#else the anxiety disorder wins

[raeofthelight]

I am dead inside and I feel so bad for the really upbeat lesbian girl I've been training at work because I just am wholly incapable of meeting her energy. She's dancing and singing and making little happy noises as she learns and I'm just here feeling my eye bags deep in my soul like some zombie.

[moonchild033]

Astro Observations -4💃

Here we go with part-4!!! Every time I make an observation post, I get so excited lol 😭🤩

(These observations are based on the whole sign system, sidereal charts and all obs are subject to change with other aspects in the chart, so don't conclude anything with a single placement) ❤

Virgo venus- Possibilities of your valuable items/luxury products getting stolen OR you might be prone to losing it carelessly. In the case of jewelry, keep silver and diamond ornaments safely. Ur spouse can have high expectations on you and never gets easily satisfied. High standards spouse lol 😶❤

4H lord in 2H- Could've faced many health issues till the age of 10 or around that age.🤒

Stellium in 3/6/10/11 houses- They have a very competitive mindset, an urge to be first in everything, tendency to stress themselves out bcoz of their own set standards, they might feel like a failure even if they get second place, FIRST is the ONLY WIN 🤯❤

Having more than 3 planets in rahu/ketu ruled stars- Prone to be victims of evil eyes and black magic procedures. 🤐

Virgo ascendant - You could be the one doing all the work but the credits will be stolen by colleagues or seniors more often.😔❤

Mercury in retrograde - These people could have out of the box or a different type of brilliance but they're usually slow and find it difficult to sustain in a conventional educational system.👍❤

Planets in parivartana (Mutual Exchange of houses)- The retrograde, debilitation or affliction of the planets in parivartana gets cancelled because it will attain an almost exalted position.😌❤

Taurus ascendant - They have the innate destiny to sacrifice a lot for their family, especially for siblings and their mother could be the one piling them up with responsibilities.😐❤

Alone Jupiter without being aspected by benefic planets- Potential to damage the house themes where Jupiter is present. This can be rectified if moon/mars/sun/ketu is present in kendra houses when counted from Jupiter's position.💛

Rahu/Ketu/Saturn in Cancer especially in Man's chart- Faces many disheartening stuff from females in their life. Their trust will be broken and prone to be played by female friendships, even by girlfriend, colleagues etc. Most females in their life hide ulterior motives even if they're too good in front of their face.🤧❤

Rahu/Ketu/Saturn in Libra especially in Woman's chart- Prone to get Toxic female friendships who can manipulate their mind and give wrong advice, ultimately poisoning your thinking. Even though Saturn is exalted in Libra, this is one of the downsides you might face and have to carefully choose & overcome.😬❤

Air risings - If we are talking about difficult childhood placements in general without much analysis, air risings would've faced many struggles in childhood than other risings imo.😧

5H/10H lord in Rahu/Ketu ruled stars- You could get ancestral karma from dad's side in case of rahu ruled star and from mom's side in case of ketu ruled star. You might feel extreme emotions or inexplicable connection with that particular side's dead ancestors.💯

Saturn in conjunction with Rahu/Ketu OR Saturn in Rahu/Ketu ruled stars- Anything bad you do will revert back immediately or with the same timing (ex. If u stole credits of a colleague and that person worked for that project for 3 months, in near future you would've worked the EXACT three months and someone else will get credits for that). The 'karma' aspect works really well in this placement and you will have a conscious realization phase too.🙊

Mars-Saturn conjunction especially in Capricorn - Nervousness, Anxiety disorders can be a common occurrence to this person. They could have a racing heart, excessive sweat, cold hands, leg shaking, trembling hands, stuttering and other accompanied symptoms of anxiety even for the tiniest task. They should work on overcoming getting nervous over everything.😰🤗

Let's Learn and Grow Together!💋💅

With Love -Yashi ❤⚡

Masterlist 💖

[endlessxdreams]

The little hints that are easily missed part 2:

1. When Charles said to Declan (I’m paraphrasing because I don’t remember exactly the lines) that he and Rupert are the same, stubborn, workaholics and want their way always winning I feel like it was a for shadowing for the dynamic between Declan & Rupert’s relationship with each other. They are the same person that in another universe they might be the other way around (Rupert married with kids and Declan a playboy). Regarding that, I feel that it was intensionally assigned as a scene to showcase that Declan’s hate was influenced by Tony but also reasonated the reason why Taggie is entangled with Rupert. Electra’ s syndrome where women fall for men that have the same personality as their father. She sees a lot of her father (which she admires) in Rupert. It may be far fetched but hear me out. Maud is a really bad mother to her children, especially Tags, which she is jealous because of her youth and beauty and she calls her retarted and stupid. Declan on the other hand, has a drinking problem, is a workaholic who rarely goes to his house, has anger issues and has been in a weird relationship with his wife (he enjoys other men watching Maud, lusting after her, being desired and sleeping with them) but as a father he loves Taggie (I think she is his favourite because in their house she’s the only person that is not problematic and tries her best to care for them).

2. Declan immediately saw the way way Rupert was watching Taggie at the pub and said “Stay away from Taggie, you’re old enough to be her father”. So if Taggie is 20 years old (in the books she’s 18) that makes Rupert 40 (in the books he’s 38). The dirt he gathered for Rupert and his secret weapon he will use it when he finds out about AngelBlack (I love the ship name, kudos ❤️❤️ to the person that suggested it).

3. The way he calls her “Angel” is his way of seeing the celestial light, she is an innocent creature, full of love, care and compassion for animals, people, her family. She’s an introvert who loves her own space, likes to provide comfort and love to others but also she didn’t choose this role. She’s not the typical 20 year girl. She’s like a mother figure, she takes care of the household, she cooks, she tries to help other people, her father, her sister while at the same time she tries her best to make her life better, to overcome her own difficulties (dyslexia)- As someone who has dyslexia I can assure you that is difficult, I’m lucky in a sense because while it was 20 years ago (I was in first grade) and it was when my teacher noticed and informed my parents, they didn’t dismissed her and they took me to speech and occupational therapists and is not bad (I read-write-think perfectly without a grammar mistake and when I tell people that I have dyslexia they don’t believe me because I’m the devils advocate and they tell me I should be a lawyer because I’m always 5 steps ahead. But I have a terrible ADHD brain disorder and I can’t remember stuff I read a day before and I can’t concentrate to read and understand what I’m reading/I have also a bad anxiety disorder so while I read I can’t get my mind to remember shit and get anxious and start crying and feel like I’m an idiot because I read the same paragraph 15 times to comprehend what I’m reading and wherever how hard you study and you try you always fail miserably). Mind you that this was 20 years ago in Greece which is not a place that people have empathy or tolerance toward someone else being different than them (even some teachers back then didn’t want me in their class or they didn’t want to help me study because they though I was slow and dummy and some of my classmates were the same). Therefore, I love the representation of people with learning disabilities and how difficult is for them to navigate life. And in the 80’s when so little things were known back then. Thus, Taggie is a fallen angel, she pays for other people’s sins, she is a pure sensitive soul, who from a young age she is always puts other people’s needs first, she keeps her distance, doesn’t try to make herself visible to others, doesn’t take space, attention, affection and love (only her siblings love her continuously as we saw at the hug scene of the NYE episode but I feel like the love her like a mother figure and not as a sister). Rupert’s sees all of that, her sacrifices, her fierce nature to others and her willingness and is drawn to her like a dog needs water, he is the devil and she will redeem him from himself. Someone on Tik Tok mentioned that the bedroom scene from the NYE episode was directed to Rupert’s emotional state. He is in a cold place, he doesn’t care about anyone or tries to give this impressions, he doesn’t see his children because his ex wife didn’t want him anywhere near them, he finds comfort between women’s legs but is temporary and he is a shell of himself and his glory days. And as he puts Taggie to sleep and they look at each others eyes, the celestial light shines bright making Rupert feel warmth inside of him, like all his sins will be consumed.

4. From all the people in NYE episode he was the only one that went into the kitchen and told her to relax and have fun, no one other cared to bother to remember that she existed (expect Patrick and Caitlin). He took care of everything that needing to be taken care of, he protected Charle’s photo of panic attacks getting on paper, he payed the DJ’s, cleaned up and went home. Acts of service. He saw Taggie in an fragile emotional state, feeling unlovable, unworthy, unable to cope with all of this pain and wanted to help her. He talked to Freddie and wanted all three of them to make the franchise in order for Taggie to not leave and because she was devastated by her father losing his job, credibility and leave the town she liked for once in her life. Rupert saw all of this. She had the world on her shoulders at such a young age and wanted to make her happy.

5. The line “What if no one ever loves me?” is a parallel to Rupert’s own thoughts. He confessed to never have been in love in Declan’s show.

6. The way that he was jealous of Ralphie and said that she can do so much better than him and watched intensely and wanted to throw hands for hurting her in the worst way, of Seb who took her to the movies meanwhile he was fucking Cameron.

7. He cared about her opinion of him. He doesn’t give a fuck or pretends to to other people’s opinions but with Taggie he’s eager to learn what she feels of him and he starts slowly to unmask himself from his persona. He gave her an egg jewel and not something mainstream which he would get for other women (for example the bracelet). He was pleasantly surprised by the fact that she accepted his apology but not his gift, because he is so used to pay his way into women’s hearts-pants and Taggie returns it. Also I believe that the egg jewel was a personal gift in which he choose himself whereas all the others were picked by the Jewerly stuff or his assistants.

8. He wants her empowered and to speak her mind. In the episode of the killing of the birds which she did the catering, he pursue her to admit that she will not do another catering job for hunting/killing innocent animals.

9. Rupert’s worry of Taggie’s accident and the way they hugged each other, especially him, the realisation that shr could have been dead. He immediately drove the car and Taggie home because she was so upset that she couldn’t drive and when he heard the tape of the directions, he offered both of them to go to the tours around city promoting Venturer.

10. The way that I HATED HIS GUTS/ LOATHED HIM in the first episodes and couldn’t fathom the fact that they’re a ship and slowly we saw him change, yearning and longing for a glimpse of her, like he see his true self come to the surface and be vulnerable when he sees her . As Bas said “crushing like a school girl”. A 40 year old playboy with a lot of issues that wants his partners daughter which he promised that “she’s out of bounds” and everything is complicated, he could loose everything, his money, his house, his position as a minister, Declan, Freddie, Taggie and his entirety of his life. Talk about complicated and difficult.

