#even when advertising cars or modeling

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla accused of hacking odometers to weasel out of warranty repairs

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2, and in WELLINGTON on May 3. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

A lawsuit filed in February accuses Tesla of remotely altering odometer values on failure-prone cars, in a bid to push these lemons beyond the 50,000 mile warranty limit:

https://www.thestreet.com/automotive/tesla-accused-of-using-sneaky-tactic-to-dodge-car-repairs

The suit was filed by a California driver who bought a used Tesla with 36,772 miles on it. The car's suspension kept failing, necessitating multiple servicings, and that was when the plaintiff noticed that the odometer readings for his identical daily drive were going up by ever-larger increments. This wasn't exactly subtle: he was driving 20 miles per day, but the odometer was clocking 72.35 miles/day. Still, how many of us monitor our daily odometer readings?

In short order, his car's odometer had rolled over the 50k mark and Tesla informed him that they would no longer perform warranty service on his lemon. Right after this happened, the new mileage clocked by his odometer returned to normal. This isn't the only Tesla owner who's noticed this behavior: Tesla subreddits are full of similar complaints:

https://www.reddit.com/r/RealTesla/comments/1ca92nk/is_tesla_inflating_odometer_to_show_more_range/

This isn't Tesla's first dieselgate scandal. In the summer of 2023, the company was caught lying to drivers about its cars' range:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Drivers noticed that they were getting far fewer miles out of their batteries than Tesla had advertised. Naturally, they contacted the company for service on their faulty cars. Tesla then set up an entire fake service operation in Nevada that these calls would be diverted to, called the "diversion team." Drivers with range complaints were put through to the "diverters" who would claim to run "remote diagnostics" on their cars and then assure them the cars were fine. They even installed a special xylophone in the diversion team office that diverters would ring every time they successfully deceived a driver.

These customers were then put in an invisible Tesla service jail. Their Tesla apps were silently altered so that they could no longer book service for their cars for any reason – instead, they'd have to leave a message and wait several days for a callback. The diversion center racked up 2,000 calls/week and diverters were under strict instructions to keep calls under five minutes. Eventually, these diverters were told that they should stop actually performing remote diagnostics on the cars of callers – instead, they'd just pretend to have run the diagnostics and claim no problems were found (so if your car had a potentially dangerous fault, they would falsely claim that it was safe to drive).

Most modern cars have some kind of internet connection, but Tesla goes much further. By design, its cars receive "over-the-air" updates, including updates that are adverse to drivers' interests. For example, if you stop paying the monthly subscription fee that entitles you to use your battery's whole charge, Tesla will send a wireless internet command to your car to restrict your driving to only half of your battery's charge.

This means that your Tesla is designed to follow instructions that you don't want it to follow, and, by design, those instructions can fundamentally alter your car's operating characteristics. For example, if you miss a payment on your Tesla, it can lock its doors and immobilize itself, then, when the repo man arrives, it will honk its horn, flash its lights, back out of its parking spot, and unlock itself so that it can be driven away:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Some of the ways that your Tesla can be wirelessly downgraded (like disabling your battery) are disclosed at the time of purchase. Others (like locking you out and summoning a repo man) are secret. But whether disclosed or secret, both kinds of downgrade depend on the genuinely bizarre idea that a computer that you own, that is in your possession, can be relied upon to follow orders from the internet even when you don't want it to. This is weird enough when we're talking about a set-top box that won't let you record a TV show – but when we're talking about a computer that you put your body into and race down the road at 80mph inside of, it's frankly terrifying.

Obviously, most people would prefer to have the final say over how their computers work. I mean, maybe you trust the manufacturer's instructions and give your computer blanket permission to obey them, but if the manufacturer (or a hacker pretending to be the manufacturer, or a government who is issuing orders to the manufacturer) starts to do things that are harmful to you (or just piss you off), you want to be able to say to your computer, "OK, from now on, you take orders from me, not them."

In a state of nature, this is how computers work. To make a computer ignore its owner in favor of internet randos, the manufacturer has to build in a bunch of software countermeasures to stop you from reconfiguring or installing software of your choosing on it. And sure, that software might be able to withstand the attempts of normies like you and me to bypass it, but given that we'd all rather have the final say over how our computers work, someone is gonna figure out how to get around that software. I mean, show me a 10-foot fence and I'll show you an 11-foot ladder, right?

To stop that from happening, Congress passed the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Despite the word "copyright" appearing in the name of the law, it's not really about defending copyright, it's about defending business models. Under Section 1201 of the DMCA, helping someone bypass a software lock is a felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine (for a first offense). That's true whether or not any copyright infringement takes place.

So if you want to modify your Tesla – say, to prevent the company from cheating your odometer – you have to get around a software lock, and that's a felony. Indeed, if any manufacturer puts a software lock on its product, then any changes that require disabling or bypassing that lock become illegal. That's why you can't just buy reliable third-party printer ink – reverse-engineering the "is this an original HP ink cartridge?" program is a literal crime, even though using non-HP ink in your printer is absolutely not a copyright violation. Jay Freeman calls this effect "felony contempt of business model."

Thus we arrive at this juncture, where every time you use a product or device or service, it might behave in a way that is totally unlike the last time you used it. This is true whether you own, lease or merely interact with a product. The changes can be obvious, or they can be subtle to the point of invisibility. And while manufacturers can confine their "updates" to things that make the product better (for example, patching security vulnerabilities), there's nothing to stop them from using this uninspectable, non-countermandable veto over your devices' functionality to do things that harm you �� like fucking with your odometer.

Or, you know, bricking your car. The defunct EV maker Fisker – who boasted that it made "software-based cars" – went bankrupt last year and bricked the entire fleet of unsold cars:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/10/software-based-car/#based

I call this ability to modify the underlying functionality of a product or service for every user, every time they use it, "twiddling," and it's a major contributor to enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Enshittification's observable symptoms follow a predictable pattern: first, a company makes things good for its users, while finding ways to lock them in. Then, once it knows the users can't easily leave, the company makes things worse for end-users in order to deliver value to business customers. Once these businesses are locked in, the company siphons value away from them, too, until the product or service is a pile of shit, that we still can't leave:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

Twiddling is key to enshittification: it's the method by which value is shifted from end-users to business customers, and from business customers to the platform. Twiddling is the "switch" in enshittification's series of minute, continuous bait-and-switches. The fact that DMCA 1201 makes it a crime to investigate systems with digital locks makes the modern computerized device a twiddler's playground. Sure, a driver might claim that their odometer is showing bad readings, but they can't dump their car's software and identify the code that is changing the odometer.

This is what I mean by "demon-haunted computers": a computer is "demon-haunted" if it is designed to detect when it is under scrutiny, and, when it senses a hostile observer, it changes its behavior to the innocuous, publicly claimed factory defaults:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/18/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

But as soon as the observer goes away, the computer returns to its nefarious ways. This is exactly what happened with Dieselgate, when VW used software that detected the test-suite run by government emissions inspectors, and changed the engine's characteristics when it was under their observation. But once the car was back on the road, it once again began emitting toxic gas at levels that killed killed dozens of people and sickened thousands more:

https://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/29/upshot/how-many-deaths-did-volkswagens-deception-cause-in-us.html

Cars are among the most demon-haunted products we use on a daily basis. They are designed from the chassis up to do things that are harmful to their owners, from stealing our location data so it can be sold to data-brokers, to immobilizing themselves if you miss a payment, to downgrading themselves if you stop paying for a "subscription," to ratting out your driving habits to your insurer:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

These are the "legitimate" ways that cars are computers that ignore their owners' orders in favor of instructions they get from the internet. But once a manufacturer arrogates that power to itself, it is confronted with a tempting smorgasbord of enshittificatory gambits to defraud you, control you, and gaslight you. Now, perhaps you could wield this power wisely, because you are in possession of the normal human ration of moral consideration for others, to say nothing of a sense of shame and a sense of honor.

But while corporations are (legally) people, they are decidedly not human. They are artificial lifeforms, "intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic" (as HG Wells said of the marauding aliens in War of the Worlds):

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/14/timmy-share/#a-superior-moral-justification-for-selfishness

These alien invaders are busily xenoforming the planet, rendering it unfit for human habitation. Laws that ban reverse-engineering are a devastating weapon that corporations get to use in their bid to subjugate and devour the human race.

The US isn't the only country with a law like Section 1201 of the DMCA. Over the past 25 years, the US Trade Representative has arm-twisted nearly every country in the world into passing laws that are nearly identical to America's own disastrous DMCA. Why did countries agree to pass these laws? Well, because they had to, or the US would impose tariffs on them:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/03/friedmanite/#oil-crisis-two-point-oh

The Trump tariffs change everything, including this thing. There is no reason for America's (former) trading partners to continue to enforce the laws it passed to protect Big Tech's right to twiddle their citizens. That goes double for Tesla: rather than merely complaining about Musk's Nazi salutes, countries targeted by the regime he serves could retaliate against him, in a devastating fashion. By abolishing their anticircuvmention laws, countries around the world would legalize jailbreaking Teslas, allowing mechanics to unlock all the subscription features and software upgrades for every Tesla driver, as well as offering their own software mods. Not only would this tank Tesla stock and force Musk to pay back the loans he collateralized with his shares (loans he used to buy Twitter and the US predidency), it would also abolish sleazy gimmicks like hacking drivers' odometers to get out of paying for warranty service:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/08/turnabout/#is-fair-play

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/15/musklemons/#more-like-edison-amirite

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[enjakey]

Me After Him

Pairing: model!Jake x model!Fem!Reader

Hello! This fic (25k) was posted in my old account that I have since deleted a long time ago. This is a new account so I’m reporting this here. I thought I’d never bring any of my old shit back but I love this series too much. If you’re wondering why this sounds familiar, it’s probably because you’ve read it a long time ago. Not because it’s plagiarized. None of my work is plagiarized, please understand that. My writing style is carefully curated from the many Japanese and Russian writers I engage with. This plot came to me after a horrible loss in my life- three years ago.

Please enjoy the read. There's a Sunghoon version that you can find, too.

Summary: Jake, who lived with his best of friends in New York, scores a jackpot- he made it in the modelling industry and now, he was one of the best of the best. He thinks his life is perfect- until he meets Y/N; mysterious, quiet and broken Y/N

Heeseung | Jay | Jake | Sunghoon | Sunoo | Jungwon | Niki | Masterlist

JAKE WAS NEVER EXTROVERTED. He was ambitious and successful, but never extroverted. He chose to prioritise himself and decided to prioritise his dream of becoming the most successful model he could become. Then came his family and the six friends he made in summer camp when he was ten years old. That was all that was in the bubble he called home; his dog, his parents, his brother, his friends, himself, and his career.

At the beginning of his career, the boy’s character had been marred by the media more than most expected. He supposed that was what happened to most people that were on their road to success. Journalists claimed that he had an attitude, that his leading form of communication was glaring at others when they spoke or showing attitude to those that showed interest in conversing with him. Yet, on the other hand, the photographers he worked with argued that he had always been respectful and cooperative, and even a little innovative.

His career skyrocketed around the time he graduated high school. He went to a community college for the sake of education, but he rarely showed up. Photoshoots occupied his time, press meets, walking for runways of various fashion shows and meeting with designers. Jake was acquainted with most of the industry by the time he turned nineteen. He tried his best to be friendly, to not cuss at paparazzi that were just trying to be nice and to not show crudeness while answering selfish and personal questions- but he never made friends. He’d rather not.

At the age of twenty, the boy owned a small apartment in New York City and drove around with an Audi. The car was gifted to him by the company themselves because he had made an appearance in one of their advertisements.

As mentioned before, his career skyrocketed and it seemed like he had everything a young man like him could ask for… That is… Until he met Y/N.

The first time he saw her was at a party an acquaintance threw at a pub in the middle of the city. He was told it was just supposed to be a get-together of new and upcoming models of the industry and the models who seem to have been making a name for themselves. Jake assumed he fell into the latter category when he was invited. It wasn’t like his name was as popular as that of the Hadid sisters or Lucky Blue Smith but he was famous enough and he was successful enough and he received an income that was above the average of what models usually get.

People showed him respect, which was rare in the industry he found himself thriving in.

He assumed Y/N fell in the former category of models when he laid eyes on her. She was standing at the end of the pub, leaning against the bar and sipping on a glass of what he made out to be wine. Her eyes were cold and observant, her gaze piercing through the heavy air of the party. Her hair was pin-straight and he wasn’t sure if it was natural. Her presence at the party, or any party at all, didn’t seem natural. But the way she wore her makeup and the way she walked away from the bar in her heels and the way her body looked in the sequined black dress made it seem like parties were all that her life revolved around.

Stolen glances of her were all he got that night. He saw her wandering the bar alone, only speaking to those that spoke to her first. He saw her speaking to a man with a goatee and glasses, who he assumed was her manager. He saw her sitting in booths alone and not entertaining any company that came by her. He didn’t know if she had an attitude problem like people painted of him, or if she was just shy. Jake didn’t even learn her name that night, nor did he put in the effort to ask anyone about her. Because he thought there was no point in enquiring about someone he was sure he’d never cross paths with again. He was sure he’d see her around in news articles any time soon. But for that night, all that he was left with of hers were her piercing eyes and her confident walk.

He didn’t think about her much after that day, though.

Around two weeks later, Jake was called in for a photo shoot for a semi-popular magazine. He was told he was to model along with another girl who was known to be all the rage recently. He was told she was in demand for a lot of photoshoots and runways for many fashion shows. He was told that she reminded a lot of people of him when he was just starting. He was told her name was Y/N.

Y/N Y/LN.

It wasn’t until ten minutes into entering the photo studio that he realised who he was modelling with. It was the girl he saw at that party, standing with the photographer, Dubois, and nodding at whatever information was being said to her. He stood frozen in his spot for a good ten seconds before he took his first step toward her.

Her hair was styled in a slicked-back ponytail, dressed in a tight black dress that showed off her collar bones and waist and her eyes looked just as sharp and piercing as he remembered. He didn’t know if it was the eyeliner or if it was just the gaze she held. Jake found himself being intimidated as he approached her… and he wondered if that was how people felt the first time they met him.

But apart from that, he thought her name suited her.

When he finally brought himself to stand in front of Dubois and Y/N, it took around ten seconds for either of them to notice his presence. Both their heads turned to him at the same time and Dubois was the first to speak. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he said and Y/N’s eyes softened, along with her expression.

Jake greeted him with a nod before turning his head and meeting his eyes with Y/N’s. It was like time slowed and the air in his lungs escaped when she smiled at his presence. It was like he was breathing and tasting the air for the first time again since he was born when he realised that she was smiling for him, because of him.

He wanted to know why she had that effect on him. And he wanted her. Somehow and someway, he wanted her.

And a part of him wanted the craving to go away because it was new. She was new. And it was scary.

Y/N stretched her hand towards him, expecting a handshake as her smile grew wider. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you.”

Her voice made Jake snap, eyes blinking and head shaking from side to side before forcing a smile out and stretching a hand out himself. “I’m Jake… Sim, good to have you here,” and their hands met in the middle and Jake thought he had just touched royalty. All he wanted to do was freeze time and stand there and admire her… He was too in awe to continue to smile.

“Now that the introductions are finished…” Jake started focusing on Dubois’ instructions, nevertheless continuing to observe Y/N from the corner of his eyes. Her piercing stare returned, as did the sober look on her face. He assumed it was just the way her face rested, or rather it was a look that grew on her. Because there was stress wrinkled into her forehead and the weight of some kind of pain resting on her shoulders. She just hid it well in the way she walked and talked.

It wasn’t Dubois’ first time working with Jake. In fact, he was very fond of working with the young model. He had always been cooperative and open about what he did and didn’t find comfortable doing. So it took him by surprise when he noticed the way Jake was almost shy to touch Y/N, as though she would run away if he put too much pressure on her with his touch. Dubois lowered his camera out of shock at a point but didn’t bother to mention the differences in his demeanour.

The pictures turned out beautiful regardless. A month after the photoshoot took place and after they were edited and airbrushed and filtered, they were published. The picture on the front cover of the magazine made Jake’s heart skip a beat. It was a simple picture if he had to be honest. They were sitting across from each other but their hands met in the middle, eyes looking into one another and knees touching. He didn’t remember the pose being as intimate as the pictures had turned out.

He chalked it up to the editing.

Chills went down his spine when he received a text from Y/N. It almost seemed coincidental, for him to be thinking about her and staring at the front cover of the magazine with a picture of them together and to get a message from her at the same time. Jake felt like he was in high school, pining over a stupid high school crush.

She had messaged him on Instagram to celebrate the publishing of their pictures. It was a simple text, really. A few words on how the pictures looked amazing and a few party popper emojis were thrown in with it. Jake took ten minutes to comprehend his thoughts and ten minutes to calm himself down before thinking of a response. He congratulated her back and agreed on how the pictures turned out great.

He waited for a response. He waited for five minutes, then ten, then twenty and by the thirty-minute mark, Jake had accepted that she wouldn’t text back. He wondered why. Perhaps it was because there wasn’t much she could say back, or maybe he responded too late and lost the chance of indulging in a nice conversation. But then it occurred to him that he would have normally done the same- he wouldn’t respond to most people that looked for small talk.

He threw his phone across the couch with a sigh and sulked.

It wouldn’t be until two months later that he’d see Y/N again, this time wearing a ruby red dress at another acquaintance’s birthday party. She looked exactly like how he remembered, the same piercing eyes scanning the room and the same confidence radiating off of her as she walked around and found herself a seat, a glass of red wine held between her red manicured nails. He thought she looked fiercely beautiful from afar, he could only imagine how he would feel if he went up to her.

Jake didn’t know why he found it so hard to simply walk up to a girl and speak, greet her with a handshake and smile and hope for the best. But this was the girl that refused to leave the end of every trail of his thoughts for the past two months. Every time he read about her or heard about her and every time he saw another one of her pictures published in a magazine or article, he suddenly felt unworthy of her.

From his point of view, she looked like the forbidden fruit, dressed in red and waiting for someone to chat her up as she sat alone and sipped on wine, continuing to observe everyone in the room. But the difference was, that Jake knew she wasn’t looking for small talk. It was clear how uninterested she seemed by the way she easily ended every conversation that anyone started with her and she looked like a pro in ending chit-chat without hurting anyone’s feelings.

Perhaps she liked her own company, perhaps she wanted to be alone and the thought almost made Jake back away and mind his own business. Almost. He strode up to her, hands in his pockets and head slightly tilted downwards as he reached her table, his heart beating faster by the second. He noticed her lips pull upwards as his presence came closer to her, but a part of him was wondering if she was smiling for him or if it was out of habit.

“Hi,” she said, settling her wine glass on the satin-covered table. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she crossed one leg over the other, arms resting on her knee as she leaned towards him with a dopey smile.

“You’re gonna see me everywhere, darling,” he chuckled but his eyes widened when he noticed Y/N’s raised brows at his response. “Oh,” he breathed, realising his snarky remark. “I didn’t mean it that way-”

“Oh, I know, I know,” Y/N laughed at him, lightly and softly as she hid her toothy grin behind her hand and leaned forward then leaned back into her chair- her entire demeanour seemed relaxed and she allowed herself to sit more comfortably. Jake didn’t know if it was because of him, or if she was simply being friendly.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I swear I’m not self-obsessed or narcissistic. It was just me joking-”

“Jake,” Y/N laughed again. “I get it, I get the humour. I like it,” she shook her head and her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked at him with a soothing smile.

“Well, I’m glad you like my humour then,” his smile formed awkwardly but Y/N’s only grew wider.

She nodded her head towards the chair beside her and Jake almost stumbled on his feet and words as he sat there, pulling his seat closer to hers. But they didn’t speak, not for the first ten minutes or so before he found a conversation to start. And she spoke. Freely. And she didn’t seem to push him away like she did everyone else. Perhaps it was because he didn’t indulge her in any small talk which she seemed to hate so much but he found a part of himself wishing, praying that she was talking to him because she liked him or saw him as something special.

He wanted to be something special for her, and he wanted her to be something special for him.

Jake swore he never felt that way about someone in his entire life.

Yet as the party ended and Jake walked Y/N to her cab, he noticed just how closed off she had been while talking to him. Changing the topic of conversation every time it seemed to get personal or simply laughing at his words and forcing out responses that she didn’t seem to mean- she looked like she was keeping her walls up, like her emotions were on guard and like she was scared of being herself.

They exchanged numbers before her cab drove off and she gave him the brightest smile and waved her hand goodbye until her cab was out of sight and Jake thought that was the sweetest thing someone could ever do. And on his way back home, he replayed the entire night in his head, how they talked over wine and how the ruby and gold ring looked prettier on her finger when it was placed on her lips while concentrating on what he said.

Oh, how Jake loved the way she looked at him with such focus and attention, like he was the only person she cared about at the moment with her strikingly focused eyes and pursed lips. He knew he was romanticising the moment and painting it under a light that completely marred what must have actually happened but he couldn’t help it. He doesn’t remember the last time he had an actual conversation with someone that wasn’t part of his friend group or his family.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was basking in her attention. He felt alive when she seemed to be giving genuine responses to his questions and when she threw her head back in laughter along with him. The only thing missing was for her to open up, to be so carefree around him that she would speak whatever came to that pretty mind of hers.

He swore to himself that he’d make that happen. Someday.

Her laughter and her words were still stuck in his head as he fell onto his bed and while he stared at the wall, he imagined what their next conversation would sound like. He imagined what she’d wear and where they’d meet next. Would it be by chance, for another photoshoot, or maybe even for a date if he had enough courage to ask her?

He imagined what a date would look like with her- if she’d want to go stargazing with him just as much as he did or if she enjoyed the silence of an art museum. He wondered if she liked aquariums and he wondered if she liked picnics and board games. He wondered if they’d go shopping together or try new restaurants together. He wondered if she would ever open up to him and he wondered if she would ever let her walls down.

There was just something about her and Jake didn’t know what it was yet.

Just as the clock struck twelve and just as he was beginning to feel lonely, he called his insomniac friend, Sunghoon, who he knew wouldn’t pass up an opportunity of meeting up in the middle of the night. And Jake knew he was probably the only person willing to listen to him rant or willing to keep him company at an ungodly hour of a work day.

The boy showed up in no time, standing on the doorstep with a dozen cans of beer and chips.

Sunghoon was probably the first friend Jake made in that summer camp. They were first cabin mates, their bond starting with their childish love for making bracelets out of thread which turned into staying up late and sharing all the deep dark secrets their ten-year-old selves could possibly have had. Sunghoon was probably the one that understood him the most out of everyone and Sunghoon was the first to find out anything new about Jake and his life. This time was no different.

While he watched Jake sit on the floor and lean against the leg of his bed, drinking his beer while speaking of a girl with piercingly dreamy eyes and a soothing voice, he wondered what had gotten into his best friend. He wondered if he had ever heard him speak of someone that way and he realised this was the first time. The boy sulked deeper against the headboard and threw a pillow on his lap to lean his elbows on, deep in thought while Jake continued speaking.

“You know she’s still in high school?”

“Dude.”

“Chill, she’s eighteen,” Jake shook his head. “But she’s talented as fuck if she made it to this level of fame while still in high school.”

There wasn’t much Sunghoon, Jake or the internet knew about Y/N. Just the basics like where she grew up or what her favourite colour was. Her life was more private than Jake’s and no one thought that was possible. He didn’t know if it were a good thing, that Jake was falling for someone he knew nothing about and was starting to create a fantasy of her in his head. He didn’t know if it was possible to crush on someone so deeply, especially when they weren’t in high school anymore. He wondered if his best friend was going to end up hurt as he had been with every girl he had ever dated.

Sunghoon could swear that it was just Jake’s curiosity surrounding her mystery that was attracting him.

But a part of him thought Y/N was different. If she managed to get him to swoon over her like a school boy, then there must be something special about her, right?

Jake talked about her with so much admiration, you could see it in his smile and hear it in his voice. He talked about her until there was nothing else to say and he voiced every ‘what if’ until it wasn’t fantasising but just overthinking. He spoke about her until his excitement was gone and all that was left was why she was the way she was and why he liked her though he knew nothing of her.

“Do you just think she’s attractive or something?” He offered as Jake groaned once again. “What about her exactly are you so caught up with? What's so special about her?”

“I don’t know!” Jake flung his arms in the air, his foot nudging his empty can of beer that caused it to roll across the room. “There’s just something about her. It’s like she’s purposefully built up these walls and I want to know what’s behind it.”

“Maybe she’s going through something,” Sunghoon shrugged. “She seems closed off, right? People with trust issues are usually like that,” he took another sip of his beer and suddenly, all the cans were empty but both the boys were sober from frustration.

“But what’s causing those trust issues?” Jake thought out loud.

“I don’t know man, I guess we just have to wait and see.”

“She’s trying to save herself and I’ll figure out exactly from what.”

IN FACT, Y/N WAS saving herself from something- from heartbreak. Or, from another heartbreak, rather. She had enough at that point. From being used, replaced and lied to, she decided it was best to focus on herself and work towards making a better life for herself instead of being hung up on people that were not worth her time. And all of that was triggered by a boy named Sam whom she thought she would be with for the better part of her life.

Sam was good when she first met him. They were both just juniors in high school, oblivious to the bad that could come their way. She thought he was the perfect boy for her, the kind she saw in movies or read about in books, the kind she conjured up in her head before falling asleep. She gave him her all, gave him the time she would never give anyone else and let herself fall for him until he was the only person she felt safe around. Because he was truly worth it all and because he didn’t hurt her and promised to protect her and defend her no matter what. He told her she was his favourite person, he told her she was his number one choice. He was perfect… until he wasn't.

Until he changed himself and prioritised a good time over a good thing and until he took his girlfriend for granted and until she found herself crying over him every night before falling asleep. Sam left her at her lowest and then she was all alone.

It took her two months to get back on her feet and start trusting her friends again and it took her two months to realise that it was better not to wish for his return anymore. She accepted that she deserved better and she accepted that he wasn’t the right person for her. And, that’s when she started modelling.

It took three months for her career in modelling to become something to be proud of. Only she knew how much energy and effort it took to get to where she was and only she knew how trimerous and taxing it was to deal with depression, loneliness and heartbreak while trying to make herself successful at the same time.

By the time the first semester of her senior year started, Y/N had become a well-respected model, yet her friend circle shrunk to maybe two or three people.

The loneliness didn’t bother her as much anymore but the pain was still there. Hurt loomed over her every time she thought of Sam or herself and she wondered why she was never good enough or if she was lovable or if she could ever find true love. Her heart ached, but all she could do was distract herself.

Y/N was making more money than an average model. She was well known, and famous even, and she rarely showed up to school. Perhaps that was good, it would mean she wouldn’t have to be reminded of those who hurt her and left her. But at the same time, she didn’t know anyone outside of her school and her newfound trust issues made it hard for her to make new friends from the industry she thrived in.

So, she started making boundaries, saving herself from sabotage before anyone even got the chance to hurt her. She was nice to everyone, yes. But it wouldn’t go further than a friendly conversation. At that point, she was coming to terms with being by herself and only depending on herself… Until she met Jake.

When she met him at their photoshoot, Y/N felt more self-conscious than she usually did. To be fair, she was modelling with someone considered more famous and successful than her, someone who was pretty much out of her league- obviously, she felt self-conscious around him. But when she caught herself looking for stolen glances from him, smiling at him when he wasn’t looking at her and almost admiring his pale skin and rosy lips; she knew he had to be different.

Y/N didn’t think much of how she felt about him, though. After the photo shoot ended, she pretty much forgot about him and the loneliness and heartbreak entered her chest again and brought chills to her bones. That night, she remembered laying in bed with tears rolling down the sides of her face, thinking of what could have been instead of appreciating what was. She couldn’t even call someone to distract herself and just dwelled in her misery.

When she saw their pictures finally published on the front cover of a magazine, she found herself admiring them. She thought the picture looked stunning, mostly because she thought she looked pretty sitting beside Jake, like they made a good-looking couple. He was smiling and she was smiling and a part of her was hoping that his smile was genuine and not staged. A part of her hoped they could have more photo shoots again because the experience was genuinely much more fun with him compared to anyone else she had modelled with.

The entire week following the publishing of their pictures, Y/N remembered using the thought of Jake to distract herself from thinking about Sam. But it didn’t work and she had given up and suddenly Jake was the last thing she thought about as loneliness and despair reappeared in her life.

She wanted to feel something for Jake. She wanted to feel something for anyone but Sam.

