#for now pls indulge in the brainrot with me

[blindinghope]

no thoughts head empty just rick in season 6 ep 5

[i-mybrunettelady]

Chaos by any other name

Preface: This is a rewrite of a very old Nyra fic from 2021. You can read it here, but I’m sure this version’s much better because it’s 2023 and we evolve over time! This started as a writing exercise for me but I grew invested, somehow was unable to write anything else before I finished this, so I decided to make it a birthday gift for Nyra! Now with upgraded screenshot I haven’t had a chance to post yet. I ended up quite liking the results too. Thusly, I hope you like them too <3

TW: brief mentions of childbirth & death

– 1314 AE 

There’s been talk at the parties. There’s always talk at parties, she’s gathered, but it’s never things that interest her. Her mom’s good at it, talking about uninteresting things, especially when they have other nobles over in their estate. Thankfully, they bring their children so Nyra isn’t alone. 

Now those are interesting conversations. But one question comes up more often than others - the question of Gods. They’re almost eight, which means one of the Gods will bless them officially. Their gifts are all starting to show. Nyra feels a little out of place sometimes. Hers aren’t here yet and neither is her magic. It’s okay for the magic - it usually comes later, but the gifts? Nyra purses her lips every time her friends ask her about it. She tells them she doesn’t know, because she doesn’t and it makes her skin itch. 

Sometimes, she dreams she’s blessed by Balthazar. His war blessings will surely go well with being a soldier and she’s Ascalonian, she will fight. Sometimes, she wishes she could whisper to the trees and find her way around nature more easily than others. And sometimes, only sometimes, she dreams of Lyssa and illusions. 

It feels right when she dreams of illusions. But she doesn’t think she has any to make. 

One day, they’re walking home from the temple when her mom asks: “Which god do you think blessed you most, Alyssa?”

Nyra turns her head. She’s walking in front of everyone else, tapping her lacy shoes against the pavement. They still don’t ring as hard as her grandfather’s cane. Somehow, the answer’s easy on her lips, very natural, “Lyssa.” 

“But you’re no mesmer,” her dad says. He says the word mesmer really funnily in Ascalonian. Maybe she does too, governed by the way her parents speak. “We don’t know what magic you have, if you even have it.” She thinks it sounds a little sad, that last part. 

Nyra frowns. “I do,” she says, angrily, “Nobody I know has magic yet!” 

Mom walks over and places a gentle hand on Nyra’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s one of Lyssa’s blessings, hiding itself in plain sight,” she muses. “It’ll show itself when the time is right. My little acolyte of Lyssa.”

– 1316 AE 

She’s wearing a dress, and an ugly one at that. To be more precise, it’s not that the dress itself is ugly. Its purple ruffles and black lace would look good on someone else, but on her, it seems out of place. Tell that to her mom, though, who looks very good in such fashionable styles and insists her daughters play the part. Even poor Leyiton was roped into dressing up, though he doesn’t have much say in the matter. He’s a small child. 

Deborah is also dressed in a fashionable gown, but she wears it more naturally than Alysannyra ever will. It’s only right, after all. She’s third in line for the title. Boring adult talks are in her future. Her sister’s, however, is war. Even at the age of 10, Alysannyra knows she can’t go to war in delicate ruffles. 

Besides, she thinks darkly, her name’s too sharp for a dress like this. Alysannyra, a true Ascalonian name. There’s a namesake, a cousin back in Ebonhawke she hasn’t seen yet. She’s never been to Ebonhawke before, let alone the rest of Ascalon. They’re still fighting the charr. Nyra doesn’t feel particularly fitted to have that name. She wants to be like the Krytan kids, to not have the accent someone pointed out that she has recently. Nay-ruh. Simple, easy on the tongue. Deborah says it differently, however: Nee-ra. She’s bothered when they call her Nay-ruh, but she doesn’t feel like Nee-ra either. 

She doesn’t feel like Lady Ainsaph, either. That’s what she’s introduced as and that’s what adults use to refer to her. It’s too general, too similar to her mom and sister. Every time she hears it, she swears she feels something in her chest tighten and release. Minister Eldon’s granddaughter is more precise, but there’s also Deborah, so it’s also not her own. Nyra shifts on her feet. Her dress is too big, her name’s too Ascalonian. She doesn’t know what she wants to be called, and her ministerial grandfather towers over her like ruins of Rin. 

Nyra uselessly taps her small heels against the Krytan, marble floors.

— 1321 AE 

Wind screams on the day of Deborah’s funeral. Its sad wails threaten to overshadow the priest’s voice, even against their best attempts to be louder. Nyra blinks, her eyes are wet with unshed tears and she’s not sure she can blame it on the foul weather. 

Her parents cry, voiceless, beside her. Leyiton is stunned into silence. Eldon looks at the empty grave, stone-faced. They’re all short-haired now. As per Ascalonian mourning customs, they all cut their hair off. Nyra, though - or Alysannyra, in its pure, unadulterated, Ascalonian form - isn’t. She’s cut some, but only half. Eldon threatened to cut it all off before the funeral, Nyra refused. She even chose to not tie it back, but allowed it to fall on her shoulders, simple, unadorned, just like the black clothes she’s wearing. Not fully Krytan, with its long, mourning hairstyles, not fully Ascalonian in its scarcity. Caught between two worlds, she chooses her own. 

“My sister isn’t dead,” she shouted back at her grandfather. “I won’t mourn for someone who’s not dead!” Still, it didn’t stop her from crying so hard her eyes are now bloodshot. Wind weeps in her ears. 

Alysannyra is 15 years old. 

At least she knows who she attends as. In the days leading up to the funeral, in the midst of her parents’ pain and her grandfather’s quiet stoicism, she made up her mind to correct anyone who says her name wrong from now on. She’s Nee-ra, the same way Debs said it when she was around. A last remnant of her sister, if she’s truly dead, which Nyra doubts. Hair beats against her face and she blinks again. 

It’s only when the priest finishes their rite that Nyra allows herself a sob. Logan Thackeray, her Ascalonian mentor, presses a hand against her shoulder.

– 1325 AE 

“Lyss, a question, if I may.” 

The night’s quiet and cool. Nyra feels warm, though, even if Trahearne isn’t, thanks to his sylvari body; she’s had a lot of fun exploring it just an hour ago, she can’t really complain. It feels a lot like a good workout, with even residue soreness, and she’s decided to forego the thin blanket on their bed. She rather likes the way he’s looking at her. 

“You may. I permit a single question and no more.” She raises her head from the pillow and rests it on her palm. Her elbow digs into the softness of the mattress, shaking gently with her laughter. From up here, he looks very exquisite. 

“Is your name deliberate? Is it a purposeful invocation of the goddess or a happy accident?” There’s a note of barely contained excitement in his voice, like he’s been dying to ask her this question for ages now. Of course he’d ask. Not that she minds - they’ve spoken at length about each other’s cultures and customs. He’s answered her many questions (alongside ones about his plant body, which made him laugh and her frown in flustered embarrassment) so now it’s her turn. 

In truth, she’s never felt this safe with someone before. Not like this. There’s been Renira and their one aimless hookup, but Nyra’s never let herself forget that Renira is a spy. There’s been Mirka, but she wasn’t quite in love with her. This time, Nyra feels warmth settle in her chest and knows, deep down in her heart, that she now has a soft place to land when it gets tough. 

(And it does get tough, battling with your own head. She can tell him and they can sort it out, however. It feels so natural, as if it had always been there.) 

“Choose a question to answer,” she replies cheekily, “I said only one!” 

“No,” Trahearne says, wiggling on the bed until he too is leaning on his elbow and looking in her eyes. He’s using that scholar voice of his that she finds incredibly endearing. “One is an additional explanation to the other. See, same question, asked twice.” 

Nyra stares at him for a moment and then breaks into a wide grin. “Alas, I am beaten!” She says it in the most melodramatic voice known to man and he giggles. 

“For my prize,” he begins, feigning consideration, "I demand an answer to my single question.” 

“And not the lady? I’m offended. You’re such a scholar!” She shakes her head fondly. “But no, it's not deliberate. I was named after my mother’s cousin, who died in childbirth a year or so before I was born. But maybe her parents named her after the goddess?”

“Is it sacrilegious? To bear the gods’ names?”

“It’s not a usual practice, admittedly. And to tell you honestly, I wouldn’t say it is. But the strangeness of it just somehow feels like a premonition to some people. Like I’m destined to do things they won’t like.”

Suddenly he gets all serious and gently guides her down on the bed. Her breath hitches a little, surprised by the gesture. He then leans down to softly kiss her and she melts against the mattress. She could kiss him all day and not get tired of it. “One Kormir is enough,” he says against her lips and strokes her hair. “You’re not a goddess. You’re my Lyss, no matter how godly your name is.”

Nyra can only kiss him in response. 

– 1334 AE 

Elandrin refuses to use anything beside her full name, Alysannyra. Not even her surname, as some are wont to do; her name, directly, as if he wants no doubt as to who he’s referring to. She appreciates it, in a weird way. At least he says it with a very accented Ascalonian pronunciation and doesn’t alter it to make it easier to say.  

If you hate someone, hate them right, she supposes. That sentiment is why her eyebrows shoot up when she sees him approach, glowing softly in the dying light of day, and why her battle-sore muscles tense. That voice, borderline a shout, gives him away. Elandrin’s always shouting. 

“I told Trahearne you’d be back,” he says. “Repeatedly.” 

It takes her a moment to register the convoluted compliment. Still, she doesn’t lower her guard. “Thank you, Elandrin,” she replies, trying to be as casual as possible. Elandrin Aien doesn’t just give compliments for no reason.

Maybe she’s not used to being off the battlefield yet, though. It always takes her a moment to regain awareness of that fact. She straightens her back, feeling decidedly off kilter. 

“I was just stating the obvious. No need to puff your chest like that, not to me. I know someone who’d be over the moon if you did it, though.” He cackles, grinning at his own joke. 

Nyra squints. “That’s between me and him,” she reminds him sharply. “I don’t need you commenting on the state of my and Trahearne’s relationship.” 

People pass by, intrigued by the exchange. Many pairs of eyes land on them and Nyra imagines this is somehow a duel in the noble halls of her childhood, but much more personal and a lot less trivial. An audience, she thinks. Great. 

“Stop me if you can,” he says and it sounds like a challenge. It’s not something she can turn down, not with this many eyes on them. Then, unexpectedly, his voice loses some of its edge. “Alysannyra.” 

Her shoulders relax. “I may just take you up on that,” she replies, surprised by the languid casualness of her tone, “Elandrin.” 

Something’s shifted in that exchange of names. Not a syllable mispronounced, not a letter cut short, but a world different to the vitriol her name had on his lips just a year ago, or the aggravation his name held on hers. She doesn’t have the time to inspect that thought, however, because the crowd gathers to greet their hero and they all shout one name, her own. 

[hydrodragons]

i saw this hyv crossover art on twt and i think im losing my mind bc op drew kazuha and dan heng together and now im brainrotting over how they’d bond and be best friends

[asterroses]

yeah ok i see why they changed the angle . this makes sense

[hoodie-prince-kid]

bestie you really do gotta be nicer to yourself seriously. we love you and want you to take care of yourself.

