#edit: upon further reflection. thanks past me that was a good idea

[emoangel44]

me when past me threw out my extra pencil sharpener

[wooglebear]

For context, this is for the au i made four people for yesterday, and is going to be a fic tomorrow (i got the first chapter prewritten). I don't plan on making a separate blog for it, because the last AU i made a blog for, A Cyborg in Time, went on hiatus so… yeah.

EDIT: I'll make a second blog for it.

Yes, this is not just an AU where Melvin gets erased instead of Melvinborg, but an AU where his past self has a sibling.

Angel Laurel Harmony Sneedly (or Angel, because that full name is a mouth) is Melvin's older sister and she and her brother were born six years apart. Her name is a bit of a misnomer.

A narcissistic, sadistic, and tyrannical monster who is homeschooled (thankfully), she does not conform to the genius style as she’s an influencer, and a bit famous. The constant praise and approval from her parents only served to further increase her ego, right up to the point where she can’t go up to five minutes without gazing upon her own reflection in her own personally-made, silver hand-mirror with her initials on the back or going on her phone. While she did achieve her (and mostly the dream of her parents as well) dream to become a star, an internet one at that, she feels that just being famous is much more fun than actually doing camp stuff.

Her TikTok name is "S3nt-fr0m-h3av3n".

When she comes to camp during episode 7 (the Camoflush ep is set during sibling day), all hell breaks loose as Angel was unwillingly taken to this hellhole of a camp to meet (and stay with) her Terrible Horrible Very Bad No Good Half Brother.

She doesn't just love the spotlight, she also loves creating drama and conflict. Manipulative, and knowing that her army of fans will follow her to the end of time and that she is not afraid to utilize them, Angel might be the most charismatic yet terrifying person ever.

Thanks to Angel's bastardry, Yuri is very unsure if she wants to trust her (given that she's three years younger than Angel) or not. Chelsea hates Angel, and Georgina befriends her.

As a result of Angel debuting at the halfway point of season 3, she has no idea about the first six episodes of this version of season 3, as well as the entirety of season 2, too.

Georgina: Yuri, tell them about the ancient Rome episode from last season!

Angel: The w h a t

Angel's a bit crazy, too. Melvinborg tries to get rid of her various times, but Angel bounces back. This is basically her way of going "Oh no you don't, you really need to step it up if you want to consider getting rid of me for good."

He also tried to consider going to Chelsea to get Angel murked, but the girl didn't follow through with the order, thankfully for Angel.

Even when saying the most malicious things imaginable, Angel never loses her calm.

As for how Angel takes Melvin unexisting? Angel throws herself into fame. Her followers remark how she's "so much cooler now that horrid younger brother of yours is out of the picture". She calls Melvinborg "Melvin" and their sibling relationship starts out unhealthy, but gets better as time goes on and Angel starts to gain real self confidence instead of relying on the phone.

She starts to slowly mellow out as a person, in fact.

Aside from that, her true love in this world is gerself, and it would absolutely devastate her if anything were to damage her beautiful face and physique. Unfortunately for her, the place where she has been dragged to is probably not the best place to be when it comes to clean stuff, as she soon finds out.

(I’m picturing a brief running gag in the Borelock episode of Melvinborg and Yuri, who is a bit of a germophobic, getting themselves increasingly filthy to their horror while Angel doesn't care as I'm giving Melvin's VR hat to her.)

Briefly became Melvinborg's right-hand man during the Laserlightmare episode, before having a change of heart in the Parents' Weekend and Talent Show episode.

[cupofteaguk]

switching my positions

summary: Fresh out of college, Min Yoongi makes a name for himself amongst his online fanbase as an artist who writes about the ins and outs of falling in love. But when he is signed to a record label, his producer insists that he reveal a public romantic relationship to weed off any potential scandals or dangerous assumptions about the source of his love songs. So who else should Yoongi turn to, but you: his manager—but more than that, his best friend and secret crush. 

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: solo artist!yoongi, manager!y/n, fake dating au, friends to lovers au | fluff/angst 

warnings: yoongi starts off as a musician on youtube but it’s not really highlighted for most of the story, kim seokjin is a Hot Music Executive who’ll take good care of his favorite boy, jungkook gets promoted from a cameraman to a bodyguard and i love to see it <3, nayeon + hoseok cameo as radio show hosts BECAUSE THIS STORY HAS SO MANY CHARACTERS I’M SORRY, IU shows up as a ~superstar~ because i love her so much, it’s a slow burn fic what can i say, mutual pining, actually an idiots to lovers plot tbh ????,  recreational alcohol consumption, POV switches occasionally but i try to make it as obvious as possible as to what is going on, mentions of insecurity, there’s angst BUT IT’S A HAPPY ENDING !!! 

word count: 40.1k 

a/n: big big thank you to @gukyi​ for being my fic consultant for this story! she encouraged me and believed in this story more than I ever could (and contributed like 50% of the foundation that made this fic into what it is), and also reminded me that yes this is a fic so no it doesn’t require one hundred percent accuracy to the music industry despite every discord message i sent her falling somewhere along the lines of “how realistic is this scenario…” she was a very big support for this fic, and this story wouldn’t have existed without her!! 

and regarding the word count… my hand slipped. I’ve clowned this fic a lot over the past month but I am really happy that this is done and so so excited for you all to read it. Pls enjoy!!!!!!! Xx 

.

.

CHAPTER 1: THE DISCOVERY 

.

You’re late. 

Yoongi lets you know that much as you have to shove your way through a rather large crowd of people to reach him. When he turns away from his keyboard to glance down at you, your chest is heaving and your knees are bent in order for your hands to rest upon your thighs. There’s a plastic bag curled on your arm, the hard plastic of CD cases reflecting off the street lamps. 

“Sorry, sorry!” You breathe out, giving yourself a few more seconds to catch your breath. Nothing more, nothing less, because there is a crowd of people around you, currently staring you down, counting down the seconds until the clock struck 8:00—but many people wondering just who were you to shove your way towards the front. “The printer wasn’t working, and do you realize how difficult it is to get your stupid picture into these cases?” 

Yoongi scoffs, walking towards you and holding both his hands out. “Don’t call them stupid, you took the picture,” He hisses, taking the plastic bag from you and rummaging through the many CDs you had to make for him last minute. After ensuring that everything he had asked for is in this very bag, he softens up. “But thanks for getting these done for me.” 

You finally are able to straighten up into a full standing position. “Not my fault you underestimated how many of your wonderful fans were going to show up.” 

Yoongi reaches over and presses his index finger straight into your forehead for that comment. The force knocks you back a few steps, and Yoongi takes your few seconds of distractions to pull a phone out of his pocket. “Just go off to the side, dummy, my show starts soon.” 

“Fine, fine,” You tease back, easy smile, but your hand goes up to take the phone from him. “Break a leg, Min Yoongi.” 

Yoongi gives you a playful glare but he turns away from you to line up his CDs along the now-table next to his set. As soon as he starts placing CDs atop the surface, a small line of people step from the crowd—pointing to the CDs and holding out a stack of cash. Yoongi nods, takes the money, and hands over the CD. This happens a few more times before the line of people have died down. Yoongi looks over at the significantly less amount of cases at his table, and looks over at you, where he flashes a thumbs up. 

As Yoongi steps up to his keyboard and microphone, the crowd around him starts to cheer. The claps echo through the gathering of people, enough to draw the attention of passersby who crane their heads to see who has attracted so many listeners. 

Yoongi’s fingers curl around the microphone. “Hey guys, thank you all for coming out today.” 

The crowd claps back in acknowledgement, a few of them giving their own shy nods and waves towards Yoongi—gestures that the boy responds with his own nods and gummy smiles. 

His attention returns back to the next set of words he’ll speak into the microphone. “I got a couple covers and original songs for tonight, all requested by you guys—so let’s have some fun today.” His voice is deep, raspy and gentle, croaks slightly along the edges, but a perfect reflection of the soothing nature he brings to his audience. 

And you are attune to every single second of it. Of course you are. You blend into the crowd but really your responsibilities for Yoongi lie far beyond just packaging CDs for him and dashing through hoards of people at the last fucking second to make your delivery. You further prove this further by logging into his phone and clicking into the first background music he’s produced for today’s show. Using the music as a guide, Yoongi starts to sing. His fingers dance across the keyboard to bring an extra sound to his performance—to give it that extra live element that his fans love. 

You know that Yoongi has added these additional things over the months because he adores his fanbase and would likely do anything and everything he could to give them the best experience he could offer. After all, they’ve propelled him to this very spot—his own little corner of the bustling city streets amongst all the bars, shops, universities, street food stalls, and cafes. 

As the music continues from one song to the next, and Yoongi shifts his focus from singing to rapping to the in betweens, you see his passion. You hear it in his voice, in the way his lines string together where it seems like the boy doesn’t require oxygen anymore. Months of these live shows, even longer years to get here—and the people around him only continue to watch him in awe. Just like he’s done since the beginning. 

Min Yoongi started off his music career on Youtube, where he uploaded music covers with his own special beat thrown into the mix. Yoongi enjoyed music arrangement (still does), and used his videos as an opportunity to explore that hobby and share it with people who could also enjoy it. And enjoy it people did, as viewers started pouring in and his fanbase grew in the form of positive comments and increasing subscribers. From some videos, Yoongi had always teased the idea of original songs he had written in various notebooks that expressed the wide range of his emotions—overall all the trials and tribulations of growing up: the notion of love in all its forms. Normally, there was always a fear of an audience losing interest at the prospect of original songs, especially coming from someone who previously arranged already popular #1 hits. 

But that never happened with Min Yoongi. His songwriting abilities became part of his brand—became his entire brand. Yoongi always wrote out love to be more than sappy pop songs or tragic heartbreak. He established himself as someone who seemed to speak from the mind of every single person he came into contact with. At least, that’s what his comment section claims. 

In the beginning of his Youtube career, you found Yoongi’s online persona unusual and amusing to say the least, but it was always clouded with an air of sweetness and sensibility. After all, you had known him about a year before Youtube was even an option for him to pursue. The pair of you met in a general ed college class—big lecture halls and voices getting lost in the background as the professors’ voice boomed through speaker systems. Yoongi had asked to borrow a pencil, and the pair of you spent the rest of the class making side-handed comments about the lecture material. You sat next to each other for the rest of the semester and have been friends ever since.

So it’s not like Yoongi’s core characteristics have ever been anything other than caring, thoughtful, or loyal—he’s just never been outwardly expressive about those emotions. But Youtube changed everything: it’s made him a more vocal person, more open about his feelings as well as his need to share those feelings with the world. 

The world responded positively—wrote in the comments that they would love to hear some of his original songs, that he had already provided just a small taste of his talent and left them an insatiable desire for more. 

As soon as you and Yoongi graduated, his commitment to Youtube increased tenfold. With the previous obligations of assignments, papers, and research internships out of the way, it left more time for writing, for filming, for editing, for sharing. As his work levels increased, so did his subscribers. And so did the attention. 

You’ll never forget the day his followers suggested live street performances in one of Yoongi’s neighboring cities—a city street more specifically that was famous for taking in street performances of all origins and talents, a place for him to show off his freestyling on a keyboard and finally meet his fans firsthand. The idea caught on so quickly and vividly that Yoongi was immediately attracted to the idea. He held his first performance just a few months ago, as a thank you present for reaching one million subscribers. If you had trouble materializing Yoongi’s musical success before, the first live performance and meet and greet Yoongi hosted did well to eradicate all those thoughts. 

Hundreds of people showed up—standing alongside the shops, restaurants, food vendors, and cafes that already lined the streets, everyone intersecting to meet the artist who made them feel heard. 

You still remember that day very vividly. Yoongi had been so nervous that day, had worked so hard to put together the perfect set for his fans. Obviously, though, he had nothing to worry about. Soon, one show turned into two, and just like the request for live performances and meet and greets, the question of monetary compensation became a topic of discussion amongst Yoongi’s fans. That’s where the question of albums came into play: a singular place for Yoongi to put his covers and original place—and charge money for it as well! 

As per the request, eventually you and Yoongi decided that exclusive covers and original songs would be part of his album as a way to open up different modes of access rather than take away an individual’s general (free of charge) chance to view Yoongi’s content and just simply support without having to spend money. The introduction of his albums has been a very recent development, something added into Yoongi’s live performances after the tenth show and usually always sold out by the end of any aforementioned show. From what you’ve been able to see as of now, the albums have been a good addition. 

In terms of Yoongi’s current career, you acknowledge that it has always been you and Yoongi—him staying up late for last minute song-writing sessions or recording or arranging a specific set of chords he had been holding off for weeks, or you arranging the time and date of his live shows and fulfilling requests to put songs on CDs and figure out how to market those in an era of streaming services. And if there’s anyone who knows that he has what it takes to get big—it’s you. After all, you would do anything for him. As you would have done from the moment you met him. 

An hour later—after twenty songs and a swaying crowd around him singing along—the last song fades out and Yoongi pulls back from the microphone to catch his breath. Everyone else around him seems to hold onto their own, before Yoongi pulls himself back towards the mic to utter his last words for the night: “Thanks for coming out you guys. I really, really appreciate it.” 

In the midst of the claps and cheers, Yoongi smiles towards the audience, turns around to address the circle of crowd that has formed around him. 

As some of the crowd begins to disperse and some begin to linger for a potential meet and greet, Yoongi hastily remembers to return back to his mic for one last word to his audience. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!” 

You smile to yourself as members of the crowd acknowledge his thanks with thanks of their own. As you watch Yoongi start disassembling his equipment for the night, you simply stand where you’ve stood for the past hour, allowing the crowd to simmer past you towards their next destination for the time. You pocket Yoongi’s phone into your coat, waiting for a few minutes, before you slip around towards the front of the crowd. There, a boy stands in front of a tripod, and his fingers dance around to unclip his camera from the standee. 

“You get the whole thing, Jungkook?” You ask with the tilt of your head. 

Jungkook whirls towards you, bright eyes full of excitement as he holds the camera with both his hands now. He utters your name. “Oh shit, yeah I did. We’ll get to see how Yoongi’s mic set up works.” He taps to the cord that connects the mic on Yoongi’s clothes and on his piano into the camera. 

You perk up at the sight of new technology. “Oooh, going fancy with us, I see JK. Very future.” 

Jungkook’s grin widens, as it always does when talking about cameras and filmography. “Yes. Future…” He stretches out the word with the exact dips, curls, and croaks the way Squidward does in that one Spongebob episode, which makes you laugh. Jungkook clicks through the video of Yoongi’s set that he’s just recorded, before he clicks the screen off and lowers the camera. “It’ll probably be better if I wait until we get back to look through the footage. I’m sure Yoongi is anxious to get back too…” He looks up towards where Yoongi is supposed to be standing a few feet away, but the younger boy trails off. “Hey, look over there.” He jerks his chin towards Yoongi. “Some guy is talking to him. Do you know him?” 

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion—none of your college friends had texted saying they were going to come by and listen in on Yoongi’s set—you crane your own neck towards the direction Jungkook is gesturing to. Up ahead, Yoongi is indeed talking to some guy that you don’t recognize so of course it would peak your curiosity. 

It’s a feeling that increases tenfold when Yoongi looks up, seems to find you from his search, and points across the space right at you. There’s even something in his eyes that beg you to walk over to him. This makes your frown deepen, because what the hell is this about? 

. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t allow for too much vocal expression that doesn’t involve the assistance of a keyboard or a music arrangement, but he speaks into the microphone without thinking. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!” His smile widens as the crowd responds with the claps and cheers of their own—all responding to him and communicating with him. This is it, this is what makes coming out to do these shows all worth it. Obviously there’s a thrill he gets from being in front of a camera and another thrill from uploading a video that people can access from all over the world. But to see the faces of the people who have left positive comments underneath those aforementioned videos… now that’s a completely different kind of feeling he didn’t think he would enjoy so much. 

So Yoongi steps away from the mic to put away his equipment for the day. He only gets so far as to open the case for his microphone and mic holder before he’s hearing his name behind him. Turning around, he is faced with a few unfamiliar and a few familiar fans that are asking him for pictures and a short conversation. He indulges them, of course he does, and he signs a few albums while he’s at it. 

It’s like you always teased him about: he really is a softie for his fans. 

The fan interactions only last for a few minutes, before another voice comes in—it’s a deeper voice and radiates so much confidence and presence that it actually halts the next fan from trying to finish a conversation with Yoongi. All gazes turn towards the source of the voice: it’s a tall man with broad shoulders, pointy boots and a long coat that drapes down, hands stuffed into the pocket of that very coat. He looks like a model. 

The man gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but I need to request a chat with Mr. Min and am in a bit of a hurry. Do you mind if I cut in for a moment?” 

The fan gives a weak smile. “N-No problem.” 

Yoongi gives his own small smile. “Sorry about that. Oh, here.” He quickly makes a grab for the CD in her hesitant hands, signing his name across the sleek surface. “Thanks for coming by. Have a good rest of the night.” 

Her smile brightens. “Thank you so much!” With a quick little bow, she runs off towards her friends. 

This leaves Yoongi alone with the stranger. “What can I help you with?” 

The stranger extends his arm. “Mr. Min, I’m Kim Seokjin. I’m a music executive. Nice to meet you.” 

Music executive. These two words pique Yoongi’s interest. Just enough. “Wow, uh, nice to meet you sir.” Yoongi can’t help but lower his head slightly in a small bow as he returns Kim Seokjin’s handshake. 

Seokjin waves him off. “Oh, no need to be so formal Mr. Min. I just thought that I should finally come by to introduce myself. I’ve been following your Youtube channel for awhile and think that you’re extremely talented, very capable to be a recording artist, in fact.” 

Yoongi blinks in surprise, completely taken aback by the direction of this conversation. When he came out for his show today, having a conversation with a whole ass music executive hadn’t been on the list of things he was expecting. Of course, it was always a dream of his to be a recording artist. But he thought something like that would always just remain a dream.  “T-Thank you.” 

Seokjin continues. “Honestly, this is the third live performance of yours that I attended. Artists like you who radiate lots of passion and dedication both through the screen and on a stage are pretty rare. But your confidence and presence is quite admirable.” 

At that, Yoongi can’t help but laugh a little. He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t call this a stage, Mr. Kim, it’s just a small street corner.” 

Seokjin laughs. “Fair enough—but you treat this little street corner like a stage and I find that cool. It appears that that’s what a lot of your fans think as well.” He pauses. “Mr. Min,” He starts up again after a moment. “Have you ever considered becoming a recording artist? Signing with a music label, releasing music and being able to reach millions of people? Having concerts in venues all over the world?” 

At the question, Yoongi utters a scoff of disbelief. “I have,” He acknowledges after a few minutes. “Having this youtube channel and these street performances is amazing…” 

“Of course,” Seokjin replies with a nod. 

“But sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to do more than that. So, to answer your question, I have thought about it before. Many times, in fact.” 

Seokjin nods again. “What if I told you that I was interested in signing you, Mr. Min?” 

Yoongi stares at that, stares and stares with unblinking eyes, one hundred percent of his attention on the man standing in front of him—waiting for the signs, waiting to see the laugh or the glint that gives away his prankster tendencies. But none of those things come. Seokjin just stares right back, challenging him to question him and agree to his claim. 

But Yoongi is younger, more naive, so of course he falls for it. “Why would you want to sign me?” 

Seokjin grins. “Mr. Min, I like to think I’m pretty good at spotting talented people who have a fully fledged career ahead of them—which is something my gut is telling me that you can do. And don’t worry, it’s not just the gut feeling I have. Like I mentioned, I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few months and I’ve seen the numbers and the turn out. You clearly have what it takes to bring fans in, keep them, and create events that’ll drive their attention—and I want to help you make an opportunity out of that.” 

Yoongi hears the words of the older man, he really does, but he still cannot help the feeling of his head spinning at all the positive things Kim Seokjin says to him. Not only that he believes Yoongi has what it takes to make it, but that Yoongi has the concrete numbers to back that up. He is offering Yoongi an opportunity—an opportunity that seemed much too big for his youtube channel to birth, an opportunity that he had always just written off as nothing more than a dream. Yet for Seokjin to say that it could be more than that? And for all of this to happen on a normal performance night? 

Was Yoongi about to faint right now or what. 

Seokjin takes in Yoongi’s stunned silence and smiles. “I understand that this could be a lot to take in. No worries. I have a card for you to take—so call me when you make up your mind, alright?” He rummages into the pocket of his coat before producing a business card. The name KSJ RECORDS is printed on the surface, shiny lettering in sleek font. 

Yoongi takes it wordlessly. 

“By the way, do you have a manager?” Seokjin asks. “You can have them reach out to me if that’ll make it easier.” 

Yoongi stays quiet for a moment. He doesn’t have a manager; he never really saw the need for one if his schedule was as simple as it was. After all, it was more than enough for him to handle with you—! 

His mind explodes, as if someone had just plugged it into an outlet. His gaze flickers to you, where he sees you now standing just a few feet away next to Jungkook. You’re already staring back at him, but your head tilts slightly as if you could read his internal struggle. Before Yoongi can even figure why he’s looking at you, his body seems to act on its own. His arm raises, finger pointing straight at you. “She’s over there.” 

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, seeming to read something in his gaze that even Yoongi couldn’t figure out. Still, you walk over to them. “What’s going on?” 

Seokjin acts first, turning towards you and giving you a nod in greeting. “Hi there, I’m Kim Seokjin. Yoongi says you’re his manager, is that correct?” 

You blink, caught off guard by the question because you definitely were not Yoongi’s manager. He knows that you know this. You give Yoongi another look, and his eyes widen at you, poorly attempting to transmit a singular message: please. 

You understand immediately, of course you do (you’re his best friend), as you turn back to look at Seokjin. “I am, it’s nice to meet you.” 

The pair of you shake hands. “I was just telling Mr. Min over there that I was interested in signing him to my company. I’m a music executive for KSJ records, and think that he would make a great addition to the team.” 

It takes you a second to process the news, but you do so quicker and much more graceful than Yoongi could ever hope to do. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” You turn to look at him, bright-eyed. “Yoongi, that’s amazing!” 

“He hasn’t made a decision yet,” Seokjin continues to explain. “I don’t blame him, it’s a lot to process. I just told him that he could have you call me once he made up his mind. Then, contracts could be drawn up.” He pauses for a moment, then seems to scramble on something when you don’t say anything immediately. “Of course, you would remain his manager. I’m sure that he’s gotten as far as he has with your help. I would want you part of Mr. Min’s team regardless.” Seokjin composes himself quickly afterwards. “Like I said, take some time to come to a decision and let me know. Let me give you my card as well.” He mirrors his previous movement at Yoongi towards you now until you have his business card between your fingers. 

“W-Well,” You start, lowering the card and offering up your hand. “Thank you so much for coming by, Mr. Kim. We’ll be sure to send you a response soon.” 

Seokjin takes your hand carefully, giving it a firm shake. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He turns to Yoongi. “And I hope we’ll be able to work together, Mr. Min.” 

Yoongi blinks, but he snaps himself out long enough to return Seokjin’s handshake. “Y-Yes…” He replies, still feeling completely starstruck by what the fuck this encounter had just been. “T-Thank you for stopping by…” He trails off. He stays quiet as he watches Seokjin give one last departing word before he’s turning around and making his way down the street of the city. 

When he regains some of his attention back, he turns to find that you’re already staring at him with an unreadable expression across your face. “Let’s head back,” You say at least, holding up the business card. “We have a lot to talk about.” 

. 

“No way,” Jungkook utters, completely shocked as he practically throws himself onto the couch in the living room. His camera equipment has been set down near the door, too much exhaustion present in its owner for the trudge back into his room. “You got casted today? That’s incredible, hyung!” 

“I-I didn’t even realize what was going on,” Yoongi grumbles back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I still wonder if that moment even happened or if I conjured it up in a strange fever dream.” 

You raise your hand slightly. “I was there. Can confirm that it was real.” You dig the business card out of your pocket and stare down at it. 

Jungkook hikes himself deeper into the couch as he turns on his phone to start scrolling. “I gotta know who this guy is. Kim Seokjin you said? Of KSJ records?” 

“Yeah, KSJ records,” Yoongi replies, looking down at his own business card. “He seemed pretty legit.” 

A whistle from Jungkook confirms that. “Yeah, he’s definitely real. And look at that!” Jungkook turns the phone over to expose the photographs of Seokjin. “Used to be a singer as well. I bet he knows a lot about the industry.” 

Yoongi nods. “He did seem nice.” 

“So, does that mean you’re planning to meet up with him? Get signed and all that jazz?” 

“All that jazz?” Yoongi echoes, but he shakes his head before he could go off on that tangent. “But honestly? Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I really do love youtube and do want to continue that, but I just feel like there’s more for me to explore with the right connections.” 

Jungkook grins. “Wow, I can’t believe my roommate is gonna be famous.” He says the last word with a bite of curl in his tone, flashing a teasing smile when Yoongi merely glares in embarrassment. Jungkook’s eyes flicker further back towards where you are standing in the apartment, calling your name to get your attention. “What do you think of the idea, Miss. Manager?” 

You perk up at that. “Before I get into my answer—when did I suddenly become your manager? I don’t remember us ever having that conversation.” You’re situated in the kitchen, drumming one hand on the counter and using the other hand to stir some last night boxed mac and cheese. 

Yoongi coughs at your observation, sinking himself further down into the couch. “I didn’t want Seokjin to think I was an idiot or something for not having a manager. But when I do officially make up my mind…” He angles his head to stare over at you. “You’ll do it for me, right? You’ll actually be my manager?” 

You frown, hesitant. “You’re serious about asking me? I don’t know anything about being a manager though.” 

Yoongi almost pouts at that, sitting up so he can whirl around completely on the couch to face you. “But you know me and my music career almost better than anyone! And you graduated with a business degree, what do you mean you don’t know anything about being a manager?” 

You flush hotly at that. “It was just a general business degree, Yoongi, it seems like what you need to make it big is a legit artist manager! Someone who will actually know how to schedule your tour dates or keep up with your public image and know exactly how to market you to the general public. You really want me doing that for you?” 

Yoongi gaps at that. “Okay, but who’s the one who literally schedules my street performances and helps me with editing my videos?” 

“Jungkook does some of the editing too,” You grumble underneath your breath. 

“Yah! Stop selling yourself short!” Yoongi interjects, pointing at you accusingly. He does, however, lower his finger long enough to turn and address his roommate. “Not that you don’t help out with any of the editing, Jungkook…” 

Jungkook waves him off. “I know where my talents lie.” 

Yoongi turns back to you. “Besides, Seokjin acknowledged that you and I basically come as a packaged deal. He saw that you were working just as hard to get me my gigs.” 

You give him a one-shouldered shrug, the hesitation still laced in your tone. “I don’t know Yoongi. I just don’t want to fuck up and jeopardize your shot.” 

Yoongi’s attention is one hundred percent focused on you now, so much so that he has made his way into the kitchen and has come so close that he can switch off the stove that held the macaroni and cheese. “Hey, listen, the only reason I’ve even been given a shot was thanks to you. You work just as hard as me to keep my channel up and running—and you already have another job on the side, so you don’t have to do anything for me. But you do.” He plants both his hands on your shoulders and twists you around. “Would you be my manager? Please? I seriously don’t trust anyone else enough to do this for me.” 

You sigh, staring down Yoongi as tensely as he’s staring you down. He sees the flicker of continuing hesitation in your eyes, and responds with just tightening his grip on your shoulders—trying to convey as much pleading as he could to you. Honestly, if you rejected his request, he knows that he wouldn’t be able to do this without you. 

So when you seem to realize that he won’t give up, you sigh and look down for a moment. “Damn that I can never say no to you, Min Yoongi.” 

Hearing those words of confirmation, Yoongi’s gaze hyper focuses on you. Even when you look back over at him, you don’t look away and that merely confirms the unspoken question of your participation. 

When he realizes that you aren’t going to outright reject him, and that you’re actually on board for him, Yoongi’s face lights up as he immediately envelops you into a hug. “Thank you! Thank you—wow, that means a lot to me.” 

You suck in a breath at his words, tensing slightly at his words, but you eventually learn to relax long enough to pat him slowly on the back to return his hug. “Don’t thank me yet,” You grumble into his shoulder. “We haven’t even had a meeting. I may not be able to negotiate as well as you think I can.” 

Yoongi shakes his head at that, tightening his hold on you. From his close proximity to you, he doesn’t notice the way your breath seems to shake and your heart seems to quicken. “It doesn’t matter,” He reassures, finally backing off. “I don’t care if you don’t know how to do all those fancy manager things. Like I said, you’re the only one I could trust to do this.” 

You stare at Yoongi for a few more seconds before you sigh in defeat, knowing that you’ve just put all your thoughts and feelings on the table for him to react to. “Alright then,” You say, placing one of your hands across your chest and onto your shoulder—atop his hand still lingering. “I’ll make the call tomorrow then.” 

Yoongi nods. “Thank you.” 

There’s a brief silence that covers the pair of you, before a voice rings from the living room. “Do you mind bringing the mac and cheese over here?” 

.

.

CHAPTER 2: THE REQUEST 

.

One year later, and you learn that the crowds from Yoongi’s street performances are nothing in comparison to this. This—overwhelming and unmatched in all degrees, the screams and the cries and the shoves, all of it echoes around you just as it has for the past few months. Surprisingly, you’ve always been okay with being a little more firm if the situation called for such and today is absolutely no exception. 

“Off,” You say gently, tapping an outstretched hand trying to get past you and grab at the person behind you. 

The girl you’ve intercepted jerks her hand back as if you’ve burned her, her eyes wide and vaguely hurt as if you’ve singled her out specifically from this crowd. Rather, it’s more along the lines of keeping your client safe and trying to avoid the incident from last week. You block the memory out for the time being. 

You feel a hot breath at your ear. “If you make my fans cry, I swear—!” 

“Try to be less desirable then,” You bite back over your shoulder, holding up your hand when another fan tries to shove a sharpie past you. “Sorry, but we’re in a bit of a rush,” You say to the boy. “Come to the next concert—we’ll have a meet and greet then too.” 

The boy deflates, but that expression only lasts for a second before he seems to brighten slightly at whatever has just occurred behind you. Stealing a glance, you realize it’s because Min Yoongi has just thrown him an apologetic wink. 

The car appears in view a lot quicker than you had been anticipating, which is good as you muster all your energy to pull the handle that opens the car door. You step off to the side, further cutting off the fans who are trying to keep Yoongi from entering the vehicle. Soon enough, a taller and more dominating figure appears next to you as Yoongi manages to slide his way into the back seat. You and Jungkook exchange a nod—you had been in the front of Yoongi’s protection squad and he had been in the back, and the arrangement continues to work wonders. As long as Yoongi doesn’t lose a whole sleeve (like last time) then you would consider this departure a success. 

Jungkook tilts his head towards the still opened car door, allowing you to enter the car yourself. As soon as you’re settled, Jungkook leans forward to join you. He slides his way into the seat all the way in the back of the car. Closing the door behind him, you signal Taehyung to take off with a nod into the rearview mirror. 

The screams and calls of Yoongi’s name are loud, and pass through the metal structure of the car as if it is nothing. But you know that the boy doesn’t mind, and that he lives and breathes moments like these as he has for the past few months. 

It’s crazy to think how much a year could change, after you and Yoongi decided to meet up with Seokjin to discuss how Yoongi was going to be signed under KSJ records. Seokjin had talked about the big plans he had in pushing Yoongi towards the spotlight—and goals like an album, a concert, and meet-and-greets around the country had been promised for Yoongi’s first year. 

And of course, Yoongi was completely enchanted by the promises. Just one final ‘of course’ confirmation to have you as his manager, and Yoongi was signing on the dotted line. Truth be told, you didn’t know what KSJ records would have in store for Yoongi—how long that glimmer of passion would remain in the boy’s eyes. 

A year later, and you acknowledge that you might have underestimated Kim Seokjin. As a former performer, he knew all the ins and outs of the music industry and his well established connections as well as his good ear for good music meant that Yoongi was allowing his music to get the treatment it deserved. Pair that with Yoongi’s growing popularity on Youtube, and it all equates to an EP that debuts with tens of thousands of copies sold within the first week. The EP itself hadn’t been much—just six songs that contained a mix of old songs and new songs, but all written by Yoongi. His previous (although small) experience with producing and arrangement allowed him constant access into the various studios at KSJ records, where he learned from all the other producers on how to make good music.

The hands-on, personal touch Seokjin allowed Yoongi to deliver in his music had been a good call and a large contributor to the success of the EP. You recall fans praising the album and talking about how it matched Yoongi’s youtube aesthetic perfectly, but just with the higher quality element that top notch equipment could bring to music. 

In a way, the current atmosphere of concerts and meet-and-greets is just a way to celebrate the success of Yoongi’s music career launching off into the stratosphere. 

“Hey.” There’s a gentle tap against your head, and you jump before turning to face Yoongi in the seat next to you. “You good?” 

You blink, bringing your finger up to brush the hair out of your face. “Yeah, just spaced out.” 

“Cool. I thought you might have fallen asleep.” 

“If anyone should have fallen asleep by now, it’s you,” You point out. “I think that today’s meet-and-greet was the largest one you’ve had so far.” 

“Don’t worry,” Yoongi says. “I have every intention of following asleep as soon as I fall into bed. Plus, don’t let me hold a pen for the next week—I think my wrist almost fell off.” 

You laugh, angling yourself so you can face him. “But you love it, don’t you?” 

Yoongi’s gaze softens as he lets your question sink in. “Course I do. I never realized how cool it would be to have an audience sing my lyrics back to you. More than that, it was all lyrics I used to write in the apartment, or in between lectures back at college, or late into the night on my phone… back when the idea of all this was just a dream.” He pivots his body towards you, eyes bright as the passion for his current place in life seems to have gotten him hyped up again. “You know, during the meet and greet, this girl came up to me all confidently and told me that my album got her through a tough time. I think that’s when it really hit me that this was all happening.” 

The corner of your lips quirk up into a smile. “Oh yeah, I actually do remember you writing those songs and you showing me the lyrics. You speak from the heart, and your fans understand that. Helps that you’re pretty cute too. Anyone with eyes could see that.” As soon as those words escape your lips, you almost want to chide yourself and immediately throw yourself out of the car. Why would you say something like that—why would you openly admit to Yoongi’s cuteness? Your face grows warm at the realization, leaving you to hope that Yoongi won’t notice your flustered state. 

Yoongi doesn’t notice. He’s too busy gawking at your observation, too busy tearing his gaze away from you to stare firmly out of the car window. 

Jungkook simply shifts his gaze between the two of you. 

In the midst of the silence, you fish out your phone and start scrolling through your social media pages. Due to the third party cookie ads that follow you around, you immediately notice news of Yoongi’s concert of the day has started hitting various news sites—most articles praising Yoongi on his song selections and live adaptations of his music to suit the concert style more. Reading these articles leave you unable to stop the grin, because Yoongi deserves this so fucking much that you could have sworn your heart sings a little as you continue reading. 

It’s a moment that lasts for only a couple of seconds, as recommended articles start coming up that do well in setting up the gray cloud. With the increased amount of attention that comes from being a newly top rated best selling album artist, so does the intrusion into personal life that follows—the dark side of the media, the side that just loves to stick its nose in places it does not belong. It’s something that you had been seeing since Yoongi’s youtube account hit five hundred thousand, but at the time these kinds of questions were more dark shadows or curious inquiries taken in the form of casual comments. 

Now, those questions have become much more normalized, as a common curiosity seems to have taken form from all these drama articles: was Min Yoongi dating anyone? And even better: who is Min Yoongi writing all his love songs for? 

As if love was limited to romantic relationships, and wasn’t a feeling one could recreate from other love songs or romantic comedies. Or just the feelings of growing up. 

“We’re here!” Taehyung calls from the front seat, as you jump up from your train of thought. Refocusing on your surroundings, you realize that you’ve made it into the parking lot of the hotel. 

You sigh, regathering your belongings that have moved around during the drive. “Thanks, Taehyung.” 

“Hey.” Taehyung utters for you to come closer to him as soon as the pair of you step out of the car. He jerks toward Yoongi, who is exiting from his side of the car before quickly side-stepping to let Jungkook come out as well. “Was that flirting back there?” 

You protest hotly at once, your hand raising up and wave side-to-side frantically in complete denial. “N-No, it wasn’t—!” 

“Okay, good,” Taehyung interrupts, leaning back to stuff his hands into his pants pockets. “Because if that was the case I think we would have had to re-evaluate your definition of flirting—!” 

“Will you stop?” You squeak. 

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi asks, having rounded around the car to stare over at you and Taehyung. 

You whirl around quickly, tightening up your expression once more to make sure that any remnants of your conversation with Taehyung would be undetected. “Yep!” You say immediately. “Everything is fine. Let’s get going, yeah?” You allow Jungkook to lead the four of you out of the parking lot and into the elevator that’ll take you to the main floor of the hotel room. Yoongi has to slip on a pair of glasses and a baseball cap, just on the off chance that a fan might be staying in the same room—it happened a few stops ago—before the four of you are making your way through the lobby. The four of you have reserved four separate rooms for your overnight stay in the city, rooms that you have already checked into earlier that day, so it feels nice to just make your way to the elevator and select the correct floor. 

Taehyung decides to check in first for the night, waving you all off and congratulating Yoongi on another well done performance. Jungkook lingers around as you make your way to Yoongi’s room next. 

“Thanks for walking me,” Yoongi says, sliding the key card into the slot and pulling out when he hears the beep of confirmation on his door. 

Jungkook flashes him a thumbs up. “Good show today. Now get some rest.” 

Yoongi nods, just about to close the door when you make a sudden noise from the back of your throat. “OH!” You call out suddenly, startling both boys as you reach your arm out suddenly to prevent Yoongi from closing the door. He had been so close too. “Sorry, I just realized. Seokjin sent me an email of some deadlines he wanted me to go over with you. Your sleep is gonna have to be put on hold.” 

Yoongi grumbles something under his breath. 

You turn to look at Jungkook. “We’ll be fine, Jungkook, go rest up—you deserve it.” 

Jungkook nods, grinning at Yoongi. “See you guys around.” 

“No fair…” Yoongi pouts as he watches Jungkook stroll down the hall to reach his hotel room. “Why do they get to rest and I don’t? I’m so tired…” 

“Well, this is the price of fame,” You retort with the shrug of your shoulders. “You have your face the paparazzi want to see, and the name that sells the albums. Naturally, it means you just have to put in more work than everyone else.” 

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, still pouting but less so as he opens the door once more for the both of you to enter. “When you put it that way…” 

You giggle behind him. “For the fans, Min Yoongi.” 

You immediately task yourself with throwing yourself atop his bed, surprisingly put together despite the fact that you had checked everyone in earlier that day. You would have assumed he would have taken a nap. But the bed doesn’t look slept in at all. 

Yoongi notices your observation immediately. “I was too nervous to fall asleep earlier today,” He provides, taking a seat on the couch on the other side of the room. “So what was it that Seokjin needed you to go over with me?” 

“It’s short, I promise,” You reassure, pulling out the iPhone from your pocket. As soon as you unlock the device, you’re faced with the articles you had previously been looking up—the ones about Yoongi’s dating life. Without meaning to, you sigh heavily at the sight. 

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up?” 

You jerk up. “Oh, no, nothing sorry. I just…” You hold the phone up for Yoongi to see. “These articles about you and your dating life—it’s getting worse.” 

“Oh.” Yoongi’s fingers fiddle with each other. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few of those floating around too. Honestly, for someone who writes a lot of songs about love, these curiosities don’t really surprise me. I wish that they wouldn’t be so intrusive.” 

“Unfortunately, people always think it’s their right to know who these love songs are for.” You spare him a quick glance, only to realize that he’s already staring at you. Hastily, you look back down. “If the songs are even for anyone, that is.” 

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “Right.” 

“Anyways…” You exit your internet app, tapping through until Seokjin’s email comes up. “Seokjin just wants to know your progress on the new songs. He’s trying to gauge your progress so he can see whether or not to arrange studio time for you to start recording.” 

The new songs—it’s a reference to Seokjin’s next plan for Yoongi’s career. With the launch of the EP and the current success that it has been harboring, it makes sense that the next step would be to launch a full-length album. Technically it could be called a repackage, since the album would most likely feature a few songs from the EP and cover the rest of the spots with new music. 

But aforementioned new music takes time to write, not that Yoongi ever had a problem with writing music. That has always been second nature for him—and was something he could do anywhere so long as he had a functioning, conscious mind. It was all just a matter of whether or not he could create the required number of actual songs within the scheduled deadline. With those higher expectations, time definitely plays the biggest issue and it makes sense if Yoongi couldn’t write proper songs given the current circumstances. 

Nonetheless, Yoongi nods at the question. “I actually have rough drafts of most of the songs, if that was okay with Seokjin. We could probably schedule some meetings to polish up the writing, since a lot of them are still in the beginning stage.” 

You blink at his answer, surprised by his response. You had been expecting one, or maybe two songs to be written out but to have all eight songs written out? “W-Wow…” You utter. “You wrote so many songs so quickly.” 

Yoongi shrugs, but he does look a little prideful at your words. You don’t notice his lingering gaze. “I have a lot to reflect on, what can I say.” 

“I-I mean,” You stammer, not really hearing his response. “I could schedule the meeting with Seokjin, but if he knows that you have everything basically done, he’ll probably be okay with giving you a little more time to polish up your work yourself.” 

Yoongi ponders this, but he shakes his head. “No, go ahead and schedule the meeting. It’s actually nice having extra hands in the music.” 

You nod. “Alright then, I’ll go and do that. I think I should also just go over tomorrow’s schedule with you.” Quickly, you relay the time details of what tomorrow’s day will look like since you’re flying out for another show the next morning. You give him some details about the stage, how many people are going, and how many people he will be meeting afterwards. It’s a standard review conversation, one of the many that you’ve had with Yoongi over the year. “And… that should be it,” You wrap up as soon as you’ve reviewed the day. Looking over the schedule once more, you cannot help but sigh once more. 

“What is it this time?” Yoongi asks from the side. 

“Oh, no nothing!” You reassure with a promising smile. “Just another busy day.” 

Yoongi gives you a grin, but you can see the exhaustion clinging to the corner of his eyes. “There’s only a few more stops left of the concert—what happened to you being positive rock?” 

At that, you laugh nervously. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.” You clench a fist in front of him and pump it up to showcase a display of energy. “Another day of excitement and one more day towards fulfilling your dreams!” You lower your fist and give him a slightly dryer look. “How was that?” 

“I could have done without the look at the end, but it’ll do, I guess.” Yoongi stands up from his place on the couch and throws himself atop his bed. His head ends up near you, his back on the mattress, and his feet dangling off the side. “There’s only a few stops left of the tour, and for some people this is their first time seeing me live. And for other people, maybe they saw me back when I would perform on the streets, so in that case it’s their first time seeing me perform on a stage and everything!” He lifts one of his hands up into his field of view. “Either way, I just want to do the best I can for the people that take time out to come see me and support me. Because I owe them everything—I owe them more than what I can give them.” 

You don’t say anything to that. What could you say, anyways? Instead, you reach over and run your fingers through his hair. After a second, you retract your hand. You shouldn’t let yourself linger for too long anyways. “It’s late,” You say, a tone of finality in your voice. “I should head to my room. I’ll make sure to let Seokjin know your update.” You slide off the bed into a standing position. “You should get some rest.” You turn to him. “You may not think you can pay back your fans, but you probably help them out every single day. The same way they help you out too.” 

Yoongi tilts his head back to see you. Upside down, but still look at you nonetheless. He grins. “There’s that positive energy I was looking for. Thanks.” 