[thelostpretzel]

hello!! i just wanted to pop in and say that i really really love your ocs, their designs are all so fun and creative!!!!! esp the heroes of the city waow :00 also deeply interested in whatever lore they have so if you ever feel like dropping crumbs,,, *hands outstretched*

*cracks knuckles* thank you for asking dear stranger i would love to ramble about my children (the?) Heroes of the City (sorry, I still don't understand how article THE works) is a story in the genre of LitRPG (like literature + RPG or manhwas/novells about rankers) and it's about Players who are trying to save The Sentient (?) City from self-destruction (or help it destroy itself if a Player feels like hating the world) so the main cast is Eki (she/them) aka The Leviathan Slayer aka The Hero she smol she kind she could kill a god if this god is a threat to her found family but only if said god is a physical threat she is a beating pillow for every morally gray/black character in The City and will never win against charismatic-based villain (she's very naive and soft hearted and everybody uses it)

Black Silver (she/her) aka The Witch or The City's Shadow

the hottest and the deadliest villain of The City and i have nothing else to say

Rex (he/them) aka [data deleted]

he is one of The City creators and his main mission is to be a threat to his ex-soulmate - Black Silver who is actively destroying The City

they are the Most Toxic Couple of the project and i feel terror every time i think about them

Little Box (she/her) aka [???]

i don't know what she is and i'm lowkey scared to know so she's just vibin' here and there (i think she's dead)

Coffee Fox (he/him) aka The Keeper aka The Guardian

a barista of a tiny coffee shop and The Retired King of The City

he brings comfort and love to every Hero but can only watch The City fall because he's forever locked in his coffee shop

Magnolia (she\her) and Glitches (they\them) aka The Healer/The Parasite

ah yes a cool badass parasite with no morale compass and an absolutely miserable host with terrible anxiety disorder i love it (Glitches also often flirts with The Bitch i mean with the guy who is hated by the whole City and Magnolia lives in constant fear because of it)

Midas (he/him) aka The Bitch i mean The Cursed King

The Bitch of The City (and he's fucking rich and hot too i hate him so fucking much i don't even draw him consistently WHYYYYYYYYYYY)

anyway

Adam (the fuck/that) aka The Emptiness

the mute horror of the City (he likes Little Box and Magnolia though)

aaaaaand the last one

42 aka Zwai (man/failure)

he's just funny little guy with horrible medicine trauma and a cat

thats it thank you

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )  

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . . 

But . . . 

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to. 

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless). 

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him. 

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . . 

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS. 

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket. 

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm. 

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest. 

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug. 

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought.  “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar. 

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . . 

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face. 

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice. 

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts. 

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . . 

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief. 

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed. 

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again. 

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar. 

Did you like it? 

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“ 

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you. 

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be? 

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight. 

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone. 

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care. 

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then. 

It seemed he always was . . . 

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki. 

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care. 

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent? 

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . . 

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality. 

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him. 

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I��um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to. 

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you. 

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words. 

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“ 

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat. 

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before. 

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . .  in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . . 

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism. 

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing. 

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other. 

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . . 

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat. 

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.” 

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart? 

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin. 

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason. 

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become. 

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything. 

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done. 

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too. 

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves. 

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it. 

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you? 

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?” 

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . . 

Wait . . . 

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near. 

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean? 

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No. 

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . . 

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you. 

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would. 

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just— 

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going. 

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . . 

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory. 

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now. 

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed. 

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . . 

But . . . 

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing. 

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried. 

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . . 

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more. 

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . . 

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too. 

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring. 

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh. 

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear. 

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . . 

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life. 

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help. 

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books? 

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent. 

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now. 

Not here. 

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now. 

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . . 

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt. 

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page. 

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now. 

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then? 

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway? 

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . . 

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air. 

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?” 

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . . 

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward. 

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived. 

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true. 

Whatever . . .  it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . . 

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . . 

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge. 

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?). 

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he���d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been. 

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it. 

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future. 

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought. 

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . . 

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles.  “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words. 

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles. 

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault. 

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant. 

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself. 

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash. 

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . . 

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams. 

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him. 

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . . 

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . . 

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you. 

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds. 

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other. 

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . . 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in. 

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once. 

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features. 

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch. 

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . . 

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes. 

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes. 

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Unpredictable Part 3-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: AAAH, thank you for all the support on this. I didn't think it'd be a series but I can't stop writing.

Warnings: toxic parents, body shaming, eating disorders, alcohol abuse, and swearing

Words: 7.7k

Series Masterlist

 “…and that’s how I knew that I was meant to do charity work,” the nasal redhead concluded.

That afternoon, the Si Chi house was packed with pledges in floral or puffy Selkie and Miss Selfridge sun dresses. A handful of servers circulated the foyer with trays of orange juice and mimosas. The combination of Prada Candy and Viktor Rolfe Flowerbomb made my head spin but I smiled through it as I nodded at different pledges’ stories. All of them were desperately trying to toe the line between interesting and bragging because one could never act too important for a potential house.

“That’s great news,” I glanced at her name tag, “Brenda since Si Chi regularly engages in philanthropic work.”

 Brenda smiled widely, making the hot pink blush on her cheeks even more prominent. “I know, that’s why I’m so interested in joining this---your house.”

“Well, we are glad that you took the time to visit us. Would you excuse me?”

As I weaved my way through the foyer, I plucked a mimosa from a passing server and started sipping. Exactly five seconds passed until I was surrounded by a new crop of bright-eyed freshmen.

“Oh my gosh, are you Y/N Y/L/N?” a willowy brunette asked.

“Guilty, and you are?”

“She’s Justine,” a shorter brunette interrupted.

Justine narrowed her eyes and thinly covered the glare with a smile. “I can introduce myself, thanks, Renee.”

Renee shrunk a little in her oversized light blue sundress and I glanced at Justine.

“So, why are you interested in our house?” I asked.

Justine straightened up and smiled like a pageant girl. “Well, I’m perfectly aligned with all the values of Si Chi: Sisterhood, respect, and intelligence. I am all about women empowerment and I respect people from all backgrounds----I’m exposed to a bunch of different people as an actress, anyway.”

“What about intelligence?”

“Well, I think there’s many different kinds of intelligence and, as an actress, I’m emotionally intelligent to the point where I’m exhausted by everyone else’s energy.”

“She really has to prioritize self-care,” Renee added.

“It’s great that you’re aware of that for yourself.”

She had to be one of the least self-aware people I ever encountered and that was a difficult fete. However, her socials had decent numbers and she had been in a few Vought Plus movies, which would help her win Sydney and Lydia, the vice president, over. The next two years with her and her friend would be irritating.

A softer expression slipped across Justine’s face, and she took a step towards me. “I just want to say that I think it’s so brave that you’ve been participating in all the rush events despite your traumatic experience. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to see Luke,” she paused and placed a hand on her chest, “kill himself.”

Though it had been a week since, it still felt like a bomb rolled off Justine’s tongue when she said it. The wave of emotions that I experienced in that time was hard to describe; Shetty said that grief was a rollercoaster, and the influx of emotions was normal.

“As impossible as it may seem, one day you will come to accept what happened,” she’d advised. “You may experience more anxiety but, with your network, I am sure you will be able to cope.”

The network she referred to was strained at best and destroyed at worst. My “sisters” were as supportive as they could be: Alina gave me a Lush self-care kit, Sasha was not nearly as antagonizing as usual, Lydia gave me grief book recommendations, and Sydney let me pick what workout classes we attended. Emma and Cate were the only non-Si Chi people I spoke to since it was way too difficult to speak to the others.

Justine placed her hand on my shoulder. “If you ever need someone to talk to, you can count on me.”

“Thank you for the thought,” I replied, smiling tightly.

“You must be so grateful that Marie was there to stop him,” Renee quipped.

I sipped some more juice to keep the confusing feelings from bubbling up. Nothing could have prepared me for Marie and Andre being propped as the Guardians of Godolkin, which was arguably the dumbest name Vought could give them. The less I wanted to see them, the more I saw their promos and videos. It was horrible that the last time we spoke we had a fight but every time I saw her, I felt a weird wrench in my chest.

At the very least, Emma seemed happy for her.

Then, Coco Allen, a Si Chi junior, appeared from the crowd and squeezed between the freshmen. “There you are, Y/N, I have a crim freshman with a water manipulation ability who wants to pick your brain.”

“Sure. Will you excuse me?”

“Bye!” Renee called as Coco pulled me through the crowd.

When we got to the less populated living room, I exhaled a breath I did not know I was holding. Then, I turned to the beaming Coco.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome. You know I hate entitled freshmen,” Coco mused.

Coco was the only other black girl in Si Chi and happened to be the first one to talk to me when I visited the house last year. She was a little shorter than me with deep mahogany skin that always glowed. She always wore her waist-length jet-black hair in tight curls and accessorized solely with gold jewelry. That day, she wore a fitted white sundress with espadrilles.

“Were there this many last year?” I asked.

Coco shook her head. “But there are a few more black girls so it’s promising.”

“That’s great! I hope I can find them before the event’s over.”

“That would be great.” Coco eyed me. “So, how are you holding up?”

“I’m okay, the mimosas don’t hurt though.”

“They never do. You didn’t have to come today, you know, you could have taken more time, get out of here for a minute.”

I shook my head. “I needed this, it’s a nice distraction or, it has been. Besides, what would it look like if the secretary didn’t attend?”

Coco nodded slowly but I could tell that the gears in her head were turning too much for her to be convinced. “You’re already Sydney and Lydia’s favorite and they might have let it slide.”

I cocked my head at her and she immediately started chuckling half-heartedly.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. The hoops they make us jump through are ridiculous,” Coco reflected.

“It makes sense why you didn’t want to be an officer even though you’re poli sci,” I commented.

Coco grinned. “Hey, I’m making decent connections just by being in this house. This is just a steppingstone on my path to become the first black woman supe president.”

Even though the title was long, if anyone could do it, it was Coco. One time last year I sat in on one of her debates in class and she had a senior in tears and their debate partner ready to put their laser eyes to good use.

“Well, don’t forget little ole me when you’re a big shot,” I teased.

Coco frowned. “What do you mean ‘little’? You have done too much to talk like that.”

I shrugged. “Not that they’re not as important but my four-year plan is less impressive than yours.”

“Oh yeah, the plan where you basically end up a trophy wife? No shade but, I think you’d be way too bored in that role.”

“Hey, I would have a city contract too. Plus, it’s what I want and what I see for myself every time I look into the future. Every step I have taken up until this point puts me closer to that.”

My voice was much stronger than I thought it would be but Coco was always pushing me. Some days it was motivating and on others, it was infuriating.

“Like I said, I’m not trying to crush your dreams or your plan but is that really all you want for yourself? Especially thinking about all the good you’re already doing with your powers?” Coco questioned.

Her words plagued me for the rest of the event and bugged me when we gave our ratings of the pledges to Sydney and Lydia.

“Oh, and Y/N, don’t forget to send me that compilation with all the pledges’ socials,” Sydney requested as I was on my way out of the foyer.

“Of course, you’ll have it by the end of the day.”

Everything was much quieter underwater, except for my thoughts, but those were much clearer. Every time I thought about where I would be in five years, it was the same: smiling at a city event on the arm of some suit. I never saw the man’s face but I knew he had to be somewhat attractive. My eyes fluttered closed at the bottom of the pool and I focused on my future.

It was the same image, complete with flashing cameras and I was wearing a gorgeous rose pink Oscar de la Renta gown. My hair was piled on top of my head in Senegalese twists, and I was smiling widely. However, when I tried to look at whose arm I was on, it was like I could not turn my head. The harder I tried, the sorer the side of my neck got.

After a few more seconds of trying, I pushed myself up to the surface and sucked in the air. The sky was a mix of orange, purple, and blue. Sydney was blasting “My Head, My Heart”, which signaled that she was getting ready to go out with Eric Landon, the president of Sigma Kappa. It would be nice to be asked on a date, a proper one without the expectations of sex later.

My face warmed at the fact that I had never actually been asked out. People constantly told me how good looking I was but that did not translate into boys falling all over themselves for me. There were the occasional fun nights out but it would always end in that same venue. I didn’t think I asked for too much: flowers, good morning and good night texts, respect, intelligence, and ambition. Emma told me I watched too many movies once and while that could have been true, I also thought that it wasn’t too much to ask a guy to hold a door open.