So the next time she saw Jake, she didn’t force herself to push him away. She chose to sit with him and speak with him, just as he approached her when he could have been getting acquainted with the rest of the party attendees. He chose to sit with her and she noticed it. He chose not to leave her company and she appreciated it. And she tried her best to make sure he understood that he had her undivided attention though she would usually rather focus on her wine. She thought the outfit he wore by AMI Paris suited him well, complimenting his dewy eyes and hair and the nonchalant attitude he was trying to hide. She noticed how his responses were standing on the border between sarcastic and flirty and she saw how much effort he seemed to have been putting in to be nice to her.

He was trying. She thought that was the most anyone could do.

The issue was that she didn’t know why he was trying. She didn’t know why he was showing interest in her or why he was forcing himself to be nice to her. Was it a bet he was participating in? Or was it because she could provide him with something he needed? Nothing made sense in her head, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And as she laid on her bed that night, her favourite music playing in the background, Y/N thought about the way he laughed at her jokes and the way he was so eager to continue their conversation. She thought about how he had refused to leave her side, even when other party guests had come up to them and asked for a chat. She thought about the one time their hands had accidentally brushed against each other and she thought about the way he’d looked at her through his lashes and she thought about the way his skin glowed under the lighting of the chandelier.

Y/N felt butterflies for the first time in a long time and she didn’t know if she was prepared to face her emotions yet.

Tears spilt past her eyes that night too, and if she was keeping an accurate count, it would be the first time she was crying in a week. All her thoughts and emotions somehow led her back to thinking about Sam and how he’d moved on and how he was happy with the girl he told her not to worry about. Yet here she was, a semi-famous model and a rich teenager, weeping in sorrow and wondering if she’ll ever find someone to love her the way she wanted and deserved and if she would ever be good enough for anyone.

She spent the next day doing absolutely nothing. It was one of the rare days where she had no work to tend to and usually, she was expected to go to school. Her parents had pestered her and almost begged her to at least show up in school because she hadn’t been studying and they were convinced that she was going to fail her exams. Y/N saw no point in them anymore. She simply told them that she would study without the help of her teachers. Her parents snarled at her and went back to minding her own business.

It was unhealthy to stay in her room all day but she had no energy to do anything else. She watched a movie for a while, then listened to music and picked at the loose skin around her fingernails. At a point, she found herself sitting in silence, eyes spacing out and mind buzzing with thoughts that only made her heart pound and ache and come to the verge of ripping into two pieces.

Her phone didn’t buzz from any text or phone call from her friends and she knew they were all busy with studies and college applications but she had to wonder why her life always lead her to be lonely in whatever she did. She didn’t have any friends she could relate to or depend on or call to cry about how stressed she was from moving around from photoshoot to photoshoot all day. She didn’t have anyone to share her accomplishments and bliss with. And she didn’t have anyone she could laugh with or go out to parks with or watch movies with. She lost it all and she dealt with it all alone, not because she wanted to but because she had no other choice. And she accepted that she would be all alone and that it was about time she started controlling her emotions instead of letting them control her.

But it weighed too heavy on her heart- it hurt.

She didn’t know how much longer it was going to last- the brooding and the self-pity. Most importantly, she didn’t know how much more she could take. Yet every day, she found herself forcing on a smile and powering through her errands until she could come back home and be with her issues without hiding them, all alone yet again. Her days were interesting, but they felt so repetitive.

Y/N made her way down the hallways of GQ’s headquarters, the clicking of her heels ricocheting off the barren walls. Tony, her manager, guided her to the meeting room, where she was greeted by a group of models who were all there for the same reason- to read through their contracts.

Y/N was about to model for GQ, one of the most renowned magazines, yet not a bone in her body or fibre in her being could force itself to feel any ounce of happiness or excitement. This job would give her a paycheck pricey enough to let her, an eighteen-year-old high schooler, rent out an apartment of her own for a little while but she wasn’t thrilled. She simply faked eyes of glee and a smile of appreciation as she took her seat and was handed her contract for her to look through.

Tony assured her that he would be waiting at the reception for her.

If she thought about it, Tony would probably be the person that was there for her the most. She wasn’t planning on it, but one day when he had come to her house to pick her up for another errand to complete, he found her lying in the corner of her room, crying her eyes out while curling into herself and it was the first time she had told him anything personal about herself. The sight was gut-wrenching, enough for him to promise her that he would be there regardless of his circumstance and that he was her friend.

Though Y/N didn’t exactly call him when she was crying or was feeling lonely, it was clear how much he cared for her. Tony, though he was perhaps twice her age, quickly became somewhat of an uncle to her. He checked up on her frequently and ensured all her needs were taken care of. He would mentally and emotionally prepare her for situations he knew she would feel uncomfortable in and he would tell her all she needed to know for any new job.

But he was only human and humans made mistakes. Tony was no less because when Y/N realised that he didn’t tell her that Jake would be part of the GQ shoot as well, she almost wanted to hit him.

He could have told me sooner, she thought, because when Jake walked into the meeting room, she swore she felt her heart swell with something she would describe as anticipation and she felt excited. She was excited to work with him again, she was excited to be in the same room as him again. If she had known beforehand that she would work with him, perhaps she would have felt this delight for a little longer and maybe she would have looked forward to working with GQ.

It took Jake a few seconds to make eye contact with Y/N. He was in the middle of removing his coat and taking his seat when he saw her and the smile on his face looked brighter than the one she wore. They waved at each other enthusiastically for a brief moment before Jake's attention was pulled away by a man handing him his contract.

Once he settled, the room went quiet and everyone was back to minding their own business. They stayed in that room for a good hour. An hour that was filled with Y/N glancing at Jake through the corner of her eyes and Jake smirking every time they caught themselves looking at each other. The rest of the models were clueless and Jake thought that was the most amusing part.

They were told that the shooting would start the next day, somewhere on the outskirts of New York. Y/N just counted on Tony to take her where she was supposed to. Once they were all briefed on the timings, requirements and expectations of the shoot, they were piled out of the room and she was left to stand in front of Jake with an awkward smile as everyone walked past them, returning to their own lives.

She didn’t know exactly what to say or do. Her hands balled into fists and her foot tapped rhythmically on the tiled floor. She couldn’t even will herself to look him in the eyes and she was quickly reminded how she wasn’t usually like this. Being nervous and shy wasn’t how she portrayed herself to be, especially with the people she worked with.

Perhaps one day she would regret ever showing Jake the vulnerable side of her. Perhaps one day she would regret opening up to him or wanting to be something more than acquaintances with him. Perhaps she would regret putting herself in a position where she could easily get hurt again. But at that moment, as Jake stared her down with nervous eyes and a softened smile, she was convinced he would never hurt her.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” he said, referring to the night at the party where she could have easily told him that she was booked for the GQ cover shoot. But then again, Jake didn’t have a chance to mention it either. “We could have come here together.”

At that, Y/N felt her heart flutter. Because Jake Sim, the model who had been popping into her thoughts unwelcomed and the pretty boy she thought was out of her league, basically said that he wished he had taken the chance to spend time with her, make memories with her, have her be a part of his schedule- even if it was just for a day.

“Maybe next time?” She offered, completely unsure of what to say, still taken aback.

“Or, if you’re free now…”

“Yeah, I’m free now,” nodding enthusiastically, her smile grew with expectation.

Jake chuckled. “We could do something together now?” His shoulders raised as though he was making a proposition.

He was almost convinced that she would bail on him but then she said, “I’d love that,” and the insecurities and nerves growing in his stomach disappeared and he allowed himself to take a breath of relief. He extended a hand for her to take and she meekly looped her arm with his and it didn’t feel as awkward as they thought it would be. The pair walked out of the building before telling their managers that they were heading off. Then they got into Jake’s car.

AND THAT’S HOW THEIR friendship began.

Jake took her to a cafe downtown that day and all they did was talk and sip on mugs of coffee. They talked about Y/N’s school and how Jake entering the modelling field was all out of pure luck. They talked about their lives and their family and friends they said they’d introduce each other to. They spoke about their interests, which then stemmed to Y/N ranting about true crime cases and that caused Jake to quickly realise it was her favourite form of entertainment.

That day, they didn’t take pictures or touch their social media but left the cafe when the sun started to set and when the stars were shining. Jake, being a concerned gentleman, had offered to drop Y/N home but she refused and assured him that it wouldn’t be her first time taking a cab home so late into the night. He asked her to text him when she reached home and she did as she was requested.

“I had fun today, we should do it again sometime,” he texted her too and Y/N was the first time in a long time that Y/N laid on her bed with glee rather than a frown and tears rolling past her cheeks.

For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep with a smile and she fell asleep looking forward to the next day because she would see him again. And she fell asleep with a smile because she didn’t think of Sam and didn’t wish the blood supply to her heart would be cut off. She fell asleep with a smile because perhaps her life wouldn’t feel so tedious and repetitive anymore.

It would be the first time in a while that Y/N had fun in a photo shoot. Because not only was Jake’s presence refreshing, but it was also encouraging. Jake being there, posing for the same camera as she was amid other models, brought her energy she didn’t think she had in her. It was like something in her lit up and her face gave off a glow that the photographer was almost astonished to see.

A few days after that photo shoot, there were rumours of GQ wanting Y/N to be their ambassador but they were deemed to be untrue.

Y/N and Jake talked a lot the following days. Mostly on text, but they still talked a lot. He would respond to her and update her every chance he could, even in between his most exhausting errands and Y/N found herself doing the same. Those texts soon turned into calls and within a month, they found themselves at each other's houses almost every weekend.

They helped each other grow and Y/N didn’t realise how much she needed someone like Jake until he started caring about her. He started caring about her in ways she didn’t think were possible because whenever he was at her place, he would make sure she ate enough and he would make sure she took her daily vitamins. He checked up on her every day and called her before he went to sleep like it was a ritual. On days she went to school, he would be there at the end of the day to pick her up, just in case she had a worse day than usual.

He asked about Sam a lot. He would ask about how their relationship started and how he treated her and what caused their falling apart. Y/N found herself answering his questions with no hesitation and no tears. A part of her, a huge part of her, felt more comfortable and safe around Jake- more than she felt around Sam or anyone else.

“He used to take care of me the way you are now, you know? Until we started hurting each other.”

“Anyone that loves you is gonna take care of you this way, Y/N. Anyone that loves you is gonna treat you the way he used to. There was nothing special about that. Do you know what makes it special? If the person keeps trying and realises that to build a relationship, it takes a lot of mistakes and lessons and effort. Do you know why he wasn’t the one? Because he stopped putting effort and because he gave up and went for someone easier.”

Y/N ignored what Jake insinuated on and his choice of wording. She turned her head to the side to hide her grin and bit her lips. This is what I needed to hear, she thought to herself. Hearing it from Jake simply made all the more sense.

“Is there anything that makes you special?” Through her lashes, she could see the way his lips parted into a smirk and his eyes flickered from her to the bowl of food in his hands.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” he said, and though the words came out teasingly, Y/N could make out the sincerity in his eyes. Jake brought another spoon of rice to her lips and she took the food into her mouth, gaze not leaving his.

Jake didn’t complain about having to take care of her. He didn’t complain about her behaviours or mood swings or needs. He accepted her. He accepted her enough not to want her to change. He accepted her enough to love her the way she was.

Y/N was learning that this was what love looked like. Romantic or not.

On a day standing between the border between spring and summer, Jake took her to Pier 62 Skatepark. He told her that it was a lucky day because all six of his friends were not burdened by packed schedules of internships or exams and he told her that he was excited to introduce her to them. He also told her, or rather warned her, not to believe any jokes they made about him or any weird childhood escapade of his that would be mentioned.

Somewhere on the curved ledges on the concrete, she saw six boys sitting in a row, all of whom had differentiating features of experience and maturity, their feet dangling off the edges as they laughed amongst whatever conversation they were having. She knew they were all of different ages and she could easily name who each was with how Jake had previously described them alone. And she wanted to show off and greet each boy herself by name but she didn’t. The need to give a good first impression dissolved as she got closer to them and all that was left was nerves and an awkward smile that compelled her to hide behind Jake’s shoulder.

Jake noticed her shying away and a huge part of him wondered where the confident girl he met all those months ago had disappeared. He wondered if the girl who always had her walls up at parties when she showed up wearing fancy dresses had died. He wondered if her pricking gaze and strut of a walk were all lies- but then he also realised that she was usually putting on a confident front and independent mask when she was alone. That look of judgment and observance was always there when she was alone, in a room filled with strangers, whose opinions she could manipulate just by the way she looked. She couldn’t do that now because she was sure Jake probably spoke about her and her character to his friends and she couldn’t do that now because these people were sitting there, waiting to get to know her. After all, their best friend, Jake Sim, wanted them to.

Y/N was terrified, to say the least, knowing she had no other choice but to speak about herself and think of witty responses to their words. She didn’t want to admit it but all those previous months of being depressed and lonely almost made her forget how to socialise and Jake was simply a blessing of a friend. There was a reason for her silence at parties and there was a reason why she pushed everyone away once she sensed that small talk was withering apart. She would rather keep to herself than give away that she was socially awkward and isolated through a forced conversation. In those times, Y/N had no other option but to hide behind a mask she created for herself and she did a damn well job at it.

But she didn’t have to hide behind herself now because she had Jake to hide behind and though his heart melted at the thought of her depending on him and though all he could think about was holding her in his arms and protecting her, he stopped in his tracks. Y/N, trailing behind him like a lost puppy, bumped into his back and blinked profusely, looking down at his hand that was flailing around, seeming to be looking for hers. Confused, she clasped her hand with his and she watched the way their fingers intertwined and allowed the warmth of the gesture to seep in. But before she could relish the moment, he had tugged his arm forward with enough force that made Y/N stumble in front of him.

She was no longer hiding behind his frame. Her eyes were directly in line with the six boys she was about to meet and from the distance she stood in, it seemed as though they were staring back at her.

She gulped.

Looking over her shoulder, she found Jake staring back at her with an encouraging grin and sparkling eyes covered by his floppy hair. With a nod toward his friends, he willed her to walk forward and she did. With her hands balled into fists, she took the first few steps, legs shaking at first but the more she walked without his aid, the faster her shoulders straightened and her tread turned confident. Though Jake could only see her back, he could easily tell she probably had a sly smirk playing on her lips with the way her hips started swaying. It was almost like she was slipping on a mask, one made entirely out of confidence, charm and perhaps even a little wit- the same mask Jake had watched her sport multitudes of times when they were both attending gatherings together or were invited to some launch party. But he could confidently say that the piercing eyes of hers he fell in love with were never a sham.

His steps slowed as his chest began filling with pride. His eyes glossed over as he watched Y/N approach his friends, her hair bouncing off her shoulders and arm stretching forward to shake hands with Heeseung first, then Jungwon and the rest of the boys. This would be the first time that Jake saw Y/N approach someone, rather than someone else approaching her.

Ruffling Y/N’s hair was the first thing he did when he finally approached the group. He could almost hear her heartbeat, louder than the gallops of a thousand horses, but then he saw the smile on her face and the way she was talking aloud with his friends and with him and he was convinced that she was filled with adrenaline. And he thought it was good. It was good because she was learning to love new experiences and she was learning to meet new people.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Sunghoon said as Jake hoisted himself to sit beside him. Y/N was left standing, looking up at the seven boys sitting together and the sight deemed complete with Jake among them. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Not a single part of her was surprised that Jake had spoken about her to his friends but she never questioned what it was that he said about her. She never wondered if he told them what they did together or spoke about and she was always confident that he wouldn’t just expose to them all the panic attacks and hysterical cries she’s had in front of him.

It was Jake and she trusted him.

Yet for the sake of conversation, she simply had to ask “What exactly does he say about me?”

There was a sharp silence that followed her question. Jake froze in his stance, his eyes darting from her to his friends in panic and Sunghoon pulled his lip between his teeth. Y/N was on the verge of panic, already feeling her legs tremble and hands quiver, convinced that she had ruined the day and that the following conversations and little time for bonding would become botched and robotic. As her eyes scanned the faces of each boy, wondering what everyone was thinking, she heard a snort from Riki, his lips fighting to stretch into a smile and his laughter beating its way out of his throat.

Sunoo’s smile followed next, though he didn’t find the need to hide it. He laughed freely, leaning forward as he clapped his hands and eased everyone's expressions. Y/N swore she saw everyone let out a relieved sigh. “You don’t have to worry,” the pink-haired boy giggled, holding his palms together in front of him. “He always just boasts about you and brags about how you're his new best friend,” it was obvious that he was trying to mimic the way Jake spoke and his lack of accuracy made Jay sneer.

“Oh, please,” Jay chuckled. “I’ve never heard Jake say he’s made a new friend so the second all of us found out, we started yelling and screaming and begged to meet you.”

With the few words Jay spoke, Y/N was able to figure out his mellow nature. He was laid back, silent while he was thinking and when he found the need to express his thoughts, they came out calm and organised. Throughout the fifteen minutes she was with them, he had his palms pressing flat behind him, his body leaning into his arms in a relaxed manner and his attention was fixated on the surroundings around him rather than the people he was with, but he was listening intently regardless.

“You guys make it a bigger deal than it is,” Jake waved his hand with a whine, his cheeks turning a shade of red with all the blood rushing to his face. His body leaned sideways in an attempt to hear everyone better, torso pressing into Sunghoon’s shoulder.

Jake seemed more fond of Sunghoon, Y/N realised. With every joke that was made, the pair would always look at each other first before laughing and they would usually glance at each other before speaking. While Heeseung told the story of how they all met, she learned that Jake and Sunghoon were the first among them to meet and become close. How the rest of them became friends and grew a bond strong enough to last so many years was beyond them but it was so clear how much they cared for each other. She saw it in the way Riki gave Sunoo his jacket when it got chilly and she saw it in the way Jay allowed Jungwon to lean his head on his shoulder when he got tired. She saw it in the way Heeseung offered Sunghon water when he simply cleared his throat and she saw it in the way Jake kept glancing at Riki to see if the boy was comfortable.

Y/N was brought to a state of melancholy as she watched these boys interact. Though she was happy that they had each other in this barren world, she wondered why she never found friends like that for herself.

What was she lacking? What was she doing wrong? She thought about that a lot.

“I have to ask,” she started as Jungwon finished telling his story of how he convinced his grandparents to enrol him into taekwondo classes. “You all have such different lives and interests that all seemed to have started in places other than New York,” her gaze immediately shifted to Jake. “How did all seven of you end up here?” her fingers pointed to the ground, the stress in her voice indicated the city they were all on.

Looking over their shoulders, Y/N could see a few boats tied to the docks of the lake, tinges of marigold and lavender hovering in the corners of the sky. The sun was setting and a majority of the kids that showed up at the park started leaving. There was this moment of tranquillity as dried-up leaves breezed past them and suddenly, all she could think about was New York City and its huge complexity, a city of diverse culture and fashion. Anybody would be lucky to live there and she wondered if she was asking the right questions.

“That’s a good question,” Jungwon thought aloud, subsiding Y/N’s doubts. “All of us ended up here because of Heeseung,” he stated as a matter of factly and he pointed towards the oldest.

Heeseung put on a dopey, almost embarrassed, smile as he scratched the nape of his neck and nodded. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed. “It was a huge process but I’m glad that at least everyone settled in just fine.”

Then each of the boys continued explaining their version of the story. They told her how Heeseung first sprung the idea when he got into New York University and didn’t want to leave everyone behind. He said that there was no way he would ever thrive at university without his best friends, his family, alongside him and he spent months convincing everyone’s families to let their children move across the seven oceans with him.

Riki and Jungwon had no other choice but to live with Heeseung because they were both minors and Heeseung was the oldest and automatically the most responsible. And because Sunoo and Riki were inseparable, he was thrown into the mix and currently, the four lived in a three-bedroom apartment that was convenient for them to go to their respective schools. Y/N could only imagine how much chaos their mornings would be filled with- four boys getting ready for school and every other errand. But the more she imagined it, the more she thought it was wholesome and heart-warming and the more she wished she had friends to move in with as well.

She learned that initially, Jay, Sunghoon and Jake were living together. The three lived in peace, Jay minding his own business in his room while he dealt with his part in running his dad’s company or leaving for college whenever he could. Sunghoon would leave every day to train for ice-skating and return by the night after he was done with community college. Jake’s schedule was the most flexible in the beginning, before his modelling career bloomed and when all he had to worry about was sending his portfolio and resume to various managers. He only moved out to the more bustling and lavish side of New York when he was deemed successful.

Over time, everyone, despite living together, started having lives of their own and sometimes, some wouldn’t show their faces at home for days on end. But none of that was ever an issue and they never drifted because at the end of the day, they were all family and they grew up together. They all grew to love moments like these where they’d find themselves sitting together and basking under a sunset and salty breeze while laughing.

Rare moments were easier to cherish.

“Jay’s dad helped us through the moving process a lot,” Sunghoon nodded, weaving his fingers together on his lap. “We had to live in a hotel for a few months before finding apartments of our own. It was still fun though.”

“You know,” Jungwon started with a laugh, thumb pointing towards Riki. “His parents were too scared to let him shift with all of us so Heeseung and Jay stayed up all night making a PowerPoint presentation to convince them.”

Y/N gaped. “Did it work?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Riki grinned proudly, brows wiggling as everyone else laughed at the memory.

Their lives seemed like an unconventional fairytale found in the unrealistic fantasies Y/N would sometimes make herself. She once dreamed about moving to Italy with her one true love and living in a cottage and selling fresh fruits and flowers their whole lives. She dreamed that their daily chores would consist of doing everything together and always ending their nights with homemade wine and cheese. She dreamed that it would just be her and her lover, alone and content with just each other's company because the rest of the world would be irrelevant. That was a dream, her dream, her childish dream.

These boys had a dream of their own- to move to New York City together and build independent lives, all the while enjoying each other's unchanging and unwavering company. They made it work. Luck was in their hands and all the stars aligned for them and here they were, living what she considered to be the teenage dream. She wondered what that must have felt like.

Y/N fell silent the rest of the time she spent with them, not because she was glum but rather because of a growing sense of comfort. The feather-like smile on her lips never left as she found herself sitting beside Jake, her cheek pressing into his shoulder while she listened to the boys talk and banter amongst themselves. She didn’t feel out of place and nor did she feel like she had to contribute to the conversation to feel wanted. At that moment, it was just her and them, two different worlds colliding.

Jake deemed it to be late once strokes of navy brushed the sky, the moon visible if he squinted his eyes just a little bit. A steady breeze ruffled their hair and sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. With the goosebumps protruding from her skin, she shuddered, hugging herself and grinning as Jake announced that it was time for everyone to go home but it was Riki that stopped them, whining about something not being fair and how he wanted to spend more time with everyone.

In a fleeting moment, as though a lightbulb appeared above her head, Y/N piped “should we all go for dinner together?” and Riki nodded enthusiastically with the brightest smile she had ever seen. It was enough to light up the entire park they were in. Jake, who stood beside her with a hand on her back, looked down at her with a smile, admiring eyes gleaming at the sight of her and her sudden enthusiasm.

Jake wished she would stay enthusiastic for the rest of their lives, believing that what he saw in front of him was her truest form, where she was laughing and joking around with everyone, answering questions about herself freely without fear or hesitation. Bliss was radiating off of her and if they were in a world of animation, he knew rays of sunshine would be protruding out of her body. He wondered if after today, the happiness and carefree nature she showed would stay and he wondered if she would feel juvenile enough to hold his arm and bounce up and down again like she was doing now, watching Riki pump his fists in the air and run towards his respective car with the same enthusiasm.

“Let’s go!” The boy hollered and everyone else followed.

The group found themselves sitting at a round table in a hotpot restaurant known as HaiDiLao that seemed to have been blowing up on TikTok recently. When Y/N suggested the place, Jake chuckled at her, knowing that she had taken this opportunity to finally satisfy her long-lasting craving for Asian cuisine. As they sat and waited around for their food, steady conversation flowing between them like before, Y/N grew to realise that Riki was much like her. He was naturally quiet, laughing within himself when someone made a measly joke and speaking his opinions softly. He only showed excitement in rare moments, making fun of his peers only when he found the perfect moment to. The boy was extremely independent, she learned when he spoke about his school life. He only had one friend outside of the group he was in, the rest of his classmates irrelevant to his conscience and he seemed to be more focused on his goals. An aspiring dancer he was, his talents being compared to Micheal Jackson by his coaches and teachers.

Jungwon showed her videos of Riki dancing and Sunghoon gliding on ice. She thought the two boys had many similarities, too. Both focused on their goals and both preferred to stay silent even around their best friends. She couldn’t tell if it was because they had nothing to say or if it were simply because they were shy, but their occasional jokes and accusations for comedic purpose told her that they were simply being themselves.

If she thought about it, most of the boys were similar but it was each other that brought out their chaotic and adolescent sides. Heeseung, the great musician studying to be a producer, was always laughed at about his food habits. Jungwon, who seemed to be the peacemaker of the group, had a way of raising Sunghoon and Jake’s brows with his bizarre statements. And Sunoo, aspiring to become the owner of a skincare brand someday, was the ray of sunshine that brought the group out of their pessimistic reflections. Jay liked to make fun of him a lot, she realised in between dipping her mutton into boiling broth and chewing on enoki mushrooms.

They were all like seven peas in a pod and Y/N was just there observing, hoping that someday, she would have close friendships of her own. She gazed at Jake, the ache in her heart easing when he looked back at her with a beaming smile and lovingly observant eyes.

Jake drove her home that night, a playlist of classical music playing in the background as light rain drizzled onto the windows. The street lights blurred, causing a bokeh effect and she felt the skid of the tires every time Jake drove into a puddle. It was a good day, she thought and she wished that the night didn’t have to end. She wished she could stay in the hotpot restaurant for the rest of her life and listen to the many life stories the group of seven boys had to offer. Because while she was with them, she could forget about the miserable aspects of her life and delve into this world of fantasy they created for themselves and maybe, just maybe, she would become part of it.

“Will I ever get to meet your friends?”

The car came to a screeching halt and Y/N’s apartment building came into view. A lone lamplight hung on its gate and she realised her parents must have been awaiting her return. The time read 11:07 pm and the music had been drowned by crashing rain. Tilting her head towards Jake, she saw his droopy eyes and a smile groggily maintained. He was sleepy and driving in the rain at such a late hour would be the worst idea so she thought of inviting him into her house for probably the millionth time in the past few months and letting him sleep over for the first time. She was sure her parents wouldn’t mind, they’ve seen the boy around enough to trust him around her and they’ve seen just how attentive he was towards her.

She decided she would answer his question first.

“I don’t think I want you to meet my friends.”

Jake’s heart dropped. In the span of a second, his thoughts wandered into replaying all the events of the night and finding where things went south and what caused Y/N to suddenly change her mind. Just a week ago, she was hell-bent on introducing him to her friends and she was adamant about him bonding with them because it was important for her. Now she was hesitant, almost cringing at the thought of letting her work-best-friend meet the people she clung to at school.

“Why?” Jake stuttered out, his cheeks flushing paler and sleep rinsing out of his system.

“I’m scared,” she sighed and his brows furrowed.

“Of what?”

“I’m scared I’ll lose you.”

Though he heard the quiver in her voice, he was confused about how she reached that conclusion. Every step he took forward on getting to know her, it was moments like these that took him three steps back. He thought he understood the way her mind worked and thoughts panned out and if he didn’t, Y/N would try her best to help him understand. At the end of the day, it was her fear and insecurities that panned her judgement on any situation.

“How will you lose me?”

“Because they’re all better people than me, they’re so much more interesting than I could ever be,” her hands moved animatedly as she explained, stray strands of hair covering the sides of her face. “What if you realise I’m boring and leave me for one of them.”

Y/N had spoken about her friends a lot. She told him about Sheila that had a meme or vine reference to throw for every conversation and Veronica, who was on her way to intern for NASA. She told him about Arnold, who was a master with stocks and went to the gym all the time, earning more than her, a model, at the age of seventeen. Then there was Jasper, who aspired to be a doctor and Tina, who seemed to have her life and morals all put together, aiming for some of the best art-history colleges in Europe. She spoke highly of Maya who was always down to Earth, had everyone's respect and was big on photography and fashion. She told him about many more people, all of her descriptions about them ending with, “We aren’t very close.”

She was right, these people she called friends all had their own stories that would peak many people's interests but Jake thought Y/N's life was no less profound or fascinating compared to anyone else's.

