned look only to get an assuring smile in return.

His steps felt heavy as he moved away from the table and up to the stage. His mind spinning with words from the script he prepared for himself days earlier and memorized within a night’s time. It would be a shame if he messed up or suddenly forget what to say, but he was prepared enough to be able to improvise. He knew his own ideas and materials. 

The only trouble he really needed to conquer was—

Minho closed his eyes immediately when the spotlight flashed at his face without warning. He sucked in through gritted teeth, his eyes burning from the unwanted brightness and his mind feeling jumpier than ever at the stimulation.

—the threatening spotlight, the sea of eyes, the hammering in his ears, the microphone that accentuated his heavy breathing, his sweaty palms, his shaky voice when he started to speak, his warm forehead.

It just hit him how hard this would be. The stage fright and his weak body felt like an immortal enemy. Before he knew it, his eyes were closing, and he was stumbling on his spot, and then all of a sudden, his knees buckled in the most graceful way possible, and his body dropped to the ground.

The first thing Minho saw when he opened his eyes again was those annoying lights attached to his bedroom ceiling. Immediately closing them, he let out a faint groan and shifted his position on the bed so he could sit upon the soft mattress. The fabric of his clothes changed from the rough blazer of his suit to his smooth pajama. He could feel it by grabbing a fistful of his pants as he sat up.

Sensing movement from the bed, you looked up from your phone and immediately broke into a smile when you saw that Minho was awake. Getting up from your seat, you moved over to the edge of his bed and leaned against the side of it to look at him. “Good morning to you. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he muttered, feeling completely out of it. He was trying to remember what happened before he blacked out, mainly whether he made it through the end of his presentation or if he just fainted in the middle of it. The more he tried to use his head, the more nauseated he felt.  

In the midst of his heavy thoughts, he felt your fingers gently brush against his bangs to move them out of his eyes, and he jolted back to reality in order to give you a smile.

“I know you are. Who wouldn’t be, honestly?” you huffed, recalling in fast-forward motion of how you and him spent the past weeks in his office room.

Guilt slowly wrapped around your heartstrings then, making you wonder if you should have taken better care of him despite his persistent to work on the pitch proposal, or if you should have stopped him from going up the stage earlier. Yet none of those would compare to the panic you felt when he dropped to the ground.

The feeling was quick to leave as you figured out the negativity wasn’t what Minho needed at the moment, and you reverted to your old, laid-back self by giving his forehead a flick of your fingers, earning a surprised yelp from him. “Also, if you are wondering, I changed you out of your clothes,” you said. “Don’t worry, I didn’t try and see anything. I am very noble.”

Minho lacked the energy to roll his eyes but he did giggle, leaning his head against the headboard with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he glanced over at you to find you staring right at him. Your brows arched questioningly at his silence, and the more he kept quiet the more you could feel a blush gushing up your cheeks.

Putting your hands on your hips, you tapped your feet against the floor to feign annoyance as you tilted your head at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Oh, please, you knew why he was looking at you with those sparkly eyes of his, gleaming with a kind of adoration no other has held for you. In most cases, quiet moments like these would force the two main characters both looking at each other. One acting confused while the other filled to the brim with love. Since you were the oblivious one, Minho would be the latter.

You knew that. You just didn’t want to admit to knowing it on your own because for one, it might make you look conceited, and for two, what if you were jumping way ahead of yourself? That would be very humiliating for you, [Name]. That was if you hadn’t already done that by asking such a stupid question. 

Instead of replying, all Minho did was reach his arm out so he could grab your hand. You laughed in bewilderment, trying to peel yourself away from his touch but finding yourself complying with what he wanted. Your body moved on its own, scooting closer and lowering your arm so he has easier access to your hand. The laughter died down as soon as it started, leaving its job for the blush that heated on your face.

Could you feel it? That sense of vexation rising in your chest when you realized all those times you spent criticizing characters for acting awkward in romantic situations had backfired on you dramatically because you acted just like them all. Blushing, wordless, shivers in the heart you couldn’t control—completely at Minho’s mercy despite him doing the bare minimum.

This tenderness was as new to you as it was to Minho. He hadn’t touched anyone like this before. Surely, he was never too rough with anybody or anything, but holding you was a different kind of gentleness he has never expressed.

It wasn’t just for the sake of not being bearish. It was being soft so he doesn’t hurt or break, it was being soft so it isn’t just a touch but a cradle and a caress, it was being soft so he becomes as sensitive as you. Touching you is like touching porcelain; he does it softly so he won’t break nor crack nor crease you, and he does it softly so he won’t run the risk of cutting himself with you.

This was what he missed out on all those years. When he thought back to it, only regret clouded his mind, but he has changed along with you when you did, and everything felt okay now.

Just one more thing, though.

You could feel his eyes burning at your hand, and once again you were reminded of the lack of diamond ring on your fourth finger. 

“Oh! The ring! I–ahh–I was going to ask you for it but I never got around to it so.” A wave of panic arose as you yelped, startling Minho. “If you will give it to me again, I will be more than happy to wear it back, Minho.”

He tightened his grip on your hand, pursing his lips as he looked up at you. “Of course, it’s in my–“

“Minho!”

The door burst open, causing both of you to glance over at the door. Minho’s mother came rushing into the room, her face riddled with concern. When she saw Minho awake and smiling, she breathed out a sigh and walked in with a hand on her chest. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Minho replied quickly, “Tried but I am fine, mom. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you sure? You fainted back there, it was really bad,” she pressed on, moving closer. “Everybody was shocked!”

When you saw how his brow creased and his jaw clenched at her words, you cleared your throat and waved your hand to deescalate the tension. “Actually–it wasn’t like, that bad, you know?”

“I am sure, mom. I promise,” Minho reassured, his voice right and weaker all of a sudden. “I am gonna be back on my feet in no time.”

She worriedly glanced over at you for confirmation and you nodded in return. Then she broke into a faint smile, unclenching her fist and letting it fall to her side. “Oh, good. Thank you so much for taking care of Minho for me, [Name],” she thanked, then she looked away from the both of you and stared right ahead at the window. “If there are no more problems then I should take my leave–“

“Mom,” Minho cut her off. You could finally sense it now, the hidden urgency in his voice. Looking over at him, you found that his eyes were shivering widely, like he was afraid, and his grip on your hand has gotten loose as his concentration averted to his mother. “Where is dad?”

She was visibly uncomfortable now. You breathed in deeply, a revelation exploding in your head.

How the hell did you think you could get away with this trope? The man with daddy issue. Or just parental issues in general but this one was so obviously father problems! You cursed inwardly, ears perked up to listen to their conversation while your mind raced to figure out a solution as you did so.

Here is the thing about parental issues in dramas. When it is about the mother, it is often directed at the female counterpart, and often very easy to solve as long as the main lead is headstrong about what they want. When it is about the father, however, it is usually directed at the male counterpart and much harder to get over, because unfortunately he would be stuck with one father for the rest of his life. It becomes less of a marriage problem or an argument about a potential romantic interest, and more of a psychological injury in need of life-long healing. 