You laugh, already making your way towards his hotel room door. “Thank me by giving me another kickass performance tomorrow. Makes my job a whole lot easier.” 

. 

The following weeks of concert tours pass by without a hitch. To Yoongi, any event now that doesn’t end up with a torn sleeve and nail scratches up and down his arm is a success. And you haven’t freaked out for the remaining dates as you had when security had been at its worst—so he’d consider that the icing on top of the cake. Although he’s glad to finally be be home and be anchored to his own bed and be in his own space for the first time in months, he knows that his first concert experience to celebrate his first EP had truly been a memorable undertaking. 

And it had been more successful than anyone at KSJ records could have predicted. At least, that’s what Seokjin tells him when Yoongi arrives at the studio the following day to start going through the process of polishing up his song lyrics. 

“It seems that you really enjoyed yourself throughout the tour,” Seokjin remarks as Yoongi steps into the former’s office. Seokjin is scrolling through some articles on his laptop. He closes it as Yoongi takes a seat and regards the younger boy with a look of curiosity and wonder. “How was it?” 

Yoongi brightens. “So much fun. I didn’t realize how cool it would feel to have audience members sing song lyrics right back at me, but that was probably my favorite moment.” 

“Ah, of course, first time for everything as they always say.” Seokjin folds his fingers atop one another. “And how was your team?” He says your name, given that you are Yoongi’s manager. “Along with Jungkook and Taehyung? I wish I could have given you more people, but we didn’t know how crazy moving you around was going to be.” 

Yoongi nods. “I mean… it was fine. Jungkook was really good.” He can’t help but think that Jungkook should have been good—after all, Yoongi is the reason why Jungkook has been getting safe with job security recently. “And Taehyung too. I think having the small team was good because we ended up all getting really connected and had this whole system in place after a few stops.” 

“I heard a fan tore your sleeve,” Seokjin points out, looking mildly concerned. “How did that go?” 

“Oh, it was just a one time thing,” Yoongi tries to brush off with the wave of his hand. He thinks of you, because of course he does. He mentions you. “She would tap the fans who were getting too close. It was reassuring, honestly.” 

“That’s good to hear,” Seokjin says. “And I’ve heard that you’ve been making a lot of headway with the upcoming album. So we’re definitely gonna set some time for us to go through the lyrics and structure what you’ve come up with already. But I did want to go over something with you first—the main reason I called you in, actually.” 

Yoongi tilts his head. “Okay, what’s up?” 

Seokjin re-opens his laptop, and clicks through a few links before he’s pivoting the laptop in a 180 degree motion so Yoongi can see the screen. At once, he’s faced with several articles, all centering around the topic that has been haunting him since the beginning of his concert journey. He gets a flashback to one of the nights you came into his hotel room to discuss scheduling, and how you had mentioned this particular topic showing up more and more.

Yoongi had known it was becoming a problem. He just didn’t think it was something that required urgent discussion. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, your growing popularity means that people are developing a growing interest in your relationship. Since you are labeled specifically as a song-writer who writes songs about growing up, struggles, and love, this only heightens people’s curiosity.” 

Yoongi allows Seokjin to continue talking, as he moves forward in his chair to actually scroll through one of the articles Seokjin has pulled up. It’s entitled: UP AND COMING SINGER SONGWRITER MIN YOONGI IS DEFINITELY IN A RELATIONSHIP, BUT WITH WHO? As he scrolls down, there’s several people that are listed as potential girlfriends to Yoongi’s partnership—some people he does not know at all, some people he has only seen once. 

You’re on the list too, and Yoongi’s eyes widen when he identifies your picture amongst the lot. He zeroes in on the description underneath the simple title: Yoongi’s manager? Although most manager and artist relationships are platonic, we can’t leave this one out! Fans have tracked down Min Yoongi’s current manager as an old assistant from Min Yoongi’s youtube days, so there’s definitely some history between them! 

“This article has been blowing up. You may or may not know, but people making assumptions about your relationship status could be dangerous. Since you write songs about relationships, it leaves a lot of room for error and scandals, especially if news sites decide to publish something or someone else with bad intentions try to claim you wrote a song about them. Or something else of the sort.” 

Yoongi nods slowly at that, not entirely understanding what direction Seokjin is going with his build up. It makes sense though. Leaving Yoongi out in the open like this could be dangerous for his career. “S-So, what ideas do you have to combat that?” 

“I’ve been thinking about this in the recent weeks you’ve been on tour,” Seokjin says quietly, pressing his hands together. “I think that we should push your relationship status into the public—get you a girlfriend to maintain your ‘pure romantic heart’ reputation so it looks like you’re writing love songs solely for your girlfriend.” 

It takes a second for the words to sink in. “Aaaaah,” Yoongi finally says, but his voice sounds far away all of a sudden, the further time seems to creep on. Sure, he’s seen this concept of surface relationships between in film and television—and the idea of it makes some sense. For someone whose best songs were related to moments of being in love, surely most people would suspect that the inspiration for those songs had to come from somewhere. If Yoongi came out to admit his lack of relationship experience, would people approve of that? Or would they think he was lying? 

In that regard then, it makes sense that Seokjin would come up with the idea. But faking a relationship for the sake of faking a relationship has never been something Yoongi thought he would ever have to go through. 

Mainly because first of all—who would play Yoongi’s girlfriend? 

Now, Yoongi isn’t the worst actor in the world. But he can be stiff at times, and if Seokjin wants to push a relationship status into the public eye then Yoongi imagines that this girlfriend would be someone Yoongi felt the most natural around. Someone he wouldn’t mind pretending to be in a relationship with. 

Would Yoongi even get a say in the matter? Or would Yoongi’s approval be the only requirement before Seokjin went off to find a girlfriend for Yoongi himself?

“D-Did you have someone in mind?” Yoongi finds himself asking instead. 

Seokjin hums, tapping his chin with his finger. “Not at the moment. I just wanted to bring it up with you in case you had an idea for someone.” Mindlessly, he reaches to take back the laptop and flip it back towards him. This exposes him to the article Yoongi had been previously scrolling through—one where pictures of you are plastered over the current screen. 

At the sight, Seokjin wavers slightly, staring down your pictures and furrowing his eyebrows. Yoongi looks over, noticing immediately that the laptop (and the pictures of you from that article) is no longer right in front of him but rather in front of Seokjin instead. When he glances over at Seokjin, he finds the older man lost in thought, running the side of his finger across his lip. Back and forth, clearly pondering something. 

“Yes…” Seokjin says after a moment. “That could work, actually.” He looks across the desk at Yoongi. “Good idea, Yoongi. I think originally, I would have said no, but these pictures and this description actually makes a valid point.” 

Yoongi blinks, not really connecting the dots right away. “Uh, sorry, Seokjin, but I’m not really following…” 

Seokjin makes a noise, gesturing to his laptop screen that he has just gotten back from Yoongi. “You were suggesting Y/N as your fake girlfriend, weren’t you? I’m assuming that’s why you stopped on these pictures. My initial thought was that it probably wouldn’t work, but actually considering your history with each other it seems like this could be the most likely case scenario.” 

It takes another second for the information to fully process. You. His fake girlfriend. Seokjin misunderstanding that unintentionally stopping on your pictures meant that Yoongi was trying to convey some sort of message. 

You—playing the role of his fake girlfriend, the ‘supposed’ inspiration for all his music. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ironic. 

It would be funny if you didn’t inspire all of his music—but you do. And Yoongi isn’t laughing.  

He should say something. He knows that it would make sense, as Seokjin is claiming, but it would also potentially inch him towards a can of worms he has been so sure would never see the sunlight. More than that, having you as his fake girlfriend would bring him the closest he has ever been to feeling hopeful. 

He really should say something. 

But for some reason, the words don’t come out. He just lets Seokjin believe his ingenious plan. “Yes, yes!” Seokjin continues after the many moments of silence that lapse between the two of you. “This could work actually. You guys have known each other for years, and older fans of yours from the youtube days would definitely recognize Y/N. That way, the announcement of your relationship wouldn’t seem entirely out of line, especially if we say that you guys have been dating for years. It also makes sense that we could say you becoming Yoongi’s ‘manager’ was always part of a cover up—after all, that’s what they did in that movie That Thing You Do…” 

The more Seokjin drones on and on about his plan, and how exactly he intends to work up to it, the more nervous Yoongi gets. Was Seokjin actually planning on doing this—enlist you as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend and drag you along to participate in this facade? Yoongi is mildly shocked. He should have known Seokjin would follow through on the question, but he had just assumed that today was just the idea phase and that plans to arrange this fake relationship would take weeks. 

But if there’s anything Yoongi knows about Seokjin, it’s that the man knows how to get something done. Quickly, too. In Seokjin’s word, it’s a natural occurrence for a simple idea phase to morph into actual concrete plans within the time span of a day. Yoongi should have planned this out better—but then again, he didn’t think that him accidentally stopping on a picture of you from a fucking drama article would serve as the catalyst for Seokjin’s ideas. 

Yoongi straightens up onto his feet. “Why don’t I talk to Y/N first about this?” He asks. “The idea may seem good on paper, but if she’s uncomfortable then it’s a no go.” 

Seokjin studies Yoongi carefully, before the former relents. “Okay, fair enough. Let me know what happens.” 

As soon as the pair of them exchange the last nods, Yoongi is dashing out of Seokjin’s office with one clear objective in mind: to talk to you. 

Luckily, you aren’t too far away. You’re in your office, typing up something on your laptop and your eyes scanning through what he can only assume are emails. It’s eyes that widen when Yoongi practically storms into your space, shutting the door behind him. 

You straighten up. “Yoongi, you alright? You look like you just ran a marathon.” 

Yoongi doesn’t even realize that his chest is heaving until you point that out. He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t run a marathon though.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, but the corner of your lips turn up in mild curiosity. “Okay. What’s up?” 

Yoongi presses his lips together. Even with the many feet of space between the two of you—he can make out the glimmer in your eyes from the sunlight pouring through the window, he can see the shadow of your eyelashes and the line where your collarbone dips below your blouse. Fuck, he’s in deep. There’s no way he could ask you something so monumental to the downfall of his sanity. But he knows that it’s too late to just walk away. Partly because he’s already in your office and partly because the idea has already been planted into Seokjin’s head. And if Yoongi didn’t speak up, then Seokjin was going to. 

So Yoongi opens his mouth. “I may or may not have gotten you into a situation,” He starts up. 

You snort, of course not taking him seriously. “That might just be the summary of our relationship.” 

“No, I don’t think you understand…” Yoongi pleads, stepping deeper into the office. 

You frown at his behavior, closing your laptop this time to address him completely. “Okay, what’s up, really? You’re kind of scaring me…” 

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not… scary or anything…” He trails off. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Let me be the judge of that.” 

So Yoongi shoves his hands deep into his coat pocket, and slides next to your desk, leaning against the surface as he starts his story. He covers everything: from Seokjin bringing up the drama articles about his relationship status, how he had scrolled through and saw your name, how Seokjin had misinterpreted that as a sign, and worse of all, how Seokjin thought it would be a good idea for you to play as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend. 

To say you’re appalled would be an understatement. You’re staring up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Are you serious?” You ask. “B-But I’m your manager!” You scoff at yourself. “No, more than that—I’m your friend, Yoongi. Seokjin must be on something. He has to be. What did you guys decide on? Please tell me that you said no.” 

“W-Well, there was no agreement or disagreement,” Yoongi argues weakly. “I walked out before Seokjin could make up his mind.” He pauses for a moment, something sinking in. “Wait a minute,” He brings up, a slightly teasing smile across his face. “Do you really find the idea of dating me that gross?” 

You make a noise in the back of your throat at his accusation, and you immediately begin to scramble. “I-I mean,” You start, the flush present in your throat as you start speaking very quickly at once. Both your hands go up in a defensive position. “It’s not that I don’t find you gross… because I don’t! You’re a very attractive person—it’s just that—we’re friends and—stop looking at me like that!” You stand up, slamming your palms onto the table when you realize that he’s just flashing you a shit-eating grin. 

He has half the mind to be mildly disheartened that you are so against the idea of dating him. But then again, he’d probably say no to fake dating you if he was being forced into a situation like this. He’d definitely say no. 

Okay, he’d probably say no. 

“Well, I told Seokjin that if you were uncomfortable with the idea, then it’d be a no go and he seemed to respect the idea.” 

Still standing, you sigh and press your face into the palm of your hand. Your fingers brush through your hair. “Okay, let’s step back for a moment.” You remove your hands from your face. “If I were to say yes, what exactly would that entail?” 

Yoongi manages a weak one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not sure exactly. Seokjin would probably have a better idea of that. I imagine KSJ records would release a statement about our relationship, and we would be scheduled to go to variety shows or press interviews together. We’d probably have to go out to restaurants together too. Hold hands…” The thought of holding your hand dries up his throat a little, but he passes it off well by faking a cough. “That sort of stuff.” 

You glare at him. “And what about your fans? You’re trying to preserve this ‘pure romantic heart’ image, but I’m sure there’s a lot of fans that like to believe the songs could be about them.” 

He shrugs. “That—I’m not too sure about. I imagine Seokjin prefers the idea of my fans believing that my heart only belongs to one person rather than them believing that I’ll just write a love song for anyone.” 

You nod. “That’s valid, I guess.” 

Yoongi stares at you from the smaller space of distance between the two of you. “Again, you don’t have to say yes. Frankly, I think it’s a batshit crazy idea.” 

“It’s not… completely out of line.” After a moment, you sigh. “I can actually understand why Seokjin would get the idea of trying to set you up like this. The news articles will probably get worse. And since your songs market themselves on being personal, people want to know who the songs are about. If Seokjin gave the public a face, then there’d be no room for assumptions and even less room for scandals to come about.” You give him a look. “Sadly, if you were to stay single, there’s only so much I could do as your manager to control that bad press.” 

Yoongi raises both his eyebrows up. “Does that mean you’re saying yes—?” 

“I’m not… saying anything yet.” You plop yourself back down into your seat. “I’m not saying yes. But I’m not saying no either.” You sink further into your seat. “Hopefully Seokjin will change his mind before I have to make up mine?” 

That’s an unlikely case. But Yoongi doesn’t argue with you, and you don’t wait for him to. He simply nods one more time before leaving your office. 

.

You would be lying if you said you never thought about dating Yoongi. Of course you have. You’re sure that you’ve had a crush on the boy within the first week of your introductions. This crush explains so many of your past actions—your support for his Youtube channel, your fulfillment as his manager, and now this pull towards agreeing to become his fake girlfriend. And you hate yourself for the every second you consider it a good idea. 

Because it’s not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. More than that, it’s an unfair idea. Agreeing to fake date someone you actually want to date seems like too cruel a hand to be dealt. Considering your more-often-than-not fragile state, setting yourself up with Yoongi in this way already seems doomed to fail. It would be unfair to Yoongi, because agreeing to this would deprive him of an actual relationship he could be happy in. But it would be more unfair to you, because losing control would mean losing your best friend. 

So you don’t give Yoongi a positive confirmation. But you don’t give him a negative one either. See, you don’t have the heart to just outwardly reject him, because you know that he needs you to help him with this. You know that he understands the situation he’s been put in, and that getting a fake girlfriend seems to be the best case scenario. You know that it wouldn’t make sense with any other girl—it had to be you. Saying no straight to face is something that you don’t have the heart to do. 

Rather than give a yes or no answer, you opt for the second best option: hold off and avoid indulging too deeply. 

It’s a strategy that works for a grand total of one day. 

The following day post Yoongi’s conversation, you show up to work with information that Yoongi is going to start recording songs for his new album. His first full-length album, at that—something he has been working hard for since the beginning. Every second of free time available to him during the tour, during off-days had been dedicated to writing the music necessary to fill the album. You know how hard he’s been working—you’ve watched throughout the duration of his tour, and spoke to him for many nights about the progression of this album. 

You just didn’t think that the recording part would be coming around so soon. 

This is a thought you reflect to Seokjin when you enter the recording studio. Yoongi is already behind the glass, and his voice is amplified in the studio, where they appear to be discussing the arrangement for how a song is going to go. This leaves you vaguely surprised—if Yoongi is in the booth already, it means that there must have been some ground covered on how the arrangement was supposed to go. Just how long has Yoongi been in the studio before you showed up? 

“Ah, good morning,” Seokjin greets from the back of the studio, seated on the couch and his arms resting along the back. “Don’t get mad, but Yoongi worked through the night again.” 

Your lips part into a gape as your eyes widen in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking,” You return. 

Seokjin merely laughs in return. “I wish I was! When I left, he was going at it with Namjoon and when I came back this morning they were still going at it. But, you know, who am I to rain in on a breakthrough moment?” 

You relent your control of the situation slightly (only slightly) at Seokjin’s rhetorical question. Namjoon is one of Seokjin’s top producers and arrangers—very gifted in songwriting and how to make a good song. From the year that you and Yoongi have been a part of KSJ records, Yoongi and Namjoon have gotten along great and their close relationship has been the reason for many late nights. The pair of them were always caught in the drift of making sleepless but record-selling hits. 

Like Seokjin said, who are you to interrupt art in progress? 

Although you have a sudden flurry of desires and objectives (mainly to reprimand Yoongi for being so careless with a slap or a hit where you could put him to sleep yourself), you bite it down long enough to shed your jacket and rest it on the armrest of the couch. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it go this time.” 

Seokjin chuckles at that, removing his gaze from you and sliding it across the studio back into the booth where Yoongi is still in the midst of discussing something with Namjoon. Something about how the arrangement isn’t as smooth or on beat as they had originally intended. “You’re a good manager,” He says at last. “I can tell that you really do care about him and will definitely give him a peace of your mind once he’s done with today’s session. And what’s more…” He laughs. “He’ll actually let you walk all over him. You’d be surprised how often I see managers in it just for the money, where they don’t have their artist’s best interest in mind. You’re definitely not like that.” 

You slide into the vacant seat next to Seokjin. “If I don’t keep an eye on him, I know that no one else will. It’s nothing against other people, but no one else in his life is as involved in his career as I am. But I’m his friend first, and his manager second.” 

The pair of you are quiet for a moment, as you watch Namjoon fiddle with some of the switches on the music panel. They seem to come to an agreement on the newly modified beat, because it starts playing through the speakers in the booth. Yoongi presses his hands against the headphones he’s wearing, and starts to relay the lyrics into the microphone. It starts off slow—Yoongi has his phone in his hands to read the lyrics, to double check the flow and the tempo. After a few lines, he stops. “Ah—let’s reword this line. I do like the change we made to the music, so let’s change the lyrics to match.” His voice is amplified through the studio. 

Namjoon presses a button on the music panel, allowing him to communicate with Yoongi. “Sure. Want to head in and make the changes?” 

Yoongi ponders this for a moment, but shakes his head. “Give me a second. Maybe if I listen to the song again, I can feel what I vibe with.” 

“Sounds good.” Namjoon releases his hold on the button, and turns around in his chair to face you and Seokjin. The sight of you makes his eyes widen, as Namjoon coughs back a choke. “O-Oh, Y/N, you’re here—!” 

His words make you narrow your eyes as you point a finger at him. “YAH! Which one of you was it that contributed to your all-nighter?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Namjoon protests, raising both of his hands up in defense. “We were both in the groove!” 

You lower your finger with a sigh. “You’re lucky that you’re in the middle of helping Yoongi achieve his dreams. Otherwise I’d kick both of your asses.” 

Namjoon seems to realize that you’re not messing around, because he emits a nervous laugh. “I promise we’ll be a little more careful next time…” 

“Oh, Namjoon, I rewrote some of the lines!” Yoongi calls from inside the booth. 

Namjoon whirls around in his chair again to press the button. “Sounds good, let’s do it.” 

As the music starts up again, Seokjin decides to speak up once more. “Yoongi told me that he talked to you about the little fake dating plan I had.” 

The mention of it, as well as your previous internal insistence of not talking or thinking about that, makes you stiffen. “He might have mentioned something like that.” 

When you turn to look at Seokjin, he has an unreadable look glinting in his eyes. “Since you were talking about achieving Yoongi’s dreams and all…” He trails off. “I wanted to apologize for bringing that idea onto you so quickly. I didn’t really consider how you’d feel about the arrangement. I just wanted to try and do what I thought was best for Yoongi.” 

You sigh. “I know why you thought of the idea. And I totally agree with you—I think that if he wants to carry on, this is the least costly next step that should be taken. I just… I don’t know if I’m the best fit for it.” 

Seokjin nods. “I respect your decision. After all, Yoongi told me that if you were uncomfortable with it, then it’d be an immediate no go.” 

The corner of your lips turns up upon hearing Yoongi’s thought process. Even though you’ve already heard the words from the man himself—it’s nice to hear that assurance from his boss. Knowing that Yoongi puts your thoughts and feelings on the forefront of his mind is a nice feeling. A misleading feeling if you let yourself think too deeply into it. But a nice feeling, nonetheless. 

You decide not to comment immediately on Seokjin’s apology; rather, you tune into what exactly Yoongi is singing about in the song. It’s got a softer beat to it—an opening song to the album, perhaps? It’s much more whimsy compared to his hard-hitting personal rants that touch on the frustration of miscommunication, of not saying something when he should have said something. 

Instead, this is a song about distance—about missing someone due to distance and the longing of returning home because of the normality it brought. About how even closeness sometimes isn’t enough to fill the gap of desire in his heart. It takes on a beat you’ve never heard before, and a feeling of missing something that isn’t even tangible for you as a listener. Nevertheless, his words, his raspiness, and the hard lines hidden within the otherwise soft tone of the song work hard to poke at your edges and your weak spots. The parts of you that have always been willing to cave for Yoongi, the part of you that has never hesitated to do what needed to be done if it benefited Yoongi. 

You were his manager, so you always want what’s best for him. But you’re also a friend who has been in love with him for years, so you will do whatever it takes to get him there. 

You hope you don’t regret this.

“Actually,” You admit quietly, but it’s loud enough to perk Seokjin’s attention. “I’ll do it.” 

Seokjin blinks, clearly trying to process your words right off the bat. “You’ll…” He trails off.

You look away. You have a feeling that if Seokjin looks at you for too long, he’ll see your emotions spill out across the entire fucking studio. “Do the fake dating idea.” 

Seokjin fumbles a little. “H-Hold on a second—are you sure? Seriously, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. Since you’re the one least adjusted to being in the spotlight, a lot of this pressure is going to fall onto you. I don’t want you to say yes and then regret it later on… so maybe you should think a little more about this…” 

You steel yourself. It feels a little bit like holding your breath. Finally, you spare Seokjin a look. “I won’t regret it,” You say. “You and I both said that Yoongi needs me to keep going at this pace—I was going to get roped in eventually, so I think it’ll just be easier if I agree now rather than drag this thing around for a couple of months. Besides…” You try to relax a little in your seat, but it’s hard to tell if you’re being convincing or not. “It’s nothing too serious right? You just want us to go out together, hold hands occasionally, speak highly of each other… We already do half of those things but it’ll just be emphasized now. No big deal.” 

Seokjin is wearing that unreadable look in his eyes again, like he knows something that you don’t even know yourself. “You’re right,” He settles with after a long pause. “It’s nothing too serious. You’ll probably have people also digging into your space though, but we’ll make all the necessary arrangements before any sort of announcement.” 

“If that’s the case,” You reply. “Then I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Besides.” You try for a smile. “It’s all just fake anyways, right? As long as the ones who really matter know that, then I don’t really see the harm in it.” 

Seokjin only continues to stare at you, before he relents. You know just as well as he does that your decision is one of an adult, and that if you really had a problem with something you would vote your opinion without hesitation. No matter if he can somehow read the thoughts in your head. 

At last, he nods. “We might need you to sign another NDA but…” He extends an arm out towards you. “Welcome abroad, Min Yoongi’s girlfriend.” 

You laugh a little, hollow but still present, as you reach over to take his head. “We’ll start having problems if that nickname becomes a regular thing.” 

Seokjin laughs a little louder, a complete opposite of his more quiet and observant side displayed just a few seconds ago. “Don’t worry—just for formalities. HEY, Namjoon, let me talk to Yoongi for a second.” He practically throws himself off of the couch and towards the music panel where Namjoon and Yoongi are still mid-discussion about another aspect of music you do not understand. Namjoon relents, pushing himself and his chair off to the side as Seokjin comes up to press the button on the panel that allows for discussion between the booth and the studio. “Hey, Min Yoongi, there’s been some discussions behind the scenes. Say hello to your new girlfriend!” 

There’s a brief silence in the studio, and Yoongi’s eyes immediately bug out of his head like this is the last thing he expected to hear on this very casual Wednesday morning. Knowing the agenda for the day, it probably has been. “What?” Yoongi says after a long moment, his voice amplified by the speakers in the studio. 

Seokjin turns towards you, jerking his head at the booth, and you get up with a sigh. You approach the music panel where Seokjin and Namjoon are currently situated—and aren’t sure how to feel when you see the way Yoongi’s eyes widen at the sight of you through the window. 

Still, you cannot help your own weak smile as you lean in towards the microphone. “Hi honey,” You say. 

Yoongi continues to stare at you, before his lips part and his face takes on a very unusual shade of red. “HUH?” 

. 

. 

CHAPTER  3: THE ANNOUNCEMENT 

. 

KSJ records releases a statement within the next following days, and it gains momentum like nothing you’ve ever seen before. 

HELLO, WE ARE KSJ RECORDS. 

Recently, we acknowledge that many fans have developed a curiosity about the relationship status of our newest artist Min Yoongi. The release of his latest EP and the undertaking of his concert has left many questions regarding who he writes his songs for—and many of the different assumptions made by people around the world could leave very dangerous and lasting impressions on people that our artist sees as platonic. We want to respond properly and say the truth. 

Min Yoongi has been in a relationship with his current manager, Y/N, for the past three years. When Min Yoongi was first signed to KSJ Records, they were already in a relationship and Y/N was assigned the task as Yoongi’s manager given her experience working alongside him during his Youtube career. They have good feelings about each other, and have agreed to make this information public to avoid future misunderstandings. KSJ Records and Yoongi hope that you all will support their relationship as they continue to navigate through Yoongi’s growing career together. 

You cannot help but laugh a little at the statement, which is flying so close to the truth that it might as well have been your reality. And in a way, it is. You’ve already prepared, molded your online presence just barely to meet these new expectations to the new facade you have to put up. 

And it’s not like the announcement actually changes anything in your daily life. In the days leading up to the post, you had decided to delete your Twitter account (you weren’t making much use of that platform anyways—what, with all the thirst accounts for Yoongi that you were stumbling upon due to internet cookies and the algorithm), and archive a fair number of your Instagram photos on an account that was already set to private. For someone who didn’t live and breathe social media, it wasn’t too hard to rid of that element in your life. 

One thing you hadn’t really accounted for, however, were the news stories that wrote about you in the hours following the press release. Several of them were base-level lists about your childhood and how your relationship with Yoongi could have festered—most of which were correct given that older fans of Yoongi knew what university he attended and how you were also a student there. But that information is generally public, and it’s not like you attend the university anymore.

Other than that, there are a few comments on your looks, a few assumptions on your personality. But surprising, there’s nothing too severe. At least, from the surface-level information you can collect from just doing a basic google search. Social media would probably be a more difficult battle, one that you would need nerves of steel and a hardened heart in order to navigate, but like mentioned: professionally managing your own personal social media isn’t exactly your forte. 

Over the next week, you follow Seokjin’s advice to lay low and let the news of your relationship with Yoongi continue to spread through the ranks. You spend that time in your apartment, answering a few messages from friends and family but doing what you could to keep the information as limited as possible. You assume that too many people knowing, regardless of how close or trustworthy they were, sort of went against the NDA you had to sign. And you’re not sure how your friends would react if they found out you were only dating Yoongi for a cover-up. Especially since some of them actually are fully aware of your feelings for him. 

Regardless, you carry on. Yoongi sends you some screenshots he takes of supportive messages from his fans wishing the both of you the best in your relationship, and he also sends you some memes about your relationship that make you laugh. His fans have a good sense of humor, what could you say. 

However, a week is the most you allow yourself to hide away within the comfort (and boring nature) of your apartment before you’re already texting Seokjin with news that you were showing up to the studio. 

Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t question this. He calls you. “I was just about to ask if you were going to come over anyways!” He says in a rather upbeat nature. “So it’s good to hear that we’re both on the same page.” 

So you step out of your apartment, dressed up in your usual work uniform and feeling much more put-together than you had been for the week you were ordered to remain quiet and lowkey. There’s something exciting about stepping out after being unable to do so for an extended period of time—and it shows in the little bounce that occurs with every step that you take down the sidewalk. Since you usually take the subway to work, you decide to dawn a bucket hat with a face mask tucked over your nose and mouth to blend in just enough but not so much so that your strange fashion choices could draw attention. 

It doesn’t, and you enjoy the rocking of the subway racing down the tracks as you peer out of the window quietly. KSJ Records is just a few stops away from your apartment, so you waste no time standing out and stepping out as soon as the doors of the subway open at the right stop. You bound up the stairs, through the familiar pathways you’ve always taken to get to work, and after a few blocks, you arrive at the building of KSJ Records. 

As you shoulder open the door, you greet the secretary behind the table, who smiles back at you. “Oh, good morning!” She greets cheerfully. “Seokjin is waiting for you in his office. I believe Yoongi is already with him.” 

You nod. “Sounds good, thank you so much!” You bound deeper in, navigating through the different hallways until you arrive at Seokjin’s office. True to the word from the front desk, Yoongi is already there. He looks surprisingly meek for someone who has been trending on Twitter for a few days, but you suppose that he’s still trying to adjust to the fact that Seokjin’s plan is already in motion. After all, he didn’t even get the final say before Seokjin started taking the situation into his own hands. The last he had heard of it was your apparent agreement before Seokjin drew up a company statement for him to approve. 

A part of you feels guilty—but Yoongi had been the one to ask you first! Perhaps he’s still in that normal state of uncertainty. After all, you feel like that as well. 

“Good morning guys,” You greet as soon as you register who exactly is in Seokjin’s office. You close the door behind you as both boys turn to acknowledge you. 

Seokjin grins. “Hi, thanks for coming in.” 

You wave him off. “You gave me the week off. I was starting to get a little restless.” You take a seat in the other vacant chair, in front of Seokjin and besides Yoongi. “What’s up, Yoongi?” 

Yoongi is already looking at you when you turn to greet him, but as soon as you ask your question, the corner of his lips quirk up into a vaguely uneasy and nervous smile. “H-Hi honey.” 

You freeze at that, immediately furrowing your eyebrows as you produce your own nervous smile. “Hi?” You return. “What the fuck are you on?” 

Seokjin interrupts before Yoongi can get an answer in. “Stop, stop, you’re way too stiff, Yoongi!” 

“Well, I’m trying!” Yoongi spits, before looking back at you with an utterance of your name. “Sorry, Seokjin wanted me to try treating you the same way I would treat a girlfriend. Apparently I didn’t do too hot.” 

“Not apparently, you just didn’t do hot at all,” Seokjin retorts back, flashing you an apologetic smile. “We were trying out a few moves easier to see how well you guys can adjust from having your normal manager slash artist relationship to displaying a long term, healthy and happy romantic relationship. It’s one thing to say that you guys are dating, but you guys do need to have something of an act ready.” 

You fold your fingers over each other, your mind on a dissociation for the briefest of seconds as the realization sinks its teeth just a little deeper. Holding hands and saying cute shit to each other had been easy to talk about in passing dialogue to Seokjin—but actually having to do it is a hurdle you hadn’t considered to the fullest. 

“I mean…” You speak up after a moment. “What if we’re just one of those couples that aren’t handsey with each other? Or don’t need that lovey dovey look in each other’s eyes to prove that we’re in a relationship?” 

Seokjin ponders this for a second. “True. But if we’re starting this, there needs to be a full level commitment on the act. If people start questioning the legitimacy of your relationship, that would be an even worse scandal than just letting people make assumptions about Yoongi’s relationship status in general! We definitely, at least, need to develop a basic level of your relationship, and then you guys can work around your own varying levels of comfort. This is something that we need to get rolling as soon as possible, because you.” He points at Yoongi. “Are booked in the next few days to do some radio interviews. And you.” He points at you. “Are going to go with him, as his girlfriend.” 

Even though you had known the label was coming, you can’t stop from feeling hot all over at how you were now technically Yoongi’s girlfriend. 

“So,” Seokjin continues. “How about I give you a base level of what I’m looking for. And we can do a few practice runs to make sure you guys are comfortable enough with these expectations?” 

Yoongi nods, leaving you little option but to do the same. But the thought from the recording booth bubbles up again: you hope you won’t regret this. 

. 

A few days later and you don’t think you’ll regret the outcome of this situation. But you’ll definitely get a little sick on the way. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” You say in the car. You’re sitting in the back, next to Yoongi, staring straight ahead at the passenger seat before you. “And stay all in one piece,” You add as an afterthought. 

Yoongi glances over at you, looking nervous enough to admit a pout. “At least you don’t have to say anything—I’m the one doing all the talking…” 

You huff out a breath. This is true. You’re just here to play the supportive girlfriend, the agreeable partner who’ll publicly accompany Yoongi to a public event since a public announcement. Seokjin says that doing this with the lense of a romantic relationship makes you seem friendly, open, and supportive of the relationship. You’re not too sure how public perception is shaped, but you understand where Seokjin is coming from. Tagging along to an event as a girlfriend instead of a manager makes you and Yoongi seem free. Like you have nothing to hide. 

Only in reality, it’s the complete opposite. With everything coming out to the surface, you have everything to hide. 

It only takes a few more minutes of driving before you arrive at the radio station. The instructions for today’s assignment have been easy: get out of the car, and walk the many steps needed to reach the entrance of the station. The empty step ahead is surrounded by paparazzi and fans, all screaming and shouting—trying to get their fill of Yoongi. 

You sigh. You could do this. You and Yoongi have been practicing for the past few days. Albeit, ‘practicing’ just mainly consisted of the pair of you walking down a hallway close together. It was more lackluster than anything else, and you don’t think it was entirely productive use of time. Seokjin seemed to think that the pair of you needed to work on a closer level of proximity. But you know the truth about your feelings, and know that the complications will come from just being too close to him. 

Yoongi unbuckles his seatbelt and is already moving to tug at the handle that’ll open his side of the car door, immediately exposing him to the walkway along with the flashing cameras and loud screams. Before he can pull all the way, however, he stops short. You’re about to ask what the problem is, before he angles towards you and flashes you that grin he has when he’s thinking of ideas you wouldn’t approve of. “I have an idea,” He breathes out, quickly reaching over to grab your hand. 

You stiffen at the contact, trying to ignore the flash of your heart speeding up in your chest. You and Yoongi hadn’t agreed on this—if you had, maybe you would have been a little more prepared for the situation! Oh god. 

On instinct, you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” You hiss. 

Yoongi gives you a dry look, reaching over to grab your hand again. “Calm down,” He argues back, lacing your fingers together for extra measure, like that’s gonna be the thing to help you calm the fuck down. “This’ll help sell it, okay? Just trust me.” 

Leaving little room for arguments, he squeezes your hand briefly before loosening it enough. He pulls the car door handle, pushing it outwards, and stepping out into the wild. People notice his appearance immediately, because the screams grow louder as Yoongi uses his unoccupied hand to wave and bow towards those who have come out to see him. 

You trail behind rather helplessly; the hand connected to Yoongi pulling you out of the car. Yoongi stays near the door, staring down at you with a rather watchful gaze that only leaves you feeling hotter than before. Still, you don’t speak of it as Yoongi steps back just enough for you to step out of the car. “You okay?” He asks. 

You nod, readjusting yourself with one hand before Yoongi starts to pull you alongside him to walk the distance towards the radio station entrance. Although you want to engage slightly with the crowd, your nerves keep you mainly at bay, forcing you to angle your head downwards just enough to avoid any serious eye contact. Yoongi keeps his gaze ahead, walking a rather brisk pace towards the radio studio—where security leads the way in opening the door for the pair of you. Whether he’s walking fast because he doesn’t want to keep up the charade of holding your hand for so long… or because he can feel how sweaty your palm is getting. You don’t know. 

It’s only a few more steps before you and Yoongi are entering the building for the radio show, where Jungkook is lingering near the entrance. He’s on his phone, probably having just made a call with Seokjin about your arrival, before he spots the two of you entering. “Hey guys, how was it?” 

Yoongi nods. “A little loud, but I think it went alright.” 

Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to your intertwined hands. “Wow, you guys are committed,” He comments. 

You seem to remember that your soul has returned to the body that is still currently holding hands with Min Yoongi. Alarmingly, you take your hand back. “Y-Yeah, Yoongi thought it would be a good show for the people outside! No biggie—just a simple hand holding technique, people do that all the time!” You realize that you’re rambling. 

Yoongi, oblivious as always, raises an eyebrow. “You okay?” 

“Y-Yeah,” You manage. “Why do you ask?” 

Yoongi is about to answer, before an intern shyly approaches the three of you with an iPad in hand. 

“Are you all under Mr. Min’s team?” She asks, fishing out some badges when you nod in confirmation. “Okay, so make sure to take these so everyone knows who you are. Mr. Min? I can lead you to the studio you’ll be interviewing in, if you’ll follow me—did you need me to grab a soda for you?” She begins listing a series of questions about his well-being, leaving you and Jungkook behind in the hallway with your newly acquired badges in hand.

Jungkook, observant as always, gives you a look. “What was that all about?” 

“Huh? I-It was nothing…” You trail off looping the badge around your neck, meeting Jungkook’s eyes and realizing that he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. The same kind of grin that Taehyung gives you when you’re standing too close to Yoongi. Your eyes flare. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”  

Jungkook laughs. “Calm down, calm down, Taehyung and I gossip a lot on the side—hey, what the fuck, don’t hit me—we’re in a public place!” 

You relent your aggression, but only slightly. You lower your arms as well. “Just—don’t tell Yoongi.” 

Jungkook levels with you a dry look. “Do you think I have a death wish? C’mon, let’s head over.” 

With a hesitant sigh, you relent and let Jungkook lead you down the halls of this studio, until the pair of you find a door with Yoongi’s name written on the white board. There’s a darkened LIVE light panel above the frame, indicating that Yoongi’s radio interview hasn’t started yet. There’s some people lingering about, who nod and open the door for you when you present your TALENT badge at them. The inside of a radio booth is similar to the recording booths Yoongi has found a home in as of late. There’s people in this current room, headphones on and monitoring what’s happening before them while being surrounded with sound panels and laptop screens. On the other side of the glass is Yoongi, and the main hosts of the radio station, Jung Hoseok and Im Nayeon. 

From your side, you can hear their conversation amplified through speakers in the studio. They’re all currently joking around about external matters—it makes sense too. Yoongi has been on this particular radio show a handful of times. 

“Okay, okay, you guys,” Hoseok speaks after a few more minutes of playful banter. “Today, we have a very special guest with us today. He’s fresh off the tour of his first and most recent EP, we have Min Yoongi in the studio! Yay!” He claps. Nayeon follows suit. 

Yoongi stops his clapping sooner to speak into the microphone in front of him. “Thanks for having me back.” 

“Thank you for deciding to hang out with us for the afternoon,” Nayeon says. “Especially since you’re a big hot shot now.” 

Yoongi laughs. “I wouldn’t say that… I just finished my first tour, Nayeon, no big deal.” 

“‘No big deal’,” Nayeon quotes him. “As if your EP didn’t chart into a top 50 list or anything like that.” 

The conversation trails like this for a little bit. Yoongi is scheduled to spend thirty minutes doing a segment, which is meant to be uploaded onto Youtube later, so it gives the three of them a lot of legroom to play around and play off of each other. The purpose of the interview is to discuss the tour, the progress of the album, and (if anyone dared venture there) the status of his relationship—! 

“Well, moving on from the album—which I’m sure is going to be a huge success, by the way,” Nayeon continues on, bringing you back from the daydream that you’ve slipped into. “Seriously, it’s a very highly anticipated release.” 

Yoongi manages a nervous smile. “I’ll make sure not to let anyone down.” 

Nayeon nods. “I think it’s a good time to ask about a recent development that has occurred with you as of late.” 

“And, that is the announcement of your relationship,” Nayeon carries on. She glances at Yoongi from across the table. “We’re allowed to ask you questions about it, right?” 

Yoongi nods, choosing his words very carefully. “I’m all ears for your questions, Nayeon.” 

Nayeon brightens at that. “I just think that a lot of people want to know: how are you guys doing since the announcement?” 

He takes in a breath. To the general public, it’ll probably look as if he’s steeling himself to finally come clean about a relationship he’s been hiding for three years. But to you, you know it’s because he’s just trying to figure out what exactly to say. 

“We’ve been doing well,” He says with a nod of assurance. “It was a little stressful at first, and it still is because of how recent the news is, but I am glad we decided to make this call. Y/N has been with me since the beginning and has supported me and has been the inspiration for a lot of my music—and I’m at a point in my life where I want my fans to know that rather than drag them along and just make them assume these parts of my life.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Nayeon gushes. “So Y/N wasn’t always just your manager, even back in your Youtube days?” 

Yoongi shakes his head. “Actually, she was my girlfriend before I decided to upload song covers.” 

Nayeon swoons a little. “Can you tell us the story of how we met? You can be brief, of course.” 

Yoongi laughs. “We shared a class together in college, and she was probably the funniest person I had ever met—of course, we were friends for about a year before we started dating. But Y/N was always very supportive about me pursuing music, even when it was just a hobby. When I did start my Youtube channel, she stayed up to help with editing and just letting me know how some lyrics I had written would sound. She was a business major in college, so it felt right to let her have the reins on scheduling my appearances—and now she’s my manager. Besides just being my girlfriend, we work together really well.” 

You huff out a breath, something you hadn’t even realized that you were holding. You didn’t think Yoongi lying straight through his teeth could cause you so much anxiety. As if there are people around this radio station to fact check everything leaving Yoongi’s mouth. 

Nayeon hesitates for a moment. “Alright, I want to ask one more question.” 

Yoongi gestures for her to continue. 

“You write a lot about being in love and all these little moments of stability and that feeling of contentment—but what is your experience with love? How did you know that you were in love?” 

Your lips part in shock at the question, having not expected it. After all, Seokjin didn’t quiz Yoongi on this answer. And to talk about love in such a personal manner—would Yoongi even have an answer for everyone? 

Your gaze is trained on Yoongi, watching them through the glass separating you from him. It seems as if the entire room is silenced in anticipation. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze hot on your back, clearly trying to gauge your response—but you try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“It’s actually funny,” Yoongi speaks up after a moment. Your heart lurches, thinking that he’s going to divert from the question. But you should know him better. “I always thought love, when it came to romance, was supposed to be this big explosion of fireworks and what not—like in the movies. You see someone and there’s this feeling in your gut right away, you know, this whole concept of love at first sight. I used to think that was how I was going to fall in love. It was going to be dramatic, but everything I wanted right away, and I was going to be whisked off and everything would be sunshine and rainbows. I thought that I’d meet someone, and they’d be everything I wanted them to be right off the bat, and that I’d know right away they’d be the one. 

But the truth is, through my relationship, I realized that it’s not like that. I didn’t know Y/N would be the one right away. It took a long time—because we liked each other, but that’s not the big explosion of fireworks I was promised. We liked each other, but it was never love at first sight. And truthfully, she wasn’t even everything I wanted right off the bat. I’ve realized that love is more about these adjustments you as people have to make to fit, and it happened so subtly with me that then I didn’t realize it was happening until I just woke up one day and knew. 