From the many stories her parents had indulged him in whenever he went to her house, he learned that she had always been independent in many things. Sure, she craved intimacy and codependency, but once she made a decision, it was final. At the ripe beginnings of her teenage years, she decided to move out of her parents' house to pursue an education in New York and live with her grandparents. To this date, no one understood how she came to this decision but she found herself moving from China to the States when she turned fourteen. She left behind her parents and friends and a country she had lived in for thirteen years to start anew and if she was asked if she regretted her decision, she would respond by saying she never had regrets in her life, not even decisions that lead to the biggest of heartbreaks.

At fifteen, a year after her parents had moved to the States to be with her, Y/N had easily learnt the ropes of moving around town on her own. She’d roam the streets alone, occasionally with a friend or two if she was allowed. She had no problem going places alone or making decisions on her own but when it came to meeting someone new, suddenly she was the most sheepish girl to exist. Her walls were easy to break down but that was a trait of hers she couldn't seem to mend.

At seventeen, when she and Sam had separated, Y/N started making and sending in her portfolios to various modelling agents and she didn't mention it to anyone until she was sure that she had a job secured. Her parents were infuriated by her antics, calling her careless, naive and various other adjectives that could describe a child to be a rotten egg. Her father, a man whose childhood was woven of orthodoxy morals, had spent over a month attempting to put a wall between her and her dreams of showing up on the cover page of a magazine or walking a runway. Her relationship with her parents had diminished until eventually, they came around when she started earning money and could essentially afford her basic needs.

Though her parents wouldn't admit to anyone that they only allowed their daughter to continue thriving in an industry they were so revolted by because of her large success in making money, Y/N was quick to point out that detail to Jake when she had the chance. She didn't feign any resentment towards her parents, but it wasn't as though she had a relationship with them in the first place. Since she was young, she depended on herself or whatever friends she had at the time. Her parents only saw her as a trophy to show off to the rest of the world, to boast about how well they raised her and to display her success via framed pictures and medals over the fireplace. At the end of the day, she knew nothing of them, not even their favourite food.

Jake also came to realise the plethora of people she met throughout her young age, forming connections that would eventually wither away into phone calls once in a blue moon or random texts of 'hi, how you been?' That in itself made him wonder about the amount of knowledge she had in human behaviours and if it were her many experiences with different personalities that planted the seed of curiosity towards psychology and sociology in her.

She seemed to forget small details about herself, details that Jake deemed compelling. Such as the random and exceptional pieces of information she had in marine biology, occasionally indulging him in a lesson on the variety of jellyfish or the phenomenon of deep-sea gigantism. He noticed her love for sharks, especially whale sharks when she mentioned that one of her biggest goals in life was to fly to the Philippines and swim with one of them. Her knack for languages, a skill she acquired from her mother, was the most daunting. It was fascinating to listen as she switched between languages, from English to Chinese to Spanish and then back to English again. On top of that, there were a myriad number of other languages she could understand. It was that dexterity of hers that led Jake to coax her into learning a little bit of Korean. He was also drawn to her love for true crime, especially the gruesome and grotesque details of murders she seemed to always remember to bring up in designated conversations while indulging in her favourite drink- boba tea.

Her love for the drink was almost comical and much too distinct. She’d be appalled if any variation of boba tea was ordered- the original was always preferred; iced milk tea with an extra serving of tapioca pearls that she loved chewing on. Countless amounts of instances included Y/N ranting about the drink- something so simple yet personal to her because it was all she drank while growing up in Shanghai- saying that no tea shop could replicate the delicate flavours of tapioca pearls and chai milk tea other than this particular boba shop she always used to purchase from in China.

“Y/N, you’re not boring,” Jake lulled, his hand instinctively reaching for hers, which were perched between her thighs. “How could you call yourself boring?” the word rolled off his tongue as though it was foreign. Of the many adjectives available in the Cambridge Dictionary, boring would be the last word he’d use to describe the mess of a beauty sitting beside him.

Her hair was now completely covering any view he had of her face and her torso leaned forward. He felt her shudder, her hands shaking as she visibly choked in a sob. No matter how much she tried keeping her emotions straight and harbouring her thoughts in the bay, the buzz in her head caused a single teardrop to escape the rim of her eye and roll off her cheek, falling right onto Jake’s knuckle.

In the past five or so months of Jake getting to know Y/N, the number of times he’d seen her cry could be counted with his fingers. He had always known she was emotional and she had always known that she was sensitive and he knew for a fact that she cried more when she was alone, but never did she allow herself to fully break down in front of Jake and this moment would not count either. It was just a single tear and a few heavy breaths that came out of her, her eyes now bloodshot.

In a second, a day that they thought would have a happy ending, ended in Y/N questioning herself and becoming insecure in her friendship with Jake.

Y/N had always been level-headed. She was the girl most of her friends turned to when they needed advice or consolation of some form and she was always there with her arms wide open, giving them a slice of her love and wisdom- yes, wisdom. That was the only word Jake could gather in his head as he thought about the many times he went to her for some form of advice. It was as though she always knew what to say and what to do and she gave away her guidance in words put in their simplest and most nonchalant form- she made things sound easy. Her way around deciphering other people’s emotions and steering between the angles of the moral compass was something to look up to.

But she could never use that talent of hers for her good.

It was moments like these that reminded Jake that she was truly just a troubled kid who was fighting to stay afloat despite the rocks bound to her feet. No matter how much maturity and independence she showed, she was just a kid, only starting to learn how to manoeuvre the world of an eighteen-year-old. She held so much baggage, all of which she somehow carried by helping others instead of herself- by trying to fix others and give others a safe space instead of giving it to herself. She used that as her coping method again and again, like fixing a broken tape record over and over again until it couldn’t be saved anymore and Y/N had reached that point- a pathetic and plebeian point in her life.

And now there she was, projecting the trauma, fear and insecurities she acquired from a messy break-up onto Jake, someone she could easily call her best friend.

“I am boring,” she stifled her nose, her knee jerking up and down as a way to soothe her nerves. Jake’s hand shifted from her hands to her knee, exerting enough pressure to stop her habit of fidgeting for the time being.

“You’re everything but boring, Y/N,” he insisted again, his grip on the steering wheel tightening enough to make his knuckles turn the shade of a cloud. “You’re everything- I mean, you’re a goddamn model and a goddamn successful one, too. All at the age of eighteen… How could you call yourself boring?”

“I don’t know,” her statement followed another sharply inhaled breath and he started rubbing circles over her knee with his thumb. “Everyone in my life leaves at a point and so will you,” tucking her hair behind her ears, she focused her gaze on Jake’s hand and the way it covered the entire span of her knee and a little bit of her thigh. Small splatters of red painted his knuckles and she wasn’t sure how he trophied them but somehow, it gave his hands somewhat of a character. Her attempt to distract herself, though, didn’t work.

“I’m not gonna leave you,” he breathed and Y/N pulled her lip between her teeth, eyes darting from what she was previously concentrating on and the innocent yet sincere look on his face.

She didn’t respond to him, letting deja vu wash over her like a bittersweet memory that she would rather be carried away by the tides. Everyone says that, she thought, literally everyone. She could only offer him a blank stare, eyes looking past his shoulder and at the lack of traffic on the roads. In that week, it would be the first time she let herself think of Sam again and her memories with him played in her mind the way home movies played. They were filled with nostalgia, moments she knew would never come back to her because not only was she out of his life, but out of his mind as well. His contact number had disappeared in a sea of other texts and phone numbers and the last time either of them had tried contacting each other was almost a year ago.

It had been a year, and he still had a hold on her emotions.

Jake waited for a response from her but it was the lack of emotion in her eyes and absence of expression on her lips that made him realise. “You’re thinking of Sam, aren’t you?"

With a prompt nod, sadness and grief made their way into the irises of her eyes and her lips quivered downwards into a frown. He promised her many things, all of which were broken but the last thing she expected him to do was completely excuse himself from her life. The thought was so repetitive; it was exasperating.

Jake knew, verbatim, all the false reassurance Sam had given her over the months of their dating.

“I mean it, though” the promise in his voice almost made the frown on her face disappear. “Y/N, I know you’re scared. But please believe me… I’m not gonna leave you. You’re my best friend.”

At that, Y/N lifted her head, eyes widening and mouth gaping. “I am?” She questioned, almost sceptical of his statement despite the way he was eagerly nodding. Her mind wandered to Sunghoon, recalling the way Jake interacted with him and remembering the way he always spoke so highly of him, telling her that he had always been the person he went to for every minuscule problem in his life.

She wanted to question it but decided she had not enough energy to do so.

“You are. Just as I am yours, I promise.”

A part of her wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and rip her hair apart because Sam used to say the same thing to her. Just believe me, just trust me and you’ll be happy- she wished she could erase the memories of her somehow and do justice to the words Jake was uttering to her with so much candour and probity. If it weren’t for the cold of the night digging itself into the depths of her heart, his words would have sparked a campfire to thaw her downcast.

“I don’t know how to make you believe me, but please,” he affirmed. “You don’t need to be scared of losing me. I know Sam said the same shit but please believe me.”

Another moment of silence passed and it was when Y/N cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders that he realised that she was accepting his words. She nodded steadily, forcing her lips into a straight line as she gazed at him through her lashes, his hand sneaking its way back towards hers.

“Do you still not want me to meet your friends?”

A wet laugh escaped from her lips, her eyes softly closing shut as her solemn chuckles filled the heavy air inside the car. Jake smiled with her, the glint in his eyes returning as soon as her mood lifted.

“I’ll introduce them to you on graduation day.”

MUSIC WAS THE GREATEST invention on Earth, according to Y/N. Regardless of whether it was blasting in speakers or flowing between earphones, she could allow herself to drown in the world of wistful vocals and calculated melodies. It was mainly music that aided her through her depressive and suicidal episodes and it was music that caressed her emotions as she fought to bring all the pieces of her personality together. She found that singing along to the songs she found most catchy and listening to them in the car with her friends- moments which only occurred once in a blue moon with her- was the most entertaining. And she also found that listening to orchestral music while studying, walking alone in public or on those rare times she had to take the New York Subway made her feel as though she were in another world, completely separated from everyone else’s opinions and judgements. It was the ultimate form of distraction.

As she sat somewhere in a crowd of students, some classmates of hers she couldn’t even recognise or name, it was the pop music playlist that Maya played through the speakers of the auditorium field that calmed her nerves and distracted her from everyone’s judgement. Though the songs didn’t quite match what a normal graduation ceremony was expected to entail, they brought hearty smiles to everyone’s faces and Y/N sang along with animated hand gestures along with Sheila. People were staring, eyeing their antics as if they were crazy but for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t care. It was the last day of school and the thought of everyone worrying about college while she, on the other hand, would delve deeper into her modelling career brought her pride and boosted her ego.

In the row in front of her sat Sam, his dark curls struggling to stay hidden under his graduation cap. The smile on his face brought a sickening churn to her stomach but it left as soon as her gaze landed on his best friend, sitting beside him and commenting on how boring the decorations were and how the entire event would have panned out much better if he and Sam planned it. Sam nodded enthusiastically at him, his cap almost falling off his head. Y/N rolled her eyes at the interaction that seemed all too familiar; all too predictable.

Her family was seated somewhere in the back amongst the other parents and family members that were attending. Jake sat with them, a camera in his hands ready to capture the moment Y/N would appear on stage, accepting her graduation certificate and shaking hands with the principal. Hues of purple and blue decorated the stage, the school principal- whom Y/N spoke concerningly low of- holding a mic and slowly speaking out a speech of gratitude towards the students, staff and education system, briefly speaking of how proud she was of her students.

Y/N fixed the ends of her graduation gown, its material matching the colours of the decorative balloons, streamers and banners. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as her eyes scanned the premises, vast four walls seemingly pulling closer and closer by the minute and she knew that this would be the last time she would ever sit in the auditorium. It would be the last time she would sit in the same room as the rest of her classmates and it would be the last time she saw the face of her insufferable principal. She remembered all the memories she made there- the shit-show of a performance her drama club put on for Shakespeare’s As You Like It, the many games of tag she played with her friends, the limited number of badminton games she played with Sam and the gut-wrenching exam papers she wrote in this very auditorium. She would never relive those memories again, all of them confined in the walls of this school- the same walls other students would make their own memories and history within. It was all too daunting at that moment but her attention was peeled away as the student body president was called on stage to give his speech.

The next few hours played out like a montage, each student walking up the stage and accepting their certificates with toothy smiles that couldn’t be differentiated between genuine and fake. Amongst the many waves of emotions- happiness, grief, excitement, nostalgia, dread, and so much more- pop music was replaced by an orchestra of violin and harp melodies. Flower petals of pink, white and purple were thrown in the air, followed by their graduation caps as their hollers reached a crescendo. Everyone was taking pictures, some with their friend groups and others in front of the huge banner that read CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 22’ and Y/N found herself amongst her classmates, hugging everyone and exchanging goodbyes. She wondered if they were genuine when they asked her to stay in touch and she wondered if they meant when they said they would miss her- because she knew she would put everyone she knew from high school behind and never look back. She knew whatever promises she made wouldn’t be kept and she assumed the same went for everyone else.

It was announced that the parents and students were expected to escort themselves to the football field and Y/N pushed her way through the crowd until she saw her parents, greeting them with a wide smile. She waved her rolled-up certificate above her head, almost as if she were saying look, I barely studied and graduated high school with flying colours! It was the same expression a boy would have while swinging on a swing and saying look mom, I can fly and it was the same expression a girl would have while dressing up and saying daddy, I look like a princess. Jake hugged her, whispering in her ear about how proud he was. He showed her the pictures he took of her while walking to the field, gripping the averagely-sized Canon camera her family had been using since she could remember, one that they bought while they were still in China.

There were designated round tables laid out around the field; Y/N and her family were quick to find their seats. As discussions about her future flowed through them, all Y/N could think about was that she would finally be free of exams and textbooks for a few more months, and maybe years until she decides to go to college.

“What do you plan on studying if you do end up going to college, then?” Her mother asked, intently looking at her daughter.

“Probably psychology,” Y/N nodded, the smile that entered her lips as she accepted her high school diploma never leaving.

Her parents didn’t know when the last time it was that they saw her smiling for such an extended period of time. They wondered if it was because she was proud of herself for doing so well in high school, garnering more recommendation letters than most students and scoring well in her final exams all the while juggling her squeaky-clean modelling career. From the outside, it looked like success was handed to her on a silver plate and a huge part of Y/N thought the same. There were students that were jealous of her and students that insisted that her recommendation letters were only written for her because she was famous- which, in all honesty, could have been true. But perhaps, that day, Jake was the only one that knew her happiness stemmed from the fact that she would never have to step foot into this school again and she would never have to see the faces of those who wronged her.

“Isn’t it better to study something worthwhile?” Her father offered. “Perhaps MBA?”

“Who said psychology wasn’t worthwhile?” Y/N let out an animated gasp, widening her eyes out of a sheer necessity to make a joke and her mother and Jake laughed.

Jake patted her back, fingers lingering on the smooth fabric of her graduation gown. “Whatever it is, it’s better to go to college in case you decide not to pursue modelling anymore.” His gaze lingered on her smile for a few minutes, strands of his hair falling onto his forehead and touching his lashes.

He had a point. Y/N's goal was never to come to the status she was at, thinking that modelling for local clothes shops or irrelevant runways would be enough. But in the past few months, she’d been showing up on the covers of famous magazines and Tony was telling her how she could be potentially booked for the next runway show displaying the upcoming designs of Supriya Lele, a designer whom tabloids described as bold and vibrant, mixing her heritage of Indian fashion with the modern preference. If there was one thing Y/N knew about herself, it was that her interests spanned, varied and changed throughout her life. When she was young, her dream was to become a geologist, fascinated by the world of minerals and precious stones she saw her mother wear on her neck and ears. Now, at eighteen, though she had confirmed that she would pursue psychology if she ever went to college, she also knew that pieces of her wanted to dwell deeper into the oceans of knowledge marine biology could offer her or the talents of what a major in English could epitomise in her. Who was to say that she wouldn’t lose interest in modelling?

“I promised I’d introduce you to my friends, didn’t I?” Y/N glanced towards Jake, voice deafening into a whisper as her parents drawled into their own conversation. Jake nodded with a little amount of glee, allowing her to clasp his hand and drag him away to various different tables.

The next half hour or so was filled with greetings and small talk and awkward confrontations from her friends. Jake found that there was a formula to introducing himself to each and every one of your friends. It would always start with a handshake and exaggerated smiles from both parties, followed by Y/N telling them his name and this is the guy I told you about. Then followed the basic questions of his age and where he was from and admiring his Korean heritage, some even being dumb enough to ask him if he knew any kpop stars personally. He had to fight off the urge to play tricks and make jokes and say “Oh yeah, I’m quite close with Stray Kids’ Hyunjin and BTS’ Taehyung.” Some even asked him to speak in Korean. Once Y/N felt that the conversation was fizzling away, she would drag him away to the next friend and hope that the exchange would be more engaging than the last.

It was like speed dating- but worse.

There were a few things Jake learned in between meeting her friends and subtly getting to know them. One was that apart from Sheila, no one else knew much about Y/N- not what she did on a daily basis, her interests or what was going on in her life, excluding what the media had to offer about her career. She knew more about them than vice versa. He learned that she only allowed people to see what she wanted them to see, everything tucked away under layers and layers of what could only be called distractions to what really comprised her. The second was that to whoever she guided him to, she would always avoid walking past Sam, always sucking in a breath when she did come too close to him or caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. But her smile never faltered and her voice never wavered as she continued speaking and willing herself to look in any direction but towards her ex. The third was that he didn’t see Y/N wearing that mask of hers, the one which caused her to walk so confidently and her eyes to be judgemental. Instead, on school grounds, amongst people that partially watched her grow up, she was almost childlike, her strut juvenile as it had a bounce to it and her laugh ringing louder than a school bell while she stood with those she claimed she trusted most.

Y/N dragged him towards Veronica, promising that she was the last person he had to meet and he followed her with a sigh. Veronica was headstrong, sass displayed in her mannerisms and body language and it paired with her innocent smiles and profound facial expressions, she could either be described as dangerous or laughable. Jake had asked what her plans were after graduation and though he already knew the answer through Y/N, he still listened to her blabber about NASA and her dilemma of choosing between two prestigious colleges.

“My parents think I should go to Cornell but I prefer…”

Her voice blew away with the passing wind, gaze focusing past Y/N’s shoulder with a slightly gaped mouth and quivering lips, but her expression straightened faster than it had faltered. The air visibly shifted as the group of three acknowledged Sam walking towards them, lips pursed in a thin line while waving his hand in the air. Y/N stiffened her arms, hands balling into fists as she sucked in a breath and forced out a smile and Veronica happily greeted him. The boy's steps were cautious, looking between Veronica, Y/N and Jake as he approached them. Jake followed every step he took, eyes sharpening and jaw clenching with a sudden surge of wrath.

The way Y/N shuffled closer to Jake didn’t go unnoticed by anyone and it was her fingers brushing over his bicep that made him take a deep breath and unclench his jaw, keeping his anger in control but God forbid Sam said or made her feel dolorous- the day wouldn’t end well.

“What’s up, guys?” Sam grinned forcibly, his hand resting on the table as he turned towards Veronica. “You’re coming for dinner with us later, right?”

Veronica nodded, shifting her head towards Y/N almost in a panicked manner. “Are you-”

“Arnold told me I could join, but I’d rather not,” Y/N grit her teeth, eyes boring a hole into Veronica and she almost flinched back, coaxing an expression of discomfort.

“Why?” Veronica cocked her head.

“Rather celebrate with Jake.”

“Who?” Sam’s brows pulled together, his gaze finally falling on Y/N. He looked her up and down, almost as though he was judging her in some way. Then, he looked at Jake, his expression contorting into realisation. His brows raised and said, “Oh, you’re Jake?” In an almost excited manner before stretching his hand in front of himself.

Jake didn’t reciprocate, moving to cross his arms instead and continue glaring at the boy, wondering what it was about him that made Y/N fall head over heels for him; what it was that caused such immense attachment with someone that only had to offer an attitude and arrogance. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of consideration within him, emitting only narcissism and self-gratification about him. Perhaps there was a time when he treated Y/N as though she was the most important thing in the world, but what could guarantee the authenticity of his actions? Especially knowing that he managed to get into another relationship within two weeks of their breakup, there was no way Jake would believe that the boy with curly hair and careless eyes that stood in front of him could take care of Y/N the way he did.

“Okay,” Sam trailed off, retrieving his arm and clasping his hands together to wave off the tension building amongst them. “What plans do you have then?” His gaze returned to Y/N, or rather, his gaze hovered amongst the surroundings around her but his voice was directed to her regardless.

Before Y/N even had a chance to put the words and letters in her head to form a response, Jake had already let out a scoff, glaring daggers in Sam’s direction. “It’s none of your business,” he seethed and everyone standing around the tables snapped their heads towards him in shock.

In all the months Y/N had spent time with Jake, this would be the first time she understood what the media and tabloids meant when they reported lowly on his personality. She realised what they recognised as attitude was, in reality, anger and she realised that he would rather be compliant to those that showed interest in him rather than expect a personal gain out of him for themselves. Speaking with reporters and paparazzi would bring out the worst in him, yet he was the most respectful and well-raised man around the people he worked alongside- the photographers, designers and many other models he worked with all had nothing but compliments to shower over his personality. She understood why different groups of people had different opinions and judgements concerning him.

“Dude, I was just trying to be nice,” Sam’s hands raised in defence, taking a step back as he tittered. His head tilted to the side, eyes widening as he saw him taking a step forward. Y/N did nothing to stop him, holding herself back and biting her lips, watching as if she wanted a scene to unfold.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?”

If it weren’t for Veronica’s cough and warning of teachers watching, perhaps Jake would have held Sam by his collar and punched his jaw. The girl waved him off, nudging his shoulder and pushing him back, almost begging him to go away before all the parents got themselves involved. The three students could almost sense the watchful eyes of their principal and counsellor and with the fear of getting in trouble on graduation day, especially when his parents were on school grounds, Sam walked away. His strides slow with his head hanging down, he made his way towards a group of few boys and girls sitting on the bleachers, phones raised in the air as they took pictures. It had always been a trait of his, to be scared of getting into trouble with the teachers. It was that very trait of his that had nettled Y/N to her bones, wondering why he cared so much because she, as a girl with parents that were stricter than most, couldn’t give much thought to them.

Veronica had excused herself, jogging towards the same group Sam found himself sitting in between. Y/N tugged at the sleeve of Jake’s shirt, wary eyes scanning over his face- his face that still housed an expression of fury and indignation. “We should go back to our table,” he heard her say and through his fit of white rage, he nodded and stomped to where her parents were.

“You were never part of that friend group?” Jake nodded towards where Veronica and Sam were, eyeing their group’s antics and deeming them as annoying only within a few seconds.

“Nope,” Y/N shook her head, pursing her lips as she looped her arm with his.

“They seem cringe,” he offered her a grin, lips tugging upwards ever so slightly as the anger in him slowly diminished at the sight of her smiling back at him. “Not worth it.”

“Agreed.”

Sheila left her parents and brothers at her table, bolting towards Y/N as though she had just been attacked. Even with the solemn smile Y/N assured her with, she still refused to leave her side and stayed chit-chatting with her for the rest of the ceremony, leaving Jake to converse with her parents. The fleeting incident of rage was forgotten, as far as Y/N was concerned. For a little while, just for a little while, she could enjoy the moment; a glass of watermelon juice in her hand, a nostalgic conversation shared with her best friend, the late summer breeze wafting the scent of freshly cut grass towards them as their graduation gowns blew with the wind, their hair tangling up. They were probably some of the last few people left on the field. People were already starting to clean the premises of discarded debris and the afternoon lurked closer with the decreasing temperature.

“Can we get something to eat?” Sheila asked, shielding the sun from her face with a hand over her head. “People are leaving now anyway.”

Y/N and Sheila found themselves peeking out of the sunroof of Jake”s car, their arms thrusting in the air in triumph and wind blowing their hair into a mess, screaming words of joy. Jake was driving towards a destination Sheila had requested. Take me to one of the restaurants the paparazzi always catch you at, and with a chuckle from the other two, they were off. This led to an afternoon of peace- which seemed to be what Jake, or anyone, felt under the shade of Y/N’s company- while sitting at a corner booth of an Italian restaurant that the pair had visited more than a couple of times and Sheila was thrilled.

Y/N and Jake discovered the restaurant on a night with stormy weather and were too tired to keep driving after a day spent at the gym and practising walking a runway. With the unfortunate luck of not having an umbrella, Jake held up his grey trench coat to cover their heads and ran across the street before they were drenched enough to catch any sickness. In front of them stood the cosy Italian cuisine restaurant which could easily be mistaken for a bar. It had empty bottles of beer strung with fairy lights across its roof and sets of white chairs and tables lining the ins and out of its small dimensions, a huge masonry oven greeting every customer as they walked it. The pair deemed the eatery as one of New York City’s many hidden gems and they were sure Sheila would feel the same once she tasted their Tortellini.

The afternoon consisted of the two girls taking many pictures while Jake joked about them, Sheila moaning about how sumptuous the food tasted, sharing jokes and riddles than made their stomachs clench with laughter and discussions on the many anecdotes and incidents that would go down in their high school’s history. Y/N and Sheila had sat there and broke down how and why their school was both the most magical yet hysterical and deplorable and it was a speech Jake had heard from Y/N many times but as she explained it with her best friend, he could almost see the auras of stress and hatred she held seeping out of her.

In that hour, he heard the stories of how the two girls became friends and how they drifted from people they thought would be in their lives forever. They told him about how there was once a time when their lives in school were so lively that they documented their days in books and how those interludes turned into a living hell. Yet, what made Jake happy was that at least they had each other to lean on, a familiar face to look for amongst a crown of inevitable strangers.

“You know, before this bitch become a hotshot model, we planned on going to the same university and everything,” Sheila wrapped her arms around Y/N’s shoulders and pulled her towards her until their cheeks touched.

Y/N’s smile turned into a toothy grin, her nose scrunching under Jake’s surprised gaze. This was surely something she hadn’t mentioned before and he wondered if wanting to know someone down to the atoms of their existence was even possible. No, he wasn’t mad, nor was he unhappy that there was such a mundane piece of information about her that he didn’t know of, but he wondered just how many plans she made in her life that could never fall through- how many plans in his life that never fell through. He supposed that was what life could be defined as; the things that were and the things that could have been; dreams, hopes and expectations crushed by reality from diamond to dust.

But was the dust really that bad? He ended up becoming a model, after all, one of the best up-and-coming models. Somewhere along the process, he met Y/N and in his opinion, there wasn’t much else he could ask for apart from hoping that whatever it was that he felt for her, she felt the same way. He was hoping she would reciprocate the longing stares and hope-filled compliments and he was hoping that someday, she would feel the warmth and serenity he felt around her. As he looked at her from across the table, his fork raised to fill his mouth with another piece of pasta, Y/N was holding her phone and leaning into Sheila’s side, laughing about some meme they could relate to and in that moment, he thought he could ask for nothing more than her hand for the rest of his life.

“It’s getting late, aren’t you supposed to be home soon?” Y/N piped, licking the white sauce of her carbonara off her lips and holding Sheila’s hand tighter, almost afraid to let go. But she would never say it out loud, willing herself to let another good day come to an end.

Sheila nodded, offering Y/N a hesitant smile. “Can’t we just stay for a little longer?” She whined.

Y/N chuckled, assuming that Sheila felt the same as she did at that moment. “You’re acting like we’re never gonna see each other again.”

“Who knows when we’re gonna meet again!”

“Your university isn’t that far away. We can literally meet up whenever we want.”

With the assurance and final hugs of we’re not in high school anymore, they dropped Sheila off at her house.

Y/N would spend the night at Jake’s apartment as an extended celebration of her graduation. Sunghoon and Jay showed up, regretful of the fact that they came bearing excuses from those who couldn’t arrive. Heeseung had an exam to prepare for, so risking a night drinking wouldn’t be responsible for him. Sunoo was in the middle of writing his college exams, so with all the stress piling on his shoulders all day, he started passing out early and having longer nights of sleep- which sounded like heaven to them. Riki and Jungwon were on a school field trip to Boston to venture and explore the many museums and art galleries it housed- it was a humanities trip.