It is work ethics, dignity, power, and money! It is about their child not having the intellect to follow in their footsteps, about their child not wanting to follow in their footsteps. It is having an open affair with someone else and not understanding why your child just wouldn’t listen to your mistress. Fathers are special, and they are weird. They are stubborn and annoying. You never liked shitty father figured in fiction!

That was personal. I can feel it. 

“He doesn’t want to see you, Minho,” she spoke comfortingly. When your words are deafening, the only thing you can possibly do is lower your voice, and even then it may not work the way you want them to. “I tried getting him out of the car but–“

You dropped your jaw. The curse words were much louder now, you could practically play a game of word chain all on your own.

“You fainted in the middle of it. He was expecting you to hang on and finish the presentation,” she went on. “But you didn’t.”

Minho’s heart dropped. So he didn’t finish it after all.

“What the fuck–“ you pursed your lips, never mind that you already cursed anyway, and you pulled yourself away from Minho. You were angry, possibly even beyond that. How could his father be so apathetic towards his son’s health? Looking down at Minho, the tears brimming at his waterline made your inside burn, it felt like you were the one being neglected and unfairly treated.

You sucked in a breath, your eyes blinking rapidly for no reason (it’s for comedic purposes). Then suddenly, you smiled and pointed your index finger towards the door. “I think I left the faucet on so I am just gonna go turn that off, okay? You two talk. I am gonna go.”

Your behavior was abnormal at best, which honestly, the other two in the room would have thought they would be used to it by now. Before any of them could open their mouth, and before your cowardly mind decided to not do anything about this situation, you dashed out of the door and headed downstairs. You flung the doors open dramatic and, very angrily, growled when you saw the overly expensive car parked out at the driveway. Rushing outside, you made a stupid of appearing by the driver’s seat. When the driver rolled down the window, you breathed out an annoyed sigh, feeling like your anger was about to explode in a pit of curses and tears.

What the–piece of shit! Why buy an expensive car if you aren’t going to drive it yourself? Useless, showoff, pointless, worthless, a waste of money! Nobody thinks you’re cool, you hag, you can’t even drive and you conform to the discriminative lifestyle of capitalism!

That was also personal, but the floor is yours.

“[Name]?”

“Y–yeah?”

Damn! You have been doing so well up until now but you really are all bark and no bite! Your anger immediately dissolved when you met eyes with the tall, old man who exited on the passenger side of the car. You gasped. He looked so much nicer than you expected he would. If you didn’t know the title he holds, you would not have felt this intimidated.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, walking over to you.

“I live here. What the hell are you talking about?” you retorted. When you noticed a change of his expression, you cleared your throat, inhaled deeply, and calmed yourself down to conjure up some coherent sentences. “I am here to ask you politely to visit Minho, who is your son, which means he is your flesh and blood–“ you squinted your eyes and turned your face away slightly–“because he is your child, like, he is your son?”

He furrowed his brows at you and he sighed curiously. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I will be if you can follow me and go see if Minho is doing okay,” you said, smiling.

There was a knowing look on his face, then he dipped his head to look at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, he shook his head. “No. I am very disappointed in him right now and I am afraid I will say what I don’t mean when I see him.”

“Disappointed about what? The fact that he got sick?” you retorted.

“I gave him one job and he embarrassed me in front of a lot of people tonight,” he said, “You wouldn’t understand, [Name].”

“You wouldn’t understand, [Name]!” Was what you imagine you replied, with a tone so ridiculously disrespectful he may pop a vein big enough to cause a heart attack, but you didn’t. You opened your mouth but only air came out as you carefully analyzed what he actually meant. This man wanted to say you don’t understand what it is like to be a functional member of society and work for money because you lay around at home all day, draining Minho’s bank account, as if he didn’t take part in that decision. 

Well then, he has got another thing coming because you used to be in the workforce as well! You used to work day and night, and even then you could never achieve the kind of luxury his family has, so honestly, you’ve got the upper-hand in this argument. You just needed to find a way to tell him you do know how hard work is without actually telling him that you’ve ever worked before!

So basically you’re not telling him anything at all.

Holding in an outburst, you forced a smile and clapped your hands together so you wouldn’t end up strangling an elder. “Maybe I don’t understand, but I do know that Minho worked really hard for this opportunity,” you said, pleaded even. “The reason why he fainted was that he didn’t let himself rest at all preparing for the presentation. You can’t disregard his effort just like that. You are his father, where is your care?”

“You’re bold to be talking to me like this,” he said after a moment of silence, his tone making it impossible for you to decipher whether he meant that as a compliment or not. “But no. This is work. This is about his future and how he will handle the company when I am gone. I can’t act as his father in a situation like this.”

You were rendered speechless. It was either you smack some sense into him or you talk some sense into him, but it seemed like you weren’t smart enough to talk to him so that left the more physical option. You shivered. You weren’t ready to be put in jail yet, so the physical option was out the window too.  

You bit your lower lip. But Minho—he worked so hard for this, and you were there to watch him work like hell for it. If he was bedridden and couldn’t do anything about this, you thought you could at least try a little harder for his sake. But how? How could you explain it more clearly to him that he should give Minho another chance?

Time’s ticking, [Name]. Try thinking a little bit faster. I’ll even drop you a hint. Since you’ve been there with him as he prepared for the presentation, surely you would know where Minho placed his materials?

You gasped, a light-bulb going off in your eyes. Wordlessly, you spun on your heels and left the old man standing there in confusion, watching your back as you bolted back into the house. You slammed the doors shut, kicked off the shoes you did not bother to wear properly, and you rushed upstairs. Stopping abruptly before the workroom you were so used to being in, you opened the door and went straight to the desk where there was a stack of papers.

You may not have known what he worked on exactly, but you did remember complaining about the number of papers Minho was using back then. You told him something about trees dying and he only laughed, already used to ignoring you and your tendencies to ramble about anything. There has got to be some information contained in that pile of papers he printed. You didn’t know what was in there but it wouldn’t be your job to look through them. It would be his father’s.

You grabbed the whole pile, scooping it up into your hands after scanning it quickly, and you rushed out of the door like a madman. Your steps echoed throughout the hall and you quickly walked downstairs, preparing to head outside when the housekeeper stopped you with an incredulous look on her face.

She looked you up and down, concerned, and she asked, “What are you doing running around like that?”

“I need to show Mr.Lee something,” you urged, glancing out the doors.

“Mrs.Lee? I’m pretty sure they’re leaving. Mrs.Lee just left the house!”

Here we go! We’ve all seen the running in slow motion part in dramas, it was about time your turn comes up.

You gasped out a curse, surprised at how much this shit does not make sense because you really thought you were only in the workroom for less than one minute and you never bumped into his mother when you walked back into the house! Granted, the house was huge, but you knew its map enough to know that if Minho’s mom was leaving, you’d at least saw a glimpse of her! How could she possibly be out of the house already? Through the window? Through teleportation? Through—Jesus Christ, [Name], less rambling and more running!