I knew because one morning, I woke up in a fit—I had fallen asleep at my desk again trying to get through some of the music arrangement of this one video I was working on, or something like that. I was always working on music and editing—so I actually don’t remember. Anyways, I woke up and my head was resting on a pillow, and there was a blanket over my shoulder, which I didn’t remember fixing up the night before. I got out of the little makeshift studio I had in my apartment, and there was breakfast food from this cafe I really like around the corner at my table. It was a little cold, but Y/N had taped a little note on the bag with heating instructions and what not, just telling me to do my best—really nice and supportive things. I had assumed that she had gone back home, because she knew I was pulling another all-nighter for work. That’s what I thought, until I look into the living room and find her sleeping on my couch. More than that, her hands were still on her laptop, where she had been in the process of still editing one of my videos. She still had her headphones on and everything. We had been dating for a little less than a year at that point, so it wasn’t like this was a rare thing. It was a pretty normal thing for her to do—wrap me up in blankets and buy me breakfast food the following morning, even falling asleep on the couch was a weekly occurrence. But I just saw her sleeping on my couch and I felt this wave of warmth and contentment. Like I always knew that she’d be on my team. I think that was the moment I really knew what love was.” 

It’s a long story, one that ends with a stunned silence—like no one had expected him to give out such a detailed answer and make it sound poetic at the same time. That’s the songwriter Min Yoongi for you, you supposed. 

Quickly, both the studio and the booth give out a chorus of aw’s and ooh’s, gushing amongst one another over the charming nature of Yoongi’s story. But you are still trapped into submission, staring straight through the glass with millions of questions still going through your mind. The spike in your heart rate also points to the rush of adrenaline flowing through you. Because you know this story that he is telling. He’s not lying through his teeth. You remember this night. Or, one of the nights, at least. Like Yoongi had said, you giving out blankets and food like air was second nature in your friendship. So was you falling asleep on the couch. 

Did those situations hold as much weight for him as they did for you? Or, was he just making up his feelings? After all, the key to lying was skirting as close to the truth as possible. That kind of situation may work for Yoongi, as the liar, but it wasn’t as comforting for you. 

You watch the way Yoongi laughs at the gushing Nayeon does, the way he smiles brightly and continues to reinforce how important you are—and you recognize his facade better than anyone else. Of course he’s lying, and you reach their realization with a bit of downfall in your stomach. There’s no way he would be telling the truth, especially considering the situation the pair of you are now in where Yoongi’s career is dependent on his ability to tell a proper lie. 

You allow yourself to sink a little deeper into the studio, near the back where the producers of the radio station can discuss amongst each other. This puts you with Jungkook, who has been watching the situation closely the entire time. 

“Yoongi can be quite the actor,” Jungkook mumbles. He has this unreadable expression in his eyes, but you know that Jungkook knows that situation Yoongi is describing. It had been Jungkook’s apartment as well. He glances at you, but says nothing. 

You continue to stare ahead. That pensive silence continues as Yoongi is released from the radio interview, and thanks Nayeon and Hoseok eagerly for their time and energy. Nayeon returns the gesture, waving to you through the glass when Yoongi points you out. You weakly return the action. 

It isn’t until you get into the car, where the pair of you are safe from the wandering eyes and careful ears of the entire world, that one of you elects to speak up. “So, what did you think?” Yoongi asks. 

By this point, you’ve recovered swiftly from your disappointment. You smile like it’s your only shield. “As your manager, I’m glad that you were able to make love so poetic—just on brand for you. As your fake girlfriend, I also really have to congratulate you for your storytelling. I even remember those nights too, so it was definitely a good memory to lie about.” 

Yoongi flushes a little at your comment, looking pleased with himself for a moment. You smile at his expression, before turning to train your gaze out of the window. The gesture makes you miss the way the smile slips off his face, the way he glances over at you. A good memory to lie about—right. 

.

Yoongi’s radio interview goes viral, and so does any hope you have in trying to forget the tale he had spun during it. Granted, you are happy that people bought his story. You just wish that it wouldn’t have muddled up all your thoughts and feelings along the way. 

Naturally, Seokjin is excited about the good press and the fact that the pair of you completed your first assignment well enough. At least, that’s the display he’s presenting when you walk into his office two days after the radio interview. Yesterday was spent looking over social media to see the public’s reaction to Yoongi’s speech about love, and if you as his manager would need to do any damage control. Luckily, you do not. As his manager, it leaves you in good spirits. 

But as someone who actually has a crush on Yoongi, it’s less so. 

That dejection only furthers itself when you see how excited Seokjin looks, like he’s already plotting the next steps to his little project. 

“Ah, Y/N!” Seokjin greets carefully. “Hi, hi, congratulations on your first successful outing with Yoongi! Per the reports I’ve been seeing over social media, you guys did a very good job.” 

You sigh, placing four coffee orders onto the table and sliding into the seat in front of Seokjin’s desk. “I didn’t really do that much,” You admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Yoongi did all the talking. I just waved at Nayeon through the glass window.” 

“Aaahh,” Seokjin hums, opening up his laptop and turning it around in order for you to see what is on his screen. “Seems like you did a little more than that.” 

Your gaze flints down to the big, bold words across the screen: THE INSIDER REPORT ON MIN YOONGI’S RADIO INTERVIEW: Employees at the K-IM Radio Station detail their experience meeting Yoongi and his girlfriend following the announcement of their relationship. 

That piques your interest, and you scoot forward in your chair slightly in order to reach out and see what Seokjin is talking about. It’s not a very lengthy article—there is a summary detailing Yoongi’s interview, of course referencing his grand speech about love—but that’s not what takes up the most space. 

Your eyes continue to skim over, almost not even believing what you were reading. The intern that first greeted you and Yoongi is in here, talking about how the pair of you were holding hands “in such a loving way, and the way they looked at each other before I led him to the radio booth was so romantic!” (The intern’s words, not yours). There’s even some excerpts from the employees and producers inside the radio booth, the same room you had spent the interview in. Surprisingly, a lot of the accounts are not talking about what Yoongi said. It’s all about how you looked when Yoongi was telling his story. 

“It was such a powerful speech, I couldn’t help but look over to Y/N to see her reaction, and she was staring back at Yoongi in such a way that I knew immediately that the genuine nature of their love was a two-way street.” 

“... a definite softness in her gaze, like she was reliving that memory with him.” 

And so on, and so on. 

Your face feels a little warmer when your eyes as you push the laptop away, glancing up to see Seokjin’s staring at you. “See? You did good. The small gestures you do can go a long way—especially when you don’t notice you’re doing them.” 

You close the laptop, as if that can physically distance yourself from the assurances of those who had been around you. “Right…” You manage weakly. 

“Well,” Seokjin hums, already moving onto the next point of the conversation. If he senses something fishy in your response, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anyways, Yoongi is in the studio right now with Namjoon, so I just want a little update report on your relationship with Yoongi. As in, how is it going between the two of you?” 

You ponder this for a moment, thinking about how he took your hand in the car, how he recounted such a personal story to explain the details of his love, the look he gave you when you congratulated his storytelling abilities—like he knew something that you did not. 

At the same time, it was such a minor appearance that you didn’t get much of a feel about the romantic aspect of this fake relationship. This is why you sigh. “I’m not too sure. We had such a minor acting role together that it’s hard to say. I will say that right now it feels pretty much the same.” 

“Alright, fair enough,” Seokjin approves with a nod. “So you don’t have a problem if I want to plan some informal hang-outs for you and Yoongi? Just as a way to keep your guys in the public eye enough times that fans don’t start doubting your relationship.” 

You smile weakly. “Of course. That’s what I signed the NDA for.” 

Seokjin laughs, finally waving you off. “Okay, sure. I’ll look into where I think your relationship will make the biggest impact and will update you and Yoongi when I’ve made my decisions.” Finally, he looks over the multiple cups of coffee you had brought over on your cardboard tray, and fishes out the one with his name on it. “This one for me?” 

You lean over, flickering your gaze from the cup to his face. “Well, at the very least, I know you can read now.” 

His relaxed expression morphs into a playful scowl. “Get out of here brat.” 

Your laughter echoes through his office as you take your cardboard tray of three coffee cups and reemerge back into the hallway of the record studio. You walk the familiar path until you reach the door to the recording room—pulling open the door and letting yourself in. Inside the booth, Yoongi is rapping away into his microphone, as his low voice fills the tiny space of this studio. You place the tray down onto one of the tables, picking up your own before sliding over to take a seat on the couch. 

As you continue listening to Yoongi wistfully hum about a desire to cross an emotional distance, about how he tells the truth because “it’s you, it’s always been you”—you cannot help your mind wandering into what Seokjin has in store for you over the course of the next few months. 

.

. 

CHAPTER 4: TURNING POINT 

. 

Yoongi’s first full length album is set to release in two months. 

At least, that’s what KSJ records claims after uploading a quarterly report of Yoongi’s schedule. At first, you don’t think it’s a big deal for Yoongi’s label to post a tentative update about his music progress, but his fans are extremely observant and catch on immediately. It’s good to draw up the hype, you suppose. 

Anyways, at the rate that Yoongi is working on the songs for the album, you won’t be surprised if he manages to follow the schedule down to a T. The boy lives and breathes music, and last time you checked the album would consist partly of songs from his EP and new songs—meaning that it cuts down Yoongi’s usual workload into half. Not that he minds, at any rate. 

“Okay, Min Yoongi,” Seokjin starts up, standing at the head of the meeting room which only consists of three people. Normally, with meetings with the head of KSJ records himself, there’s a lot more people around to discuss schedule, promotions, and the likes. The fact that it’s just you and Yoongi tells you exactly what you’re doing here. “It’s been a few weeks since your radio interview, and I know that you’re doing well in your progress of the album—but I think it’ll do you well to take a break.” 

Yoongi huffs. “It’s nice that you’re reminding me about this, but I’ll rest when the album is released.” 

Seokjin snorts. “When did I say rest? I just meant take a break from your album work. Plus you need to get some vitamin C, or whatever shit you get from the sun.”  

“It’s vitamin D,” You interject gently. 

“Pish posh,” Seokjin waves away your interruption. “Anyways, like I was saying, there is a way for us to kill two birds with one stone. So that you.” He points to Yoongi. “Can get out of the studio for a few hours and you.” He points to you. “Can play into a relationship that’ll help us kill two birds with one stone.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “What exactly are you proposing?” 

“Well,” Seokjin continues, leaning over his side of the table to get a few good at his laptop, where it appears that he has a few notes written down regarding the direction of this meeting. “In order to continue generating curiosity about Yoongi’s upcoming album and maintain the public’s constant queries about your relationship, I want you two to go on public outings. I have a few specific places I think would be good cornerstones to touch on, but I’m also willing to let the two of you figure out where you want to spend your time.” He glances up at the two of you. “That should be okay, right?” 

You and Yoongi glance at each other. Come to think of it, the pair of you haven’t talked about nor reviewed the events at the radio station since it happened and the underlying questions you still have about his side of the story feels vaguely like a weight hanging over you both. But Yoongi smiles at you, and you think that you can continue to do what you’ve done for years: hide away your feelings. 

“Yeah, that should be fine,” You speak up first, smiling back at Yoongi. You turn to Seokjin. “What did you have in mind?” 

The question is how you find yourself in a car with Yoongi a few days later, your hands in your lap and your mind spinning with nerves. The radio interview had been one case, but a limited one at that—your role had been very minor and your interaction with Yoongi had only been seconds long. They had definitely been a lot smaller than this new role that Seokjin has assigned to you. 

For today, Seokjin has directed the pair of you to the streets of Yoongi’s old stomping ground—the same shopping district with the same corner Yoongi spent all his nights performing in from a time period that seems so long enough. Not long enough, apparently, as Seokjin thinks it would be a nice nod to be ‘accidentally’ discovered walking along a place that holds so much memory. 

“I just want you guys to walk around—be happy, but be close,” Seokjin had noted just a few hours prior to you and Yoongi’s departure. “Just look like the pair of you are on a date. Hold hands, smile at each other, all that jazz. Nothing too serious.” 

Too bad it actually was kind of serious for you. 

You and Yoongi make minor conversation, making some jokes here and there that do well in helping to ease your nerves. You don’t think Yoongi would take notice, but he can be strangely observant. Perhaps the way you keep bouncing one of your legs helps let him know that something is up. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

You stop bouncing your leg. “It kind of feels like I’m about to perform, or something—it’s that same kind of rush.” 

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, before he looks out his side of the window. “Well, technically speaking, you are about to perform. You know, with this whole relationship being an act and all.” 

“Very true,” You say, nodding your head. “Do we need a game plan?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “I thought that we’d just wing it. We held hands back at the radio station so, uh, I’m assuming that you’re still comfortable with doing that?” 

“O-Oh yeah, of course!” 

“Then, we can do that. And walk around. Improvise while we do so—just see how the day goes.” 

You nod. “Okay, true, true. That sounds good.” You can’t help but give him a sneaky smile. “Look at you, Min Yoongi, you’ve become quite the performer. Improvisation used to be something you were never too good at.” 

Yoongi flushes a little, smiling back at you. “Give me a little credit. You gotta have backups for your backups, especially in situations when your sound gives up on you in the middle of one of your sets.” 

You laugh, because this reminds you about one of Yoongi’s first live sets along the very street the pair of you will be approaching shortly. His speakers had just given up, forcing Yoongi to go entirely acapella. In a way, that mistake ended up garnering him more fans who grew to respect his craft and talent for music and singing. But as they say, hindsight is 20 20. 

You and Yoongi continue to laugh about that memory for a few minutes before Taehyung arrives along the outskirts of the shopping district, pulling up along the curb. The car is on the other side of this bustling area, just a few feet away from the pedestrian walkway that is littering with people going to and fro. 

Taehyung turns around in his seat to give the pair of you a look. “Now kids, I want you to call me whenever you’re ready to get picked up.” He’s grinning around the words though 

You glare at him. “Sure thing dad,” You bite back, already opening the car door to take your leave. Your feet land onto the concrete of the sidewalk as you pull yourself into a standing position. Yoongi joins you shortly after, standing close to you. “Bye,” You say, slamming the door into Taehyung’s face before he can get in one last snarky reply. 

Yoongi looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh for Taehyung’s benefit. But it’s an act he can only hold together for so long, because he does start to laugh as soon as Taehyung and the company car turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

After a second, Yoongi turns to you and gestures towards the pedestrian walkway just a few feet ahead. “Shall we?” 

You nod, taking the hand that he extends out to you. Just an act, you tell yourself, you allow him to lace your fingers together. Nevermind the fact that the weight on your hand feels entirely too reassuring and comforting for the current context. 

Ignoring that feeling, you squeeze his hand and let him lead you towards the walkway, where you cross the street with no problem. Since Yoongi nor Seokjin had announced Yoongi’s presence at this plaza for the day, you can only hope that too much attention won’t be drawn to you. 

It’s a thought that you are able to entertain for a few minutes. Yoongi may not have the star quality status of mainstream celebrities (yet), but he’s still someone who has been on the radio, has done a country-wide tour, and has a youtube following of a couple million people (four now, the last time you checked—subscriber counts tend to zip by after a person hits a million). That small list of accomplishments is more than enough to drag in a few wandering eyes. Okay, maybe a little more than a few. 

You think that you’ve kind of developed a seventh sense to knowing when Yoongi was being recognized. It’s shown in the double-glances some people start shooting at him, at quick whispers behind closed hands, and craning necks over shoulders. 

You’re okay with people knowing about Yoongi’s current location, but the memory of his tours and even the crowd problem that came up during his street performances flashback in your mind. You don’t think you want to deal with that situation right now—secretly preferring if people just observed from a distance. 

Without thinking twice, you tighten your hold on Yoongi’s hand long enough to lead him into one of the stores along the sidewalk—an accessories booth with fake glasses, rings, earrings, the likes. 

Yoongi watches you, a touch of amusement in his eyes like he knows what you’re thinking. Still, he asks. “What are you doing?” 

You rummage through the wide selection of glasses, fully aware that one or two people have spotted the pair of you and are lingering near the entrance to catch a glance at what you two are doing. From the looks of it, no one is going to stir up a commotion. You still want to make sure. 

“You stand out,” You explain vaguely, finding a pair of circle glasses in black-rims from the pile before turning around and more or less smashing the glasses against his face. It’s difficult to try and put glasses on another person, you miss his ears a few times and almost get him in the eye, but Yoongi strangely enough lets you manhandle him. 

In the midst of your last few attempts you step forward and scoot even closer to him to try and get the glasses more properly situated on his face. Due to the proximity, Yoongi’s hands fly up from his side to avoid being pressed uncomfortably against his chest, choosing to rest at your waist. At first, you don’t feel the weight of his hands, you’re too focused on making sure the fake glasses you’ve selected can fit in place. 

As soon as you’ve properly aligned the glasses to his face, you lower your hands from his face. The action makes you suddenly hyper aware of the current position you’ve put yourself in. It’s not very often that you get handsy with Yoongi, it’s a side of you that comes out when the pair of you are in a hurry, but hardly during candid moments like this. 

Immediately, Yoongi’s hands feel like warm flames tickling your skin, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of his position, of his closeness. Your eyes flicker up, seeing his face with those glasses you’ve just shoved onto him sitting nicely at the bridge of his nose, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. The stare he’s giving you only heightens the gravitational pull you feel towards him. 

You don’t know how long the pair of you are just standing in the middle of the store, staring at each other, until you feel the weight of a third party approaching the pair of you. 

You practically shove yourself away from Yoongi, trying to make it seem as if you’re just stepping back to get an overall look at his face (Yoongi featuring glasses). Yoongi lets you go. 

The third party is an employee of the accessories booth, smiling widely. “Sorry to interrupt,” She says, looking over at Yoongi. “Sir, I just want to say that those glasses look great on you. And just to let you know we’re having a sale on that collection so it’s a buy one get the other one half off so maybe you two can match if you’re up to it…” 

You tune her out after a second, realizing that you can’t really keep up with what she’s saying considering the current firestorm that’s going on inside your head. Why couldn’t you have just asked Yoongi to put the glasses on himself? You curse yourself for letting your guard down—sometimes you try to do things of your own accord, and today you were paying the price.

When you don’t speak after a few seconds, Yoongi smiles at the employee. “Got it, thanks a lot.” He waits until the employee returns back to rearranging some earrings on a nearby shelf before turning back to you. “How does it look?” 

He does look good, but you play it down by tilting your head and settling with a shrug. “Well, you’ve looked better—but this’ll have to do.” 

Yoongi laughs, before he does something that catches you off guard. He steps closer to you. “So you think there are times when I do look good?” 

You try not to look too bewildered at his gesture. You can tell that he does feel a little nervous about the fact he’s testing the waters so boldly without any practice, but it’s all part of the act. Just as Seokjin said: be happy, be close. 

So you place a hand on his chest, pushing him slightly with your own little teasing smile. “I said better—that doesn’t always mean you were ever good to begin with.” 

Yoongi makes a noise of protest, and without warning just swings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his side. “You’re breaking my heart everyday!” 

“You must like the abuse, you’re still with me,” You bite back playfully without thought. For a split second, it doesn’t feel like you’re in a store with people who vaguely recognize Yoongi’s appearance—for a split second, it feels like just you and him, and everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Upon Yoongi’s lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Good job, I think the group of girls outside caught our picture.” 

That dreamy fantasy where it was just you and Yoongi and nothing else mattered came crashing down, squaring you right back into reality. It’s not a disappointing feeling per say—just a vague extra hammering of your heartbeat, a vague guilt that you let your mind let its guard down like that. “Right,” You say. “Uh…” You try to think, which proves to be a difficult thing to do with Yoongi’s weight pressed up against you and everything. You clap your hands together. “Okay, let’s grab a hat and then we’ll be on our way.” 

You make sure to be a little less handsy when it comes to hat selections, but you knew there was only so far you could escape given the current context of the situation. Yoongi seems to know that, because he stays close to you as you’re both shifting through hats, and even when he pays for his hat and glasses combination before exiting the booth. The pair of you pass through the two girls that were lingering outside of the booth, where Yoongi gives them the smallest wave and hello before carrying on with the rest of the trip. 

With the hat and glasses combination, it definitely draws less attention to Yoongi’s classic fluffy black hair and gummy smile—especially if you’re using what was going on in the beginning of your trip as a baseline. This means that you and Yoongi can carry on with the rest of your outing with feeling the obvious heavy weight of gazes on your shoulder. 

With intertwined hands the pair of you first stop by one of the local cafes and sit right alongside the window to enjoy some pasta and soda combinations. You roll up the noodles onto your fork and clink utensils with Yoongi before slipping the noodles in your mouth—tomato sauce with flavor slipped into every side piece of noodle. It’s amazing, and you cannot help but gush so as you smile brightly around your fork. 

You’re too busy stirring your fork around yet another string of pasta that you fail to see the softening look of the boy across the table from you. It’s a look that disappears by the time your gaze glints back up to resume the conversation. The pasta is considered a snack above all else, so it doesn’t take long for the pair of you to finish up your meal. Leaving a tip behind on the table, Yoongi walks over to you just as you’re straightening up from your chair. Silently, he offers his hand to you. 

Knowing the routine by now, you take his hand, silently lacing your fingers together and letting him lead the way out of the cafe and back onto the sidewalk. The later afternoon shows itself in the steady increase of people, which is good because it makes you feel as if you can blend into the crowd either. There are still the occasional phones out, trailing after you and Yoongi as you walk along the sidewalk, but nothing that ever makes you feel as if you need to call Taehyung. 

“Actually, this isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” You grumble to Yoongi quietly, a comment that he laughs at. 

“I’m not that famous,” Yoongi jokingly teases you. “And my fans are just being respectful—give them a little credit.” His voice dies down shortly after, however, but it only takes you a few seconds to realize why. 

The pair of you, in the midst of your simple ‘walk along the sidewalk’ plan, have arrived at a very familiar street corner. The sunset means that arriving performers who work best once the sun leaves are just beginning to set up their stage—laying out equipment, testing out sound systems, saying hello to some passersby who recognize the artists getting ready. You can read the signs of these interactions very easily. After all, it’s what Yoongi used to do a year ago, at this very spot too. 

In front of you, a new performer, a singer, is setting up her own equipment—guitar in hand as she practices her strumming. You inch closer to Yoongi, your arms molded against each other. “Hey, hey,” You whisper at Yoongi. The boy leans over to better hear you. “She reminds me of you.” 

Yoongi laughs. “What do you mean? How?” 

You glance over at the girl again, not noticing the way Yoongi is still staring at you, quietly awaiting your answer. “You guys have the same drive,” You eventually note. “And the same determination. It’s easy to see in her, just as it’s always been like that for you…” You trail off, looking over to realize that he’s still looking at you. 

“You noticed those things, huh?” Yoongi asks quietly. 

His gaze is too enticing to look away from, pulling you in through a situation not unlike what had happened at the accessories shop earlier that afternoon. “I-I mean, of course I do…” Yoongi’s gaze feels like hot magnets that are just pulling the next words out of you. “I always notice with you.” 

The world seems to quiet down at that, everything slowing down as you feel yourself mentally curse yourself out for those words. Why would you say it like that? 

A million thoughts go through your head at once. You weren’t really lying or trying to play a part. You were being honest. You do always notice with Yoongi. And since he clearly only sees you as a friend that could participate in whatever scheme he can get himself into, then he would obviously hear your statement and think of it as nothing more than a friendly complement. Right? RIGHT? 

Except, Yoongi is still just standing next to you, staring at you, not making any sort of comment whatsoever. He has that unreadable expression in his gaze, a look he always gives you when you let the cracks slip in your facade, but it’s something he never talks about, never explains to you—just like right now. 

The silence grows tense, so tense that it begins to feel like weights on your shoulders, like a coil wrapping itself around your heart, because why isn’t he saying anything? 

Yoongi hums, low and throaty and that coil around your heart drops into your stomach. “Is that so?” He inquires softly, continuing to gaze at you. 

His gaze drops down to your lips, and that coil is replaced with butterflies all around you. It starts are a flutter in your stomach, in your heart, and your mind starts to race because what the fuck is happening?

Around you, the growing number of people means that someone accidentally bumps into you, driving you forward right into Yoongi’s chest. The pair of you stumble, effectively dissipating that cloud of tension that had threatened to curl through you. You cough, taking a small step away from Yoongi so that while the pair of you were still holding hands, that was the only thing connecting the pair of you. 

You and Yoongi don’t have another run in like that for the remainder of the date, as that late afternoon sunset fades away into nighttime and you and Yoongi spend that time trying to enjoy each other’s presence whilst also not engaging in too much physical contact. Your fingers remain loosely intertwined but it never tightens as if the small air of space between your hands can hide away the nerves and tension you feel yourself trying to contain. 

Even when Taehyung comes to pick the two of you up, and you no longer are under the obligation to hold hands, that air of space still feels heavy between the two of you. 

.

The overwhelming positive response of your first official public date sends Seokjin through the moon, as well as provides him with a drive to arrange and send you and Yoongi out on more dates. All of which, fortunately for you, don’t come nearly as close to the level of tension experienced from the first date. Partly because you know your limits, and go into each planned date with a level of expectation for yourself as well as rules that you’ve internally programmed yourself to follow every time you and Yoongi step out of the car. 

At the museum date, you make sure to keep your distance, using your intertwined hands with Yoongi as the only signal of your relationship. The pair of you joke around about the art pieces, whispering between each other about how many fans have taken pictures of the pair of you lingering about the museum, as well as relay information to each other about various rooms that you are interested in. But in a way, it definitely feels more like a typical friendly hang-out rather than a date. 

The same idea can be applied to the next date Seokjin sends you on—a casual date at one of the local botanical gardens, each garden filled with a different culture to serve as the theme for its layout and plant growth. Some gardens have little cafe booths and grassy fields to buy some snacks before sitting down to enjoy the sunlight, which is an idea that Yoongi suggests that the two of you do. He points to one of the ice cream shops along the outskirts of a garden, and claims a seat on one of the benches so the two of you can enjoy your treat. The current summertime weather emits a warmer heat and breeze that curls lightly through the air throughout the day, making for a perfectly comfortable season to wear a sundress. It’s also the kind of undetectable weather for ice cream to melt down the cone, onto unsuspecting fingers curled into the dry waffle texture. Yoongi makes that well aware by poking your cheek with his sticky finger, garnering several pictures of the encounter. 

Seokjin has even tried to implement studio life into his constant narrative to keep up the facade of your relationship with Yoongi. While the pair of you go on these occasional dates, Yoongi also has a deadline to fulfill with his album release. On the days where dates are not planned out, he’ll be in the studio—rearranging songs to fit in with the music beats that have more or less been tapered down to perfection. As his manager, sometimes you find yourself staying past your allotted time slot of being at the studio, before sneaking into the recording booth way past midnight to see what Yoongi and Namjoon are up to. 

Just as it follows: you straighten up, craning your neck backwards a little to allow for slight muscle extensions after sitting at a desk for an extra hour too long. With Yoongi’s album steadily approaching, there are interviews that need to be arranged, magazines and newspapers and radio shows alike all reaching out to you for the opportunity to cover Yoongi’s growth as an artist. Albums also equate to tours to help promote the album, and with the close call from Yoongi’s last experience with such, it means that you need to book more locations—or the same location across multiple dates. 

Overall, the growing pile of work means that you and everyone else at KSJ Studios are just as anticipated for Yoongi’s album release as the general public. It seems as if his collective fanbase are hoping and waiting under the same parameters: was the album going to be as good as they were expecting? 

You shoulder your purse, stepping out of your office and shutting it behind you. You navigate through the hallways, glancing sideways to peek out the long glassway of windows, all overlooking the city skyline, the multicolor lights flickering ahead in the distance. You quirk a lip. 

Your usual brisk pace dies down when you pass the studio you know Yoongi and Namjoon are recording in. The soundproof walls inside mean that hardly any music ever seeps out from between the cracks, only heightening your curiosity. Your busy schedule recently has made it so you have hardly been able to hear what Yoongi and Namjoon have come up with. 

You glance down at your watch. It was nearing midnight. Well, you think to yourself, a little peek wouldn’t hurt. You reach over to grip the door handle, pushing it down and pushing it open. Inside is the usual scene: Yoongi behind the glass, his fingers curled around the headphones as he speaks into the microphone. His voice filters through the main studio area, where Namjoon sits behind computers and music panels, capturing every single second of what is going on. 

Further driven by curiosity, you find yourself pulling harder at the door to let yourself in. Namjoon turns at the sound, but softens a little when he sees that it’s you. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” You tease, standing next to Namjoon at the table, watching Yoongi’s closed eyes as he loses himself in the song. 

Namjoon grins back. “You’re not gonna tell us to stop, are you?” 

“Hey.” You bring both arms up in a sign of surrender. “I’m off the clock on this one. Just wanted to see what you two were up to.” 

Suddenly, Yoongi calls your name from behind the glass, as the noise is amplified through the studio. You jump slightly, having not expected to be noticed so soon. Yoongi waves. “It’s late!” He calls. “What are you still doing here?” 

You lean forward to press the button that opens the two-way communication. “I’m not sure you heard, but there’s an artist in this studio that’s working on an upcoming album—it’s causing a lot of pain for the rest of us.” 

Yoongi laughs at that. “Touche, touche.” He brightens up slightly. “Hey, we’re wrapping up on this song, so if you stick around I’ll drive you home.” 

This is a natural offer for Yoongi to make, considering the extent to which you’ve spent long nights here. Brushing it off as nothing more than Yoongi just being a good pal, you nod and flash him a thumbs up. “Sounds good, sounds good. But take your time. Don’t let me get in the way.” 

You turn around, allowing the music of Yoongi’s song to refilter back through the studio. You park yourself atop the couch at the back, settling into the soft cushions. Come to think of it, falling asleep definitely isn’t the worst thing in the world to do—especially on this couch. And you’re exhausted, what with scheduling events all day and having to burn through your social battery by making one too many phone calls with various people within the industry. 

The last thing you remember is Yoongi’s soft humming that fades away into a quiet static. 

You jerk awake after what feels like a few minutes—but judging from your new position on the couch (horizontal this time, instead of vertical) and the blanket that has been tucked under your chin, you realize quickly that this few minutes has actually been a few hours. It might be hard to believe that, because the world around you still seems very similar to what it had been when you fell asleep. The lack of windows in the studio make it very difficult to distinguish time—although Yoongi’s voice sounds much closer than it had when you first fell asleep. 

You sit up. 

Namjoon and Yoongi jolt at your sudden movement. “Woah! She’s awake now,” Yoongi teases. 

Blinking for a few seconds, you turn your head to find Yoongi out of the recording booth and instead sitting at one of the tables in the actual studio setting. Surrounding Namjoon and Yoongi looks like an entire McDonalds family meal: chicken nuggets, $1 menu burgers, lots of french fries… 

You let out a breath to help further situate you to your new surroundings. “Min Yoongi…” You start, voice hoarse. “You said you were just finishing up.” 

“I was,” Yoongi explains, looking vaguely guilty. Only vaguely though. “But I had this sudden epiphany, like holy shit you really had to be here—it was crazy.” 

“I was here,” You choke out. 

Yoongi waves you off. “You know what I mean—here here. Anyways, yeah, we realized that we couldn’t leave, especially when I got Namjoon on the same page. He was just as excited as I was!” 

Namjoon slaps his hand. “Don’t drag me into this!” 

Yoongi ignores him. “Anyways, it’s like two in the morning and we got hungry. McDonalds is the food of champions, after all. You hungry? Here, have some water first.” He grabs a bottle of water from the table and unscrews the cap. Suddenly, he’s standing up and making his way towards the couch. He sits down next to you, offering the water to you. “Here. You must be thirsty.” 

You are. Still heavy-lidded too, but you try your best to blink away the exhaustion as you blindly reach for the water and manage to grab it after Yoongi adjusts his own angled arm. He watches you as you tilt your head back to down some of the water, accidentally drinking a little more than your mouth can handle. Some of it slides down the corner of your lip, making you angle your head back properly and remove your lips from the bottle head. 

Yoongi softens a little at your clumsy nature, tugging the sleeve of his long-sleeved forward in order to pat the corner of your mouth. “Aw, look at my tiny little baby, can’t even drink water properly,” He coos. 

You flinch slightly away from him, trying for a glare that comes out more like a pout. Yoongi laughs softly at the sight. “There are no cameras around us, Min Yoongi,” You grumble out. “You don’t need to be so attentive.” 

“Nevermind that, I’m just trying to be a friend. You want a french fry?” He reaches across the space separating the couch from the table, and grabs the box of salty french fries. His voice carries that usual positive disposition from previously, but the light in his eyes has died down a little. You don’t notice it, too busy looking at the french fries and realizing that you are actually a little hungry. 

The remainder of Yoongi and Namjoon’s break is dedicated to finishing up the family meal, before Yoongi looks at the clock and claps his hands together. “Hey Namjoon, I think I should take my girl home before we get back to working. Is that okay?” 

Namjoon’s eyes flicker between the two of you, but he relents. “Of course.” He utters your name. “Have a good night.” 

“I should be saying that to you,” You return teasingly, more of your senses have returned since putting food into your stomach. “See you tomorrow, Namjoon.” 

So Yoongi takes you home, driving through the darkened streets, making light conversation with you, completely ignoring the fact that he has just addressed you as his girl, before your phone starts to buzz in your lap. It’s a notification from Instagram, saying that Namjoon has tagged you in a picture. Raising an eyebrow, you tap the alert, which takes you to a picture from just a few minutes ago—you and Yoongi at the studio, Yoongi tapping gently at your face with his sweater paw. The caption burns into your mind: three am company, ft my favorite artist and his favorite girl. 

His favorite girl. 

His girl. 

.

.

CHAPTER 5: HIS GIRL 

. 

Yoongi’s album is entitled Y2, and it releases in the autumn, when the leaves are colored orange and the breeze has called for cozy jackets and big sweaters. It’s the perfect attire to wear as the earphones get plugged in and slipped into ears—curled up by soft cashmere and Yoongi’s luring voice. He’s got about sixteen songs on the album, a sweet mixture of loose beats and soft vocal voices that seem to simultaneously battle the drawn out harsh tone of stories extended across various three minute arrangements. The stories cover the low point—passive aggressive fights, of late nights, of “holding your hand, being so close, yet feeling so lonely”. But the songs also touch on the high points—coming back together, of soft morning light, of “being with you, wiping the traces of exhaustion from the corner of your lips, so close yet so far away, and still knowing you’re all I [he] could ever want”. 

At least, it is what one article touches upon in a Y2 review, where the journalist gives high remarks to Yoongi’s album. She calls it a refreshing interpretation of music, continuing in the era of singers actually singing about their feelings. More than that, an era of storytelling in music. Of anything, of life, of the highs and the lows—the sadness, the happiness, the softness. 

Safe to say that Yoongi is very excited to read this review on his phone, along with the surplus of positive things people have to say—from highly regarded journalists who belong to highly regarded newspaper companies, from social media, from his friends and family. Most especially, from you. You: whose hand he holds underneath the table as the numbers of listens start pouring in from various streaming websites. 

He’s been nervous about this. He’s put his blood, sweat, and tears into the creation of this album, every song has been nailed down to perfection. His name, and his heart, is back out into the world. 

The night of the album release is the launch party. 

“Dude, it’s supposed to be a chill night,” Jungkook calls from the hallway, and you can’t help but laugh at how exasperated the boy sounds. “Would you just calm down?” Jungkook emerges from the aforementioned hallway. Despite his mention of this ‘chill night’, he’s still wearing something vaguely casual chic. “You’re his manager. Manage his overthinking tendencies.” 

You laugh, watching as Jungkook plops down into the empty spot next to you on the couch, immediately leaning back into the cushion. “You know as well as I do that I don’t have that much control over him.” 

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “You probably have more control than you think.” 

Before you can ask more questions, think more deeply into what the fuck Jungkook means by that, his eyes land on the hallway entrance before straightening up in the cusion. Your eyes follow Jungkook’s movement, where Yoongi is now standing in the once vacant space of his apartment. But his stance isn’t what gets you to stare, what makes your breath feel like it has just caught in your chest. Although he’s following the ‘casual chic’ dress code that Seokjin has ordered, there’s something about a white t-shirt that hits differently when it’s paired with a coat and dark jeans that highlight his long legs. 

Yoongi gestures down at what he’s wearing meekly. “What do you think?” Although it appears that he’s addressing both you and Jungkook, his gaze is almost entirely fixed on you. 

Trying hard to ignore the racing of your heart, you straighten up and somehow manage to make your way over to him without snapping your ankle on your chunky platform boots. Doing your best to pay attention to his outfit over his face, you reach over to straighten out the silver necklace he’s got dangling at his chest. “You look good,” You settle calmly. “And Jungkook is right—it’s supposed to be a chill night. Seokjin just invited people from the label. And some of your friends as well. Relax a bit, will you?” 

Finally, you force yourself to level your gaze with Yoongi’s, fully confident that he’s just staring at you and probably wondering why you aren’t making eye contact with him. But when you do manage to glance at Yoongi’s face, you realize quickly that he’s not even staring at you. Instead, he’s staring down, at the curve of your throat. 

Without warning, your cardiac system seems to pump itself too hard, because your breath of surprise comes out through your nose, effectively bringing up and lowering your lungs so fast that anyone would be able to read your vital sounds now. This proves to be true, because Yoongi’s gaze darts up from your neck to your eyes so quickly, that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had you stuck around without looking at his eyes. Doing that, however, might have saved you from this now tricky situation. “Sorry,” Yoongi manages, eyes flickering between yours. “I, uh, didn’t hear what you said.” 

You realize the gravity of your position—your fingers now curled around the lapels of Yoongi’s jacket and one of his hands curled around your waist. That gravitational pull from every single one of your dates with Yoongi comes back again, curling around your neck and seeming to push you closer, closer—! 

Jungkook coughs loudly from behind you. 

You and Yoongi tear your gazes away from each other, as you uncurl both of your fingers from around Yoongi’s coat. “I-uh,” You start. “Was just saying that you should relax a little. You don’t have to try and impress anyone tonight.” 

Yoongi sneaks one last glance at you. “We’ll see,” He says, before stepping away from you and brushing past Jungkook to make his way towards the door. Jungkook turns to look at you, wide-eyed and mouthing the words ‘what the fuck was that?’ 

To which you shake your head, very sure that you don’t want to get into this tonight of all nights. This was supposed to be a celebration for Yoongi. Just as you’ve done for the past few months, you can continue to keep your emotions in check. Easy-peasy. 

Except it’s not easy-peasy because you see Seokjin at the club that he’s reserved for Yoongi’s album release party, and you realize that this is not a chill event for you—you still have to keep up the facade of your relationship in front of everyone. 

Yoongi seems to realize this at the same time you do, because he inches closer to you and laces your fingers together. From afar, Seokjin nods in an unspoken confirmation regarding your behavior. 

The beginning of the party starts with the trickle in of the various guests Seokjin has invited—from the friends he has made in the business, to others signed under the KSJ records label, to you, Jungkook, and Yoongi’s personal friends from college. The onslaught of new people fills you with the usual sense of excitement after not having attended a party in what feels like years. Working as a manager for a budding new artist is a lot less about the parties and more about the hustle. 

The first hour of the event is dedicated to the mingling of people—of free food and conversations around the bottomless cocktails that every guest rushes to the bar to take full advantage of. It’s nice to be able to catch up with the friends that you and Yoongi haven’t spoken to since graduation—which is the group you and Yoongi first approach, as Yoongi is slinging his arm around one Park Jimin. The latter whose eyes widen and lips curl up into a grin at the sight of the two of you. It’s nice to see an old friend again, it almost brings you back to a time where you and Yoongi were both in-tune and surface-level friends.

“Hey, congratulations on the new album release!” Jimin exclaims brightly after the three of you have acquired some drinks from the bartender. Jimin raises his drink first, to which you and Yoongi follow suit. 

As the glasses clink into the air, Jimin adds in another thing that reminds you of the fact that you and Yoongi are not back in college. You are here, in the present, with a fake relationship on the line. 

“And congratulations to your relationship announcement,” Jimin continues. 

You cough on your drink at that, lowering the glass immediately, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “Jimin, I know what all those reports have been saying…” 

“Don’t worry,” Jimin brushes off. “I read through some of them. You guys have been dating for three years, right? I’m honestly surprised I never saw it. In hindsight, it makes sense.” Jimin takes a longer sip, gesturing towards Yoongi with a noise of acknowledgement coming from his throat. “Hm—I guess because you guys are dating now, I can let the cat out of the bag—but, Yoongi liked you from the first moment he met you.” 

Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to choke on his drink, his chest heaving as he coughs into his sleeve. “Jimin, ah, you don’t need to talk about that—!” 

Jimin laughs, naturally assuming that Yoongi’s choke was done out of shyness and not something deeper than that. “What, you think just because this happened when we were at college, I wouldn’t have said something all these years later?” 

You can’t help but smile at their exchange. Although Jimin’s comment about Yoongi’s crush definitely piques your interest. You turn to Yoongi. “You had a crush on me back then?” 

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Jimin beats him to it. “Oh yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about you—said that you had this smile like starlight and were super easy to talk to.” 

“You have a great memory for someone who almost flunked college algebra,” Yoongi bites out hotly. 

Jimin, clearly oblivious to the situation, laughs out loud. “I agree. Normally I would have forgotten all about that. But.” With Jimin’s fingers still curled around the wine glass, he is only able to point an index finger out at Yoongi. “I’ll never forget that look in your eyes. Like you saw something you were never going to let go of.” 

You know Jimin is the one talking, but you cannot help but look at Yoongi as you feel your world spinning slightly around you. You blame it on the alcohol—as small of a sip as you have taken so far. Jimin, unlike a lot of the other parties you’ve been spending your time with, is not in on the joke of your relationship with Yoongi being a PR cover story. So there has to be some merit to it. Right? 

Right? 

Before you can even think how to phrase the billions of questions flying through your mind, the soft beat of a hand against a microphone sounds through the bar, as the original music that has been pounding through the club gets lowered to show that someone is trying to command everyone’s attention. 

It’s Kim Seokjin, situated at the stage, with the microphone in hand. “Hey everyone! Before we actually start unveiling the numbers that Y2 has hit so far, I just want to say a few words. First of all, thank you everyone so much for joining us tonight as we celebrate the anticipated release of Min Yoongi’s album.” 

Lots of claps sound from the guests, several cheers, one of you and Jimin join in just for the sake of embarrassing Yoongi. If he’s flustered with the attention, he’s gotten a lot better at hiding it. 

“Actually,” Seokjin continues. “Why don’t we have the man of the hour join us? After all, my words don’t mean shit up here—I wasn’t the one who just released new music. Yoongi, come on up!” 

Lots more claps and cheers, and the music volume increases dramatically just to give Yoongi some sort of platform to enter on. It makes you laugh. Seokjin is clearly having fun with his role. So you watch, sticking by Jimin, as Yoongi emerges from the crowd to step onto the stage. Seokjin pulls the microphone away from the pair of them as he leans over to whisper something into Yoongi’s ear, where the latter nods a few times before accepting the microphone that is now being extended out to him. 

Yoongi clears his throat, speaking over the lowering music. “Hi guys, thanks so much for coming out,” He starts, laughing a little when there is another round of cheers. “As I’m sure a lot of you know, this is my first full length album that’s being released out into the world and it’s basically everything I ever could have dreamed of. One lesson that I’ve learned is that making albums of both the cover songs I did and the original songs I would produce in my shitty college apartment is a completely different experience than getting professional equipment to do a lot of the work for me.” 

You laugh at that, the memories floating through your mind. 