Jay brought Y/N a gift of a fancy bottle of wine, one from the eighties that he had taken from his dad’s wine cellar. Sunghoon had supplied an almost unlimited supply of cans of beer and it was on those that he, Jay and Jake indulged in and Y/N refused to drink alcohol before she hit legal age.

It rained that night, a soft drizzle of rain turning into droplets of water hitting the vast windows of Jake’s apartment as thunder started rumbling. The entire balcony was soaked, as was the growing plant of Devil’s Ivy- Y/N had forced him to buy it around two weeks ago, insisting that he start a collection of plants on his balcony and the Devil’s Ivy would be the first addition. He would let her pick the next plant to buy and the one after that and the one after that because something about seeing her decorating his apartment brought immense pleasure to him.

The four of them played various board games that night; Snakes and Ladders, Pictionary and even Monopoly. At one point, they were caught up in a screaming match while arguing about the rules of UNO which slowly transitioned into a messy game of dumb charades. Somewhere between Jake drawing a terrible rendition of a wolf in a tutu and sometime past midnight, Sunghoon had gotten shamelessly drunk and Jake had gotten tipsy, but he quickly sobered up with a single cup of coffee. Y/N and Jay were left to take care of Sunghoon while Jake lay beside him in bed, a massive headache eating away at his skull and banging against his temples.

Y/N knew Sunghoon as the quiet, shy and skittish boy everyone would admire from afar and his habit of drinking wasn’t exactly a surprise but seeing him laid in bed, pushing and kicking his blanket away while babbling incoherent strings of words brought out a whole new perspective of him. It was an endless cycle of Jay covering his frame with a blanket, only for it to be flung off his body and Y/N was trying to talk the boy down with words that, in the end, meant nothing. Sunghoon blabbered about how his love life was so dry lately and how none of his relationships could last, even those that seemed perfect with women that he thought would be the love of his life. Though normally, it was a sight Y/N would laugh at, at that moment, she found herself empathising with him and her expression was glitching, faltering off her face.

“You know how moles have meanings?” Sunghoon babbled, slapping his hand onto his pale forehead.

“Yeah,” Jay sighed, giving up on the blanket and kneeling on the side of the bed. He rested his elbows on the mattress, hands holding his chin up.

“So, I have a mole on my right pinky toe,” he started and Y/N nodded as if she were amused. Jay hummed along to his words as if he were interested. “One day I was bored and I decided to google the meaning. Guess what it said?”

“What?” Jay asked.

“I said guess!”

With another sigh, Jay swallowed and made his best guess. “That you’ll get fortunate in life?”

“No!” Sunghoon flailed his arms in the air, then huffed as he fisted the ends of the blanket that was resting at his hips. “Google said that I’ll always face issues in my love life and marital life,” he frowned in an almost child-like manner, tilting his head towards Jay as though he was asking for pity. “So I’m basically never going to find true love.”

“‘Hoon,” Jay clicked his tongue. “Don’t believe what the internet says and just sleep will you?” He brought the blanket up to his chin again, only for it to be strewn across the room.

This time, Sunghoon yelled curses in Korean.

Y/N found herself chuckling, hiding her laugh behind her hand and Jay looked over his shoulder with eyes squinting to slits. She hurried out a few apologies, raising her arms in defence and taking a few steps back. Jay didn’t know how many times he sighed that night but if he had to be grateful for anything, it was Jake’s slumber and Y/N’s patience to deal with drunk people.

“You should try sleeping, Y/N,” he offered, noticing her eyelids fluttering shut every few minutes. “You’ve had a long day.”

“It’s alright,” she walked backwards until she reached the giant bean bag sitting at the corner of the room, beside the balcony. Her hands rested behind her head, her legs crossing as she smirked at Jay. “I’ll stay awake until Sunghoon and you fall asleep.”

Jay grinned. “Alright, hotshot.”

Her promise was broken because within five minutes, she had drifted asleep while curled up on the soft, cloudy bean bag.

It was due to a loud crack of thunder that Jake sprung out of bed, cold sweat trickling down the side of his face and his chest heaved with a lack of breath. He had just woken up from a dream, one where he was back at Y/N’s high school again and had fulfilled his urge to beat Sam to a pulp. In this dream, Y/N was crying in Sheila’s shoulder, crying about how she was scared she would never love another or another would never love her and then he was holding Sam by the collar, yelling profanities at him- profanities that begged why he broke a beautiful soul, why he tore the livelihood of a girl with so much potential for life. Just as Jake was about to confess his love for her, he woke up. It was a terrible, nerve-wracking dream.

Another bolt of thunder let him blink, his head turning to look around the room. Sunghoon snored beside him, his legs strewn in an awkward yet seemingly comfortable manner. Jay was asleep on a chair beside Sunghoon, holding a pillow close to his chest as his head nodded onto his shoulder. Y/N was sleeping on his beloved bean bag, one that she had grown fond of throughout the many times she had visited his apartment. She was curled up, hugging her knees to her chest and leaning her head onto the glass of the balcony window. Her brows were furrowed, though, as if she were caught up in a dream- her lips occasionally twitched. Jake didn’t think much of it and slipped out of his bed, ignoring the way Sunghoon mumbled nonsense in his sleep.

Jake padded towards his kitchen, preparing to make himself ramen as a midnight snack. He added spam and an egg and even added a slice of cheese to it because he knew Y/N liked her ramen that way and he also knew she always got happy when he ate something she liked. His ramen was accompanied by a cup of tea, holding a mug and a ramen bowl in either hand as he walked back to his room and set his food beside the bean bag Y/N was nuzzled in. He brought her a blanket, draping it over a frame and smiling as she pulled it closer to her with a hum- her brows unfurrowed. He pondered for a while, eyes never leaving her now peaceful state with crossed arms and debating what to do next until he was sleepy again.

He didn’t know what exactly he was thinking but he knew he was thinking about Y/N. She was a topic that occupied the many nooks and crannies of his brain for many months and he wasn’t complaining. He was just growing impatient now, praying harder and harder every day that someday, she would be his; that someday, he could call her his own. As he kneeled down to reach her level, taking her nimble hand in his, he leaned toward her forehead to plant a feather-like kiss. His lips stayed on her skin, a sensation so soft yet so warm it made him feel fuzzy and he finally understood what the poets meant with their word choice. It would be the first time he kissed her in any form and he decided he liked it- the feeling of her skin on his lips. And he decided he would do it more often and form it a habit.

Y/N had habits of her own to project on Jake. She refused to finish any chocolate she ate without asking if Jake wanted any and she always wished him a good morning and good night no matter the circumstances. Wherever she went without him, she’d buy him a bracelet or any small trinket as a souvenir. She had gone to a few beaches with her family for vacation and she brought him back sea shells- Jake still had everything she ever gave him, tucked away in a drawer or scattered across his shelves. Jake, out of love, had a few habits of his own like always calling her or sending her a few texts every day, even on days that they were too busy for themselves. Whenever he saw a vibrant flower, he would pluck it and slide it in her hair, behind her ear. He would never watch a movie or show without asking if she wanted to watch it with him because he knew how much she liked watching things with other people- and her answer was usually always yes. Jake always bought her rings or bracelets or necklaces- some type of jewellery- whenever he found the chance because her love for them was uncanny. One could never find Y/N Y/L/N without rings or bracelets on her hand and earrings dangling on her ears.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised his friendship with her sounded like what she described her and Sam used to be but a huge part of Jake couldn’t care. Because now, she didn’t wish for Sam back and she gave Jake what she couldn’t give anyone else and he was giving her what she didn’t get but craved and deserved. Consistency.

Anyone that loves you is gonna take care of you this way, Y/N. Anyone that loves you is gonna treat you the way he used to. There was nothing special about that. Jake was special because he refused to leave. No matter how much she hurt him and no matter how much he lost hope in finding requited love in her, he would never leave and he would never change.

As thunder decreased, he slid into the leftover space on the bean bag, draping the little amount of blanket left on his lap. With one hand holding his tea and the other his phone, he smiled to himself, feeling the warmth of her arm on his. He would stay in that position until he drifted asleep, his head leaning on her shoulder and arms intertwined.

WITHIN TWO WEEKS OF her graduation, Y/N moved out of her parents' house. She bought an apartment of her own, one that was closer to Jake’s apartment and Sheila’s university. With extensive help from Jay, whose dad had connections with house brokers and Tony, who bargained his way to a cheap amount, Y/N had managed to buy an apartment with her savings and a little more money from her parents. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large enough kitchen to fit three people. But most important of all was her balcony. Her huge balcony, which could fit an entire sofa set on its own, was her favourite aspect of her new home and she already knew she would spend most of her free time there.

She decided to paint her apartment on her own, deeming appointing painters from outside would be too expensive. Some days, she would paint alone and other days, Jake would be there to help, or Sheila or her parents. She didn’t let anyone else even know she had an apartment of her own, cutting off all contact with everyone from high school. Jake’s friends would come over sometimes too, bringing housewarming gifts in the form of new bed sheets, throw pillows or paintings found in flea markets. In about a month, her apartment would be ready, fully painted and furnished, decorated in a manner that fulfilled her dreams of having her own place to live.

The walls were painted a dark shade of brown, a shade so dark that it would be impossible to tell its colour unless the morning rays of sunshine hit the paint. The kitchen, on the other hand, stayed dull ivory and her average-sized fridge would always be stocked with drinks and cake, along with her favourite vegetables to cook. Her pantry was always filled with snacks and fruits, not because she would have guests around all the time but because she had a habit of eating when bored or stressed. She made a hobby of collecting different flavours of pop tarts and cereals and Jake even made fun of her for it.

The first few days of living alone were daunting. There were nights when Jake or her parents couldn’t stay over because they were busy or were too tired to drive and there were nights when she couldn’t even sleep. Y/N over thought a lot. Being alone didn’t do her any good but one day, Sheila called her in the middle of the night to check up on her and with that conversation, she knew that she could do it. She knew that being entirely independent of then on wouldn’t be an issue. Jake was half an hour away from her house and Sheila’s dorm was forty-five minutes away. Tony would regularly spend time with her while she worked and sometimes when she got back home, Jake would be sitting on her couch with two bowls of ramen, waiting for her company.

Life got better as she settled in. She wished life would stay as simple as this forever- her, her parents, a couple of friends and a well-paying job.

She had decorated her balcony with a few cushioned chairs and a swing, potted vine plants in the opposite corner. Sitting on the swing and reading became her favourite pass time when she was home alone. She would have her laptop with her sometimes, either watching something while sipping coffee or writing the next preposterous story she conjured up. She let the bustle of New York become the background music to her life and watched the sun set and rise sometimes and it quickly became a lifestyle. Jake would be with her sometimes, leaning against the railings and watching the moon rise and fall with her. Sometimes they would be talking, sometimes they stood in complete silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

Riki and Jungwon visited her apartment a lot. Their dancing and karate classes were ten minutes away from where she lived and they would walk over to her apartment. They usually took naps to recharge before going back home and starting their school work. Other times, they would eat whatever food Y/N would graciously prepare for them. If they were feeling energetic, they’d ramble about their days, and tell her the most mundane things that happened and Y/N would listen to them like she were their guardian angel and she listened with a bright smile on her face and no complaints. Heeseung would pick them up to take home but other times it would be Jay, Sunghoon or Sunoo. It was rare that Jake was asked to pick them up and drop them home- he was only called in emergencies.

Once Y/N finally bought a car, she was the one dropping the kids home. She had to save up for a few more months but she bought a car and her life would be complete once she had enough money to buy a bike. She didn’t need Tony to pick her up for errands anymore and that brought her to the reality of becoming a full-fledged independent adult. It wasn’t the fact that she had to buy groceries alone, sleep alone and manage her schedule herself, shower and brush her teeth without her parents having to pester her for it- no, she realised she was growing up when Tony no longer had to pick her up anymore. Because she had a car and now she knew why everyone was furious over gas prices increasing and understood the frustration of traffic.

Suddenly, she was just a normal person with no baggage from failed relationships and drifted friendships. She was simply an adult with issues about gas and water bills and figuring out what to cook for dinner, all the while making ample amounts of money.

She felt normal. She felt great.

Going on late-night drives became another one of her acquired habits, easing into her nightly routines on times she couldn’t fall asleep. She would water her plants, close all the windows, prepare the ingredients of what she wanted for breakfast and respond to whatever emails Tony forwarded to her before mounting in her car and driving off into an abyss of lights, noise, a blanket of stars and a carpet of tar. That night would be no different, knuckles curling around the familiar steering wheel and she found herself on the highway amongst other cars and trucks and a few rare sightings of bike riders. She was smiling, laughing even as she sang along to the radio and enjoyed her own company. For the first time in a long time, she was able to enjoy doing things on her own and laugh on her own and she prayed to God nothing could take that away from her again. She was happy while reading and annotating her books alone, eating alone, watching shows and movies alone, watching the sunset alone and now, she was happy while driving and singing One Direction alone.

Though she was independent and could make reckless decisions, she concluded that driving out of town at an ungodly hour would be a trip uncalled for so she was on her way back home and sitting in the passenger's seat was a big box of chocolate cake she picked up in the only bakery open past midnight. She was stuck at a red light, humming her way through the sixty-second count down and nodding her head to the beat of whatever song played on the radio. She was living on a plane of oblivion until she opened her eyes and looked around the rest of the cars and the rose-coloured glasses slipped right off her view.

Beside hers was a matte black car and in it sat Sam, a grin on his face as he glanced at the girl sitting beside him, his girlfriend- the girl he told Y/N not to worry about.

Suddenly, the world around her came crashing in the form of stiffened bones and pressure beating against her skull. Her body was shaking but she couldn’t move and her hands were stuck to the steering wheel, a gulp tearing down her throat. She felt, to put it simply, awful and she wished she could forget about traffic rules and drive off but she couldn’t and she convinced herself that they were clueless about her presence beside them.

His girlfriend had a ring on her finger and they were kissing while holding hands. They were happy and they were in love and a quick check on Instagram confirmed that they were engaged. Y/N didn’t know how she ended up in front of Jake’s apartment but she was standing there with messy hair and in desperate need to fall into her definition of a perfect limbo again, like she was in only thirty minutes ago.

When Jake heard his doorbell ring, he knew exactly who was standing on the other side but he was never expecting the sudden visit. It was past midnight, he was half asleep and he had an early appointment with an editor in the morning but none of that mattered when his assumption was confirmed once he looked through the peephole. He was still in his sweatpants, a sweaty shirt covering his torso and flattened hair covering his forehead and though she had seen him in states much worse before, a wave of consciousness still took over him and he debated changing before answering the door but then it could be too late and he didn’t want her running off into the night.

He had terrible breath and his eyes could barely stay open due to his sore eyelids but he opened the door anyway and Y/N stood in front of him in all her glory. Her hair was messier than his, strands falling on the sides of her face in soft curls and the rest reaching her waist in waves that reminded him of a messy day at the beach. He knew her natural hair was his favourite style on her but it was the last thing he could focus on when he noticed the pain in her starry eyes. It was a kind of pain he had never seen on her before, it was a kind of pain that made him think she could die of heartbreak anytime soon. She chewed on her lips intensely and her gaze darted around everywhere until it landed on him, skin paled into the glow of a ghost.

“Jake,” she breathed and she sounded as though a shard of glass had pierced through her heart. “They’re engaged.”

“What?” His eyes could finally widen, following her as she walked through his apartment and into his room.

“What?” She exclaimed and her hands were in her hair, gripping the roots as her keys dangled off her index.

Jake stepped towards her, cautious hands in front of him as he attempted to wrap his arms around her. “Y/N-”

“It hurts!” She yelled, flinging the keys across the room and a crack echoed off the walls of his bedroom- it was either a hole in his wall or the break of her car keys.

In all the time Jake knew Y/N, it would be the first time she heard her yell until her voice shrilled. It was the first time he had ever seen her throw something- break something- in an attempt to ease her anger and pain. Since he had known her, she was always true to her belief in working through anger in the form of words rather than violence. The gym or sports was a healthy option she advised but breaking household items and punching other people was something she frowned upon. So, he was surprised when she didn’t stop him from taking another step toward Sam on graduation day, fully aware that he would have punched him if it weren’t for Veronica pushing them apart. And he was surprised now, that Y/N was gripping the roots of her hair and gritting between her teeth, her car keys laying broken in the corner of his bedroom.

The next ten minutes was a montage of her throwing hands and shoving him away as he clasped his arms around her frame. He didn’t know how, but they ended up on the floor, Y/N curled into his chest as she sobbed about how clueless she was about her emotions. She sobbed about how she wished she were a different person and she sobbed about everything she couldn't grieve over in ten minutes and Jake listened to it all while stroking her hair, shedding a few tears of his own as his lips buried in her hair. They didn’t move, simply stayed there as a permanent kiss, shuddering every time she did. And somehow, he carried her to his bed, seating her on the edge of the mattress and he kneeled in front of her while holding her hands in his palms- just the way he let her hold his heart in her palms without her even knowing it.

“I thought you were over him, Y/N,” he sighed, voice flowing in a broken whisper. His head tilted to the floor and he wet with pruned lips. Jake felt the tips of Y/N’s fingers brush over his hair, fixing its parting and nimbly trying to style it as a way of distraction.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” her voice was hoarse, having no other option but to speak lowly and her eyes were puffy. “He’s giving her what I’ve always wanted-”

“Getting engaged right after high school, that’s what you wanted?” He raised his brows, eyes almost judging the words that were slipping out of her mouth.

“No,” she whined, whipping off the stray tears off her cheek. “I wanted consistency, I wanted him to be true to his words and I wanted him to prioritise me but-”

“But he didn’t, Y/N, for fuck’s sake he didn’t,” Jake shifted to sit beside her, voice raising enough to make Y/N flinch. “What’s so special about him?”

“I don’t know, Jake,” she shook her head, sniffling her nose. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Maybe because he offered more to me than anyone in my life. Maybe it’s because I’m scared I’ll never find someone so fitting for me, someone who can read me. I’m scared I’m not capable of loving anyone else. I’m scared someone will never look at me and fall in love with me and I’m scared I’ll never be enough for someone. I’m scared I’m destined to die alone, Jake,” she heaved a breath. “I’m scared I’ll never be anyone's favourite person, I’m scared I’ll never be somebody’s number one. I’m scared I won’t find the person that’ll want to do everything with me.”

“What if that person is right in front of you?”

A little over a year ago, when Jake was introduced to Y/N, his biggest wish was to crumble the walls she had built so high to hide her true identity. His biggest wish was to know her, understand her, befriend her, and have her in some form or the other. Now he had her, crying to him and confiding in him and sharing everything including pieces of her happiness with him but it wasn’t enough. To brush her hair and hold her hands while she was crying over a broken past wasn’t enough but to kiss her lips and lull her to sleep felt more appropriate to him- he wanted more and he wanted to give her more. He craved it more than a kid craved cotton candy and he yearned for it more than a soldier waiting to come back home to family.

Now, she was looking at him with tears brimming her eyes, fresh tears meant for Jake rather than her history. Her lips were in a minuscule parting, teeth peeking out from behind her lips yet her breath was caught in her throat, failing to escape her lungs. She felt his every move, the way his fingers weaved with hers, the way his eyes darted between the changes in her features and the way his breaths were heavier as he moved to sit closer to her, anticipating a viable reaction from her. Y/N couldn’t help but feel deja vu as she let his stare weigh her down, bringing her back to the day they met at GQ’s headquarters and when he asked her to go to a cafe with him. At the time, she would admit that she expected more than friendship from him but as they grew closer and became increasingly important figures in each other's lives, whatever hopes and expectations she had in him were suppressed and the reassurance of a constant figure surfaced.

“I want to do everything with you, Y/N,” Jake continued, knowing that she was too in shock to give any response to him. “And it hurts me every time you think or talk or mention or cry about Sam because what is it that I don’t have? What has he given you that I couldn’t in the past year? What is so goddamn special about a guy that fucking left you? I stayed because you’re you and I stayed because you make me so damn happy. You’re my favourite person. You’re the person I want to be beside while doing everything, you’re the person I’m excited to talk to at the end of the day and you're the person I prioritise over anyone else-”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

There was so much desperation in his voice, an ample amount of fear that made Y/N’s knees weak. He was scared because there was a chance she could stand up and walk away without a word, there was a chance she would push him away and there was a chance she could laugh at his face and list out everything that made him unworthy of her but instead, all he got was glassy, doll-like eyes darting across his features robotically, as though she was reading every strand of DNA in his fibres. If it weren’t for the grazing sounds of the curtains dancing with the wind, he thought he could explode in the silence- perhaps the silence was a loud enough answer, which Jake refused to accept. In every beat of his heart, he could feel the essence of his soul slipping away from his being; like her response ruled his life or death.

The silver rays of the moon illuminated a purple hue on her face, reflecting the violets of the curtains. He thought, if they were in a photography studio, he would be quipping stills of her from all the angles she looked beautiful in and he would print his favourite picture out and hang it up on his wall. He could see her lips quiver as the wheels in her head turned, the fog in her eyes setting as though she was letting another wall crumble.

Jake felt the world around him spin and his bed suddenly felt like heavenly clouds and his room transformed into light blue skies as her hand tightened in his. He was floating, body suspended in thin air but Y/N was stuck to the same spot in his bed, unknown to the breeze he felt flowing through his floating hair and lifting shirt- it almost felt like he was in a cartoon, flying around between clouds and flocks of birds. He could see the line that drew between reality and fantasy, light blue contrasting with the darkness in his room, and he had to wait until he would be sucked back in again.

“Keep it that way,” she said.

“What?”

“Everything you just said. Keep it that way and I’m all yours,” her words were a timid whisper. A rush of blood gushed to her cheeks as she almost embarrassingly made eye contact with Jake. It sounded as though she had said those words millions of times before, as though she had rehearsed it, again and again, to be said at the perfect moment. Jake had to wonder if she thought about this, him, as much as he did her.

Nothing made sense to him, nor was he going to ask questions.

In a fleeting moment, Jake felt like his soul flung back into his body like he was waking up from a dream of falling off a building. He fell back, head nestled into the plethora of pillows near his headboard and back settling into the mattress and hovering above him was Y/N, a confused grin about her expression which she couldn’t control and her hands stuck to the pillow on either side of his head. He wasn’t sure how they found themselves in their predicament but his hands were gripping her waist like his life depended on it and if he wiggled his pinky finger, he would be able to feel her warm skin under her white shirt.

“Say that again,” Jake’s lips parted, his breath close enough to fan against her neck and his nose close enough to touch hers.

“Say what?” She asked, pulling her bottom lip between her top teeth while he wondered if the shade of innocence on her face was a simple act she put up.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he breathed.

“That I’m all yours?”

“Exactly.”

Jake was flipping them over, a light yelp of surprise as Y/N’s head hit the pillows and he hovered over her, positions exchanged between them. His breath was heaving, hair falling over his forehead and lips parting, then pursing in a continuous loop while she wondered what he was planning on doing. The world around them froze, the curtains floating in a ghastly position and the moon pausing its process of setting. They couldn’t hear cars or trucks and they couldn’t hear the air conditioning. All that mattered was their breath and the way their heartbeats synced along with their levels of anticipation.

She felt his hand on the side of her face, knuckles brushing away strands of coiled hair and exposing more of the fatigue in her eyes. “I’m gonna kiss you,” Jake whispered and Y/N gulped, nodding with hooded eyes. “And I’ll be damned if you think of anyone other than me,” and without thinking, letting a surge of adrenaline shoot up his spine, he leaned forward and their lips finally, finally, touched.

It was only a peck, a kiss long enough for Jake to feel the carve of her lips and for Y/N to relish in the feeling of butterflies and a foggy head. Her eyes fluttered shut and she stayed in her position as he pulled away, taking a moment to examine her features, soft and tranquil as she waited for more with a rising chest. Jake had been waiting for this moment since the day he laid his eyes on her, since the day he learned her name and since the day he had dubbed her an important person in his life. And the moment was perfect, regardless of the salt tracks on her cheeks and regardless of the hatred he held for the reason for her tears.

Then, he lowered his head again, eyes screwing shut and his lips touching hers for the second time and all sense of time was lost. They kissed like the act brought then oxygen, an intensity filled with sucked-in breaths and fighting tongues, lips refusing to part no matter who was pulling away. Their legs tangled and their hands held each other as though they were the last two people in an ending world. His fingers combed through her hair and he held her jaw, then wrapped his fingers around her neck as he adjusted himself to kiss her comfortably.

He held her softly like she were a feather, skimming the tips of his fingers over her skin before kissing every inch of her, parted lips painting pink and blue bruises onto parts of her chest that would be hidden later. She moaned for him and she moaned his name and he was proving to her that she was capable of loving him just as much as he loved her and he was proving to her just how much he worshipped her with cautious yet feral actions. They weren’t robotic, moving in a synced flow as if they knew exactly what the other was going to do.

And it was perfect, like how anyone would imagine their first time with their true loves to be. Only, these lovers were lucky enough to acquire it.

Words could not describe the euphoria Jake felt that night while he held her to his chest, her fingers drawing meaningless shapes on his shoulder with her hair sprawled across the pillow. His fingers trailed up and down her arm while he spoke about his year-long pining towards her, all his dreams and fantasies of taking her on dates and bringing her flowers and waking up to her every morning. Y/N hummed along, a soft smile on her face as she pressed her cheek into his chest, occasionally piping about how much she'd love to go to an art gallery or the aquarium with him because, in all honesty, she had also imagined rendezvousing to the same places with him. For Jake, having her bare and vulnerable on him and giving him her all was another dream come true.

"You know, I've been thinking of taking up photography," he mused, placing yet another kiss on her forehead.

"Oh, yeah?" Y/N grinned in glee, a twinkle in her eyes. "You should, you can become the next top photographer," she giggled.

The thought popped into his head a little while after Y/N's graduation day. The pictures he had taken of her and the ambience around were praised by everyone he had shown them to, especially Riki, an avid photography enthusiast himself. He had told him that the pictures were worthy enough to be published in magazines and made into billboards and if he mastered a few tricks on editing, he'd be a professional in no time. Since then, he wouldn’t go anywhere without his newly bought camera, taking pictures with the most effort he could. His muse was usually Y/N and other times, he would be taking pictures of Sunghoon or Jungwon.

Y/N had noticed his new interest and fondness for photography around a month ago when they went shopping for carpets and bedsheets. They were at a furniture store Jay had directed them to visit and he brought his camera, taking random pictures of people on the street and candid pictures of her picking through an array of carpets and fabrics. He had even asked her to model and strike a few poses, which she did with laughter as people eyed the pair with judgement. A few pictures later, it got awkward and they moved on to the next store but Y/n was not surprised at all that he was now thinking of studying photography. But, she was excited for him and they would celebrate it with the cake that was forgotten in her car.

Modelling didn't bring Jake the same thrill it did three years ago. It had become a norm for him, a lifestyle he had no plans of escaping for the next few years. Maybe he’d venture into the world of acting or singing or maybe even start a modelling firm of his own, but at the moment, as he thought about juggling between a modelling career and photography school, he felt giddy the way a kid would feel about a free lollipop at the dentists.

“I think I’m gonna go to college,” Y/N said, her voice soft and unmoving as though the decision she made had been written in stone for years.

“Psychology?” Jake confirmed.

“Yeah,” she sighed, smiling into his chest.

SCHEDULES WERE BECOMING HECTIC to remember and ever since Y/N started community college, forgetting her next errand to attend or perform became a habit. She drove home in a hurry, her hair a wild mess pleated away in a braid. She flung the door open and threw her bag over the first table she walked past and her wide blinking eyes spoke nothing but panic as she realised how she was late to yet another meeting with a designer she was supposed to meet and model for-

“Y/N?”

Tony and Sheila were seated on her couch, staring at their friend like she was possessed by an eccentric ghost. Her outfit, an untucked shirt and black tie and skirt, was unshoveled and it looked as though she had almost fallen off a high-speed roller coaster. Y/N turned her head towards them with surprise, wide eyes softening just a smidge as she stopped emptying her pockets and purse in search of her ID card.

“What? Oh, hello!” She chuckled, moving stray strands of hair away from her face. “I’m so sorry, I can’t stay. I have a meeting I’m supposed to attend-”

“-Y/N,” Tony repeated, now more assertive. “That meeting is tomorrow,” he reminded her.

“Oh,” Y/N breathed, letting go of her purse with a thud. “Oh, thank God,” she celebrated with a gleaming smile. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I came to discuss a potential for a hand modelling contract?”