Im doing my best i swear thank you :sob:

[astraystayyh]

La déchirure 

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known.

pairing: figure skater!hyunjin x ballerina!reader.

genre: angst. slowwww burn. heavy and recurrent grief. healing.

warnings: mc has a bad relationship with her parents. grief is a prominent theme here so please be aware. some allusions to sex but no smut. description of injuries.

word count: 21.8k

author’s note: heyyyy…. haven’t posted anything in 3 months i feel so shy AJNSJD i say this about every fic but this fic is truly my baby it took me so long to get it done and i poured my heart into it. so please if you enjoyed reading pls pls pls let me know. it means the world and more to me. happyyy reading!!! also thanks to @hyunverse for indulging all my brainrots about this fic i LOVE YOU

Your bare soles are bleeding across the graveyard. You don’t remember when your sandals slipped away from your feet, nor when your body decided to bring you here, heels scratched from the tiny rocks littering the ground.

But the pain doesn’t register in your brain, not yet. You’re only paying attention to the last name written on the tombstone— your last name, to be exact. 

Right now, more than ever, you wished your first name was engraved beside it too. 

You’ve memorized this graveyard like the back of your hand, know what sound the tree branches make during spring— gently swaying, like a melancholic flute, aching because flowers refuse to bloom upon them. And during winter too— even sadder, angrier, perhaps to mimic the sound of the souls left alone in the graves to fend off the cold.

Though you’ve never approached this tombstone before. You always remained a few feet back, each time your parents brought you to your late sister’s grave— every Sunday, for the past eighteen years of your existence, without fault. 

You don’t know the person they’re mourning.

You don’t know the person they wish to mold you after. 

Somehow, in a sick twist of fate, the course of your existence was set in stone before you could draw your first breath into this universe. 

She looks just like her sister, your mom whispered in awe, tears brimming in her waterline as she beheld you close to her bare chest. 

That is what your grandmother recalls about your birth, the rejoice of you being an exact copy of your sister’s features. There was nothing in her, in everyone’s memory about you. Everything orbited around your sister, the way the planets chase after the sun. You were, after all, born to replace the void she left behind. 

You sometimes wonder, is your physique the first setting stone of your pain? Had your hair been lighter, darker than hers, your lips smaller, plumper, would your parents be forced to look at you, behold you for who you are, learn to love you for who you would be? 

The question first popped into your brain at age five— maybe less intricate, a feeling that pressed against your ribcage: your parents don’t love you a lot, do they? You are now eighteen, the question has yet to desert you. 

You’ve always been aware of this reality— there are more pictures of your sister than of you in your house. Your parents always spoke of her, the perfect little girl, whisked away by a terrible sickness, at age seven. 

And she loved ballet. 

So, you had to love ballet too.

You weren’t given a choice, per se. At age four, you were thrust into a ballet class with little oblivious girls; just like you. Flushed cheeks and glossy eyes as you all tried to follow the teacher’s instruction. It wasn’t easy, it never got easier, year after year, only more challenging, only harder on your body.

Bigger bruises, sprained ankles from time to time, you’ve lost count of the injuries this art has inflicted upon your body. But thankfully, you ended up loving it too. You loved how graceful it made you feel, how the music seemed to whisk you away to an enchanting world, how the applause roared each time you came first in a competition, all eyes on you alone. 

Or so you hoped, you prayed. You wished to dance better, harder until all your parents could see was you. Not the daughter that came before you.

It was hard to admit at times, certainly something you never said out loud. But surely, yes, you were jealous of your deceased sister.

How could you not be when it seemed like you were competing with a ghost, someone whose absence weighed more than your presence?

Snippets of your life flash before your eyes as you stare at her grave. Pirouette, arabesque, plié, tendu— those are words engraved within your mind, ones you breathe in more than oxygen. You hear them in the voice of your ballet instructor, Jihyo. She’s a woman in her forties, though she looks older from the harsh lines framing her face. 

Her voice is high-pitched, her hair always tied back in a sleek bun you’re sure pains her brain, her words are harsh each time she corrects your posture.

And she’s the only person who believes in you.

She’s not nice, she has made you cry more times than you can count. So, you knew when she leveled her eyes to yours when you were nine, when she told you, “I see something magical in you��— that she was telling the truth. 

You wanted to prove her right, because for once, someone saw something in you, not in a ghost, not in ground-up bones.

In you.

You feel an uncontained anger swell within you, waves of relentless hurt swarming you as you fall to your knees.

You worked hard. You worked so hard. Between classes and ballet practice, the days strung you by like a puppet and sometimes you didn’t have enough time to breathe. 

Your entire life revolved around ballet. spin, point well, adjust your posture, you can’t stop now. Suddenly it’s two a.m. and you only get four hours of sleep before your classes begin. You didn’t have time to socialize with your peers, to have a crush on the sweet guy in your maths class, to giggle at an arcade with your friends. Soon after you were in your ballet class, even more spins, points, arabesque. 

But all of your exhaustion dissipated today. All of it seemed okay, for the first time in your existence, perhaps, the breath that escaped your chest wasn’t heavy. It was light, it was airy, it was one that yearned for the next, for the days that will follow, tinted with happiness, for once.

“I got into Julliard” 

That is what you told your parents an hour ago, voice brimming with uncontainable happiness, tears dripping down your eyes in an uncontrollable flow. 

Your mother’s eyes became teary in an instant. You thought the past was past you now. You’ll forgive eighteen years of coming second in your mother’s heart. Surely, she will only see you now.

But then her eyes set on the portrait of your sister on the wall, her tone desolate when she whispered—“she would have loved Julliard too.”

You don’t remember what happened after that. What curse escaped your mouth from the years of barely contained bitterness, when everything lashed out like venomous poison on your parents. 

You remember screaming, lots of it, something breaking too, you don’t recall if it is you who threw the vase or your father. The latter seemed more plausible— he was always bound to these sudden bouts of anger. Effects of grief, consequences of your sister’s absence. Her, yet again, poisoning your life. 

You remember feeling like a stranger in your home, a nobody, someone they’d kill in an instant to bring her back.

It was no longer a feeling, though. It was a fact. Your father cemented it loud and clear for you— “I wish she never died so you would’ve never been born.”

A pin-drop silence followed. Your father was always bound to bouts of anger, you knew that. He always regretted it afterward too, just like he felt in that instant, scrambling to apologize, to cup your cheek and say he didn’t mean it.

For how long has this thought festered in his brain, taken root in his veins, and flashed before his eyes each time he looked at you?

For how long did your parents wish you were dead instead? 

You don’t remember how you got to the graveyard. You don’t recall when it started pouring heavily on you. You only register the rain because the earth is wet as you clench it between your fists, as you punch the ground under which your sister is buried. 

You are crying, sobbing, a hysterical mess, you don’t know what you’re yelling, who you’re calling out for, what you’re trying to achieve by punching her grave. 

Unearthing her body and burying yours there instead, perhaps.

“What are you doing?” a stranger’s voice startles you, cutting through the fog in your mind like a thunderbolt. 

You don’t reply, simply turning around to look at the man standing a mere inches away from you.

“Do you know her or are you just desecrating her grave?” he asks calmly, as he brings a pink umbrella over your head. You realize that you’re drenched from head to toe, your feeble pajama does nothing to fight off the cold filtering between the fabric and your skin. 

You are freezing. You fear there is no place warm enough for your soul, not anymore.

“She’s my late sister,” you say, voice raw, scratched like a broken record. 

“She died young,” he says, looking at the dates engraved on the tombstone. 

You feel so horrible, for a millisecond. 

She was only seven. 

Her grave is too small compared to your body. 

But the anger quickly comes back to blind you. You invite it into your heart, push away the sadness and welcome the rage instead. It is the only thing comforting you in that instant.

“Did she do something to you?” he asks, his voice contrasting nicely against the heavy shatter of rain. It reminds you of the intro of your ballet music, soothing. 

“No,” you admit, a bit shamefully. But all sense of guilt dissipates at his next question— “then wouldn’t she be sad seeing you do this?” 

“What about MY sadness? MY anger?” you shout, lips trembling like the branches above your head. the storm picks up with your rising voice, the rain’s pitter-patter mimics the chaos inside your brain.

He remains silent and you can barely grasp the expression on his face, concealed by the umbrella’s shadows. You imagine that this conversation must have bored him, so you turn around yet again, your heart pounding angrily against your skin. 

But then, he kneels beside you, his umbrella completely discarded. You don’t dare to tilt your face towards him, so you simply stare ahead, your breath caught in your throat— what is he thinking of your most vulnerable state?

“I am rage,” he says, his voice permeating your being softly, the storm seems to calm down too to follow the ebb of his voice. “It means I am alive, or better, I am life, according to Armand, a modern art painter. You are alive today, and you get to be angry. That’s not something anyone here can enjoy,” he points out, taking a fleeting glance at the graves surrounding you. 

“You get to do something with that anger. But this, this won’t cure it.” 

He’s young, roughly your age it seems, but he speaks as if he beholds a wisdom beyond his years. You wonder what he went through to understand rage doesn’t fix anything. You wonder if he has ever been this angry, too. 

Did he move past it? Or did he drown the anger deep within the wells of his soul so he wouldn’t confront its ugly face? 

The question roams in your head as you watch him place a bouquet of red lilies atop the grave. You didn’t even notice the flowers at first, your view was too distorted by tears to grasp anything beautiful. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” the guy points out, smiling at you, or at least attempting to since the grin doesn’t reach his eyes. His words come out slower, as if weighed down by a sadness only he can feel. 

He is in a graveyard after all, the flowers were meant for someone else than you. 

“Wait here,” he says, quickly getting up and jogging out of the graveyard. 

What a silly request, you think, it’s not like you would dare move. Your feet are aching and you have nowhere else to go. 

He returns a few minutes later, a hoodie in his hands that he promptly pulls over your head. The warm fabric engulfs you in a cloud of roses and musk. “I tried to warm it up with the car’s heating,” he says sheepishly, and you blink slowly at his kindness, a pink tint blooming across your cheeks. 

“Thank you.” 

His eyes fleet to your bare, bleeding feet, and you fidget in place, trapped by a bout of embarrassment. 

“I have spare shoes in my car. Do you want me to drive you home?” His voice is gentle, as if speaking to a wounded animal, too bruised by the hands of humans. Tears spring to your eyes once more, you wish the earth could crack open and swallow you whole. 

“I don’t want to burden you.” 

“You won’t,” he says, and as if sensing your hesitation, he adds, “I promise. Leaving you here is what would burden me.”

You are very tired as he drives you to your place. You speak once when you ask him if he wasn’t there to visit someone, he says that it’s okay, he can come back tomorrow. 

You only dare look at him at the last red light before you arrive at your address. He’s beautiful, black strands sticking to his forehead, a tiny pout pulling his rosy lips forward. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, contrasting beautifully with the mole on his cheek. Then, by his jaw. Another at the beginning of his neck. You wonder if he has a map of ebony stars trailing down his chest.