Yoongi smiles a little at the feedback he gets. But he continues. “And of course a lot of that professional equipment was able to work in my favor because I had helped. Seokjin of course, deserves a thank you for letting me learn and experiment with new sounds, and for letting me take a risk by trying out beats and stories that a lot of people might have turned down. And Namjoon.” He seems to spot Namjoon from the crowd, because he delivers a nod. “For being more than my favorite producer, but also my mentor and my guide. We had a lot of lightbulb late nights together. And finally…” His eyes land on you, and you feel yourself self-consciously straighten up. “Y/N—my Y/N. For those of you who don’t know, my girlfriend is my manager and we recently made our relationship public. I thought the transition from private to public would have been the hardest thing of my life, but she made it so easy. Just as she’s always made it so easy to inspire my music, to be my best friend—and to love her.” 

Love. 

You suddenly feel like you’re seeing the world through a small lens, unable to believe the words you are hearing and the sights you are seeing. Yoongi is staring right back at you, with all this love and adoration in his eyes, lips quirking up as a result of the coos from the audience. 

It’s a vague kind of spotlight anxiety from seeing so many people looking at you considering the circumstances. It’s a feeling that only heightens when Yoongi opens his mouth again to continue speaking. “Actually, honey, why don’t you come up here, so I can thank you properly.” 

The whoops and cheers sound again, and Jimin has to nudge you in the ribs to get you to move. Your initial thoughts are one of panic, suspicion, and curiosity. One glance at Seokjin’s direction conveys the high influx of questions that are flowing through your mind—what exactly are those two boys planning? 

Yoongi’s hand extends out to you, helping you up onto the stage, as you turn around to face the crowd of people Yoongi has just been addressing. Of course, you have less experience hiding your general shyness around crowds, so the most you can muster is a smile and a wave. 

Yoongi laughs into the microphone. “Don’t worry baby, I didn’t call you up to embarrass you. I just wanted to show you that all of this…” He gestures to the whole club, the crowds of people who have taken time out of their schedule to show support, the sounds of his album now filtering through the speakers. “All of this was possible because you believed in me, you supported me, and agreed to help me work toward my dream. This is all as much yours as it is mine.” 

Then, he surprises you by leaning forward to brush his lips across your cheek—a gesture that further incites a bigger reaction of positive cheers and hoots from the audience. You turn your head immediately towards him as soon as he pulls away, your eyes wide with surprise. After all, you and Yoongi have never discussed the rule on kissing before, have never brought up any sort of lip contact to any degree. His boldness is something that takes you completely off guard. 

And judging from the uncertain look that dances behind his eyes, a flicker that only you can see and decipher, you can tell that he hadn’t been expecting that from himself either. 

You’re about to pull away, maybe walk off the stage and take another drink to whatever the fuck that was all about, before Jimin’s familiar voice sounds off from within the crowd. 

“You call that a kiss, Min Yoongi?” Jimin calls, close enough now that it’s easier to see him. “C’mon, kiss your girlfriend like you mean it!” 

The rest of the crowd immediately catches onto what Jimin is doing, and they play into it immediately. Suddenly, shouts of “KISS HER, KISS HER!” sound throughout the guests. 

The new direction that this has taken over the span of just a few seconds seconds you into another wild onslaught of differing emotions. Nevermind the fact that you’ve never agreed to actually kiss Min Yoongi. Obviously, the internal choice has been made for a handful of reasons, none of which you can explain to Yoongi or Seokjin without digging yourself further into this hole where you would truly have no way of escaping.

Which is why you clearly can’t say anything of protest right now. Everyone thinks the pair of you have been dating for years, and that kissing has become a natural action for you both to do. Of course they would play into Jimin’s game, thinking nothing harmful of it. 

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears as you shift your gaze from the crowd of people before you to Yoongi, who looks equally as stunned by the request as you. He plays it off a little bit, however, smiling as he brings the microphone close to his mouth again. “I’m not sure you all would want to be subjected by some PDA, especially you over there, Park.” 

Jimin makes a noise of disapproval. “It’ll just be this one time! I’m sure people don’t mind! Spread the love, Min.” 

Other people from the guest list add on that they don’t mind in between their laughter and giggles, probably writing off you and Yoongi’s shy disposition as just that: a shy, private couple who is still getting used to the watchful eye of the general public. Nevermind the fact that you and Yoongi have just never kissed each other before. 

Yoongi then turns to look at you, microphone down to his legs so that it can’t pick up the small whispers the pair of you start exchanging. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you up here…” 

“No, no, it’s fine, I understand why you did it…” You trail off. “Kissing my cheek, on the other hand…” 

Yoongi groans. “Yeah, that’s my bad. Seokjin said I could consider doing it but I wasn’t thinking when I leaned over. I completely forgot that Jimin is a menace to society. I’m gonna kick his ass after this.” 

You want to continue this private, side-lined conversation, but it is overrun by the louder voices that keep repeating the same two lines over and over again: “KISS HER, KISS HER!” until the echoes of it start ringing in your ear drums. 

Yoongi switches topics to the more pressing one at hand. “So, uh, I guess we should…” 

You exhale quickly, nodding. “It seems so…” 

Yoongi inches closer to you, his breath fanning your lips as your eyes instinctively close. “I’m sorry,” He whispers, the final thing he says to you before he kisses you. 

Now, let’s backtrack a little. You’ve liked Yoongi for years, so to say that you’ve never thought of this moment would just be a lie to yourself. Of course you’ve thought about kissing Yoongi. Or, at the very least, you’ve caught yourself staring at his lips when he would go off on another spiral about his passions. That type of talking is very hot, so what? 

But you never thought you would be able to experience it, to kiss the lips you’ve flickered your eyes to more times than you’re willing to admit. So as soon as you feel the weight of his mouth against your own, your brain goes haywire. Suddenly, all your senses are hyper focused on Yoongi—from his lips, to the warmth of his body wrapping itself around you, to his fingers curled around your wrist. 

You hardly hear the cheers from the audience, too busy allowing your heart to melt into butterflies as he presses harder into you, moving his lips against yours. You part your lips as well, curling your wrist to gather the material of his shirt into your hands. 

It feels like time has stretched out before Seokjin claps both of you on the back, forcing you to jolt away from Yoongi. He actually looks flustered this time—pink cheeks and reddened lips, his eyes are fixated on you, chest heaving. You feel like you’re in a similar state of shock, especially because kissing Yoongi makes something dawn on you. A realization of ice cold water. 

This isn’t just a crush you’ve harbored on Yoongi for the past few years. This isn’t just some small schoolgirl crush living out a fantasy, or something you can easily brush off, or simple butterflies you can squash everytime he reaches out to hold your hand. This is love. You’re in love with your best friend. And you have absolutely no fucking clue what to do about it. 

If the audience is taken aback by this long-term couple in front of them looking zero point two seconds away from devouring each other in a frenzied passion, no one settles long enough to comment or stare upon it for too long. Seokjin does well to grab the microphone from Yoongi and bring the attention back to the actual party on hand. He mentions another round of free alcohol, which are two words that can take anyone’s attention away. 

“And Yoongi, uh, I actually need to borrow for you a moment,” Seokjin murmurs in a low voice. “So I hope I’m not taking away from…” He trails off, gesturing awkwardly between the two of you. “Whatever this is…” 

“Oh no!” You interject quickly, taking a step away from Yoongi. “Not taking away at all.” 

Yoongi gives you a concerned look. “Maybe we should, uh, talk about that…” 

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay, seriously.” You shrug a shoulder. “Just part of the act, right?” 

Yoongi’s concern melts away into something that might be hurt, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come. “I’ll try not to be long then.” 

You nod. “Yeah, no problem—no need to rush or anything… I’ll just be hanging out with Jimin…” 

Yoongi gazes at you for a few seconds longer, before he lets himself get dragged off the stage by Seokjin. Rather than immediately go out to seek your old friend, you find your gaze following after the two of them, trying to see where exactly Yoongi is getting roped into. 

You continue to trail after them in the club, until the two of them are pulled into a booth—the person opposite of them makes your lips part in utter shock. 

. 

“Yoongi, I want you to meet an old friend of mine,” Seokjin starts as he and Yoongi dive deeper into the thrones of people. Yoongi feels himself being directed towards a corner booth, currently occupied by two people. “She wanted me to introduce you.” Finally, the pair of them stop at the head of the table. “This is Lee Jieun.” 

Right off the bat, Yoongi is vaguely insulted that Seokjin thought that someone like Lee Jieun needed an introduction—because who wouldn’t know who Lee Jieun? 

Lee Jieun, like Yoongi, is a singer-songwriter with a sweetheart reputation, who weaves stories and experiences through her music. But unlike Yoongi, who got his start through Youtube and built himself from the ground up, Lee Jieun signed into a record label at the age of 15. As one could tell, she was that talented. Still is, as a matter of fact. Her albums are continuously winning awards, establishing herself in the charts, connecting with people all over the world. He would know—when Yoongi finally discovered Jieun in the midst of his Youtuber days, it was the catalyst that served as the biggest influence towards the release of his original songs. The fact that they’re both the same age only makes Yoongi even more in awe of her. 

Yoongi being able to see Lee Jieun, in the flesh, is a powerful enough sight to leave him speechless. 

Lee Jieun sits at the booth, looking all prettied up with her big eyes and red lips. Everything about her seems regal, from the smile she flashes Yoongi to the hand she extends out towards him. 

It takes a second for Yoongi to register what he needs to do. Hastily, he steps forward and takes her hand in his. Despite her delicate nature, her handshake is firm as the pair of them move their joined hands up and down once. Honestly, considering their status difference, he feels like a handshake is too casual for them, but he doesn’t speak of it. He just basks in the moment, until he lets go of her hand. 

Afterwards, he joins Seokjin in the booth, sliding into his seat. 

Jieun smiles brightly at the two of them. “Thank you for going out of your way to come talk to me. I hope I wasn’t disrupting your night.” 

Yoongi shakes his head immediately. “Oh, god no. Of course not. I’m just—I’m really honored to see you here. I-I had no idea that you were friends with Seokjin.” 

Jieun laughs. “Oh yeah, we go way back—we were actually signed under the same label. Seokjin left to pursue management a few years ago, but we’ve always kept in touch.” She reaches over to take her glass of soda from the table. “He told me when he signed you, you know. He said that you were doing street performances a few cities down?” 

Yoongi flushes at that. “Oh yeah—my origin story.” 

“I mean, everyone starts from somewhere,” Jieun brushes off, laying down her cup again. “So I’ve honestly been looking out for your name since Seokjin signed you. I heard about your tour, but knew that I wanted to wait until your first full length album just to make sure your reputation was a little more fleshed out before bringing up my idea with Seokjin.” 

Yoongi blinks, switching his gaze from Jieun to Seokjin. The latter nods, as if to let him know that Jieun would be the one providing information. So Yoongi turns back to Jieun. 

Jieun continues. “Since it seems that we’ve both developed a songwriting, storytelling reputation amongst the music industry, I was hoping that you’d agree to do a collaboration with me. Just one single, both of our names attached to it. It’s been awhile since I worked with another artist, and I’m sure that doing this will only further put your name out there. It could also be a really good learning experience.” 

Yoongi almost cannot believe his ears. Lee Jieun wanted to do a collaboration? With him and his inexperienced ass? 

Yoongi coughs out in wonder. “Wow.” 

Jieun smirks. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No, no, not at all!” Yoongi reassures, but then he backpedals a little. “I mean, it’s not that I was expecting you to ask for a collaboration—I just—!” He cuts himself off, exhaling heavily to calm his nerves. “It’s just, you were a very big reason I even wanted to sing my original songs back when I was street performing. So the fact that you’re asking me to do a song together is honestly so crazy to me.” 

Jieun grins. “I’m honored—so are you agreeing to my request?” 

Almost on instinct, Yoongi turns to Seokjin. It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t want to do the collab, it’ll probably be the single most greatest thing to happen in his career, but Seokjin was technically his boss and their contract had it so Seokjin usually had to final say in what he believed would be best for him. 

And for the briefest flicker of a second, Yoongi’s mind switches to you. More than Seokjin’s approval, he finds himself seeking your praise the most. After all, you know how much he admires Lee Jieun. He wants to share this moment with you. 

Instead of jumping up to go find you, he forces himself to stay rooted to his seat. “I-I think I would be the one who feels honored. T-That is, if Seokjin says it’s okay.” 

Seokjin holds his arms out. “Of course it’s okay! The collaboration was also partly my idea. Anywho.” He turns back to Jieun. “We’ll have to run through Yoongi’s schedule with his manager just to see when he’s available. But after that, we can get started.” 

At the mention of you, Yoongi’s manager, Jieun’s eyes brighten with her smile. “Oh yes, your girlfriend.” She sits a little straighter, trying to seek you out. “She’s here at the event right? I’d really love to meet her, if that’s okay?” 

Yoongi nods immediately. “O-Of course!” He also sits up a little straighter, moving about in his seat to try and locate you. He finds you near the bar, seeming to have ditched your hang-out with Jimin, as you take an occasional sip of your drink. “She’s over there.” 

With a nod, the three of them move out of the booth and towards the bar, where you’re still slouched over, scrolling through Instagram on your phone. You seem to notice their approaching presence, because you take a quick glance over to acknowledge them, before doing a double take when you realize who else is in Yoongi’s company. 

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim, immediately sliding out of your bar stool, your gaze fixated on Jieun. 

Seokjin laughs at your starstruck reaction. “Y/N, this is Lee Jieun—but I’m guessing you already knew that?” 

You seem to realize your behavior, because your shyness comes back. “I do. Um, hi! It’s really nice to meet you.” You reach over to offer your hand. 

Jieun takes it, shaking for a second. “The pleasure is all mine.” 

Your gaze immediately flints to Yoongi. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me that you were acquainted with Lee Jieun herself!” 

Yoongi waves you off. “Actually, Seokjin is the mutual party.” 

Your lips part in shock, as you nod once, twice, in understanding. “Well, uh, in that case, I hope you’re having a good time tonight, Jieun.” 

“It’s really a wonderful launch party,” Jieun praises. “But I do admit to having ulterior motives. I actually came by to ask Yoongi if he wanted to work on a collab song with me.” 

Your lips part, and Yoongi feels a vague sense of pride swell up in his chest when you turn to look at him, eyes brighter than they have been all night. “Yoongi! That’s so amazing! I hope you agreed.” 

“I did, actually,” Yoongi says with the nod of his head. If you notice that he’s puffing his chest out a little as your words go straight to his head, you don’t comment on it. “We’ll definitely have to go over my schedule with you, pick some dates where Jieun and I can have some writing sessions, and then the recording sessions, just to name the big picture stuff that’ll have to get done. But we should all be good to go.” 

As Yoongi continues to list everything that’ll need to be done in order to create music together, your gaze shifts between Yoongi and Jieun occasionally, taking in their equal excitement and passion for the long project ahead. It isn’t until the end, when you and Yoongi leave the launch party, after having collected praise and much more from the many friends and connections that have been gained throughout the night, you enter the car wearing an unreadable expression—like you’re pondering something that threatens to break you. 

. 

To be frank, you aren’t surprised that Lee Jieun asks Yoongi to collaborate together. Sure, maybe she came a little earlier than you had expected, but you always knew it was a matter of time before the pair of them met. Their reputations are too similar, their personalities too good together; you’re sure that fate would have lined them up at some point. 

It just feels like maybe the universe made them a little too perfect for each other—and it’s something that becomes glaringly obvious as a month of songwriting goes by without a hitch. Every few days, Jieun would turn up to KSJ Records, bright-eyed and always looking so, so pretty. Every few days, Jieun and Yoongi would sit next to each other, conversing about the story of their song, both bright-eyed with unbridled affection for what they were writing. And sure, Namjoon would be a part of these songwriting sessions. But that’s not the point. 

The point is that as Yoongi gets bigger and success becomes a more natural occurrence in his life, the more people he’s going to meet with whom he shares a common interest and dedication for. People he would probably (most definitely) get along with a lot better than he could get along with you. Friendship is nice and all, but it can’t substitute for the powerful combination of passion, intimacy, and commitment that comes out of romantic companionship. 

And you see it in his eyes: the excitement he gets when he’s surrounded with like-minded people. You’re Yoongi’s manager, sure, and one of his best friends, obviously, but there’s only so much you can contribute to conversations about the actual music. Truth be told, when it comes to editing, you just do whatever Yoongi tells you to. And don’t even get you started on the music arrangements—you can’t even lift a candle to what Yoongi himself can do. Or Namjoon. Or especially Lee Jieun. 

And although you know that Yoongi means no ill-intention, it feels as if he takes every opportunity to remind you of that fact. 

“I mean, she’s amazing.” He’s sighing dreamily over his bulgogi. The pair of you are at a corner booth in a Korean barbeque restaurant, on another fake date Seokjin has prearranged for you. It’s not the first date you’ve been on since Jieun entered the picture, and it’s definitely not the first time Yoongi is bringing her up. And although this isn’t even a real date, and although this isn’t a real relationship, there’s only so much you can take—both as a friend and as someone who is starting to feel the curl of jealousy in your stomach. 

Still, you refuse to let the cat out of the bag. So you sigh, picking up your chopsticks and digging into your meat. The only thing you can manage is: “I bet she is.” 

But Yoongi doesn’t stop there. “You should have seen her today, she was on fire. Songwriting abilities, obviously. We were stuck on this one part of the song, but then she just swooped in with this perfect one-liner that made my heart drop. Seriously, it was so cool. I don’t know how her mind works, but I want to keep hanging out with her to learn more.” 

You almost drop your meat completely into your salt dish, but you recover quickly with a cough. The noise helps cover up the fact that your heart feels the white-hot burn of frustration and confusion. “W-Well, you guys do make a good team. You know, being on the same level talent-wise.” 

Yoongi laughs at that, completely oblivious to your state of mind. “Talent-wise? I wouldn’t say I’m anywhere near the level Jieun is at…” 

As he trails off, you dare yourself to flicker your gaze up to him, seeing the pink flush that dusts along his cheeks. Interpreting this as shyness for the internal praise and fondness he has for Jieun, you look away and pick up the plate of raw beef brisket to dump into the grill. 

Yoongi notices what you’re doing, and immediately reaches over to take the plate from you. “Here, let me do it.” 

A part of you wants to fight about it, but you know doing so will just lead you down the path of no man’s land. So you let go, offering the tongs to Yoongi as he takes it to scrap the meat into the grill between the two of you. He takes the silence as an opportunity to further gush about Jieun, and how he can’t wait to work on music arrangements with her, how he’s excited to record the song with her, so on and so forth. 

How could you even contribute to a conversation like this? He’s talking to you about a girl in a way that reminds you of your college days—back when the pair of you were strictly friends and nothing more, and he would talk to you about girls he thought were cute. It feels a little bit like right now. Yoongi and Jieun do make a good team, they get along together, and have formed a closeness within such a short period of time that anyone passing by the studio would assume they’ve been friends for years. Or, even further, that they were dating. At the very least, Yoongi speaks highly enough of Jieun that one could assume that she was the one he liked, and not you. 

It feels a little bit like being left behind—it’s a thought that only continues to fester. 

.

It takes a few more weeks, but you eventually draft up Yoongi’s tour schedule. It’s a few sheets of paper that detail the duration of the tour, the cities, the locations, the dates of each location, the size of the venue, how ticket distribution will work, on, and on, and on—all information that Yoongi has insisted on knowing about ever since he was signed into KSJ Records. The man just likes to know what his fans have to go through in order to see him, and you respect that. 

However, before you can officially create the tour post that’ll be up on the KSJ Records social media account, it needs to go through a final approval: from Yoongi himself. And because he likes to take notes with paper and pen, like the old-fashioned songwriter he is, he’s asked you to print everything out for him. 

This is what leads you to stand near the printer in your office, waiting for the last page to print and slide into your awaiting hands. Once all the pages come out, you flip through them to make sure that every city on the tour is accounted for. You turn back to your desk, collecting some magazines that have been stacked on top of your table. 

Along with getting the setlist for the tour, Yoongi had also asked you to get a hold of some magazines and articles that provided reviews from his first tour. Something about wanting to read any critiques people might have had for his show.

You gather the small stack as well before sliding it into your bag and stepping out into the hall. It’s surprisingly early for you to be leaving your office, the late afternoon, but there’s a part of you that just wants to give the document stack to Yoongi and dip out for the rest of the night. By now, the doubts of Yoongi’s affection for Jieun has dug itself deeper into your mind and letting yourself be around Yoongi for too long brings up too many questions that cannot be good for your mentality. 

Questions like: If he could, would Yoongi prefer to date Jieun for real? 

Was Jieun better than you? 

And the best one of them all: Were you just holding Yoongi back from better relationships? 

You continue to walk down the hallway of the building, your pace a little slower than normal because of the cloudy thoughts that threaten to overtake your mind. Finally, you stop outside of the studio you know Yoongi and Jieun are recording in. You take in a deep breath, forcing your usual cheery personality to shine through as you pull down on the handle and let yourself into the studio. 

As soon as you step inside, you almost wish that you had just slid the documents under the door. The sight of that would probably have been easier to process than the one in front of your eyes right now. 

Namjoon, as usual at the desk surrounded by music panels and laptops, playing the recently finished music through the recording booth situated on the other side of the glass. Behind this aforementioned sheet of glass are Jieun and Yoongi. With headphones on, they’re standing next to each other behind the microphone. Their shoulders practically touching, you don’t miss the way they both keep sneaking glances at each other, the corner of their lips turning up, looking like they’re having the best time together. 

You try not to slam down the door behind you, but your grip on the knob is a little too harsh to call for a softer click. Fortunately (or unfortunately, given how much fun Yoongi and Jieun look like they’re having—wait, did Jieun just touch Yoongi’s arm), neither of them notice your arrival. 

Namjoon, however, notices. 

He turns around to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?” 

You try for a smile, your hand brushing against the door. “Sorry, I slipped a little,” You lie cleanly. You hold up the documents in your other hand. “Yoongi wanted me to prepare a few things for him, stuff for the upcoming tour.” 

Namjoon gestures for you to sit next to him, something that you follow. As soon as you sit down, Namjoon asks to see these aforementioned documents, which you pull out of your bag and hand over to him. It’s quiet between the two of you, the only sounds being the laughs and giggles between Yoongi and Jieun—as if one has them as just told a secret only understood between them. It’s a feeling that doesn’t settle well in your stomach. 

“Wow, this is very efficient,” Namjoon observes, seeming completely oblivious to your internal seething. 

You shrug, eyes still locked in on the inside of the recording booth. “Yoongi asked for the best, so I gave him the best. Hey, so—!” You change topics. “Is there a reason they’re in the booth together? Don’t a lot of collabs nowadays just exchange everything virtually?” 

Namjoon hums. “I didn’t know the jealous girlfriend was a full time act of yours now.” He’s clearly just trying to have fun. After all, only Taehyung and Jungkook know about your crush on Yoongi. “But honestly? I’m not too sure. They just wanted to go in together—said that they could be more personal when working in a face-to-face setting. And they’re actually making a lot of changes as they keep going through the song and hearing how the music is turning out. They’re a good team.” 

Namjoon’s usage of the very same phrase that has been haunting you for the past few weeks doesn’t sit well in your stomach. 

Namjoon returns the documents to you. “Did you want to talk to him now? See if he’s cool with you just dropping it off?” 

You nod. “If that’s okay?” 

Namjoon smiles. “We’ll just wait until they take a breath.” 

Waiting doesn’t turn out to take a long time, because Jieun stops the song to make another statement about what line should replace the one they just sung. And Yoongi looks at her like she’s just hung up all the stars in the galaxy. 

“Namjoon, do you mind starting the song over? We got a new idea for this part,” Jieun calls from inside the booth. 

Namjoon leans forward to press the button. “Actually, you guys have some company.” 

You lean forward as well. “Hey guys.” 

Jieun grins, waving at you through the window. Yoongi acknowledges you as well, but there’s something suddenly stiff about his movements. You notice that he’s also stepping away from Jieun, as if to hide what has been going on between him and Jieun. As if that makes you feel any fucking better. 

“Hey, uh, Yoongi?” You continue. “I have the documents you asked me to prepare for you. I can just leave it here for you to go over if that’s cool. Maybe take a little bit of time today to go over everything.” 

Yoongi thinks about this for a moment. “Actually… honey,” He adds the pet name as an afterthought. “Do you mind dropping it off at my apartment? We’re probably just gonna be focusing on the song until pretty late tonight.” 

The acknowledgement Yoongi has that he and Jieun are in for another late night only grows the seeds of doubt in your mind, as you clench your teeth. You can’t let your insecurities get the best of you. Not now. “Sure,” You manage, trying for a small. 

Yoongi grins. “Thanks baby. I’ll make it up to you this weekend, okay?” 

At this point, it just feels like he’s teasing you and it’s something you find you aren’t really in the mood for. So you manage a curt reply, giving a positive response that you’ll drop by his apartment to deliver the documents regarding his upcoming tour, before you’re up and out of the studio before Jieun, Yoongi, or Namjoon can say one last thing. But you don’t care. The sooner you’re out of there, looking at the heart-eye festival between Jieun and Yoongi, the better you feel. 

So you take the train to Yoongi’s apartment, a now much bigger space in a slightly nicer area of the city. At least, nicer than the college apartment he shared with Jungkook that was no stranger to bed bugs and constant maintenance issues. The newer apartment Yoongi has recently acquired is nicer, has more modern finishes, and is now a space he fills in all by himself. 

As you unlock the door to his apartment, you immediately make your way down the small hallway entrance, where a mirror and his shoes occupy a small corner of the area. The hallway opens up into the living room, and you turn on the light and take in the vaguely familiar sight of his new furniture—home pieces that you helped arrange with him a few months ago. Come to think of it, that was probably the first and last time you had come by Yoongi’s apartment. Before certain life elements got involved. 

Tonguing the inside of your cheek, you plop yourself down on the couch and place the document stack at the corner of the coffee table. It looks rather strange just stacked like that, no context provided, so your eyes shift over for a pen and a post-it note. 

You find a stack of post-it notes, and find a pen sticking out from inside a notebook. Paying little attention to the notebook, you just make a grab for the pen and rip it out of the notebook with the aggression of a gorilla. The notebook flies open, the contents inside barring itself right at you. 

Your immediate reaction is to close the notebook. After all, it just takes one glance at Yoongi’s scrambled handwriting to know that this is one of his writing journals. His most recent one, in fact, judging from how flat the pages after the one currently open appear—like it hasn’t been stained with a pen yet. 

You want to close it—you really do. You and Yoongi have built a friendship on trust. That’s what kept you both together throughout the long years, and you know better than to risk everything just for the chance to scope through what is essentially a songwriter’s diary. 

Your fingers inch towards the edge of the book, about to close it shut, before the title at the top header makes you freeze. 

MY SECRET 

Without meaning to, your eyes read over the lines. And you feel sick to your stomach. 

The song is so raw, so personal, brimming with desire in every verse. It covers lingering stares, secret smiles. A barrier. How Yoongi “wants you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you”. And you know Yoongi—you know him better than anyone. You know that for all the love songs he sings and the topics he sings about that he feigns ignorance for, he draws on personal experience to write his music. How else could he make everything so personable? 

How could this song not be about Jieun? 

The lingering stares, secret smiles: it clearly points to the events in the recording booth you saw earlier that day, and if he’s writing a song about it, it’s obvious that today hadn’t been the first time for those stares and smiles. 

The barrier: obviously you. The relationship facade he’s forced to put up with you, when he’s clearly so much happier with someone else. 

With those factors, it’s so clear that Yoongi would want Jieun, but would be unable to have her. 

And you’re just the girl in the background with the starry eyes for a guy who would never even look at you the way you want him to. 

That realization brings the hot tears to your eyes, as you slam the notebook shut and bring your hand to your mouth, biting your finger to muffle your sobs. What comes out is the build-up of months of insecurities, of having to keep the biggest secret of your life to yourself, and the additional jealousy brought in by a third party. 

This despair and sadness isn’t good for you, and you know that only continuing to hide it away in light of Yoongi and Jieun’s partnership, in light of your feelings, and Yoongi’s exploding career—you should only be able to handle so much. You’re a human being, and you have your limits. 

And you think this might be it. 

.

.

CHAPTER 6: TRUTHS 

. 

“Y-Yeah, I think it’s food poisoning or something,” You speak quietly into the phone, playing with the edges of your blanket. “I’m really sorry, Seokjin, I’ll try to send out some emails to respond to news outlets today…” 

“Hey, no, you’re totally fine,” Seokjin replies hastily. “I don’t blame you for that. Just try and get some rest today, and update me on how you feel tomorrow.” A pause. “What was it?”

“Uh, it must have been in the takeout I got last night.” That’s a lie. You cooked your own dinner last night, and are lying straight through your teeth regarding your condition, but you can’t find it in yourself to go to work today. Not since the discovery of Yoongi’s crush on Jieun made you want to dig yourself into a hole and never crawl out. 

It’s not like you ever thought you had a chance with Yoongi—but you had just thought maybe something would be different after the hand holding, after his radio interview, after your kiss together. 

But Jieun serves as that nice splash of reality that Yoongi wants someone better than you. Someone more like him—someone passionate about music, who gets along with him better, who can write music with and write music about. 

At this point, it just feels like you’re a weight, dragging Yoongi down in the waves of his past. 

On the other side of the phone, Seokjin sighs. “Damn, that’s always the worst. Those are the ones you suspect the least. Anyways, I’ll let you go. Get some rest. Maybe I’ll let Yoongi know so he can bring some soup.” 

The mention of Yoongi makes you feel like you could actually get food poisoning. “You can let him know, but he’ll probably be too hung up on Jieun to give a shit.” 

Seokjin, of course, knows nothing, so he laughs at what he thinks is your joke. “That’s true. They’re actually at it again today, which is surprising considering Jieun only comes by a few times a week. But no, she was here bright and early and so was Yoongi. Basically, they showed up to the studio at the same time. They called it fate, or some shit like that.” 

“You don’t say,” You return dryly. 

Namjoon’s confirmation that they make a good team, paired with Seokjin’s admittance that Yoongi is hung up on Jieun, puts you in a delicate mood for the rest of the day. You try to watch some TV shows, some movies, play some video games, but you are constantly distracted by thoughts of Yoongi and Jieun. 

You’re all curled up on the couch, about to click into another movie, when there’s a knock on your door. Your heart leaps in your throat as you stand up. You hate the brief flicker of hope in your chest, the curiosity that perhaps Yoongi is the one knocking. 

All those hopes are dashed when you see it is Jungkook on the other side of the door. 

“Oh,” You remark, the smile dropping from your face. “It’s just you.” 

Jungkook looks at you like you pissed in his cereal. “Uh, I don’t see other amazing friends over here bringing you store-bought chicken soup because they heard you got food poisoning last night.” He holds up the bag for extra emphasis. 

You roll your eyes, grabbing the bag from him. “I don’t actually have food poisoning, I just didn’t want to go to work today.” 

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows at your statement. There’s a lot you’ve given him that he can work with, lots of things he can ask about. Maybe ask why you would lie about your food poisoning, maybe ask why you didn’t want to go to work today, maybe ask why you still looked like shit. 

But the first thing he says: “You owe me twenty dollars.” 

You roll your eyes, beckoning him inside with the jerk of your head. “Sure.” 

Jungkook laughs a little. “Wait, okay, I was actually kidding.” But he still steps into your apartment. “I’ll be serious now. Why lie about food poisoning? And since when do you not want to go to work? If anything, you love to go so you can stare at Yoongi’s ass through the recording booth—!” He cuts himself off when you give him a glare of such pure hatred that it actually shocks him. “Wait, are you mad at Yoongi?” 

You tear your gaze away from him, placing the bag of groceries on your countertop. Sorting through what Jungkook has bought serves to be a good distraction. 

Jungkook continues to look at you. He’s quiet, but he always has a lot to say, and since you’ve been his friend for so long that only heightens his need to talk. “I knew it!” He finally says. “I knew you were mad at him. Taehyung and I were placing bets down.” 

You slam the can of chicken soup on the counter. “HEY. What did I say about gossiping?” 

“Not in front of your face?” 

Your hand flinches, as if to stop yourself from grabbing the can and throwing it at his stupid face. Jungkook doesn’t even move in fear, the bastard. “I’m just gonna pretend I don’t know about the bets. You want a can of chicken soup?” 

Jungkook confirmation finds you at the stove, heating up two of the many cans Jungkook had bought for you. Included in his twenty-dollar purchase had been a few containers of tums, and some orange juice. 

Jungkook lingers in the back. “You wanna tell me why you’re mad at Yoongi?” 

You whirl around to face him. “How did you even know I was upset?” 

Jungkook snorts, but quiets down when you glare at him. He coughs. “You’re pretty easy to read, you know. You’ve been acting weird ever since Jieun started coming by the studio.” 

“Weird how?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re just a little quieter. And you haven’t been spending as much time in the studio as you used to. That was the biggest giveaway.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. You rub at your cheek. “Does Yoongi know?” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Doubtful. But I think he knows something is up. I was on the phone with him last night.” 

It’s your turn to snort. “Okay, that’s really fucking funny.” At Jungkook’s raised eyebrow, you explain. “I thought he’d be too busy comparing Jieun to sunlight, or something, to notice me.” 

“Oh, so you’re jealous.” 

You and Jungkook have a staring contest, before you sigh. “I accidentally saw Yoongi’s writing notebook yesterday. It had all these love confessions in it, and I’m pretty sure he was talking about Jieun.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No way? Are you sure?” 

You cough. “Well, I’m not a hundred percent. But it was all about this forbidden crush he couldn’t act on because of a barrier. Who else could be the barrier? He obviously thinks I’m holding him back from pursuing a relationship with Jieun.” You think about your words for a second, trying to decide if Jungkook is trustworthy enough to disclose this information to. “I think I’m gonna break it off with him. Maybe quit too, while I’m at it.” 

Jungkook’s lips part. “But why?” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” You cry. “I can’t keep up this fake dating with Yoongi anymore, it’s too complicated, and I’m actually in love with him so that opens up this whole other series of complications. And it’s not fair to Yoongi—he shouldn’t have to deal with feelings he obviously doesn’t return. The whole charade thing just isn’t doing me any good. And even if I break off the relationship, I would still have to see him all the time because of the whole manager situation. Quitting just seems like the best option for me.” 

Jungkook is quiet for a second. “How do you even know he wrote that song about Jieun?” He finally asks, speaking carefully. 

You shrug. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling. Who else has he been spending all this time with? Who else could that song possibly be about?” 

Jungkook gives you a long, hard look, like he almost can’t believe your brain can be thinking those thoughts. But he relents. “I think you should talk to Yoongi before quitting. He’s one of your best friends. He deserves to know why, at least.” He looks over your shoulder. “The chicken soup is done.” 

You whirl back around to turn off the stove. But also so Jungkook can’t see the tears glassing over your eyes. 

. 

It turns out, telling Yoongi you want to quit is a much more difficult task than you could have thought. For starters, Seokjin sets the pair of you up on more dates than before. Apparently, there are some rumors going around regarding Jieun’s more and more frequent turn-ups at KSJ Records, and people have started connecting the dots that her appearances are tied to either one of two reasons. Either Yoongi and Jieun are collaborating on music. Or they’re dating. 

The second reason is a lot juicier, much more exciting, so naturally a lot of people have gravitated towards supporting that reason. To try and expel those thoughts, Seokjin sends you out on more dates with Yoongi. It’s all fine, but your thoughts about breaking off this relationship and quitting just makes you more quiet and closed off as you wallow deeper into your thoughts. 

You suddenly don’t know how to contribute to the conversations Yoongi tries to bring up to you. The words seem to fail you every time, and you feel yourself constantly resorting to silence or one-worded answers. And it constantly always feels like Yoongi is standing too close to you. Every step towards you is a step away from him. When he tries to hold your hand on the sixth date in two weeks, you wiggle out of his grasp and pretend that you need to fix your jacket. 

Your own journey to self-destruction means that you are completely oblivious to the hurt in Yoongi’s eyes with every step you take to distance yourself from him. But what could you even say to him?

How could you tell him you want to quit your job in public? That would obviously lead to a fight, and it would reflect badly on Yoongi’s public image. Just because you want to quit doesn’t mean you still care about him, because you do. And you still want him to succeed. With Seokjin’s constant scheduling of dates, it leaves little room for you to share in an actual private discussion. The only off times Yoongi has are the days Jieun comes by the studio, and you try to stay a mile away from that place now. 

But it turns out, you don’t have a choice today, because Seokjin calls you into his office and tells you to drop off the samples of cover art that has just been dropped off at the studio. The cover art is something that Jieun and Yoongi have designed together for the album, to be displayed when the single is released. 

With heavy feet, you make your way through the hallways and towards Yoongi’s studio space. Every fiber in your being hopes that Yoongi and Jieun will be in the recording booth, working on their song (or even better, just not in the studio at all), so that you don’t have to face them enjoying each other’s company right in front of your face. There’s no music coming through the door, so your heart soars that latter prospect. 

As you open the door, however, you realize that there’s no way for you to be so lucky. 

Inside, Yoongi and Jieun are eating lunch, takeout noodles split between the two of them, and they’re in the middle of laughing. The laughter, however, stops when you open the door, effectively interrupting their fucking date. Which is a thought that does nothing to make you feel better. The silence that echoes on only further makes you feel like shit. 

You and Yoongi sharing a room privately nowadays is a rarity, since you’ve been doing a good job at avoiding him at all costs. His unanswered text messages and shortened calls echo through your mind at the sight of him. With the look he’s giving you, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. 

Jieun, however, remains completely oblivious to the situation as she gives you her normally bright cheery greeting. You stare at you, momentarily stunned. You would have thought Yoongi shared the troubles of your relationship with her, for some reason. You try to remain nice about it, though, giving Jieun a small smile as you return her greeting. 

“I, uh,” You start, bringing the package up for both of them to see. “Your cover art came in today. Seokjin just asked if I could drop it off here.” 

Jieun brightens at the sight. “Oh my gosh, it came! Do you mind if I…?” She trails off, hands reaching out to take the package from you. You give it to her. “Yoongi, isn’t that so exciting?” 

“Yeah…” Yoongi trails off. A quick glance at him tells you that he’s staring at you. You look away. “Did you see it yet?” He asks you. 

You shrug. “I, uh, haven’t. But, anyways, I have to get going.” 

“Hey,” Jieun calls, freezing you slightly in your path. “Thanks for bringing this over. We really appreciate it.” 

We?

The use of that specific noun, while supposedly harmless in the current context, makes your stomach flare with that white hot curl of jealousy. Your teeth clench, as you swallow down the spiteful words that almost manage to escape into the air around you. You smile, no teeth. “You’re welcome.” That’s the only thing you can manage before you’re turning around to open the door and practically bolt yourself out of the studio. 

You only make it a few feet before the door to the studio opens and you hear footsteps trailing after you. He calls your name, and your heart drops. You are so not ready for any type of one-on-one conversation with Yoongi right now. 

But your entire soul still gravitates toward him, so you stop and turn around to face him. 

Yoongi is by himself this time, and looking like a mixture of confused and defeated as he approaches you. “Listen,” He starts. “I know that we haven’t had a lot of time to really talk…” 

“It’s okay,” You brush off. 

Yoongi says your name again. “You know, you don’t need to lie to me. You’re my best friend—I can tell when you’re hiding something from me.” 

You sigh, shaking your head as every nerve in your body is telling you to walk away. “Yoongi, I’m not sure I can do this right now.” 

“Do what?” He presses. “I know that I’ve been super busy, but if you want to talk you can just let me know. Tell me what’s bothering you, okay? Because I…” He trails off, sighing, and you feel that vague sense of guilt wash over you. “I can tell that you’re avoiding me and it’s really shitty. I can’t even focus that much on my song with Jieun.” 

The mention of Jieun stiffens you up again. “Well, sorry for being an inconvenience,” You spit. “Why don’t you go back to your new fucking girlfriend if you’re gonna bring her up to my face again.” You couldn’t stop yourself this time—the words were too ready at your lips. Your chest is heaving from it too, but it is things that you know that you will regret saying. 

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow deeper together as your words. 

You stare right back at him, the shadow of a thought passing over you. If you’re going to tell Yoongi your biggest secret, it might as well be right now. You don’t know the next time you will be this brave, this reactive, this bold. 

Both of you open your mouths at the same time. 

“Did you just call Jieun my girlfriend?”

“I’m quitting.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You hadn’t meant to speak at the same time as him. A small wave of regret passes through you, as you hope that Yoongi wouldn’t have heard your statement over his question. But of course he does. 

Yoongi’s frowns at you. “Did you just say you were quitting?” 

You take a step back, running a hand through your hair as your exhale comes out shaky. More shaky than you intended it to. Oh no. “Yeah,” You manage, already feeling your emotions bottling up. “I was gonna try and talk to Seokjin about quitting before I left.” 

If Yoongi thinks you were joking before, he definitely doesn’t now because he takes a step towards you and catches your wrist before you can go that far. “B-But why?” His eyes have gotten a little wider, and he’s staring at you like his world is being pulled apart. 

You try to tug your wrist away to no avail. Your mind tries to flash through several different excuses, but you realize that you need to tell him the truth. Yoongi deserves that much, at least.

As you try to collect your thoughts, Yoongi starts scrambling. “W-Was it something I did?” He asks quickly. “Because normally you’d always try to call me out and I’d fix myself immediately. A-Are you unhappy with your position? Because I can try to get Seokjin to give you less workload or something. I-I’m really sorry if it was something that I did to hurt you. I-I just really need you here so talk to me… please…” 

You shake your head. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” You whisper. “I know your secret, Yoongi, and that’s why I can’t do this anymore.” 

“W-What secret?” His eyes are still on you. 

You take in another breath. “I went over to your apartment that night,” You start. “And I saw what you were writing in your journal. I know that you’re in love with Jieun, and that you only see me as a barrier to pursuing a relationship with her. And that sucks because normally, I’d encourage you to go after her. But we’re doing this whole dating thing, and I feel like I’m neck-deep because…” Your words come out a little more shaky. “Because I’m in love with you,” You whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for years. B-But I know now that I’ll never measure up to Jieun, or any of the other girls in this industry who deserve you more than I do. I thought that I could keep being professional for you and your career. But it’s too hard for me.” 

“W-Wait,” Yoongi says, tightening his grip on you. “Can you just let me explain, please? It’s not like that, I promise you.” 

You rip your wrist from his hand. “I read it!” You retort loudly. “Who else could be the person you want more than anything, but can’t have because of a physical barrier? When else have you used a real person to inspire your music? It’s too hard for me, Yoongi! I can’t keep doing this!” 

Yoongi seems to be struggling with his next words. “So, what?” Yoongi asks, circling around his next question carefully. “You’re just going to leave? Is this… the end of our friendship?” 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! I haven’t thought this out that far. But I know that we shouldn’t be doing this fake dating charade anymore, because I know there’s no way these past few months have meant the same to you as it did to me. I also know that I can’t really be in the same room with you right now.” 

Yoongi hopelessly gazes over at you, his own chest heaving as he himself struggles with what to say. “Please don’t do this,” He returns softly. 

Your gaze lingers on Yoongi’s for just a while longer, trying to burn the image of him in your mind, before you shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

. 

As it turns out, Seokjin is out of the office for the rest of the evening. Which is fine, right? Whatever. You can just call him tomorrow morning and schedule a meeting with him, tell him the urgency of it and will definitely be able to muster your strength for another conversation about your secret feelings for Yoongi. 

You return to your apartment and immediately burst into tears as the weight of today’s confrontation sinks its teeth right into your neck. You just shared your feelings with Yoongi, you threatened your employment, and almost cut off your friendship with Yoongi as a result of that. 