“Oh, no. I’m a terrible candidate for it, my nails never grow evenly and I have a few scabs and picked skin around my fingers,” she waved off and Tony nodded with pursed lips. She turned to look at Sheila, brows raising in question.

“Oh, I just came to visit because he said you’d be free for the rest of the day.”

Sheila and Tony met early into Y/N’s modelling career. It was an unexpected meeting- Y/N and Tony were on their way to a McDonald’s to grab a snack and Sheila was there with her brother, enjoying a cheap lunch before going to the movies. So the two groups merged into one and they spent the evening together. Tony and Sheila had grown to become friends since then, occasionally texting if they needed anything from each other or calling to see if it would be a good day to meet and go to the movies again.

“I’m free for the rest of the day?” Y/N piped. “The day could not get any better, I swear I need a day off. I’m tired,” she sighed.

Just as she pulled herself towards the couch, Jake flung the door open with Heeseung and Sunghoon trailing behind him, each holding a plastic bag of take-out food. When Jake’s gaze landed on Y/N, his smile brightened and when he noticed Tony and Sheila, he raised the bag in his hand like he was presenting the food to them. “Everyone’s here!” He beamed. “We’re all gonna have lunch together.”

“Yeah, I gotta shower before that, though,” Heeseung beelined away from the group and ventured into Y/N’s house like he had been there a hundred times before- which was true.

Jake, before doing anything else, greeted Y/N with a kiss and walked toward the kitchen.

While Jake, Sunghoon and Tony set up the table together, Sheila dragged Y/N to sit with her so she could comb her hair. She was whining about how she was lazy to shower and change her clothes and would do her skin-care routine later in the night so the least she could do was fix her tangled and knotted hair. It was tranquil between everyone, the guys occasionally speaking a few phrases to catch up and Sheila catching Y/N up on how college was and how exam season was coming soon.

“Oh, yeah, Even I have to start studying for exams,” Y/N tutted, shaking her head as Sheila rounded the rubberband to her braid.

“You should have enrolled in my university, we could have helped each other!”

“I know, but community college is much easier!”

Everyone sat around the table for lunch when Heeseung finally showed up, rubbing a towel against his wet hair with a grin on his face at the sight of food. While they ate, Sunghoon explained how Jay couldn’t show up because he had a project to prepare for and Jungwon and Riki were in dancing and taekwondo classes. Sunoo was caught up with his chemistry professor, writing his next research paper.

“I haven’t met Sunoo yet,” Sheila mused while chewing on a piece of cabbage.

“Yeah, you have,” Y/N reminded her while pointing her fork towards her.

“Yeah, I have, but I didn’t properly talk to him like this,” she referred to the impromptu lunch plans she was intertwined in.

“That’s because he’s always busy with classes or work or studies,” Jake said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make you talk someday,” Heeseung assured while smirking and continuing to eat broccoli.

The group talked and talked and filled each other in about various aspects of their lives and steered to topics that didn’t even relate to themselves. Tony left soon as he had to meet his fiance and Sunghoon left to practise for his next ice-skating performance. Then Sheila left too because her dorm would close soon and it was just Heeseung, Jake and Y/N sitting on the couch and passing around the last glass of orange juice. They attempted to play cards but it got dull so they watched a movie together instead, a really old black and white movie that Y/N was itching to watch and even though it was boring too, their commentary and jokes made it all the better.

Eventually, it was only her awake, Jake and Heeseung passed out on the couch with a thin blanket shared between them. Y/N pondered about her life that night, realising that she had started a new chapter long before she even realised it. She thought about Sheila and how they had grown to become more like sisters over the past few months. She thought about Jake and how healthy their relationship was, how easy it was to be herself around him. She thought about Tony and the way he was part of her family before anyone else. She thought about Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki and how they treated her house like their own because they’ve visited so many times and spent the night so many times. They made memories there, the residue of beer on her ceiling caused by Sunghoon was never painted over and the crack on the corner of her coffee table caused by Jungwon who tried attempting a high kick in the middle of the hall never got fixed.

She thought about how her present was worthy enough to forget about her past. She thought about how she had everything she’d ever wanted.

[reasonsforhope]

"The Quebec government announced the adoption of a bill Monday [December 16, 2024] that will prohibit the sale of certain gas-powered vehicles by 2035.

The ban, which is part of the province's plan to reduce greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions, will take place in two phases.

First, as of Jan. 31, 2034, it will be prohibited to advertise the sale of a light combustion vehicle of the 2035 model year or later, whether it's a new or used vehicle, including hybrid and plug-in hybrid models.

Then, beginning Dec. 31, 2035, selling and leasing new light combustion vehicles of 2034 model year and earlier will be banned.

"The sale of combustion engines will also be prohibited, except to replace a defective engine in a vehicle already on the road in Quebec," the Ministry of the Environment, the Fight against Climate Change, Wildlife and Parks said in a news release on Monday.

There are exceptions for certain vehicles, including those used by emergency services and rental companies. Also, light combustion vehicles already registered in Quebec can continue to be driven and resold.

The new law does not apply to motorcycles, mopeds, off-road vehicles, such as snowmobile and ATVs, and heavy vehicles.

Québec Solidaire (QS) had requested the bill go even further in cutting GHGs by banning the sale of light gas-powered vehicles earlier, by 2030. But Environment Minister Benoit Charette said in 2021 that it would pose too significant of a risk because by 2030 there wouldn't be enough new electric cars to supply the Quebec market.

The ministry says that adjustments could be recommended after studies of market trends are carried out in 2026 and 2030. The provincial government has set a goal of having two million EVs on Quebec roads by 2030. As of the third quarter of 2024, nearly 33 per cent of newly registered light vehicles in Quebec were electric.

In 2023, Quebec hit a record high for gas-powered vehicle sales, and as Quebec leans into the electric vehicle (EV) market, experts in the automotive industry say the real test for the province will come in 2027 when the rebates for EV purchases will disappear. They will start to be gradually phased out beginning in 2025."

-via CVT News Montreal, December 16, 2024

[derinwrites]

Do you have any advice for writing in a web serial format?

Let’s look at this in two sections – the business part, and the actual writing part.

The Business Part

1. Consistency. Consistency in updates. Have a schedule and STICK TO IT.

If your schedule is too hectic and starts affecting your health or otherwise adversely affecting your life, change the schedule; update less often. Don’t update in spurts and then randomly stop. The audience will far more easily tolerate a slow schedule than an inconsistent one; an inconsistent one will lose many readers. You’re not Andrew Hussie and you can’t get away with that bullshit.

There may be times where you need to take a hiatus due to some emergency, life event, or health condition. This is fine – your wellbeing is more important than your story. But you need to be up-front with your audience about this; tell them you’re taking a hiatus and tell them exactly how long it’s going to be. If you can, you should tell them in advance (this isn’t possible for things like a car accident, but is very possible if you’re planning to, say, move house in a month). If you’re taking too many hiatuses, then it’s better to slow down your schedule and update less often. Audiences prefer fast and consistent, but if they have to choose, slow is better than inconsistent.

The #1 helper to consistency is having a big buffer – that is, have several weeks’ worth of unpublished chapters. The length of your buffer is personal taste, but I like to keep mine as long as possible so that if there’s some problem that stops me from writing for several weeks, it won’t upset the schedule. It keeps my stress down to know that I have that leeway. Other writers prefer to only write a week or two ahead, though, so different things work for different people.

2. Decide on your monetisation system early and prioritise it.

The most popular and most effective method for monetising a web serial seems to be the patronage method, which is the one I use. You set up a patreon, ko-fi, or whatever sponsorship system you prefer, and offer rewards to those who support you. Having their names in a credit list and getting access to advance chapters are very common rewards. Some people also lock access to their discord behind a paywall, or offer extra stories or let supporters name story characters.

This model is not the only way to make money from web serials. Some people make money via advertising, or selling merchandise, or use the web serial itself to advertise stories that they sell. You can of course use several revenue streams – you can have both a patreon/ko-fi and run ads on your website (I don’t because I hate ads, but you can), or start selling merch related to your story once there’s a demand for it. Many web serial authors (including myself) sell their completed works as books. But the important thing here is that one of these systems will be your main system, and you need to know what it is and behave accordingly. If you run ads AND have a patreon, are you more focused on ad revenue or patreon revenue? You’re going to have to put your time and attention into one of them over the other. You’re going to have to make decisions that will help one and harm the other. So know in advance which one is most important to you.

You don’t have to monetise your story at all, of course. Plenty of people write fiction on the internet for free every day with no thought to making an income at all. But if you’re serious about this, I would recommend monetising it, because that makes a better and more consistent product. The reason I’m still able to keep writing these year after year is that my supporters pay my mortgage; without Patreon and ko-fi, I’d have to get a different job, and wouldn’t have time or energy to write consistently. Also, the reason I can write and update even when I don’t feel like it, and the reason I always push to make my stories as good as possible even when I’m not interested, is because I owe it to my supporters who are paying me real actual money to read my work. If I didn’t owe my readers anything, none of these stories would ever get finished, because writing is only fun about half of the time.

3. Don’t expect to be able to turn this into a career.

This advice sounds silly coming from me, who has through sheer luck, as well as the generosity and passion of my readers, somehow turned this into a career. But I need to emphasise that that luck is not typical. Most web serial writers will not be able to support themselves solely with their writing. It can make a good side hustle, but if your primary goal is “low barrier to entry work-from-home career where I don’t have to answer to a boss and can support myself comfortably,” then web serial writing is usually all of those things except the last one. There’s no harm in trying to turn this into a career – I did it, as have many other web serial authors – but don’t expect that result, is all I’m saying.

Still, if you can do it, it does have a lot of advantages.

4. Don’t expect to make money fast.

I remember when I finally started making an entire $100/month on Patreon. It was a fantastic day.

It was when I’d been writing web serials for four years.

5. Your most valuable resource is your readership.

Your readership will grow and gather momentum over time. The best business decisions you can make are those that grow your readership and allow your readers to participate in community, even if you have to give up opportunities to make money to do it.

A good example of this is discord. Some people have private discords that only their patrons can access; while this is a useful anti-spam and anti-harassment tool, I don’t recommend doing this if you don’t have a major spam or harassment problem. Some people will pay for discord access, yes, so you might get a handful of extra dollars per month that way – however, you will also get a far less active discord. When it comes to readers, population density is critically important; the more activity, the more people talking about your work together (or talking about anything and bonding with each other), the better. Plenty of people have joined my free discord just because it was there and only read my stories after seeing people talk about them there. Then they go and get their friends to read the stories. Enthusiastic readers are inherently valuable, and the best thing you can do is give them the resources they need to talk to each other and share their interest.

This principle applies to a lot of things. I have a lot of free stories on my website that aren’t the usual web serials, and more than once I’ve considered whether they should be paywalled. The answer I always land on is ‘no’; I couldn’t tell you how many readers have been roped into my web serials because they liked Copy <|> Paste, or The Void Princess, or Drops of Blood. These readers may or may not then become monetary supporters, but even the ones who don’t will increase activity and discussion about the stories, have fun and tell jokes in the discord, and may even produce fanart. A thriving community is always going to be more valuable to you than a few extra dollars; make sure to support them accordingly.

Your readership will start very small. In terms of marketing, this is your hardest time. A big readership does the majority of the marketing for you, but when you’re on your own, it takes a lot to convince anyone to give your stories a shot. It helps if you have an existing readership to leverage, which is what I did – I’d been writing Animorphs fanfiction on AO3 for years, and many of my first readers followed me over from there. If you have such a community that already has faith in your writing, leverage it. If you don’t, you can gain one my writing in a place where people go to read stories similar to your work, such as an appropriate subreddit, or a web serial site like Royal Road or Scribblehub. You are looking to gain as high a number of enthusiastic, engaged readers as possible.

And now, the fun part – the actual craft!

The Writing Part

1. Always remember that you are writing for two audiences

A web serial author has to keep two audiences in mind; the serial readers, and the bingers. You are writing a story that needs to be fun and engaging when read very slowly, at the pace of whatever your update schedule is, but that also needs to be interesting when read all at once.

This is not an easy task.

It’s something I fucked up pretty significantly with Curse Words, which was my first attempt at this. Curse Words has a lot of complicated political stuff happening throughout pretty much the whole story, as well as a complex save-the-world plot that’s reliant on a lot of secrets, mysteries and extremely speculative information. With so many wheels spinning, I decided to make the protagonist not particularly smart and move him very slowly through the plot to make sure that the reader would be able to keep up.

This was a mistake.

‘Pretty slow and simple’ at a novel reader’s pace is torturous at a web serial pace. Readers got a full week to discuss the mysteries and implications of each chapter with each other, doing the detective work of ten chapters between each one. The frustration with Kayden’s slow pace was clear, and he came across as an outright idiot rather than an average teen. Personally, I think this lesson was one of the biggest reasons for the difference in quality between Curse Words and Time to Orbit. Don’t slow down for your audience; they’re already slowed down by your update schedule.

At the same time, though, you don’t want to move so fast that you lose the bingers. You can’t assume that your readers will have time between chapters, or that they will discuss each chapter with other readers, or that they will go back over previous chapters looking for clues. Interested people reading update by update will do this, but bingers absolutely will not. So you still need to make sure that everything is comprehensible on a binge read with no backchecking or outside investigation.

My advice on this matter is to move as fast as possible, but take care to make sure that readers are reminded of everything important a few chapters before it comes into play. That way, both audiences can keep up. If you have to make a decision, it’s best to favour your update readers; they’re your most active community. They’re doing the up-to-date discussion, and probably doing the most word-of-mouth and fanart, although binge readers will do that too (I have plenty of dedicated readers who wait five or six weeks to binge a bunch of chapters on purpose, just because that’s their preferred reading style, and they’re still very engaged). But if you plan to publish your story later as a complete work, you also need to keep in mind how it’s going to read as a binge – and also, new readers will binge the earlier chapters of your story to catch up to the current one, so make sure it’s a good experience for them or they won’t get a chance to become update readers.

Two audiences. Mind your pacing and information reveals accordingly.

2. Chapter length

The general rule of web serials is that the more often you update, the shorter your chapters should be. The generally agreed ‘sweet spot’ is 1-1.5k words, 3 times a week, but this depends heavily on individual style. I update once or twice a week (depending on what stories I’ve got going) and try to keep my chapters between 2 and 2.5k words. If you update once a month, your sweet spot is probably about 10k words.

Don’t hold religiously to what other people tell you the ideal word count is – this will vary drastically with genre and personal style – but it’s best to try to stay fairly consistent. It’s not always possible to stay exactly on target because the best break points between chapters will vary (I’ve got 1.8k chapters and 3.5k chapters), but readers like to be able to predict about how long an update will be and they like it to not vary too wildly too often. As with choosing your update schedule, choosing your chapter length will depend on what suits your personal schedule, and what suits the story you’re writing.

“The shorter the chapter, the more frequent the updates” is a good rule for attracting the widest audience. Short, infrequent chapters will have a lot of readers losing interest between updates; long, frequent ones will have a lot of readers feeling overwhelmed. But the most important thing is finding something that you can consistently output year after year (remember, it took me 4 years to make $100/month; this is a long game).

3. It’s a TV show, not a movie

This advice is less useful in our age of Marvel movie franchises and made-to-binge Netflix series, so pretend I’m talking to you in the year 2010 or earlier. If a novel is a movie, a web serial is a TV show. What I mean by that is that a novel is shaped primarily as a complete experience, whereas a web serial is shaped as a chapter-by-chapter experience.

It’s best, in both cases, to have a well structures and paced story that is made of well structured and paced chapters. But sometimes you have to choose between the structure or a chapter and the structure of the story as a whole; making one better will cheapen the other. When you’re writing a novel, you should choose the structure of the whole, but when you’re writing a web serial, you should choose the structure of the chapter. Web serial readers will prefer a chained series of excellent chapters, over a beautiful story of chapters with mediocre individual structure.

In fact, whether you want a structure to the overall story at all is personal taste. My stories have strong overall structure and move towards a planned conclusion because that’s how I prefer to write (and it also makes the story bingeable, since it’s basically a novel being released really slowly), but plenty of web serials out there have no real planned ending and will wander about for years and years in no obviously consistent direction, occasionally throwing in a big twist or major change to freshen things up. These would make absolutely horrible novels, but make very popular web serials. Whether you write like me or like them, the rule is the same – the experience of each individual chapter takes priority.

Come to think of it, this might be why people call my stories “ADHD crack”…

4. Okay, so how do I structure a good chapter?

I generally try to do three things in every chapter.

- Hit the ground running

- Give them something new

- End on an open question

Hit the ground running – Unless it’s the very first chapter of the story, you don’t have to be coy getting into the action. Open the chapter as if it’s the middle of the chapter; start at full momentum. Catch the high point of the last chapter before it falls. It your last chapter ended with “We checked the fingerprints on the candlestick. It’s Colonel Mustard.” then you can start this one with “But he was in the library at the time!”, you don’t need to recap or slow down or anything.

Give them something new – Every chapter should give the reader at least one thing to talk and think about. A new choice, some new information, a shift in perspective, whatever. People are reading these updates one at a time so it is vital that they feel like they got something out of the experience. A chapter in which nothing is learned will make readers feel like their time was wasted, and they have all the time until next update to reflect on that.

This is also true of a novel, but it’s much more critical in a web serial. A novel with nothing chapters in it is just frustratingly slow-paced; a web serial with nothing chapters in it leaves the reader feeling cheated for long stretches of time.

The thing to talk about doesn’t necessarily have to be a big plot reveal or major advancement. An incredibly cute scene, or sad scene, or funny scene will work just as well. But you have to give them SOMETHING. If you’re giving them nothing, consider cutting the chapter entirely and integrating any important foreshadowing or whatever into the next chapter.

One major hurdle of mine with this rule is recap chapters. If you’re writing a very complex plot over a long period of time, you need ways to occasionally take stock and make sure everyone is on the same page and nobody’s forgotten or misinterpreted anything important. This information can be recapped or conveyed in the middle of an action sequence or something, but I personally find that putting other stuff in the scene makes it too distracting and therefore less effective. I like to literally just sit the heroes down in a room and have them go, “okay, we’re spinning a lot of threads at once right now; what do we know, what are we trying to figure out, and what are our next steps?” This is the literary equivalent of the save point or room full of health packs right before a boss battle. Game designers don’t put that room there to be nice; they do it so that they know exactly how much health you’re going to have going into the battle, and can structure it accordingly.

You can make these chapters entertaining with character banter, but you can’t really introduce new threads to talk about, except possibly as a twist right at the end. Introducing new information mid-recap distracts from the recap and makes it pointless. You might have something similar in your stories, chapters that are essential but don’t give the reader anything new to work with.

My advice for these is to just bite the bullet on this one. Release the chapter with nothing new to talk about. You can get away with doing this occasionally, if the chapter has a clear purpose (I get a lot of readers tell me that they appreciate my recap chapters). Readers who get nothing out of the chapter will shrug and talk about older stuff instead, so long as you only do this occasionally. But a chapter with no new information has a cost in opportunity and in reader patience, so only pay it if the chapter’s worth it.

End on an open question– End the chapter with a reason for the reader to come back. You want them to think about the story afterward and be eager to read the next chapter when it comes out. Adhering to this principle is probably why I have such a reputation for cliffhangers, although truth be told I don’t use nearly as many actual cliffhangers as people say, I just try to end by opening a question. By that I mean, the audience should always end a chapter asking a question, which can be something that will span dozens of chapters (“How can Colonel Mustard’s fignerprints be on the candlestick? Is he being framed? Does this mean that the candlestick was in the library and isn’t even the murder weapon?”) or span a single paragraph (“How will the narrator react to learning that Colonel Mustard lied about never touchign the candlestick?”) This could be the emotional height of a scene, or the point at which new information recontextualises everything. It could be the moment where the stakes are raised or an important assumption turns out to be false. Anything that makes the audience eager to learn what happens next will do.

There should always be at least one open question in your story, more if it’s thematically appropriate. You know how mmorpgs and crafting games and suchlike keep you playing for hours and hours by making sure you’re always near the end of an activity – keep playing til you reach the next level, oh but now we’re nearly at the end of this quest so we should complete that, oh but now we’re just 20 gold short of being able to buy that cool new armour so we should just… same trick. Readers should always have at least one ‘quest’, an open question that they’re following, and should always be close to an answer.

You don’t have to dramatically introduce an entirely new question each time; you can end a chapter by reminding the reader of an existing open question. I tend to be a fan of the Big Dramatic Reveal On The Last Line method (cliffhanger reputation), but you don’t have to do it that way. Indeed, it’s a good idea not to do it that way every single time, lest you get stuck in a rut; every chapter ending doesn’t have to be incredibly tense and snappy. Somebody mentioning that they wish they knew how they could get enough food to make it through the winter before a full paragraph of cuddling and falling asleep in their mother’s arms works just as well.

5. It will help if your story is good, but it isn’t required.

You don’t have to be very good at writing to do this.

It helps to be good at writing, of course, and I assume that since you’re asking me for tips, you’re the sort of person who wants to be as good at writing as you can. But there is some true hack garbage out there doing absolute numbers in the web serial circuit. I try not to harp on about this too much because Curse Words fans get really upset at me when I do, but I think most of us can agree that Curse Words kind of sucks. And that just sucks in an ‘author is still learning how to do this’ kind of way; there’s much worse writing, real bullshit Ready Player One-level writing, trucking along out there brilliantly.

The point I’m trying to make here is that this isn’t an industry where there’s any value in hesitating and wringing your hands and asking yourself if you’re a good enough writer to do it yet. You are. You can just start writing a web serial right now and so long as you consistently update, you’re probably already above average for the market. And your first one probably will suck (mine did), but it’ll teach you how to make a better one. I think that Time to Orbit: Unknown is passably okay, and it absolutely would not be passably okay if I hadn’t written Curse Words first. Just go for it. Try to write a quality story if you can, but if you can’t, it’s honestly not that big of a deal. What matters, truly matters, is that you are committed to improving your craft. And that means actually practicing your craft. Which means writing some chapters and setting up a release schedule.

Good luck.

[mariacallous]

In a product demo last week, OpenAI showcased a synthetic but expressive voice for ChatGPT called “Sky” that reminded many viewers of the flirty AI girlfriend Samantha played by Scarlett Johansson in the 2013 film Her. One of those viewers was Johansson herself, who promptly hired legal counsel and sent letters to OpenAI demanding an explanation, according to a statement released later. In response, the company on Sunday halted use of Sky and published a blog post insisting that it “is not an imitation of Scarlett Johansson but belongs to a different professional actress using her own natural speaking voice.”

Johansson’s statement, released Monday, said she was “shocked, angered, and in disbelief” by OpenAI’s demo using a voice she called “so eerily similar to mine that my closest friends and news outlets could not tell the difference.” Johansson revealed that she had turned down a request last year from the company’s CEO, Sam Altman, to voice ChatGPT and that he had reached out again two days before last week’s demo in an attempt to change her mind.

It’s unclear if Johansson plans to take additional legal action against OpenAI. Her counsel on the dispute with OpenAI is John Berlinski, a partner at Los Angeles law firm Bird Marella, who represented her in a lawsuit against Disney claiming breach of contract, settled in 2021. (OpenAI’s outside counsel working on this matter is Wilson Sonsini Goodrich & Rosati partner David Kramer, who is based in Silicon Valley and has defended Google and YouTube on copyright infringement cases.) If Johansson does pursue a claim against OpenAI, some intellectual property experts suspect it could focus on “right of publicity” laws, which protect people from having their name or likeness used without authorization.

James Grimmelmann, a professor of digital and internet law at Cornell University, believes Johansson could have a good case. “You can't imitate someone else's distinctive voice to sell stuff,” he says. OpenAI declined to comment for this story, but yesterday released a statement from Altman claiming Sky “was never intended to resemble” the star, adding, “We are sorry to Ms. Johansson that we didn’t communicate better.”

Johansson’s dispute with OpenAI drew notice in part because the company is embroiled in a number of lawsuits brought by artists and writers. They allege that the company breached copyright by using creative work to train AI models without first obtaining permission. But copyright law would be unlikely to play a role for Johansson, as one cannot copyright a voice. “It would be right of publicity,” says Brian L. Frye, a professor at the University of Kentucky’s College of Law focusing on intellectual property. “She’d have no other claims.”

Several lawyers WIRED spoke with said a case Bette Midler brought against Ford Motor Company and its advertising agency Young & Rubicam in the late 1980s provides a legal precedent. After turning down the ad agency’s offers to perform one of her songs in a car commercial, Midler sued when the company hired one of her backup singers to impersonate her sound. “Ford was basically trying to profit from using her voice,” says Jennifer E. Rothman, a law professor at the University of Pennsylvania, who wrote a 2018 book called The Right of Publicity: Privacy Reimagined for a Public World. “Even though they didn't literally use her voice, they were instructing someone to sing in a confusingly similar manner to Midler.”

It doesn’t matter whether a person’s actual voice is used in an imitation or not, Rothman says, only whether that audio confuses listeners. In the legal system, there is a big difference between imitation and simply recording something “in the style” of someone else. “No one owns a style,” she says.

Other legal experts don’t see what OpenAI did as a clear-cut impersonation. “I think that any potential ‘right of publicity’ claim from Scarlett Johansson against OpenAI would be fairly weak given the only superficial similarity between the ‘Sky’ actress' voice and Johansson, under the relevant case law,” Colorado law professor Harry Surden wrote on X on Tuesday. Frye, too, has doubts. “OpenAI didn’t say or even imply it was offering the real Scarlett Johansson, only a simulation. If it used her name or image to advertise its product, that would be a right-of-publicity problem. But merely cloning the sound of her voice probably isn’t,” he says.

But that doesn’t mean OpenAI is necessarily in the clear. “Juries are unpredictable,” Surden added.

Frye is also uncertain how any case might play out, because he says right of publicity is a fairly “esoteric” area of law. There are no federal right-of-publicity laws in the United States, only a patchwork of state statutes. “It’s a mess,” he says, although Johansson could bring a suit in California, which has fairly robust right-of-publicity laws.

OpenAI’s chances of defending a right-of-publicity suit could be weakened by a one-word post on X—“her”—from Sam Altman on the day of last week’s demo. It was widely interpreted as a reference to Her and Johansson’s performance. “It feels like AI from the movies,” Altman wrote in a blog post that day.

To Grimmelmann at Cornell, those references weaken any potential defense OpenAI might mount claiming the situation is all a big coincidence. “They intentionally invited the public to make the identification between Sky and Samantha. That's not a good look,” Grimmelmann says. “I wonder whether a lawyer reviewed Altman's ‘her’ tweet.” Combined with Johansson’s revelations that the company had indeed attempted to get her to provide a voice for its chatbots—twice over—OpenAI’s insistence that Sky is not meant to resemble Samantha is difficult for some to believe.

“It was a boneheaded move,” says David Herlihy, a copyright lawyer and music industry professor at Northeastern University. “A miscalculation.”

Other lawyers see OpenAI’s behavior as so manifestly goofy they suspect the whole scandal might be a deliberate stunt—that OpenAI judged that it could trigger controversy by going forward with a sound-alike after Johansson declined to participate but that the attention it would receive from seemed to outweigh any consequences. “What’s the point? I say it’s publicity,” says Purvi Patel Albers, a partner at the law firm Haynes Boone who often takes intellectual property cases. “The only compelling reason—maybe I’m giving them too much credit—is that everyone’s talking about them now, aren’t they?”

[froggibus]

Roadtrip - Overwatch Boys

Includes: Cassidy, Genji, Hanzo, Baptiste, Lucio & Mauga

Genre: fluff, some crack lol

Summary: take a summer roadtrip with your favorite OW man

CW: irresponsible/reckless driving, cops (Cassidy's), drinking (not while driving I promise), Genji slander, camping, very fun summer vibes w this one

This is part of my Summer Suntacular event, come check it out!