You don’t know why this stranger instills such safety in you. Why would you rather stay in his car than set foot into your house once more. You dread what will await you behind those doors, you don’t think your heart could handle another tear at its tender flesh. 

You don’t think you could handle looking at your parents and only seeing strangers. 

But you know this safety has something to do with the way he placed the lilies atop the grave; as if it beheld someone dear to his heart and not a stranger. How he made sure you got home safely, how he didn’t seem to care that you dirtied his front seat and the carpet below your feet. 

He looks like a good person. 

You wish to tell your good news to a good person. 

“I got into Julliard,” you quickly let out as soon as he parks. You don’t allow yourself time to regret your confession. 

A breathtaking smile overtakes his face, the thunderstorm outside pales before the sun shining in his features. 

“Really?” he asks cheerfully, and you nod, a tiny smile painting across your lips. “Mm. Really.”

“That’s amazing!” his grin further widens, his eyes disappearing into two lovely moon crescents. “I know I’m just a stranger but, I'm proud of you,” his voice softens, “I mean it. I hope you’re proud of yourself too.” 

It takes you a few seconds to answer, you wish to bask further in the sound of his voice, to store his words into your memory, to revisit his kindness on nights that are too cold. 

This was all you’ve ever wanted to hear. 

“Thank you,” you smile softly. A moment of silence passes, you find yourself missing this stranger before you even leave his car. You wish to carry a piece of his memory within you, a souvenir of who he is— “I'm Yn, by the way.” 

“Yn,” he repeats, his voice tender. “Nice to meet you, Yn. I’m Hyunjin.” 

Four years later.

“You need to work on your landing more, but the rest is good.”

“Thanks, coach.” Hyunjin gives Jihyoun, his lifelong mentor, a thumbs-up as he loosens the laces of his ice skates. A dull ache is throbbing through his legs, like the faint buzz of bees circling roses. 

His body is weary, every muscle reminding him of the sheer effort he’s poured into perfecting his routine for the upcoming figure skating competition— the most important one of his life, by far.

“Are you leaving now?” Jihyoun’s voice pierces the delicate silence and Hyunjin nods, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. “Just gonna take a breather.”

“I’ll head out then,” Jihyoun says, patting his back gently, “make sure you get some rest.”

Hyunjin waits till his coach is far out the corridor to release a relieved breath. A familiar silence wraps around the ice rink like a comforting cloak, the stillness sits beside Hyunjin like an old friend. It is here, amid the soft hum of machines and the chill of the rink that Hyunjin feels most like himself. 

A few minutes trickle by, slow and silent. An uncomfortable feeling nudges at Hyunjin’s rib as he remains as still as a statue; he knows he’s on a losing bet to make time stretch forth, hoping that the sun outside will pause in its descent— a few more moments before the darkness completely sets in Seoul. Because the night will surely string along with it the next day, and the next day is one Hyunjin isn’t ready to face. 

When does he ever? 

But the sun always sets and rises once more, even if you dont wish for it to. 

With a sigh, Hyunjin grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He makes his way to the vending machine upstairs, in the dimly lit corner near the dance studio. He drops a few coins into the slot, punching the number for his usual drink. But it gets stuck—of course. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his forehead against the cold glass before frustratedly kicking the machine.

“I am rage,” a voice suddenly teases from behind.

Hyunjin is quick to distance himself from the machine, startled, and admittedly, very embarrassed. His shame morphs to surprise when he sees you standing there. 

Your lips curve into a gentle smile, and your eyes sparkle with quiet amusement— that light, however, dims slightly when he doesn’t immediately respond.

It takes all of Hyunjin’s will to act like he doesn’t recognize you.

“You get to do something with your anger, but this won’t cure it.” You quote, your voice softer now. “You know, you told me this, near the graveyard…” You point vaguely behind you, each word growing quieter as if you’re no longer sure if that scene was real or a figment of your imagination.

Hyunjin nods in recognition, and you relax, the tension lifting from your shoulders.

“Miss Julliard,” he murmurs, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. Your grin brightens at his words and Hyunjin notices faint smile lines tracing your lips and eyes. It seems as if you’ve laughed quite often for the past four years. The thought brings him a strange sense of comfort.

“What did the vending machine do to deserve this?” you ask, tilting your head with playful curiosity.

“Stole my money,” Hyunjin mutters.

“You’ve got to hit the side when that happens.” You show him, tapping the machine with an experienced hand. His drink clatters down, and he shoots you a thankful grin as he bends to retrieve it.

In those brief seconds, with his head bowed, Hyunjin begs his heart to slow its frantic beating. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask once he stands.

“I’m an ice skater,” he says, and your eyes widen with genuine surprise.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Yeah… I guess it is. Are you back from Julliard?” His voice is softer now, more tentative, reminiscent of the day you met. 

“For a little while. Just a few months. This studio—” you glance around, “—it’s where I used to train before I went away.”

“I see,” Hyunjin nods, “I train upstairs, in the ice rink. Because I’m an ice skater,” he repeats, before closing his eyes in embarrassment as your giggles spill forth. No shit Hyunjin.

“I’ll see you around then,” he quickly mutters, eager to end the conversation, before turning around and hurrying away. 

He’s almost by the stairs when your voice calls out his name, urgent, pressing.

“Hyunjin!”

His body freezes before his mind orders it to—he’s not the only one who remembers, then. 

“Did you eat dinner?” you shout, a little out of breath.

“No,” he admits.

“There’s a place nearby that makes the best kimchi stew. Want to go?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s my treat.” Your smile has slightly dimmed, and you’re unconsciously scratching the skin by your nails. Even from afar, Hyunjin can discern a shadow looming in your eyes, a plea unspoken. 

“Are you lonely?” Hyunjin’s question comes out before he can stop it, blunt and raw. He’s always been honest, maybe too honest for his own good. Time has taught him that every moment matters, that each second slips away faster than you expect, and that it’s better to speak the truth before it comes back to poison you. 

Your smile falters. “I just… don’t want to go home. not yet,” you confess quietly.

“So you’re using me?” he teases, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. You roll your eyes, muttering “Never mind” under your breath as you start to turn away.

“Fine,” he sighs, pushing off the wall. “But I’m craving sushi.”

…

Hyunjin’s eyes are more worn than the last time you’ve seen him. 

Four years ago, they were puffy, soft with exhaustion, their brown dulled like the last flower clinging to life as fall sets in. But now, the lights have gone out completely, like a bloom crushed underfoot, its color bleeding into the cracks of the pavement.

You steal glances at him between spoonfuls of kimchi jjigae (he silently followed you to your restaurant), watching for any sign of recognition. But he doesn’t seem to remember your name, nor the day at the graveyard as much as you do.

The thought strips you of embarrassment and clothes you in sadness instead.  

Hyunjin has written your name into his diary more times than he’d care to admit, even less so to you. 

He has always walked this earth alone, a stranger even to his own emotions, especially his grief— no one understood how his mother’s death consumed him whole.  

It is true that only one body was laid to the ground many years ago. But Hyunjin’s soul followed hers into the ground when he was just fourteen. 

His sadness made sense to his teachers, his classmates, and even the distant relatives who only came around occasionally. But no one grasped the depth of his anger—at the universe for taking his mother when he was still a child, at the illness that wore down her bones, at himself, mostly, for still breathing when she no longer could.

That rage had devoured him, tore through his flesh with its canine teeth. He only saw its reflection once—when he met you.

Hyunjin didn’t know who or what you were mourning that day at the graveyard. But he remembers your screams on his way to his mother’s grave, raw and stripped down to the marrow. It was as if he had stumbled upon his younger self, begging his mother to dig through the earth and hug his frail body once more, just once more. 

“How long have you been skating ?” you ask suddenly, your gaze flickering over his face. He blinks slowly, as if to bring his consciousness back to the present moment. 

“Since i was a kid, nearly two decades now,” he says. 

“Do you like it?” it is a harmless question, a natural succession of the one that came before it. But nothing was ever that simple with Hyunjin, because ice skating reminded him of his mother, and his mother was the wound that had yet to stop bleeding. 

“I do, I really do,” he speaks softly, a fragile smile curling his lips. He waits till you both finish the first bottle of soju to ask— how have you been? and it’s your turn to frown slightly. He notices the tightening of your fist around the spoon, the subtle tremor in your hand. You, too, carry an ever bleeding wound.

“I’m okay.”

The next question slips from him without thought, “are you still as angry?”

You remain silent for a few seconds, holding his gaze as the question settles between you. His cheeks flush, and he almost apologizes for his bluntness, but then you speak.

“Was I ever angry? I think I was just very sad.” 

Snippets of a younger Hyunjin flash through his mind. The numerous brawls he got in with his classmates, the way he pushed away anyone who tried to show him kindness— He was all thorns, keeping others from reaching the tender petals beneath.

Tears spring in his eyes, unbidden, and he bites his lower lip. He understands what you mean perfectly, you understand what he feels perfectly too. 

“I feel as if my heart is too tired now to bear such big anger,” you say with a smile. “Have you worn out yet? That’s what I’d like to ask.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of the answer?” he pauses, adding in a quiet whisper, “I am.” 

The chandelier above dances across his glossy eyes. You’ve never been optimistic—life hasn’t allowed you that luxury. But a small part of you wants to offer Hyunjin hope, to breathe life back into his weary heart, even though you no longer believe in hope yourself.

But no words of reassurance come. So instead, you offer something much simpler, much more realistic. “Let’s ask it another time, then,” you smile, pouring each other a new round of drinks. You quickly down three shots before laying your head on the table. 

“Are you sleeping?” Hyunjin asks with a quiet laugh, the sound light, like a melody played softly on piano keys.

“It’s fine,” you wave a hand in the air. “The owner knows me. He’ll wake me when it’s time to close.”

Both of you are running from home, or what’s left of it. Hyunjin watches you, your face softened by fleeting peace, so different from the grief he’s etched into his memories.

Far more beautiful, too.

“Then wake me up, too,” he sighs, resting his head beside yours.

His eyelids close instantly, lulled to a nice sleep by the buzz of the fridge and the soft hum of your breathing.

Many minutes pass by— quiet and uninterrupted. Hyunjin finds that the next day has come much slower in your company. 

…

The first time you saw Hyunjin figure skating, you were drawn like a moth to a flame to the music echoing from the ice rink.

You recognized the swelling violin of Can You Hear the Music, and paused by the entrance, torn between stepping in and turning back. What if it wasn’t Hyunjin? Worse, what if it was, and he didn’t wish to see you?

Still, your feet betrayed your hesitation, inching forward. You stood at the door, watching in quiet awe as Hyunjin leaped into the air, spinning with perfect grace. He landed effortlessly on one foot, the other extended behind him in a flawless arc.

The lights danced over his body, his flowing white blouse trailing his movements like a siren’s voice pulling in sailors. His black hair floated weightlessly with each spin, strands resting delicately against his forehead.

For the past four years, you had struggled to feel human. The world tasted bland, as if your heart had lost its ability to savor anything. You were afraid you’d lost the capacity to be amazed—by sunsets, by poignant art that once moved you to tears. So you chased after beauty, desperate for the feelings it could still stir in you, a fragile reminder of your humanity.