It also did not help that Jordan was the last person I ever got close to being intimate with. I groaned at the thought and dove underwater, making my way to the other side of the pool.

An almost-kiss should mean absolutely nothing but I could not stop thinking about it, just like I could not stop thinking about how Jordan would throw me under the bus to save themselves. I would never do that to anyone, especially not someone I cared about.

But you already did, the voice in my head hissed.

Marie didn’t count, I didn’t mean to do that; Andre, Luke, Cate, and Jordan decided for me. I would have stayed if it was my choice but that didn’t matter to Marie or any of them.

I pushed myself from the side of the pool and butterfly stroked my way to the other side. Thankfully, the water was heated and soothed my aching muscles. As I was about to resurface, I noted a blurry tall blonde figure standing above me. When I pushed up, Cate stood over me, her eyes worried.

“Hey,” I greeted.

“Hi, can we talk?”

“Sure.”

A few seconds later, I was wrapped in a fluffy towel and standing across from Cate. Her eyes shifted around for a moment before she suggested we headed inside. When we got to my room, she immediately closed the door behind us.

“Is there any way someone would have listening devices in here?” Cate asked.

“No,” I said slowly.

“Are you sure? There’s shit out now where they put it in the tiniest crevices and you would never know,” Cate argued.

“I would have seen it or had a hint about it. What’s going on?”

Cate finally sat on my bed, and I opted to stand across from her. “Andre and I found some stuff that makes Luke and Brink’s deaths way more complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, they totally cleared out his room the day after he died and I mean everything.”

My eyes widened. “Even the…special drawer?”

“Yes, and at first, I thought it was protocol but what would they do with all those----”

“I get it, Cate, what else did you and Andre find?”

As Cate continued to speak, I could feel my stomach sink further and further, until I was sure it was somewhere in the house basement. Nothing Cate said meant anything positive for anyone. If there was some kind of lab under us, that meant anyone could become a part of it.

“Have you told anyone else?” I asked.

Cate huffed and leaned back on my bed. “Well, Jordan’s been spiraling about Marie and the rankings, so I can’t get a word in about anything else.”

“They’re spiraling?” I asked.

“You haven’t talked to them since Luke died?” Cate asked.

When she said it like that, it sounded like I committed a cardinal sin. After that day, there was nothing else for me to say to them. Even though I saw them in class occasionally, I never spoke to them and desperately tried to avoid eye contact.

“They could have reached out too,” I muttered.

“You’re such a younger sibling,” Cate commented.

“It’s true!” I whined.

“Well, they’ve been freaking out about the rankings since they fell down to number five and Andre’s number one.”

Being in the Top Five was like Jordan’s lifeline. They’d always shared a friendly rivalry with Luke but I knew they wanted to be number one eventually. They spent almost all their time making sure they stayed in a high position and to drop to bottom of the Top Five must have been devastating.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

“Yeah, and your new best friend cracked the Top 100 and is Jordan’s new nemesis,” Cate added.

 I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a chocolate brown loungewear set. “Neither of them are my friends.”

Cate frowned. “Seriously, what is going on with you? The other night, you and Marie were inseparable, and you and Jordan were bantering. What happened?”

It must have been the fact that I was holding all my thoughts and feelings in because I burst.

“Marie and I can’t be friends since she thinks I’m a shallow bitch who would sacrifice her to save myself because I hang out with people who do. The funny part is that Jordan admitted they would backstab me if they could get ahead, which is definitely not something I would do to a friend or anyone I almost kissed!”

I was panting by the end and my chest felt a lot lighter. However, my nerves began to build when I noticed Cate’s mischievous grin.

“Who did you almost kiss?” Cate asked.

“That’s not the point,” I mumbled.

Cate stared at me for a second before lighting up. “It was Jordan, wasn’t it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You hesitated which means I’m right. It could have easily been Marie though since you were all over her.”

“Why do people keep saying that? I was being nice!”

Cate held up her hands in a relaxed defense. “Chill, Y/N, it’s okay to like more than one person at once.”

“I don’t like either of them.”

“At all?” Cate quirked an eyebrow.

“No,” I pouted.

Cate looked unimpressed and I felt even more unimpressed since I knew that I liked Marie and Jordan platonically.

“Okay, we’ll save that for later but, I don’t think Jordan would tell you that they would backstab you and they would not think about it. They would do it to other people, but not you.”

“You’re just saying that because they’re your friend and you weren’t there.”

Cate cocked her head to the side. “Think, Y/N, did Jordan really say, ‘I would backstab you if it would save my ass’?”

As I recalled the memory, I slowly rocked back and forth on my heels. “They didn’t say that but, they didn’t answer me when I asked if they would.” “You probably caught them off guard,” Cate reasoned. “I’m sure if you talked to them, things would go okay.”

I hesitated and set my clothes on my bed. “Let’s say that I decided to speak to them, I don’t know what to say. Even if I did, my class tomorrow isn’t with them.

“You’re not going to the Think Brink gala tomorrow night?” Cate asked.

Earlier that day, Mom mentioned something about a gala on the phone but I was only half-listening. In my defense, there was only so much complaining about her clients and Dad that I could stand. I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and “Go to Brink gala” was in bright letters on my calendar.

“I guess I am,” I concluded.

“Then, you have some time to figure it out. You might get lucky and not even have to say anything.” I nodded and messed with the charm on my phone. “But what about Marie?”

“You’ll figure that out too. Indira’s taking her to the gala so, you can get both your ‘friends’ back,” Cate said, putting “friends” in air quotes.

“Why did you do it like that? Don’t say it like that.”

“Just because you’re in denial doesn’t mean I am. Think about it, would you be this freaked out if we had a fight?”

The “yes” should have come immediately but it didn’t; it died in my throat, and I couldn’t look at Cate. Why were things different with Marie and Jordan? Why did I stress out about them when I tried to stop thinking about them?

“Can you just make me say the right thing?” I asked.

Cate mulled it over for a moment. “I think it’s best if you do it yourself. If you don’t have a vision about it, something will come to you.”

“Thanks, Cate. If you and Andre need any help snooping----”

“You will be the first person I text,” Cate assured.

“I was going to say that I’ll probably know before you.”

I narrowly avoided the pillow Cate tossed at me and laughed at her effort.

“Maybe you are getting a little too cocky, Y/N.” She stood and walked over to me. “And for the record, I would never betray you in any way, neither would Andre or Jordan. If either of them did, they would have to deal with me.”

“Thanks, I would hug you but I’m still soaking wet.”

“Yeah, that’s smart. I know this might be useless but try not to worry about everything.”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

“You’re taking the meds from Indira?”

“Yes, Mom,” I teased.

“Just trying to help.”

Strangely, that was the first night since Luke’s death that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The trend was that I would strain myself to have premonitions until I was exhausted and tried again in the morning. For once, sleep found me quickly.

After sitting through a two-hour lecture on trauma’s impact on villains and heroes, I was more than happy to wander back to the Si Chi house and decompress. In a few hours, Talia, Mom’s assistant, would arrive with options for the gala. Then, the glam team would arrive and do their best to ignore Mom while they did their jobs.

I needed all the relaxation I could get.

 As I was mentally reviewing which movies I could watch, my phone kept buzzing in my back pocket. I thought it was another flurry of comments on the TikTok Coco and I made yesterday but it was from a strange number.

XXX-XXX-XXXX: Y/N, pls come 2 my dorm, it’s an emergency.

XXX-XXX-XXXX: Im srry we haven’t talked in a while but it’s important.

I frowned and typed back, ????

XXX-XXX-XXXX: It’s Marie. Emma’s in trouble.

My stomach dropped and I replied, B there soon.

As I raced around other people on campus, my thoughts moved faster at the possibility of what could have been going on with Emma. The last time I had spoken to her was two days ago and she was okay then. If anything, she may have been tense because Marie and I were not speaking but she had not said anything else.

I was halfway to their dorm when I ran into something solid.

“Watch where you’re going, Y/N,” Maverick sneered.

“If you put on some clothes, maybe I’d see you,” I shot back as I continued down the hall.

When I finally got to their dorm, I was panting and could barely knock. Marie pulled the door open, pulled me in, and closed the door behind me.

“Did you sprint here?” she asked.

I nodded. “You said…it was…an….emergency…Emma.”

In the middle of me grabbing my bearings, I noticed something tiny next to one of the supports on Emma’s bed. Slowly, I slid to my knees and crawled over to it. When I realized who it was, a choked gasp escaped my mouth.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. She was like that when I got here and I didn’t know what to do so I called you since you’ve known her the longest,” Marie rambled.

Her words barely registered in my brain as I went to one of Emma’s drawers, grabbed a small set of clothes, wrapped her in it, and carefully set her on her bed. Emma was barely breathing and was ghostly pale.

“Emma, I know you’re probably not going to like this but, you’re going to need to eat something.”

She didn’t reply and for a second, I wondered if she could.

I started rifling through all her stuff until I found a box of crackers. My hands trembled as I broke them into small pieces and kneeled in front of Emma. She never looked at me as she nibbled on each crumb I fed her.

Eventually, she grew back to her normal size. As soon as she was, she pulled her knees to her chest.

“I’m sorry you saw me like that,” she muttered.

Slowly, I sat next to her and it was almost the same way zookeepers treated wild animals. If one moved calmly enough, they would not get attacked. Marie sat on her bed.

“It’s okay, I’m glad we were able to help,” I replied. “What happened?”

Emma sniffed. “I opened up to this girl in my class. We’re scene partners for a project and we were talking, and I guess I felt comfortable enough to tell her about how I get small. I thought it was just between us, but she posted this…this video on YouTube telling the whole world about it.”

“Who’s the girl?” Marie asked.

“How do you get small?” I uttered at the same time.

Emma froze for a moment and looked away from me. “I make myself…sick.”

When she said it, I suddenly remembered all those times she would go to the bathroom and then come out a miniature version of herself. However, all those times, it was for different commercials or other work-related events. Then again, there had to be times when she did it at home or at my house.

How did I never notice? “Emma, I’m so sorry. I wish you would’ve told me sooner,” I said.

Emma turned to me with a glare in her eyes. “Really? How would I work that into a conversation? ‘Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry to interrupt but, I make myself throw up to get small’?”.

“We’re friends, friends tell each other this kind of thing,” I insisted.

Emma scoffed. “Please, like you would get it if I told you. You’re perfect, you always have been. Your face, your hair, your body, your eyes, your life!”

“That’s not fair.”

“Emma, I think you need to get help,” Marie interrupted.

Emma’s gaze flickered to hers and I thought she might set Marie on fire. “I need to get help, that’s rich coming from you. You act like no one can see your scars.”

Marie flinched and her eyes narrowed slightly. “I do that for my powers, that’s different.”

Emma laughed callously. “Please, at least be honest. How about this: I’ll go to therapy when you admit to cutting.”

Emma’s voice had no tone and every word she said was like a hammer slamming into my chest. She wasn’t in the right headspace for any conversation and I kept reminding myself as I stood.

“We should talk later when we’ve all calmed down,” I suggested.

“I don’t want to speak to either of you again,” she hissed.

It took more effort than usual to swallow the lump in my throat as I let myself out of their dorm. Just as I was about to lean against the door and wallow, Marie slipped out behind me and shut the door. I took a step back, barely avoiding a pair of girls rushing past.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s fine.”

Silence filled the space for a moment, and I had no idea how to fill it. Cate said I would know what to say but I was at a loss.

“I’m sorry about what I said…that day,” Marie delivered gently.