You went for the door and yelled when you saw the taillights of the car flash red. Whatever that meant, you didn’t know, you never learned how to drive! But you supposed it meant the car was being started and they were about to leave this place, so your legs paddled even quicker than before. You got down the porch of the house and sped through the long driveway, your hand clutching the papers closer to your chest.

You ran, and you tripped! On nothing! You groan at your inability to keep your feet on the ground as you scrambled up and continued running. At this point, you were just trying your best to be thankful that your tripping-during-an-emergency scene didn’t involve running away from serial killers or deformed monsters. 

“Wait! Wait a second! Stop driving, car driver!” you hollered as you, miraculously, moved past the car and stopped right before the tip of the vehicle.

It came to a screeching stop. The driver looking at you with wide, shocked eyes as sweat rolled down the side of his face. The headlights were blinding your eyes but you kept them open for intimidating purposes this time, and you huffed out in triumph when both his parents walked out of the car in complete awe at your action. It’s not admirable, just insane. 

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“Here, take this,” you said as you shoved the pile of papers into Mr.Lee’s hands. “It’s his proposal. I don’t know how much of it is in here but it’s your job to look through it.”

He gave you an annoyed glare. “I already said–“

“I don’t care what you already said,” you mocked through heavy pants. When you calmed down, you grimaced. “I am telling you this as an intellectual. You should never let any opportunity slip from your hands. Just because Minho never got to present the idea does not mean he doesn’t have a good idea. You have eyes and a brain, look through it and see for yourself.”

You were glaring at him, not in a hateful way but more so in hopes that you could pressure him into accepting your suggestion. To be fair, you did make a good point, as much as he didn’t want to admit. Oh, and of course, you got in front of a moving car just to get him to look through Minho’s proposal, which has the be the more heart-attack inducing than anything you could have said this night. 

Looking down at the papers in his hands, he let out a low gruff and finally nodded. “Fine. Now get back inside, I wanna go home!”

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding—ah, yes, that breath—and clapped your hands together in a delightful beam. Finally! All those running and panicking and raging were worth this moment of acceptance, or at least the half-way point of acceptance! After bidding both of the elderlies goodbye, you quickly rushed back into the house with the two eyeing your back.

“Say,” Mr.Lee began, eyes squinting, “have they always been like this?”

“Yeah,” his wife nodded, “you just never pay attention.” 

She’s right. He never does. How he became a CEO was beyond anyone, even me. 

“Hey, I got you some food,” you said when you nudged open the door with your food after struggling to remove your hand from the wooden food tray just to twist the doorknob. The housekeeper had pulled you back in the living room and made you take the Minho’s dinner with you, figuring he would appreciate seeing you more than anyone else at the moment.

Minho turned to you, his eyes unfocused and his thought process uninterrupted. He was still drowning in a saddened state of mind; his whole body felt heavy from both the fever and the shame he felt from disappointing his father. Trying his best to clear his sight, he managed to send you a very faint smirk as you approached.

After clearing out space on the nightstand, you carefully set the wooden tray down and pulled the chair closer to the bed, the one you sat on when he was still out cold. You sat down, clapped your hands, and went ahead to grab the bowl of chicken porridge so you could hand it to him.

Minho looked at you, and down at the bowl, and he blinked in bafflement. As he reached his finger up to point at himself, he finally breathed out a short chuckle. “Am I supposed to eat it myself?”

“Am I supposed to eat it for you?” you asked, widening your eyes pointedly as you pushed your arm forward a little more for emphasis.

He huffed in disbelief, “But I’m sick.”

“So eat your dinner! You can’t have your medicine on an empty stomach,” you urged, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sticky substances in the bowl. 

Minho pouted. He grabbed the spoon and lazily messed around with the food. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, seemingly raising it to his mouth but gave up half-way. The spoon deliberately dropped back into the bowl with a grimace from him. You furrowed your brows. Part of you thought this quiet tantrum came from him being upset about what happened, but coming from experience (you’ve got an annoying friend back home), you knew what he was actually trying to say. 

You rolled your eyes and sighed in defeat. Standing up, you went to sit on the edge of his bed instead, giving yourself better access to him. His fingers loosened from the spoon when you took over, and his hands neatly interacted by his abdomen. You almost laughed at his quick response. Tapping the spoon by the edge of the bowl, you moved your body forward and stopped the spoon right before his mouth, muttering something about being careful of the heat.

“You know you’ve got hands that can move, right?” you complained, stirring the porridge again.

“I just wanted you to feed me, is it really that hard?” Minho groaned. “I’m really tired!”

“Well, I am doing it right now, aren’t I?” you exclaimed, bringing the spoon to him. “Say ‘ah!’”

He suppressed a grin, complying with your patience as you fed him the porridge. The annoyed creasing of your forehead gradually faded into concentration, waiting, and making sure he was fed well. You did it exactly how your mother used to do it when you were younger, but instead of you asking for food to be fed to you, your mother was the one who insisted you don’t do anything.

Neither of you said anything. It was all just the spoon hitting against the bowl and the occasional blowing you did on the hot porridge that was getting cooler by the second. The silence gave Minho the time needed to think. He was much calmer than he was before, back when his mother was talking to him and you were out causing a ruckus, and he’s got a clearer head to reflect on everything that has happened.

It just felt like such a waste of time. His thoughts, his ideas, his research, his preparations; everything he spent time perfecting just reduced to ashes because of an unforeseen circumstance, one that he couldn’t control. He has nothing to blame but nature, which wasn’t tangible enough for him to feel like he was blaming something for his failure. And if that was how it would be then he’d much rather blame himself for not hanging on until the end.

But it was all sharp feelings and venom dripping from his heart. Shame and disappointment, failure and incompetence. He couldn’t stop it; how could he stop what his heart produces? He runs on it. If it stops, he stops, so he chose pain over nothing.

You paused your movements when you saw tears rolling down his cheeks. He started sniffling, crying, quietly and freely. Somehow you could sense this happening. You did see his eyes reddening as seconds went by, but you hadn’t thought about what you would do at a time like this. What should you do? Anything to keep him distracted, or nothing so he could let it all out at once?

You didn’t stop feeding him the porridge, but you had changed up the pace of giving him food and wiping the tears from his face using your fingers. He crying intensified at your gentle touch. He had spent so long crafting himself to be this undamageable being because he expected to be injured; the unfathomable concept of human delicacy at the wake of his vulnerability broke him.

You waited patiently, for him to eat and cry until the bowl was wiped clean and you have to put it back on the tray. Taking the glass of water that was already cool, you hummed, “I should probably get another glass. I’ll get you something warm to drink down the medicine with.”

“No, it’s okay.” Minho shook his head and reached over to your hand so he could take the pill and the water. His crying has ceased by now, but his puffy eyes a harsh reminder of the gentle breakdown he had just experienced. “Stay here with me.”

You stayed, watching him gulp down the water like he hasn’t drunk anything in years. And somehow, you thought this should be the time to bring what you and his mother talked about up to him. Putting a hand on his leg, you sucked in a breath and asked, “So, Minho… do you still dance now?”