But watching Hyunjin skate— that gripped your heart more than anything else had in years.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” a voice startles you and you turn quickly, caught off guard by a man standing beside you, a bottle of water in hand and a kind smile on his face.

“Yes, he is,” you reply quietly.

“I’m Jihyoun, Hyunjin’s coach,” he introduced himself, extending a firm hand.

“Yn,” you hesitated, glancing at Hyunjin, who was still absorbed in his performance. “An acquaintance.”

Jihyoun nodded, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You followed suit, unable to tear your gaze away from Hyunjin as he spun, cradling his chest as if holding a memory close, his body lowering toward the ground in a quiet ache. It was a pain you knew all too well.

As the music softened, Hyunjin stilled, closing his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. You were about to slip away, retreating like a shadow escaping the light, but Jihyoun would have found you weird, perhaps he’d think you were a stalker. So, you remained there. 

“Hey, coach,” Hyunjin waved, skating toward you both. Anxiety flickered in your chest like a match that refused to light up—you regretted coming now. You had shared a meal just days ago, but Hyunjin hadn’t asked for your name, nor did he seem to remember it. Maybe you held onto his memory more warmly than he held onto yours.

“Miss Julliard,” Hyunjin greeted with a soft smile as his eyes landed on you, and just like that, your worries dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

“Julliard? That’s impressive,” Jihyoun whistled, but you shook your head. You often forgot how prestigious your school was—perhaps because no one ever celebrated your acceptance in it.

No one, except Hyunjin.

“Have you eaten?” Hyunjin asked, gliding to the edge of the rink, his blouse clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

“No,” you shook your head. He nodded nonchalantly.

“I’m craving kimchi jiggae again,” he tipped his chin towards you, “we can go again, if you’d like.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you grinned.

“Okay. Wait for me.”

… 

Hyunjin’s routine has always been quite simple. 

He’d work out in the morning, the rest of his day lost in practice, his nights reserved for painting or reading, sometimes pouring his thoughts onto paper. It was a life untouched by turbulence, a pattern he rarely swayed from— until you wove yourself into it.

For the past two weeks, you always came to see Hyunjin at the end of his practice. Some nights you’d go eat dinner at your usual spot; sometimes you’d simply buy a drink and find a quiet refuge on the rooftop, watching the city lights twinkle beneath the stars.

There was a strange sense of comfort, he had found, in two bruised souls sitting with one another— an unspoken understanding of what your tongues had often failed to express.

But you hadn’t come to see him in two days.

It’s past one a.m. when Hyunjin finally exits the practice building. He pauses outside, turning back to see that the lights are still on in the dance studio. 

He hopes it is you dancing there. 

With a faint sigh, he takes the stairs two at a time, not wanting to dwell on the fact that, for the very first time in a while, Hyunjin, the ever lonely man, is seeking someone else’s presence. 

When Hyunjin pushes open the studio door, he finds you sitting on the floor, knees tucked to your chest. Your tutu encircles you the way petals would hug a stem— layers of soft tulle in pale pink, contrasting delicately against your sheer tights and pointe shoes.

You appear just like the water lily he sketched only yesterday—soft pastels and an unmatched delicateness. His cheeks flush at the comparison, and, in a hurried attempt to leave, he fumbles, catching his shirt on the doorknob and bumping into the door. 

He’s frozen in place, wincing when you call out his name in surprise. Does he have to embarrass himself each time he’s around you? 

He turns slowly, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “Miss Julliard,” he waves, and you grin in return, your eyes warm, “What are you doing here?”

The words are lost on him as you run over to him, stopping mere inches away from his figure. His fingers twitch for his sketchbook, a sudden urge seizes him to draw you.

“You didn’t come by yesterday so I came to see you,” he explains, voice soft like a summer breeze. 

Your grin brightens like the sun. “Ah, did you miss me?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes playfully, walking past you to sit on the floor. 

Did he miss you? no he didn’t, but his heart did ache, just a little, at your absence.

“Why did you look so defeated sitting on the ground?” he asks instead of replying, leaning against the mirrored wall.

You sigh, taking your place across from him, “practicing this dance is so hard, I got sick of it.” 

He nods, understanding the frustration that stems from being a perfectionist, always chasing ideals in your work.

“You know what helps me? Performing to a song I love. Reminds me what I love about the sport.”

You hum, before a mischievous glint sparks in your eyes. “There is this one song.. From a barbie movie.”

He blinks in surprise, laughing as you dash for your phone.

“Barbie?”

“Yes! The 12 dancing princesses. My mom made me watch it to convince me to take up ballet.” 

“Is that so?” he grins, placing his chin atop his palm. 

“Yeah, she wanted me to follow my sister’s footsteps,” you say, and he thinks back to the small grave you were both kneeling next to. “I wonder if I wouldn’t have become a ballerina if I didn’t watch it,” you muse, before clearing your throat.

“Anyways,” you force a smile on your face, as a whimsical melody streams through the loud speakers. Your grin turns childlike as you stand onto pointe, your raised foot grazing the knee of your supporting leg. 

You glide across the floor as if you are floating, your tutu catching the soft glow of the studio light. Your leaps are as light as air, and you slide to Hyunjin grabbing his hand to pull him up, drawing him into your orbit. 

You laugh, spinning around him, your movements fluid and free, yet your arms frame your figure with a rehearsed prouesse. He can’t help but laugh with you, the warmth of your presence filling the room, the music wrapping around you both like a spell. 

You’re a blur of pink and light, you appear like an angel dancing to the tune of childhood memories.

As the song reaches its end, you twirl one last time before bowing gracefully. Hyunjin claps, the sound echoing in the quiet studio.

“I haven’t danced to that in years,” you say, catching your breath. “I probably looked ridiculous.”

He shakes his head, his voice steady and sincere. “I think ballet would’ve found you anyway. It’s like you were born for it.”

Hyunjin is used to the cold bite of the ice rink, that is where he feels most like himself. But he is somehow drawn to the warmth of this particular studio—no, not just the studio. It’s the warmth you bring, the way your smile lights up the space at his words, that makes him feel, for the first time in a long while, that he could have a friend. That he doesn’t need to walk down the path of life alone.

…

You’re lingering at the doorstep of your home, keys gripped like a lifeline in your trembling fingers. It always takes you three heartbeats to open the door—one to shut your eyes, two to fill your lungs with air, and three to prepare for the tidal wave of hurt waiting on the other side.

You push the door open and slip inside, peeling off your shoes like a shadow trying to leave no trace. With each step, the house pulls you in, a black hole swallowing the warmth that once flickered in your veins, devouring any trace of light.

Dinner with Hyunjin still burns faintly in your chest, like the lingering heat of a fireplace after the flames have died. He makes you laugh a lot, because he’s clumsy, and a peculiar fan of weird debates. You had just spent an hour discussing whether humans have two buttcheeks or simply one.

But you wither down inside this home, your joy punctured like a balloon drifting too close to the sun.

The walls have permeated your sadness, they echo the killing sentence your father cast into your heart four years ago, a wound that festers no matter how much time has passed.

Hyunjin asked you a few days ago why you were back to Seoul. You told him you were competing in the Seoul International Ballet Competition, and he said that he was preparing for the Olympics selection. He then laughed, saying how strange it was that after a month of seeing each other every day, it was only now that you’d shared this. 

You tried to laugh with him, but the sound felt like a stone sinking in your throat. Guilt gnawed at you, not because it was a lie, but because it wasn’t the whole truth. The ballet may have brought you back, but something else called you home. 

At times you wonder if you had made the right call by answering it.

“You’re home,” your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet as you enter the kitchen. You nod, humming absentmindedly. 

“I made pasta, it’s in the oven. And I bought that drink you like,” she says, but her words are too sweet, too forced—like the artificial flavor of apple in fizzy drinks. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, barely loud enough to carry the word across to her.

“I’ll grab it for you,” she says, moving toward the fridge. But when she opens it, her hands falter, hovering over empty shelves. “That’s strange… I could’ve sworn I put it here.” You grip the counter tighter as she flits from cabinet to cabinet, her search growing frantic. 

“It’s fine, I’m not thirsty,” you murmur, but she continues, finally pulling open the dishwasher.

“Ah, silly me,” she says softly, retrieving the can with trembling hands. You keep your eyes low, unwilling to meet hers. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice as fragile as a cracked vase, “I forget so much these days.” 

And just like that, she slips out of the kitchen, leaving behind a gaping hole in your chest that threatens to swallow you whole.  

You hate it when she forgets in front of you, because it shatters the illusion. You see her now, as something frail, crumbling under the weight of time. Her mind, like a worn-out book, is losing pages faster than you can salvage them.

And the cruelest part is that it forces you to forgive her—to hold her in the softness of your heart, knowing that one day she’ll forget who you are entirely.

But has she ever known who you were to begin with? Has she ever dared to ask? 

Has she ever cared to? 

… 

The first time Hyunjin spoke about his mother, you were both lying on the grass underneath a starry night.

You had been rambling about a specific bagel from New York that you missed, while he hummed absentmindedly, his thoughts entangled in memories like marionettes tugged by invisible strings from the past.

He hadn’t meant to ignore you; so when you turned to him, playful mischief dancing on your lips—“Are you listening to me?”—he could only offer a sheepish grin in response. 

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, and he bit his lip, worry knitting his brow. 

Hyunjin had never had anyone to speak to about his mother; her memory resided in the pages of his diary, the strokes of his paintings, the rhythm of his dances—never out loud, never to another soul.

But he suddenly felt an insatiable urge to speak of her; thorns pricking his throat, his skin growing feverish as he fought to form the words he longed to speak. 

“What’s wrong?” you pressed, your tone shifting to one of concern. He thought you wouldn’t mind if he shared her memory, but what he would even say? There was so much to talk about, so much he admired, so much he missed.

“My mom…” he started, his voice tentative. He had your full attention now, he could tell by the way you fully turned around to look at him. “She used to make the best kimchi stew,” he confessed, closing his eyes in slight embarrassment. Is this really what he decided to speak about? 

Still, he pushed through. “She made it for me whenever I was sick. I don’t attach it to bad memories because it was delicious, and I could feel that she made it out of love, out of concern.” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I hadn’t eaten it at all since she passed away. I couldn’t bring myself to. Until you took me to that restaurant.”

His eyes glistened as they settled on you, “So thank you for taking me there. I think you would have liked her kimchi stew.”

Your eyes widened slightly, dewdrops brimming in your waterline before you smiled softly. “I’m sure I would’ve.�� 

He cleared his throat, somehow emboldened by the tenderness of your gaze. He thought that her memory would be safe within the confines of your mind. He thought that he wouldn’t mind sharing her with you. “She was the best figure skater I’ve ever seen.”

“Was she? Is she the one who inspired you to become an ice skater?” you asked, curiosity lighting up your expression. He nodded eagerly. “Yes, she was graceful with her moves; it felt as if she floated atop the ice. The media dubbed her the best figure skater of her generation,” he spoke, pride swelling within him as he noticed the admiration in your expression.

“It was always just her and me, so I’d stay late into the night watching her practice. That was my favorite pastime. She’d always buy me the food I wanted afterward, as a thank you.”