My eyes snapped up at her. “Oh.”

She sighed. “I was just angry, and I thought you were a part of it but, Emma kept saying that you would never do something like that. I just didn’t know how to reach out or say anything.”

I know the feeling.

“I accept your apology but I’m also sorry that no one came back for you. I guess it worked out, though?”

Marie sighed and leaned against her door. “Sort of. The perks are nice and I’m in crim now but I feel like everyone’s looking at me and expects something from me; almost like they’re waiting for me to fail.”

“Really? They had me convinced you’d be the black Starlight,” I teased.

Marie laughed half-heartedly. “I still want to be a hero, though, someone like her people can look up to.”

“Anyone in particular?”

Marie hesitated. “My little sister. We were both obsessed with heroes when we were younger, but I was the one who got Compound V. She always looked up to me and I want to be someone who would make her proud.”

“That’s a really admirable goal,” I complimented.

She smiled softly. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be my competition to be the black Starlight?”

My expression faltered and I looked down at my French acrylics. “No, I don’t think I have the showmanship you do. Besides, my goal isn’t to be in the Seven.”

“Really? What do you want to do?” Marie asked.

“So, I have this four year plan and if I follow the steps I am on to a T, I will graduate with a city contract and be engaged to an eligible supe.”

Usually, when I told someone my four year plan, my chest swelled and my shoulders rolled back unconsciously. This time, it felt like I was a toddler showing my mom a drawing I made in school.

“Is that it?” Marie asked.

“I know it’s more traditional and maybe even a little lame but, it’s what I want,” I maintained.

Marie nodded slowly.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just imagined you doing something in, like, criminal AI or stopping criminals from re-offending.”

“Both are great, they’re just not me.”

“Which is fine,” Marie insisted.

She sounded a little too eager but I let it go as we started walking down the hallway.

“What should we do about Emma?” Marie asked.

“I’ve never seen her like that before but she’ll need time to cool off.”

“Sounds good, I just have nowhere to go until the gala tonight.”

“You could come to Si Chi for a bit. I can’t promise they won’t try to initiate you, though.”

Marie laughed. “Me, in a sorority?”

“Hey, we’re getting more black girls this year so you never know!”

“Whatever but, yeah, I’d like to hang out with you…at your house.”

Even though Marie rushed the last part, a smile quirked on the corners of my mouth. It would be nice to have a new friend over and it was even nicer that there was no more tension between us.

“You know, Emma never told us the name of that girl,” Marie pondered once we got outside.

“Oh, that’s easy.” I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I reached the right one.

Shelby answered on the first ring. “Y/N, hi!” “Hey, are you on your way to class?” I asked.

“Yeah, if I’m late one more time, Professor Elix is going to make me do an improv one-woman show!” she panted.

“Well, I don’t want to slow you down but, you have class with Emma Meyer, right?”

“Oh yeah, Intro to Stage, why?”

“Cool. She told me her stage partner has an incredible Insta aesthetic, but she never told me her name and I need new inspo.”

“Oh, that’s Justine. I don’t know her last name but I’m sure you’ll find her.”

“Thanks, Shelby. Have fun in class.”

“Thanks!”

I hung up and turned to Marie, whose eyebrows were raised. “What?”

“What was that voice?” Marie asked.

“It was my voice. Haven’t you heard of code-switching?”

“Fine. Did you get the name?”

“Yes, Justine and I’ve met her.”

“What? How?”

“She’s rushing Si Chi.” I couldn’t keep the devilish smile from working its way into my mouth.

“What does that look mean?” Marie asked.

“It means that there are many more perks to being in a top house besides living in it.”

For some reason, everyone thinks that white girls have a monopoly on passive aggression and relational aggression. That was not the case at all; black girls simply are more inclined towards active aggression but we’re capable of both. I proved as much during Brink’s gala.

The ballroom was packed with board members, trustees, alumni, and the wealthiest GOD U students, the latter being my target of interest. They were all easy to approach since I had met them at some function or another.

“Y/N,” Bianca Peterson gushed as she hugged me.

Her Gucci Guilty perfume tickled my nose and I willed myself not to sneeze as I politely pulled away from her. “Bianca, it’s been too long. I think the last time I saw you was at Beta Ro’s Brunch for Boy Scouts.”

Bianca nodded, light auburn curls bouncing around her sculpted features. “Yes, we bonded over jewelry.”

“And you still have fantastic taste,” I mentioned, gesturing to the gold buckle around her wrist.

“Thank you, it was a present from Theo but I gave him a few hints,” she bragged lightly.

“How is rush going?” I asked.

“Pretty well, our pledges are shaping up nicely this year, not that they don’t every year,” she quickly added the last part.

“Of course. Do you have a lot of girls from Counting?”

“We’re interested in a couple, why? Are you trying to poach?”

I shook my head. “Not at all, I just wasn’t sure if you heard what Layla from Zeta Nu discovered.”

Bianca raised a microbladed brow. “No, I don’t think I have.”

I took a deep inhale and slowly shook my head in disbelief. “Oh, well, I should let it come from her then.”

A moment later, Bianca glanced across the room at Layla Ruthers, the president of Zeta Nu, who was smiling politely at a pair of hunched-over old men.

“In case I don’t have a chance to talk to her, what happened?” Bianca asked.

I glanced around us for a moment before leaning closer. “Apparently, a freshman posted a video about another girl’s eating disorder.”

“Really?” Bianca’s eyes widened.

I nodded. “Layla was insulted for the other girl and banned the pledge from rushing Zeta Nu. She even said that no respectable house would accept someone so low-class.”

“Oh,” Bianca uttered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take up all your time. I should go mingle.”

I made it about two steps before Bianca gently grabbed one of my arms.

“Wait, Y/N. Did Layla say the name of the pledge?”

My eyes wandered around the twinkling lights of the room for a second. “Justine something, I think.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure!”

The rest of my conversations followed that pattern. Each girl I spoke to was shocked and horrified by my words. Plus, none of them would dare speak to the other; that would mean another house had better information than them. My final target was easily the most important one: Sydney.

In her ice-blue mermaid dress and intricate updo, she looked more like Cinderella than a gala attendee. She was standing at a table, nodding her head at something a shorter guy was saying.

“Excuse me,” I politely interrupted, “I need to borrow Sydney for a second.”

The guy deflated slightly. “Sure.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Sydney huffed a sigh of relief as soon as we were out of earshot. “Thank you, I don’t know what he was even talking about.”

“Anytime,” I replied.

She snatched a champagne flute from a passing server and downed half of it. “I can’t wait for this night to be over.”

I nodded. “It is morbid despite their attempt to dress it up.”

“Yeah, and my parents won’t stop bugging me about my future. I can only apply to so many internships and not everyone is looking for a telekinetic,” she griped. “Sorry, how are you?”

“I’m alright. Ironically, I think he’d hate the name they picked but I didn’t know him super well,” I admitted.

“Right.”

Here it goes.

“So, I think the event the other day was a success,” I commented.

“Definitely. The house was packed. It’s too bad we can’t accept them all.”

Sydney smiled as she spoke.

“I know. It’s great that there’s so much interest.” I paused for a second. “But, I wanted to tell you that something came up with one of the pledges.”

Sydney gestured for me to continue.

“Even though my social media deep dive on the pledges was thorough, something came up today that I thought you should know when considering the pledges,” I explained.

“Okay.”

“Today, Justine posted a video exposing another girl’s eating disorder. Several of the girls were upset when they saw it.”

“That’s awful,” Sydney responded.

“It’s also so disappointing since I met Justine during that event, and she was saying how women empowerment is important to her. I know that women empowerment is a huge passion for you and a foundation for Si Chi and to imagine a pledge so willing to tear down another woman infiltrating the safe space you building is horrifying.”

Despite the liquor, I could tell Sydney was processing my words quicker than any computer. Her expression shifted from shock to anger to coldness. Then, she finished the last of her champagne and set it on the table closest to us. “Thank you for telling me, Y/N. I’ll see you later.”

As she walked away, I grinned widely at the response. Bid Day was going to be even more fun and interesting than last year. To celebrate, I grabbed myself a flute of champagne and sipped it as I started to wander the room.

“Y/N!”

My body froze at the masculine voice and my mind raced with what to say or do. Finally, I decided to face Jordan. They were in their masculine form and standing at a table by themselves. Though they looked fantastic in their navy suit, they looked like they hadn’t slept in days.

“Hello.”

I practically sang it and prayed for someone to make the floor swallow me.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Um, sure.” I walked closer to their table and rested my forearms on it.

 “It’s good to see you,” he started. “Outside of class, I mean.”

“You too.”

Jordan nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s good.” He paused. “I’m sorry about everything.”

I looked up from tapping my nails on the tablecloth. “Wh---”

“Please, let me finish. That day…I don’t know why I didn’t just tell you that I wouldn’t throw you under the bus but I wouldn’t even think about it. How could I do that to my little freshman?”

For the first time ever, my chest warmed at the nickname. However, I tried to bite back the smile that was worming its way onto my face.

I glanced away for a moment, crossing my arms over my purple sleeveless satin gown. “Well, I guess I forgive you,” I playfully grumbled before turning back to him. “But you still did it pretty easily to Marie.”

Jordan’s expression faltered and he sipped some champagne. “Don’t mention her.”

“Why not? She’s my friend and we did a very mean thing,” I argued.

“Look, I protected myself and you that night, I won’t apologize for that. Besides, she’s still here and she’s doing great,” he spat.

“I know you’re pissed about the rankings but, those can change, especially with how hard you work and how powerful you are.”

Jordan scoffed. “That’s how it should work but no one wants to back a bigender Asian.”

His words made me stop for a second. In all the time I knew them, Jordan seemed invincible to punches, laser beams, electric shocks, and words. They made succeeding at Godolkin look so easy but it must have been anything but. Plus, Luke and Brink’s death must have impacted everything else.

“We’ll see about that,” I challenged. “There’s about thirty trustees and every board member in this room. There will have to be a few who will like you.”

Jordan hesitated. “I’m not really in the mood to promote myself.”

“Then let me talk,” I offered.

He eyed me for a while before crossing over to my side of the table and looping one of his arms with mine. “Don’t make me look bad, freshie.”

“I think that’s impossible.”

The first target was easy: a thirtysomething white guy with floppy light brown hair and an oversized gray suit. I focused on him for a moment, gathering as much information as I could.

“Trevor Emerson, GOD U alum and old money beneficiary,” I muttered to Jordan.

“Isn’t he supposed to hate me?” Jordan hissed back.

“He’s overcome by white guilt since his recent discovery that all the black and brown people who built and managed his family’s manor were not salaried employees,” I explained. “He’s dying to look as much of an ally as possible.”

Jordan straightened up. “Good job, freshie.”

“I haven’t even gotten started.” I painted a polite smile on my face. “Mr. Emerson, it’s so nice to meet you, can we bother you for a moment?”

Two guilty and three haughty donors later, Jordan and I found ourselves at a different table. It was the first time that I saw him smile that night.

“You were amazing out there,” Jordan exclaimed.

“Thank you but you also made my job a little easier being talented and whatever,” I joked.

“Seriously.” Jordan grabbed my hand. “You might have saved my ass.”

I tried to ignore the tingle that shot up from my hand into the side of my neck. “It’s okay, I’m happy to help.”

When they announced that the video was about to start Jordan sulked again. “I can’t believe they’re making us sit through this shit.”

“Me neither.” I rest my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner but, are you okay?”