Your many years of friendship, of late nights, of laughter together. It seems silly to want to cut off an important friendship just like that—but it just seems unfair of you to carry on with a friendship where you’re always going to crave more. And if Yoongi is smart, he’ll know that as well, and he won’t come back. 

Still, a part of you just hopes a little. Even though, of course, it’s a stupid thing to hope for. Yoongi has already established his taste, and it’s definitely for people leagues above you. The thought only makes you cry a little harder, so much so that you try to drink some water in order to calm down. 

You’re in the beginning stages of patting down your face, of grabbing some spoons to put into the freezer, when there’s a series of frantic knocking at your door. You turn your head towards the source of the noise, trying to figure out who could be visiting at a time like this. It’s been a few hours since your confrontation with Yoongi at the studio, but you assume that he’s probably blowing smoke up Jieun’s ass. There’s no way that it could be him. 

So you open the door, and freeze when you realize that it is Yoongi. 

More than that, it’s Yoongi with his chest heaving. Almost like he has just run around the entire city to reach you. 

The only thing you can manage right now is a wide-eyed stare.

Yoongi stares right back at you. Just a few hours ago, he had looked so helpless and lost for words. A first, actually. But this time, he’s staring at you with so much intensity that you cannot look away. 

Yoongi finally seems to catch his breath. “You’re an idiot,” He states. 

You’re so caught off guard by that statement that you forget you’re supposed to be upset with him. “I’m sorry?” You ask. 

Yoongi huffs, practically barreling past you to step into your house. You try to tell him to stop, but he’s distracted by rummaging through his backpack for something. With a sigh, you decide to close the door. As soon as he’s standing in your kitchen, he finds an old, beaten up notebook that you vaguely remember from his college days. He points at you with his notebook. “You’re an idiot,” He repeats. “If you think that the lyrics on my coffee table are the first time I’ve written lyrics about a specific person.” 

At your shocked expression, he immediately starts flipping through the notebook. You notice that certain pages are marked with sticky tabs. 

Yoongi settles on a page and clears his throat. “Hidden within the walls of our lecture hall, your laughter curls through the cracks like liquid fire. You light up my day amongst borrowed pencils and shared jokes. I knew that you were going to change my life,” he reads. He looks up at you. “The first day I met you, when I asked you to borrow a pencil.” You remember those lyrics. It was from a song he had written called ‘starlight’—the opening song on his first EP. 

He flips through a few more pages. “I never learned about love, but I watch her believe in my dreams, take the same steps to join my team, and I feel like I could figure it out.” He looks at you. “When you agreed to help me with my Youtube channel.”

He continues through his notebooks of lyrics, of stories, of secrets. Every single lyric he reads to you connects back to some memory he holds of the two of you. All the memories together in college: from the panic attack he had in the bathroom of the first party the pair of you attended, to exploring the nearby cities via subway until early mornings, to corner ramen shops. 

Soon enough, he moves on to the lyrics he had written during his first tour. The distance he felt, and how that related to the emotional distance he felt with you—that desire he constantly felt for more, and how the manager and artist relationship the pair of you had couldn’t hold a candle to the friendship you once held. The distance was never a physical challenge, and that was something you could never connect the dots on. 

Every stone of his hidden affection is turned over, every lyric he has marked read over and explained with such a passion. It’s like he has waited years to finally have his turn, to finally speak the way he’s always wanted to—directly, with no tricks of music and whimsical arrangements to make you doubt everything he could say. 

He had written whole songs about the fake dating experience, of how he wasn’t sure he could only pretend to love you when it was the only thing he ever knew how to do. 

Finally, he flips to his most recent song. The very song that you had stumbled upon the other day in his apartment. “I want you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you,” He reads. He looks up at you. “The barrier was the blanket of our fake relationship. You were never stopping me from doing anything, because you were the only thing I have ever wanted. So…” He gestures to all the notebooks that he has laid out across your kitchen counter. “Do you now see how many song lyrics are actually about you? All about you. Because you’re all I’ve always known.” 

Your gaze carefully studies each notebook, layered over each other, overflowing with dedication and passion. The privacy of someone who has surprisingly spent his entire singing career sharing nothing but his darkest secrets. Your arms are overlapped with each other, tightening against your form. “I-I had no idea.” 

Yoongi shakes his head, but when he looks at you, his eyes are soft. “I figured that.” He’s leaning across the counter to keep his gaze leveled with you, but he pushes himself even closer to tap a finger on the spot between your eyes. “I thought I made it so obvious. You were never listening.” 

“I-I never thought to,” You admit softly. But Yoongi has a point. Ever since he started writing and sharing his original songs, he has done nothing but sing them to you in any and all forms. From the private sessions the pair of you shared in his college apartment, to the performances he would deliver on the street, in the recording booth at all hours of the day, to the tours and the audiences that sing those love declarations right back at you. For years, Yoongi has done nothing but give, and give, and give. And you had no idea. 

Your breath hitches, and Yoongi rounds the counter and gathers your face in his hands. “Shh,” He coos softly. “It’s not your fault.” 

You sniff. “It is my fault! I’m such a stupid bitch. And I treated you and Jieun like shit because I thought you were in love with her. I thought I was holding you back from being able to date who you really wanted to be with.” 

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, technically, you were.” At your look, he hastily goes to explain himself. “The person I really wanted to date was you. But since we were, uh, fake dating, that prevented me from being able to date you for real…”  

You groan at his teasing grin. “You idiot, that was so bad.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Yoongi is still grinning though, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. His eyes follow the movement, mentally outlining you into his mind. “I just wanted to see you smile.” His smile slips a little. “Since you had been ignoring me for so long.” 

You pout. “I told you, I thought you were in love with Jieun. And honestly, that would make a lot of sense… she’s really pretty and talented and you guys could talk about music for hours, especially compared to me—!” 

“Stop,” Yoongi cuts in, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m gonna stop you there before you say something I don’t like.” He angles his head to level his gaze with you. “Jieun is really cool, I’ll probably be the first one to admit that. But she’s not you. Hey, c’mon, look at me.” He forces you to look at him again. “You are also so, so pretty and smart and talented. You may not know a lot about music and songwriting, but you were always the one who pulled all-nighters with me to edit my videos, or learn music with me, or point out if something in my music didn’t sound right. Your passion to help is something I really love about you.” 

You pursue your lips to hide your smile. “Love, huh?” 

Yoongi doesn’t even hesitant. “Well, yeah, because I’m in love with you. I thought that was obvious.” 

You exhale. “Yeah, well, it’s different hearing you say it outloud.” 

Yoongi grins. “Well, hopefully you’ll get used to it. I have many years to make it up to you.” His smile dies down a little. “I’m sorry,” He finally settles with. “I should have been more straightforward and honest with you about my feelings. You must have been suffering for so long, having to keep it all in and everything.” 

You shake your head. “I’m also sorry,” You whisper. “For jumping to conclusions so fast. And also not really listening to your lyrics. That was kind of stupid of me, considering I’m your manager and everything.” 

Yoongi laughs. “It seems like you’re good now, seeing as you’ve just gotten an exclusive behind-the-scenes artist cut and commentary about his songs.” He pauses for a second. “So, I hope this means that you won’t quit being my manager. And that, maybe, we can promote our relationship from fake dates to real ones.” 

You smile. “I’d like that.” 

His smile turns softer. “And I was hoping that maybe I can kiss you again. For real, this time. No cameras, no Seokjin breathing down our necks.” 

You giggle. “Just so you know, if the kiss at your album release party had been a real one and we were actually dating at the time, I probably would have wanted you to fuck me in the bathroom or something.” 

Yoongi groans. “Don’t say that with that cute smile on your face. Makes me want to do things to you.” 

“I don’t see you pulling away though.” 

“Of course not.” Yoongi’s figure loams over you now, his lips brushing against yours. “I have three years to make up to you.” 

With that, he kisses you, silencing whatever next words you were going to say. That is, if you even had any to begin with. Now that he’s kissing you, stealing the breath from your lungs, you’re not even too sure any thoughts have been floating around at all. Unlike the kiss at the album release party, which had been softer and dainty, held back to hide a secret, this kiss is rougher. Yoongi is already moving his lips against yours, already parting his lips to brush his tongue against your lower lips. His hands are already sliding across the counter, trying to cover you more and more. 

His hand slips on the counter though, almost sending his sprawling on top of you. You catch him with your hand on his chest, as the sudden action makes both of you pull away from each other. The sight you both face is very much like the sight from the launch party: flushed cheeks and redden lips, a desire for more flickering behind eyes. 

But this time, there is no expectation to carry on in a party like a long-term couple. That is what allows Yoongi to wrap his arms around you, pulling you to his chest this time. He kisses you again, slower, softer, but you deepen the kiss with the part of your own lips this time. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you as he lifts you into his arms and blindly navigates through your apartment, into your bedroom, where you both fall atop the mattress. 

“And just for the record,” You whisper, right when Yoongi pulls away to let both of you catch your breath. “I love you too.” You’ve already admitted your feelings earlier in the day, but it’s worth it to see Yoongi deliver that heart pounding gummy smile. 

[crossiantgay]

Stronger Than (These Emotions)

Based on the post by @roman-exe about logan romancing roman :)

@tired-logan-kinnie here ya go :D

Most recently, Logan had come across an epiphany. He found himself in a predicament, unlike one he was accustomed to solving. Bluntly, he had fallen in love. And he had fallen hard. He was in a unique circumstance; the person he would have asked for help with all of this, was exactly who he needed help with. He was in love with the epitome of romance. 

Now, to get the obvious out of the way, the best though most risky decision would be to confess his feelings. He could, of course, not speak of his feelings but he knew he could only suppress them for so long and they would come upfront eventually. And he’d rather confess them on his own accord rather than be embarrassed on a slip of the tongue. So, the only option was to confess his feelings. Alright. Now, begged the question of how. He could come right out and say it, and that would be fine. But just fine. It made sense to increase his chances of success, to confess in a way the prince would adore. Roman always talked about those grand acts of love, a prince sweeping a princess off her feet, the stories that Disney and fairy tales produced. Well, there was no way he could make a fairy tale of his own without use of the imagination, but Roman seldom let anyone in there besides Remus so that was unlikely. Still, he could try to win him over. He gnawed on his bottom lip. He was trying to woo the prince of romance. It would be difficult, true but then again Logan liked a challenge. 

    Upon reflection, his feelings originated in one brainstorming session. It was late at night and they had gotten way off track. Roman was rambling about something, editing a paper with a large red crayon and his eyes seemed to sparkle as he talked. His hair was mussed and dark circles were forming under his eyes, but he was just as animated as ever. He was waving his hand about eccentrically as he spoke, making edits with his other hand. Even this late at night, Roman still had the vigor he held early that day. Roman had a passion that none of the others seemed to possess. A deep drive, a fire to always push himself further and Logan admired that. 

    Then there was the incident on a summer’s day. Logan only remembered that because Roman had the blinds drawn wide open, letting the sun illuminate the room. Because of the summer heat, Roman had a fan haphazardly stuck out the window, only the screen holding it from falling (Logan thought it was a bad idea but Roman assured him it would be fine). Logan walked in to tell him something, only to find Roman working at an easel, smeared with paint and downing a loose white shirt that was also coated in paint. There were flecks of it in his hair, making that stick out at imperfect angles. Possibly the most astounding part was what Roman was working on. Before Roman was a vase of flowers set on a couple cardboard boxes and Roman had almost copied it to a tea, of course swapping out the amazon boxes for a white platform. To say it was stunning was an understatement. Logan was snapped out of his thoughts when Roman turned around and unconsciously ran a hand through his hair and grimaced as paint dribbled through his caramel locks, sticking it together in bright green and pink clumps. 

“Nice to see you here, Specs,” Roman said as he wiped his hands off on his shirt.

“Your painting looks phenomenal” Logan said breathlessly, ignoring the question. Even though Roman was extremely talented, he always fumbled at compliments. His cheeks tinted a rosy pink. 

“Th-thanks” He stuttered out and Logan smiled a bit.

“Of course” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the room. They slipped into a conversation, though Logan was only half-invested, letting his mind wander. Roman was so talented, Logan was always stunned when he saw his latest creation. Though he also embodied creativity, he was always impressed when he saw what roman could make. Watching Roman measure out the dimensions for sketches, and combine what was such a natural and impulsive art form with rules and steps, was astounding. Roman was so spontaneous and less rigid than he was, but also followed rules and instructions like he did. Logan began to understand how creativity was intelligence being fun. 

    The next moment that came to mind was far more recently. Logan was sitting on Roman’s bed helping him clean out his closet. Logan was growing a bit bored watching Roman try on shirt after shirt. Logan was studying the bedsheets when roman came out in yet another outfit. 

“Well? What do you think?” Logan’s head snapped up and he had a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue when his breath caught in his throat and he felt his face heat up. Roman was in a red evening dress, which was very curve-hugging. Curves that Roman had. There was a slit cut down one side of the dress, what he believed was a ¾ cut; and it almost seemed to shimmer in the light. It was the perfect mix of elegant and sensual, and it sent a shiver down Logan’s spine. 

“Well-I-uh-” He sputtered as Roman grinned and spun around. Logan buried his head in his hands, pushing his glasses to rest in his hair. 

“I’ll take that as a good sign,” Roman grinned and ran into the bathroom to change. “This one’s definitely a keeper” 

It was about a half an hour past the incident, which he bet Roman would have called a broke gay moment they were almost done with going through his closet. Roman pulled out a hoodie from the back of the closet and looked at it suspiciously. He slipped off his shirt, not even caring about Logan's presence and slid on the hoodie. Logan recognised it immediately. 

“Why do you have my hoodie?” Logan asked, quirking an eyebrow. Roman flapped his arms in the oversized hoodie and Logan ran his eyes down Roman’s outfit. The hoodie fell a few inches above his knees and hung off one shoulder. Roman flipped up the hood and seemed to melt into the warmth. 

“It still smells like you..” He mumbled as his eyes slipped shut. “Like mint and dark chocolate” Logan saw Roman’s knees buckle dangerously and he bolted up, catching Roman and picking him up bridal style as Roman yawned. 

“Maybe we should stop for a bit?” Logan asked, the shock of the surprise not leaving his voice as Roman barely nodded. 

“Just for-” he yawned again “a short nap” Logan nodded a bit and sighed, setting him up on the bed and wrapping him in a blanket. 

“Will you help me finish when I wake up?” Roman cracked an eye open as he turned on his side, looking like a human caterpillar in the blanket. Logan nodded as he smoothed out Roman’s hair. 

“Of course” Roman smiled faintly. 

“Thanks hon-” He yawned again and fell asleep. That was the moment Logan should’ve known he loved Roman. How that pet name made him feel like he was on fire, how much he wanted to cradle Roman to sleep, were indicative signs of a crush Logan dismissed at the time for just being ‘a caring friend’. He could only hope that the others hadn’t discovered his apparent infatuation. If they had, well then he wouldn’t hear the end of it. At the end of the day, he was figuratively head over heels for Roman. He was so deeply in love with every part of him. His passion, his creativity, and he felt shallow for saying this, but Roman was objectively attractive. He didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t express these feelings sooner or later. 

    The next morning he set his plan into action. He’d do just a few flirty lines and touches, just to figuratively test the water. Roman was stirring his coffee near the coffee maker and Logan walked by to get his mug, brushing hands with him. Roman looked up at him quizzically but Logan ignored him, pretending if nothing had happened. Logan finished making his coffee and went to walk away. As he did, he looked the princely side up and down which brought a pinkish tint to Roman’s cheeks. 

“You look cute today” He smirked and took a sip of his coffee, leaving roman baffled and blushing. He waited a bit before he made his next move, which was at movie night that night. Everyone was crammed on the couch, Virgil retreating to the corner with Janus and Remus on the edge and Patton on the floor because they ran out of space. They were all wearing their respective onesies and the horn of Roman’s beast onesie was poking into Logan’s shoulder. 

At some point into the movie, Roman shivered and Logan noticed, eyes flicking to him. Logan wrapped an arm around him, pulling Roman closer. Roman instinctively cuddled into his side before he realized what he was doing and locked eyes with Logan, blushing noticeably. 

“What? You looked cold” Logan whispered and Roman looked away, snuggling closer to him. 

    The credits were just starting to roll as Logan felt something tickle his jaw. Sure enough, a very sleepy Roman was cuddling him, caramel locks brushing against Logan’s chin and one arm wrapped around him, head nuzzled into his chest. Logan’s heart hammered in his chest at the sight and he blushed a dark crimson. Patton grinned and gave him a thumbs up as Janus started to bring Remus to bed. Virgil sat up and yawned. “You gonna stay down here, Lo?” 

Logan nodded and sighed. “I don’t think I have much of a choice” Patton nodded. 

“You two have fun!” 

“But not too much fun” Janus said instinctively and yawned. Logan nodded and put his glasses on the counter, trying to get into a comfortable position. He held roman loosely and his eyes slipped shut. 

    He woke up early the next morning, by the look of the clock around 4 or so though it was hard to be certain without his glasses. Thankfully, Roman was still asleep. He smiled a bit and played with Roman hair, pulling a blanket over them. Roman yawned and stirred, making Logan instantly curse himself. 

“Shh, shh, stay asleep-” Logan hushed him quickly, to no avail. 

“What? Why’d I-” Roman tried to sit up but Logan continued to hold him. 

“Just go back to sleep, hun. It’s too early I’m sorry I woke you up” Logan blurted out. 

“What’s-” Roman was slurring his words. “What’s goin’ on..?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes 

“I woke you up, I’m sorry it’s like 4 in the morning please go back to sleep” He said hastily and Roman sighed. 

“Tell me-” he yawned “in the morning” There was the warmth pressing against him again as Roman buried his head in the crook of Logan’s neck. 

Logan ran his fingers through Roman’s hair--how is his hair that soft?-- and smiled down at the boy in his arms. He would confess in the morning, right after Roman woke up he would tell him and get everything sorted out. 

But even Logic should be accustomed to the fact that not everything goes to plan. 

    Roman woke up at about 7 that morning, just as the kitchen was filling with people. He stretched, only to lock eyes with a very asleep Logan. He jumped as Logan’s eyes cracked open and he yawned. The memories of last night hit him like a brick wall and he felt his face heat up as he realised he had been cuddling with Logan all night. Logan’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled warmly at Roman, still laced with sleep. 

“Morning,Roro” He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through Roman’s hair, somewhat fixing his bedhead (Which Logan would never say he thought was adorable). Roman was now a dark crimson, envying the color of his sash. It brought Logan a great deal of pride when he saw how flustered Roman was. 

“Is something wrong, my rose?” Logan asked gently. Roman shook his head and stood up, stuttering out an apology or two as he scrambled off to his room. Logan sighed, sitting up and started getting ready for the day. 

    Logan got to his desk and saw a note written in black ink. It read “meet me in the storage room, 8 tonight”. The note was written today and the writing was barely legible, looking like someone wrote it with their non-dominant hand. That, along with the fact the note was colorless, made it near impossible to tell who sent it. Logan made a reminder for himself at 7:55, this was far too intriguing to let go. 

    The work day seemed to pass by all too slowly, each minute dragging on for a few seconds longer, and all he could think about was who sent the note. By the end of the day, Logan was quite on-edge, being startled by even the drop of a pen. Finally, he heard the quiet beep of his computer, alerting him that the time of apprehension has rolled around. Not that he hadn’t been staring at the clock for several minutes now, anyway. He straightened himself out and made his way to the storage room. He fiddled with the doorknob for a few seconds, just now realizing how sweaty his hands were. He wiped his hands down on his jeans before jiggling the doorknob again, and the door swung open. 

    Roman was standing in the room, arms crossed over his chest and an unamused expression on his face. Logan felt his heart beat quicker and he put on the least-caring expression he could think of. 

“Greetings, Roman. I assume you’re the one that left the cryptic note on my desk?” Roman rolled his eyes before looking at the ground and shoving one hand into his pocket. 

“What is with you, Logan? One second you’re giving me all the pet names like ‘my rose’ and ‘Roro’ and the next you’re acting like we’ve never met!” Oh. so that is what this is about. “Just tell me what’s going on so I can try to help, but I’m sick of this game of two-face!” Logan crossed his arms over his chest and stayed silent. “Because I don’t know if you love me or hate me, and every time I think I’ve done something wrong!” 

“You want answers?” Logan asked, monotone and Roman nodded. 

“Please, Logan! Just tell me what’s-” Logan cupped Roman’s face with both hands and kissed him. So this is what it was like to hold the whole world in your hands. They stayed like that for a few moments before Logan stumbled back as Roman pushed him away. Roman’s chest was heaving and a dark blush was spotting his cheeks. Despite all of this, he looked upset. Had Logan done something wrong?-

“Answers. Now.” Roman crossed his arms over his chest again. Logan scrambled to try and correct his thoughts. Now was the moment of truth, he needed something perfect to say or-or- 

“Logan, focus” Roman’s hands were on his forearms as he looked at Logan with soft eyes, very different from the wild and scared look in his, matching a spooked horse. If Roman truly loved him back, then he wouldn’t need some elegant speech to win him over. Just say what he thought.

“I-I don’t know the right way to say this, and I don’t think I ever will.” He looked down and wrung his hands, on-edge. Roman nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing. “I love you, Roman. And I have for a while now” Roman’s eyes widened but Logan continued. “I love every part of you. Your passion, your creativity,” Logan laughed a bit “even your bedhead.” Roman looked away, the blush more prominent on his face. “All this time, I was trying to come out with some grand gesture to confess my love for you, something equal to the fairy-tale rescues you are always admiring” Roman went to step towards him, and Logan flinched involuntarily, incredibly alert and vulnerable now. A lot more than he was used to being. “And I’m saying you have to feel the same way, I just wanted to tell you how I feel. In no way am I expecting you to have the same-” Roman’s lips met his again. This one was soft and gentle, like the steady crashing of waves. Logan thought he might just melt into a pulled of stunned bliss as his hands slowly found their way to wrap around Roman’s waist. Eventually, Roman pulled away, a wide grin on his face, probably matching Logan’s own. 

“Hypocrite,” he muttered, a smile ever-present on his face and Roman giggled. Logan thought he was having a heart attack and had slipped into a coma. That was the only explanation, this was too perfect and sweet and somehow everything he ever wanted. He’d have to have one more kiss to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. And maybe another one after that. 

    Later that night as he was sitting on the couch with his now-boyfriend fast asleep and tucked into his side, he had finally found the state of Schrodinger's cat, had seen the dark side of the moon, and had found his whole world. And it could be summarized into one word. One glorious, extravagant word that represented someone who always made things more complicated than they needed to be, who wasn’t afraid to belt out musical ballads at ungodly hours of the night, and to him was the ying to his yang. To him, someone who was perfectly imperfect and someone he was certain he wanted to be with his whole life. And that person’s name was Roman. 

[ahsoka-lives]

Apprentice pt. 3 (REWRITE)

A/n: Yikes, I didn’t like the original one too much so I edited it and added a bit more perspective and changed the over all plot structure a bit. The beginning is largely the same, it’s the end and the dialogue that changed the most. I appreciate the kind words given from the original but I am critical of myself and will always find ways to pick apart what I wrote, whether it was good or not. I promise this one is staying up! Thank you all for almost 150 followers!! And thank you for being so patient with me as I repost work and take so long to update. I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves and that you enjoy this chapter!! Gif is by @wiccangoddes​

Warnings: Descriptions of death, threats, Soulmate AU

Word count: 3199

The past month alone on this ship was tiresome, the only consistency was a dull ache in the base of your skull, a side effect of not being with Cal. Luckily, yesterday was the final portion of tests aboard the training vessel.

There wasn’t much about the final test you remembered, only going into the sensory deprivation chamber and succumbing to the sedative. When you woke up you were cleared to return to “Cal’s supervision”, a phrase you were growing tired of.

Secretly, you’d grown bitter the past few weeks, you were treated far worse when not around Cal. The technicians weren’t exactly pleasant and while you may have worn their uniform, they knew who you were and where you came from. They treated you like the Bracca trash they saw you as. Now, when looking at you there were no remnants of your upbringing in your appearance. Long gone was the poncho that served you comfort all those years. No one could tell that the Empire tore you away from the only place you could call home and attempted to brainwash you. You couldn’t help but feel like you let this happen, mesmerized by the idea of a happily ever after with Cal, you willingly walked aboard the transport. Then not even a day later, you watched him walk away from you and onto his ship with only a few kind words and the promise of his return.

All personnel walked the halls with their heads high and shoulders back. Their uniforms blurred them together, erasing any personality within them. They were only of the Empire, nothing else. The fluorescent lighting reflected off the white tile, giving the ship a sense of sterility. Now, you stood in the mirror of your small, cramped room aboard the training vessel. The brandishing of the Inquisition was displayed on your shoulder, this was their training armor. It was similar to Cal’s chest plate, only yours lacked his sense of authority. You knew that was something you’d have to make for yourself starting today. 

Today was your first time back into the real world since being taken into the Empire and because of how fresh your training is, Cal was going to keep you under a microscope.

 - Cal’s POV

Cal Kestis stood inside the small bay of his ship in front of the holotable, his eyes fixated on the projection in front of him. It was the case file containing every ounce of data the Empire could procure on you. Every test, every simulation, every behavioral pattern that could be used to predict your future actions in the field. On your last test, you performed abnormally well with the exception of one minor infringement that resulted in the test ending sooner than expected, written off as a technical difficulty. Nevertheless, they sent the recording to him, just as he requested for every test.

Cal looked fondly at the intake photo that was shown next to your name one last time. He knew all too well what was to come, how could he not? The Empire was exceptionally skilled in controlling its subjects and as such, they had a knack for identifying those who would give them trouble. He wondered what you would think of the name they’d given you and if you would soon prove them right.

 Y/f/n Kestis, FLIGHT RISK.

-Reader’s POV

The walk to the hangar was a short one, within minutes you were walking on the bridge that hung over it. You looked down onto the ship that had just docked. Standing beside it talking to a small group of troopers was Cal, instantly upon seeing him your muscles relaxed, the ache in your neck and shoulders lessened. The closer you got the more the tense feeling of anticipation in both of you slipped away. That’s not to say the bitterness you felt was gone, only lessened with the feeling of normalcy returning to your body

.“Apprentice.” He nodded to you in acknowledgment. You stayed silent as he dismissed the troopers and let them walk for a moment before pulling you in for an unexpected hug. The headache left you almost instantly and you melted into his arms. The energy around him fought to suffocate you further against him, you weren’t sure if this was a conscious effort or just a reflex for him. He took a deep breath in, balance returning to him after a long few weeks without having you around. Was he happy to see you or happy to feel his power returning?

-

While on your way to the new living arrangements that the Empire set up for Cal and you, a distress signal was intercepted by the ship. A small outpost on a nearby moon had a small squabble with the locals, nothing out of the ordinary according to Cal. 

Across from you in the bay, Cal’s helmet sat in the chair next to him as he meditated, there was something peaceful about this. His face was relaxed with the exception of his brows furrowed in concentration. Seeing him like this humanized him, it made a hopefulness bloom inside of you, maybe his intimidating manner was all a facade. 

But as soon as the ship landed, the helmet returned, with it your memory of what he’s done while wearing that uniform. The uniform reminded you of the time you spent in the labs on the training vessel. They showed you what the Empire had in store for you. The Empire wanted to turn you into a weapon just like they had Cal. The simulations were designed to warp your view on reality, to plant the false narrative of the Empire’s savior complex, and to tempt you into accepting its enemies on as your own. Perhaps their biggest mistake was showing you what the Empire does to force sensitives. They showed you that if it weren’t for your ties to Cal, you would be lying dead in the scrapyards at this very moment. 

The Force-sensitives in the simulations were painted as burdens, as insignificant evils that needed to be removed from the galaxy with a swift and heavy hand. But, if that were true, what did that make you? How could you in good conscience kill someone like you? Someone who may not even understand their role in the universe yet or what it even means to be Force-sensitive. It’s thoughts like these that made the idea of running more tempting. 

You desperately tried to smother these thoughts, you’d hate for Cal to catch on. You’d learned that those skilled with the Force could tap into the thoughts and feelings of those around them and slight paranoia followed you ever since. For all you knew, he could be trying to see inside your head right this moment. 

 “Apprentice, let’s get going.” Cal snapped you out of the mental spiral you’d gone down. The fresh air washed over you and with it a fleeting moment of happiness.

“Let’s see if any of that training paid off.” He spoke as he held a saber out in his hand for you. It was cold and heavy in your hands, heavier than the training saber you used with the droids. Side by side, you walked with Cal, a squadron of troopers trailing behind you. The grass was near your knees and the trees towered over you providing shelter from the sun.

This wouldn’t be a bad place to disappear.

The group walked for miles in near silence until a column of smoke emerged from beyond the trees.

 “Eyes up, that’s coming from the outpost, this might be bigger than we thought.” Cal’s modulated voice called out. The troopers fanned out from behind you and raised their blasters. The air felt tense and the hairs on your neck stood, every sound suddenly more clear. 

Cal raised his fist to halt the troopers and looked down at the scanner on his forearm. Your eyes remained on the trees in front of you. They looked to Cal for direction who only pointed two fingers ahead of the group at the thick wall of trees and shrubbery. In unison, you and Cal reached for your sabers. 

Suddenly, high pitch blaster shots whizzed past you in a red flash, you braced and brought your saber up to block as many as you could. One by one the troopers were shot down, leaving only you and Cal standing. You gave a nervous glance up to his helmet and dug your feet further into the ground to solidify your position. He felt oddly calm. 

“Cal Kestis, we meet again.” A woman emerged from the trees, her voice was steady and smooth. Her cream-colored robes flowed gently in the wind, her dark hair was tied back out of her face that adorned a small smile. Behind her were a few soldiers dressed in similar green and beige clothes, not quite a uniform but close to it.

 “Trilla, how disappointing.” Cal mocked the woman. “How’s the leg doing since I last cut it off?”

“Well, the prosthesis business is booming, apparently a lot of sword-wielding maniacs have been running around” She joked and raised an eyebrow at the Inquisitor. “Aren’t you interested as to why I lured you here?”

“Not really, no. I’d rather skip to the part where I finish you and your little band of men off for good this time.” He sassed and flipped his saber up in his hands absentmindedly.

 “We got word of another Jedi being abducted by you and your sisters, am I right to assume this is her?” She sneered, gone was the playful banter between them.

“She’s no Jedi, and she’s none of your concern.” He growled and put an arm in front of you protectively.

 “On the contrary, innocent life in the hands of the Empire is and will always be my first priority.” She paused and looked at you this time. “I’m here to help you, what’s your name?”

“I’m Y/n, and I don’t need your help.” You bit back and grabbed hold of his arm to lower it, allowing you to step forward. He was more than hesitant to allow this and you could feel his distaste for the situation arising. 

“Y/n, a little early for blind allegiance to them, isn’t it?” She urged and took a small step forward making Cal tense visibly.

“At least she knows where she belongs.” He bit from behind the mask.

“With the enemy? With the government who hunts down people like us?”

“There is no us, Trilla.” He chuckled darkly as he continued to berate her. “The order is gone, only the ashes of its failure remain along with insolent, naive padawans like yourself.”

“You forget that you were once a padawan, that you once wore the symbol of the Jedi with pride.” Her voice was saturated in emotion and she seemed to be choking back tears.

“For a Jedi, you sure cry a lot.” He rolled his eyes under the helmet, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “How about I really give you something to cry about?”

His gloved hand raised in front of him and one of the soldiers rose from the ground and flew toward him. He swiftly impaled the soldier with his saber before letting the body fall to the ground at his feet. Without hesitation, he moved forward and lifted another off the ground only this time his fist curled tightly, and with a subtle movement of his head, he snapped the man’s neck. 

The woman named Trilla cried out, sprung forward and clashed her saber against his, their duel ensuing. You were torn from your state of shock by a blaster shot grazing past your shoulder. Your eyes flew to the source and you reflexively brought your saber up to block the next one.

 “Apprentice, you’re going to have to be more offensive than that,” Cal called out, his tone playful as he kicked Trilla in the chest sending her flying back. 

His hand stretched out and lifted the soldier who fired at you up and with a flick of his wrist the soldier was flown into the ground in front of you. The man was visibly shaken but his intent to finish his mission seemed to take precedence over what just happened. You screwed your eyes shut and swung your saber forward, slashing the rifle in half. 

The soldier, seemingly unfazed, swept your ankle with his foot making you fall to the ground, your saber falling a few feet away now lifeless. A knife was pulled from his boot and he lurched forward in an attempt to impale you with it. You shuffled backward away from him, your back near the dirt, panic flooding your chest. 

Your eyes looked to Cal who was preoccupied with a fight of his own and you realized that you were alone in this. You scrambled to your feet and took cautious steps back as the man in front of you seemed to be calculating his next attack. The saber, your only chance of survival, was at his feet. The soldier grunted and leaped toward you, you barely managed to avoid it. Your hand reached out desperately for your saber and every ounce of effort was forced into calling it to you, but the saber barely shifted on the ground. 

You groaned in frustration, why wasn’t it working?

“Y/n, behind you!” Cal yelled but it was too late, you were tackled to the ground, your head slamming into the firm grass.

 “Commander, I have her!” The man yelled to Trilla. 

The trees around you seemed to spin and you struggled to move as he had you pinned down, your saber was resting on the ground just a few feet in front of you and just beyond it was the fierce duel between the Jedi and the Inquisitor. You had to admit, Trilla was skilled but she lacked something that you saw in Cal. He was downright violent, while Trilla fought to defend herself, he fought for the sake of fighting. She fought toward an end but he relished in seeing the frustration on his opponent’s face as he evaded their attacks and inflicted pain onto them. 

You let your eyes shut and you tried to recall what you felt all those weeks ago on Bracca. Your hand flexed open and you let your mind feel the air around you, imagining that the world around you was still. You gave up on trying to physically will the saber to you and allowed your mind to do the work for you. You just had to get out of this, you weren’t going to let someone else take you away to stars knows where.

You sighed in relief when the cool metal of the hilt was in your hands. When your eyes reopened, the deep red of the saber was alive in front of you. You caught it in reverse and the blade had opened directly into the man’s chest, his limp body falling off of you. You stood up panting and looked to Cal who had single-handedly taken on the four other men and Trilla.

“Your men are dead, Trilla, are you ready to join them?” Cal taunted, his arms gesturing around to the dead bodies that lay around the three of you. The pain on her face was evident as was her exhaustion. She looked to you with an earnest glint in her eyes, a silent plea but you didn’t know what for. 

“Can’t you see what he is? What he wants you to become?” She begged and gestured to Cal, his face still hidden by his armor. “A monster in a mask who spends every waking moment in darkness.” 

“You don’t seem to understand, Trilla, she knows.” He chuckled and lazily twirled his saber in his hand. “Besides, she couldn’t leave me if she wanted to, we are bonded by the Force, inseparable.”

 “You? The Force gave you a soulmate?” She spit, sheer disbelief written over her face as she shook her head. “That doesn’t matter, you’ve known her for what? Four weeks? The bond isn’t complete, there’s still time for her.”

“None of this matters, but, I’ll tell you the best part.” He laughed, he was thoroughly entertained by all of this, the pain she felt included. “She knows no family, no past worth holding onto. There’s nothing for you to tempt her with. Only I can give her what she wants.”

He was right, you had nothing pulling you back, no family for you to return to. But if what Trilla said was true, you had nothing keeping you here either.

 Maybe you didn’t have to become another pawn. 

You took another look at the man in front of you, the memory of his comfortable arms still fresh in your memory. Cal promised you a lot, a soulmate...stability, but at what cost? Your eyes moved to the woman that was now kneeling on the ground, wounded and exhausted from fighting your partner. She offered a way out of the Empire’s schemes but that was it. Surely you could find that for yourself. In a moment of pure thoughtlessness you raised your palm up toward Cal, gaining his attention.

“My dear, that’s a bold move, even for you.” He chided and raised his hands to remove his helmet. “Are you sure you have what it takes to go against me?” 

“I’ll be long gone by the time you’re moving again.” Your voice was shaky as you tested the waters against him, guilt of your betrayal arising in you.

“Oh, I’m sure. I’ve seen what you can do but you have only seen a taste of what I can do.” He promised with a chilling intensity, a wicked smile on his handsome face, his excitement growing by the second. His irises tinted yellow and his pupils were blown. 

“Go ahead, I can handle it, sweetheart.” You felt the past few weeks of suppressed emotions and near torture bubbling inside of you. “Come on, gorgeous, I’ll give you a head start.”

He deactivated his saber and hooked it onto his waist, seemingly unbothered by the Jedi watching this unfold. While this meant he was going to let you run, it wasn’t nearly enough security for you. You mustered up all the strength that you could and forced Cal over the wall of bushes and away from you. 

After a moment of silence, you assumed him to be unconscious and stalked over to Trilla with a determined look on your face. 

“I knew you’d do the right thing, y/n.” She sighed and rose to her feet. The words made you roll your eyes, his arrogance was rubbing off on you. “I’m glad you’re joining the right cause.”

“I’m getting tired of everyone talking and thinking on my behalf, who said I was joining you?” You growled and shot your hand out to pull her saber into your hand, her unfounded trust in you left her guard down. 

Now, with both sabers in hand, you pointed one across her throat, the other in a block position above your torso. “Take me to your ship.”

[dweemeister]

Best Live Action Short Film Nominees for the 93rd Academy Awards (2021, listed in order of appearance in the shorts package)

NOTE: For viewers in the United States (continental U.S., Alaska, and Hawai’i) who would like to watch the Oscar-nominated short film packages, click here. For virtual cinemas, you can purchase the packages individually or all three at once. You can find info about reopened theaters that are playing the packages in that link. Because moviegoing carries risks at this time, please remember to follow health and safety guidelines as outlined by your local, regional, and national health officials.

This blog, since 2013, has been the site of my write-ups to the Oscar-nominated short film packages. No pandemic was going to stop me this year, as I was able to view the short film packages virtually thanks to a local repertory, the Frida Cinema of Santa Ana, California. Without further ado, here are the nominees for the Best Live Action Short Film at this year’s Oscars. Films predominantly not in the English language are listed with their nation of origin.

The Present (2020, Palestine)

Since the 1990s, the Israeli military has set up hundreds of checkpoints within Palestine’s West Bank. These checkpoints have impeded Palestinian movement within the Israeli-occupied West Bank, supposedly to better protect the extraterritorial Israeli settlements there. Directed by Farah Nabulsi, The Present could have easily fell into an agitprop trap – leaning on political outrage rather than the individual emotions that power this film – but it deftly avoids doing so. On the day of his wedding anniversary with his wife, Yusef (Saleh Bakri) decides to go shopping with daughter Yasmine (Maryam Kanj). Yusef and Yasmine travel to and from Bethlehem (which is in Palestine, but is not easily accessible by Palestinians) to purchase a new refrigerator, groceries, and a few goodies for Yasmine. The process of traveling just a few miles from home proves onerous and humiliating.

Nabulsi’s film never feels like a lecture, instead preferring to juxtapose the cruel ironies that these Israeli checkpoints embody. The viewer intuits how militarized and confusing these checkpoints must be to the Palestinians. Israel’s apartheid mindset extends to the West Bank – the checkpoints have a single lane for Israeli drivers and a gated, narrow entryway specifically for the Palestinians. Past the checkpoint during their time shopping, life seems briefly normal. That Nabulsi can navigate the contrasting emotions between these scenes reflects the tautness of this film and its hints of Italian Neorealism. Bakri, as Yusef, is excellent during his tense conversations with the Israeli soldiers, even if some of these moments feel more stilted due to the actors playing the soldiers and the guerrilla filmmaking this piece employs. For Kanj, as Yasmine, one can see her anguish in seeing her father discriminated against on what should have been a special day. For Palestinian children, injustice is a rite of passage.

My rating: 8/10

Feeling Through (2019)

It is a chilly night in New York City at an hour where few are outside by choice. Teenager Tareek (Steven Prescod) is homeless. After saying good night to his friends, he happens upon Artie, a deafblind man (Robert Tarango, who is deafblind himself) holding up a sign requesting anyone to assist him. Curious and half-willing to help, Tareek taps Artie on the arm. Artie pulls out a tattered notepad and marker, asking for help to get to a bus stop. What follows is an uplifting connection between two cast-off souls, sharing each other’s good company and good humor if only for a brief time. Director Doug Roland based Feeling Through on an encounter he had with a deafblind man named Artemio. Roland’s film was accomplished in collaboration with the Hellen Keller Center.

Cynical viewers might view Feeling Through as syrupy, its swirling score too manipulative, the screenplay predictable, the filmmaking pedestrian. To different extents, each of those criticisms are true, but that does not undermine the raw inspiration responsible for this film’s pulse. It boasts solid performances from Prescod and Tarango – the latter a kitchen worker from Long Island and possibly the first deafblind actor in a lead role in film history. Roland’s screenplay beautifully strips away stereotypes of deafblind people. Tarango, as Artie, is neither overly dependent nor secluded from society. He knows that being deafblind sets him apart from those who can see and hear, and embraces the difference – lending a refreshing directness to how he communicates. Despite its lack of filmmaking or acting pedigree compared to its other nominees in this category, Feeling Through enters this Academy Awards season without a single loss in any of the film festivals that it screened in. No wonder: it is a crowd-pleaser in the best sense, without ever glossing over how difficult it is to be deafblind.

My rating: 9/10

Two Distant Strangers (2020)

Production on Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe’s Two Distant Strangers began in the shadow of George Floyd’s murder at the hands of former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin. Its emotions are raw and there is no doubt behind the importance of the film’s messaging. Carter (rapper Joey Bada$$) has had some first date with Perri (Zaria Simone), and leaves in the morning to get home to his pet dog. Just outside the apartment building door, a police officer named Merk (Andrew Howard) stops Carter, profiles him, and ultimately kills Carter in cold blood. Once Carter dies, the film cuts to Carter and Perri in bed once again. Immediately, the viewer knows this film is a time loop a la Groundhog Day (1993), and, no matter what precautions he takes, Carter just cannot avoid execution from Merk’s hands. Through the film’s structure, Free and Roe capture the sinking, repetitive feeling that black Americans go through when hearing the news of yet another incident of police brutality.

Good intentions and urgency, however, do not necessarily make a worthy film. Some of the editing in Two Distant Strangers’ middle third shows too many images of Carter’s bullet-riddled body. After the first few instances of the time loop, the viewer does not need another glimpse of a lead-shredded corpse, blood splattering across pavement. The filmmaker’s fury towards Carter’s situation – that nothing will change – is already evident in the idea of such killings. Combined with the questionable dialogue in the final time loop and the mediocre acting, this all feels exploitative, an unwitting product of Hollywood’s history of fetishizing black trauma. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS), historically, likes to reward films they perceive as demonstratively staged and thematically urgent. Two Distant Strangers meets both these criteria, but this material could have retained its rage without as much sensationalism.

My rating: 6/10

White Eye (2019, Israel)

Like Feeling Through, Tomer Shushan’s White Eye – the winner of the Narrative Short Film award at South by Southwest (SXSW) – was based on an actual encounter in its director’s life. Late at night in the streets of Tel Aviv, Omer (Daniel Gad) has spotted his stolen bicycle locked onto a rack. Omer lost his bike more than a month ago, has not filed a police report, and seeks to reclaim it as soon as possible. The police are of no help, and the people proximate to the intersection where these events take place are unwilling or hesitant to help. The now-owner of the bike is an Eritrean refugee named Yunes (Dawit Tekelaeb), and he insists to his manager (Reut Akkerman) and to Omer that he did not know that the bike was stolen property when he purchased it. And yet Omer’s tenacity and fit of passion spirals the situation beyond his or Yunes’ control.