“She sounds like a good mother,” you said, and your words morphed into fingers pressing on his tender bruises. 

“She was. She is.” 

“Tell me more,” you smiled, and so he talked, and talked and talked. He shared everything he could recall: their weekly picnics beneath cherry trees, birthday candles they’d blow out together, the medals she dedicated to him, and her silly jokes that had once filled their home with laughter. 

He spoke of her kindness, her joy that lingered even until her last breath, the love that she beheld for this life and her art, and him. He didn’t mention her illness; it was a mere passing moment, never defining her, never stripping her from the passion that bound her atoms together. 

When he finished, he found his cheeks damp with tears, but his heart felt lighter than it had in years. The air around you was sweeter, for once, it wasn’t fourteen-year-old Hyunjin weeping over the memory of his mother. The ache had softened.

His last words hung in the air, echoing softly in the stillness of the empty park. You didn’t speak; instead, you gently placed your palm atop his. 

It is his very soul that twitched at your touch. 

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, a foolish question, perhaps. 

Your reply was even more obvious, simpler.

“Comforting you.”

“I…” he hesitated, eyes darting furiously over your face, then your hand resting upon his, then your eyes once more, watching him patiently, leaving him the space to retract his hand or intertwine your fingers with his. 

“I’m scared,” he finally admitted, the shadows of his fears looming large. It terrified him even more to utter such words, yet he knew you wouldn’t use them against him; you understood what it felt like to be deprived of comfort— somehow that only saddened him even more.

“What if… What if I forget the coldness of her fingers wrapped around mine?” 

“Your mom loved you, Hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hand to feel warm.” 

Something shifted within his heart, atoms rearranging themselves to spell out a simple truth for Hyunjin— your mom would want you to be happy. 

He nodded, willing his fingers to slip in the empty spaces between your fingers. You squeezed his hand—once, twice, thrice—each pulse a silent invitation for your warmth to seep through his veins, to permeate his bones and sink into his heart. 

He could get used to this, he thought. He wants to get used to your warmth, he realizes.

What does that mean? 

…

Hyunjin has always known who he was, memorized to heart the architecture of his personality. 

He knew he loved art, that he found solace in learning about artists past who, like him, seemed to have sculpted their solitude into something lasting.

He knew he loved painting, he knew he hated egg plants, he knew he’d rather die than not achieve his mother’s dream, for him. 

But something within him was shifting—unraveling. 

His eyes are drawn to the entrance of the ice rink, like a compass needle to true north. His neck craned almost instinctively as the clock looms over 11 p.m.— the time you usually come by to the studio. 

“Don’t worry, she’ll drop by,” Jihyon’s voice cut through his trance. Hyunjin startled, his cheeks blooming with the soft pink of a rising dawn.

“What are you talking about?” he mumbled, but Jihyon only grinned knowingly. 

“Miss Julliard,” his coach teased. Was he that obvious? Did you notice it too? 

That nickname clung to you both since the first time he uttered it near the vending machine. You never corrected him, never offered your real name, and he never asked—though he knew it well. He had thought of you often over these past four years, wondered if you had been well, wondered if you had ever moved on or if you still carried the anger, the heartbreak as if it were your own spine.

He felt guilty that he had found comfort in your pain all these nights past. 

Did that make Hyunjin selfish? Or lonely? 

“Don’t stay up too late,” Jihyon said as he waved goodbye.

“Don’t worry about me.” 

Jihyon lingered by the door, as if wishing to say something else, but he simply sighed before leaving.

It feels odd now for Hyunjin to stand in the stillness of the ice rink, feeling like a hollow shell without you. The quiet is no longer familiar, nor comforting, not when he’s grown accustomed to your giggles spilling all over the place. 

What does it mean, he wondered, when the heart learns to beat to the rhythm of someone else’s presence? When the mind begins to archive every detail, every smile, everything that the other person has ever loved?

Like clockwork you jog into the studio, waving at Hyunjin from afar. He skates over to you, leaning against the railing as he smiles, it is natural for him to smile at you.

“How was practice?” you asked, and he shot you a thumbs-up, his fingers drumming against the railing.

“Isn’t your competition next week?” you ask and he nods, “Can I come watch then?” you say and his heart stutters at your request.

“You can, if you want to, if you don’t it’s okay too, you actually don’t have to,” he mumbles, his words rushing out, until you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him 

“I’ll be there, I have to make sure everyone cheers for you when you win,” you grin, self-assuredly, as if you have never doubted that he’ll qualify for the Olympics. 

His heart grows limp at your words, his limbs losing their strength as your finger lingers upon his lips. He gently grabs your hand, moving it away, goosebumps rippling across his skin at how soft your wrist feels.

This isn’t normal. 

“Should I bring pom poms? Actually, should I make them from scratch? What’s your favorite color?” 

“Will you actually come?” he whispers. Hyunjin has never had anyone cheering for him in his competitions, except for his coach, but he was obligated to do so, in a way. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to smile at someone in the stands anticipating your win. 

Somewhat, you sense the gravity of hyunjin’s question, the vulnerability it entails, one he doesn’t try to hide. He has never attempted to hide his emotions from you, now that he thinks about it.

“Of course I will,” your voice softens, your playfulness melting away. “I promise. I…” you point your pinky to him and he chuckles quietly, “I pinky promise.” 

You kiss your thumb pad and signal for him to do the same, he shakes his head before following your lead, pressing both your thumb pads together. 

“There, sealed forever.” 

You quiet down, before giggling for a reason that eludes you both. 

“Have you ever tried ice skating?” he suddenly asks and you nod, “I know how to skate, but not how to do all those fancy spins of yours.” 

“Do you want to try?” he smiles and you lighten up, “Actually? What if I fall?” 

“I’ll be there to catch you.”

A few moments later, you were both on the ice, Hyunjin spinning around you as you found your balance. “This feels so different from ballet,” you chuckle and he grins, “do you like it?”

“Yeah, i do.”

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching for your hand, and you don’t hesitate, your fingers intertwining with his as he leads you across the rink. 

Can you hear the music starts playing on the loud speakers and Hyunjin laughs, turning around to look at you.

“I’m scared,” you giggle happily and he shakes his head, “Let go of your fears and hold on to me.”

And then, without warning, he spins you, the motion sending your hair flying around you like wings unfurling in the wind. he’s spurred by the emotions this song alone can bestow on him. Can you hear the music?, it asks. Yes, he can, now more than ever, is his answer.

He wraps a secured arm around your waist, lifting you off the ground as he traces wide circles on the ice. Your laughter can be heard over the music, shouts of exhilaration ripping through you as you lift your leg to a ninety degree, as if doing ballet on ice. 

He twirls with you in his arms, as the music hits its crescendo, before finally putting you down, his arm still around you, your chests almost brushing against one another.

You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been, Hyunjin can decipher the specks of light in your eyes, can hear the booming sound of your heartbeat in his chest. Your hand wraps around his bicep as you catch your breath, and Hyunjin is wrapped in a cocoon of your scent. 

He doesn’t wish to break free, he wants to remain in the chrysalis woven by the notes of your perfume. 

It’s a few hours later, Hyunjin laid on his bed, a pillow tightly pressed to his face. He wasn’t a stranger to late-night thoughts strung along by the twilight, but he had never thought before of this—of your lips, how soft they looked inches away from his, how it’d feel to press them on yours, to move slowly, tentatively, and then ravenously, hungrily, achingly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, further burying himself under his covers. Hyunjin wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of thoughts, he had never pursued someone, never had the time nor the energy to do so. Never had anyone grab his attention, in the first place.

Until you.

“Do I like her?” he murmurs to no one but himself, before shaking his head forcefully. “Go to sleep, Hyunjin,” he mutters, willing his eyes to shut closed, sewed so tightly together images of you cannot slip through his eyelids.

But to no avail.

He groans, kicking the covers off before heading to his desk. There, he opens his diary, grabbing a pen as if to write a new entry. But his fingers itch for the buried notebook from four years ago, the one he eyes from the corner of his eye.

He sighs softly before digging it out of its place, his fingers expertly going to his entry the night he came back from the graveyard. The night you met.

He remembers coming home slightly distraught after dropping you off, he had lingered by the door a bit, hearing echoing screams, a door being slammed, then an eerie silence once more.

Hyunjin had been too immersed in his pain to afford absorbing others’ sadness. A sponge that is too saturated, unable to welcome the woes of any other being.

But you had managed to crack through his defenses, frayed yourself a passage through the small gaps forgotten, shed sunlight on parts of himself he had thought were rotten, lost beyond salvation.

He felt an excruciating sadness for you, for your anger, for your sadness, for the way it consumed you whole, because he knew what would follow—when a body burns up, all that is left after is ashes, scattered everywhere, mingling with specks of dust, meaningless, a heart that serves no purpose anymore.

He never told you, he is unsure if he ever would, but it was the fourth anniversary of his mother’s death when he met you. He had planned to spend the night in a willowing state of sadness, an incapacitating one that didn’t allow for his limbs to move, similar to the first anniversary, then the second, then the third.

But he had spent the rest of it sketching your tearful eyes as you looked up at him, as you cowered away from his words, as you relaxed in his car.

That is the image he finds in his diary entry. But now that he thinks about it, he didn’t skillfully depict the moles scattered on your face, the crease near your eyes, or the way your hair reflects the sun’s light. He didn’t capture the arch of your eyebrow or the way beauty seems to reside in every nook and cranny of your face, seems to pour out of your pores like the sun brushing against a waterfall the way timid lovers do—magical, beautiful.

He sees you in a whole different light, now.

Hyunjin runs a tired hand through his hair, before grabbing his sketchbook. In the hours that ensued, in which he tried to do your beauty justice, erasing and retracing the shape of you time and time again, numerous questions ran through his mind, racing against time to find answers.

Does he like you? No, too simplistic of a question, too dim to encapsulate what knowing you feels like.

Is his soul drawn to yours?

Perhaps. Yes. Most definitely, his heart whispered.

Would he be a fool if he ever confessed it to you?

It is his mind that answered then. A bit forcefully, in fear, in warning: yes, a thousand times yes.

…

There are places in your parent’s house that you always stray from, the way oil stirs away from water. One, the vicinity of their bedroom, two, the living room— the ones in which you are most likely to stumble upon them. Three, the attic, in which you will most likely brush against ghosts from the past.

But somehow you found yourself exactly there, tonight. 

It's 10 p.m. The sun has long sunk below Seoul’s horizon, leaving behind a sky awash in an exquisitely deep blue, so inviting you almost wish to disappear into it. Today was your rest day, no dance studio, no late night escapades with Hyunjin.

You find yourself missing his giggles and how they would linger in your mind long after you part ways.

The attic is still, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of your feet as you fumble for a light switch, your hand sweeping along the dusty wall. It flickers on, weak and golden, and you squint as the air, thick with age, coats your lungs. 

Old furniture crowds the room, remnants of a life you left behind four years ago. You’re surprised they kept your bed untouched in your room, one last string tying them to your memory.

Your eyes sweep over old paintings, broken suitcases, and wooden shelves, a hand mixer—useless now. And then, you see it, the reason you climbed here. 