Jordan laughed humorlessly. “No but schmoozing with you did help a little. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.”

When we parted our separate ways, I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress skirt and approached my table. Fortunately, Mom and Dad had not burned down the ballroom with their arguing. In fact, when I got to their table, Mom was on her phone and Dad was rhythmically tapping his fingers against the tablecloth, looking anywhere but her.

“Hi, were you bored with me gone?” I asked, giving Dad a side hug.

“Not at all. I met a few board members and sold a few pictures,” he responded.

I nodded and slowly took the middle seat between them. The video was equal parts patronizing and infuriating. However, my parents’ whispers kept me from focusing too much on the video.

“Y/M/N, can you get off the phone for one second? They’re playing the video,” Dad hissed.

“I am about to cut the biggest deal of this quarter. They can send it,” Mom hissed back, waving a manicured hand for emphasis.

“Mom, people are starting to stare,” I quietly interjected.

“Let them stare. This is what’s paying for you to be here.”

“Don’t act like I don’t contribute!” Their words used to make me flinch but I forced myself to sit up straighter and breathe.

“I’m grateful for it, for both of you, really. You both paid to be here and I thought you would not want to miss the man they’re honoring,” I whispered.

Those words made Mom slowly mutter something into the phone before placing it face down on the table and leaning forward. At that same time, they flashed a picture of Brink and me across the screen. He had been meeting with my small group when the photographer appeared.

Dad squeezed an arm around my shoulder and I softly leaned into his touch.

“Thank God you lost that baby fat,” Mom commented.

“Y/M/N,” Dad said quietly.

“You know it’s true, Y/D/N,” Mom hissed back.

Suddenly, Dad’s arm felt like a boa constrictor, and I gracefully slipped out of its grasp. When the video ended, I drank a fresh flute of champagne. The bubbles instantly went to my head as I giggled at Dean Shetty introducing Marie.

She looked really pretty even though she was nervous.

“Do you know her?” Mom asked over the applause.

“We’re friends,” I replied.

“So why is she a guardian and not you?”

“She was more involved in stopping Luke than me,” I lied.

 When Dean Shetty cued everyone to return to socializing, Mom turned to me.

“Your grades are fantastic and your standing in your house is good,” Mom began. “But eligible bachelors will not notice you unless you stand out like her.”

“Y/M/N, leave her alone. Anyone who doesn’t notice Y/N isn’t worthy of being in our family anyway,” Dad defended.

Mom ignored him. “That girl, Marie Moreau, is not your friend, she is your competition. You are in the prime setting to have everything you’ve ever wanted but she could snatch it from you. You’re supposed to be able to see things like this coming, Y/N.”

“I do see things coming and I know Marie wouldn’t do that to me,” I quipped.

At that moment, Mom’s eyes bore so deep into me that I didn’t think that anyone could claw them out. Her eyes looked like they were going to bug out of her head at any moment and I could feel my breathing pick up.

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out,” I promised.

It felt like forever until she leaned back in her seat and grabbed her phone.

“Make sure it doesn’t ‘slip out’ again. Now go socialize.”

“I need a minute, Mom, I’ve been socializing since we got here.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “This again.”

“What?”

“Y/M/N, please.”

“No, no, Y/D/N, she is constantly using, what, anxiety to get out of speaking to people. You are always too soft on her and make me look like the bad guy. I’m the one helping her be normal,” Mom snapped. “Anxiety didn’t exist when we were her age, we just did what we had to do, and look where we are now.”

I wondered if Emma ever felt as small as I did in that moment. Then, I wondered if she ever made herself small to hide from people, even her mom. Wordlessly, I left the table and tried to avoid any cameras as the tears burned in the corners of my eyes.

I tried to take deep breaths to calm my trembling chest and keep my throat busy. My chest shifted from trembling to heavy and I started looking around the room.

“I hear one piano…feel two fingers…smell three different alcohols…and see---”

“Y/N, are you okay?” Cate’s voice broke me out of my rhythm and I glanced to see her sitting with Marie and Jordan, who was in their feminine form.

My chest felt much lighter and I quickly wiped away my tears. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Jordan called gently.

Cate pulled me into a hug and had me sit between her and Marie. “What happened?”

“My parents, well, my mom mostly. I guess I got too anxious for her, and she yelled at me,” I rambled.

Cate smiled softly. “Then you came at the perfect time. We were just talking about our horrible parents.”

My ears perked up. “Really?”

“Well, mine are dead,” Marie commented.

I turned to her and placed my hands on top of hers. “What? I’m so sorry. How did it…”

“I accidentally killed them with my powers,” Marie explained.

“That must have been horrible.”

Marie barely nodded and I squeezed her hands. “I just told my little brother to go away during a camping trip. He never came back and my mom pretty much locked me away,” Cate confessed. “I was seven.”

 “What?” I whispered.

“I killed my grandpa with my powers,” Jordan interjected.

We all turned to her and I cocked my head to the side.

“No, you didn’t,” Cate countered.

Jordan smiled. “You’re right, I was feeling left out.”

I didn’t think that I could laugh the way I did but it felt so nice. At least I had friends again.

When I started sipping on the whiskey Cate stole, I saw a brief image flash before my eyes. There was a guy with curly brown hair covered in dirt running away from several bloody bodies. He paused for a moment and opened his hand, revealing a tiny sleeping Emma. When the vision left, Andre was standing in front of us.

“Seriously?” I complained before he even spoke.

[i-yap]

Disorders batboys s/o have( dick and jason ver)

Im a psychology student and i think everyone in this world has some symptoms if not full blown disorders. I also struggle with GAD and I have worked in 2 psychiatric hospitals so far in one I got a lot of readings+ 2 months , 8hrs on weekdays hospital shifts in 4 sectors. I don't mean to offend anyone but if you have a certain disorder it does determine a lot of your personality traits and therefore make you incompatible with certain types of people. this is just a " oh I think the batboys could take care or be compatible with someone with this disorder enough to not hamper their healing "

Anyways..(im so scared to post this)

Dick grayson- mood disorders (major depressive diroder. bipolar disorder, seasonal depression, burnout)

Dick is this silent mother hen sort of figure. he loves taking care of others, it fills him with altruistic feelings and helps him feel needed. Someone with a mood disorder needs someone they can go and be sad with without feeling judged. Dick understands that burnt out feeling really well. He understands how sometimes you just want to let your feelings go through you. He is warm sunshine personified, joyful calm and reliable. He likes taking care of you, the small quiet moments. He will find small personal ways to make your mood a little more bearable however he can without overwhelming you.

"he comes back from his crime fighting to find you in bed. he recognizes your mood instantly. slowly approaching you and gently kissing you awake .

"hey baby ", "youre back dickie" "mhm how long have you been in bed?" " I don't know" "I'm starting a bath, would you like to join me" "I don't really feel like moving" "ill carry you" ."

Jason todd- anxiety disorders ( generalized anxiety disorder(gad), phobia, panic attacks, separation anxiety disorder(sad))

gad- the fact that jason literally fights crime every night and is super impulsive/doesnt care about his safety, so seeing you almost ripping your head off from worry for him not only warms his heart ( he thinks you hate him and struggles to believe that YOU could give someone like him any attention but here you are) but also makes him take better care of himself for your sake. he hates seeing you worried but he loves calming you down. holding your hands tight, replecating meditation style breathing and mindfulness practices. kissing you overthinking head. hugging you when you stress cry, giving you massages.

Phobia- he understands triggers better than anyone else, he will be your big bad protector making sure to help you avoid the item that's causing you phobia. holding your hand and hiding you behind him if you have social anxiety, making sure to avoid triggering environments if you have agoraphobia, killing all snakes in the world if you have a phobia of them( he seriously suggests it but you stop him cuz it'll hurt the ecosystem)

Panic attacks- he has them too, either you have learned a way to deal with them and teach him or he has learned a way to deal with them and helps you . if he hasn't before meeting you, he has a new much stronger motivation to learn techniques or medication that can help deal with them for your sake and therefore also accelerate his healing

seperation anxiety-.. he has it too so like.( ik its more common in kids but adult sad is also a thing) both of you are clingy, its a win win for you two , fuck the rest of the world

again this is just my opinion okay? don't make mental health a taboo , if this post was about batboys x blind! y/n no one would have an issue. mental health is a condition and sometimes its out of our control, it depends on so many factors. Its nothing to be ashamed or scared of.

[lycheedr3ams]

König Character Analysis (Part 1)

*image reposted with permission

Part 1: His Past | Part 2: König's MBTI

the first installment of a multi-part character analysis for our beloved König

to convince you guys i know what I'm talking about, just look through my blog at my könig posts. I am confident that I have grasped most parts of his personality and backstory, but I will acknowledge that some of it may be projecting. obviously we do not know much about him, which is the point of this series. i also relate a lot to him

discussion of my interpretation is welcome in the comments, and if you disagree, there's no need to be hateful. he is, at the end of the day, not real

TW: bullying, social anxiety, other mental health disorders

We have very little information on könig's life before the military. his bio includes one sentence, just one, about his past:

König suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life, often being bullied during his childhood.

while this information alone isn't striking, when put into more context of other parts of his bio, it says:

While he hoped to join as a recon sniper, his physical size and his inability to stay still made him an unsuitable candidate.

focus on those words: his inability to stay still. this crucial bit of information, tied to the fact that he was often bullied, leads me to conclude that könig has ADHD. not being able to sit still is not a stereotype, it is a real fact of life for those with ADHD, me included. people with ADHD are bullied much more than neurotypicals (people without ADHD, autism, etc). while each source is different, it is estimated that children with ADHD are 4-10x more likely to be bullied.

it is no wonder why bullying would cause social anxiety, since most of könig's interactions with his peers were negative. as someone with social anxiety, it is horrible. not knowing what to say or how to act, you end up either completely misreading the social context or not saying anything. either way, you can never win.

additionally, children with ADHD receive up to 20,000 more negative messages from parents and peers in their childhood than neurotypical children. because of this, it is common for people with ADHD to also be extra sensitive to rejection, and it can be so strong in some that a new term has been coined called "rejection sensitive dysphoria." research on this issue has revealed that 99% of people with ADHD also have and experience rejection sensitive dysphoria. therefore, it makes sense to conclude that König also experiences rejection sensitive dysphoria (rsd)

an aside on rsd: this isn't just feeling hurt when you're rejected by a crush or feeling sheepish or embarrassed you're scolded at work or school. rsd episodes make you question your entire life, your personality, your worth, and for many can even lead to suicidal thoughts just from a small incident of rejection. it can also lead to the person having low self-esteem, and they are also more likely to perceive rejection even when it is not there. it is an intense and overwhelming experience that no one should have to go through, yet people with ADHD experience it often

so, we've established, based on the evidence i've provided, that König has ADHD, social anxiety, and experiences rsd. i would say that i can't even imagine what König's childhood was like, but sadly I can since i too have adhd and was bullied. being mean is never okay, and bullying is not cute or quirky or sassy. bullying is when someone kicks your books across the floor, steals and destroys your belongings, when they spread false rumors, make fun of you, laugh at you, when they give you mean faces when you ask questions in class, when your only friend is the other "weird" kid who also has ADHD. it's when your teachers constantly criticize you and you get in trouble for every little thing. it's when you just wanted a friend and everyone else knew how to socialize, but somehow, you didn't. being bullied while also having ADHD is an experience i wish on no one. yet könig went through this. just sit with that for a minute. the big scary military man we love was also a child once, and went through this.

sorry to depress you guys, but this is the reality of his character. i firmly believe that könig has ADHD and experiences rsd despite his untouchable and stoic demeanor, and you're not gonna change my mind.

so, that's the end of the first installment. keep your eyes out for more, cuz trust me, there's gonna be more. (also don't forget to sign up for my taglist if you want! link is on my masterpost)

taglist: @osteawb, @sleepystaarr, @vvampir3s, @simpxinnie, @majocookie, @sharkyyyyyyyyyyyy, @marysdelrey, @kybeth5, @chaos-on-stand-bi, @shannonswizzies, @arcadia509, @bloodstoneruby, @cumikering, @skystreamchan, @junkratssheila-09, @kit-williams, @tangerynsbaby, @dreamdiaries777, @royalbxstxrd, @non-satanic-panic, @theweirdchick, @kiyomisan, @maylif, @mortimoshi, @eneiss

[do-u-know-this-autisticcharacter]

Reminder to take care of yourselves

Mod Sunflower here

Just a reminder that for those of us with Autism - diagnosed or undiagnosed (or waiting for diagnosis), anyone else who is neurodivergent, and those generally with an anxiety disorder. Social media and constant rolling news full of doom and gloom can be overwhelming.