White Eye is impressively staged, filmed in a single take – no cuts, no edits, all in real-time. To compare this film one last time to Feeling Through, White Eye accomplishes all it needs to say at a short film’s length. Some might claim Saar Mizrahi’s cinematography and 360º smooth-rotating is just another modern filmmaking gimmick; instead, it submerges the viewer into Omer’s mentality as he fights to retrieve his bike. The purposefully subjective framing questions the viewer on what our reactions might be in this situation, how deeply would we allow out outrage – and perhaps our ethnic/racial biases – to guide our actions. Shushan challenges the audience not to adopt Omer’s conclusions and emotions so readily, and he does a masterful job in appealing to and challenging one’s empathy as it becomes clear there will be no storybook ending.

My rating: 8/10

The Letter Room (2020)

By virtue of its central actor, The Letter Room is the most high-profile of this year’s nominees. Elvira Lind’s film is a dark comedy and its approach and tone are difficult to categorize. Richard (a mustached Oscar Isaac, who is Lind’s spouse) is a corrections officer who has requested a departmental transfer. With the transfer, he trades a more hands-on role for an office job. As the prison’s communications director, his responsibilities now entail filing through all of the prisoners’ incoming and outgoing mail – reading through all of the letters, reporting to his superiors for prison rules violations, censoring materials if necessary. At first, this role is as tedious as his previous position. But when Richard begins to read the histories of the prisoners and their loved ones, he becomes emotionally invested in a particular exchange between one death row inmate and his loved one (Alia Shawkat).

The Letter Room, despite a serviceable performance by Isaac as the unusual and stiff lead, has a milquetoast commentary about how the American criminal justice system imprisons more than just the inmates. These themes shambolically merge with Richard’s inherent loneliness, his inability to separate his own feelings from the voyeuristic work that his new position entails. This is a fellow looking for meaningful human connection, finding none, and attempting to understand something he has never found. The Letter Room curiously never questions the tricky ethics of Richard’s decision to intervene with the decisions made by Alia Shawkat’s character, and how the power disparities of his interactions color his life. The film’s conclusion is unearned, placing too neat a bow on a film that cannot balance its incongruous themes.

My rating: 6/10

^ All ratings based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

From previous years: 85th Academy Awards (2013), 87th (2015), 88th (2016), 89th (2017), 90th (2018), 91st (2019), and 92nd (2020).

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part two Word count: ±3000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work as a team. Summary part two: Four years after the demon attack, a young woman is playing a cat and mouse game with another supernatural creature. Only this time around, she’s the hunter. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: About A Girl - Nirvana Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. @coffee-obsessed-writer​, @soupornatural​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ & @winchest09​ who are deciphering the recent version; thank you for helping me with this story and for taking it to a higher level. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Rochester, Minnesota      November 24th, 2005

     Rain falls during a chilly night in November. Thunder rumbles in the distance, as heavy showers dim flashes of lightning that jump from one cloud to the other. Several miles outside of the city in the wide-open spaces, the world seems deserted. The atmosphere is threatening as nature shows her power. Straight roads cross the farmlands, not a living soul using them. No one is on their way home or driving away from it. Then again, in this weather, who would want to be out on the road? 

     In the distance, a light appears and steadily approaches. A bright shimmer reflects in the water on the asphalt, the sound of an engine building as the vehicle gets closer. It’s not an ordinary engine, not even close to the sound that modern cars produce these days. Actually, it’s not even a car.      A black Harley Davidson cuts through the night, roaring like a lion. The classic motorbike leaves a spray in its wake, the water catapulted from the back tire. The polished paint job shines proudly, catching even the smallest glint of light. Raindrops try to cling to waxed metal, failing miserably. It’s obvious the owner of this beauty takes good care of her. It’s the type of bike you would expect an old rocker to ride. The kind that listens to Metallica and is a member of a biker gang. A tough guy with a beard and big sideburns, who rides from roadhouse to roadhouse, consuming nothing but steak and beer. Nevertheless, this lucky Harley is ridden by a young woman. 

     The rider seems to be in a hurry; despite the slippery roads; she’s speeding down 75th street NW at ninety miles an hour. This woman and her Harley have reason to haste. The biker tries to focus on the road ahead, yet glances in her side mirror frequently, checking if she’s being followed. The sharp pain in her abdomen keeps her awake. She mutters to herself, biting down the pain. How could you be so fucking stupid? It’s your job to know what you’re dealing with, and yet you were caught off guard!

     The suburb of Rochester appears in the south; she’s almost there. The rider bends over her bike, clamping one arm around her waist and applying pressure.       “Fucking hell,” she curses.      She refuses to look down at her injury and keeps herself together. Hopefully, it’s not too bad, she doesn’t have time to get stuck in the ER. It’s during moments like these she regrets falling in love with her ‘94 Harley Davidson Road King, because a faster bike like a modern Kawasaki sports bike would be much more convenient right now. 

     She follows the road, which is shadowed by trees on both sides, until she passes through a small town, called Douglas. Again, she checks her mirrors, but there’s nothing on her tail. In front of her, several cars and trucks are driving up route 52. A sigh of relief escapes her mouth; back in the civilized world.       After turning right just before the highway, she speeds up again on the road running parallel to it. Finally, the motel appears in the distance, a building with a large neon number ‘6’ on the roof. The female biker parks her Harley in front of the motel and turns the ignition. Not nearly as graceful as usual, she gets off her bike and heads toward the entrance of the motel. With her right hand on her bleeding wound, she stumbles across the parking lot as she takes off her helmet. 

     A flash of lightning cracks the sky and reflects on the cars parked in front. For a split second, she thinks she sees a shadow standing in the rain. Quickly, she turns towards it, but it’s gone, yet her hand goes for the gun tucked behind her waistband, instinctively. On high alert, she scans her surroundings, her intuition telling her she’s not alone. Is she getting paranoid? He wouldn’t come out here and follow her by car, would he? That would be insane, he’d be too exposed.      Her hand slips from the grip of the weapon and she makes a run for it. After hastily entering the motel, she closes the door behind her. It’s warm in the lobby, country music playing in the background, a huge contrast to the chilling weather outside. Standing in the bleak light instead of mysterious shadows makes her feel a bit more at ease. 

     The old man behind the counter looks up from his paper, peaking over his reading glasses. An empty soda bottle decorates his desk along with some paper wrappers which once held a Wendy’s cheeseburger. She stares at the wrappers for a moment. Fuck, she would kill for a burger right now.      “You’re behind on your payment, Mrs. Johnson,” the old man remarks.      She throws a Mastercard on the desk while closing her coat around her body, hiding her injury and keeping the hand she used to staunch the bleeding firmly against her side. The motel manager thankfully doesn’t seem to pick up on anything out of the ordinary and takes the card without thanking her.      “I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you the extra night, too. It’s way past check out.”      “No worries, book two more. I’ll be sticking around for a few more days,” she returns.      “Business taking longer than expected, huh?” he assumes, while working the computer.      “Something like that, yeah,” she answers shortly, not willing to elaborate.      “Those two nights were the last slots. It’s busy this weekend.” The man behind the desk hits the enter button. “You’re in luck.”      She frowns at the comment. Right, luck. Looks like luck got me fucking shot. Thankfully he doesn’t have any further questions, she’s not in the mood for a chit-chat with the fossil. 

     The restless woman scans the parking lot outside for the third time, slightly out of breath, her face tense. Every once in awhile the motel manager glances over his screen, observing his client. Her black leather biker jacket is soaked through, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Brown hair falls down her shoulders, the tips escaped her helmet drenched from the rain. Her dark eyes seem worried, makeup slightly faded. A young woman, who - according to the information he got from her when she checked in - married early, apparently. How old could she be? Twenty four, twenty-five, maybe? She doesn’t really seem like the marrying type, and he has seen many folks come and go. The poor girl looks pale, too, as if she’s ill or carrying a heavy weight upon her shoulders. A lot of shady business has happened in his motel, so he knows the signs. Maybe it’s drug related, maybe she’s fleeing from an abusive relationship. Who knows? He doesn’t bother to ask anymore. It would put him out of business if he would. Besides, she doesn’t seem like the person anyone would want to mess with. He does make a mental note to keep an eye on her and make sure his motel doesn’t turn into a crime scene.      “Here ya go.” He hands her back her credit card. “You know the way.”

     The mystery woman nods, picks up her helmet from the desk, and turns down the hallway. While entering room number 82, she takes off her jacket together with her tartan wind scarf and strides to the bathroom. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze drops to her abdomen, where a bloodstain has darkened her grey shirt. She lifts it up, the fabric sticking to the punctured skin. Fuck, that feels anything but pleasant. She reveals the bullet wound underneath, several inches to the left of her belly button.      “Shit, shit, shit.”       Carefully she takes off her shirt, her breasts only covered with a bra. Still staring at her reflection, she ponders on her next move. Maybe paying a visit to the hospital isn’t such a bad idea after all. That bullet could have ripped through a number of organs. The small intestine, descending colon, she remembers clearly from the books and lectures. The inferior mesenteric artery branches out there too.       “Would’ve been more blood if it was an artery,” she mutters to no one but her own lonesome mind.

     The fact that the bullet bounced off the wall before it hit her, could mean that it didn’t sink too deep into her skin. She decides to give it a try and fish it out herself; if she can’t solve the problem, a doctor’s visit is always an option.      The young woman grabs a clean towel and wipes away the crimson around the wound as she moves back to the bedroom. She takes a small briefcase from under the bed, putting it down on the table in the corner of the room. A sigh falls from her lips when she sits down on the chair, then opens the lid, revealing a wide range of surgical instruments and medical supplies. Gauze, suture thread, sterilizers, tape, syringes, catheters, and several small bottles with different substances ranging from morphine to epinephrine; enough gear to do minor surgery.      She swallows apprehensively; this is going to get nasty.      “Hell, I’m not doing this alone.”      Next to her bed, a bottle of whiskey beckons her. With a moan, the injured woman gets up, grabs the Johnny Walker and the glass next to it. She turns on the radio on the cabinet, twisting the volume button all the way, and walks back to the table, halting to face the mirror inside the briefcase. Filling up the glass with alcohol, she grabs gloves, forceps, and other supplies she is going to need. In the background, the first tones of About A Girl by Nirvana comes through the small speaker. With the bottle of Johnny’s Black Label on standby, she clears her throat while putting on the blue latex gloves. Here goes nothing. 

     There is a sharp increase in pain as the forceps slowly enter her body. With her eyes focused on the reflection in the mirror, her jaws clamp together as she tries to reach the bullet. She groans, fighting the intense agony that almost seizes her attempt, struggling to contain herself and steady her breathing. Not wanting to draw any attention is the only thing preventing her from screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally, the forceps touch something solid. With tears burning in her eyes, she succeeds in getting a hold of it, then carefully pulls back and drops the bullet into the glass. Quickly, she grabs the whiskey and takes large swigs, wincing at the afterburn.      “Fuck, that hurts,” she hisses, placing the bottle back on the table with a loud bang.

     The worst part is done, but it’s not quite finished yet. Shaky hands reach for the disinfectant, but unfortunately, the bottle of chlorhexidine is empty. Stupid, she should have stocked up immediately after she used it all last time. Oh well, whiskey will have to do then. And so she takes the Jack and pours the last bit of whiskey over the wound. The alcohol needs only a second before taking effect. But when the stinging pain does come, she’s unable to tone down the growl leaving her throat. But you know what really pisses her off? Now she’s out of whiskey, too. 

     Frustrated, the young woman clenches her fist, waiting for the pain to fade until it’s bearable. After several minutes, she has finally calmed down enough to proceed. She takes the thread and stitch scissors and finishes the job. The pain from the stitching needle piercing her skin isn’t too bad; it almost feels like a tickle compared to the forceps. After ripping a sterile wound pad out of its package with her teeth and soaking it in betadine, she places it over the wound and tapes it to her skin. All done. Unfortunately, she will live to see another day.

     With a sigh, she strolls over to the bathroom while pulling her latex gloves off her hands. Again, the woman - who basically just performed surgery on herself - looks in the mirror.      “Well hello, gorgeous,” she mutters sarcastically, registering the bags under her eyes, the run-down mascara and messy hair.       She looks like a train wreck and that’s an understatement. But considering recent events, she's lucky to still be standing. After opening the faucet, she bends over the sink. The water feels refreshing on her skin as she washes her face. With her hands on the edge of the sink, she closes her eyes. Time for a moment to stop, debrief, and take a breath.

     The fucking night she had. 

     What the hell happened out there? Where did this go wrong? She found a pattern, located the next victim. At least, she thought she did.       Burdened, the brunette turns around and slowly walks back to the main room. The interior of the motel is rather boring, but the bed is comfortable enough and there’s a television. Normally she insists on more luxurious hotels, but with two big events happening in the city, this was all she could find. 

     By the bed, she halts. A puzzle of newspaper articles, pictures, books, and blueprints lay spread out over the mattress as some sort of mind map. An outsider would think this so-called Mrs. Johnson might be a special agent. That, or a psychotic killer, but neither is true. In fact, her name isn’t even Mrs. Johnson. 

     Biting her lip, she narrows her brown eyes and tries to find some sort of link, an explanation for what happened tonight. Terry Cliffer, the guy she expected to be the next target, turned out to be the bad guy. The bastard who shot her certainly looked an awful lot like Cliffer. Somehow the suspect was on to her and made a change of plans, but what was the trigger?      She picks up two articles, both from the local paper, the Post-Bulletin. One is about a murderer with an ironclad alibi, the other a tiny report of a strange robbery. Both incidents took place during the same night, both suspects were caught on surveillance cameras, both claimed to be elsewhere at the time of the crime, and neither fit the profile of a killer or a thief. Two separate mysteries for the local police, one crystal clear case for a hunter. Until now, that is.

      She mutters unintelligibly, annoyed with the fact that she’s one step behind. There’s another question poking at her subconscious, maybe one of even bigger importance: how the hell did it shift so fast? She picks up a book from her bed and rereads the passage she labeled ‘Shapeshifting’.      ‘Shapeshifting is a common theme in mythology and folklore. In its broadest sense, it is a metamorphosis (change in the physical form or shape) of a person. Shapeshifting involves physical changes such as alterations of age, gender, race,  general appearance, or changes between human and animal form.’      Still standing up, she leafs through the book, trying to find what she’s looking for.      “Forms of shapeshifting, powers, punitive changes, needed items, yadda yadda yadda. Damn it, where is it!?” 

     Throwing the book back on the bed, she sits down, wincing, and pulls her MacBook closer on the table. Focused, she fires up the hard drive and opens her archives. After a bit of searching, the screen finally shows the information she’s been looking for.      “Shifting process: The shifting process takes several hours, but can be hastened by the shapeshifter itself, by tearing off its own flesh - Oh, that’s just gross.” She shivers, disgusted, staring and rereading the passage just to be sure.      It might be gross, but this is what’s happening. Something disturbed the monster she’s hunting, but did she mess up this job or did someone else blow her cover? 

     She has to go back to the roots of this case for everything to make sense. At least three people are connected to each other. Three people who don’t work together, who don’t live close by, but there’s one thing they have in common: they’ve all been seen at 110th Ave NW just outside Rochester this month. Traffic cams confirmed this, so the shifter must be hiding somewhere along that road. But where?      She opens a satellite picture of the area on her Apple computer and observes the houses alongside the road. The estates are spread out and have long driveways. It would take months to figure out where the shifter’s den is, and the creature will be long gone by then. Yesterday, she thought she had a lead. She discovered the thing uses the sewer system to travel. More than fifty percent of the houses out there aren’t connected to the sewer system, but have their own septic tanks, so she could scratch those off the list. Only nine of the remaining houses are empty. The problem is, she already checked those homes and ended up with nothing.

     “C’mon, what does your gut tell you?” she mumbles to herself.      One house, deep in the forest, captures her eye. It’s not connected to the sewer system, but on the last drive by, she saw a ‘for sale’ sign by the side of the road. Good chance it’s empty. It wouldn’t make any sense for the shapeshifter to hide out in the woods, miles from the sewer, but she has a feeling something’s going on in that place. Her intuition is the only thing she’s going on, since there are no leads left to investigate. Why is a voice in the back of her mind telling her to go there when it makes absolutely no sense?      “This is fucking insane,” she states out loud as she gets up to put on a new top.      Insane, maybe. But she is not going to sit on her ass and watch this monster get away with more abductions. What concerns her, is the people of which it stole their identities, are now missing. They could be dead for all she knows, but they could also be held some place, and in that case, every second counts. This stops tonight; she has been hunting this fucker for way too long. Determined, she gathers her stuff and leaves the room, heading back to the hunting fields.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter three here!

[beaufortswan42]

The Forks P.3

Beau’s POV

“Hey beau! Welcome to Casa Newton! I’ll hang your coat” McKayla cheerfully said. I was told to arrive after school so we could get started with rehearsals. Her house was cozy and seemed more life a vacation cottage than an actual house. “Wow this is a nice home McKayla. It’s all very cozy.” I said while looking at the family pictures on their wall. Baby pictures, birthdays, middle school graduation. Next to the wall was a hall of fame dedicated to their family’s sport accomplishments. Trophies from all different sports and even a few medals with the Newton name.

“Wow, no wonder you’re so good at sports, it runs in your family” I turned to look for McKayla but I froze when I saw her, one leg crossed over the other, sitting calmly on her couch, watching me with a coquettish expression blazed in her eyes.

She softly smiled and let her eyes roam my body. It was the most awkward minute of my entire existence. “Oh thank you beau and yes we have quite the knack for sports. Come and sit down while we wait for the others. There’s no need to be shy, come sit.” McKayla gestured at the seat next to her on the couch. I sat on the other side, praying she didn’t get any ideas. As rude as this seems I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression. McKayla is a pretty girl, if you’re into the cheerleader type but I don’t consider her my type. My only type is a certain girl, skin tone pale as the winter snow with bronze metallic hair, and the most stunning golden eyes I’ve ever gazed upon. I just wish Edythe felt the same about me. The only contact we’ve had was yesterday in bio when she tried to kill me with her fiery golden orbs. But in regards to McKayla I really don’t want to lose a friend over a girl. I know Jeremy has been crushing on her for awhile now. It would be a clear violation of the bro code if I went out with her. But I also don’t like hurting people’s feelings so I need to find a way to let her down gently before things progress any further.

“My family has always been known to be talented in all things physical.” The double meaning was definitely understood. “But enough about me let’s talk about you.” She not so subtlety scooted a few inches closer to me.

“Tell me beau, what makes you tick?”

“Excuse me?”

“what do you look for in a girl or better yet what does a girl have to do to get your attention?” She provocatively said, lust and desire reflecting off her tone of voice.

Uh what? I thought. My face producing red blotches of mortification and timidity.

“Uhhh I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” I pretended I didn’t hear her burning questions as I desperately prayed for the rest of the band to show up. Where in the hell is Allen and Jeremy? If they don’t get here soon I’m going to have to run out when she’s not looking. I hope she doesn’t jump on the hood of my truck. I hope she’s not the type to jump on a moving car. Maybe I can call in sick as well? Maybe I can- what is she doing? I nervously thought to myself as she put her head on my shoulder. I didn’t realize she had completely scooted right next to me while I was in between my inner monologue. I need to get out of here fast...her hand is rubbing on my knee but how do I go about this? Do I push her away?! I’ve never pushed a girl before but there’s a first time for everything if she keeps this up. My hands were already clammy, I could feel the sweat falling off my forehead. I needed to react fast! Then it suddenly occurred to me. That’s it!

“Uhhh hey McKayla can I use your bathroom? I had a lot of water today, like a-aaaa ton of water and I really need to go.” I nervously stuttered to her as I quickly jumped from my seat.

“Um ok, yeah uhh-yeah sure it’s down the hall to the left.” She disappointedly mumbled as she sat back on the couch. I rushed to the bathroom, locking the door quickly and looked at myself in the mirror. Blue eyes and messy short curls staring back at a nervous teenage boy who just avoided getting kissed by one of the most popular girls in school. “What do girls even see in me? I’m not even that cute! I’m a solid 4 out of 10” I washed my face and hands 3 times and did my best to prolong my bathroom visit at casa newton. But what’s gonna happen when I go out? Will she try again? Or is she outside waiting for me right-

Ding Dong! Ding dong!

Someone above must be looking out for me because the doorbell rang, I could hear Allen and Jeremy walk into the house. I’m not religious but hallelujah, thank you Jesus!

I calmed myself down and made my way to the living room where Allen and Jeremy were talking to McKayla. I could see the look of disappointment and frustration on her face from the moment not going the way she planned it.

“Hey beau, how are you?” Asked Allen as he have me a bro hug. Allen has always been one of the kids I connect with the most at school. We’re both introverts, enjoy many of the same hobbies, activities and books. Every time we hangout we don’t feel the need to fill up every empty moment with conversation. Silence is good and is habitual between us.

“Heyyyy it’s my man beau! The rock god! Are you ready for this bro!!” Jeremy yelled as he enthusiastically shook my shoulders. When he let go I could’ve swore there were two jeremy’s in front of me.

“Alright guys lets not waste time any further, let’s go to the garage and get started!” I could tell that Jeremy was very pumped for this, even Allen was more hyped than McKayla who was giving me dirty looks for rejecting her advances. I didn’t mean to be arrogant but I only have eyes for one girl. The same girl who wants nothing to do with me.

I followed everyone to the garage and marveled at the instruments before me. There was a set of drums in the back that were perfectly polished, the guitar and bass looked like they came from a special edition collection. I was admiring the 80s synth keyboard when suddenly McKayla came up to me and gave me what looked like sheet music.

“Ok beau we’re going to perform teenage dirtbag by Wheatus. Here are the lyrics...and yeah that’s pretty much it...any questions? no? Ok great! Lets rock!” McKayla cheerfully said as we took it from the top.

...

We spent the rest of the evening rehearsing and going over everything to make sure it was smooth for everyone. I practiced my vocals, Allen was a master on the guitar, McKayla drove the rhythm with her bass and Jeremy controlled the beat with his drumming style. I must admit that I started feeling more comfortable with my singing and with the idea of performing. If Edythe was there I could use this song to somehow communicate how I feel about her. It’s definitely a step out of my comfort zone, but maybe this is what I need to get some closure if she decides not to talk to me again. The idea of the song itself reminded me of Edythe. The most interesting girl getting crushed on by the dorky new kid; yeah that’s definitely my scenario, minus the boyfriend. I wonder how she will react or if she’ll even be there. Would she like it? Would she know I’m indirectly singing to her? All these questions in my head with no answers.

“Woooooo!!! we sound really good guys! If we don’t win then I’m moving to Canada.” McKayla said, her bubbly personality coming back despite the certain situation that occurred a few hours ago. Jeremy matched her enthusiasm and gave her a hug while saying “oh don’t worry we will win! These other acts are just cheap chumps, it’s smooth sailing from here. All we have to do is control the crowd and rock out like never before. Which means beau you have to bring your A game. You can’t be nervous or stuttering...also please don’t faint.”

“Don’t listen to him beau you’ll do great, you sound awesome...it’ll be ok” Allen assured me as we walked to the front door. I grabbed my coat and we were out the door when McKayla reminded us to come by tomorrow again at the same time for rehearsal before Friday. There’s no way in hell I was coming first again. I learned my lesson. I made it my personal mission to come along with the guys.

“Oh wait before I forget what’s the name of the band?” I asked the group before I got in my car.

“We’re called the forks!” McKayla proudly stated as she walked over to me.

“I’m sorry....what? Did you say the forks?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What kind of name is that? Now I’m convinced, we would be kicked off the stage.

“Yeah we decided it would show a sign of school spirit and a sense of community.”

“What in the worl- ok I’m sorry guys but I think we should change the name before we go up on stage. If I’m honest the name is terrible and we will be laughed off the stage. In fact they’ll probably throw tomatoes before we perform.” I gently said to them so I wouldn’t hurt their feelings. I thought of how much more Edythe would dislike me if she found out I was in a band called “the forks” I couldn’t bear to see her and her family’s reaction. I was convinced that she would ignore me even more than before.

“Well the deadline is in a few days for name changes so how about-“

“I think the name sounds cool and gives us an edge with the judges” Jeremy defensively said in order to side with McKayla. We could’ve been called diapers and Jeremy would still go with it so he could get McKayla to like him. Before I could answer, McKayla’s dad arrived which means that it was almost past my curfew so I had to race back and beat Charlie. To bad my truck doesn’t go past 65 mph. I thankfully got home a few minutes before Charlie, ate some cereal and decided to call it a night. “Damn, what’s gonna happen on Friday?”

Part of me wanted Edythe to be there but the other half didn’t. The bronze haired beauty definitely seemed like someone who isn’t easily impressed. I could sing with David Bowie, juggle 6 bowling balls and stand on one foot simultaneously and she still wouldn’t be impressed. Fear overtook my body at the thought of her watching me embarrass myself. Me. Beaufort klutzy Swan. On stage. Singing. in front of Edythe-Aphrodite, queen -Cullen. “I’m so gonna fuck it up”.

It felt like I was laying in my bed for hours on a never ending time loop filled with anxiety and pressure. I tried reading but all I read was Edythe’s words from a few weeks ago. I tried listening to the new CD Phil got me, but all I heard was Edythe yelling at me. I pondered more about her and Friday’s event until my eyes started to close and sleep came over me. The last thing I remember was Edythe’s eyes, piercing into my soul. The same scene replaying over and over again. “We shouldn’t be friends...”

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg | The Innocent and The Sinful

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes 

|| opposites attract oneshot series ||

A/N: Yoongi’s one, I actually dusted up quite a bit so there aren’t any notes, just pure writing. I was ready to write an extended, very steamy scene in this but I guess that intimidated me and made me mentally shut down when writing this knowing that I had planned such a scene for the future of this oneshot. Don’t get me wrong, I was really excited to be writing smut for the first time...but, I also get nervous really easily and I’m a perfectionist+procrastinator - not a good combination! 

WARNING: May contain some conflict and violence nothing 

✚          ✚          ✚

The probability that two drastically opposing worlds should collide was highly unlikely, even more so the fact that they should harmonise under aesthetic melodies, and yet, despite this common perspective, it seems as though the path of two repelling ways of life magnetise along their way, and consequently, cross directions.

Such an innocuous stammer within one's path appears as irrelevant as the frequent act of unnamed strangers brushing shoulders, but an interaction must never be underestimated as the world's way of making an individual's tilted stage right again, can be a very peculiar thing.

☆

A night out with the usual gaggle of friends was well underway, falling upon its second hour the instant the clock ticked past eleven thirty (evening).

It was clear from the many blokes, who flashed ill grins upon catching the glint of uncertainty in your eyes, that this was an unfamiliar atmosphere for you, and suddenly, your friends' offer for free food and subsequent peaceful nights-in, no longer seemed worth-it as the sweat of discomfort tickled your brow.

"You look very tense there sweetpea!" Jia, the usual 'mother' of the group and your roommate, shouted from beside you, barely succeeding in overcoming the suffocating blare of music, "Have a drink and lighten up!" she encouraged, being strangely negligent to the obvious consequence of alcohol, especially in your circumstance. Not only were you a lightweight but everybody else within your group was drunk beyond the line of no return and someone needed to be responsible. 

It wasn't going to be Jia, definitely not - leaving only you.

"No thank you Unnie, I think I'll just go out for some fresh air." hefting a heavy sigh, you flashed a reassuring smile before making your way out. A clearing of the mind requires a cleaning of the air.

☆

"You're telling me," Yoongi stressed, an influential figure despite his diminutive build, "that nothing can be done to solve this." his voice hard and his eyes cold, a visible shiver rattled the spine of his unfortunate man of business.

"I'm sorry b-" the man attempted, only to be talked over by a booming voice.

"'Sorry' isn't going to fix things you little bastard, now, if you don't want my men coming after you, and the people you care about, then you better shut that bullshit-talking mouth of yours and get things done because I don’t pay you to hear crap fall out your asscrack of a mouth - got it?" the fire in his eyes was raging and untamed, hoping to rampage and set ablaze all that dared confront it - the poor man before him being the first victim, with licking flames already setting his toe-curled feet ablaze.

"Y-Yes S-“

"Now get the fuck out of my sight." once the stammering man had finally left, pudgy face sweating bullets of liquid fat and spindly thin hair clumping at his expansive forehead, Yoongi turned to his men. There was evident stress knotting his usually undisturbed brows. "I'm going for a smoke. I'll be back in thirty minutes.”

☆

Hissing at the bite of your stiletto heels, you attempt to savour the crisp night air without grimacing at the filth surrounding you, only able to fully disregard it by tilting your head towards the star-dusted night sky. Slowly, your mind began to clear and a small smile pinched your flustered cheeks, bad experiences truly brought out the good in all the little things - much like the majestic beauty of the night.

So spellbound by the charm of the late evening, you were innocent to the approaching danger, coming at you in the form of an intoxicated, stout man, drenched in a scented smog of liquor. He had no real intention of anything ill and would've let you be if he hadn't drowned himself in the immoral fluid beforehand.

Now, all acts and thoughts were unfiltered and ethics were cleared off his table of prioritised considerations.

At the sight of your figure, hugged tightly by the dark fabric of your dress, an animalistic growl of unadulterated desire left his chapped lips and, noticing your impervious state, he strides forward carelessly.

Taking a chance on his luck, he smiled satisfactorily when he stumbled into your frail figure and smirked at the vulnerable squeal that left your delicate lips when his heavyset frame fell onto yours and forced you against the cold brick wall.

☆

Regardless of Yoongi's pronounced reliance on nicotine during times of distress, he never truly liked the act of smoking; he always grimaced in the seconds leading up to lighting the cancer stick before inhaling a breath.

Another thing that he absolutely detests, in spite of his criminal line of work, was the sight and racket of harassment, especially now, when his wick of tolerance had already been burned up to only a hair's breadth from the night's deficient chain of events. Using up the last of that wick, Yoongi could only stand for less than a minute before he stuffed the cigarette back in its packet and approached the inebriated attacker.

"Hey, asshat," he grumbled, waiting for the man to turn before landing a heavy blow to his jaw, knocking him out cold with the propelled force of his frustrations. It was definitely a good way of de-stressing and Yoongi would have taken up boxing if he wasn't so indolent with the burdens of his position. Hence why, when Yoongi knew the harasser was down for the count, at just one hit, he stepped away and finally lit his cigarette - he probably wouldn't finish it completely after such relief. 

He didn't care for the girl the man was molesting, he only wanted peace and quiet when having his smoke but probably secretly wanted to punch a man as well - any man - after such vexing news was delivered to him tonight. For that reason, he didn't pay you any mind and selfishly savoured the silence as he took a drag. 

This man was something unworldly to you. He had taken on a bozo twice his size and won with just a single hit, now, he was lighting a cigarette, going about his business as if what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Stepping closer and scrutinising his anatomy within the moonlight revealed how truly exquisite he was. His lean, ample limbs were garbed in a fitted black suit, darker than night and appearing silky under the rough stare of yellow street lamps. 

Supple ivory skin stretched over the features you were able to see bare: his face, neck and hands. The milky expanse of his nape silently pleaded for the sinful mark of bruising kisses, unsatisfied with the ink of a spiralling tattoo that climbed three delicious inches up the side of his neck, leading your mind to darkly ponder where it starts under the collar of his shirt. The hand he had holding the cigarette had long fingers with bulging veins decorating its back, leaving a simply intricate ring to embellish one elegant finger. His mysterious eyes were half hooded by a shadow containing undisclosed secrets that you yearned to acquaint yourself with, loving how the breath of smoke he exhaled spiralled into distinctive art before disappearing. 

Building up the courage, you stepped further forward, "u-umm..." you timidly began, “Thank-"

"Go home." he blatantly hissed, not sparing you a glance and, instead, took the time for another puff. Your morals weren't as such, however, because you needed to thank someone whose actions were worth appreciating, but as you stuttered to protest, he brushed you off once more.

"C-can I at least buy you lunch?-“

"Look, I didn't do it to help you, I just wanted some peace and quiet. Now, if you have half the brain that I think you do, then you'll take this chance to get the fuck out of here.”

Naturally, you were hesitant but complied with his harsh command. You didn't think any less of him because of his confession; it doesn't change the fact that he saved you from a traumatising experience, so he still deserved your proper gratitude. He wasn't willing to accept it and it's his decision whether or not he does, yes, but you were determined to repay him.  

☆

It was unusual for you to frequent a bar, even more so if the bar was the one where you were physically assaulted at. Your behaviour was very suspicious and your friends were quick to catch on, confronting you the night you're about to leave your shared apartment once more. You always left at the same night, at the same time with the same intentions in mind - you just need to see him again. 

"I'll be leaving now," you announce, slipping into your heels as your reflection stares back at you with satisfaction. 

"Babes, you've told us what happened to you that night, right?" your roommate confirms as she stood beside the door, causing you to raise a brow as you gave a reassuring nod. "Everything?" she pressed as you gave another nod, “Then…why do I feel like you're leaving one very crucial detail out?" her eyes are piercing you judiciously as you struggle to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Jia, I've told you everything," you promise a white lie. 

"Oh really?" the stare she sends you is chilling, "Because, it doesn't really make much sense if the first time a girl goes out in forever, gets harassed and suddenly makes it routine to visit said bar on the same night, at the same time, weekly!" avoiding her eyes, you attempt to cover your endeavours, "Well?...Did this guy threaten you or something? (Y/N), you know that I'm here for you." the hard front she puts forth slowly wore down with concern until only watery agony was present in her eyes.

"I-It's not like that Jia.”

"Then please tell me, Sweetie. You know how I hate being kept in the dark about these things." clearly, the stress was getting to her and you felt extremely guilty for causing such strain on her everyday deliberations; she already had many other things to reflect on, she didn't need you forcing more stress atop that. You remember how you told her your altered story of the night - one where there was now a mysterious, cold-hearted stranger saving you - and she was close to tears, apologising for not being a good enough friend, proven in her failed act of saving you. "I''m not here to judge you...I'm just concerned. Please tell me so that I'm self-assured that you'll be fine…and that I don't need to stalk you just to make sure you're safe." it was a joke that you embraced with a half-hearted laugh, encouraging you to tip the scale in favour of her apprehension. 

"Alright...I'll tell you," and that, you did. As promised, she didn't judge you but put forward her own advice, the lines of stress no longer creasing the space between her expressive brows. 

"Is he so handsome that you have to go so badly?" she jests, her enquiry still half-serious. 

"Very!" you giggle. Staring up at the clock on the wall, you gasp, already half an hour late.

"Sorry for keeping you but I'm thankful that you've finally told me." 

With a hug and a quick farewell for the night, you were off, taking care not to fall in your adequate stiletto heels. 

☆

It was the same scenario. This had become so routine that you were running through the upcoming events of the first few minutes into the club in your head. Everything flowed like clock work, which would be - to a normal person only wanting the norm - perfectly fine but you didn’t crave the norm, you were craving, yearning, and pleading to a non-existent god that he be there tonight. And yet, what should you do if he did show? In his mysterious, slender frame, enveloped in it’s cloud of mysterious musk that you were only barely able to savour briefly in your even more brief encounter. That night seemed to occur eons ago and it was eating you up inside. 

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.

[roseategales]

LET YOUR LOVE BE

summary: post-crestwood. after returning from a battle gone wrong, eludysia wakes to find solas seated by her bedside, having cared for her. inevitably, it results in their familiar tug-and-pull, and a confrontation. rating: t for teen categories: hurt/comfort, mild angst, fix-it. pairing: solavellan content warnings: mentions of blood and injury. word count: 1,534 alternate link: ao3 author’s notes: a completely self-indulgent exploration of my favourite trope: “my love almost DIED and losing them is now so much more REAL!” this is actually meant to be read as two chapters; the prologue and the main arc. however, as the prologue is so short anyway, it’s included in this post and simply separated from the main chapter by a single line. | EDIT: 1/10/2019: so. i wrote this fic and oh, sweet memory several months ago, when i just finished the game and was super excited and i had to write because what else would i do with a grieving heart over this awesome and terrible ship y’know. however, the result of that and my subsequent obsession with this game series meant that i would further develop the lavellan in this fic, to the point that she is quite different from what you’re reading in these two first fics for her. the essence of her character is there, but she is different. i may rewrite these two fics to reflect that one day, but for now, please bear that in mind when reading.

It's all chaos. It's all a haze. The reins are slipping though she grips with what strength she has left.

There's a caustic pain, from where a Red Templar blade thrust between her ribs. The wound is festering and the bandages are dampening from blood and sweat. Shouts and murmurs echo in her ears, past the thundering of her pulse. Wind whistles, and she shivers. Briefly, she registers Cassandra and Cullen calling for mages and healers. People part, allowing her horse and retinue to trot through Skyhold's gates. And as they enter the courtyard, someone rushes to her side and lifts her off the saddle, onto a pallet. Her body groans and shrieks from the pain of moving. People gather around. So many. She thinks she sees Solas among them, and hears his voice calling for answers, furious. She wants to respond. 

But consciousness slips, and she fades into darkness.

                                                     ——————

The humming fire is not what wakes her; it is a simple song that keeps her breathing calm, and consciousness comfortably within reach and not. What pulls her awake, instead, is the flashes of days prior. She can see it all still: A sudden surge of Red Templar activity on the Coast, a call for reinforcements. Their full strength not yet recovered from the Arbor Wilds. The decision made to lead the charge herself. Unexpected numbers found leaping from forest shade. Lightning in the sky. Inquisition men and women braving bones cut by blades and soaked by heavy rain. She’d cast a barrier, but not quick enough. 

And she was struck. 

Red overcame everything she saw. Red lyrium, red blood seeping from her side. She opened her mouth to scream, but piercing pain convulsed and drowned out the sound. Her body simply lay, gasping. The last thing she knew before black overtook, were the orders of Commander Cullen to defend her, the Inquisitor, and the rest of their fallen brethren. 

Everything after, Eludysia could only recall as a tumult of frantic hands and worried whispers.

But that was then and there. Here, the air is warm and dry, and soft cotton sheets wrinkle beneath her palms. Her armor has been stripped and her clothes changed. No longer is she sticky in spilled blood and dirt, though a thin layer of sweat can be felt covering her skin. And she feels the bandages have been changed, too; the wound that lay beneath them no longer shrieking like bones splintering apart, but healed into a cool, dull ache. The result of magic, it would seem. 

With that in focus, a part of her longs for continued rest again. Yet sleep wavers further and further away, the waking world making itself known in the former’s place. Slowly, groaning, she lifts the present weight off her lids to get a look at her surroundings— to find Solas seated on a chair beside her bed, relief at once easing a crease between his brows.

"You're awake," he whispers, a smile hovering on his lips.

"Yes," she manages. Her throat tightens and grates at the movement, dry as a mouthful of sand. How long was she asleep? A day? Two? Long enough.

He reaches out to her, and she lets him. Pillows are propped and she is gingerly set against them, wary of her healing ribs and anything that would bring strain. He then walks over to the desk, where a goblet awaits its filling from a jug of water, and he returns to place it in her hands. She accepts and mouths a thank you, before gulping down the whole of its contents.

It's like clockwork, the give and take of care. A white, warm comfort that blooms and they settle too easily into. But their gazes meet, and they know it cannot last, a cavern of silence and unsaid truths since Crestwood opening between them. 

"Tell me you don't care," she cried, bare, confused, angry. Looking to save herself. To place the blame solely on him.

"I can't do that," he'd said, denying her even that, though he withdrew from her without so little as an answer for why.

And so, in her disbelief, in a desperate attempt to salvage and hide what was left of the heart that he took, she pushed him further away. Emotionally. Physically. In spite of herself. "Tell me I was some casual dalliance, so I can call you a coldhearted son of a bitch and move on!"

"I'm sorry."

She winces at the memory. It lashes and echoes as they watch each other, hesitant and locked. Ensnared by questions and rising, pulsing heartbeats. One waiting for the other to make the first move.

It’s taken by Solas.

"I should inform the council of your waking." With that, he steps to the door. He is three paces away when—

"No, wait," the words leap past Eludysia's lips before she can catch them. 

He stops, and looks back at her with his head tilted to the side and a brow raised.

"Wh..." She tries to begin, the sudden boldness dissipating as she knows there is no return from what is to come. A breath is drawn and she braces herself. "Why are you here, Solas?"

The planes of his features harden as if iron, his posture stiffening and hands folding behind his back, as if he was and is nothing more than a blade to her army. Another soldier for the Inquisition's cause. "When you arrived at Skyhold—"

"You know what I meant."

But of course he does. He blinks, and just like that, his shoulders lower and their lines soften, as does his gaze. And he becomes nothing but a man again. "I saw you laying there, bleeding and feverish... And I was worried, afraid of losing you."

Does he know what he's doing? What he has done to her? She wonders at this, considers the weight of his confession. Her grip tightens around the goblet still her in hands, pressing against the metal, marking lines onto her skin. And heat pricks at her eyes, even as she tries to look at everything, anything but him, to hold her own. It does little good to stop the tears from creeping in, however. Leaving her to relent, with a quivering sigh, meeting his grey eyes with green. "If that's the truth... Why did we end what we had? After…?"

"Because you deserve better than what I can give," he says as if simple and plain.

That takes her aback. The unveiling of her people’s errors, removing her vallaslin, the talk of duty... All of this pain, all he would not say... Because she was put on a pedestal of his own making? She shakes her head. "Shouldn't I get a say in that?" Sharp pleading breaks her voice. Tears brim and fall, and she permits them so. "What do you see me as?"

Something flickers behind his eyes. A spark that’s there and gone. Too fast for her to fully name. "Must you ask?”

“Yes!” She hisses, simmering fury spilling through gritted teeth. “Because I have no idea what your intentions are anymore! You tell me I deserve better, but you treat me as undeserving of knowing you. You say that you’re afraid of losing me, but you were the one who decided our end. And now here you are... You can’t have things both ways, Solas.” Throat thick and straining, face stained by tears, wound throbbing from building pressure— She groans and gasps for air and relief.

In an instant, an emerald glow appears at her side, cast under his hand, coaxing the pressure to alleviate. She sinks into the pillows as it does so, willing steady breaths. That he is suddenly so close, his back bent forwards and face just above hers, does not escape notice. If she simply held up her fingertips, she could trace the tensed jawline she so often kissed, brush away the deep frown on his lips.

She doesn’t.

It’s not right. None of this is right. 

There’s a pull to avert her eyes again. Perhaps second attempt would bode better. Or, better yet, closing them. Pushing his wrist away. Letting him go one last time. Even at the cost of a lie.

 She would, but then—

“I am so sorry, vhenan. I never— I never meant for you to get hurt.”

His voice is just shy of a whisper, but it’s enough to capture her widened eyes, and to turn them tender and still. Apologetic, for her part in the mess they’d made.

"I'm sorry,” comes her careful reply, tone leveled with his. “For walking away. But, ma’lath... I am no more than the woman you see. I’m real. I’m here."

“I know.” He sighs. Her breathing relaxed, his hand moves to join its counterpart in cradling her face, tilting her head slightly back so he can look upon her in clear view. His thumb wipes away the tears on her cheek, and for a moment, for a heartbeat, the words, the excuses he might mean to say are without form and are wrest from him. “That is… frightening.”

She places a hand over his, holding it firmly in place. “Why?”

He chuckles. “How should I begin?”