He choked on his water, his eyes widening and then narrowing at your sudden question. He pulled the glass away from him, droplets rolling from the surface of his lips as he denied with a questioning noise. “What–no!”

“Oh, wow, you are more defensive about this than I thought you would be,” you muttered under your breath. “Were you bad at it? Your mom told you were good but I can’t really trust her with the biasing opinion going on, you know? And I just can’t seem to recall a time when I saw you dance!”

“I’m not telling you anything about that.” He shook his head, placing the glass of water down on the nightstand, almost slamming it because of your unbelievable question.

“Okay fine, I have videos anyway.” You shrugged, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked on it a few times, puckering your lips for comedic effect. “I asked your mom for it and she sent me a ton of them–“

“Oh my god, no!” Minho reached out for your phone, only to have you stand up from the bed with a sinister laugh. He was just about to rise from the bed and tackle you with his heavy body, but he caught you you glancing up at him from the screen with a deadpan look, and he stopped. “What?”

“I lied. I did ask her about the videos but she hasn’t sent me anything yet,” you said. “I thought she said you really liked dancing. Why are you so embarrassed about it?”

He sat back and leaned against the pillow, squeezing his eyes right as you recalled the older days when he would feel so accomplished just having the spotlight shine on him up on stage. Those were better days, not that his life was ever full of real problems when his parents’ wealth was able to tackle just about anything. 

Heaving a sigh, he shrugged. “I did love dancing. I just stopped doing that now, and I think I kind of lost it.”

“How do you know if you don’t try dancing now?” you exclaimed, moving over to the nightstand and dropping your phone down on the nightstand. Minho could only hear the tune playing after a while when you suddenly started to spin and twirl.

“I’m probably bad–what are you–what are you doing?” he asked between puffs of laughter, his eyes unable to move away from your swaying body as you hummed the song under your breath.

The smile physically could not leave his face as he watched your terrible movements; his dancer-brain was registering how bad your style was but his lover-brain was much more overwhelming with how he found your presence endearing to be around.

“Dancing. Jamming to songs,” you replied in a sing-song manner, moving from one end of the room to another. “You were saying?”

“I said I’m probably bad at dancing now,” he said. “Kind of like you are.”

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Offended? Slightly, but he was true. You were horrible at dancing, you’ve got two left feet and you couldn’t distinguish between left and right when you danced. But the fact that you sucked at it didn’t bring you down. It wasn’t like you ever have to perform in front of people anyway! There is no routine, no beat to match up, no eyes judging you. 

You are dancing for yourself when you dance badly because that is the only time you are allowed to dance badly. And that alone is good enough for you.

“Oh, please.” You stopped on your spot to look at him, pointing at him as if to give him a lecture. “I’ll have you know that the bad dancing is the best kind of dancing. It’s when nobody is watching you and you feel the freest.”

“But I am watching you right now,” Minho argued, pointing at himself.

You hummed. You almost forgot about that, or perhaps you didn’t. Your mind just didn’t care if he was watching or not. You weren’t afraid of what Minho would say because you knew he would never give you criticism with the intention to harm. It would be playful, witty, a pain in the ass kind of comment that you could deflect immediately with a funny glare. But, ultimately, you knew Minho wouldn’t hurt you. 

“Right,” you muttered. “You are.”

Ever heard of the term ‘dance like nobody is watching’? It is always much easier said than done, isn’t it? Dancing has always been about expressing, to move in a way that allows your body to breathe and your heart to burn. It is unlike any other sport where you are either good or bad; it is subjective and intimate because of how artistic its expression is. And it takes a great deal of courage to show it to somebody else, freely, without a doubt.

You just found someone who makes you dance like nobody is watching.  

You smiled at Minho softly, closing in on the bed and getting on top. He raised a brow at you as you straddled his lap, looking at him with determined eyes as you asked, “Was my dancing that bad?”

He thought for a second before he nodded. “Yeah, super.”

“Now that I’ve shown you my dancing, would you show me yours?” you asked, “When you get better, of course.”

He nodded again. “Sure, if you want to.”

“Good,” you smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Still tired,” he said, “but better.”

Minho stared at you when your eyes moved up to his head, and when your hand reached up to fix his bangs again, he felt closer to you. It was so weird; he was just laughing and you were just dancing, and now you have set yourself on top of him with your fingers drowned in his locks and all he could do was stare while feeling like he could part oceans and move mountains for you.

He grabbed ahold of your hand and gently pulled you forward towards him. Your faces were close now, inches apart, and breathes mingled. You could feel the brush of his lips, ghosting over yours, and your heart jumped up to your ear where the thumping begins rashly. And his eyes were beautiful, visible, with pools of stars where your face was imprinted on top drowning within.

This has never happened to you before, you were too stunned to react. But your heart knew that it needed to melt for you to understand, for you to see how deeply Minho was in love with you because it could feel it. The heart could always feel it; even if it deceives you with the surface sometimes, its rooted truth will always come back to you.

“Minho…?” you called out, timidly and softly.

For the split second, Minho remembered how back then when he wasn’t ready to love and love wasn’t ready for him.

How miserable he used to be compared to who he has turned himself into now, his effort not going to complete waste in the face of your acceptance and willingness to forgive. How exhausted he used to be when all he has in mind was work and when he had to pretend to be in love, and now it comes so easily to him, it is natural and daily. How he wanted to do so many things with you now, like traveling or trying new food or sleeping on the same bed together.

“Would you let me kiss you?” he asked in a whisper, his hand tightening around yours because the proximity was driving him crazy. “After I get better.”

You giggled, nodding while you moved to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose instead. “Yes.”

“And you can give me the ring back?” you asked, grinning down at him. And you thought that soon, soon your palpitating heart would become such a normal way of life that you wouldn’t even notice it when it starts to pick up its pace at the sight of Minho.

He nodded, breathing out a chuckle. “Of course.”

Minho is ready to love now, so are you. And love? Love is ready for both of you as well.

Wouldn’t it be the worst thing to find out you forgot your lunch at home after hours of anticipation for lunchtime to roll over? Wouldn’t it be the worst thing, Minho? Yeah, who told you to leave home in such a hurry this morning? Not only did you forget to bid [Name] farewell, you left your lunch right on the counter as well.

“Who the fuck–“ he cursed under his breath as he looked up at the ceiling of his office, his brows furrowed in annoyance. His mood already went down drastically after realizing he couldn’t find his lunch anywhere in his office, he did not need his inner voice insulting him like that as well.

Looking around his desk, he pouted slightly before he stood up. He grabbed his car keys from the drawer, deciding to check his car and hope that he would find it in there somehow, and headed out. If there was no lunch in the car then he’d just have to grab some food at a nearby restaurant, which was something he hasn’t done in some time since you have started preparing his lunch.

I would save you some time and tell you straight that you wouldn’t find your lunch in your car but you didn’t feel like listening to your inner voice so I guess I would just sit back and watch you fumble around with irritated groans leaving your—still—unkissed lips.