Your mother had once mentioned a box, in passing, filled with things your sister wanted to leave for you. Your mother wasn’t pregnant with you at the time nor did she intend to, but she’d entertain the idea to make her favorite girl happy. 

You kneel and pull the box to your lap, the cardboard soft and weathered under your fingers.

“She was so kind,” your mother had said, too many glasses of wine in her system, her words loose and unguarded. “She gave up her favorite toys for you, before you were even born.” You never asked why they were never passed on, deep down you already knew the answer. She never deemed you worthy of having them. 

Inside, you find a small doll with golden hair and big glassy blue eyes, its pink dress dotted with strawberries, a swan hairpin missing some crystals, and tiny, delicate ballerina shoes, pale pink, unused, small—so small. 

And then, a note. 

Your heart stumbles, the bile rising fast to your throat as you grip the worn paper in your hands. 

Your sister had always been a myth, a memory passed down to you by your parents. An elusive figure you have only seen in photographs, until now. 

You’ve never had words that she addressed to you. 

The paper crinkles as you unfold it. You can somehow hear the rush of hot blood in your veins—uncomfortable, deafening. 

The words blur together as your eyes skim over the paper. You catch fragments— to my future sister—then something about how she wants to play with you, urging you to hurry, come quickly, before I break all my toys.

Your vision wavers, the small, careful handwriting barely legible through the haze. I left you my favorite doll and hairpin. So simple. So kind. I also left you my new ballet shoes. You don’t have to like ballet but if you do that would be awesome.

I would love to dance ballet with you.

The note crumples in your hand as your heart lurches, body jolted upright as if struck by lightning. You stumble out of the attic, discarding the box as the walls close in on you. They press, like the past, against your ribcage until you feel like you might suffocate.

You’ve carried resentment like a stone in your chest, a tide pulled by the moon, ever present, ever rising. You resented her because her memory haunted you, grew larger than life as you did. But she never asked for that. She was just a child, a seven-year-old who loved you before you even existed.

How horrible are you? 

Guilt is bitter on your tongue, sour as acid, and you swallow hard against it, tasting the metallic tang of regret. You don’t think as you barge into your parent’s room, blinded by feelings too entangled like vines to tell apart. 

“What’s wrong?” your mother asks, sitting in a bed too big for her alone. You throw the crumpled note at her. 

“Why did you never give me this?” you demand, and her eyes widen as she skims the lines, a sheen glazing her pupils. 

“I…” she stammers, and you laugh—a hollow, jagged sound—as your hands press against your forehead, fingers digging into the migraine feeding off your pain.

“You know I hated her, right? I– I hated a child, my sister because I never felt loved by you,” you choke, voice fracturing, “how– my god how pathetic is that?” 

“i’ve always loved you,” she says, voice tentative. but it is too meek of a reply, too hollow before the depths of your abandonment. 

“I’ve never, NEVER felt once loved by you! YOU made me feel as if I was competing with a ghost. She wasn’t here but she was everywhere and I was never enough to fill her shoes!” 

“I was a grieving mother!” she yells, standing up to face you, her face flushed and her hands trembling. “Do you know how terrible it feels to lower your child into the ground? Do you know how horrible I felt covering her grave when she was scared of the dark, when she hated the cold? She–” her voice cracks like fragile glass, unraveling as tears spill over her face, “She kept telling me that she didn’t want to leave us, that she didn’t want to die. How am I—“ She sobs, the sound raw, torn, “how am I supposed to forget my baby’s last breath? how am i supposed to be a perfect mother to you when I couldn’t protect her?” 

“i never wanted a perfect mother.” you murmur, eyes shutting tight, chest heaving with hiccuped breaths. “I never said you had to forget her. But I was right here. I was alive. I was breathing, hurting, waiting for you to see me, to love me.” Your voice breaks, you sound like your seven years old self and you hate that. “Did I mean so little to you?”

You smile sadly before her silence, your shoulders dropping low. You are too tired for an offense, too tired to tear down her defenses. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t always a good child. I’m sorry that sometimes I threw tantrums. I’m sorry for all the ways I failed you. I know I’m not perfect. I hurt, I stumble, I make mistakes. I am filled with resentment. I choke with it, and sometimes I hurt others too. But I try. I always try to make things right. And I apologize if I do.” 

Silence thickens between you both like browned sugar, though this moment is anything but sweet. You remain quiet, hoping for your salvation to come in the form of two words, two simple words— I’m sorry—that is all it would take to soothe your heart a little. 

You wait, and wait, and more seconds pass as the silence stretches longer and your mother refuses to meet your eyes. And slowly, slowly the hope withers within you. You know she isn’t apologizing tonight. Maybe not ever.

“Forget it.” you whisper as you leave the room and hurriedly walk out of the house. You need something strong, something to burn away the ache, something to scald the memory from your bones, to forget.

It’s nearly midnight when Hyunjin finally steps out of the training building. The air is crisp, cool against his flushed skin, but his relief is short-lived as his eyes land on Sohee, the owner of the kimchi jjigae place nearby, hovering by the entrance. 

Hyunjin’s frown deepens—something feels off. 

“Ah, hyunjin,” the fifty something quickly jogs up to him. “The security guard told me you still hadn’t left.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yn has been drinking for the past hours, she looks.. Sad. And I’m worried she can’t get home safely.” Sohee’s tone sets off the alarm in Hyunjin’s mind. 

His worry tightens into a knot in his chest as he steps into the narrow restaurant. His eyes immediately fall on you—your cheek pressed against the table, five empty soju bottles scattered around you

He crouches in front of you, his heart twisting as he takes in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks. What happened?

“Hey,” he whispers gently, afraid to jolt you awake. You stir, blinking groggily, trying to piece together your surroundings.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe, barely a whisper, and his heart softens at the sound. He nods, offering you a small smile, though concern darkens his eyes. “What’s wrong, hm?”

His words unlock something deep inside you, and your face crumbles like a porcelain vase breaking apart. The tears come swiftly, welling in your eyes until they spill over, your lower lip trembling like fragile branches in a storm.

“I’m a—I’m a horrible person,” you choke out between sobs, your voice trembling as much as your body. Your eyes squeeze shut as your shoulders quake, and Hyunjin’s hands move instinctively, gently covering your tightly clenched fists.

“No, you’re not,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady, as if trying to hold you together with his words alone.

But you shake your head fiercely, a sob tearing from your throat, raw and unrestrained. “I’m a horrible sister,” you manage to whisper, your words barely audible as you wipe at your eyes, only for the tears to fall faster, harder.

Hyunjin watches you break, his heart aching with every tear that slips down your face. He feels weird, feverish, as if your pain has somewhat transferred to his heart. He glances at Sohee, who quietly steps out of the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet, dim light.

With a soft sigh, Hyunjin gently cups your face in his hands, his palms warm against your tear-streaked cheeks. His thumbs trace slow, soothing circles across your skin.

“You didn’t even get to be a sister, how could you be a horrible one?” 

“I hated her for so long when all she wanted was to dance with me. I hated a child for so long, I’m a-a horrible person.” 

Hyunjin tentatively licks his lips, thoughts jumbled in his mind like wires. His heart is beating so fast as he wraps an arm around your back, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You seem to melt in his embrace, tension loosening off of your back as he gently pats your spine. 

“I don’t think you hated your sister. You hated how your parents treated you. Those are two different things.”

Your tears are unceasing, trickling down his skin as you sob more and more. He doesn’t mind the dampening of his shirt, he would never mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

“Humans aren’t straightforward lines, we bend and twist and stray from our paths because our hearts are too frail and sometimes we carry emotions too heavy for us to bear. Sometimes we are pushed to feel certain things when we’ve never wanted to go through them.”

He never stops patting your back gently, his hand traveling from the top of your hair to the base of your spine. “A bad person does not worry about being a bad person. I’m sure your sister knows you love her. You have nothing to feel horrible about.”

Your tears are unyielding and Hyunjin feels as if it isn’t enough— to press your body to his hoping the rhythm of his heart would calm down yours, to think of words of his own doing to soothe your pain. He has not had to comfort anyone in so long, he doesn’t know how to stop your ache. He wishes he could soak your sorrow into his heart instead— he’s used to it, he can handle your pain and his, at once.

He’s racking his mind furiously for things to comfort you. In his memory he stumbles upon the poem of Mary Oliver that has held his hand in the dark.

“Would you like to hear my favorite poem?” he asks, in a whisper.

He feels you nodding against his chest, and he peels himself away from you, painfully, like removing a bandaid from a wound that has yet to scab.

Hyunjin’s eyes are wide and glossy as he peers into yours, as he looks beyond your irises and gazes at your soul, as he recites to you, with a steady voice like a current that doesn’t fall prey to the hazards of storms— “You do not have to be good.” He smiles softly. “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.” The verb strikes you like a thunderbolt. “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

It passes him like a vision, a flash of white that blinds him, him holding your cheeks but without tears, him cupping your face, in the mornings and in the nights, because it is you his soft clueless flesh aches to love.

It’s gone as quick as it came, his words come out much slower, much more disoriented as he continues— “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”

“I want to tell you,” you hiccup, your cheeks are all rosy, delicate red veins protruding the white of your eyes. Your lips are all swollen from how hard you bit them to muffle your sobs.

“I will listen,” he reassures. Hyunjin stays true to his words. He drives you to his place, there, atop his couch, lit by a flower shaped lamp casting warm shadows on you both; you felt safe, a vanilla tea in hand, to talk, to tell Hyunjin everything, how you felt and how lonely, excruciatingly lonely you have been for the past years.

And he listens, he listens well, nodding, holding your hand when it shakes, wiping your tears when they slip from your face.

You feel a sense of gratitude swell in your heart, as if a hundred tulips bloomed in your chest at once. You feel safe talking about your biggest fears to Hyunjin, handing him your heart on an open palm, bruised, bleeding. He would wrap it in a gauze for you, he would keep it safe till you can heal it once more.

You doze in and off sleep on the couch, you can feel Hyunjin placing a warm blanket atop you. You swear he sat by your side for a long while, his hand gently patting your hair and threading through your locks.

You resisted the urge to pull his hand, to beg him to climb near you on the couch and have him encapsulate you in his hold once more. It would be too much for him to bear. Too much of you to ask. Too hard for you to handle a no.

Because even in your drunken state, with a heart weighed down by alcohol and ten thousand stones of grief, when Hyunjin cupped your cheeks in his larger, warmer hands, when he peered into your soul with his brown glimmering eyes, when it looked as if he could mirror your pain, as if he could understand the guilt, as if he could hold your hand through the grief— for one second, for a fleeting instant, it was all forgotten. 

The grief became a simple myth in your mind, a distant memory, something you could brush away as a bad dream slipping away with the march of time; simply because he was there for you through it.

… 

Hyunjin is beautiful.

This isn’t new knowledge for you, per se. You've known it from the moment your eyes met his, through a veil of relentless rain and the sting of unshed tears. Even then, you recognized it—he was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen. 

But somehow, you’ve managed to tuck this knowledge away, placed it in a forgotten recess of your mind. You had found other things to like about Hyunjin, things that wouldn’t be weird for a friend to admire— and Hyunjin made that an easy feat for you. 