Don't be ashamed or scared to ask mutuals or people you follow to tag things because news is getting too much right now.

With the current US Election entering it's final phase and war in Middle East ramping up, now is the best time to sort out your tag blacklist, or mute people who could be ignoring your request to tag things etc.

US Election tagging: US election, American election, American politics, politics, Kamala Harris, Harris, Trump, Donald Trump, MAGA, Republican, Democrat etc. Also avoid rolling news, election night and stay away from poll predictions as they are probably biased. Depending on who wins, the fallout could last months (especially when a President does not get sworn in until January). Ukraine-Russia related tagging: Russia, Ukraine, Putin, war in ukraine, war with Russia etc. Israel-Palestine-Iran-Lebanon related tagging: Gaza, genocide, Israel, Israeli, IDF, Palestine, Palestinian, Middle East, Iran, Iranian, Lebanon, Hamas etc.

Don't know how to blacklist? A good extension is XKit Rewritten and New Xkit Extension

Tumblr also provides words you can block but Xkit is much better. I literally use a combination of all three.

[vantediary]

can’t control it - masterlist

𖥸 pairing: non!idol Seonghwa —> non!idol Mingi x f!reader

𖥸 warnings: playboys! Mingi and Seonghwa, mentions of depression, abuse, anxiety (including panic attacks), use of alcohol (in some occasions even heavy amount),

Seonghwa: toxic relationship with reader, abuse of power, gaslighting, a literal angel at the beginning of the relationship then he becomes an asshole (yk, classic toxic behavior), smut (for which I will give detailed warning per each chapter).

Mingi: extremely lonely and depressed Mingi, he suffers from anxiety, love at first sight w reader, just a giant baby full of love to give but also craving to be loved just as much, but also (obviously) a sexy ass mf who knows he is.

Reader: suffers from panic disorder (a sub-disorder from the anxiety spectrum).

𖥸 Taglist: @yunhwalala @sofiagastaldo

ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ

From the moment you laid eyes on Park Seonghwa, you knew he was trouble. He had a reputation as a notorious playboy and you never imagined yourself being with someone like him.

You were hesitant at first, intimidated by the stereotype of a man who played the field and never settled down. But as you got to know him, you couldn't resist the strong attraction you felt towards him. His confidence and charming personality drew you in and despite your reservations about his past, you took a chance and started dating him.

In the beginning, he was the epitome of the perfect partner you had always envisioned. He showered you with love and respect, always put your happiness above his own, and made you feel like the most important person in the world.

He vowed to leave his womanizing ways behind and promised to be devoted to you forever. You were swept off your feet and felt like you had finally found the one you had been searching for all your life. You dreamed of a future filled with love, happiness, and endless possibilities, and you were convinced that you had found your happily ever after.

As the days went by, you began to observe a change in his behavior towards you. Initially, he was caring and considerate of your needs and desires, but gradually, you noticed a shift in his attitude. He became more self-centered and stopped paying attention to your feelings and emotions.

You started feeling neglected and lonely, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it. You tried to convince yourself that everything was still the same, but deep down, you knew that something had changed.

Despite your efforts to ignore the situation, you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dissatisfaction and unhappiness in your relationship, until…

**

Seonghwa and Mingi had been good friends for a long time, but there was always a sense of competition between them.

Seonghwa had been accustomed to sharing everything with his best friend, Mingi. However, when he met you, he saw an opportunity to have someone to call his own. He was captivated by your interest in him and him only and was determined to make you his, without sharing you with anyone else. Seonghwa was willing to go to great lengths to ensure that you didn't leave him, as he couldn't bear the thought of making his friend win.

That’s when, upon discovering your romantic interest towards Mingi, which was fully reciprocated by him, your partner's demeanor changed drastically. His true nature was revealed, showcasing his possessive, angry, and selfish tendencies.

It was as if a switch had been flipped, and his behavior towards you took on a much darker tone. The situation became increasingly uncomfortable as these negative behaviors continued to manifest themselves, causing a great deal of stress and anxiety for you and Mingi.

… Until, one fine day, Seonghwa approached you and Mingi with a deal. He promised to prove that he was the better man and would satisfy you in ways that Mingi never could. He was confident in his abilities and believed he could win you over.

Despite his claims, it became apparent that Seonghwa's selfish nature and his desire to be the one in control would always come before your happiness.

Will things really go his way? Or will he lose again to his friend Mingi for the last time?

ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ

Chapter 1 — coming soon…

ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ

Disclaimer 1: some topics in this story could be heavy for some, reader’s discretion is advised.

Disclaimer 2: there won’t be any pressure in writing this. I don’t want to force myself into a schedule, otherwise my poor adhd brain will feel obligated to write even if I don’t feel like it, but I’ll try to do my best anyway and work on it between breaks at work and when I’m at home.

Disclaimer 3: I am not a psychologist, so please be mindful that there will be mistakes while going through topics such as anxiety, depression and just the overall abuse that will disclose in this story.

ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ

all rights reserved © vantediary

[isa-ghost]

My friend

I am gonna do it

WHAT ARE YOUR Q!PHIL HEADCANONS MY FRIEND

YESSSSSS

Here's Set 1 and Set 2

Now M O R E

He won't do it without prompting because he'll feel like an ass giving nobody else room to talk, but if someone got him on the topic of like. Exploration or flight or something, he could talk for hours. He's extremely knowledgeable and passionate about stuff like that, most times because he has centuries of experience

I don't want to diagnose cc!Phil or whatever bc I know he doesn't like when people do that, but to me his rp character is free reign. And as a psych major with ADHD who's focusing on the study of neurodivergent disorders: this man is hella ADHD coded. He's told too many personal stories that are relatable to me for me to be silent about it. I'm 🤝🏻 this crow man

In his case this isn't a nd trait but instead a crow one, but he experiences echolalia sometimes. Funny things or certain noises he hears just scratch an itch in his bird brain real good, he can't help but repeat it for a while

The way to Phil's heart is good food, fun to be around, and kicking ass. If you can tick those 3 things off for yourself, you're Phil Approved

He'll say he doesn't fall for peer pressure, and often times he's right. But on rare occasions someone like Fit or Etoiles can convince him to do smth he maybe wouldn't at first. It's easier to win him over when he's drunk

cc!Phil has talked abt how he gets a weird confidence boost when he's drunk as shit. That's real for q!Phil too. He could be staggering slurring speech drunk and still snipe something like 50 blocks away. It makes Fit and Etoiles want to kiss him about it

He has intentionally made almost his entire wardrobe varying shades of green, which he pairs with black, red & gold. He thinks it's funny to have a branded wardrobe like an anime character

Idr how canon dsmp is to q!Phil but he still has the friendship emerald charm hanging from his hat. Perhaps it's from the Antarctic Empire days instead. Idk, I just like the character design of Dangly Thing On Hat Brim too much to exclude it from his design in my head (I should rlly attempt to doodle my Phil beyond the random notebook ones I've done. Maybe I'll post those if asked idk)

Don't underestimate this man's ability to get dramatic. Tallulah ain't the only one in the family that can go hard

I wouldn't say he has a bad temper. He's very well-practiced at self-control. However, there are certain things that set him off so severely, he throws self-control out the window. Those things aren't worthy of him trying to be "the bigger person." They deserve their ass handed to them right here right now (see: The Codes pre-current lore).

In a similar vein, when the situation isn't one of those special Fuck This incidences, he still doesn't have a temper, but when he finally snaps, he SNAPS. Like on a The Polycule be like "mark me down as scared and horny" level of snap. When you get on the Angel of Death's last fucking nerve he let's you KNOW.

I'm self-projecting here: this fucking idiot man has a detrimental habit of insisting on handling stuff like anxiety alone. He hates when people see him without his composure. It's not even like an embarrassing thing, it's just very uncomfortable to him. So when a panic attack hits or he finally concedes and let's himself cry, it's alone. And sometimes that makes it worse. But even that doesn't make him change his mind. "Keep it together for the kids," right? :')

Having a stroke about thunderstorms is a reflex. Even on Quesadilla Island, the second he hears thunder he reaches for a trident like a dork.

He near-obsessively preens his wings because he doesn't want the Federation, or anyone else for that matter, getting ahold of his feathers when they shed. He doesn't know wtf they could do with those and he doesn't wanna find out.

And yet somehow Missa and Lullah both have a couple feathers that he's shed and he has no idea. Lullah wants to make a necklace out of them.

[inamindfarfaraway]

I don’t often share personal stories on here, but listen. I’m in my university’s Hedgehog Society and today they held a casual, friendly hedgehog cake decorating competition. They provided store-bought, iced cakes, confectionery materials and tools. We turned those cakes into hedgehogs. Red velvet cake was among the bases offered.

I knew what I had to do.

I created Shadow the Hedgecake.

Now, three points of context:

I am extremely perfectionistic and self-conscious about what I create, as a rule. This is worse in social situations and I’m especially uncomfortable with visual and physical mediums. I hate drawing. The permanence of marring a blank canvas terrifies me. I can delete words in a document, but if I stain a page with my human imperfection by one wrong line, that page is ruined. The same principle applies to sculpture and so on. I used to cry in art class. A lot. The only reason I don’t anymore is that I no longer do art class.

In a similar vein of irrational anxiety and shame, I’m very secretive about many of my fandom interests in my personal life, particularly those that are likely to be mocked or not taken seriously. Like Sonic the Hedgehog. I know that my stress is disproportionate and I’ve never actually been bullied or anything. But unless I know or suspect that someone either likes the media too or is happy to learn about it, I just don’t broach the subject. My followers have seen sides of me that I’ve never shown my family.

Nobody in the Hedgehog Society had indicated before this meeting that they liked Sonic the Hedgehog. Nobody else did a character cake like me. I committed to this alone and unsupported in public.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I have an anxiety disorder, but I am autistic. So my social thinking and confidence aren’t exactly normal.

But I’ve recently started university. I’m pushing my limits and putting myself out there and starting to connect with new people. This is a time for growth. This is 2024: the Year of Shadow. The Fearless Year of Shadow. So I decided to do something I’d always struggled to. I would relax, not take this too seriously and follow my vision.

BEHOLD. THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM.

Don’t tell me you don’t see the resemblance. He’s partly red! He’s in his super form! He’s got a light fluffy patch on his chest! He’s got two pairs of gold rings/circles/whatever! He’s a messy, angular weirdo!