Minho slammed his car door shut and locked it by aggressively pressing on the button on the key.

Oh–oh? You think that’s bad? I hope you didn’t forget whose finger was still ringless, Minho.

“Jesus,” he puffed out a string of air, putting his hands on his hips and eyeing up at the sky suspiciously. First day back at work after recovering from the fever and waiting to make sure it went away and he’s hearing random voices in his head, sending him personal attacks?

After making the promise of kissing you when he was healed up, he never found the right time to actually do it. Most of the time, the moment was either ruined by best friends calling your phone or housekeepers knocking on the door, or the timing was awkward. And both you and him would be left dry and red from embarrassment and not getting your first, genuine kiss.  

He shook off his thoughts as he walked back into the building. The air-conditioning blasting against his skin as he walked through the lobby.

“Minho!”

He froze on his spot. That was his father’s voice, he could recognize, obviously. Why was he calling him? Maybe he should keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear anything, the classic method. He wasn’t ready to see his father yet, especially after what happened at the gathering. Before he could even think about an escape plan, his name was called again, and he was forced to turn around and confront his anxiety this time.

“Hey, dad,” he greeted calmly, dipping his head politely as he did so.

“Are you feeling better now?” His father asked after a moment of thought.

Minho nodded. “Yeah. Much better. Thank you for asking.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. This tension started growing as he did until at a certain age, it just got so obvious that it became impossible for Minho to ignore the fact that it was hard for him to communicate with his father just as father and son anymore, and the tension stayed until now. It was unlikely that it would fade until his father started growing older significantly, leading the cycle to bounce backward.

His father cleared his throat and looked away as if he had done something wrong, which he had, but he was here to fix it now. “Back at that night when you fainted, I originally said I wasn’t going to give you a chance to pitch your idea again because of what happened during the gathering,” he started, “But [Name] gave me your project materials and told–demanded me to look over it.”

Minho let out a questioning noise, his brows raising in surprise. Seeing his reaction, his father laughed with an approving nod.

“They made quite the commotion, actually. Ran in front of the car to stop me from leaving,” he said. “But they got me. I read through the materials and they were right, it is too good of an opportunity for me to let pass.”

“Huh?” Minho blinked at his father, his head leaning forward slightly in confusion. He was still trying to process what his father just said about you running in front of a car, and here he was getting his hopes up by talking as if he would be given another chance.

“I’ll let you have it this time,” his father said. “If you can present the idea again at the weekly meeting then we’ll consider it together.”

The hope in Minho soared when it became a reality. His lips slowly quirked into a smile, trying not to act too childish in the face of a second chance. He could freely pump his fist and celebrate when he gets time alone later, for now, he needed to keep a straighter face and accept the chance granted to him. He nodded. “Yeah, of course! Thank you, dad!”

Casting his eyes behind his father for a moment, Minho was able to catch sight of you looking lost outside the building, much to his surprise. The joy in his heart died down for a moment as he squinted his eyes to look better, and when his father too turned around to look at what he was seeing, he laughed.

“Oh, that’s [Name],” he pointed. “Not gonna lie, they creep me out after what happened.”

Minho placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, the amused frown on his face unnoticed as he brushed past him to walk towards you. You seemed to have noticed him when he did, your face brightening when you saw him walking towards you at a quick pace. The little excitement dimmed when it felt like he wasn’t slowing down his pace even though the distance between you both were closing rapidly, and you tilted your head in confusion until he was within reach and suddenly engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Oh–yeah, I got your lunch, dummy,” you giggled as you reached one hand around his shoulder to pat his back. “You don’t have to be this happy about it.”

“You never told me you talked to my dad about my presentation,” he said when he pulled away, an excited beam permanent in his eyes as he grinned down at you like a child. “He said he looked over my stuff and he gave me another chance to present it at the end of this week.”

A chuckle left your lips, a relieved one. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought about that night after it happened, considering you have been spending all the time with Minho, and the bickering and chattering you two did often get your mind off everything else but him. It was probably better that way anyway, it saved you the trouble of worrying. Hearing the good news now was quite a surprise, but you were quick to give him a wide smile.

“That’s great! Do you remember what you have prepared before?” you asked, punching his arm lightly.

Minho laughed, “No but I’ve got some time to prepare.”

“Oh good,” you said, then you suggested. “You know you can practice it on me, right? I might not know what you’re talking about but I can give you presentation pointers.”

He looked down at you, tilting his head and nodding in approval. Why did he think to do that before when he was first preparing for it? It wasn’t like you were really reading the book in your hands anyway, he should have taken the opportunity to ask you for some criticisms. “Don’t go easy on me then.” He shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes at him, a sign that screamed something along the lines of “like hell I will.”

“Oh, and thank you for bringing me my lunch,” he said, holding the box in his hands. “Do you wanna have lunch together since you’re here?”

“I can’t, I told Changbin I was gonna hang out with him today,” you said, your voice lowering timidly because you completely forgot to mention that to Minho. If he hadn’t forgotten his lunch box, you would have texted him about this and waited for the possible tantrum he would give you for ditching him the whole day. “We’re getting dinner today too so I might be back later than usual.”

The frown on Minho’s face was hard to ignore; his forehead creasing and his lips quirking down in an annoyingly attractive way. He wasn’t mad, though, just a slight hint of irritation that you would be spending the whole day, likely a very fun day, with Changbin while he has to be stuck at work and hearing nothing from you. He felt a little left out, which was weird because he just spent four days straight with you, stuck at home and wasting the hours away.

Perhaps he was being just a little bit possessive, so he planned to just let it go. He could hear about your day at the end of it when you get back home and pace around in his room telling him about everything in an animated way. Let’s hope you stay in his room overnight this time because oh, Minho, your progress was not looking so good.

No kiss, no ring, and still have not slept in the same bed yet. Baffling, absolutely baffling.

“Are you mad?” you asked when you saw him glare at the ground. “I can come back for dinner if you want me to.”

“No, I’m fine.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke with closed eyes. “It’s just… I keep hearing things today, it’s weird. It’ll probably go away tomorrow or even later today. I hope it is later today.”

“Hearing things?” You raised a brow at him, looking away and looking back. Then you laughed, “Did you go someplace haunted? Are you thinking maybe it’s a ghost?”

“Funny. If I get possessed, the first soul I am taking is yours,” he said, feigning amusement.

“I’m joking. Maybe you are still feeling a little tired from the fever? It’s unlikely but what’s not possible at this point?” you mumbled the last part to yourself, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Drink more water and take care of yourself, okay?”

Minho nodded with a smile, covering your hand with his own and pressing it to his cheek just for the sake of having you close. The same white background descended back upon you two, the one that drowned out everybody else and where time worked differently than reality. Aside from that, this fantasy background was also a very good backdrop for a kiss scene so maybe one of you would want to take the first step and give the other a farewell kiss.