[kaleid-tay-scope]

"F. Scott Fitzgerald: haunted by nostalgia ( @taylorswift - interesting)

He disliked the restlessness of life with Zelda, and longed to enjoy his Maryland heritage in peace with his family

Anne Margaret Daniel

Regretful nostalgia: F. Scott Fitzgerald in 1925

‘I do not like the idea of the biographical book,’ F. Scott Fitzgerald told his editor Max Perkins in 1936. Fitzgerald may not have liked it, but he certainly let himself in for it. As he wrote, with a grin, in 1937: ‘Most of what has happened to me is in my novels and short stories, that is, all the parts that could go into print.’

Of all the male American modernist writers with tragic lives, including Ernest Hemingway, Hart Crane and Eugene O’Neill, F. Scott Fitzgerald still serves to many people as the defining figure. A glittering success as a writer when he was just 23, Fitzgerald died 20 years later, still a young man, but with most of his works unread by the public, and his status as one of the most skilled and popular American writers unestablished.

His first novel, This Side of Paradise (1920), is the story of a bright young man who goes to Princeton and, upon graduation, finds the social and business world of New York made strangely incomprehensible to him in the aftermath of a great war he was — like Fitzgerald — too late to fight. The financial success Fitzgerald found in Paradise let him live his life as a full-time writer, and marry Zelda Sayre. a southern belle with red-gold curls from Montgomery, Alabama. The Fitzgeralds — their life together during the 1920s, and lives apart during the 1930s — proved compelling fodder for contemporary newspapers, and for novels, plays, and screenplays ever since.

So a major biography of Fitzgerald is long overdue. Zelda has been intensely chronicled in Nancy Milford’s Zelda (1970) and Sally Cline’s Zelda Fitzgerald: Her Voice in Paradise (2002); but both of these are, to varying degrees, partisan polemics in which Scott is a failure, a villain and a plagiarist of Zelda’s writings. The truth of their relationship is much more compelling. In this book David S. Brown gets it absolutely right in terming them ‘partners’. The description, though, is in passing — as is so much, in what might have been a major biography, but is instead just a worthy introduction to Fitzgerald for new readers.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s life, legacy and lastings greatness – Listen and subscribe to the Spectator Books podcast, hosted by Sam Leith:

Brown, a historian, intends to make one of Fitzgerald too. He is right to think of Fitzgerald as a man with an interest in not only American but world history. But to treat Fitzgerald as a ‘cultural historian, the annalist as novelist’ is to disorder him. Fitzgerald was a novelist first, and his sense of history and use of it in his writings comes second, always, to his imagination. Scolding Ernest Hemingway in June 1926, in his extensive edits to The Sun Also Rises, Fitzgerald reminded him: ‘The fact that it may be “true” is utterly immaterial’; and he affirmed ‘the superiority (the preferability) of the imagined to the seen, not to say the merely recounted’.

Brown makes the good point that Fitzgerald’s sense of history was ‘at its core sentimental, nostalgic and conservative’. Of Fitzgerald’s Maryland heritage, he writes: ‘The pretensions of an established Maryland lineage cushioned the reality that he remained throughout his life a restless and somewhat transitory figure.’ And he quotes the spot-on view of Fitzgerald’s early biographer Andrew Turnbull that

History for Fitzgerald was chiefly colour, personalities and romance. It was Jackson’s Valley Campaign; it was The Gallant Pelham rapid-firing — one cannon against 16 — at Gettysburg.

Yet Brown pushes no further.

Fitzgerald did not want to live his life restlessly and in transition. He had hoped to make his family’s home in Maryland; Zelda’s illness changed all that. When the Finneys — old Princeton friends who provided a home for the Fitzgeralds’ daughter Scottie while her mother was hospitalised — arranged for Scottie to appear at a local debutante ball, Fitzgerald wrote them a heart-wrenching thank-you letter on her behalf that speaks, too, for himself: ‘So desperate is her love for Baltimore and her determination to think of it as home. I suppose children simply aren’t nomads — their hearts must be somewhere.’

In his close readings of Fitzgerald’s short stories and novels, Brown focuses on contemporary circumstances. He calls the early stories ‘May Day’, ‘The Diamond as Big as the Ritz’ and ‘Bernice Bobs Her Hair’ ‘a powerful triumvirate’ and ‘surprisingly effective meditations on cultural and economic change’ — but those cultural and economic changes are left undefined. Worse, he sweepingly generalises from Fitzgerald’s literary creations about reality at the time of their writing: ‘Viewed expansively, Bernice’s story is the story of a growing number of young American women in the 1920s.’ This is the thus-we-see school of history. But when Brown does discuss specific historical events during Fitzgerald’s life, and how they reflect in his writing — something he too infrequently does — he helps us see where Fitzgerald is coming from. Still, the fact that a gifted writer possessed of a rich imagination was conscious of his cultural context is hardly surprising.

Brown cites a number of influences on Fitzgerald, for better and for worse. He proposes that, in light of This Side of Paradise, we might … consider placing Fitzgerald in a line of distinguished Progressive-era (1900–1920) intellectuals, running from the radical economist Thorstein Veblen to the left-leaning social critic Randolph Bourne to the right-leaning cultural critic H.L. Mencken.

We might, but then again we might not. Paradise Lost strains to contain such correspondences.

Brown sees in the famous last page of Gatsby an echo of the historian Frederick Jackson Turner’s essay on the ‘westward movement’ and the progressive line of America’s frontier. This misses the regretful nostalgia at the end of Gatsby. In 1925, America’s frontiers were no more. The Native American chieftains who had marked its last line were dead by the turn of the century, or had joined Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show — safe and sanitised.

He concludes Paradise Lost with a brief, poignant coda to Zelda, who outlived her husband by just over seven years, and a bare summary, ‘Life After Death’, that praises Budd Schulberg and Sheila Graham above Arthur Mizener, Edmund Wilson and even Scottie Fitzgerald as the people who brought ‘a flawed if fully human Fitzgerald’ to readers in the decade after he died.

The last lines of Paradise Lost will be familiar: ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’ Hypotheses and agendas entirely aside, Fitzgerald himself is any biographer’s best help. His words are what keep writers in so many genres coming back to him. After he turned 40, Fitzgerald wanted to write his own official autobiography, but put it off until his ‘load of debt’ was lifted. It never was."

https://www.spectator.co.uk/2017/06/f-scott-fitzgerald-haunted-by-nostalgia/

[the-knees-of-the-bees]

Sync [Ignis Scientia X FemReader] - Chapter 1/3

This was a little gift to myself for my birthday in an attempt to break me out of my discouragement on my other fic.  It was actually nice to just write freely and not spend so much time on research and editing (so please take this fic with a grain of salt, i only made two passes at it with editing lol).  This also isn’t an original idea, I’ve seen a couple different amazing versions of this similar concept so this is just my take on it.  Enjoy!

Could anything else possibly go wrong in your life?  Work, family, friends, your relationship; everything was pushing you to your limits.  You desperately needed a change of scenery but when a weekend of self-care suddenly goes awry, you wonder if your new found situation is not so bad after all...

Chapter themes/warnings:  Explicit language, depression, fluff, angst, suggestive themes, SFW Word Count:  6,221 AO3 Link - Sync Screenshot permission and credit to @dizzymoogle

You slammed your apartment door shut as you kicked off your shoes, turning to click the lock with a ferocity in your fingertips. You shrugged your bag off your shoulder, letting it flop neglectfully on the ground by the door as you stomped through the hallway towards the kitchen.  It had been such a terrible month at work and today proved to be no different.  Your coworkers were driving you insane in the past few days, constantly putting off essential tasks as if you wouldn’t notice their laziness.  You were beginning to feel completely overwhelmed and exhausted, finding yourself working overtime and barely being compensated or appreciated for it.  Today had really pushed you to your limits and you nearly snapped; regrettably being short with one of your colleagues that you normally enjoyed working with on a daily basis.  

 You released an exasperated breath, feeling equally angry and guilty for your behavior, but you wanted to make a point to them and to allow it to continue would only drive you to the brink of resignation.  You shook your head and slid your jacket off, hanging it over the back of the barstool at the kitchen island.  You unclipped your necklace as you marched towards your bedroom, tossing it on your jewelry stand.  A plain gray t-shirt and loose shorts waited for you on the edge of your bed, you reached for the pair as you shifted out of your work clothes, discarding them in the hamper.

 You were beginning to wonder how much more you could possibly take; work was testing your limits, you had been distant with some of your friends as of late, and you haven’t talked to your mom in a few days ever since your fight with her over the past weekend.  Not to mention your mind was still lingering on the fact that you felt lonely and unloved after breaking up with your boyfriend a couple of months back.  You didn’t want to admit that you were depressed even though your attitude showed it; you haven't been to a psychologist or even a primary care doctor in over two years so you could only imagine the damage your mind and body had sustained in that time.  

 A long drawn out sigh escaped your lips and you worked your way back to the kitchen to prepare dinner.  You searched languidly through the refrigerator, not feeling the energy to eat but you knew it was necessary, anything would suffice at this point, you could honestly care less.  Thank god it was Friday, as cliche as it sounded, but it was true, you needed the time to yourself this weekend.  You thought about all the things you could do in those two days: that art project that was half finished, putting up those shelves and decor along your bare wall, finally organizing the wreck inside of your closet…

 No.  As much as all of those projects needed to be completed you knew you wouldn’t have the drive to do any of them.  Maybe I’ll go out this weekend instead…  A change of scenery was what you really needed so you finalized the idea in your head. I just need to break up this boring routine in my life…. I just need something new.  A smile crept up your face and for once you felt a sense of vigor pulse through your veins.  

 You gave yourself one final look over in the body mirror.  Twirling around in a cream colored floral wrap dress you had bought months ago but felt too timid to wear.  You had been feeling particularly self-conscious ever since you had split with your ex-boyfriend, some days refusing to apply your make-up as it would mean nothing to anyone who crossed your path.  But today you were determined to shake the negative feelings that hovered over you for so long.  You went all out, accenting your eyes with that new expensive shadow palette and contouring your lips with that bold lipstick that sat in pristine condition. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, you felt beautiful and you were ready to show it.

 Grabbing your purse and keys, you slipped on your comfy shoes.  A stroll through one of the local parks to enjoy the gorgeous spring day was the first thing on your agenda.  You locked your apartment door behind you as you strode confidently down the hall towards the parking garage.

 You settled on a park you had recently seen boasted about on the news.  It was further outside of the city but you figured it was worth the drive to see something different.  As you pulled up to the park’s entrance, you noticed small groupings of parents and their children enjoying the gorgeous green fields.  Kites whirled around in the air as soccerballs flew across the grass, it was truly the sight of a typical family weekend.

 You stepped out of your car, grabbing your things as you surveyed where to go.  Wandering aimlessly seemed to be a great start as you were content to get lost in the fresh air of the outdoors.  A bridge overlooking a small lake came into view as flocks of ducks swarmed the small body of water.  It was an odd sensation to feel relaxed, you made the mental note to continue this pattern more often.  You took your time as you strode along the paved walkways that winded through the park before finally stopping at the apex of the wooden bridge.

 A couple strolled behind you, discussing a movie that they had just seen in elaborate detail and analysis.  You smiled to yourself, remembering those days with your ex.  But your smile quickly faded as you were grossly reminded that you were single now. You shook the thought off and began wandering again.  You came upon a park bench and sat down, looking over at the reflection of clouds that glided over the surface of the lake.  

 Determined to not habitually glance at your phone, you set your purse to your side and leaned back into the seat.  You wanted to enjoy today, you wanted to enjoy your life, and you wanted to feel renewed.  

 Another couple walked in front of you as they shared loving glances at one another.   A new couple no doubt, you could see that they were clearly in the awkward first stages of romance.  You pursed your lips and tore your gaze away from them, the same sinking feeling hitting you again.  You huffed a sigh and tried to desperately ignore the sudden awareness you had for every couple in the park.  How they walked around playfully shoving one another, stealing quick pecks on each other's lips, swinging their arms as they locked their hands together.  

 Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all… you dropped your head to stare at your lap, trying to devise a new game plan for the day.  You didn’t want to waste such a perfect opportunity to do something different but you were quickly realizing it was failing to pan out the way you had envisioned. You knew the park was just going to continue to remind you of your loneliness despite how beautiful and refreshing the scene was today.  You stood up and headed towards your car.  

 You closed the driver side door and placed your hands on the steering wheel, resting your forehead against it.  The outdoor mall was a possibility, but there was nothing in particular that you needed, not to mention you could easily drop way too much money in an attempt to fill your void.  You thought about going to the movies but there was nothing of interest that you wanted to see.  Ultimately, you decided to head home, maybe a glass of wine and catching up on one of your tv series would cheer you up.  You sat on the idea for a moment before throwing your car into reverse… fuck it, whatever.  

  You flopped on to your couch, placing your glass of wine on the coffee table, grabbing the remote to flick the television on. Every channel appeared unworthy of your attention as you flipped through them one by one.  The local news flashed on the screen.  You hoped that the weather report would be next so you could re-attempt your failed outting tomorrow.  

 “Teams are still investigating the cause of a deadly accident earlier this evening on the east side.  Reports are coming in that the driver suddenly lost control of the vehicle and collided with a utility pole, resulting in a downed transformer. Residents in the area have reported sudden temporary power outtages and are encouraged to contact their local service providers for up to date information.  In other news —”

 You changed the channel, not wanting to wait all night for the weather report.  After flipping through the guide for a second time, you realized there was nothing of interest so you grabbed your PS4 controller, powering up the device.  The soft material of your dress draped around your body as you reclined across the crouch, debating whether to change into your pajamas but it was surprisingly comfortable enough to lounge in.  You leaned into the arm rest while the main menu illuminated the screen.

 “A Final Fantasy for Fans and First Timers…”

 The night wore on as you found yourself, once again, dragged into an endless evening of side quests and bounty hunts. You cursed at the screen as you bailed out of another Naga fight, completely drained of your curatives. Hours flew by and you felt your eyes begin to flutter as you clicked to fast travel the boys back to Hammerhead. You watched the loading bar slowly creep along the edge of the screen, reading over the little paragraph of info while you waited.  Your eyes felt even heavier now as you propped your elbow on the armrest and laid your head on your hand.  Just one more side quest and I’ll call it a night. The controller teetered on your fingers as it rocked unbalanced within your limp palm.  A romantic tune filled your apartment as the delicate piano arrangement coerced you with its gentle lullaby as you drifted off to sleep…

  Your face twitched as you felt your shoulder rub against something rough and gritty.  A hard textured surface pressed against your forehead causing you to shift with irritation and annoyance; your skin felt hot and prickly as an unbearable heat surrounded every inch of your body. Since when did I leave the heater on?  You willed your tired eyes open, aggravated with yourself that you had left all the lights on in your apartment.  

 Wait, I only… had the lamp on last night…

 You were startled to find that you were lying along the side of a road.  The piercing rays of the sun reflected harshly off the surface forcing you to squint. You pushed yourself up slowly with your forearms until you were perched up on your knees.  What.. the hell.. ?

 Your eyes darted around the foreign scenery as you stumbled to your feet, your breathing steadily increasing as your heart began to pound in your chest.  It was a stretch of desert highway, barren and devoid of any signs of life.  You looked down and gripped your clothing, it was the dress you wore last night, dusty and wrinkled.  Oh my god… have I been kidnapped?!  You patted your arms and neck, checking for any signs of struggle or tenderness from injury.  Thankfully, your body felt fine and painless.  When you were finally convinced that you were physically unharmed, you began to search yourself and the ground for your cell phone.  Your eyes darted around the sandy terrain as you foraged your body for something; your wallet, cash, ID, a credit card, anything.  Your hands sunk to your side as you realized you were alone on a giant expanse of highway with absolutely nothing and no idea of where you could possibly be.

 The heat radiated off of the road causing a mirage of water to reflect off the surface.   You continued to search the horizon, looking for any buildings or passing cars that you could flag down but all you could hear was the grinding of the sand beneath your shoes as you pivoted on your heel.

 If you were truly kidnapped, or the product of a crazy human trafficking scheme, your captors were bound to be back so you thought it best to get moving.  You looked back and forth down the road, debating which way to go.  The sun sat high in the sky which meant it was roughly about noon. I guess it doesn’t matter, hopefully someone is bound to drive down this way..  You started walking, praying that a gas station was not far away.  

  Your feet were beginning to feel unbearably sore, having walked nearly an hour now in the blazing heat.  Beads of sweat began to fall down your temple as your mouth felt dry, your lips split and cracked.  Your purposeful stride had turned into an exhaustive shuffle as your skin became tender from the sun’s unwanted embrace.

 You stopped, searching the land again for anything that could help you in your desperate situation, but only cacti and brittle tumbleweeds filled the landscape for miles.  A flicker of light flashed in your periphery.  You stared fervently at it for a moment.   It shined again.  A sudden excitement overwhelmed you and you sprinted towards it, hoping it could be something of use.  You searched the ground desperately as you saw it shine again with a gleaming blue spark, but your brows crinkled in disappointment.  You picked up the item, a pure black exoskeleton that looked much like a scorpion stinger.  You turned the fractured tail in your palm, why would this be shining?  You let out a defeated sigh but luckily your dress had a hidden pocket so you placed it inside, hoping that if your captors returned for you, the least you could do was stab them with the tiny stinger.

 Praying for some kind of miracle, you looked down the road through the transparent layer of heat that wove off of the hot asphalt. A fuzzy dark object sat on the horizon; you squinted and gasped excitedly, it was a building.  You lightly jogged, not wanting to waste too much of your energy in case it was nothing more than another mirage, but as you came closer the details of the building became clearer.  It was a diner, an inhabited diner.  Two cars were parked outside of another building across the street as a handful of people ambled within the small town.  You began sprinting towards it, ignoring the pain in your legs and the dry hot air that your lungs inhaled.  As you entered the outskirts of the little outpost you noticed a motel sign situated atop of another establishment.  Thank god, you would be able to rest while you waited for the cops to pick you up.  

 But as you reached the edge of the diner, you paused.  Something about the scene looked… very familiar.  Maybe your alleged captors dumped you closer to home than you had previously thought but you struggled to place a finger on it.  You shook the feeling off, right now you needed to find a phone and call the authorities immediately.  Ignoring all the signs and advertisements plastered up along the windows of the restaurant, you stepped inside and made your way to the counter. The attendant was in the middle of a transaction with another customer so you waited patiently behind them. There was no need to make a giant scene in front of everyone, you were not injured so you didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself.  Once the police arrive, you could figure out the details of your abduction once you got home.  

 The waiter chit chatted with the patron, joking about something you didn’t care to listen to but as you stood there you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to finally wander the interior of the diner. Why does this all seem so familiar?  What is it, seriously…

 “Ahem,” the man repeated.

 You shook out of your distraction, embarrassed that you had not realized the customer before you had already left.

 “Oh I’m sorry,” you answered, stepping up to the counter, “This is going to sound completely insane, but long story short I think I’ve been kidnapped and I really to need to use your phone.”

 The attendant stared at you for a moment before his eyes widened a bit, “Are.. are you hurt?”

 “No, thankfully not but I don’t have anything on me. My cell, my wallet, everything.  I just need to use your phone so I can call the police.”

 “The… poh-lees?” he asked with a baffled voice.

 “Yeah,” you looked down the counter and spotted a rotary phone at the end, “Can I please use it?”

 “Uh… sure,” he gestured with his hand towards it, “let me know if you need anything else.”

 You smiled gratefully at him, “thank you so much, I will.”

 You jogged to the end of the counter, grabbing the phone frantically as you punched the emergency digits, waiting with bated breath.  Dial tone.

 What?  You hung up the phone, believing you had dialed in error as easy of a number as it was, you typed the numbers again, slowly this time.

 Dial tone.

 What the hell?  You hung it up again with your hand still gripping the handle of the phone. Let me call mom.  You punched her number.

 Dial tone.

 You hung the phone up once again, looking down at the attendant who was busy now with another customer.  You picked up the phone, punching your best friend’s number.

 Dial tone.

 You hung up the phone for the final time.  Just my fucking luck, their phones are down. You huffed a defeated sigh and walked back over to the waiter.  You patiently waited your turn when you overheard something odd.

 “Total is 500 gil today.”

 You snapped your head towards the register.  Did I just hear him right?  No, there’s no way.  I’m just dehydrated and exhausted, my mind is all over the place right now. The customer turned to walk away as the waiter acknowledged you with a nod.

 “Everything alright?”

 “Uhh… not really.  I can’t get a hold of anyone.  Are your phones down?”

 The side of his face pinched with confusion, “Not that I know of.  It’s been ringin’ fine all day.”

 “Oh… well can you at least tell me where I am? Everything here seems so familiar. I’m wondering if I’m closer to home than I thought.”

 “Well this is Longwythe, its on the western side of Leide.  You from Lestallum or the crown city by chance?”

 Lestallum??  Crown city?? You stared at the man blankly.

 He noticed the color had suddenly drained from your face.  “Ma’am, you alright?”

 “I… I…” you stammered.  This has to be a joke.  THIS HAS TO BE.

 You backed up slowly until you bumped into an anchored bar stool, nearly knocking down a napkin dispenser with your flailing arm. There’s no way… there’s just no way.  You turned towards the door, shoving it open as you stumbled out of the restaurant.

 “Ma’am! Ma’am!”

 You ignored the attendant’s pleas as you whipped yourself around to look at the diner’s name.  ‘Crow’s Nest Diner.’

 Fearing for what you would see, you slowly turned to survey the rest of the outpost.  ‘The Three Z’s Motel’, ‘Rent-a-Chocobo.’   What kind of fucked up joke is this!?

 You paced down the street but everything seemed to match perfectly to what you played… in the Final Fantasy video game.

 Panic struck you like a moving train.   Who on earth would devise such an elaborate prank to play, you exclaimed inwardly.  Whoever it was, they had way too much time on their hands and quite frankly it wasn’t entertaining.  You searched for hidden cameras of the deranged tv show your ‘captors’ had volunteered you for, anger quickly replacing your panicked state.  Enough is enough.

 “HA HA HA, very funny you guys!  But it’s a pretty fucked up thing to do to make someone think they’ve been kidnapped!!” You shouted aloud to the invisible camera men. Two women turned their attention towards you before whispering quietly to one another.  You shot them an angry look, pissed that they had agreed to play along with this tortuous prank.

 “These son of a bitches..” you mumbled to yourself. “Alright, I’m done with this.” The heat on your face was hotter than the sun that fried your skin.  You stomped down the street, escaping the fake town to find someone with a cell phone so you could call a Lyft.

 The level of irritation was enough to fuel you a few miles down the desert highway.  You continued to mumble obscenities to yourself as your weekend had taken a drastic and annoying turn.  

 As you walked furiously along the edge of the road, you heard a rustling of dried shrubs in the field.  You stopped to look at it, convinced it was the camera crew following your reaction to their expensive joke.  But the commotion ceased and you returned to your path.

 You walked a few more meters and the disturbance continued.  

 “I really don’t find this funny AT ALL,” you shouted at your stalkers.

 A strange clicking noise began resonating from its direction.  Your heart rate increased, “STOP.  You’re lucky if I don’t end up suing every one of you!”

 A sudden movement began darting through the thick bushes, heading directly at you causing you to instinctively sprint down the road.  The noise still managed to keep up as you quickly glanced over your shoulder.  A large black curl shaped object emerged from the brush.  What the hell is that?!?  Before you could even form another thought, the object leapt into the air, landing in front of you as a cloud of dust kicked up like a curtained unveiling.  

 It was an enormous scorpion.

 You halted in place, shock overcoming your entire being.  It snapped its giant claws as it curled its deadly stinger high above its head.  Your body froze as your mind failed to comprehend what was going on before you.  

 A high-pitched screech erupted from the massive scorpion as it lunged its stinger towards you.  You screamed, rolling into the sand to dodge its attack.  You stumbled to your feet as another piercing screech echoed through the valley.  A pincer suddenly swung at you.  You ducked just in time, feeling a few strands of your hair yanked from your scalp.  Tears began to spill from your face as you scurried along the ground, hiding behind a large cactus.  The thorns pricked your hands as you pressed them against the green base, your eyes never leaving the monstrous insect.  It spotted you again as it swiped its other claw at you, snipping the cactus in half as you screamed aloud.  You sprinted towards the road, falling to your knees in sobs.  You shakily climbed to your feet, backing up to watch the scorpion eye you with a look of hunger in its piercing black eyes. This was it, there was no way out of this nightmarish hell, this is how it ends for you.

 A loud honk suddenly stunned you from your right. You whipped your head to see a vehicle driving straight at you.  You gasped as you thrust your body towards the opposite side of the road, rolling on to the cracked shoulder.  

 You momentarily blacked out as you heard the car swerve and the tires screeched to a halt.  Several doors are opened and slammed as a frenzied commotion suddenly unleashed in the background.  Stern voices shout aloud as gunshots and clangs of metal ripped through the air. A thunderous noise filled your years as a small tremor shook the ground below, causing you to stir.  Then silence.

 “Hey! Miss! Are you okay!?” a chirpy young voice blurted out.

 You laid motionless for a moment, still in shock and pain from the horrifying ordeal.

 “Oh man, do you think we’re too late?  Is she—” another soft voice asked.

 You grumbled from the ache in your body, slowly lifting your head.  

 “Oh thank the Astrals!  She’s alive, I seriously thought I killed her,” the first male exclaimed.

 You rolled onto your side, looking up at four figures that leaned over you as your bleary eyes attempted to focus on them. You lifted your arm to block the harsh sun light that washed out the details of their faces.

 One of them stood up, turning to what you assumed was the young, yet familiar voice, “This is EXACTLY what happens when your attentions are elsewhere.  A moving vehicle is just as deadly as any lethal blade, if you continue to demonstrate this behavior than you will refrain from taking seat behind the wheel.”

 That voice… I know it.  But it can’t… it can’t seriously be…

 A gruff man added, “We should get her out of the sun, that Saphyrtail nearly had her for dinner.”

 Before you could even comment, a pair of hands found their way to your upper arms, carefully raising you to your feet.  You stared down at the ground, heavily debating if you should raise your head to meet your rescuers but the internal turmoil of seeing who you expected was beginning to terrify you.

 “Hey miss, are you okay?” A gentle hand touched your shoulder.

 You finally gathered the courage to look up and it was exactly as you had feared.

 It was THEM.  The four stars of the video game, in the flesh and blood, staring directly at you.  Your jaw went slack as your head began to spin again.  Your knees began to collapse beneath you, dragging your faint body down.

 “Whoa whoa whoa!!” Prompto shouted, grabbing your arms to pull you up.  “Okay yeah let’s get her to the car.”

 You felt a firm set of arms gather your frame, as you were hoisted effortlessly into the air.  You looked through fuzzy eyes to see freshly inked skin and toned pectoral muscles, coated with a glistening layer of sweat, cradle you tenderly. Cool leather unexpectedly grazed your skin, sending a brief chill up your spine as you faded from consciousness for the third time today.

  “Poor thang, she looks all kinds of beat up. You say she was just standin’ on the side of the road?” A sweet accented voice inquired.

 You groaned, rolling your head side to side, slowly peeling your eyes open to see a bright round light above, the sun? You gripped a soft material beneath your palms, realizing that you were lying on a bed.  

 “Wait, she’s awake!” Prompto cheered.

 You pressed your hand to your head, feeling the pressure that throbbed on your temple.  “Where.. where am I?”

 The curly blonde female spoke, “Well you’re in Hammerhead, girly.  And it looks like you took a fine lickin’ back there.  What on Eos happened to you?”

 “Wha..?”

 Prompto answered for you, “Iiiiiii might have accidentally almost ran her over.” Tapping his fingertips together nervously.

 You pushed yourself up, your hand still on your head as you blinked your eyes a few times to clear your vision.  You looked up, and once again, you stared in disbelief at the sight before you.

 The four men, now with Cindy, were scattered around the interior of an RV, discussing your situation.  You could feel your heartbeat in your ears; it was only logical that someone had drugged you and this surreal hallucination was the result.  You rose to your feet, trembling as you studied everyone’s features.  Not a single detail was missed, from their mannerisms to clothing, they were truly the living and breathing characters.  

 All eyes were suddenly on you but the only thing you could think of was getting to a phone and getting the hell out of there before you had a psychotic episode.  The door to the camper was propped open, you took a shaky step before sprinting towards it, tripping ungracefully through it.

 You looked up to see the sky had turned a brilliant pink and purple, night was upon you.  You remembered the layout of Hammerhead so you turned immediately to your left to see the diner in view.  But before you could take another step, a firm hand grabbed you by the wrist.

 “Madam, you are injured and disoriented.  I must insist that you rest,” Ignis stated as he held you in place.

 You blinked at him with both a fear and anger in your exhausted face.  In your world, you were completely enamored by the advisor but seeing him now in this twisted and warped reality, you wanted nothing more than to wake up from this cruel joke.

 You didn’t resist his grasp as you snapped at him, “this has really gotten out of control.  Whoever is doing this to me needs to stop.  It's not funny.  It will never be funny.  And it’s a pretty asshole move to play with my head like this.”

 Ignis loosened his hold, staring directly into your eyes, “… ma’am, please.  We truly had no role to play in the injustice that has befallen you.  I apologize if we made you feel this way.  We are merely trying to assist you.”  He released your wrist gently.

 Emotion had completely over come you, “None of this.. none of this makes any sense.  How can you.. how can you be real!?” you brought your hands up to cover your face, pinching your eyes shut.

 He placed both hands on your shoulders, “I promise we will do everything we can to help you.  But please, come inside first.”

 As an avid fan of the game, it was fortunate that you adored the advisor so much, hearing his voice was surprisingly soothing despite your failed attempts to convince yourself that he was merely a figment of your imagination.  You nodded, lowering your hands as you paced pathetically back towards the RV.  The group crowded the doorway, watching the events unfold.  You climbed up the stairs as they parted way to let you through.  You slumped on to the bed, staring down at your shoes as you wiped a tear away from your jaw.

 Noct crouched down to your level, “It… looks like you’ve been through a lot,” he fumbled with his hands, “So…. maybe we’ll just start with something easy.  What’s your name?”

 You lifted your head just slight enough to see him through your lidded eyes, “…[Y/N].”

 “Ah, well, [Y/N].  It was nice to meet you.  And sorry for almost… uhh, killing you.”

 You managed to huff a genuine laugh for the first time all day.  “That’s okay. I didn’t thank you for saving me from that giant scorpion.  So I guess we’re even.”

 Gladio added, “You’re pretty banged up, we have a first aid kit, you can stay here tonight with us if you want.”

 Noct agreed, “Yeah, if you’re hungry, Ignis is a pro in the kitchen, you can take the bed here if you like.”

 “Well fellas, this pretty little thing ain’t gonna feel at home with you all buzzin’ over her like a flock of Daggerquill!  Let the girl get some rest.  Nothing like a hot shower to renew some life in a gal!” she chimed happily at you.

 You returned a weak smile.  You felt guilty that Cindy had annoyed you so much in the game, she was proving to be a genuine sweetheart after all.  

 Gladio waved his hand towards the others, “Like the lady says, give [Y/N] some space,” as he gestured for the rest to leave.

 “Yeah, if you don’t mind, I’d like to clean up a little..” you uttered in a low voice.

 Gladio smirked as he shoved Prompto out of the RV, a blush forming on the blonde’s cheeks.  The rest followed suit as the door closed behind them.  

 You finally gave in to your situation; you were too tired and defeated to do anything else at this point, so you decided to take up their offer of hospitality.  You paced around the narrow mobile home, searching for the bathroom as you opened several doors before finally spotting the shower.  You sighed with relief, just like Cindy said, a shower is all a girl needs to feel like a new person.  You reached for the knot that sat on your waist of your gown before a realization struck you.  This dress was the only thing you had on you, literally.

 You let out a loud groan.  Various options began flitting through your mind.  I could stand in the shower with my dress on, that way my dress would get washed too? Or, I can shower and wear my dirty dress to sleep?  OR I can shower and wash my dress separate and sport a towel around all night. The last thought was instantly ruled out.  You sighed, shower in my dress it is.

 You scratched your head with frustration as you walked back to the main room to search for a bottle of shampoo and soap when a soft knock came from the door.  Cracking it open, a glint from a pair of glasses came into view.

 “Ah, my apologies, [Y/N].  It has just occurred to me that you most likely have none of your personal belongings on you.”

 You were impressed by his level of consideration and foresight, “Uhh, yeah, I actually just… figured I would shower with my dress on and kill two birds with one stone.”

 He chuckled, “That’s quite the metaphor. But if you wouldn’t mind…” he waited for your permission to let him in.  You opened up the door as he stepped inside.  He immediately turned down the hallway, disappearing behind one of the dividers.  A faint bout of shuffling could be heard and he returned a few minutes later with a pair of neatly folded clothes in his hands.

 “Forgive me, they will be excessively large on you, but if you can bear it for one evening, we can purchase a few necessities for you in the morning.”

 You desperately wished you could fight back the blush that burned on your cheeks.  You shakily reached your hands out and took the clothes from him.  Ignis Scientia’s clothes.  

 “We will not disturb you, so take all the time you need.  I have not prepared dinner yet, so if you are hungry you are welcome to join us.”

 You caught yourself staring at him before shaking off your hypnotic gaze, “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks again,” lifting the clothes up to gesture your gratitude.  

 He smiled, “Not a problem at all.  Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned and exited the camper.

 Once the door clicked shut, you couldn’t help but bury your face indulgently into the pile.  It was exactly as you had hoped, the smell of clean linen and remnants of his cologne were still laced between the fibers.  You exhaled a dreamy sigh, praying he had not forgotten something and returning to find you creepishly fawning over his belongings.

 You headed back to the shower, shimmying out of your dress and draping it on the counter.  You stepped inside and cranked the hot water on, feeling your semi-terrible day wash off of your body.  The relaxing steam coiled around you as you slid your hands down your face.  Everything feels so real… but how can it be?  So many questions but so little answers.  

 After you had scrubbed yourself clean of the dirt and grime, you toweled your body and hair, pausing when your eyes met the neat pile of Ignis’ clothing.  You couldn’t help but a feel a bit excited to wear the advisor’s attire.  You carefully grabbed the first article, a navy long-sleeved shirt of the softest cotton material.   You pulled it easily over your head, he truly was much larger than you as the v-neck collar dared to slip over your exposed shoulder.  You reached for the next piece, a black pair of sleeping pants with a gathered tie along the waist.  You slipped it on, Jesus he’s tall, as nearly a foot of pant leg drooped off your feet.  It was amazingly comfortable, you gathered what pant material you could and lifted them up so that you wouldn’t trip as you sauntered through the camper.  The blush returned to your face as the material rubbed tantalizingly over your bare skin.  Alright brain keep it together!

 You approached the bed and flopped down on to it as you curled up into a cozy ball.  You were a bit hungry but your exhaustion was too great so you decided that sleep was more important.  Who knows, maybe this was the most vivid dream you had ever experienced in your entire life.  Maybe you needed a CAT scan as soon as you woke up.  Part of you had hoped that when the morning comes you would wake to find yourself exactly where you were, laying on your couch in front of the tv.

 But the other part of you had secretly hoped not. That maybe this was real… and maybe, somehow, you were here for a reason.

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

OVERTONES LIVE CEMENTS ITS REPUTATION AS A VALUABLE ASSET TO THE LOCAL MUSIC SCENE WITH 100th SHOW

By: Lyssa Culbertson

Renee Collins Cobb & Rachel Crowe; Photo by Arden Barnes

Music is a labor of love, whether you’re writing it, playing it, listening to it, promoting it, or involved in any facet in the industry. Anyone who knows anything knows that it’s not a profession—or hobby—you embark on to get rich: it’s heart work. It’s the soul of the matter. It’s the spirit of the passion. It’s a labor of love that takes a village to keep alive. Renee Collins Cobb, host of Overtones Live, is a force who embodies all of those qualities in her devotion to the Appalachian music scene. Along with her co-host Rachel Crowe, they showcase regional acts live from the historic and world-famous Austin City Saloon in Lexington, KY on Overtones LIVE. Not only is the show special because of the music it bestows upon the world from its grassroots framework, but it’s unique because it’s solely female ran—an impressive feat in today’s typically male-dominated industry.

Now entering its 100th show on March 10th, Overtones LIVE has provided a stage for countless artists to shine and share their gifts with audiences over the years. With its humble beginnings as a radio show recorded for Lexington Community Radio set at The Lyric Theater in Lexington for its first 75 episodes from January 2018-2020, the show has now grown to its current home at Austin City Saloon and is broadcasting on air at Radiolex WLXU, Forward KY Radio, WFMP, Pickup Country WSKV, and Trendkill Radio. Overtones’ format was unique due to its efforts to focus on the multicultural and multigenerational melting pot of genres and sounds found within the Appalachian region, with hour long shows showcasing four diverse acts and their unique sounds. In addition to live music played by some of the area’s finest, the show featured regular segments such as the inspirational “Talking About My Generation,” where according to Renee, “parent-child musical dream teams congregated in the studio to talk about what being a musician looked like and behaved like in their own generation and also opened a forum of productive discussion on what each generation feels they have and can learn from the other generation,” as well as the quarterly “Faculty Meeting” that brought together music faculty from across Kentucky from private studios to public universities, who also had ties into the local music scene. Throughout the duration of the show in its initial years, the music was flowing and listeners were sonically hungry for all the new artists that Overtones LIVE put on their paths. Renee, Rachel, and their team exemplified the notion of service throughout their devotion to artists and live music in the area.

Especially amidst a pandemic. Despite changing times brimming with uncertainty, Renee didn’t lose her vision or drive to serve the music world and found innovative ways to stay on the airwaves to bring the tunes to listeners once The Lyric shutdown due to COVID-related struggles. From March to June, the melodies continued to play out amongst the airwaves by reformulating and repurposing the shows to reflect Tributes to The Men of The Bluegrass, The Women of The Bluegrass, The Bands of the Bluegrass and Tributes to Harlan, Morehead, Eastern Kentucky and Louisville. Additionally, there was a Tributes to Teachers show, featuring Kentucky musicians who also serve as educators within the state, such as David and Teresa Prince—Appalachian royalty also known by their stage names Laid Back Country Picker and Honey. With easing restrictions came a traveling roadshow, as the Overtones LIVE crew traveled to the homes of musicians with home studios to record in, including frequent guests Mama Said String Band at Wave Garden Studio in Indiana.

Cody Lee Meece; Photo by Jim Cundiff, Off the Trail Photography

The “aha moment” of figuring out how to continue recording the show by adapting the way it was recorded led to its current home at Austin City Saloon, where bands who had not played live in quite a while finally got the chance to do what they do best again. The reopening of restaurants, bars, and venues took Overtones LIVE from the studio to the stage, broadening the realm of possibilities. After a one month trial surrounding a combined vision with a theme referencing the origins of Austin City Saloon and its namesake Greg Austin, months later the show is in its six month of recording the LIVE format at the venue. Having the platform to record live at the saloon reshaped and redesigned the trajectory of the show, as it allowed magic to occur that previously had not. Now, a full band could perform, whereas the studio could only host a small group. Additionally, full concert video could now be recorded by Renee’s husband, Warren Cobb, further increasing the potential of the material shared on the show and successfully supporting artists in a myriad of ways by providing them not only a platform to have their voices and music heard, but also viable footage to share of their essence in live performances, which is pertinent to EPKs and booking. Since its debut at Austin City Saloon, Kevin Dalton and The Tuesday Blooms, Rifletown, Cody Lee Meece, Jenn Marie McDaniel & The Bruce, Eight Daze Sober, Bedford Band and Trippin Roots were a few of the acts featured early out of the gate. Presented by Whitney Adams, Overtones LIVE also brought a Nashville flair to Kentucky by hosted songwriters Blue Foley and Russell Sutton to start to present a Master Class to local singer/songwriters in the area. Despite another shutdown in the fall of 2020, Renee and Rachel were able to continue recording without interruption within the bounds of state rules and regulations, furthering the reach of their content. Nowadays, the show thrives in a socially distanced and mask-required environment, allowing audiences to be captivated by the talent on stage each time, providing a sense of normalcy to a once deprived artistic outlet.

Overtones LIVE continues to be an asset to the local music community in Kentucky and surrounding areas. The work that Renee and Rachel do, as well as Renee’s work with her and Warren’s business Listen Locally, is vital to not only artists but fans alike. Members of the listenership, attendees, and performers echo my sentiments:

Overtones Live is such a great experience for musicians, bands, fans and music lovers.This is because it is hosted and managed by musicians, music lovers and simply put, great people. To have the honor of sharing music to a live recording audience, to have the outlet to detail the stories behind the songs and the creative process is an opportunity that many musicians and bands never get. The Overtones Live staff is top tier when it comes to creating a comfortable and an art conducive environment, with great hospitality for the live audience, a wonderful space to perform, magical sound engineering, professional delivery of the programing and the kindest and warmest of hosts. Rifletown thanks the entire Overtones Live team for making us feel welcomed and special enough to take the stage and for also allowing our family and fans the chance to be part of the show! Thank you: Renee Collins Cobb, Rachel Crowe, Warren Cobb, Garrick Howell, Chris Slater, Austin Brashear and David Howard. --Jason Howard, Lead vocalist of Rifletown

I’ve been fortunate to have appeared on overtones several times in the past 3 years. I am so Grateful for Renee and all involved for what they do to support regional musicians. It’s helped get my music out to he heard by new listeners and also has lead me to meet some other amazing musicians and songwriters. Overtones has become somewhat of a home place that has brought together a family of artists. Thank you so much for building an amazing community and connection between artists and listeners. --Kevin Dalton, of Kevin Dalton & The Tuesday Blooms

It is amazing to hear 100 unique episodes of pure musical talent and the stories behind the songs through Overtones. Many congrats on reaching a milestone to help spread the love of music and people who create it! May there be even more episodes that celebrate the musicians. --Jessica Blankenship, Kentucky Country Music

It was clear from the day that Renee walked into Lexington Community Radio - now RadioLex - that she had a deep care for local music and was thoroughly dedicated to the idea of Overtones and the planning it would take to pull it off, an idea that has now grown beyond her initial pitch and has extended into social media and live performances as well. The fact that the show has made it to such a huge milestone is a testament to her commitment! I’ve enjoyed seeing so many wonderful musicians and collaborators on the program and am looking forward to what the next 100 episodes will bring to the local and regional music community. --Mary Clark, Station manager at WLXU

We were very excited to work with people who’s goal has always been to support the local music scene. Our experience with Overtones has been nothing but good vibes and mutual love for the local music scene. We were very honored to be a small part of something great and would always choose to do so in the future. We are excited for what Overtones and Renee has in store for the music community in the future! --Justin Riley, Eight Daze Sober

I am super thankful for the folks behind Overtones Live! The support, dedication and time put into recording, editing and promoting local music and musicians goes above and beyond. They not only promote your music across multiple media outlets regularly, but they truly care about your well-being as friends who treat you like family, lending a helping hand or word of advice in time of need! Thank you for all that you do!! --Jenn Marie McDaniel

Overtones LIVE is recorded live at Austin City Saloon, Kentucky’s home for live, local music, and brought to you by Listen Locally, produced by Warren Cobb. Sound is engineered by Chris Slater and Garrick Howell and mixed at Jobu’s Rum Recording Studio. Below are some examples of live shows recorded at ACS:

[tylerbiard]

San Junipero

I just finished watching the highly acclaimed “San Junipero” episode of Black Mirror.  My god, what a beautifully put together piece of art.  The aesthetics, the cinematography, the acting, the story, everything was utterly top notch.  It was quite moving and unexpectedly sweet in its ending.