He’s angry and crying because he watched his best friend get murdered by the government!

Did I win the contest? No. Did I place? No. But I had fun, and I was original and true to myself. Thanks, Shadow.

[hype-old-posts]

vignette and addiction: my takes

(cw & tw: substance addiction, general addiction, mention of sexual themes and pornography, self destructive behavior, anxiety and depression)

vignette is one of my favorite songs on clancy (all of them are, but that's not the point), and as i was watching the livestream i heard tyler mention explicitly that the song was about addiction. and that's a theme i think it's important, and it's good that he brought it to light

while you'd read the lyrics and think the song is clearly about substance abuse, I don't think this is what tyler meant it to be about. not entirely.

the thing about addiction, is that everyone can have it, be in larger or smaller scale. it's like a tick that latches onto your skin but you can't see it or feel it because it numbs your senses.

I've dealt with addiction before (not substance, but adult entertainment on the internet, and then in real life) and i think this to be true: anything can be an addiction. be it a mania like biting your nails or maybe an eating disorder, to spending too much time on certain apps; everything that keeps us enslaved can be hurtful for our health.

we become mindless zombies, we can't see what's around us, we can't think unless it's related to that thing in specific that will bring back the feeling, the comfort. it's desperation for relief, for numbness, for a familiar pain. i see "the vignette" as a metaphor for something you can't always see, but it's there, until it swallows you completely

when i was deep in my addiction, one of the things i couldn't stop thinking about was: "can people see that I'm an addict? am i hiding it well?" the anxiety of wanting to appear normal, like I want struggling, like i wasn't under the control of something so simple and mundane, it consumed me to the point of wanting to isolate myself.

you're always clinging to the promise you won't do it again, you won't let it win, but sometimes you can't. and that's okay. it's a constant fight, a process, and it might never truly go away, but you'll get stronger each time.

the second verse messes with me the most. when you see someone who has openly struggled with addiction, the before and after may surprise you. people who were once so full of good values and confident in themselves "suddenly" let themselves rot away without realizing, or without caring.

i think "where do i go from here" represents the emptiness you feel once you're sober. you feel lost, like you're in the dark and you can't find footing. you want to feel comfortable again, but it never lasts long enough.

and of course "no not me it's for a friend" would be a controversial one. you could say that the hurtful thing you're consuming isn't for you, it's for a friend, but you could also say that about help. i personally like the help one, but i think both can be right. admitting to having a problem is the first and most difficult step in all of the process, you're always so scared of feeling judged that you'd rather pretend it's someone else who has to deal with it. heck, I'm feeling that right now as i write this! sometimes I can't use the right words at all without feeling a chill down my spine, but i believe that it's just like exposure therapy, and I'm sure it will be less and less scary to talk about it as i grow, just like tyler is talking about it now

vignette is a masterpiece, and although I don't and probably won't know for sure whether tyler has dealt with a different kind of addiction like i have, or if he actually is just referring to substance ones and I'm putting my bias into it, I don't care. this song will always have a special meaning to me and i hope it does to everyone else as well:

everyone struggles. we might be ashamed of it sometimes, but we should take pride in our recovery instead. it'll be hard to seek help, but the search party will come.

[creative-frequency]

Raphael x Reader: Act II: The Dinner, pt.1

Summary: Your patron Raphael invites you for a dinner with multiple ulterior motives. Part 1 of 2. Word count: 2219 Notes: Dinner date with the devil man coming right up 😘

The lanceboard was left in disorder. The white Cyric was toppled by the board. The match between the devil and the most cunning and ambitious tiefling child in the Sword Coast had ended in the latter’s victory – spurred on by some insightful advice from Gale.

You had no idea what a Theskan Double Counter-Gambit was, but you had an inkling that Raphael had let Mol win, just to grow her appetite for triumph. Concerned, but dedicated to not interfering, you looked after Mol as she returned to her friends. You had no right to moral superiority or telling her what to do. If a deal with the devil – your devil patron – was what she thought the best move in this game of survival, then a deal she would make. Just like you had done to survive. You might only advise Mol to read the fine print carefully.

It had been surprising to meet Raphael at the Last Light Inn, though you assumed it shouldn’t have been. No doubt he had something on his mind, and the presumption caused a buildup of anxiety and something akin to a thrill in you.

Raphael seemed to sense that you felt familiarity with Mol’s situation, because he gave you a cursory glance before turning to address Astarion with a pointed finger. What the glance meant, you had no idea.

“Now, let’s talk about you. I sense there’s something you want to ask me,” Raphael mused.

Taken aback, you turned to face Astarion, whose chin lifted up sharply. Gale and Shadowheart shared your impression and traded confused looks. Out of your whole group, you had always been the closest with Astarion. Secrets and thoughts had been shared just between you two, along with multiple bottles of wine. Raphael had not shown interest in any of your companions in your previous encounters, so for him to do so now was… disconcerting.

“I do. I have a…” Astarion hesitated, obstinately avoiding your gaze, “proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” Raphael repeated, clearly intrigued and chuckled. “If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business, devil,” Astarion interjected and proceeded to explain: “My old – well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

Cazador. Astarion was talking about his old master. Alarms blared in your mind.

Raphael let out a long hum and looked more complacent with each syllable.

Right then you also realised why Astarion had been casually asking about Raphael and your contract earlier. He had even said he would like to have a chat with the devil. Completely out of curiosity, of course, and just because he thought the devil rather liked your miserable little group. You should have known the vampire spawn had something else in mind.

“What do you mean? What scars?” you asked Astarion, brows furrowed with worry. He still didn’t look back at you.

Raphael’s eyes glinted with interest.

“You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you,” the devil said, exultant at this revelation of secrecy.

The comment filled your insides with icy discomfort on Astarion’s behalf. You could have sworn Raphael held back the beginnings of a smirk as his gaze glinted over to you.

“That’s enough, Raphael. Can you help him?” you said pointedly. A severe heart-to-heart would be waiting for Astarion at camp, but he didn’t deserve being debased like that.

“I might. If you ask nicely, little raven,” the devil prompted and you rolled your eyes in exasperation. Raphael and his theatrics.

He took another moment to contemplate. Astarion tensed beside you. Gale and Shadowheart monitored the situation, worry etched on their faces.

Raphael finally continued: “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details.”

“So you know what it’s about?” you pushed.

“Of course. But, you’ll have to do something for me first.” Raphael tapped his chin in thought, then casually pointed at you – not Astarion. “Let me think about it and get back to you.”

The motion made you feel ever more severely that the line was meant specifically to you rather than your group as a whole. Your pulse sped up.

“Fine,” you replied, cutting Astarion’s attempted reply off and ushered your party to leave. “Let’s go.”

You had just found out you rather hated the idea of your patron tempting your friends into contracts or roping them into acts of service. You didn’t remember harbouring any territorial feelings before becoming a warlock.

After merely three steps, Raphael cleared his throat behind you. It was enough to make you pause since you knew it meant he was not going to let you leave just yet.

“Tav, a word, if you will,” his honeyed voice rang out.

The use of your name shot a thrill up your spine. And the tone he said it in. It was smoother than the sweetest nectar or dark chocolate melting on your tongue. It indicated the transition from business to pleasure.

You glanced at your companions and gave them a reassuring nod, barely holding yourself together. Raphael waited until you were truly alone. Other people had just been going about their businesses in the Last Light Inn, but for the moment, you only saw Astarion, Gale and Shadowheart discussing with Jaheira at the other end of the large dining area. The Harpers were avoiding the little corner Raphael had set up the lanceboard in.

You sucked in a breath full of that scent of cherries, musk and sulphur and the world around you disappeared, along with any irritation you had just felt towards the devil.

“Tell me, O apple of my eye, how have you been?” Raphael questioned, a hand to his chin. “You don’t have any gills to get green around yet, but you do look a bit worse for wear in this light.”

His brown eyes flickered across you, more gauging and analysing than they had been moments ago in the company of others. His next words were added in a carefully crafted neutral tone, but they still served to make you uneasy:

“You haven’t been summoning me in a while.”

In the cold darkness of the Shadowlands, the unsaid words had often burned in your throat and hovered just at the tip of your tongue: Dominus, inferior ad te me flecto inferni. The verbal component to the ritual spell that completed the magic of the focus item on your left ring finger. The ring’s phantom weight made you hide your hand behind you. Raphael and your previous encounters with him had been in your thoughts often. Too often.

You cleared your throat and shied away from his measuring gaze.

“I’m fine,” you said curtly.

Raphael raised a brow in disbelief.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” you asked.

“Yes,  though mayhap somewhere better suited. Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight, my raven, after you’ve taken care of everything here,” Raphael ventured with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

A dinner? Your heart leaped at remembering the last time you had visited the House of Hope. How the warmth had radiated off Raphael’s body and how his fingers had travelled over your – well, his – shirt. That shirt you had now tucked away beneath everything else inside your travel chest. It still smelled like him.

More importantly, you hadn’t had a proper meal in days. Daydreams of the dinner he had served you on your first meeting had also often been on your mind embarrassingly often. Not that there was anything wrong with Gale’s cooking but the options were severely limited at camp.

You barely hesitated before replying: “I’d love to, thank you.”

The corner of Raphael’s mouth tipped upwards ever so slightly.

“Until later then.”

And he was gone with the usual fiery blaze. You had a feeling he had just rushed off to prepare for whatever would be waiting for you at the dinner tonight and your stomach twisted in anticipation.

—

Exhausting hours later, your party settled in the safe haven of the camp for the night. With each passing minute, you grew more anxious, knowing you should summon Raphael to let him know you were ready for the dinner. But, before leaving, you had to tell someone you would be away for some time. Maybe even until the morning. The thought made your pulse grow more rapid and your stomach twist into knots that had nothing to do with hunger.

Eyeing tentatively Karlach, you cowardly approached Astarion, who was reading a book. Karlach had thrown a glorious fit about the infernal ring on your left ring finger and the ritual it was used for. (“What the fuck were you thinking, Tav?!”) The situation had evolved into one of the worst arguments among your group and you were not looking forward to another one.

Karlach wasn’t an unreasonable person, but understandably, dealing with devils made her blood boil. She had almost “smacked the shit out of you”, but you had somewhat successfully argued that, while she didn’t have to like the fact that your powers came from a devil, she would still have to make peace with it one way or another. You were not going to forsake your powers as long as the tadpole swam in your head. Astarion had been disappointed to miss the brawl that the argument had – fortunately – never evolved into.

So Karlach absolutely hated the idea that Raphael had you curled around his little finger, quite literally, and you could bear no other explanation than you had made the pact out of necessity and, for the time being, would not consider trying to worm your way out of it – no pun intended. It was somewhat of a shock to find yourself unable to discuss the details of your contract, but what you could explain was that you needed the warlock powers to survive, and you still owed some ration of allegiance to Raphael because he was your patron.

He was your patron. An excuse you had already heard yourself using a thousand times over.

In her rage, Karlach had burned through her own tent and afterwards you had not spoken outside combat in days.

So, you paused in front of the vampire spawn, wringing your hands nervously.

“Um, Astarion?” you started.

“Yes?” he replied, obviously irritated at the interruption and didn’t lift his gaze from the book in his hands. He was likely still cross with you from the earful you had given him after departing from Last Light Inn. What he had been thinking trying to make a deal with your patron behind your back, you didn’t comprehend. There would be more conversations to be had about the topic, but later.