“I will,” he said. “I need to go back now. Just because my dad owns the company doesn’t mean I get to slack off.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight,” he muttered.

And very casually, even though he felt like his insides would explode any minute, Minho leaned his head down and captured your lips for a very brief moment. He pulled away almost immediately after kissing you as he just touched a sacred land he wasn’t worthy enough to put his claim on yet. When he saw those wide, fascinated eyes of yours, he only fell deeper into the shy hole he dug for himself on the spot.

“Was that bad?” he asked, “Was that weird?”

You laughed, snapping out of your trance and quickly shaking your head. You squished his cheek, your fingers weak from the chaste kiss but you needed something to do. “No, it was fine, maybe a little unexpected but it was fine,” you told him.

Yeah, that did nothing to comfort him. He could only feel the shyness growing in his chest as he stood next to you longer. Bringing his hands up to his chest, where the bento box was pushed against, he uttered out a string of words that you could faintly piece together as a farewell before he turned around and left for the building.

Ah, no good, no good! Minho stopped on his track and breathed in deeply to cool himself. He probably should not have done that, now his mind was going to be completely occupied with you for the whole day! The feeling of your soft lips, the light medicinal taste of your chapstick, the way your noses brushed against each other, how you tightened your grip on his jaw in a moment of surprise—everything! Oh, he would miss you the whole day too if that was the case.

And he would love to see you earlier tonight. Maybe he should speak up about you having dinner with Changbin.

Looking up, he headed over to the reception table and asked the staff behind the table to hold onto his lunch box for him before he quickly left the building once again in hopes you catch up to you, wherever you went after he left. Reaching into his pocket and dialing your number, he pressed his phone to his ears just in time to find you standing around the corner of the street near the road. He hummed, shifting his eyes to find that Yuna was next to you as well.

The closer he got, the more his brows furrowed. You two didn’t seem to be having a very decent conversation and he could almost hear Yuna’s screaming voice from where he was walking. He picked up his pace then, concerned about what could have possibly happened between the five minutes of you and him separating by the company doors.

You could not hear a single word she was saying. It was all gibberish to you despite you trying to listen to your fullest capability, but you had a sense of what she was trying to say. It has got to be something about Minho. She would never willingly pick a conversation with you unless it was about him, unfortunately. Yuna genuinely seemed like a nice girl, a little spoiled and too obsessed, but she wasn’t evil.

You planned to give her the space to vent as much as she wanted before talking to her, but you didn’t know that your utter silence only infuriated her more. Growling under her breath, she glared her wide eyes at you, and, abruptly, she shot her arms forward and gave you an unexpected shove. You cursed at the impact, your back hitting against the lamppost and causing you to stumble away. Your feet met the curb of the pedestrian street and you yelped when you slipped off the street and fell on the road.

Moments like these are hauntingly familiar. You have seen it more times than one, like many other moments you have experienced in this world. The two big words ‘car crash’ engraved in your head, whispering and shouting at you to get up your goddamn feet because five seconds later or so, a car with either a careless driver or a broken brake would come beeping at you. Quickly, [Name]! Move! Get up!

Minho was running towards your direction now, feeling slightly relieved that you started to scramble back up on your feet, but that breath of fresh air quickly choked on his throat when he heard those loud car honks coming from the other side of the street. His heart jumped at the pace of his feet, rapid and piercing, as he ran down the street to where you were.

Questions zapped through his mind: should he grab you back to the street? Should he tackle you both to the other side? Should he shield you from the impact? Any way would be fine as long as you only get a scrape of the knee out of it, really, but which one would work at such a short period?

The were tire screeches, a few honks crashed, and then there were screams from people.

The push at your side was strong, like back when you were younger how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. It has the intention to push you away. You got up from the ground, a pained sob escaping your lips when you saw that both your palms were scraped and bleeding.

“No,” you huffed out, tears already welling in your face.

If you were fine, then it would mean that—

Ignoring the help from others, you turned around without bothering to stand up, and your eyes widened in the glistening of tears when you saw the blood rolling down the side of his head.

—Minho wasn’t.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Elizabeth Warren on weaponized budget models

In yesterday’s essay, I broke down the new series from The American Prospect on the hidden ideology and power of budget models, these being complex statistical systems for weighing legislative proposals to determine if they are “economically sound.” The assumptions baked into these models are intensely political, and, like all dirty political actors, the model-makers claim they are “empirical” while their adversaries are “doing politics”:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

Today edition of the Prospect continues the series with an essay by Elizabeth Warren, describing how her proposal for universal child care was defeated by the incoherent, deeply political assumptions of the Congressional Budget Office’s model, blocking an important and popular policy simply because “computer says no”:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-04-04-policymakers-fight-losing-battle-models/

When the Build Back Better bill was first mooted, it included a promise of universal, federally funded childcare. This was excised from the final language of the bill (renamed the Bipartisan Infrastructure Bill), because the CBO said it would cost too much: $381.5b over ten years.

This is a completely nonsensical number, and the way that CBO arrived at it is illuminating, throwing the ideology of CBO modeling into stark relief. You see, the price tag for universal childcare did not include the benefits of childcare!

As Warren points out, this is not how investment works. No business leader assesses their capital expenditures without thinking of the dividends from those investments. No firm decides whether to open a new store by estimating the rent and salaries and ignoring the sales it will generate. Any business that operates on that basis would never invest in anything.

Universal childcare produces enormous dividends. Kids who have access to high-quality childcare grow up to do better in school, have less trouble with the law, and earn more as adults. Mothers who can’t afford childcare, meanwhile, absent themselves from the workforce during their prime earning years. Those mothers are less likely to advance professionally, have lower lifetime earnings, and a higher likelihood of retiring without adequate savings.

What’s more, universal childcare is the only way to guarantee a living wage to childcare workers, who are disproportionately likely to rely on public assistance, including SNAP (AKA food stamps) to make ends meet. These stressors affect childcare workers’ job performance, and also generate public expenditures to keep those workers fed and housed.

But the CBO model does not include any of those benefits. As Warren says, in a CBO assessment, giving every kid in America decent early childhood care and every childcare worker a living wage produces the same upside as putting $381.5 in a wheelbarrow and setting it on fire.

This is by design. Congress has decreed that CBO assessments can’t factor in secondary or indirect benefits from public expenditure. This is bonkers. Public investment is all secondary and indirect benefits — from highways to broadband, from parks to training programs, from education to Medicare. Excluding indirect benefits from assessments of public investments is a literal, obvious, unavoidable recipe for ending the most productive and beneficial forms of public spending.

It means that — for example — a CBO score for Meals on Wheels for seniors is not permitted to factor in the Medicare savings from seniors who can age in their homes with dignity, rather than being warehoused at tremendous public expense in nursing homes.

It means that the salaries of additional IRS enforcers can only be counted as an expense — Congress isn’t allowed to budget for the taxes that those enforcers will recover.

And, of course, it’s why we can’t have Medicare For All. Private health insurers treat care as an expense, with no upside. Denying you care and making you sicker isn’t a bug as far as the health insurance industry is concerned — it’s a feature. You bear the expense of the sickness, after all, and they realize the savings from denying you care.