You enjoyed the poems, all the ones he’d recite to you from time to time. You loved watching people’s eyes turn to behold him, and him unaware of this magnetic aura coating his porcelain skin. You felt warm hearing his bright and unrestrained giggles, seeing traces of happiness carved into his eyes, watching his lips stretch into a wide grin that seemed to swallow the world whole. 

But there are moments when it’s harder to forget. Like now—when Hyunjin stands before you, slipping on the finishing touches of his performance outfit. His sky-blue top clings to his frame, bedazzled with pearls and diamonds that cascade like teardrops, swooping around his small waist and hugging his broad shoulders. The fabric melts into his black pants, carving his silhouette like a chiseled statue.

There are only ten minutes left before his turn on stage. Last night, over quiet spoonfuls of miso soup, Hyunjin told you to please stay backstage with him, his voice so soft it felt like a secret only meant for you. And how could you refuse? Hyunjin wanted you close—Hyunjin asked for you.

He is nervous, you can tell by the slight tremble of his hands as he struggles with his earring, the delicate hoop slipping from his grasp. It falls, and before you know it, you’ve stepped forward, picking it up, your fingers steady as you help him clasp it into place. 

His gaze is heavy on you, and your heart beats a little too fast. You avoid meeting his eyes—he’s too close, too vulnerable of a setting for you.

You finish, stepping back, but Hyunjin’s hand finds your wrist, gently tugging you close again. He doesn’t let go, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve. He bites his lip, lets go of the plush flesh before biting it once more, then he confesses. “i’m scared.” 

Your fingers find his wrist, settle above his wildly beating pulse, a small part of you selfishly wishes it is because of your proximity. Your thumb gently swipes across his soft skin as you say, “you’ll do amazing. I’m sure of it.”

He nods, though something flickers in his eyes, something unsaid that lingers between you. He swallows it down, offering you a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you after.”

“Okay,” you grin back, “I’ll see you with a gold medal.” 

You’ve seen this choreography countless times before, memorized every twist, every subtle motion of his body. But watching him perform, under the harsh, burning lights, is like witnessing something new. 

Hyunjin moves with a grace that defies reason, a dancer molded by the music, his body bending to its rhythm, his face crumbling as the music swells. 

Hyunjin glides around as if he is one with the ice, he glows, like the sun on stage, mesmerizing, dipping low with the music and soaring high with its rhythm. Your hand is on your chest as you watch him deliver the killing move, a deep dip, head thrown back, his body a perfect arch on his knees. 

He finishes, under the roaring applause of everyone around. You’re first to stand on your feet and the entire arena follows, giving Hyunjin the standing ovation he deserves, the only one of the night. He bows deeply, a hand on his heart as he soaks in the praise. 

You feel like throwing up as you anxiously await the results to show up on the screen. One minute of silence passes by, then, you see it. His name comes in first. 

Hyunjin won. Hyunjin qualified for the Olympics.

He’s already skating towards you, and you’re moving, rushing down to meet him. You wrap him in a tight hug, feeling his chest rise and fall with quick breaths.

“How was it?” he asks, laughter bubbling in his voice. You find it to be such a silly question. 

How could he be anything but extraordinary?

“You fucking did it, Hyunjin,” you say, the words leaving you in a rush. He tips his head back, laughing, his happiness so pure it aches. You reluctantly pull away from him as Jihyoun comes to congratulate him, pulling him too for a hug.

“Proud of you son,” he says and you can see Hyunjin’s eyes well up with tears. you wish you could kiss them away, the tears and the sadness, will it to desert his heart, kiss his smile and happiness, learn the taste of his joys and sorrows. 

Oh god. 

The thoughts submerge you like you’re doused in gasoline, and being near Hyunjin is the crickling match that will set you on fire.

“There’s an afterparty to celebrate the man of the hour,” Jihyoun grins, patting Hyunjin’s back in a fatherly manner. You can feel the pull of the crowd, people waiting to shower him with well-deserved praise, like waves gathering to meet the shore.

“Are you coming?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft as his gaze lingers on you. You hesitate, and he pouts, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I want you to come, please.”

“Okay,” you smile, though your feet are already inching away. “But I left my phone at home. I’ll go get it and come back.” That is the truth, or maybe just a shadow of it.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Hyunjin, ever the considerate one. His kindness cuts deeper than he knows, a dull blade slicing against your fragile skin. You hate how you pull his thoughtfulness to somewhere tainted with shadows. You hate how your mind cannot accept that someone could care for you. What if he pities you, still? It asks. What if he only sees you as the selfish girl sobbing at her sister’s grave? 

How could someone like Hyunjin, radiant as the sun pay attention to a mere rock floating in space, aimless, too unimportant to even be given a name? 

“No, it’s a quick drive. Enjoy your moment.” You flash a smile, hoping it covers the tremor in your voice. You quickly slip away before Hyunjin can notice, your pace quickening as his brow furrows behind you.

You’ve never dared to truly like someone. The harsh truth is that people like you, who were born sipping grief in their mother’s womb, only end up accustomed to its metallic tang on their tongues.

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known. 

It’s been thirty minutes since you left and Hyunjin’s eyes keep drifting toward the door, pulled by some invisible force. Jihyoun is talking, excitedly introducing him to someone new, someone important from the sound of it. He hears snippets of the conversation— Switzerland, the best coaching center, a guaranteed win, but the words are distant, like murmurs underwater. 

His mind is a whirlwind of paranoid thoughts as Hyunjin redoes the calculations: it was supposed to be a fifteen minute errand, at most. Where are you?

His heart feels tethered to a storm as he steps out, muttering a feeble excuse to Jihyoun, feet moving before his brain catches up. The air feels heavy like trying to inhale metal, only to end up crushed from all sides.

He searches the parking lot, scanning the faces mingling there, but he finds no sign of you. His feet keep moving, driven by instinct, by a chilling feeling pulling at his heart, desperate to glimpse you.

Then he sees it—flashing lights up ahead. His world dims as he watches a man on the phone, gesturing frantically toward a car. A car that’s all too familiar. Yours, crumpled like a piece of paper, flipped on its side, crashed against a tree. 

A loud ringing floods his ears akin to the buzzing of a hundred angry bees, at once. His legs buckle, his hand slamming against a nearby car for balance, but it feels like the earth beneath him is giving way. His eyes squeeze shut, his back turning away from the wreck. Not again.

Please, not again.

His throat burns with bile, and it feels like nails are clawing at his chest, ripping his skin open and exposing his heart. It’s pounding wildly, erratically, like it’s trying to escape the cage of his ribs and splatter on his feet. 

He can’t turn around—he’s too afraid of what he’ll see. But he has to. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his vision spotted with white as he stumbles forward. He taps the man’s arm. He struggles to find his voice as if it were never his to begin within. “Did someone get out of the car?” he whispers, broken, pleading. The man shakes his head.

Hyunjin rushes to the window, desperate to find you, to see you breathing, but the glass is tinted, hiding whatever lies inside. Without thinking, he throws his fist against the window. Once. Twice. Again. And again. His skin splits, blood dripping down his knuckles, but he can’t stop. He pounds the glass until it shatters, only to find nothing within.

“Hyunjin?” A voice, so achingly familiar, cuts through the haze. He spins around, breathless, and there you are—limping, disheveled, but alive. You’re breathing.

In an instant, he’s in front of you, his eyes wide, frantic, searching yours as if they behold the answer to every fear, every prayer he has ever uttered. His hand trembles as it cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, needing to feel your warmth. His gaze flickers over your body, checking for any trace of life-threatening injury, his heart lodged in his throat.

“Are you okay?” His voice is raw, stripped bare.

“I am,” you reply, and your words are his salvation. A sigh shudders out of him, pulled from the deepest parts of his soul, as if he’s been drowning and you’ve finally pulled him to the surface.

He falls to his knees, palms pressing into the ground. Tears spill from his eyes, hot and heavy, streaking down his face like rain in a storm. You kneel beside him, and his arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you close. 

His fingers weave through your hair, pressing you to him, needing to feel you, needing to know you’re real. His body trembles as he buries his face in your hair, his tears soaking through your shirt, inhaling your scent, grounding himself in you.

“Yn,” he breathes, your name the only thing that could express the magnitude of his relief. He holds you tighter, the words tumbling out like a prayer, “I thought I lost you. My god, I thought I lost you.”

It takes a while for you to process his words, to understand the scale of his fear at the thought of losing you. Those are foreign notions for you, a sight you never thought you’d grasp one day. A sight you never deemed yourself deserving of. 

“You’d care this much if I died?” Your voice is a whisper, small, uncertain.

Hyunjin’s bloodied hand smooths your hair, his eyes red, chest heaving. “Yn, I…” He squeezes his eyes shut, voice breaking. “Yn, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry,” your lower lip quivers at the sight of his tears, somehow seeing him sob leads to your own unraveling, as if your emotions are tied by one red string. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you,” you apologize, you the forgotten one, the ghost in your own home, apologizing because for once, your absence did hurt someone, because for once someone would miss you if you were ever gone.

Hours later, you’re in Hyunjin’s home, tucked into the safety of his bed. You’d refused to call your parents, not wanting them to know what had happened, how close their wish had become reality. 

The ambulance had taken you both to the hospital, where they patched Hyunjin’s wounds and checked you for a concussion. You repeated, over and over, like a broken record— “The brakes stopped working, and I jumped out of the car.” Hyunjin spoke for you when you grew tired.

“How are you feeling, Yn?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft, as he hovers over your figure. Your name sounds sweeter from his lips. It sounds as if it was always his to pronounce. 

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I ruined your night.” Your apology is quiet, but he shakes his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shut closed as his lips caress your skin, as if wanting to drown out all the other senses, useless, needing to focus solely on his touch. 

“If you’re okay, that’s all that matters to me.”

He goes to leave, but you catch his hand. You don’t overthink your next words, you think you’re long past that when it comes to him. “You called me by my name. I thought you didn’t remember it.”

“I never forgot,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve known who you were since the moment I saw you. I… I thought about you a lot for the past four years, Yn. I think about you now too,” a pause, “for different reasons. Sweeter reasons.”

He remembered. He has come to know you and he still thinks of you.

“Me too,” you smile softly, “I think about you so much it feels as if you’re all I’ve ever known,” you confess breathlessly. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and his do the same.

Before you can think, you’re standing on your tiptoes, your lips resting on his, unmoving, driven by a desire so raw it blinded you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You pull away, stumbling back.

But his hands find your waist, pulling you back. “Can I do that again, Yn?” His voice is soft, and you nod, dazed. How could you ever refuse him?

His mouth returns to yours, slow and deliberate, like a melody reuniting with its refrain. Sweetness spills from his lips onto yours, a blend of honey and wildflowers and something that is entirely his. His breath surrounds you, intoxicating, pulling you into a world where all you wish is to melt into him, to slip beneath his skin and flow through his veins. 

Fireworks bloom behind your eyelids, explosions of colors you’ve never seen before, as if the universe itself has unraveled in the space between you both. His hands cradle your face, thumbs tracing circles along your cheeks that send a thousand butterflies flapping their wings throughout your being. Your fingers weave into the silk of his hair, a breath of relief escaping you as you touch him the way you’ve longed for. 