“I’ll be away for a bit,” you said quickly, “Raphael needs me for something.”

Astarion’s head snapped up as if he couldn’t believe his pointy ears. “What?”

“I’ll be back in a few hours, I think. I’ll see you in the morning,” you explained in a tone that hopefully was carefree enough to not warrant any concern. No matter that Astarion’s vampire senses probably caught your accelerated pulse.

“Seriously?” he protested in a hiss.

You shrugged. “I need to hear what he has to say. He is still my patron.”

Shit. The words had slipped out before you could stop it.

Astarion scoffed, rolled his eyes and went back to his book. “I’ve heard that excuse before…” He flipped a page. “Make him think faster about helping me, will you?”

You stepped forward and placed a hand gently over his shoulder. “I’m sorry you didn’t... trust me enough to tell me about the scars before.” The touch hopefully conveyed more than the words.

He didn’t meet your eyes, but you saw how his gaze glazed over for just a trice. “Well. Now you know.”

“I’ll do my best. Wish me luck.”

“Hah. I’m sure you don’t need luck with Raphael.”

You paced a short distance away from camp, not daring to venture too far away into the shadows. The pitch blackness seemed to breathe around you, impatiently waiting for you to take a step further into its embrace. You had seen how the shadows had snatched a Harper when you first arrived at this cursed place.

With a short inhale you recited the words:

“Dominus, inferior ad te me flecto inferni.”

Warmth filled the air and the sudden smell of sulphur was overwhelming. The ring on your finger felt heavy, almost burning your skin. Your heart thumped uncomfortably and you could feel the blood rushing in your ears.

“Shall we, little raven?”

You spun around towards the voice. Raphael stood there in his human form, dressed more casually than expected. Instead of the elegantly embroidered doublet, he donned a simple, dark shirt. The upper buttons were left open to reveal hints of his toned chest.

You swallowed. Maybe he hadn’t wanted you to feel underdressed in your camp clothing? At least your simple shirt and pants were mostly clean tonight.

Raphael offered his hand for you to take and just as your fingers brushed his palm, you found yourself in the House of Hope.

-

Part 2

My writing masterlist

[is-your-blorbo-neurodivergent]

does he have audhd, anxiety, and a mental illness?

submit your own characters here to be featured!

reasons under the cut - just a long infodump (no problem with that!)

reason: Autism:

- Strangely meticulous about rules while not understanding/valuing others

- Is literally an alien living among humans trying very badly to fit in and understand their customs -- very autistic feeling, even if he's evil about it.

- Sensory issues, specifically tactile and taste oriented ones. (Many autistic people feel for him in episodes where he struggles eating earth food and suffers physically for it)

- Low empathy

- Difficulty controlling his emotions

- Fixates easily (Usually on his mission or fighting Dib)

- Strange speech patterns, even for an alien. Other members of his species and other aliens we meet in the show do not talk like Zim, showing this is very much a him-thing, not an alien thing.

- Evil laughter? More like vocal stimming

ADHD:

- Frequently shown to dissociate/lose focus when he's in a situation he doesn't like or faced with knowledge he doesn't care about

- Very easily distracted

- Can hyperfocus on a task he values

- Makes meticulous ambitious plans with convoluted steps no neurotypical would bother with

- Bad at following structures and what's expected of him

- Shit memory but also brilliant and can recall hyperspecific things needed for his plans

- Mood swings

- Overlooks stuff that's obvious for most people

- Creative! :3

- Bad at structure and conforming to what he needs to be in most jobs

- Can be very energetic

- Every person with adhd I've met has loved the purple as a colour idk

MISC THINGS OF NOTE:

I do not feel I have the understanding to properly diagnose exactly, so please feel free to point me in the right direction of a diagnosis for... whatever these symptoms are. But I have to wonder about his dissociative moments, paranoia, self-obsession and his mood swings. There is a point in the show where the Tallest hang up on Zim and the dude literally just stands there COMPLETELY STILL for over an hour until he "wakes up" and the Computer tells him how long he'd been there. Zim wasn't aware at all how much time had passed or that they had hung up. Isn't that a bit concerning? It's the most extreme example, but it's not the only time he does it! Frequent dissociation is still SOMETHING, right? I don't which dissociation disorder this could point to specifically but still.

He constantly deludes himself into believing things that blatantly and explicitly aren't true and remembers things wrong to protect his own ego (tough to say whether this is done intentionally or subconsciously as a defensive move or something). He'll even misremember minor things as soon as they happen if he doesn't like them. Zim frequently holds his identity super high and uses his name like a great mantra to the point it's a bit concerning. Not sure what this is about. Might just be quirky but...

Many episodes take steps to showcase that Zim is practically ruled by fear and paranoia. Even in the first episode, he's so scared of potentially getting caught, he nearly triggers his self-destruct button so the humans do not capture him. Jhonen, Zim's creator, has said in interviews and the show bible that despite his zaniness and ego, Zim is actually a deeply miserable anxious character underneath, and that even when he wins, he goes right back to being miserable -- while fans typically (and very understandably) take what Jhonen says with a grain of salt, he's never wavered on this and it does make sense with the way the show works. It's possible this could be heavily masked depression/anxiety or maybe part of something else.

He also has a number of symptoms that line up suspiciously well with ptsd

( Being easily startled or frightened? Check.

Always being on guard for danger? Check. Self-destructive/reckless behavior? Check.

Trouble concentrating? Check.

Irritability, angry outbursts or aggressive behavior? Check.

Negative thoughts about oneself or the world? Check. He hates basically everything external to himself, except his robots, snacks, and leaders.

Exaggerated feelings of blame directed toward oneself or others?100% he blames external factors. But check.

Ongoing negative emotions, such as fear, anger, guilt, or shame? Check.

Difficulty feeling positive emotions, such as happiness or satisfaction? Check.

It's tough to say what these symptoms could all be in response to, but imo, I think being raised from birth to be a soldier for a genocidal space empire might be a bit more traumatic on its own than Zim and even other irkens are able to be aware of. We see Zim as a small child in a flashback and he's shown to be super loving/affectionate, which is a complete 180 to how he is in the show years later, before he's immediately sent off to "report for duty" (("duty" likely being military training)). This is 100% just headcanon and speculation tho so I don't feel right checking that box.)

ahh i wrote too much. anyway he's mentally ill your honor. idk what is going on up there exactly but it's NOT exclusively autism/adhd i know that much.

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Animation-twitter, animation video essay youtube, etc. would probably be better off if they assumed every upcoming animated movie was going to be CRAP.

The director of INSIDE OUT 2, Kelsey Mann, has talked a bit about the picture recently. After all, it's out in less than two months... And immediately, so much of what he's saying is either being misread or quoted out of context. Something something Anxiety is going to be "the villain", something something they cut characters Shame and Guilt out of the movie because they felt it was too heavy, something something-

And we've got other people freaking out that Pixar showed 35 minutes of it at CinemaCon... LIKE... What's THE issue? Pixar has done that before! CinemaCon attendees were treated to half-hour chunks of Pixar movies in the past, like MONSTERS UNIVERSITY. When TOY STORY 3 was coming out, Pixar prepared a cut of the movie that ended just as the toys were escaping Sunnyside Daycare... to show to college campuses across the country a month before release.

Y'all need to calm down.

This movie isn't even out. We don't know how it'll tell its story exactly. Maybe there's more here than it seems? Maybe Anxiety will be an antagonist in the sense that she's doing what she feels is right, or is straight-up malevolent. I doubt it's the latter, that would be kind of... Not nuanced? For a sequel to INSIDE OUT? Having Anxiety just be an evil scheming bad guy just doesn't seem like it'll happen, nor is it a good idea. I think director Kelsey Mann meant that by her kicking the other emotions out of the main control room, she'll be the "big bad" of the movie. Why she kicks those emotions out could be related to how anxiety tends to work within the human brain. Taking control of your brain, thinking that it's steering you to make the right decision, making you cautious of dangers more so than "Fear" does. Pixar movies have had antagonists in the past that aren't necessarily evil, they just think what they're doing is right.

I also doubt that Pixar would let out a movie that flat-out stigmatizes people who suffer from anxiety disorders, such as myself. Maybe the Shame and Guilt characters were cut from the movie because director Mann, writer Meg LeFauve, and several others just didn't like the direction the story was going with them in it. Maybe it was too depressing for THEM, not because of any concerns for kids in the audience. People tend to associate Pixar with "tearjerking storylines", maybe it's possible that this went WAY TOO FAR at one point? I don't know, neither do you. Pixar's team isn't Disney Animation's leadership. Pete Docter is less controlling than John Lasseter based on everything I see and hear, but there are probably still some ground rules and some do's-and-don'ts. But I think it was ultimately down to the director not enjoying making the film back when it had these characters in it. As a writer/creator myself, I sometimes pull back when I feel something I'm making is causing ME lose the drive to make the thing in the first place. Maybe it hit too close to home for Mann, LeFauve, someone- Just a few variables, ya know? Not just "Pixar is too afraid to be sad", "Disney's telling them what to do", etc. etc.

Maybe animated movies shouldn't have this kind of pre-release thing... How about, just... Movie title, release date, BOOM. Nothing else. No interviews with the filmmakers and cast, no nothing... Wanna know more? You have to see it when it comes out! Put that in big letters in the teaser trailer!

But if they did that, twitter and the YouTube Animation Opinion Industrial Complex would sound the alarm: "They're not saying anything... IS THIS MOVIE IN TROUBLE???"

(sarcasm for those last two sets of sentences)

You can't win. And watch... It'll come out, and it'll be disliked for some weird reason. Probably because it isn't... PUSS IN BOOTS 2 or whatever. While the rest of the world goes, "Yeah, that's was pretty solid." And said population streams it on Disney+ a gazillion times. I'm not part of this "animation fandom" thing, quite frankly I don't even know what half of these people want most of the time. It seems like every movie is an oncoming stinker to them, and it ends up being a stinker. Sometimes the worst thing ever made, a work of evil. You know I still see people raging over that completely harmless CHIP N' DALE RESCUE RANGERS movie from two years back? The fuck is that all about?

I get that INSIDE OUT is a sequel to a beloved Pixar movie, I get that the original movie means a lot to so many people. I love it myself. At the same time, I'm not gonna be weird about a sequel I never even wanted until the day they announced it. Okay, if it isn't very good, I'll just go on with my life. But we're not even there yet... It's not out... This is the only INSIDE OUT sequel. Now if we were coming up on an INSIDE OUT 3, and INSIDE OUT 2 managed to somehow upset everybody? Then I'd somewhat understand...

Others will dole out their dislike of recent Pixar movies as their reason, but you know me... I feel each Pixar movie - for the most part - is a statement of its filmmaking team. Not a Mr. Pixar person coming up with each and every movie. (That was Lasseter in a sense, lol.) If "animation is cinema", then you oughta look at these movies as director-driven. I feel the other way around reduces the films to a brand, and not the people who actually make them. INSIDE OUT is first and foremost a Pete Docter-directed film... Made at Pixar. Not a "Pixar film". Pixar isn't a person nor is it a collective, it's a place. It should be judged on how functions as a movie and as a sequel to INSIDE OUT, not up against other movies made at the studio by other people. Like I'm not here for THE INCREDIBLES or UP, I'm here for an INSIDE OUT sequel. I know, that's a very radical opinion to have. Silly me!

I just don't get it... I'm just gonna do it the old-fashioned way... I'm going to see the movie, and hope that I like it or get something out of it.