But public health programs can factor in those health benefits and weigh them against health costs — in theory, at least. However, if the budgeting process refuses to factor in “indirect” benefits — like the fact that treating your chronic illness lets you continue to take care of your kids and frees your spouse from having to quit their job to look after you — then public health care costings become indistinguishable from the private sector’s for-profit death panels.

Child care is an absolute bargain. The US ranks 33d out of 37 rich countries in terms of public child care spending, and in so doing, it kneecaps innumerable mothers’ economic prospects. The upside of providing care is enormous, far outweighing the costs — so the CBO just doesn’t weigh them.

Warren is clear that there’s no way to make public child care compatible with CBO scoring. Even when she whittled away at her bill, excluding millions of families who would have benefited from the program, the CBO still flunked it.

The current budget-scoring system was designed for people who want to “shrink government until it fits in a bathtub, and then drown it.” It is designed so that we can’t have nice things. It is designed so that the computer always says no.

Warren calls for revisions to the CBO model, to factor in those indirect benefits that are central to public spending. She also calls for greater diversity in CBO oversight, currently managed by a board of 20 economists and only two non-economists — and the majority of the economists got their PhDs from the same program and all hew to the same orthodoxy.

For all its pretense of objectivity, modeling is a subjective, interpretive discipline. If all your modelers are steeped in a single school, they will incinerate the uncertainty and caveats that should be integrated into every modeler’s conclusions, the humility that comes from working with irreducible uncertainty.

Finally, Warren reminds us that there are values that are worthy of consideration, beyond a dollars-and-cents assessment. Even though programs like child care pay for themselves, that’s not the only reason to favor them — to demand them. Child care creates “an America in which everyone has opportunities — and ‘everyone’ includes mamas.” Child care is “an investment in care workers, treating them with respect for the hard work they do.”

The CBO’s assassination of universal child care is exceptional only because it was a public knifing. As David Dayen and Rakeen Mabud wrote in their piece yesterday, nearly all of the CBO’s dirty work is done in the dark, before a policy is floated to the public:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-04-03-hidden-in-plain-sight/

The entire constellation of political possibility has been blotted out by the CBO, so that when we gaze up at the sky, we can only see a few sickly stars — weak economic nudges like pricing pollution, and not the glittering possibilities of banning it. We see the faint hope of “bending the cost-curve” on health care, and not the fierce light of simply providing care.

We can do politics. We have done it before. Every park and every highway, our libraries and our schools, our ports and our public universities — these were created by people no smarter than us. They didn’t rely on a lost art to do their work. We know how they did it. We know what’s stopping us from doing it again. And we know what to do about it.

Have you ever wanted to say thank you for these posts? Here’s how you can: I’m kickstarting the audiobook for my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon’s Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they’re DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

[Image ID: A disembodied hand, floating in space. It holds a Univac mainframe computer. The computer is shooting some kind of glowing red rays that are zapping three US Capitol Buildings, suspended on hovering platforms. In the background, the word NO is emblazoned in a retrocomputing magnetic ink font, limned in red.]

[the---hermit]

08|03|2023

Today I am feeling better, my back and knee still hurt but less than yesterday. I decided I deserved a treat and I got to the bookstore before catching my bus back home from uni. While I was there I got a complimented for my necklace by one of the guys working there, which was very unexpected and made my day. I got a graphic novel and a manga, and I have the awful feeling I will finish them both quite soon. But I am planning another trip to get at least a couple more graphic novels. I am trying to learn how to not feel guilty about spending money on myself. I think I mentioned it in an older post, but the idea of buying things I want (sometimes even when they are necessary) triggers instant guilt for no apparent reason. At the end of the day the only thing I spend money on is books, and I'd like to enjoy the process of it. In the past few months for example this trigger pained me lots, more than once I almost got a book I wanted and then I just brushed it off as unnecessary. One more thing to work on on my self care journey 2.0.

Productivity:

protohistory lecture

highlighted the notes for that lecture

added missing information on other set of notes (I am now updated with the additional notes the professor gives us)

did a bit of planning for what I'll have to work on tomorrow

practiced Irish on duolingo

edited a book review I will post soon

read

Self care:

40 minute walk

took my meds

went to the bookstore and got myself a lil treat (and I plan to get at least two more graphic novels as soon as I can, because I couldn't find theme there)

had a great reading session (I read My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness by Kabi Nagata in one sitting, which I wasn't planning but I couldn't put the book down, and it got me so emotional you have no idea)

stretching exercises to relax my back

📖: Niente Di Nuovo Sul Fronte Di Rebibbia by Zerocalcare, My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness by Kabi Nagata

[slugdragoon]

Hello there!

I see that you do a lot of devlogs here on Tumblr. May I know if that's helped you with getting people interested in your game? I'm a beginner game dev and I currently only post my devlogs on Twitter/X. I only put long discussion-form logs in here once in a while.

Do you think it's worth putting my shorter devlogs in here as well?

Good question, one I ask myself while I'm doing it, and I think most people would give the advice that devlogs are more for other developers than potential players.

They, for most people do not serve as effective marketing, but it depends on what you're after. I personally have put out 16 video devlogs as well as 3 longer form pixel art tutorial videos since I've started 5 months ago, and I always post them here, on Twitter, and my Ko-fi page. The result is that I have almost 100 subscribers on YouTube, a dozen or so regulars that like my posts on Tumblr, and on Twitter excepting a few small interactions it mostly seems like people looking to trade promotions for their own games. So a very small following after 5 months.

The reason I do it now is that the best time to plant a seed was yesterday, the second best time is today. Better to have 100 followers excited when they see my prototype morphing into a real game down the line than try to show it off for the first time. The second reason is, even at small numbers I personally find it motivating. I feel accountable to even a small number of people that leave nice comments, and I want to make something new week to week to show them. In terms of sheer numbers no, you have to be a bit crazy to do this.

I'm also in a unique situation where I've been unemployed since the end of a contract, looking for a programming job but the market is shot, and I have a wonderful parter that encourages me to just be a stay-at-home parent for a while and take my one shot at building a game until I get another employment opportunity.

It's a balance though, I used to try to hit a devlog each week, but that was unsustainable. Recording and editing a video 1 out of every 7 days cuts seriously into dev time, so now I try to hit every 2, sometimes 3 weeks to try to make enough substantial changes to talk about. I started also by making a lot of posts about other RPGs while I was journalling my thoughts on class and party designs, and I thought I would go deeper into that, but those have dropped off.

Also, I haven't posted in longer than usual, but I'm a dev making a game directly inspired by Shin Megami Tensei - so you know Metaphor Refantazio has me locked in hard. I don't play as many games since starting my own, but this one is "research".

[ageless-aislynn]

Okay, apparently my Fire tablet and PC are not syncing together, which resulted in me making a high-pitched pterodactyl noise a little while ago when I thought EVERYTHING I HAD WRITTEN IN MY EMAIL DRAFT YESTERDAY HAD DISAPPEARED.