Of the many things I loved in the epsiode, I’ve been really ruminating over the early dialogue from the 1987 section, at the dance club, where everybody looked overwhelmingly ‘80s.  Like, too ‘80s.  I obviously wasn’t around in the ‘80s, but based on accounts from people who did live then that I know, as well as looking at actual photographs and the like from then, of actual people, and how they lived, it did seem almost caricatured.  Then there was the line of (and I’m paraphrasing) “everyone looks like they saw it in a movie,” it being the attire of everyone in the club.  It’s true.  The gateway to eras one wasn’t apart of for a lot of people is in the pop culture, such as movies, which can gloss over or hyperbolize reality.  There’s also a tendency in nostalgic aesthetic preferences to pluck the most “standout” (yet still aesthetically pleasing -- nothing too outrageous) to hone in on an era.  Were the ‘80s really that ‘80s, or was the San Junipero version was basically cliche? Beyond that, while it was ostensibly 1987 in San Junipero, the social attitudes of the denizens therein seemed a bit more 21st century.  The 1987 was not a true 1987, but merely a shallow imitation, not unlike a throwback night at your local dance club.  Perhaps that was the point, it was a digital simulation, after all, filled with people decades into the future.

I was hanging out with a friend recently, and we had some 2010s smooth techno playing on YouTube.  The video made me say to them, “man, it really is the ‘90s.”  The aesthetic choices (especially fashion) were ripped right from 199x, and yet, the artist didn’t look like they were old enough to actually remember the ‘90s.  I could be wrong of course, but there’s no question that the ‘90s are the nostalgic focus of this decade, following the 20 year trend of nostalgia (ie the ‘00s were focused on the ‘80s, and the ‘90s were focused on the ‘70s).  And in 2018, today’s teens were born, at latest, in mid-1998, and therefore too young to actually remember the era they’re appropriating.  The ‘90s to a kid today is about vintage Champion tees and thin-framed glasses and less about dial-up ‘net and the Clinton sex scandal.  And I don’t mean this judgmentally -- rather it is just a matter of fact.  You could say the same thing about my time and the ‘80s.  In fact if you remember that 2000s hipster kitty meme, I distinctly remember one of the taglines being “the ‘80s were awesome” and below it read “born in 1991.”

I guess it all begs the question of what do we really know of the past?  Yes, we lived in an advanced technological age, where vast archives of our lives are accumulating with each passing year.  I read a while ago about this couple who lived on one of those islands in the Puget Sound near Seattle, attempting to live an authentically 19th century existence, from their transportation choices to their wardrobe to everything.  They’d done extensive research in order to get a true feeling for the Victorian era, reading newspapers, personal accounts, literature, the whole thing.  So, to an extent, provided we keep an archive, we can know of the modern past, anyway.  But further back it’s harder.  One of Aristotle’s books was lost after the fall of the Roman Empire, and who knows how revolutionary it would’ve been on Western civilization.  One day our archives may go through a similar beating as the Classical archives did in the Middle Ages.

My point is that most people are not going to go in-depth to become a living, breathing period piece like the aforementioned Washington State couple.  For most of us, we get our cues from pop culture, and thus get a Cole’s Notes edition of the past, which blurs further and further, as time goes on, to fewer highlights.  Or at least for those that never lived in the time, which also increases as time goes on.  And even if you do extensive research, it can never fully replace the feeling of having actually lived through an era, especially as it is happening, without knowledge of what is to come.  Despite our best attempts, human ideas and feelings are often too abstract and what we record visually, literally, sonically, whatever, is merely a stripped down version that can’t fully encapsulate the endless abstraction of what it means to be a human in a particular time and place.  We may get 90, 95, maybe even 99% of the way there, but we can’t ever fully know without having lived it. 

So, I guess, the 1987 of San Junipero is a realization of that reality.  We get our cues from the movies, so we think everyone in the ‘80s lived like an ‘80s movie.  Not to say that that our appropriation of past aesthetics is inaccurate, just very curated, and at times shallow.  Obviously shoulder pads and jean jackets were a fixture of ‘80s fashion, but a lot of social issues and personal inclinations of the ‘80s were glossed over in ‘80s film (and in other eras) and so when we look to film, it is often not the whole picture of what an era was like.  Actually, I find newer “period piece” type films that look back at past eras can sometimes pick up on these things better, as we’ve had time to let the things that occurred in that time to absorb and be reflected upon.  It took a few years for AIDS to show up in film, for example.  It doesn’t always work, though.  Like, I think most people today get a sense of the ‘80s from Stranger Things, and while the aesthetics are on point, as are the supernatural inclinations of media, aside from some cheap homophobic slurs early on, it feels more like a set of people with 2010s values plopped into the 1980s.

I suppose more fundamentally, as time stretches forward, the past, even for those that lived it, just becomes a story we play back to ourselves, distorting and contorting, as our memory slowly fails us.  Thank god we’re uploading our personalities online, right?  Because Instagram is obviously an authentic look at how we live today. In 50 years, I swear people will still be trying to understand the hashtag “livefolk.” I guess it doesn’t matter that much anyway.  As the popular internet saying goes, “I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” hitting at the core of the absurdist inclinations of internet culture today.  Still, it is sad for me to think of all that we’ve known from our collective lives, just withering into oblivion, and our archive a mere ersatz edition of the true past, a vain attempt to preserve something that cannot be preserved.

Music selections:

Belinda Carlisle - Heaven is a Place on Earth No Mercy - Where Do You Go?

[decaffeinatedreviewmoon]

WEEK 4 - 10/02 National Policies for Museums

 There were many readings this week, I chose to focus on a few ones.

First, Museums change lives

The title caught my attention, it is quite ambitious. I like how the tone is ‘passionate’: “(Museums) enrich the lives of individuals, contribute to strong and resilient communities, and help create a fair and just society. Museums in turn are immensely enriched by the skills and creativity of their public.” The words are positive and empowering, I think the aim is to give strength to museums, for them to realise their potential.

Cultural places have a social impact by welcoming all types of audience and by encouraging critical thinking. They can choose to tackle any topic and, by doing so, lead to social debate. I grew up in Perpignan, a small town in the very South of France and there is a famous photography festival there— called ‘Visa pour l’image’ — which takes place every year in September. The various exhibitions mostly tackle controversial topics such as war, religion, environment, press freedom or women rights. I remember going to the event with school, as a child it was quite impressive to look at these difficult scenes. However, it sure made me aware of the challenges the world is facing.

The document points at the social responsibility that hangs over museums as they can introduce new ideas to children. “They promote social justice and human rights, challenge prejudice and champion fairness and equality.” Thanks to school, children in countires such as the UK or France visit museums no matter their social background. One of the examples given is the exhibition ‘Kutmaan’ at the Leighton House Museum. I guess most visitors were familiar with the subject:  ‘LGBT people who have been forced into exile because of their sexuality or gender identity’. However, being confronted to it is different, it makes visitors reflect about their own condition and how things can be different around the world.

The example of the Colchester and Ipswich Museums that organised an event which involved “people who had experienced homelessness” illustrates well how any type of audience can be part of a museum’s project.

I also enjoyed how the role of audiences is pointed out: visitors are “creators as well as consumers of knowledge”. Putting visitors in the center is key, especially if museums want them to experience active learning.

GOING FURTHER, The ­­­National­ Strategy­ for­ Scotland’s ­Museums ­and ­Galleries

Even though I selected a few readings from this week’s list, it would be too long to be as detailed as I just did with Museums Changes Lives I will try to be more succinct in order to avoid repetition as the ideas tend to echo each others.

The Going Further document develops The National Strategy for Scotland’s Museums and Galleries. The main idea is to ‘bring cohesion and a shared framework’. These cultural places must be non-profit organisations, opened to everyone and exhibit heritage for “purposes of education, study and enjoyment.” I was pleased to find the mention “enable participation at different levels” as it is something new for many museums. This point was raised by the chapter 3 “Museums and Education Purpose, Pedagogy, Performance” from the first week’s readings and the chapter 5 “Museums and Lifelong Learning” from the second week’s readings. The National Strategy also puts an emphasis on the importance for museums to welcome any type of audience and to do their best to improve their visitors’ wellbeing. The National Strategy also underlines the great variety of ressources — such as collections in universities — which are too often unknown to the public.

Creativity Across Learning 3-18

The Creative Across Learning document focuses on the space of creativity in schools’ curriculum. As explained by Lynn Dierking during her lecture, adding creativity to the learning process helps children to be more motivated and ambitious, to earn new skills, to be more confident and to work in team. Creative projects are also a good way to introduce topics such as technology or environment. Be creative is not that easy, specially if you have never been used to practice your creative skills as a child. The curriculum for creativity leads teachers to organise many activities with ‘personnalisation’ and ‘open-ended enquiry’. It makes me think of the ‘idealist’ approach in museums mentioned in the second week’s documents as this type of exhibition encourages visitors to follow the route they want and to interpret in their very own way the artworks. The curriculum also points at the importance of ‘collaboration’ and discussion, this is why many museums now add spaces with sittings were people can chat and share their thoughts.

I remember making a cartoon in school, we made all the characters with modeling clay, the voice over and the storyline. We also learned how editing works. It was good fun and I was so proud to show the final results to my parents. I now realise how much work that must have been for my teachers and all the people who took part in the project.

What is creativity?

In the What is Creativity document, the part on how Scotland was planning to support artists caught my attention. It is difficult for most artists to get started in their professional life as fundings are often missing. It is wonderful that these people can find support in Scotland!

My Primary School is at the Museum

This video shows how in practice things go with children doing a creative project. It seems to be rewarding for the children as well as for the museum. Many children made incredible progress thanks to the project My Primary School is at the Museum. During our visit to the Maritime Museum, Lyndsey -- the curator -- told us how she enjoyed guiding children through the museum, she finds it gratifying, specially when they come back with their families and show them around.  

In Class

In class, Liz presented us the Curriculum for excellence which is used in Scotland. It gives guidance to teachers and cultural places, but nothing is set, specially for primary schools. There is still free choice left to each teacher or curator. However, in secondary school, teachers have to stick to a program as pupils have a national exam at the end.

Several words can be used to describe the learning process and understand the plurality of facets it involves: identity, contestation, places, personal, memories, challenge, meaning-making, objects, social. Unfortunately, I do not think these words are part of every learning process that is taught nowadays. For instance, 'contestation’ refers to critical thinking which was almost nonexistent in my schooldays (in France). Places may refer to trips, indeed, coming upon the great variety and complexity of your own culture as well as discovering other cultures is fulfilling. I have always been very lucky as my parents took me on many trips from a very young age. Because not every child travels with his own family, it is important that children go on school trips, even if it is only for one day and in their region. Indeed, outdoor learning can be found in the Curriculum for Excellence as it has social and cultural benefits and improves students’ wellbeing. Finally, the words ‘identity’, ’personal’ and ‘memories’ refer to the learner himself, we remember better when what we learn echoes our past experiences and our interests. I then found interesting how the Curriculum for Excellence emphasises the inseparability of pedagogy and epistemology. The ‘how’ in learning is as important as the ‘what’. I remember struggling with my lessons in school as they were hard to swallow, it was only about the knowledge and the pedagogy was missing.

Then, Liz mentioned several initiatives which illustrate well the Curriculum for Excellence’s objectives. I specially liked the intergenerational project which gathered children and elderly people. The latter tend to be scared of teenagers, this is why children had to ask old people questions about their childhood. This activity got rid of the stigma around young people and led the community to band together.

We also did a group activity. We had to ‘organise’ important elements of the learning process in museums, among five Generic Learning Outcomes categories. It was a good way to understand the complexity of creating programs for visitors, curators (and any other involved person) have to think about many issues. The exercises also highlight how much learning in museums can be fulfilling, visitors do not get ‘one single type’ of knowledge.

Visit at the Toolbooth Museum

On Friday the 14th of February, we went to the Tolbooth Museum. We followed a school tour through the museum. It was interesting to see how the curator adapted her language and what she said so children could understand. I enjoyed watching her work, however I did not really liked the museum. I was pretty excited to go as I thought I would enjoy going to an old jail and learn about its history, however I found the organisation a bit ‘old-fashioned’. The fake man talking in the top room honestly scared me, the curator explained many people and most children feel uncomfortable in that room as the prisoner model is quite disturbing. I was surprised to see smoething so special and which ‘divides’ people. I wonder if the museum thought about removing the model. I guess they did not as there is a lot of work behind it and that it is interesting from an historical perspective. But I do not know enough on the subject to assume anything.

Also, the inclusive issue is quite complex in this museum. Because of the building’s architecture, it is impossible to add an elevator and the stairs are numerous and dangerous. The museum offers the possibility to watch a movie -- which shows the upstairs exhibition -- on the ground floor. I completely understand it is impossible for the museum to find a better answer here. It is great they thought about a solution, I just think this must be quite disappointing to stay on the ground floor and watch a movie. I cannot criticize this ‘plan B’ as I cannot think about a better way to allow disabled people to visit the museum. I am just pointing at this problem, which is often raised by old buildings, and unfortunately, there is not always a solution. 

Visit at the Maritime Museum

On the same day, we visited the Maritime Museum. The curator Lyndsey gave us a short talk about her work and how she welcomes children in the museum. She explained that some museums hire enablers to adapt visits according to people’s disabilities, difficulties or particularities. However this position does not exist in any of Aberdeen’s museums so curators have to work on that themselves.

As mentioned several times through this blog, it is essential that museums are free and public in order to welcome any type of visitor. The curator emphasised how rewarding was to have school groups over because children come from a great variety of social backgrounds. It is important to make them feel welcomed in cultural and public places from an early age so they will not feel excluded from this places as adults. It is a way to assert people’ citizenship and make them feel part of society. I think this makes sense in Scotland as most museums are free, however, in France this is rarely the case. Cultural places are free or cheap for children and students, but they tend to be very expensive for adults.

Among other topics, the curator also talked about the activities based on active learning that are available for children in the Maritime Museum (self-guided tours, object handling, quizz sheets or treasure hunts). She mentioned the challenges of having school groups over: mostly security and money issues. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that the museum adapts its collections according to the audience’s requests, for instance, a collection of objects on the Titanic theme. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Creative Scotland. (2013) What Is Creativity.

Education Scotland. (2013) Creativity Across Learning 3-18.

King’s College London. (2016) My Primary School is at the Museum.

Museums Association. (2013) Museums Change Lives.

Museums Galleries Scotland. (2012) Going Further: The ­­­National­ Strategy­ for­ Scotland’s ­Museums ­and ­Galleries.

[writingblankspaces]

Inhabitance (Part 2) 

NC-17

Yoonmin

Things only got worse because Yoongi became accustomed to Jimin’s presence and his small little mannerisms. He found himself looking for Jimin when he came home and when Jimin hadn’t spoken in a while, Yoongi would call for him.  

“I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but whenever you sit near me, I remember what it’s like to feel warm,” Jimin commented one day when they were both sitting on Yoongi’s couch. It caught Yoongi off guard, and again his heart skipped in his chest, reminding him of his strange predicament.

Immediately, he stood up, bone-straight, and lied about forgetting to print something out at the library. Jimin made a tsking sound and warned Yoongi to keep up with his studies, and Yoongi nodded, slipped on his shoes and hoodie, then walked out the door.

He didn’t actually go to the library. Instead, he walked around his neighborhood, hoping that the brisk air would clear his mind.

Jimin was a ghost. Not alive. Dead. Deceased.

He’d gone through every possible scenario and so far none of them ended well for him.

Whatever he was feeling, it needed to stop.

Only it didn’t.

“You’re really bad at this,” Jimin admitted after he beat Yoongi for the third time in Mario Cart.

“Video games have never really been my thing. I’ve always been more interested in music y’know?” Jimin nodded and sat down the remote, leaning forward to thumb pizza sauce off Yoongi’s lips.

The gesture shouldn’t have been as intimate as it was, yet Yoongi felt his entire face heat up as he scooted further away from Jimin, flustered.

Jimin noticed something was wrong and immediately looked apologetic, “whatever I did, I’m so sorry. Sometimes I forget that I’m not human and I just do what comes naturally. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yoongi shook his head and waved off the apology as he gave Jimin a small smile, “no, it’ fine. Thank you.”

The only thing he was afraid was his feelings, not Jimin. Not anymore.

Desperate to change the subject, Jimin asked Yoongi about his latest composition, and the man happily switched topics, glad to have a change. If he could find something to distract him from his budding feelings for Jimin, he would take it.

The whole time he spoke, Jimin nodded and widened his eyes in interest, listening to every word like he knew what Yoongi was talking about even when Yoongi knew he didn’t.

“So when are you going to write lyrics? Or will you write lyrics?” Yoongi thought about the question, and he shrugged, scratching his head.

“I’ll write lyrics if or when it feels right,” what Yoongi didn’t want to say that was that he’d already written the lyrics.

Lyrics usually came to him within a few hours after finishing a song, but for the last one, it’d taken him nearly three days to get the words on paper.

His first few ideas sounded too cheesy and flowery, too unlike his typical style, so he kept writing until he was somewhat satisfied.

“This song sounds amazing, are you going to use it for our final?” Suran asked, eyeing the sheet then grinning when he took the paper out his backpack and let her read them.

As part of his Composition and Lyrics final, he’d paired up with Suran, a performance major, to complete his last project.

They’d been working together the past two years because out of all the group members Yoongi had ever had, she was the one who understood him the most and he thought her peculiar voice suited his writing and composing style.

“This is different somehow,” she paused for a second and seemed to chose her words carefully, “there’s a feeling that’s never been there before. Like an unrequited love? Or maybe something just out of reach.”

Another reason Yoongi liked working with Suran was that of her attention to detail.

Right then, however, her sensitive perception was making Yoongi feel awkward and put on the spot.

He hadn’t admitted it out loud yet, but he’d written the song with Jimin in mind, and it was becoming more and more obvious.

“Ah, is that what you’re getting from that?” Yoongi asked, scratching his head in faux-surprise. Suran wouldn’t ask because she knew he didn’t like people prying into his business, but he could tell she was curious as she took the paper into the recording booth.

When she was settled and slipped on the large headphones, she flashed him a thumbs up, and Yoongi immediately started the music.

The soft melody began, and Suran waited until he waved his hand, motioning for her to start singing.

Something about hearing the words come to life over the music made Yoongi’s heartache in his chest, and he knew Suran saw him grimace, but she didn’t stop singing.

When she’d done her first take, Suran slipped off the headphones, and Yoongi pressed a button so he could hear what she wanted to say.

“Everything sounds great with the song, but I am curious,” Yoongi nodded for her to continue “the song is called Untitled. Why? You usually always name the song before we record…”

He opened his mouth to answer but closed it when he realized he didn’t have an answer. Eventually, he just settled on “you know what? Since this is the last thing, I’ll let you name it.” Suran’s eyes widened, and her mouth made an o shape.

“Really?” Yoongi nodded.

“Pitch some at me,” Yoongi suggested with a small smile.

There was silence over speaker before Suran decided, speaking quietly and unsure “what about ‘Ghost?’”

This time, instead of his heart, his stomach reacted and lurched. It was like Suran subconsciously knew what he was going through.

“A-ah-ah sure. S-so-sounds good,” again Suran raised an eyebrow but didn’t question and slipped her headphones back on.

When their reserved time was up, they’d finished the rough groundwork and all Yoongi had to do was edit and tweak things at home. The due date was approaching rapidly, and Yoongi still had other things to focus on for school, so he wanted to get it done quickly and satisfactory.

Professor Kim would give them an A anyway because Suran and Yoongi were a department favorite, but Yoongi wanted to do his best because it would be expected of him when he graduated and attempted to professionally produce in the future.

Yoongi’s eyes shot open in the middle of the night and his chest heaved as the horror of his nightmare lingered in his mind.

Without a word, Jimin was next to him, seated on his bed and handing him a cup of water.

In the dim lighting, Jimin looked like a person and instead of taking the water, he wrapped his arms around Jimin and squeezed.

It was the first time he’d tried to touch Jimin and the sensation he felt as a result was indescribable. Somewhere between dreaming that he was touching something and the solidity and vague warmth of another person, he leaned more into, and Jimin sat the glass down and embraced him tightly.

When Yoongi finally let go, shocked that he’d done that even in a spur of the moment, Jimin looked at him with shocked, wide eyes “I...didn’t know you could touch me. I didn’t think anyone could touch me.”

“I’m so sorry,” as Yoongi started to apologize, Jimin just shook his head and looked across the room with a sheepish expression.

“It’s okay. I liked it. It’s been so long,” Jimin whispered.

If he’d been alive, Yoongi imagined that Jimin would’ve been blushing. Despite the fact that his heart rate was still slowing, he knew Jimin’s expression and reaction would’ve sent his heart back into overdrive.

One thing Yoongi had always understood was himself, but at that moment he was at a loss because his body moved without consulting his brain and he leaned forward and kissed Jimin squarely on the lips.

It was the same sensation that he’d felt before, only he felt it on his lips.

The action pulled a gasp from Jimin, but he didn’t pull away and allowed Yoongi to kiss him softly.

Yoongi pulled back after a few seconds that felt nothing short of a few minutes and tried to stumble upon the appropriate wording of the reason he’d done it but failed miserably, and Jimin just watched him.

“It’s been even longer since someone kissed me,” Jimin said after Yoongi gave up fumbling for something to say.

Following that night, Jimin showed himself less and less to Yoongi, favoring instead to cook him meals and leave them in the fridge with handwritten notes or cleaning his room and kitchen when Yoongi left them in disarray.

Despite eating the food Yoongi knew Jimin put a lot of thought and affection into, he felt the aching feeling of loneliness creeping back up on him again.

He had feelings for Jimin, and when he spoke in the same words in the mirror, he didn’t look away from his reflection, refusing to accept it. Instead, his expression remained set and serious.

His final confirmation came in the form of a wet dream, and that’d set him off the edge.

On a cool day in the house, Yoongi woke up to a warm body next to him and a fragrance he’d never smelled yet felt comforted by, a pleasant mix of strawberries and sandalwood.

“It’s time to get up,” he found himself saying, shaking the body. The person sat up slowly, rubbing their eyes with the sleeves of a shirt that was too long and yawing.

“It’s too early,” when the hand moved out of the person’s face, conscious-Yoongi recognized it as Jimin. The dream version of himself seemed used to waking up to Jimin and grinned at the light protest.

“Class won’t attend itself.” It was true, Yoongi silently thought to himself. Dream him knew what he was talking about.

“Fine, but not until you love me,” Jimin rasped out, his voice still sounding sleepy. Yoongi grinned in the dream and reached over, kissing Jimin much harder than the real him had a few days ago.

There was tongue.

Then, there were fewer clothes and more skin. He could feel all the emotions and warmth his dream-self felt, but he could only watch as the intimate scene played out in front him.

Jimin fit against his body like a missing puzzle piece, molded to fit suit him perfectly. The soft sigh and moans he let out as his body was touched and kissed were imprinted on Yoongi’s subconscious mind, and even when he woke up, he’d remember them vividly.

The way his name was said—moaned—whined—made his entire body ache for everything his dream-self was accustomed to.

Hot, all encasing tightness overwhelmed all his sense, and Yoongi closed his eyes, yet could still see everything that was happening.

After all, this was his dream.

Fingers pressed in the pale skin on his back and dug deeper as he pushed deeper inside of Jimin, strong thighs wrapping around his waist to keep him close as they moved against each other in the bed.

“I love you so much Jimin,” he heard his own voice say, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The words sounded like they were nothing new and Jimin’s soft hum told him that he already was aware.

His dream-self reached between their bodies and gripped Jimin’s dick, stroking him at the same languid pace his hips were moving.

Several minutes later, they both came at the same time, dream-him kissing Jimin as they did so.

“You know, now we really have to get up, and we can’t have breakfast because we have to shower,” Jimin giggled, patting Yoongi’s bare back after a few moments. That time, dream-him refused and suggested that they spend the day in bed, stating that class could afford to wait.

When Yoongi woke up, his sleep pants were stuck to his skin with rapidly cooling semen, and he felt a heavy sense of shame.

Jimin was luckily nowhere to be seen when he walked to the bathroom to rid himself of his dirty clothes and shower.

There was breakfast on the table with a handwritten note, wishing him good luck on his Composition and Lyric final.

The whole time he ate the food and even when he was giving his presentation, he wondered if Jimin had heard him. He’d been somewhat conscious in his dream like a ghost of himself, watching his dream-self and a somewhat fabricated version of Jimin being intimate so he could recall almost every detail, feeling and smell.

It kept him in a weird daze until Taehyung’s screaming yanked him out of it.

“Guess who got an A on their photography exam? This fucking guy!” Hoseok got up and high-fived him, grinning. The others offered their words of congratulations, even Yoongi who hadn’t spoken much that day.

“We’re going out to celebrate. I know today was the last day of exams for everyone. Drinks on me,” Seokjin and Namjoon both grinned and nodded eagerly, welcoming the excuse of free alcohol.

Yoongi didn’t necessarily agree to go but was roped into it anyway, and he figured that since Jimin didn’t wait around for him anymore, there wasn’t much to go home to.

There was a small part of him that hoped that even though he couldn’t see Jimin, that the man was still lingering around, even if he was just watching him. He’d long gotten past being weirded out from being watched.

He drank far too much and ended up having to be escorted home by a less-drunk Namjoon.

“I think I’m in love with a ghost Joon,” Yoongi slurred leaning on his friend as the Uber took a sharp turn into his complex. Namjoon gave him a slight questioning look and thanked the driver before he pulled Yoongi out the car with him.

“What do you mean ghost? Where would you even find a ghost?” Even though he was drunk, his questions were still those of a drunken intellectual.

“Ouija board. On Halloween. The ghost from Hoseok’s old dance class followed me home. You know how I have all those home cooked meals and my clothes are always clean? Yeah, the ghost,” Yoongi stopped to hiccup then continued to stagger alongside Namjoon, “Jimin did all that. I love him so much. He’s like my boyfriend. My ghost boyfriend.”

Namjoon stared at him like he was babbling nonsense and Yoongi smiled back, having already accepted how outlandish his situation sounded. Paired with heat of the alcohol in his body, the pleasure of getting things off his chest made him happy.

“I haven’t told him how I feel y’know. That I love him and all. I did hug and kiss him once though. It’d felt so damn good. He ran away after that though, I haven’t seen him a while,” another hiccup, “I miss him so fucking much Joonie. So much that I had a sex dream and it was so good, I’ve never felt that loved by someone besides my parents.”

Like Yoongi had guessed, out of care and concern for Yoongi, Jimin had stopped appearing in front of Yoongi but continued to watch out for him. When Namjoon opened the door, and they both stumbled into the door, nearly falling when Yoongi tripped over his shoes, Jimin immediately went to the living room.

Whenever Yoongi wasn’t around, he made himself visible again—because he couldn’t touch anything otherwise—and cleaned and cooked. He’d just finished scrubbing Yoongi’s bathroom when the two men arrived.

Perhaps because he was also drunk, Namjoon cleared his throat and looked around Yoongi’s apartment, wondering if Yoongi’s ghost would jump out and scare him, but Jimin didn’t.

Instead, he quietly materialized behind Namjoon and looked the door before walking behind them to the bedroom, where Namjoon dumped the now-sobbing heap that was Yoongi onto the bed.

“I miss him so much Joon. He was my everything, and he isn’t even fuckin human. What are the fucking odds man?” Jimin watched in sadness, and while he longed to comfort Yoongi, he knew that if he showed himself to Namjoon, the man would freak out in his inebriated state.

Instead, he watched as Namjoon helped Yoongi pull off his jacket and pants, then he tucked the older man in before steadying himself and leaving, forgetting to lock the door behind him.

Jimin locked it for him and spent the night watching over Yoongi, making sure he choke on his vomit or something else equally as horrible.

The first thing Yoongi saw when he woke up was Jimin and despite the crummy taste in his mouth, the tossing of his stomach and the pounding in his head, he smiled “you’re back.”

“I never left, Yoongi,” Jimin answered, reaching forward to pat Yoongi’s hair down. He nodded his head in the direction of the nightstand and Yoongi spotted the painkillers and water already laid out for him.

“Did you-um-see or hear everything last night?” Jimin nodded, and Yoongi was tempted to shove his entire body underneath his blankets to hide, but he resisted.

He was going to be straight with Jimin.

“So then you know,” Yoongi stopped and chewed on his bottom lip, “how I feel about you and all. Even the dream too?” Another nod.

“The reason why I disappeared for a little while is because I want you to have a normal life too. I already lived mine, and I don’t want to take yours from you. You deserve to love someone who can actually be there for you,” Jimin swallowed, “someone real. Alive.”

A silence fell between them, and Jimin got up, shutting the blinds to block out some of the sun.

“Rest. I’ll make you some hangover soup.”

With the declaration out in the air, no school and no reason to go home since his parents were on a second honeymoon, he was trapped in a situation of his own making.

Jimin still made him meals and cleaned. Yoongi tried his best to keep himself occupied with a few project requests from up-and-coming artists in their local area, but whenever he had downtime, his mind immediately wandered to Jimin.

He’d made himself visible to Yoongi again, but whenever they would watch TV together or something, Jimin would sit a distance away from him, like he was afraid they’d touch again.

The third time it happened, Yoongi snapped, and he turned off the TV, which had been on one of Jimin’s favorite movies, the Titanic.

“I can’t do this anymore Jimin. I love you so much, I don’t care,” he searched for the words “I don’t care about anything you’re worried about. I love you as is.”

“Yoongi, I can’t,” Jimin started to say, but stopped when Yoongi stood up and groaned in frustration.

“Fuck trying to protect me Jimin! I want you. So badly. I miss you sitting with me at breakfast and talking to me about stupid things. I miss us watching movies or playing games together. I even miss when you sit behind me and watch me work on my music. Just cutting me off cold turkey is hurting me more than what I want.”

“And what do you want Min Yoongi?” Yoongi had never heard Jimin raise his voice and he stepped back in surprise “do you want to date? Date a ghost? Someone no one else can see? What will you tell everyone? What will they think of you? What if they want to commit you?”

Those were all questions Yoongi had already asked himself a million times, but even as Jimin asked them, he still didn’t have the answers.

“Do you think it doesn’t hurt every day seeing you look at me with those eyes? Knowing that I can never love you the way you deserve? I don’t have heart Yoongi. I barely have a tangible form. When you touch me, you make feel things again, and that was one of the reasons I killed myself,” a deep breath “to not feel anything anymore.”

Now instead of frustration, the air now hung with a darker feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi started, already feeling like he’d ventured into a territory he wasn’t welcomed in.

Jimin had told him about everything, except for the real reason why he’d killed himself. Yoongi never pried because he felt it wasn’t his business and didn’t want to upset Jimin if he could help it.

“I love you Yoongi. I love you so much,” Jimin’s voice got quieter, and his form got fuzzy around the edges.

Yoongi watched in silence as Jimin started to cry, tears dripping down his plump cheeks. He reached forward to wipe them, and when his hand came back wet, he hid his confusion, embracing Jimin into his chest.

“Please don’t cry,” Yoongi whispered, running his hands through Jimin’s hair. Another sensation that felt strange, yet familiar.

The smell from his dream circled around him, and he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and enjoying the moment.

Jimin wasn’t warm like his dream, but this was real life, and Yoongi was in the middle of his living room, hugging a ghost, so his perception on his sense didn’t really matter.

Jimin calmed down some minutes later, and Yoongi reluctantly let go, stepping back to examine Jimin’s expression. He didn’t get much of a chance though because Jimin pulled him back towards him and kissed him again, that one resembling the one in the wet dream.

“I know you’ve been dreaming about this. You call my name in your sleep, and I’ve seen your dirty pajamas balled at the bottom of the laundry,” Jimin explained when he pulled away, still holding Yoongi close to him.

They weren’t too different in height, so everything was at the perfect angle, and Yoongi’s mind went blank, his body only operating on how he felt.

His heart pounded, and he clutched Jimin’s waist tighter, looking at him.

Jimin’s body felt cooler than Yoongi’s hands, but he didn’t care as he touched the man, getting to personally feel what his mind had fabricated in his dream.

Each time Jimin touched him, static ran through his skin, and when the man ran a hand down his bare abdomen, he thought he could come right then and there from the stimulation alone.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” Jimin said quietly, gripping Yoongi’s risk and bringing him back down for another kiss.

The static sparked there too, and he went in for another, already addicted to the light jolt.

He tried his best to commit each dip, curve, and angle of Jimin’s body to his memory as they went along, the sun sinking into the horizon.

Familiar gasps and moans rang in his ears when he touched the right places, his hands and mouth kissing the skin of Jimin’s stomach and thighs. His abs tightened each time Yoongi skipped his crotch, instead favoring lightly biting his thighs.

Satisfied, he finally mouthed at Jimin’s dick, heavy against his tongue.

There wasn’t much difference between him and someone who was alive save for the fact that every scent and taste that Jimin possessed seemed lighter than others.

The saltiness that flooded his mouth when he hollowed out his cheeks was faint—like recalling a memory—but still there. Jimin’s hands tangled in his hair and pulled each time he took more of him into his mouth. “Yoon-Yoongi ple-please,” like a good song to his ears, Yoongi kept bobbing his head, enjoying how loud Jimin got with his whining and begging.

When he finally released Jimin from his mouth and reached for the lube, Jimin looked up at him with a wide, waiting eyes.

Yoongi pressed inside of Jimin slowly, keeping still once he was completely inside to let Jimin get adjusted.

“Yoon—gi,” the way his name sounded rolling off Jimin’s tongue made Yoongi more aroused than he could’ve ever thought possible. There was also a note of impatience, so Yoongi started to move his hips, his mind trying and failing to liken the feeling of Jimin to anything he’d ever experienced before.

“You’re so wa-warm and g-good,” Jimin moaned, his cool, small hands holding onto Yoongi’s shoulders. He could only nod and mutter a few words here or there, trying to focus when Jimin started to push his hips back against the thrusts, making him hit that much deeper.

He wasn’t going to last long, and Jimin’s scrunched up facial expression said that he wasn’t either. Instead of speeding up like he would’ve done with anyone else, he slowed down and rolled his hips against Jimin, basking in the different noises Jimin began to make.

Jimin’s breathing quickened and his fingers sunk deeper into Yoongi’s shoulder, leaving a faint feeling of pressure rather than pain.

“I want to remember this,” Yoongi mumbled, his face in Jimin’s neck as he continued to move, feeling the threat of his orgasm intensify when Jimin wrapped his thighs around Yoongi’s hips tighter.

Countless thrusts later, Jimin came with a frustrated groan, and Yoongi followed soon after, the tightness snatching his release from him.

When he caught his breath and moved from on top of Jimin, he looked down and noticed the absence of Jimin’s come.

Jimin must’ve caught his brief look of confusion before he laughed and sat up with an embarrassed expression “I-uh, guess ghosts don’t have body fluids?”

Yoongi let out a short laugh “yeah I guess not huh?”

There was a somewhat awkward silence, and Yoongi stared at Jimin, taking in how gorgeous he looked with the sheets pulled up to his chest.

“You don’t regret this do you?” Yoongi shook his head and reached forward, brushing a few strands of Jimin’s hair out his face.

“Never.”

“I think Yoongi’s losing it. We were worried about Hoseok, but we should’ve been worried about him instead,” Namjoon sighed, looking around to make sure that Yoongi hadn’t walked up yet.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok were all present at their usual lunch location, huddled around the table.

“What do you mean?” Hoseok asked, confused.

“When I took him home after the bar, he started some stuff about being in love with the ghost that followed him home after Halloween.” Namjoon let the statement hang in the air for a while and tried to gauge everyone else’s reactions.

Taehyung’s eyebrows hitched in curiosity, Hoseok looked unconvinced, and Seokjin and Jungkook stared at Namjoon with blank expressions.

“Jimin attached to him? Now that I think about it, we definitely didn’t close the board correctly, and he asked about being haunted a while ago,” Taehyung explained as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

Namjoon thought about it, and his eyes widened, shaking his head, recalling when Yoongi spent nearly three days at his apartment, refusing to go back to his apartment.

“This is Min Yoongi we’re talking about. The most sensible person in this group,” Seokjin deadpanned, rolling his eyes at Taehyung’s statement.

Out of the six of them, Yoongi was usually levelheaded and made the wisest decisions when they were in a tight spot.

“You sure it wasn’t just drunk talk? I know he’d been pretty stressed from finals,” Jungkook suggested. He hadn’t come because he was underage, but he’d heard about it when a drunken Taehyung wandered to his dorm and passed out on his floor, mumbling scientific terms from his last exam.

“He sounded serious. He even cried. I’d never seen Yoongi cry either. I was too drunk myself to react properly,” Namjoon sighed, running his hands through his hair.

He debated if he wanted to remind everyone, sans Hoseok, of Yoongi’s minor freakout following Halloween because it added more context to what was happening, but he also knew everyone would question him as well.

After all, the idea that Yoongi was not only being haunted by a ghost but also in love with the said ghost was hard to believe.

“We need to see if he’s really being haunted. If so, then we have to help him,” Taehyung suggested, starting to go more into detail about catching ghosts. Why he knew the information, no one at the table could even begin to explain, but they listened away.

“Or we could just leave him alone? It’s his business, and I doubt Jimin is vengeful,” Hoseok said, his voice garnering everyone’s attention because he hadn’t spoken the entire time.

“We need to make sure though. What if he loses touch with reality?” Taehyung asked, already committed to his ideas. Hoseok started to say something else, but he knew Taehyung’s mind was set and eventually he would get everyone else on board with him.

“Let’s give it some more time, and if Yoongi starts to act weirder, we’ll go along with Tae,” Namjoon answered, already dreading Yoongi’s reaction to Taehyung’s plan.

The presence of Jimin in Yoongi’s bed grew to be a constant and whenever he laid down to go to sleep, if Jimin wasn’t there, Yoongi would call out to him.

As they became more and more intimate, there would be times where Jimin would look nearly human, his body nearly solid whenever Yoongi looked at him in specific lights.

“Did you know that sometimes I can see you, like you look like you’re actually here with me?” Yoongi asked one day, his head on Jimin’s chest as he scanned some pages of a book. Jimin looked down at him and shook his head, “go look at yourself.”

Yoongi sat up, and Jimin got up, walking in front of the mirror. When he gasped and touched his own skin, Yoongi grinned and muttered an “I told you so.”

“I don’t feel any different,” Jimin sighed, still touching his face “maybe, it’s you. Maybe you’re making me this way.”

That made Yoongi laughed, and he sat down the book, “you mean like how when kids believe in something, they’re supposed to be able to see it better? Like Crocker on the Fairy Odd Parents?”

Jimin turned from the mirror and looked at him, laughing as he thought about Yoongi’s ridiculous metaphor “yeah. Like that Yoongi.”

The first person who saw Jimin was Yoongi’s mother. For whatever reason, she’d been raised particularly superstitious and felt uneasy when she’d stopped by to drop off food.

It only got worse as she went to clean everything and noticed that it was already clean.

Jimin really should’ve been more careful, but he’d taken to lying in Yoongi’s bed when he wasn’t busy, and as it happened, Yoongi’s mother’s next move was to probably make up his bed, and she saw Jimin sitting on top of the comforter, flipping through a book.

“Ah, Yoon-” Jimin stopped when he saw it wasn’t Yoongi and immediately he made himself invisible. If he’d had a heartbeat, it would’ve been pounding his chest.

“Ghost, why are you here?” She asked, her voice shaking as she looked around, expecting Jimin to make himself visible behind her or something equally as terrifying.

He debated not answering her, but when he looked at her face, he saw nothing but Yoongi and couldn’t help himself.

“I mean no harm,” his voice came out weird, and if the situation wasn’t as serious as it was, Jimin would’ve giggled. It was his first time doing something truly ‘ghost-like, ’ and there was a small thrill it in.

“Leave here,” she continued, her voice getting firmer with each word. She stood up straight, but Jimin could tell she was still wary.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Jimin sighed as he crossed his legs at the ankles. Her face paled, and she stepped backward, running out the room and hurrying to the kitchen.

When she came back, she threw salt at the bed and began to pray.

“There’s no need for that. I said I mean no harm,” Jimin pleaded, moving away from the salt as she continued to throw it.

The woman did not stop, and by the time she was finished, the entire house was salted, and Jimin couldn’t go inside anymore. She seemed to know that and got a smug smile on her face before she called Yoongi, demanding that he come home.

Weakened by the salt, Jimin wasn’t nearly as clearly seen as he had been and Yoongi had to squint to see him.

“Your mom salted the entire house. I can’t even go inside anymore,” Jimin grumbled when Yoongi walked up to his door. His eyes widened, and he rushed in, softly grabbing his mother’s hand that was sprinkling more salt at the threshold of the door.

“Please stop mom. This isn’t necessary,” Yoongi pleaded, his eyes looking back at Jimin who was outside the open door.

It took nearly three hours, but after he’d calmed his mother down and cleaned up the bulk of the salt that littered various surfaces of his apartment, Jimin was finally able to enter again.

“I’m so sorry baby,” the pet name made Jimin smile, and he welcomed the hug Yoongi gave him.

The interaction made him easier to see, but it also made the red splotches on his skin visible as well.

“So are you like, allergic to salt then?” Yoongi asked with a worried expression. Jimin only shrugged.

“You don’t get a ‘hey you’re a ghost now’ handbook. I always thought salt only repelled bad spirits.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That night before Yoongi went to bed, his mother called and begged him to come to church with her, but he politely declined. He also threw out the crosses she’d left in on his nightstand, in his bathroom and living room.

“You didn’t have to get rid of the crosses. Those don’t do anything to me,” Jimin said quietly, running his fingers through Yoongi’s hair.

It’d been a long day, and while Yoongi had wanted nothing more than to hold Jimin in his arms, Jimin had insisted on doing the holding.

There was a heavy feeling in the air that neither of them wanted to acknowledge, so Yoongi just kept quiet and enjoyed the small act of intimacy.

That night he dreamed of Jimin disappearing, and he woke up in tears, his throat tight and his face burning.

He didn’t even have to reach out or call for Jimin because he right there, holding him close and whispering affirmations in his ear.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Over and over until Yoongi went back to sleep, his face streaked with tears and his hands balled up in the oversized shirt, Jimin was wearing.

The second person that saw Jimin was Namjoon, and that arguably went much better than the run-in with Yoongi’s mother.

For one, Namjoon didn’t throw salt at Jimin.

Instead, he just stared, all the blood drained out his face in shock or terror, Jimin couldn’t tell.

“I see you’ve met Jimin,” Yoongi sighed, shuffling out the kitchen with a bowl of leftover fried rice. Jimin gave a weak wave, and Namjoon wasn’t sure if wanted to keep his eyes on Jimin or look at Yoongi with a look of disbelief, so he just backed away and did both.

His eyes darted back and forth between Yoongi and Jimin until his leg hit the couch and he sat down, still eyeing the two.

“Th-th-that’s Jimin right,” Namjoon stammered, his hands shaking as he tried to settle into his seat. Yoongi sat down right next to him and ran through an introduction, Namjoon politely declining Jimin’s handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you finally. Yoongi talks a lot about you all,” Jimin chirped, a smile on his face as he sat in the chair across from the sofa.

“You’re a ghost,” Namjoon whispered, his eyes now glued to Jimin. Yoongi couldn’t tell if Namjoon was examining Jimin or questioning Yoongi’s sanity, but he was relieved that Namjoon’s reaction was much milder than his mother’s.

After what had to be the strangest study session that Yoongi had ever participated in, Namjoon left, even stopping to give a weak wave at JImin.

The minute the door closed behind him, Jimin turned off the stove and sat down at the table next to Yoongi “that went well. Also, the fact that he can see me means he believes in ghosts.”

“I guess you’re right,” Yoongi paused, and he slumped in the chair, a tentative expression on his face as he chewed his bottom lip “he’s going to tell the others, but I guess I’d rather him than anyone else. He’s the most sensible.”