Cassidy:

definitely takes you through the midwest somewhere

insists on driving the whole way but its ok cause he has an insane sense of direction

like knows every road and shortcut like the back of his hand

tries to pretend like he doesn’t like your music but ends up singing along

loves stopping in old local diners

at least once the owner of a bar recognizes him and reminds him that he’s banned for life

and somehow he ends up talking the owner into letting you guys stay??

only drinks black coffee and pretends like he enjoys it

you forced him to try an overly sweet 6$ coffee one time and now he insists on stopping for one in every town

pretends to obey traffic laws but speeds whenever you’re on a backroad

a cop tries to pull him over and suddenly he turns into Max Verstappen and is offroading through a random field to lose them

“what the fuck is happening”

“I’m winnin’.”

you guys get takeout and eat it on the tailgate of his truck

stops at any bar that advertises live music 

will sing all the words all dorky to you and try to get you to dance with him

wants to stay on the road with you forever

Genji:

do not let this man drive he can’t drive for shit

wants to go somewhere neither of you have been before, but doesn’t really have a solid plan

matcha lattes at EVERY stop

you camp rather than stay in a hotel cause he never got to as a kid

like he’s never even tried a s’more or had a campfire before

chooses the most beautiful campsites ever with pretty beaches

neither of you can figure out how to set up the tent so you end up piling the blankets and pillows in your car and sleeping in the trunk

it’s surprisingly cozy though

also he totally winds up cuddling you for warmth

takes SO MANY pictures 

insists on using a paper map because he wants a more “authentic” feel 

results in you guys getting lost in the woods at least once

picks up handcrafted flavoured marshmallows at literally every gas station you stop at so he can make different kinds of s'mores

some of the flavours get wild too—like maple bacon or banana split

weirdly good at roadtrip games

brings his Switch or something so he can play Pokemon while you drive + names the ones he catches after the models of nearby cars

you end up staying on the trip way longer than intended because you guys have so much fun

Hanzo:

has a meticulously planned schedule of where you’ll visit and when

wants to take you through the Japanese countryside, maybe stop at a beach or two

very careful driver 

has a Nissan Versa that he babies and refuses to let you eat inside of (though if you bat your eyes at him enough, he’ll give in)

brings a polaroid camera so he can take pictures of all the beautiful sites

keeps the polaroids in a little folder tucked into the glovebox

refuses to get fast food and insists on stopping at cute local cafes

has packed for literally every possible occasion in only one tiny bag

you ask him to stop so you can buy something weird and obscure and he just so happens to have it

“I really wish I had Shrek 2 on DVD right now”

“check the glovebox”

???

has a soft spot for roadside fruit stands and had to stop at every single one to buy stuff 

the whole trunk is filled with fruit. there’s no escape

lets you play whatever music you like and will have your favourite songs memorized by the end of the trip

prefers experiences to souvenirs, but if you buy him a keychain or something he’ll treasure it forever

Baptiste:

annoyingly slow driver

everyone is passing you guys

has a pretty solid plan of where he wants to go but he’s open to feedback

has an immaculate sense for choosing the best local restaurants

always wants to try the most niche food combos he can find—like deep fried milk

needs to have his water bottle, an energy drink and a fun drink or else he can’t drive

wears sunscreen in the car and stops every few hours to reapply

cringes at your driving no matter how you drive and definitely gives you at least one (1) lecture about the dangers of speeding

loves tourist traps and wants to stop at every one you pass

insists on getting those dorky commemorative t-shirts from said tourist attractions so that the two of you can match

loves salt water taffy and looks for fun weird flavours wherever you find them

his entire centre console ends up being FULL of them by the end of the trip

he has the ac in the car on full blast to the point you’re shivering

not big on taking pictures but loves videos—he has about a thousand of the two of you trying new fun drinks and snacks

it’s been so long since he was able to be on the road without worrying about Talon—and he never wants to go back

Lucio:

nobody is more fun than him on a road trip

has a super fun car that he’s souped up and decorated to hell

the car has window tint so dark that you can’t see into it

does not obey traffic laws. you’re getting so many tickets, im sorry

buys those window markers so the two of you can draw on them when you’re bored

chooses the music and probably has a thirty hour long meticulously curated playlist

car singalongs all day

drinks so many energy drinks you’re surprised his heart still works

wants to stop in every single town to try their local specialties 

doesn’t really have a solid plan or anything, just wants to hit the road and see where you end up

wears increasingly goofy disguises when going out in public

“omg is that Lucio?”

“where?”

gets dragged into performing at least one impromptu concert somewhere

takes turns driving with you so the other can rest and reads out gossip articles about himself to entertain you

every hotel you stay in is a different gimmick and he goes crazy for it. the sillier the better

posts cute pictures of the two of you on his insta and is always taking candids

wants to make your roadtrip an annual thing

Mauga:

insists on taking his big ass Jeep that he refers to as “Little Betty” and refuses to let anyone else drive ‘her’ 

completely reckless driver too

drives with one hand on the wheel, music way too loud, the windows down even when you’re going like 110

he lets you pick the music as long as its upbeat 

constantly drinking some weird protein shake 

absolutely no plan of where he wants to go, just wants to hit up some nice beaches

has all of your stuff crammed in the back so high that you couldn’t possibly see out of the back window

drives in the sluttiest skimpiest tank top ever 

wants to try all the local cocktails and party in every town you stop in

gets drunk and becomes best friends with everyone he meets

needs to collect a Hawaiian print shirt in every place you stop in to commemorate the occasion

wants more than anything to teach you how to surf

he stops at every beach you pass and BEGS you to try it out

either wants to sleep in a five star hotel or on the beach with no shelter. there is no inbetween

takes one awkward blurry picture of the two of you throughout the entire trip and puts it in his wallet

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Overwatch Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[madaqueue]

sugar and sea glass

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff (and a very brief whisper of angst). language, pet names (sugar, baby). 18+, MDNI.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this is my contribution for @storiesoflilies summer event ! inspired by the song "sweet / i thought you wanted to dance" x tyler, the creator

Hot wind rushes through your hair, each breath filling your lungs with sticky air. The sun glares overhead, music blaring through the crackling speakers of your car. Even the flowers along the side of the road wilt under the heat of summer, starved and sweltering.

Zipping through the empty streets, the trees cast a welcome shade as you make your way home, before a sudden obstacle appears along your path: a man walking along the side of the road, thumb held out. As you move to swerve around him, white hair catches your attention, the screeching of car brakes splintering the thick silence as you pull off to meet him.

“Gojo?!”

Turning to you, bright blue eyes catch yours through the dark shade of his sunglasses, a smile spreading across his face in recognition. “No way,” he smirks.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Walking towards your car, he leans his arms through the open window, elbows spilling into the interior. “Would you believe me if I told you my rental car ran out of gas?”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, did you fill it?”

His smile widens, perfectly white teeth catching the light. “No, but in my defense I thought the ‘empty’ light was more of a suggestion.”

“Oh my god, you are insufferable.” A dramatic pout forms across his lips as he stares at you, tilting his head. “Get in,” you scoff.

He practically beams back the summer sun as he tugs open the car door, slamming it shut as he settles into the warm leather seat. “Thank youuuu,” he hums, batting his eyelashes appreciatively.

Even after all these years, it feels like no time has passed, easily falling back into the same banter, the same butterflies in your stomach when he smiles at you. He looks shockingly similar to when you last saw him, the same boyish charm, the same cocky arrogance. Yet, it always worked for him, his dimples making you weak in the knees, unable to deny the way he made your cheeks flush and body run hot. There was always this silent back and forth, one neither of you dared to address, simmering just under the surface. When you parted ways after graduation you thought that was it, maybe he just wasn’t that interested in you after all, maybe your feelings were simply a result of your shared proximity.

Now, with the heat radiating off his bare arms, a faint floral scent lingering on his skin, it seems he’s pulled you back under his spell once again.

“You never answered my question, you know,” you pause coyly. “What are you doing here, in this city?”

“Oh!” He tosses his hands up - always a visual talker, always captivating in the way he moves. “I was here for a shoot - we finished up yesterday, but I really wanted to see the beach, so I extended my trip by a day. But obviously the fates decided I didn’t deserve it, maybe someone out there really hates me or something,” he laughs.

“A shoot?” you ask, confusing brimming.

Mischief twinkles behind his gaze. “I’m sure you can tell by looking at me, but I’m kind of a big deal now. I’m actually the main model for this new fragrance coming out, so we had to get some videos of me for advertising.”

A groan vibrates against your throat as you involuntarily roll your eyes. “There is absolutely no way you’re a model.”

“What?! You don’t think I’m pretty enough?” Leaning towards you, the cool scent of his cologne hits your nose as he sticks out his bottom lip.

Smacking his chest, you put the car back into drive, averting your gaze before you can react to his sudden closeness. “You’re plenty pretty, Gojo, but I just didn’t think you’d be pretentious enough to make a career out of it.”

Before he can respond to the backhanded compliment, your foot presses against the gas, accelerating your car down the barren roads.

Placing his elbow against the door, he rests his head in his open palm. “Am I pretty enough to kidnap?” he teases. “I’m not complaining, but where are you taking me, exactly?”

“To the beach, idiot. That’s what you came all this way for, isn’t it?”

A wide grin spreads across his features. “Even after all this time, you’re still too good to me, sugar.”

Briefly turning your head, you shoot him a glare. The nickname brings up too many memories, too many late nights spent with your limbs intertwined, too many lingering touches, too many brushes of your lips against his, too many please’s and I need you’s. Too many almost’s.

“Why do you always call me that?”

Turning to you, he placed a quick peck to your cheek. “Obviously because you’re so sweet, sugar. C’mon, I thought you were smarter than that,” he smirked.

“And here I thought it was just because you have the diet of a toddler and wanted an excuse to think about when you’re getting your next piece of candy,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

A toothy grin spread across his lips. “You know I’m not thinking of anything but you when we’re together, sugar.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice comes out icier than you intended, cutting through the warm air.

“Aww, don’t be like that, baby,” he whines, tossing his head towards you, his pale hair threatening to cloud your vision before you shove him off.

“Okay, ‘baby’ is definitely worse,” you complain, unable to hide the slight chuckle coming out concurrently. “You look ridiculous, by the way,” you tease, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes.

An annoyingly thin linen shirt clings to his body, the top few buttons undone revealing his perfectly sculpted chest. Light blue shorts adorn his lower half, his muscled thighs peeking out from the tauntingly short cloth.

Crossing his arms, he obscures your view, forcing your gaze back to the road. “Well, my personal stylist thinks I look quite handsome in this outfit,” he huffs.

A giggle erupts from your throat at his theatrics, the absurdity of seeing him like this - he’s still the same Satoru you knew. Maybe some things really don’t change.

Leaning back, he stretches his arms behind his head, biceps flexing through the nearly transparent material of his top. Even though his personality may be the same, his body certainly isn’t, having filled out beautifully since you last saw him. “Is it always this hot in here?” he sighs, fanning his hand against his face.

“Are you always this whiney?” you taunt, rolling the windows down further. “The air conditioning is broken, so unless you’re throwing the cash at me to get it fixed, you’ll take what you can get.”

Wind blows through his fluffy locks as he melts further into the seat, running his fingers through his hair to reveal the slightly sweat-slicked skin of his forehead. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

“And need I remind you, you were literally begging by the side of the road a few minutes ago until I picked you up.”

Smirking, he catches your lingering gaze from his periphery. “You’re my savior, sugar.”

Another groan echoes through the car as you navigate through backroads, cranking up the music and letting the warm summer air fill the space between you.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Aqua waves lap at the sand, small pebbles shifting beneath your feet as you make your way along the beach. Satoru immediately finds himself preoccupied, head turned downward as he scans the ocean floor. Reaching into the water, he pulls out a small blue orb, its edges cloudy and dull, proudly holding it out to you.

“Look! It matches my eyes!”

Stepping closer to him, your fingers gingerly wrap around his wrist, bringing his hand with the object in it closer to his face. “Hmm…it’s close, but not quite,” you observe softly. Turning your attention to the sand beneath you, you pull out another piece of sea glass, a slightly more vibrant hue. “See, now this matches your eyes.”

Gently setting it into his palm, you swear you see his cheeks blush, quickly brushing it off as a consequence of the summer sun. When his hand lingers on yours, slightly damp from the cool sea, your heart flutters in your chest.

The same damn Satoru.

Continuing your path down the shore, he makes a point to stop occasionally, collecting wedges of sea glass before shoving them into his pocket.

“Wait!” he suddenly exclaims, splashing slightly deeper into the water, now up to his bare calves. Rummaging in the sand, he finally tugs out another piece, holding it up to the sky and inspecting it. A proud grunt leaves his lips as he marches towards you, his fingers softly prying your hand open to place it in your palm. “For you,” he grins.

Glancing down, your mind processes the gift: the opaque shard perfectly matches your irises, nearly glowing against the skin of your hand. “Satoru…” you trail off, warmth flooding your face and up to your ears, burning hot.

His own heart flutters hearing you use his first name, a familiarity he had not often been afforded since you parted, one he didn’t fully appreciate how much he missed. Not only simply hearing his name, but hearing you say it - even in your bashful annoyance, the lilt of the vowels along the air makes him feel light, carried away in the soundwaves.

When his fingers hold yours a moment too long, you find yourself frozen, unable to move despite the gentleness of his grasp. Waves gently brush against your ankles, cool against the humid, stale air, a static crackling in the space between you. As his eyes meet yours, lightning shoots through your body, grounded only in the muddy sand beneath you.

“I missed you a lot, you know,” he murmurs, his voice soft, bare. Gone is the teasing sarcasm, the honeyed compliments, leaving only the raw truth behind.

Unable to hold his gaze, you turn your focus to the bubbling water beneath you. “I, um, I missed you too.”

Fingers grace your chin, tilting your head up. Finally forced to look at him, a new determination lies behind his movements, his jaw tensed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I’m sorry for leaving things how I did.”

Memories come flooding back - the empty bed, the handwritten note, the unread messages. Sighing, you desperately attempt to hide the tremor in your voice. “It’s fine, Gojo.”

Something flashes across his face, a momentary sorrow? guilt? before he continues. “It’s not fine. I should have called, I should have given you some form of closure.”

“I got closure in the years since then, after you didn’t even bother to text me. I don’t need anything else now.” Your tone is firm, steady.

Yet, the softness of his skin as his thumb lazily traces along your palm threatens to collapse the walls you’ve painstakingly built during his absence. “I know you don’t need anything else, but…” he trails off, stepping closer until you can feel the warmth radiating off his body, “what about what you want?”

You don’t miss the way your heart picks up, beating like the wings of a butterfly as it carries itself to the newest, brightest flower. When he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, your body reacts on its own, melting into him, the firmness of his chest pressing against yours. “And what do you know about what I want, hm?”

“Maybe less about what you want, and more what I do,” he smiles, attempting to cover his nervousness with smugness. Kneeling down, he holds the piece of sea glass in his hand, the ocean waves dampening the cloth of his shorts. Shock spreads across your face as you watch him take a proposal stance. “Sugar, will you please, please, forgive me?”

After the initial stun passes, a bright laugh erupts from your throat, tears welling in your eyes at the surplus of emotions surging through you, some mix of reluctance and relief. “You are insane, Satoru,” you giggle.

He just grins below you, allowing the waves to ripple against his skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Reaching out your arms you shove against his shoulders, sending him toppling into the shallow waters. His hands shoot up and grab you, tugging you down with him as you scream in surprise. Cold water covers your body as you both drag yourselves from the sea, sufficiently damp with your clothes hanging loosely off your bodies.

Walking back along the shore, sand crunching beneath you, he hesitantly intertwines his fingers in yours; when you fail to push him off, he squeezes your hand, a bright smile plastered on his face. Upon returning to the warmth of your car, he rests his head against your shoulder, his hair leaking small droplets of water onto your neck. With the windows rolled down, the summer breeze tickles your skin as he contentedly sighs.

“I think I’ll extend my trip a few more days, if that’s alright with you,” he muses.

Leaning your head against his, you chuckle, the sound light against the heavy humidity. Squeezing his hand, a smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “I think I'd like that, sugar.”

[babybearnation]

Paul, Kimi A, Ollie, Dino, and Zane in 1920s au? Love youuuu

i love you too :3 also i've assigned them random, non-canon roles within my 1920s au so i hope that's okay :D

gn!reader (1920's au)

tailor!paul aron:

paul was the finest tailor ever and you? you needed a new outfit, pronto - you couldn't show up to one of the biggest parties of the 1920s in slop

you and paul hit it off instantly, the two of you bonding over your shared love of clothes - hell, paul even offered to teach you how to make them!

you were an odd couple - he was patience and calm, you were all party and chaos - but you were happy together

you become a trendsetter thanks to paul's ingenious creations and he thanks you each and every time he gets more customers

racer!kimi antonelli:

one of the greatest racers of his generation, you and kimi met at the 1927 RAC Grand Prix and the two of you instantly fell in love with each other

you would follow him around the world, watching him race and being so enamoured by his successes that before long, the two of you were engaged

sure, you were a bit young, but both of you were positive that the love you felt for each other was true, and it was!

you were the talk of the 1920s, a true power couple who wowed everyone with their love and passion

gentleman's club member!ollie bearman:

ollie was the newest member of the formula one gentleman's club and you were the resident bartender, a friendly face amidst of sea of rich folks

he was obsessed with you and what started out as a silly crush soon developed into proper feelings - feelings he soon shared with you after one too many shots of brandy

you couldn't deny that you liked him back so, when he showed up sober the next day, you decided to talk about it

absolutely no one is stunned when you lean over the bar and kiss him that night, wolf whistles filling the club

valet!dino beganovic:

dino was the valet for the formula one gentleman's club and he wore that badge with pride, taking care of the member's cars and ensuring they got home safe

you were a singer for the club who happily flirted with the patrons, but your heart belonged solely in dino's hands, especially since the two of you had been a couple since you were children

after each and every night, you and dino would lock the place down together, the two of you reminiscing over the evening

you'd go home together, occasionally stopping to dance under the early morning stars whenever the moment struck

model!zane maloney:

zane was a male model who advertised clothing, jewelry and other things and you were his photographer, the two of you being quite the duo for as long as you could remember

you both supressed your feelings for each other for ages, too afraid to say anything in fear of ruining your work relationship but, after a drunken night, your relationship changed

the feelings between you two didn't ruin your work relationship, in fact, it enhanced the cohesion between you two

photos that turn out wrong are saved and pinned on your wall so you can stare at them whenever you miss him

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[fleckcmscott]

Take a Step

Summary: Arthur and Y/N put away the mundane to create a memorable Valentine's Day.

Words: 4,785

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: A Valentine's story? In September? It's either really late or really early. ⏰ @jokerownsmysoul made this request over three years ago, the longest it has taken me to fulfill one. 🤯 That puts it in the really, really late category. 😂 Thank you so much for your patience! I hope you all like it!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Mint and sulfur straggled through the sterile air, an unpleasant mixture that tautened his thighs to tight ropes. Breath rushed through flared nostrils, like a bear wanting to be left the hell alone so he could go hibernate. Skip the dreary dread of winter right to spring. He pressed the crown of his head to the wall behind him.

How had she talked him into this. How had he let her talk him into this?

Arthur and the dental profession had never been friends. The last seven years had gone by without just fine, thank you very much. Gotham Dental School's discounted amalgam fillings remained intact. The hole left by his missing pre-molar was convenient, really. A good place to stick a straw.

This would be more of the same old, same old advice, all of which he'd ignore. Start flossing. Use alcohol free mouthwash for dry mouth. Chew sugar free gum after smoking - or better yet, quit that entirely. Now go pay the receptionist and pick a prize out of the treasure chest.

He supposed he should be happy to have a wife who took care of his appointments, who pushed him to take care of himself. Mostly he was. But Y/N had shoved him into this office with an appointment card and a kiss on the cheek. "Dr. Miles does good work," she'd said. "He'll keep that sunny smile sexy."

Compliments were a surefire way to talk him into this.

The memory was enough of a trapdoor to step through, a cubbyhole of comfort that slowed his pulse. In an attempt to ignore the whirr of the drill in the next room, he studied the blotted watercolor of a beach on the opposite wall. The pile of yellowed "What Does God Require of You?" tracts by the overgrown philodendron on the bookcase. Anything but the giant tooth model showing the stages of periodontal disease.

He rubbed the top of his legs to loosen them, crossed them at the knee. His foot bumped the round ottoman that doubled as a newspaper holder. A headline below the fold caught his eye: "Valentine's spending set to shatter records."

A sunny, sexy smile spread across his face.

As a child, the day had meant a break from schoolwork for cupcakes with pink frosting and valentines slipped into a decorated shoebox on each student's desk. Sure, he'd only received a handful. But that'd been enough. A nice change from the usual teasing. When puberty had possessed him, hair and sweat glands sprouting in new places, Valentine's Day had been his personal pining hell. Dates didn't happen. He'd misread basic politeness as flirting. No one invited him anywhere.

Adulthood had been more of the same.

Television was a reminder of what he couldn't have. Advertisements for housewares, for cars, for grape juice all featured couples. They all had an us. One had a pair playing tennis, scoring 40-Love and discussing Speed Stick for Him and Her. A man ran a palm along a woman's leg in another, a commercial for No Nonsense pantyhose.

When would he get to fondle a woman's leg, he'd wondered? When would he get to score Love?

Way back when, Arthur had imagined an imperfect but wonderful evening. An amalgamation of simple yearnings and being green. A homecooked meal with his beloved, a slow dance in the kitchen. The softness of her, the kindness of her. Beauty buttressed by kisses and the kind of infatuation found in storybooks. A break from the bitterness that lurked a heartbeat away.

Now that he had his special person to cook and dance with, it was a holiday to relish. On which to buy a gift for his one and only. To show her off and show off how much he loved her.

There were a million ways to say I love you. Perhaps he'd get her one of those cards edged in lace or a sateen box of gourmet chocolates. Not the Brach's brand from the drug store - those were dry and sour - but from Cane's Chocolatiers, filled with mousse.

He could write a bit for her, perform a private set over coffee and cake. They could stroll along the docklands and listen to the ocean. Watch the moon shine on the incoming tide and their wedding rings. He'd take her hand, lead her out onto the pier, where they'd dance, and her dress would billow in waves. Where he'd twirl her until fell into his arms. Where he'd slip eager fingertips through the slit at her-

"Mr. Fleck," called the dental hygienist from the doorway. Toothbrushes dotted her purple scrubs. "We're ready for your x-rays."

Blinking, he rose and straightened his cardigan. Once the hygienist rounded the corner, he snatched the paper, folded it into thirds, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N waited at Gotham Savings Bank, paycheck and checkbook in hand. With the line a twelve-person-deep swarm, it was doubtful her errands would fit into her lunch hour. She adjusted her purse. Bounced between toes and heels. She'd have to steal bits of an Italian Style Swanson over her typewriter.

As she advanced through waves of mumbling and murmurs, a buoyant post came into view. Pink as an orchid, covered in enough silver glitter to give the janitor a headache, it advertised the Valentine's Club, a special savings account just for the holiday. Perfect for a cruise on the Finger River, starting with a candlelight dinner and ending with an engagement ring. A flash of a smile ruffled the corner of her mouth.

Though a decade had passed since she'd last celebrated, the day was nothing new. In elementary school, the teachers had passed out candy and cards. "I think you're sharp," they'd said, or "You pass the test!" Beyond the chance to eat sweets and the peril of cooties, none of the six-year-olds had really understood what it'd meant.

Despite being serious and stuffy, not one for grand romantic gestures, her ex-husband Jeff had been good at Valentine's Day. He'd eschewed Boonville's diner, pharmacy soda fountain, and immortal dive bar Fogey's in favor of a reservation out of town. Pulled her chair out for her, placed a respectable kiss on the cheek. At the end of the night, he'd given her carnations in the privacy of their living room, even when they'd been too distant to share the depths of their hearts.

One year, he'd whisked her away for an overnight at the Windsor Hotel, a three-story joint on the outskirts of St. Louis that featured coin-operated vibrating beds and a heated pool. They'd been stuck in a single directly under the hotel bar, a place filled with lonely hearts on the hunt for Cupid. Every laugh and every sob had penetrated the popcorn ceiling. Each footstep a bass drum threatening to crash through.

They'd tried to distract themselves with a quickie, but the bed's whirring motor had added to the racket rather than drowned it out. A bath in the jacuzzi was the next attempt to salvage the evening. But when she'd turned on the jets, the pipes squeaked and squealed as if mice ran through them, sprinting towards an entire wheel of cheese. She and Jeff had barely gotten dressed before racing home.

Last year, Valentine's wasn't a priority. She and Arthur were so busy with his move, it hadn't been a blip on her radar. He hadn't exactly been comfortable living together. Not yet. Akin to an anxious guest, he'd hesitated to touch anything. To affect the space that was now his. And he hadn't had access to all of his medications, refusing to elaborate on the cost besides a discouraged, dismissive "expensive."

Arthur's face had been a mask of embarrassment when he'd apologized over evening dishes. "For once in my life, I have someone who needs me. And I- I didn't do anything."

"Did you sample my Stevie Wonder record?" she'd asked. An inner joy had sprung at the progress that represented.

Arthur had dried his three-tone brown mug, set it next to hers on a one shoulder shrug. "Yeah."

"We took a big step in our relationship." She'd scrubbed the frying pan with firm, circular motions. "We stepped towards each other. What could be more of a celebration than that?"

"Okay, but-"

She'd pressed a sudsy hand to his sternum. "I know you love me. I love you, too." She sought to brighten him, to lighten him, and settled on another track he might have heard. "Either way, Arthur, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours."

The sigh of his entire frame as he'd dropped the dish towel and gathered her to his chest had made her love him all the more.

A middle-aged man in a threadbare beret shuffled forward, making Y/N next in line. The teal and peach lovebirds riding his shoulders pooped streaks of white and brown down the back of his suede jacket. She stayed in her spot and stayed silent. Nothing in this city surprised her anymore. At least he sounded polite.

She eyed the poster anew. This being the first Valentine's Day since marrying Arthur gave it an air of distinction, of specialness she was happy to embrace. Especially for him, her romantic at heart. Maybe they could go ice skating in the park, or take a carriage ride through Gotham, replete with flannel blankets and hot chocolate.

She smiled at the way he conjured such images, how he'd taught her to enjoy the special gestures she hadn't thought necessary.

"Next, please!" From the teller on the right.