Thankfully, it's still there on my tablet so I emailed it to myself and now I can see it on the PC but DANG is this a clunky, slow and painful way to try to do this. I have a SYSTEM when it comes to writing, frens. Anything messing with MY SYSTEM makes me feel a bit

and even more

Do I dare try installing Word 2003 (my beloved) again? Is it worth it to potentially go back to Blue Screen of Death City, population MEEEEEE or is there something else I'm missing?

Can't use Google docs as my computer already proved. I don't want anything I have to install on the computer *points to fears of returning to BSoD City* but I want something that I can somehow save at the same time. I dunno. I was hoping to get this in really good shape today and instead I'm stuck where I left off and feeling like I'm trying to excavate a hole the size of Mt. Everest with a teaspoon.

I thought about writing in a Tumblr draft or in AO3 itself but either of those has their own perils (Tumblr in accidentally POSTING IT and AO3 warns not to keep your only copy there). Maybe writing in AO3 and email it back to myself when I'm done for the day/writing session?

I just want to be able to use my computer like a COMPUTER again and not have to be so cautious and careful with everything. This is honestly stupid stressful. UGH.

*more angry moth noises, just 'cause*

Update: I'm going to try writing in AO3 for now and saving as a draft/emailing that back to myself. It's better than nothing and feels a little more familiar since I usually do my final editing in AO3 since I can often catch errors in AO3's preview that I missed in Word for some reason.

Still, if you have any recommendations for apps/sites/programs etc you like to write in, I'd like to hear them.

[consider-your-potatoes-mashed]

I really really wish New York City was more accessible

I’m currently in NYC and because of the repurposing of buildings rather than building new ones in many parts of the city they end up being inaccessible.

I understand wanting to save and repurpose buildings rather than tearing them down and rebuilding but there has to be a better way to repurpose that can include being accessible.

Yesterday I went to a CVS that was in an old bank building and guess what no automatic doors and the only way in was a flight of stairs.

Today I went to the Chelsea market and sure getting in was fine enough except the lack of automatic doors and cobbled crosswalks/streets (my enemy) outside but even inside the floor is so bumpy and uneven that I constantly feel like I’m going to fall and have to be hyper aware of where I’m putting my feet and cane.

There has to be a way we can do better as a society and as people.

Also the amount of doors people have let shut in my face when they see me coming on my crutches is ridiculous when they were just holding it open for someone else like sure I can do it and I will but it would be nice if you’d at least keep it open long enough for me to grab it with my foot or crutch or something

On the good side though I have seen a ton of wheelchair accessible taxis and that makes me really really happy. I’ve seen more of those than of regular taxis actually.

Edit: in the comments on this post I have been let know that the taxis that I mentioned are not in fact as accessible as they appear and are rather unsafe for those who are in wheel chairs so I guess that’s just one more shit thing. Go look at the comments to find more explanation/lived experience with this

[a-dragons-journal]

hi im politely asking for you to take down your response to my post, i do not want the kind of attention i am receiving. thank you

*sigh* I was going to draft a response to your first response to my reblog yesterday, but it's been a weird and stressful couple of days for me and I didn't want to accidentally snap at you because I didn't have the brain space to give the conversation the respect and attention it deserves, so I delayed it to today, and it appears that may have come off as me being rude and ignoring you. For that I apologize; that was not my intent.

I'm sorry that a couple of people have been rude to you in the tags on that post. I also apologize if my response came off as harsh or hostile in any way; as I noted in that initial reblog, I've been seeing a lot of people saying with their whole chest that alterhuman just means nonhuman, and the frequency is getting frustrating, but that's not your fault and the frustration might have unfairly spilled over into my tone. It seems from some of your more recent reblogs like it might've just been a misphrase, but it's hard to tell, so I didn't want to assume it was - and in any case, the explanation and example list was for anon as much as it was for you. I wasn't trying to attack or "rag on" you at all, and I don't think most of the people leaving tags agreeing with me were either, though obviously I can't speak for them. I was just trying to prevent misinformation from spreading - because even if you didn't mean "alterhuman = nonhuman," if that's how it read to me, it's probably how it read to an anon who has no way of knowing better, and that's how people come away actually thinking that's what the word means.

With that being said, I'm going to politely decline to delete my reblog of that post. I won't answer in further reblogs (unless you address me directly, of course) and thus won't bump it any further up my blog, but the existing reblog has already been up for two days and reblogged by multiple people; anyone who was going to see it on their dashboard from my blog has probably already seen it, so deleting it won't actually accomplish decreasing the people responding in your notes. All it will do is get rid of the clarification of potential misunderstanding, which I honestly don't really want to do when it won't do any good. If the post keeps causing you problems, turning off reblogs would probably do more to get rid of that problem than my deleting my response would; you should be able to do that in the edit interface on any post, at least on desktop (I'm never sure how mobile works exactly lol). (And that's a reversible change where deletions are not, to boot.)

[studentbyday]

my 🧠 feels like ✨cHaOs✨ and so this post will be ✨cHaOs✨

I went to the biochem Q&A sesh today

and OMG DID I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS I DID NOT EXPECT TO HAVE THAT MANY but I'm glad I attended, else it would've taken longer to get a response but now I have to revise (and by that I mean cut) a LOT from my paper and re-think how I'm doing it, if I'm doing it right or veering off topic (bc one thing when you're researching a disease new to you is that there's sm info out there and you're like 🙌🏻 EVERYTHING IS RELEVANT 🙌🏻 but no- only the biochem-related aspects of the disease are relevant for this assignment). idk how off-topic i actually am or if i'm pretty on the mark, but ngghhh tHe FiRsT dRaFt Is DuE On TuEsDaY *frantically waves arms, noodle-like* 🙌🏻 that doesn't feel like a lot of time to write the whole thing in all the detail i want so i can get useful feedback 😫

catching up on psyc notes (total ch finished this week: 2/5)

idk why but pomodoro and perky jazz music is the only thing keeping me focused for this.

fixing biochem paper

i read somewhere on here about having a document of your cuts in case you need it again later. useful advice, that. 👏🏻 also, i think what i should do first is make notes in a separate doc and THEN decide what to do with all that info...it might sound like it'll take longer but it's more efficient than writing a whole bunch and then realizing half of it is info you don't need. my stupid panicky brain couldn't realize that in the beginning (even tho that's what it had done b4 for other "essay-like" assignments) and was either stuck in analysis paralysis or just editing and re-editing, but better now than later (i haven't written THAT much beyond the intro anyway 😅)...

in other news, i got enough sleep for once bc i went to bed super early and ACTUALLY FELL ASLEEP BEFORE 12AM LIKE WHAT IS THIS MADNESS (ig i finally tired myself out enough these past few days 🤷🏻‍♀️) and despite waking up multiple times throughout the night bc i'm not used to the schedule, i am well-rested 😌 and my back is still being annoying but at least it's a little better than yesterday + i get to study while cozy in bed 🥰