Y/N scanned the floor for white and brown splats. At the window, she straightened and said, "Hi, I'd like to deposit this into my checking account." She pushed her paycheck under the glass. But her current preoccupation with Arthur stalled her hand. "Actually, I have to correct the cash back form. I'll need an extra fifty."

~~~~~

A blizzard had rolled in Saturday, bringing Gotham to a standstill under twenty-six inches of snow. Most trains were back on schedule by Sunday evening, but on Monday all city parks remained closed. Waltzes on the pier and carriage rides would have to wait.

What they settled on was closer to Arthur's humble fantasies of yore. He was fine with that - it'd be easier to make reality match the movie in his mind. Gifts after breakfast that her office's delayed opening had turned into brunch and catching Singing in the Rain at the Monarch that night. A flick that guaranteed they'd wear themselves out laughing (or fooling around in the back row if the mood struck).

And an afternoon delivery, a cliché and a classic he prayed would work despite the frost.

Their home was tranquil, serene, the only sounds their hushed voices and gentle conversation. Court for the next three days was sure to be cancelled, so Y/N planned to review older cases, ensure their documents were in order. Arthur would head to the children's clinic with heart-shaped lollipops tomorrow. He'd salted the building's entranceway while she'd showered. ("I got out your boots," he told her. "It's slippery out there." "You take such good care of me," she said.)

The familiarity of their everyday discussions was a comfort, as cozy as a well-tended hearth. Yet, lovely though it was, he wanted less everyday, more play. Less work and chores, more Us.

He eyed the fruit plate. Fresh pears were new to him, and a lifelong dislike of canned made him skeptical. He went for the cantaloupe. "What was the first thing you noticed about me? When we met?"

Y/N munched at her cinnamon oatmeal. "Your hair."

"My hair?" People tended to comment on his laugh or skinniness, if they noticed him at all.

"There's a confidence to keeping it long. And it was obvious you used conditioner. That told me the rest of you was well kept, too." She wet her lips between each spoonful. "How about you? What did you notice about me?"

"That you blushed." He took a cautious nibble and frowned, a taste he could only describe as sweet garbage swamping his mouth. He laid the slice politely in his bowl. Cleared his throat, chugged the rest of his coffee. "Other woman don't do that around me."

"Well, they must be blind, Mr. Fleck, because you're gorgeous. That's the second thing I noticed."

Ducking his chin, he thumbed the handle of his mug. Fitting that she'd see beauty in him he hadn't realized existed.

A sudden anticipation seized him, the urge to shove his gift at her mid-bite. He excused himself, hurried to his desk. Retrieved the key from under the desk lamp. Pulled open the bottom drawer.

The bundle covered in red tissue paper dared him to do it.

He held it with both hands. Reverently, as if it could singe. He wasn't certain what had loaned him the panache to buy this. Maybe being a husband had made him a new and improved Arthur. This felt more daring than marrying her. Than sleeping with her. Solicitation shielded in scarlet.

She was scooping the last morsel of oatmeal in her mouth when he set it beside the fruit plate. Perched on the chair diagonal from her, he rubbed sweaty palms under the table.

Frantic tearing at the paper, her smile rounding to a pleased O. "Oh, Arthur…" She hooked her fingers through the babydoll's straps. A laugh bubbled up, fresh color flooding her cheeks. "I have to admit I'm surprised you got me something like this. But I'm happy you did. Come here." She leaned forward and grabbed his chin.

Deep satisfaction eased his nerves, while her firm, wet kiss sparked others anew. He held her forearm. Parted her lips with his own.

Quick as a flash, she broke away. "I'm gonna try it on," she said, and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom.

His gaze followed her until she was out of sight. A pleasing lightness coursed through him. Lifted him from his chair. Drove him to move, turn on one foot from the table to the sink to rinse their bowls.

Less than a minute later, she'd returned. "What do you think?"

He glanced towards the kitchen entrance, over his shoulder. Registered what he'd seen and glanced again. A knot rose in throat, that glance becoming a full-on stare.

Powder blue chiffon draped over her form, the hem floating below her hips in a soft sway. Dainty white flowers trimmed the v-neck, starting at her breasts, climbing along the halter straps that disappeared beneath her tresses and were tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. Brown aerolas were brazen pendants beneath the lingerie. The strip of mesh that ran under her bust drew his stare downward, to the outline of her comma shaped navel.

"You…" He gulped. Below was a silhouette of dusky hair, a demure triangle at the apex of her thighs. The nightie was more diaphanous than the sales catalog had led him to believe. He lowered the bowl like a man hypnotized. It met the bottom of the sink with a soft clink. "You're beautiful."

A giggle as she covered her face. "You make me feel beautiful."

She went to him, the air around her electrified, sparking with each footfall. She pulled a red envelope from behind her. "Happy Valentine's Day."

With the care of a curator of rare antiquities, he slid his fingertip under the flap. The lilac greeting card had a tic-tac-toe game in which the Xs had lost, and the Os were a horizontal line of three hearts. "You won my heart," it said. Y/N had added a short note in her rounded script: "(You made it a very easy game.)" He traced the letters, his chest swelling with pride. Inside, he found a perforated certificate, akin to an old movie ticket, where a couple tangoed across a black background and gold cursive declared, "Good for three lessons at Arthur Murray Dance Studios."

His fantasy of them on the pier flashed behind his eyes. Had she misread is mind? "But I don't need lessons."

"No," she said, and closed the gap between them. "But I do."

Tender adoration flooded his frame, a gooeyness starting in his scalp and ending in his toes. She was timid about dancing, insecure in the way he was about too many things. And here she stood, willing to take part in one of his passions. To be the center of attention. To get out there in front of everyone to learn to dance. With him. Simply because she loved him.

With a woman like her in his life, it was easy to be a new and improved Arthur.

Relaxing into a grin, he grabbed her hand and snatched her about the waist. She yelped, her palm flying to his bicep. A step forward with his left foot, a slide to the right with his right. He led her through the passthrough galley in a sort of jogging quickstep. His uneven shoulders shimmed, a happy tune behind his teeth.

"What are you humming?" Y/N asked.

"'You Were Meant for Me.'" A number from the flick they'd catch tonight. He lifted their arms above their heads, tried to ease her into a natural spin turn.

Her toes collided with his, her weight off balance as she floundered. She laughed a nervous laugh. "Even though I don't have your grace?"

"But you're the prettiest," he said, and bent to kiss her. His fingers splayed on the elegant curve of her back. "The sweetest." Her form pressed closer, soft curves on hard angles.

He traced a path down her arm, gaze falling to the slopes of her breasts. Fabric obscured the faint stretchmarks, her puffy aerolas now tight dots. Their steps slowed, their dance burgeoning to a dire need for friction. He guided her jaw upwards, his voice velvet edged. "The sexiest."

Her eyes softened, gleaming garnets worthy of song and Solomon. "I love you."

"Shameless," he rasped, thin lips claiming hers.

Her arms flew about his middle, mouths meeting and parting with languorous urgency. Stirring below his waistband swelled to an assertive ache in his abdomen. Heavy and full, he strained against the seam of his pajamas.

She writhed against it, ground her hips into his. Wanton fingers cupped him through the thin cotton. Squeezing, scorching, a fervent up and down. Clasping her upper arms, he walked her backwards, erection bobbing with each step.

When he lifted her onto the counter, lusty laughter filled her throat. Sultry, silky, a sound he longed to wrap himself in. To draw from her tongue. Her knees fell open at his hips. She scooted forward, away from the microwave and upper cabinets. Her breasts jostled with each movement. He cupped one, jiggled it until she snorted and dug her toes into his leg.

Gauzy fabric caught on her nipples. He drew one downward with his thumb, watched it spring back. Gently, he rolled it between his fingers. Pinched and groaned as it grew harder. On a choked cry, she arched into his touch. Reached to tug at the strap by her neck.

He caught her wrist. "Leave it on." Touching her directly was intoxicating, a liquor he preferred to wine. But something about her nightie separating them gave the encounter an illicit air, like he was privy to a secret. A green light of want that flashed only for him.

She leaned back a bit, just enough to loosen the tie of his pajama bottoms. Slide them past his pelvis. The thin cotton pooled at his skinny ankles. She whispered caresses along his ribs, teased the hollows of his hips. The hem of her nightie crept to her waist. He was fully aware of his cock brushing her inner thigh.

She grasped his shaft, ran the tip in a line along her slit. Smeared his arousal from her clit to her plump lips. Pleasure spiked through him. A flinch and a gasp as he sprang to his toes.

Her bedroom eyes met his. "Make love to me."

He breathed a shivering breath. This was more than he'd imagined, yet exactly what he'd yearned for.

He slid into her deliciously. She was fiery, like a furnace, heat radiating from each cell. From this angle, he could see every detail of her sex. The pretty pink, the glistening want of him, her creases and fleshy folds. It was incredible, exciting, and with a hungry grunt he filled her anew.

Peeking out from its hood, her bundle of nerves begged for his touch. He dragged the pad of his thumb across it. Did so once more. Nails biting his shoulders, she jolted, cried out. Another sweep and a canyon formed between her brows. She tossed back her head without a care-

Bang!

A yelp cut off her mewling. Arthur halted mid-thrust, hands hovering by her ears. "Are you okay?"

Laughter cracked out of her. She grabbed the crown of her head. "The cabinet is more dangerous than it looks."

He chuckled along with her and pecked her hair. Scooped her up by the waist and spun them around. The pajamas at his ankles forced his walk to a scuffing. He set her on the dinette table, on the side free from coffee mugs and sickly sweet melon.

Laying down, she stretched her arms out behind her, grasped the edge of the table. Diaphanous blue rode further upward. Gravity flattened her stomach. Her legs dangled over the side.

He rocked into her again, and she smiled his favorite kind of smile. Wide and open, built from love and delight. One hand ran from her shoulder, over her breast, to her hip. Then lower and lower still. Her fingertips quivered at her clit, short strokes that made her thighs twitch. "Just like that," she said, ending on a whine.

He plunged faster, her quickening fingers a guide. Strained to bring her to completion. She bucked lightly, a subtle circling that struck a vibrant chord within him. He bent forward, pressed a palm to her sternum. Urged her to take all that she needed. All that she wanted. All of him.

Ruddy patches bloomed across her chest, crept up her neck, tinged the shells of her ears. A heady moan slipped from her. The rise and fall of her ribs went herky-jerky, her head craned back. Her walls spasmed, clutching and groping him in a rhythm that doubled him over. Warm and nimble, the kind of dance she excelled at. The dance for which she'd taught him all the steps.

"You're so good at this," she purred once her shakes had abated.

A smug smile spreading wide. "Am I?" He flexed the muscles of his pubis, watched her eyes widen with delight.

Her hand went from her center to trail tickling fingers up his spine. "You fuck me like you mean it."

Bottomless contentment unfurled in him, enveloped the peaks and valleys of his soul. "I do mean it," he said, and rotated his pelvis into hers.

Arching to meet him, she tugged at his tousled curls. "Like I was meant for you."

Delving deeper and deeper with each push. "You were."

Managing to be tender and firm at the same time, he cupped her face with both hands. Today was a day for romance, and he wanted to kiss her when he came. The touch of her lips was a thousand-volt shock. His tempo quickened, breath emerging in short, desperate pants. A sudden burst within him, his whole being flooded with besotted bliss. His hips stuttered, every pulse a pierce of pleasure. Eyes screwing shut, he whimpered into her mouth.

Peaceful, warm, and tired, he slumped on top of her. Basked in her smooth skin. Her fingers in his hair, his arm pillowing her head, the sweaty press of their stomachs. He could've stayed in that naked reality forever, signed a lease and moved right in.

But Y/N kissed his shoulder and said, "I should get ready before Phil has to ask why I'm late to work." Her free hand felt around for the fruit plate.

Arthur groaned and propped himself on an elbow. Fumbled with a flower on her neckline. "Well, what would you have said?"

She took a bite of pear, munched thoughtfully before replying. "That my husband had me in flagrante delicto." She pressed the rest of the pear to his mouth. He closed his lips around her fingertips, took the juicy morsel with tongue and teeth. "That you caught me in the act," she said, brows arching twice. His belly tightened on a breathy laugh.

Combing through her bedhead, she scooted to stand. Pulled the nightie down to her hips. Arthur bunched up his pajamas and briefs, held them in front of his thighs. Just as she was about to exit the kitchen, she stopped and turned back. "You make me so happy, Arthur. There's no one else I'd rather have been meant for." A peck to his cheek and she left.

Say something, he thought. Say anything! But his mouth was a stubborn seam, and it was only after the bathroom door had shut that he could even move. That he could even breathe. He fell back against the counter, grasped the edge for purchase. Dropped his clothing and rubbed his hand over his heart.

This damned life had brought so much pain, but then it'd brought her. It was almost enough to forgive and forget all those wasted Valentines.

The rush of the faucet brought him back to the present. He marched to the phone and dialed. Even if he couldn't find the words, this was something he could do.

"Hi, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Is it too late to change the delivery for Y/N Fleck? At Dube and Ellis?" The phone cord curled around fidgeting knuckles. "Okay, good. Can I make it two dozen?"

~~~~~

"Could you fax that attention Y/N Fleck, please?" Y/N said into the phone. She hadn't gotten a chance to shower after this morning's impromptu rendezvous, but she'd run a washcloth over the vital parts and didn't seem to smell of sex. A pity, really. She wouldn't have minded a hint of her husband's piney scent as a private perfume. She'd nuzzle him tonight at the movies to make up for it.

Y/N, you're at work. Stop it.

She crossed her legs and ran a finger along her collar. "No, not Flick. Fleck. F-L-E-C-K."

Terry swaggered through the firm's door and in her direction, carrying a looming bouquet of roses and baby's breath in a fluted vase. Had he forgotten today? Was he on his way over to celebrate a last-minute victory?

"Yes." Again into the receiver. "Thanks a lot. You, too." Once she'd hung up, she relaxed into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You made it just under the wire," she told Terry. "I'm surprised there were any flowers left in the city. Your wife'll love them."

"Are you kidding? And risk my hide like that?" He stopped in front of her desk. "I made a reservation months ago. These are for you."

She squinted in confusion. "What?"

"At least, that's what I assume." He made an exaggerated show of reading the floral card. "'To my saucy and sweet Y/N.'"

"Oh my god." She shot upright, her head a fireball.

He surveyed the office. "I don't see any other Y/Ns around here."

"Give me that." She snatched the card from him.

A goofy snicker left Terry, a barrel of ha-has. "Now I know your secret." He squeezed the vase between her typewriter and coffee mug. "Remember that during fundraising season."

When he took off towards his desk, she called after him. "Bribery is illegal." He waved her off with a So Sue Me gesture.

Spicy floral caught her nose, not on par with Arthur's scent but lovely all the same. She traced a bloom, cupped one in her palm. After ensuring the coast was clear, she pulled the card away from her chest. She read the courier font, her smile soaring to an all-out beam:

To my saucy and sweet Y/N, Everyone should know we make a great pear. Your valentine, Arthur.

She made a soft sound, ran her thumb over his name. The salutation was corny and charming and embodied everything she'd come to appreciate about him. To love about him. A declaration as proud and plain as their wedding bands, the last name on her name plate, the photo on her desk.

One more example wouldn't hurt.

Careful not to a disturb a petal, Y/N stuck the card back in its holder. Stood and slid the vase to the outer corner of her L-shaped desk, a vibrant and happy display.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl

[shares-a-vest]

🍹 If You Like Pina Coladas 🍹 (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.5k | Rated: M for Mild Suggestive Language, Sexual Humour, Mention of a handjob | cw: Alcohol Consumption (Not excessive – Eddie makes two Pina Coladas)

Tags: Hot Tub, Steve Harrington’s House, Cocktails, Flirting, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Body Worship (just a smidge as Eddie ogles his boyfriend)

Note: A while back I was looking through 1980s furniture advertisements and stumbled across several Jacuzzi ads, so I decided the Harringtons needed one hehe. And thank you to the STWG discord for always indulging my silly ideas, even if it takes me months to bring them to life 💜

🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹

Eddie leans across the countertop of Family Video and kicks up his feet, grinning at his boyfriend despite the grumpy, pouty-boy frown creasing Steve’s brow.

“Come on, Stevie,” he insists, “What’s got your jeans in a such a twist?”

He rests his chin on his hands and tilts his head to the side, all innocent but nonetheless expectant. Steve has been sulking all week and Eddie is certain it has something to do with the fact that his folks have been home for an entire month now.

It has been tough on him too – what with their Private Boyfriend Time being cut down to whenever Wayne isn’t home. Which, considering his roaster right now, isn’t a whole lot of time for much of anything.

Plus, the novelty of boning in Steve’s car wore off about halfway through the first time. As it turns out, the back cab of the Beemer isn’t exactly all that spacious – nor is it conducive to avoiding a leg cramp so severe that Eddie almost got kicked straight in the head by his lover.

Eddie hums, thinking back to just what he was doing before the near-collision.

Steve stands upright to reach into the breast pocket of his tight navy-blue polo – one with four whole buttons the tease keeps undone in order to expose maximum chest hair. He produces a flimsy and tattered scrap of paper that looks to have been cut out of a magazine.

Steve sucks in a breath, unfurls the paper and hands it over.

“A hot tub?”

Eddie gawks at the advertisement in Steve’s hand and his boyfriend groans at his excitement.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, collapsing forward against the counter and Eddie’s heart flutters at their regained proximity, “My parents had it delivered a few days ago.”

Eddie delicately lays out the advertisement on the sliver of counter space between them and runs his finger over the picture, circling the rounded edges of the featured hot tub. He then moves to trace the hairline of the male model in the picture, a Fabio-looking dude who is having the time of his life sipping on a cocktail, accompanied by a pretty blonde toasting to his rugged masculinity.

“And this is bad, how?” he asks, looking up to find his boyfriend looking more than a little grumpy.

“Well, for one thing I have to make it down to the Post Office before closing to pick up some pump plug thing,” Steve grouses, all pouty with that bitchy lilt he gets (and that Eddie loves).

“Pump plug…” Eddie murmurs, transfixed as his greedy gaze makes its way down the long, tanned column of Steve’s neck…

To his chest, which is a lot more appealing than that of Jacuzzi Fabio Guy.

“Yeah, and guess who has to figure out how to get the stupid thing up and running by the time they get back?”

Eddie snaps to attention and smiles as sweet and innocent as he can muster.

“When do they get back?”

Steve looks at his watch, “They left about an hour ago and come back Monday night.”

Eddie leans over a little more – at least as much as he can before the counter begins to cut into his stomach.

“Stevie,” he coos, wiggling his brows, “My darling boyfriend.”

He abandons his fingering of the advertisement to reach for a lock of hair to twirl. Eddie giggles, dipping his chin as he bats his dark lashes.

“What?” Steve purses his lips before it all sinks in, “ – Wait. Oh, no!”

Call him selfish, but Eddie gives Steve no choice when it comes to the matter of getting the new Harrington Family Jacuzzi up and running. First, he mans Family Video so Steve can head to the Post Office for his pump plug-thing – an item he cannot bring himself to think about without chuckling a little, ‘tee-hee’. Then, when Steve returns with a box that contains said pump plug, Eddie helps his boyfriend read through the instructions before he heads on over to Melvad’s for some supplies.

It is going to be perfect.

Warm and bubbly.

Sensuous.

Private.

Eddie later finds himself buzzing out of his skin, rocking on his heels from his position right behind Steve as his boyfriend fires the bad boy up, pump plug plugged, and all.

“Great,” Eddie says, flapping the instruction manual in his hand, “Now we just have to wait for it to warm up.”

Steve huffs as he stands up and wipes at his sweaty brow – a sign of a manly job well done. He insists on washing up, so Eddie changes into his black boardshorts and sets about making them cocktails.

And yeah, he might have taken the advertisement out of the wastebasket in Steve’s bedroom while his boyfriend was showering in order to replicate Fabio Jacuzzi Guy’s alcoholic beverages. Sue him for wanting a romantic, catalogue-inspired evening – Pina Coladas included.

Eddie is all set up and ready to go as he lingers by the new outdoor accessory, waiting on bated breath for Steve to finally make his way out onto the back patio. The Hot tub is bubbling away like a hot spring, the inviting, steamy warmth every bit the picture painted in the advertisement Steve so thoroughly poo-poohed all afternoon.

But when Steve drops his towel, Eddie’s face drops.

“Why aren’t you wearing that tantalising little red speedo of yours?”

“Eddie, it’s freezing out here,” Steve argues, shivering as he looks out over the backyard.

Eddie grumbles and turns to the hot tub. He licks his lips, deciding what would be the most logical way of stepping up into the warm waters as he balances the two fruity cocktails in his hands.

“It’s what the bubbles are for, sweetheart,” he says, swinging his leg over the rounded boarder of the tub.

And in a second Steve is by his side, looping an arm around his waist to guide him. Eddie grins and pushes one of the cocktails into Steve’s hand.

“Oh, Pina Colada,” Steve beams.

They settle onto opposite sides of the hot tub – optimal positioning, if Eddie does say so himself! It allows him to get a good, greedy look at Steve, who is now preoccupied with trying to get his plush, pink lips around his straw without poking himself in the eye with the little yellow umbrella sticking out the top of his drink.

Eddie puffs out his chest and takes a sip of his own drink.

“Wait, is that my b-boombox?” Steve says mid-gulp, looking over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie nods with enthusiasm.

“Thought it could be romantic,” he coos.

He sets his drink on a coaster near the boombox and carefully makes his way to his boyfriend. He wades through the warm water, stepping carefully – his body tingling as the tub’s jet streams rush hot water against him. It lights a fire in his belly and leaves him looking Steve up and down like he is something he could just eat right up.

Because the thing is, in this heat – with Steve’s perpetually warm body – the whole atmosphere is giving his beautiful skin a delicate sheen that is both arousing and oh-so-shiny. Like Steve is some precious thing made of gold. A God, even.

Eddie settles in close, his cheeks burning up as his arm touches Steve’s, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. Down his body.

“Steve,” he breathes, leaning into his partner’s neck.

“Eddie, this isn’t a porno,” Steve deadpans.

“You sure about that?” Eddie teases, reaching down to cup Steve through his boardshorts and rub.

It gives his boyfriend a jolt and Steve chokes out this stifled little whimper and all Eddie can do is chuckle into the bare skin of his shoulder. He bites him for good measure, earning a hiss. But Steve melts at the touch, sinking down a little in his seat.

“Eddie,” he whispers, screwing his eyes shut – damn his willpower, “You cannot jerk me off in my parent’s Jacuzzi.”

“Oh,” Eddie grins, pretending he is utterly scandalised by such a suggestion, “Who said it was going to be a mere handjob?”

Steve reaches down and wraps his meaty paw around Eddie’s wrist. He brings it up to the surface and interlaces their fingers.

“That so?”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“Smooth operator.”

“Dork,” Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek, “Wanna go upstairs?”

“After we finish our beverages.”

Eddie pushes himself off from their side of the hot tub and accidentally propels himself a little too hard to the other side. He reaches out a flailing limb to catch something in a desperate search for purchase.

But his hand knocks over his Pina Colada, spilling it directly into the hot tub. He grapples for the edge of the tub and momentarily dunks his entire goddamn head beneath the surface.

“O-ops,” he splutters when he comes up for air, spitting bubbly, hot water from his mouth.

He shakes drenched hair from his face, only to be met with Steve’s frown.

[wincore]

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting. 

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap. 

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better. 

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang. 

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher. 

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple. 

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect. 

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform. 

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you. 

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you. 

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops. 

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance. 

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree. 

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise. 

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties. 

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here. 

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?” 

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles. 

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically. 

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate. 

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang. 

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you. 

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

 “You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips. 

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real." 

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

 You laugh, turning your attention to  the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating. 

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes. 

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing. 

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).” 

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one. 

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you. 

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart. 

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom. 

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds. 

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements. 

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious. 

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling. 

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?” 

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times. 

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly. 

“You’re so silly,” you mutter. 

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces. 

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines. 

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?” 

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire. 

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly. 

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you. 

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely. 

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back. 

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue  glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care? 

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous. 

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.” 

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you. 

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question. 

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced. 

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms. 

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home 

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment. 

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense. 

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot." 

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

[biblical-chronicles]

More than enough

___________________________________________________

where Liam reassures the reader that she's perfect just the way she is.

___________________________________________________

The apartment hummed with a peculiar kind of stillness, the kind that crept in when Liam wasn’t around. This morning, he’d been his usual whirlwind self—grabbing a jacket, tossing a half-empty mug into the sink, and muttering, “Won’t be long, love,” before pressing a quick kiss to your temple and rushing out the door.

It was hours ago. And though you were used to Liam’s unpredictable sense of time, the minutes seemed to stretch endlessly in his absence. The flat felt quieter, smaller, almost achingly so.

To distract yourself, you’d taken up little tasks—things you normally ignored or left half-finished. The dishes were washed and dried, the laundry folded neatly, and the cushions on the couch had been fluffed within an inch of their lives. Still, the gnawing ache of missing him lingered, making you hyperaware of the empty space around you.

By the door, you spotted the morning’s post: a stack of glossy magazines that had been slid through the letterbox earlier. Most were tabloid nonsense, full of ridiculous gossip and scandal. Normally, you’d toss them straight into the recycling bin without a second glance, but today, you figured they’d give you something to do.

With the stack balanced under one arm, you opened the door to take the rubbish out first, the late afternoon sun warming your skin as you stepped outside. The quiet hum of passing cars and distant chatter filled the air, but none of it eased the growing restlessness in your chest.

Back inside, you set the magazines down on the coffee table and started sorting through them. Most were exactly what you expected: pages upon pages of vapid celebrity rumors and cheap exaggerated headlines. You were halfway through the pile when a familiar face caught your eye.

Liam.

He stared back at you from the cover, his eyes piercing even in print, his trademark smirk tugging at his lips. The headline screamed, “Rock’s Last Great Rebel: Liam Gallagher Speaks Out.” You couldn’t help but smile at its ridiculousness.

You picked up the magazine, flipping quickly to the spread with your boyfriend on it. The photos stopped you in your tracks. They’d captured him perfectly: the effortless confidence in his posture, the fire in his gaze, the slight curl of his lips that made it impossible to look away. Every inch of him radiated the charisma that made him who he was, and you felt a rush of pride.

That was your boyfriend.

But as you lingered on the glossy images, an uneasy feeling began to unfurl in the pit of your stomach. You glanced at the surrounding pages, full of beautiful people with sculpted features and following all of the impossible beauty standards. Even the advertisements seemed to mock you, featuring models with flawless skin, toned bodies, and expensive clothes.

Your gaze dropped to yourself—bare feet tucked under you, dressed in a soft, oversized shirt and shorts. Comfortable, sure. But glamorous? Hardly.

The thoughts crept in, unwelcome and persistent. Liam was magnetic, a man who could have anyone he wanted; women with perfect hair and perfect bodies; women who didn’t have stretch marks or a soft stomach; women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers beside him, not curled up on his couch in lounge wear.

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the doubts. Liam loved you, didn’t he? He told you so constantly, in words and actions alike. Still, the voice in the back of your mind whispered cruelly: What if you’re not enough?

The magazine slid from your hands, landing on the coffee table with a dull thud. You stared at it for a moment before leaning back against the couch, your chest tightening. It felt silly to cry about something so irrational, but the tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting. You clutched a throw pillow to your chest, burying your face into it as quiet sobs wracked your body.

Time passed in a blur, the exhaustion of crying soon caught up with you, and your breathing slowed as sleep claimed you. Curled up on the couch, the soft light from the setting sun cast a warm glow across the room, the magazine lying forgotten on the table.

The sound of keys jingling broke the stillness of the apartment as Liam pushed the door open, his presence filling the space almost immediately. His boots clattered against the floor as he kicked them off, the casual chaos of his arrival unmistakably him. Tossing his jacket over the back of a chair without care, he called out, his Mancunian drawl echoing through the quiet.

“Darling? Where are you?”

He paused, expecting the usual shuffle of your footsteps or the warm sound of your greeting. But the flat remained eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Where’s me girl, then?” he muttered to himself, his tone lighter, but his brows furrowing ever so slightly as he wandered further into the flat.

The living room came into view, and there you were, curled up on the couch. His steps slowed, his posture softening as he took you in. A fond smile tugged at his lips. You looked peaceful, your head resting against a throw pillow, one arm draped protectively around it like it was the key to your dreams. The golden hues of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over you, illuminating the delicate curve of your cheek and the soft rise and fall of your chest.

For a moment, he simply watched, his heart swelling. He always marveled at how you could look so effortlessly beautiful, even in the middle of a nap.

“Proper angel, you are,” he whispered to himself.

But as he was starting to turn to let you rest, something caught his eye—faint, dark smudges under your eyes, thin trails of mascara streaked down your cheeks. His stomach twisted and his carefree grin faded, replaced by worry.

“Oi, love,” he murmured sitting carefully on the edge of the couch. He leaned closer, brushing a few loose strands of hair from your face with featherlight touches. “What’s all this, then?”

The gentleness of his voice pulled you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his. For a brief moment, there was only confusion as you registered the world around you. Then, your gaze landed on him, his face filled with concern.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice thick and heavy with sleep.

“Hey, yerself,” he replied, his brow knitting as he studied you. “Why’ve you been skrikin’, eh? What’s goin’ on?”

“I wasn’t,” you lied, your voice shaky as you quickly wiped at your cheeks, trying to erase the evidence.

Liam gave you a look—a mixture of disbelief and gentle reproach, the kind that said, I know you too well for that. His eyes flicked to the coffee table, where the magazine lay open, its glossy pages splayed out like a beacon. He picked it up, swiftly flipping through the pages until he saw himself staring back.

A grin tugged at his lips, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. “Bloody hell,” he said, holding the page up for you to see. “You been skrikin’ over these pictures of me? Can’t blame ya, really. Look at this face. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

Despite yourself, a shaky laugh escaped your lips, but it quickly dissolved into a fresh wave of tears. Before Liam could tease you further, you leaned into him, your face burying itself in the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. His hand rested against the back of your head, his other arm snug around your waist. “What’s all this about? You’re gonna drown me at this rate, love.”

You shook your head against his chest, your sobs muffled but still audible. It took a moment for you to compose yourself, your words barely above a whisper as you finally choked out, “What if I’m not enough for you?”

Liam stiffened slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears as his brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Not enough?” he repeated, his voice soft but incredulous. “Are you mad? Where’s all this comin’ from?”

You gestured vaguely toward the magazine, your voice cracking. “Just look at them. All those girls… they’re perfect. And I’m just… me.”

His gaze followed your gesture to the magazine before snapping back to you. He stared for a moment, his expression unreadable, then let out a low, incredulous chuckle.

“Right,” he said, grabbing the magazine and flipping through it with exaggerated flair. “Let’s have a look, then.”

“Liam—” you began, but he cut you off.

“No, no. We’re sortin’ this right now.” He jabbed a finger at the interview section. “Here. Read this.”

“I don’t want to,” you mumbled, your eyes glistening again.

“Love,” he said, his tone softening as he nudged the magazine toward you. “Trust me, yeah? Just give it a read.”

Reluctantly, you took it, your eyes scanning the lines where he’d pointed. You froze as the words sunk in.

“Me missus? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Beautiful inside and out, proper angel. Dunno where I’d be without her, probably long gone in a ditch somewhere”

Tears welled up again, but they were different this time—warmer, fuller. You set the magazine aside, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“See?” he said, his voice a soothing balm against your frayed nerves. “Don’t be thinkin’ daft stuff like that, yeah? You’re it for me, love. No one else comes close, in any department”

Unable to hold back, you surged forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was equal parts gratitude and love. He kissed you back just as fiercely, his hands resting on your waist as if grounding you to him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured against his lips.

“Nowt to be sorry about,” he replied, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Just don’t forget how bloody amazing you are. Not quite as amazing as me, mind,” he added with a cheeky grin, “but close.”

“Liam!” you laughed, smacking him lightly with a pillow before he could say more.

“Oi, careful,” he teased, pulling you back into his arms. “Don’t ruin the moment, love.”

Liam wasn’t about to let you out of his sight for the rest of the evening, he quickly planted another reassuring kiss on your temple, and pulled you onto his lap, his arms locking you securely in place.

“Right,” he said, grinning up at you, “you’re stayin’ here, missy. No more of this ‘not enough’ nonsense, yeah?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I've got much choice. Seems like I’m stuck now.”

“Good,” he quipped, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “That’s exactly where I want ya.”

The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, each gentle motion like a silent vow to keep you grounded and adored. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then another to your nose, before smirking.

“You’re lucky I’m generous,” he teased, “doin’ all this work, showerin’ ya with affection.”

“Oh, is that what this is? Work?” you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He gasped in mock offense. “You doubt my dedication? Do you know how many lasses out there would kill for this treatment? Top-tier, it is.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Oh, I’m sure they would.”

“‘Course they would,” he said, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your jaw as he spoke. “But I’m here, ain’t I? With you. The only one worth me time.”

Your cheeks flushed, and before you could respond, he started peppering your face with kisses—light, playful, and entirely relentless.

“Liam!” you squealed, squirming as his stubble tickled your skin.

“Oi, quit wigglin’. I’m tryin’ to make a point!” he protested, his voice full of laughter as he tightened his hold on you. “This is serious business, this. Proper love declaration.”

“Serious, is it?” you said, breathless from laughter.

“Dead serious,” he replied, his tone dipping into something softer as he pressed his lips to your temple. “Love you, darlin'. Properly.”

Your heart swelled, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I love you too, Liam,” you murmured, the words coming out so naturally they felt like breathing.

He tilted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint you knew so well. “Well, I should hope so, after all this effort I’m puttin’ in.”

You playfully smacked his shoulder, and he feigned a wince. “Oi, you’re brutal. I’m just tryin’ to sweet-talk ya, and here you are, roughin’ me up.”

“Oh, poor you,” you teased, leaning back slightly to look at him.

“Yeah, poor me,” he echoed dramatically, pulling you even closer. “Guess I’ll just have to keep kissin’ ya till you make it up to me.”

And he did, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, the kind that made time seem irrelevant. His fingers continued their gentle patterns on your arm, grounding you in the moment, as if to say, I’m here. You’re mine.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his grin softening into something more earnest. “You’re stuck with me, y’know,” he said. “Forever, if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

“Forever sounds good,” you replied, your voice a quiet promise.

___________________________________________________

There y’go, another request done and dusted—proper miracle worker, me, aren’t I? Hope you lot liked this sweet little Liam number, yeah? xx

And to anyone in me inbox with requests, I see ya, don’t worry. Gonna tackle this batch first, but I’ll sort you all out soon. Keep ’em comin’, honestly—stick anything in there, I'm always buzzin to hear summat from all me girlies. Mad love for ya x

[sunnyie-eve]

41 | Jelly

Series: Unexpected

Paring: (Matt Sturniolo x OFC Brock!) (Chris Sturniolo x OFC Brock!)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Matt being a little jealous

| MASTERLIST |

"Wakey, wakey. You get to meet Gage today." Dani climbs onto Matt's bed to wake him up but he just rolls away from her. "Matty, wake up." She runs her fingers through his hair but he still doesn't get up. "Fine, I just go lay with Chris till you get up." She jokes around which causes him to roll over grabbing her wrist.

"No the fuck you aren't." He makes her laugh, "We said no more cuddling with Chris in his bed."

"He doesn't even cuddle as well as you do. Plus he's on the couch with Nick." She lets him know, "Now get up and get dressed. They'll be here soon." She gets off his bed leaving the room.

By the time Matt joins the others, Dani's mom and Gage arrive already chatting with Nick and Chris. "I didn't know soon meant in a few seconds." Matt laughs.

"I may have lied about where we were." Her mom laughs, "It's nice seeing you again, Matt."

"You too. I'm Matt." He introduces himself to Gage.

"The one Colby told me to keep an eye on." Gage shakes his hand, "Don't worry, I'm not like him."

"That's nice to know."

"And let's hope you never get like him in that way." Dani speaks up.

The six spend time chatting for a bit till they decide to go to the mall because Dani's mom wanted to go shopping at a certain store. At the mall though everyone splits up a bit but not going too far from each other.

"Ahh!" Dani shouts coving her mouth as she passes a store with an advertisement of her model in the window.

"What?" Gage turns to look but she covers his eyes.

"No, it's too inappropriate for a brother's eyes. Turn around please or you'll want to bleach your eyes." She begs him so he does what she says going to a different store.

"Dude, Chris wants to buy us four a Thing shirt." Matt walks over looking down and Dani leans against the glass putting an arm up trying to hide it even though it was impossible.

As he looks up his eyes automatically go straight to the gigantic poster. His jaw drops as he raises his hand pointing at it.

"I had no idea and I just sent Gage away so he couldn't see it." She sees that he hasn't taken his eyes off the poster, "Stop staring at it." Dani steps forward to smack him.

"Is it possible for you to get a smaller poster of that?" He finally speaks again.

"Matthew!"

"Oh, full naming again." Chris laughs walking over with Nick and Matt rushes to lean against the glass doing what Dani did to try and hide it for them.

Of course it didn't work again and the two just stare at the poster with their mouths wide open as well. They never thought they'd see anything like that of Dani.

"I feel like a baby blue would've looked better on you." Nick thinks about it.

"Can we get those in a regular poster size?" Chris points up at it.

"Christopher!" They all shout at him.

"I didn't mean it in an inappropriate way. I just want to be a supportive friend." He walks off rolling his eyes.

"I'll keep your mom away." Nick sees her coming so he rushes off.

As a group of guys walk by they look at the poster then at Dani which makes Matt glares at them, "Keep walking nothing to see here."

"You want some peanut butter with that jelly?" Dani asks him.

"Shut up. Let's go before I see more people look at you." He grabs her dragging her towards the others.

~

As the four were getting ready to take Nick to get his wisdom teeth removed they heard this noise outside confusing them for a second. "What is that?" Chris asks.

"Trash." Matt repeats over and over rushing to go take it out.

"I know I damn well told y'all!" Dani shouts at him as he was out of sight, "This is why you listen to me!"

When they were in the car on their way Sani could tell Nick was nervous, "You doing okay, Nick?" Dani asks him from the front seat while Chris sat in the back with him, "Don't worry you won't even remember it." She lets him know.

"What is this guy doing?!" Matt starts to yell at another driver in front of him, "Oh my god."

"You good?" Nick asks him.

"Yeah. Helena Keller could've drove better." Matt sighs then changes the subject, "Nick, wisdom teeth is like, umm, the last time you're gonna see the tooth fairy." Matt looks back telling Nick causing him to get emotional.

"Ahh, it's okay buddy." Dani pouts as he cries a bit.

"Nick, that's 80 bucks tonight." Matt laughs.

"I'm so emotional recently."

"It's okay, Nick."

"The tooth fairy is so rich." Dani laughs.

"I wish I had her money." Matt makes her laugh more.

When they get to the office and check in, Dani was recording the fish tank, "I'm a piranha, they're in the Amazon." Dani quotes Finding Nemo.

"Dani." Matt calls her since she was distracted.

"Sorry."

"Who do you like more? Me or Matt?" Chris asks Nick as he was on all the drugs but he shakes his head not going to answer it.

"You look cool now, Nick." Dani says as the dentist puts his sunglasses on him.

"Watch him forget you live with us and he's gonna be surprised." Chris jokes around.

"How do you feel?" Dani films Matt outside the room.

"Good. I really wanted to be there for him because he's been stressing. And I know you talked to him last night." Matt tells her and the viewers.

"How do you feel?" Dani turns around to ask Chris.

"I feel good. I'm happy just seeing the relief he's gonna feel is worth it."

"Hi buddy." Dani films Nick so he raises his hand to slightly wave, "How are you?"

"What time is it?" He asks as they all enter the room.

"It's been like a half hour. They're all gone." Chris lets him know.

Nick looks over at Matt who was filming now and Dani was standing beside him, "Will you two get fucking together." He tells them causing Matt and Chris to lose it laugh and Dani's jaw drops. Matt laughs so hard he gets tears so Chris takes the camera and Matt wipes his eyes, "Am I not supposed to say that?"

"Well, we're gonna have to take that out." Chris keeps laughing.

"Dani still lives with us right?" Nick asks after playing around with sticking his tongue out.

"I still do." She reminds him.

"Okay." He nods his heads.

"Nick, you remember who you are?" Chris asks him to see how much was still in his system.

"I'm Nick."

"Yeah." Chris nods his head.

"I'm Nick. You're Chris." Nick points at himself and then Chris.

"Who am I?" Matt points at himself.

"That's Matt."

"Do you have a favorite?" Chris asks him.

"No." He shakes his head, "I love Dani." He looks over at her.

"Aww, I love you too." She tells him as well.

"Nick, what's the password to leave?" Chris asks but Nick starts to mess with his tongue and gauze so they all tell him no, "You can't do that. What's the password to leave? Do you remember it?" Chris asks him again. so Nick gives him a look, "What is it? Let's hear it."

"Do you wanna know? Skyscraper." He says so they laugh at him.

"Hey Nick, you know me and Matt..." She starts off wanting to mess with him and he gets a big smile, "Are close but you're still my best friend."

"Yeah, she reminds me daily that I can never beat you. I'm stuck in the friend zone." Matt adds.

"Noooooo." Nick whines making them laugh even more, "But you would be cute."

"We can be cute as friends too." Matt tells him.

"Thank you for thinking-,"

Nick cuts her off, "They're getting on my nerves." Nick looks over at Chris.

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Physique magazines didn’t need to announce themselves as gay, even if they had been able to. Their readers recognized what we now think of as a “gay gaze”: appreciative, even avid, but not uncritical; at once warm, cool, and knowing. As a result, many of the best physique photographs are portraits, but even when we’re not looking into their faces, the men are tantalizingly alive. Readers understood the necessity of balancing discretion and seduction, subtlety and audacity. Early physique photographers took classical statuary as their inspiration and Hollywood glamour portraits as their models for lighting and setting. Some of the men who posed were professional bodybuilders, including stars of the international circuit, but most were handsome athletes, aspiring actors, well-built ex-marines, or models looking to augment their portfolios: men who had reason to keep their bodies in great shape. Because a number of the most successful photo studios were based in Los Angeles, photographers could choose from a large and constantly replenishing population of young men anxious to be recognized, to be chosen. Obscenity laws, most aggressively enforced by the U.S. Postal Service, attempted to keep that excitement within bounds—no uncovered or obviously aroused penises, no affectionate or suggestive physical contact. Pushing those boundaries gave the best physique work a subversive edge. Although these were hardly outlaw enterprises, the liveliest of them had a rock-and-roll sensibility: rules were made to be broken. Models wore thong-like modified jockstraps to cover their genitals, leaving little to the imagination, but that little was enough to rivet us readers; any evidence of bulge was the focus of fevered attention. The models were named, along with the studios, most of which advertised photographs for sale on the back pages. These studios were rarely larger than a one-car garage, but the photographers’ results were as unique as their signatures. For work that was essentially commercial, the images are often unexpectedly touching, especially in scenes of men holding hands, deliberately blurring the line between friends and lovers. Physique photographers may not have considered themselves outsider artists, but for years these photographs remained private—shared among a population of men who were just beginning, against all odds, to frame a public identity. The past they represent is a queer utopia, a safe space for erotic fantasy. No wonder they drove the postal authorities crazy. Full article: "The Secrets of Physique Magazines" [The New Yorker]

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

It was January 25, 1936 and Clark Gable had a new car to show off – to a new object of his affections. She was actress Carole Lombard, and the hostess of the lavish White Mayfair Ball, a formal Hollywood soiree, to which Gable drove his 1935 Duesenberg Model JN convertible that night.

The suave actor eventually convinced Miss Lombard to “take a spin around town” with him; when he invited her to his suite a few miles away at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, she famously replied, “Who do you think you are? Clark Gable?”

They weren’t exactly strangers; they had already co-starred together in “No Man of Her Own”. After filming wrapped Miss Lombard presented Mr. Gable with a ham – with his picture on it! But their professional relationship went no further at that point; Miss Lombard was then married to William Powell (she divorced him a couple of years later).

Nevertheless, after they re-connected at the White Mayfair Ball, a scandalous affair ensued; Mr. Gable, still married, was often spotted traveling in the Duesenberg with Miss Lombard from her bungalow on Hollywood Blvd. to night spots, restaurants and hotels all over town. One of those places, The Georgian Hotel in nearby Santa Monica, now advertises the couple had trysts there often.

“This is nothing discreet about this car,” Mr. Gooding said as he pulled up in the glowing Duesenberg, in front of The Georgian. Not exactly the type of car for two famous stars to be seen in – when they are trying to downplay their affair!

. The car fairly screams “notice me!”. Even now the Duesenberg, which appeared in a couple of actual movies of its own, is a show-stopper.

“The record for an American car sold at public auction is $10.34 million, for a Duesenberg – the 1931 Whittell Coupe – which we sold last year,” Mr. Gooding said. “In many ways, however Gable’s 1935 JN is an even finer example.” It is undeniably rare; fewer than a dozen JNs were built – only four of which were convertibles. But no other Duesenberg is like this one. (I will update this post Aug. 19 with the sales price!)

And, then there is the consideration of its celebrity provenance. “I’ve never seen a car with a history behind it like this one,” Mr. Gooding said.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” Mr. Gooding said. It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power.

A work of automotive art!

Of course, that has often been said about many great works of art – sculptures, paintings, and the like – but seldom about automobiles. Many collectors, however, consider the 18-foot-long Duesenberg, with its flamboyant, following lines, the epitome of automotive art.

The Model JN that Mr. Gable bought originally had a body by Rollston. Mr. Gooding noted, “It was a work of art already.” But Mr. Gable decided it wasn’t audacious enough for his tastes.

So he took it to master coachbuilders Bohman & Schwartz, in Pasadena, Calif., for a complete re-working. And besides, the convertible top leaked – which Miss Lombard reportedly thought amusing; Mr. Gable, however, was mortified.

Clark Gable shows off his beloved Duesenberg!

“Not only did Gable sketch out many of the changes he wanted himself,” Mr. Gooding said. “He also got hands-on with it, and worked on it himself. I don’t recall an example where a celebrity got so involved, and essentially helped craft the car.”

The modifications included body-colored radiator cowl and headlamp pods, raked windshield, extended hood with custom air scoops, re-location of the side-mounted spares to a double-deck “continental kit” at the rear, rear fender skirts, chrome side pipe exhausts (with a driver-controlled bypass lever), functional rumble seat, and a stowable convertible top – that no longer leaked!

It was also re-painted from a pale green to a luminous cream color that seems to glow – apropos of any star of stage, screen or even outer space.

Despite the fact Mr. Gable owned a large, discerning collection of other Duesenbergs, Packards, and Mercedes-Benzes, the JN remained the preferred ride of the inseparable lovers.

So public was their romance that Photoplay magazine ran a feature in December 1938 out-ing them as one of “Hollywood’s Unmarried Husbands and Wives.” Mr. Gable had also been linked in recent years with Joan Crawford, Jean Harlow and Loretta Young (with whom he fathered a love child) – among others. Producer David O. Selznick was ready to cast Gary Cooper as Rhett Butler in “Gone With The Wind” unless Mr. Gable cleaned up his personal life. So the studio reportedly helped pay for Mr. Gable’s costly divorce from heiress Ria Langham; he got the part. The rest, as they say, is history.

Gable got the part!

Mr. Gable and Miss Lombard (who lost out in casting for Scarlett O’Hara) eloped in March 1939. In 1941 the happy couple set off in the Duesenberg on an epic vacation – sort of a belated honeymoon – from their ranch in Encino, Calif., up the Pacific Coast to Vancouver, British Columbia. The trip was nearly 1,500 miles, on primitive roads.

It must have been quite a sight: two of Hollywood’s biggest stars pumping their own gas, fixing their own flats, even changing their own oil – the Gables didn’t want anyone else touching this car! – in a car easily worth $35,000 then (Mr. Gable made more than that in one month, in salary, in those years – and Miss Lombard made nearly as much).

“This was at a time you could buy a Ford for a few hundred dollars,” Mr. Gooding noted.

In Vancouver, the couple would see the Duesenberg for the final time. They stored it there, planning to return the next summer to drive it back to California. They took the train home.

Some months later, however, Miss Lombard was killed in a plane crash near Las Vegas, Nev. Gable, devastated, instructed an agent to sell the beloved Duesenberg – with the proviso that he never would see it again. He never did; he died in 1960.

The Duesenberg became a four-wheeled vagabond, crisscrossing the country, changing hands more than a dozen times. It was re-painted at least four different colors. Its engine was replaced in the 1950s. Parts went missing.

But the current owner, Mr. Gooding said, acquired it in 2006 and ordered a no-expense-spared restoration to its Gable-era glory.

Text via John Piazza

Credit: Respective Owner ( DM for credit or removals )

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 9

Summary: The ninth part to iFall for Harry

Turns out, destiny has other plans for you and Harry.

And you're taking a trip...back to the future.

Word Count: 2.2k

Grieving Harry is linear.

The moment the call goes dead, so does your connection to him.

Your heightened emotions dwindle down to nothingness. Your memories, your pain, your past. Every cheese pun, every sexy text, every word from his lips.

You erase them all.

You shut out a majority of the world. Revert back to a state of mind where you refuse to trust or engage with anyone. You protect yourself. Punish yourself for letting him get away. For being so broken. For being everything he doesn’t want.

And for making him everything you do.

You don’t work through the problem. You don’t even allow yourself to admit there is a problem. You simply tuck him away into the darkest corner of your mind…and you forget him.

Your friends are worried about you. They reach out, they plan dates, they arrange sleepovers. 

You decline them all.

You stay in your apartment, and you watch old reruns of The Big Bang Theory, and you pretend to laugh at the jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before. 

But most importantly, you pretend like Harry didn’t mention this was one of his comfort shows and that that’s why you’re watching it.

Two weeks go by. Nothing changes for you. You’re still a hollow version of yourself. Dedicating each day to wondering why you couldn’t have just…gotten over your fear. Gotten over what happened to you. And just…let him in.

Your therapist tries to tell you that healing takes time. Trauma lives within the body and no amount of cute boys and perfect scenarios will change that. Until you learn to forgive yourself, you will always be stuck.

 She might be right. But unsticking yourself now doesn’t bring him back.

Occasionally you’ll hear that he’s doing well. He’s on tour. He’s booked a new movie. He’s been caught making out with a model.

But it falls on deaf ears. Passes right through you like air. You’re indifferent now. Choosing to pretend as if he never existed to you.

Now he’s just that famous guy nobody will shut up about.

But on those late nights, when the fragility of your heart slips the crack of your apathetic persona…you pull up his contact.

You have it blocked. Nearly deleted it countless times so you’d lose the temptation to memorize his number and find a way to reach him.

Still, you can’t resist typing out a message. You’ll pour out your heart, write him paragraphs of apologies and explanations. You’ll wish for things to go back. Wish for his happiness. Wish for everything.

And then, you’ll hit the delete button.

Erase everything you want to say, exit out of his information, and turn your phone off.

You almost don’t see the email.

You’re going through your inbox, cleaning it out, responding here and there. But mostly rifling through all the ads so you can delete them and create a bit more space.

The name Marty McFly is what catches your eye. And despite yourself…you click.

Back to the Future! One Night Only! Buy your tickets now!

Your local theater is doing a triple feature, one movie each night for the next three days. You almost don’t consider it. Almost click out of the advertisement and move on.

But then you think of Harry. Think of how you promised to take him, and your heart sinks a little as you stare at the painted poster of Michael J. Fox standing in front of the time traveling car while staring at his watch.

You decide to go. It’ll be nice to watch something that fills you with so much joy. It’ll be good to laugh again. And to revel in the opportunity to forget, at least for a couple of hours.

You think about it for the rest of the week. Countdown the days until you can finally make your way for the theater. 

It feels good to go out again. Feels good to have the sunshine on your face and the promise of a good time ahead of you.

When you slide up to the booth, you’re wearing a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“Hi! Can I get one ticket to the five o’clock showing?” you ask the ticket taker, who nods and accepts your cash.

With that, you’re waved through the doors, and your heart begins to pound. The smell of popcorn and promise washes over each sense as you grab your snacks, and look for your specific door.

After slipping your way inside, you take a look around the darkened theater.

However, the room is empty. At least a hundred seats without a single soul to use them.

Your brows furrow. “The hell is everyone?”

You walk along the aisle, looking for the best seat until you decide on the middle chair about halfway back. 

Snuggling down with your popcorn, you settle in, and wait for the opening credits. Truth be told, you feel a bit odd to be taking up a whole theater by yourself, and you have to wonder if perhaps you got the date wrong. Or maybe the time? Maybe you’re early? Although according to your clock, the movie should be starting any second now.

And then…someone else walks in.

You release a relieved breath as the dark shadow strides along the aisle similar to how you had, looking for a seat as well. Selfishly, you hope they don’t get too close.

Then, they turn down your row.

Shit.

Returning your focus to the dark screen, you pretend not to notice, instead studying the velvet red curtain that’s draping on either side.

The stranger stops right beside you.

Assuming that they’d like to pass by, you glance over, and begin to pull your legs in.

You make the mistake of looking up.

And your heart instantly sinks to the soles of your shoes.

Harry.

“Hi. S’this seat taken?”

The sound of his voice makes your stomach drop to your toes. Even in the dark, you can make out the familiar slope of his nose and sharp curve of his jaw.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know if he recognizes you or if he knows what he’s even doing.

Either way, you swallow thickly, and nod once.

He smiles.

After settling down into the chair beside you, he sighs, and wiggles back into his seat to get comfortable.

You try not to look at him. Try to pretend like you can’t smell his expensive cologne wafting toward you. Try to pretend as though his hand isn’t right there, dangling over the armrest as if taunting you.

And then, the movie begins.

You try to get lost into the world of Marty and Doc. A world you’re already so familiar with.

But it’s nearly impossible with the way he continues to shift, or laugh, or snort beside you. As if trying to distract you.

You have half a mind to turn to him and hiss, “Shhhh.” 

Somehow…you resist.

“Doc…are you telling me…that you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

Harry laughs beside you, chin resting in the palm of his hand, and for some reason…your chest swells with pride. 

You want him to enjoy this movie. Enjoy the lines you used to memorize as a kid. Want to be able to talk about it with him after and exchange favorite moments.

But the second you start to indulge in this fantasy…you remember.

And your smile quickly slips.

The rest of the movie is spent with your focus glued to the screen. You don’t sneak any extra glances. You don’t listen for his sounds. You don’t allow your peripheral to catch him. 

And when the infamous car flies toward the camera before disappearing in a flash as the title card explodes across the screen, you jump to your feet.

You don’t waste another goddamn second. You get up, you turn on your heel, and you book it toward the middle aisle.

“Wait…wait,” you hear Harry murmur as the dramatic score carries you out of the theater. “Ladybug, wait.”

The nickname nearly makes you flinch as you slip through the door and rush for the lobby. You can tell he’s following after you, the sound of the seats flipping up as he pushes by following you out.

You nearly reach the double doors before his large hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you back. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his chest.

You can’t look at him.

“Listen, I know you wanna go, but I just need to talk to you for one second,” he continues, but his fingers won’t leave you. “Please.”

Your heart is hammering inside your ears. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but the buttons on his shirt.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you nod.

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I know…I know why this shouldn’t work. I understand the mechanics, and the difficulties, and the issues. I get it. It shouldn’t work.”

A beat of silences settles between you as you apprehensively allow yourself to travel your gaze up.

“…but it does,” he whispers, and your mouth goes dry. “It works, and I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But I can’t fucking let you go and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”

You don’t know what to do. What to say, what to think.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he continues. “I don’t want to block you or remove you. I don’t want to miss you. Or have to remember you as just some fucking thing that happened. I want to talk to you. Wanna send you pictures of the sky and play games with you. Wanna watch TV and bitch about Sheldon with you. Wanna beg you to let me come just to have you do that little smirky thing you do that makes my fucking stomach flip.”

You take a deep breath. And then another. And then another, but nothing helps. Nothing seems to unwind this knot that’s growing tighter with each confession. 

“I can’t wrap my head around you,” he says, and his voice is heavy. And confused. Almost as lost as his expression. “I can’t wrap my head around this—us. I just…I fucking try to think about anything else and it always comes back to you. Every goddamn time.”

You know there are tears in your eyes. You wish there weren’t but they’re coming faster than you can stop them.

“And I know why you’re nervous,” he sighs, squeezing your arm once. “I know. And I can’t fix it, and I really fucking wish I could, but I…god, I’ll do anything to make your future better than your past. I will do anything…to keep you, Cheese Girl. Whatever it takes, whatever you want. Name it, and it's yours.”

“I don’t want you to do anything, Har,” you nearly whimper, head shaking quickly. “I never wanted you to feel responsible for my shit—”

“I don’t. I don’t, I just…you can’t carry this alone. And I can help you—”

“But why should you? You have your own life, and your own trauma, and you deserve the fairytale ending—”

“Ladybug,” he breathes, cutting you short. “We met over text and now we’re here in a movie theater while I profess my adoration for you. Tell me how this isn’t a fairytale.”

Despite yourself…you smile. “Yeah, how…how did you even know I’d be here?”

He releases you now, but only so he can grimace and run a hand through his curls. “Okay, don’t…don’t judge me, but I just…I paid them a shit ton of money to let me rent out the building for…a day or two.”

“A day or two?”

“Well…I wasn’t sure if you’d see the email in time, so I had to keep sending it until you came—”

You rear back. “You sent the email?”

His nose scrunches. “I was desperate, all right? You had me blocked, and I figured you wouldn’t agree to meeting.”

Your lashes flutter as you work in this new information. “Shit, Har. That’s…that’s a lot of work to go through just for one person you barely know.”

He suddenly surges forward, palms pressing to your cheeks until he can take hold of your face and tilt it up. “You’re worth it. My god, Cheesy, are you worth it.”

“Cheesy?” you repeat incredulously, but your smile is big. “God that’s…”

“…cheesy?” he finishes for you. “About as cheesy as renting out a theater in hopes that the girl I like will show up and take me back?”

You nod quickly, lip between your teeth. “Yeah, but…cheese is kind of our thing.”

“It is,” he agrees, chuckling to himself as he pulls you closer, your chest brushing with his. “Listen, I can’t…I know this isn’t some sort of magic fix. But please…please let me try. Just…just let me keep you. For a little bit at least. Let me make all those puns worth it.”

Maybe you know better. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe every red flag is waving wildly in your face.

And maybe…you just don’t care.

“What if I’m your destiny?” he finishes, and your heart just about breaks. “Or…density.”

You both laugh as he catches a stray tear that travels down your cheek, eyes pleading with yours. 

And when you offer the subtlest of nods…everything changes.

He kisses you before you can take a breath, his lips warm and full of promise.

You stand there in the middle of the lobby, trapped in his arms as the soft sounds of Back to the Future play on in the background.

Maybe he is your destiny after all.

One more part 🥹 Will be sobbing violently

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Next Part:

~iFall for Harry pt. 10* (Final)

Previous Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 8

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist:

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @cherryshouse @lydiarry @justlemmeadoreyou @tiaamberxx @yoruse