You’re still kissing him and yet you already ache to do it again, again and again, till you forgive the world every cruelty it has inflicted into you, if it allows you to hold his warmth a little longer, to keep your sun cupped between your palms. 

“Is this what happiness feels like?” he murmurs against your lips, a smile threading between your breaths, your teeth grazing his in the closeness. You laugh softly, your foreheads touching softly, “I think it is. It tastes so sweet.”

“Mm, I think I need to taste it again, to make sure,” he teases, his lips finding yours once more, playful and hungry. Time loses its meaning, minutes slipping away like sand grains between your fingers. By the time you part, your heart has memorized the rhythm of his breath and the weight of his lips upon yours, as familiar now as your own pulse.

… 

“So, how do we do this?”

Your laughter echoes softly down the corridor. Hyunjin has you pinned against the wall near the skating rink, his right hand braced above your head, the other hovering over your waist—yet, it’s that mere sliver of air between his fingers and your skin that ignites a wildfire within you, burning bright with longing.

“Wouldn’t it be strange if we just walked in, holding hands? I mean, Jihyoun knows me, but…” Your voice drifts away like chimney smoke, dissolving into the background of Hyunjin’s thoughts. He’s no longer listening—he’s observing. Memorizing. His gaze skillfully captures every curve, every shadow of your face, as if this is the last dawn he’ll ever witness. As if, by morning, he’ll be blind, and this moment is his only chance to engrave you into his memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice soft, almost reverent. Your words falter, fading like the final notes of a song only he remembers. He leans in, his lips brushing your cheek with a tenderness that paints your skin crimson red. 

He smirks, satisfied by the effect—perhaps, he thinks, that is how the sun feels as it kisses the horizon goodnight, leaving the sky a blushing mess. 

“You were saying?” he teases, and you roll your eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “I was saying that it would be—“ But his lips find yours once more, plucking the words from your tongue like petals from a flower. 

In the dim glow of the corridor, the world around you fades to an afterthought. It feels as though you exist only for this, only for him— to kiss and to be kissed by Hyunjin.

“Finally!” Jihyoun’s voice shatters the moment, ringing out like a bell, pulling you both apart. “Thank you for kissing him, Yn. Now he’ll stop with the longing stares at the door.”

“What stares?” you laugh, the sound bubbling sweetly up your throat. Hyunjin scratches the nape of his neck, shrugging innocently when your eyes meet, as if he has no idea what Jihyoun is talking about (though he knows all too well).

Hyunjin catches his coach’s eye over your shoulder, a wide smile tugging at his lips. Jihyoun once told him that he seems to bloom around you, like a flower starved of sunlight, finally nourished. The thought warms him—knowing that the people closest to him feel your presence like a balm to his soul. His mother would have loved you too, he’s certain of it.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hyunjin whispers later, as you’re leaving the practice building, his arm draped over your shoulder, yours wrapped around his waist. Natural. Familiar. Like two rivers flowing into one.

“I don’t have anything of mine there,” you pout, and Hyunjin stops, cupping your cheek, his nose grazing yours in a gesture so tender it makes your heart float within your ribcage. “That’s part of my secret plan—to get you in my clothes.”

“Oh, what a very secretive plan,” you giggle, stealing a quick kiss. “And what would we do tonight?” 

“Sleep together.” You raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head, flushing crimson. “I mean—sleep, actual sleep, not that I wouldn’t want to make love to you,” Your laughter rings out, as his forehead finds its hiding place against your shoulder, embarrassed. “I just want to hold you close. That’s all.”

Your sweet Hyunjin.

“I want that too, Hyune.”

Hyunjin has never been much of a writer, his forté has always been to express himself with his body, spell out words out of the movement of his limbs. It is more evident as he opens the door to his apartment, with you trailing behind. As he looks at both your shoes sitting side by side near the entrance, your accessories resting next to his in the bathroom. 

He lacks the words to explain how right, how natural it feels for him to have you in his space, for you to fill it with the music of your voice and the fragrance of your perfume. As if it has always been his reality, to walk home with you, to watch you slip into his clothes, to brush his teeth next to you, to lay atop the bed with your warm eyes staring at him instead of a cold wall. 

“Do you believe in fate?” you suddenly ask, your thumb trailing alongside his neck, pausing right where his pulse beats. He has never been aware of the weight of life against his skin until he knew you. 

“I never did, I didn’t want to believe in something pre-written for me. Wouldn’t that confine who I am, who I could be?” he muses and you nod softly, inching closer to him. “But somewhat,” he trails off, lifting your hand to his mouth, peepering the sweetest kisses alongside your palm and wrist, like dewdrops caressing leaves. “I believe in it now, because of you.” 

“I think I was meant to find you that day in the graveyard. I think what I feel for you is too grand to be a pure coincidence,” he confesses. 

“And what do you feel for me?” you ask, your voice soft, curious. 

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gently twirls a strand of your hair away from your eyes, before tucking it behind the cuff of your ear. He presses his forehead to yours, like two pages of a book meeting one another, then he exhales slowly, like a man who has found peace after a lifetime of searching. 

And in a way, he has. He can stop looking frantically for something that would stitch his soul up, he has found you, now. 

“I used to resent hearing my own heartbeat. At times it felt like a punishment, because existing felt like a chore. I wanted the sound to quiet down, I didn’t want to hear anything, nor feel anything anymore.” 

“But now,” he pulls you closer, your legs intertwining with his, like roots seeking comfort in one another, “it’s reassuring to hear, because it means there is still life within me to love you in it.”

Love. The word has long felt like a thorn ingrained into your skin. You have always recoiled from it, less from repulse and more in fear— if the people who were put on this earth to love you, didn’t, then weren’t you meant to remain unloved for the rest of your life? 

But looking at Hyunjin now, at the way the word rests gently on his lips, rolls off his tongue with such ease, with such certainty, you don’t want to run.

You want to stay. 

It is when Hyunjin traces maps along your skin with his lips, as you drift down the constellations of moles on his chest, as you find yourself lost within everything that makes up his being— his scent, his sounds, the weight of him pressed against you— that you find your words to reply, to breathe your first I love you to him. 

And in that confession, another realization comes, though this one is bitter, sour, like a chilling premonition: if Hyunjin were ever to leave, what would be left of you after? 

…

Hyunjin has never been fond of the concept of time, minutes seemed to march differently when it came to him— seconds stretching out like thin threads, nights unraveling in restless turns, sleep plucked right off from his eyelids. 

But with you, time softened, as the hours spun forward, swift and gentle. Around you, Hyunjin no longer felt the weight of passing days on his heart. 

Hyunjin didn’t feel the two months of happiness you bestowed upon him slipping from his grasp. 

He was lost, adrift in the gentle tides of your being—swept by the melody of your laughter, cradled by the softness of your curves. He often wondered if he was deserving of this happiness, yet never lingered long enough to find an answer. He selfishly accepted the joy you gifted him, for once. 

Your belongings filled the empty nooks of his apartment gradually, corner by corner—your satin pajamas settling just above his plaid ones, your skincare nestled near his on the bathroom shelf, your favorite mug clinking against his in the dishwasher. 

In some way, it mirrored how you’d seeped into him, like sunlight breaking through the longest of nights— threads of the sun illuminating what was once lost to darkness. 

He’d steady your chin to help with your mascara, your doe eyes looking up into his. You’d brush his hair, pressing gentle kisses along his shoulder blades. He’d do your laundry. You’d make his coffee each morning. He’d brew your tea each night.

You didn’t have much time to talk during the day, both of you engrossed in the practice of your respective arts. Yet, the knowledge that you were just a floor above him, close if he ever wished to see you, was enough to soothe his heart.

It was at night that you bared yourselves to each other, in ways that went beyond the tender grip of his hands on your waist, or the slow trail of your fingers down the curve of his back.

In the hush of the twilight, you’d unfold softly, revealing the hidden layers within—you’d share your dreams and hopes, and the moments that shaped you, letting the fragments of your pasts settle in the safety between you both. 

“I think I know my purpose now,” you whispered one night, and he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “What is it?” 

“I think I kept ballet at a distance because loving it felt like surrendering to my parents’ dreams, like I’d be becoming what they always wanted me to be.” You paused, your voice a little softer, a little braver. “But I do love it, Hyunjin. I want to be the best at it. I want to honor my sister through it.” 

His gaze softened, as a tender smile blossomed in his lips. “You already do.”

Some nights were less sweet, tangled with heavy grief and unshed tears, yet it felt easier to walk through them if you were there holding his hand. 

“Would you go into her room with me?” he asked quietly one night, his gaze locked on his mother’s bedroom, its door sealed for a decade. He had never dared to enter it once more, afraid it would further cement the notion that she was gone.

That truth felt easier to confront with you near.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “Whatever you need.”

The room was just as he remembered, only stuffier with dust and heartache. Time hung in the air, dense and unmoving, clutching at her last moments alive, unwilling to let go. 

He looked to the bed, and he could almost see the shape of her there, frail and thin, her clothes too loose over a body worn out with sickness.

You held him close, steadying him as he took in each familiar corner: their photos framed with gold on the desk, her countless medals hung on the wall, her perfume and hairbrush untouched on the vanity, her rings resting in a small seashell container.

He walked slowly to the vanity, his fingers reaching for the ring he had loved most—a thin band of gold, crowned with a small emerald, dulled by time. Gently, he wiped away the dust with his shirt, before turning to you and slipping it onto your finger.

“Keep it,” he whispered. “It will live again through you.”

In the days that followed, you helped him breathe light and air into the room once more, sweeping dust from the framed certificates and photographs, polishing the medals until they shimmered as they once had. You washed the linens and her clothes, packing them carefully for a donation to cancer wards—something he never found the courage to do, until now.

Grief no longer felt like a knife lodged into his heart, its metal rusting with the passing of time. He saw its true face now—a soft ache, a quiet longing, a thicket of thorns that can only grow from the roots of love.

Your voice floated in his mind that night, echoing like the bells of a long standing cathedral. “your mom loved you, hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hands to be warm”— would want you to be happy.

Happiness swept into Hyunjin like an endless, gnawing hunger—an insatiable ache that demanded to be fed. He was ravenous for joy, longing to sink his teeth into it, dip his tongue into its sweetness and let it spill all over him. 

When an exoneree tastes freedom after decades of longing, it is the small breeze, the waves lapping hungrily at his bare feet that make his heart twitch. So it was with Hyunjin: the small joys swelled within his ribcage, vast and boundless. His heart strained against his chest, eager to burst free and feel it all. 

Somehow, Hyunjin’s biggest joy came from watching you dance— the principal dancer of your competition team. Whenever he had a break, he’d choose to slip away from the ice rink and climb the stairs at a hurried speed, slip into the dancing studio and sit in the corner. 

There, he’d watch you, leading the group of dancers you’ll perform with. You stood in the center, beckoning the attention of everyone around. Beautiful, so beautiful.

How foolish of him it was to try to deny it. How foolish of him to think that there was any outcome but to fall for you.

You always caught his eye across the mirror, your face breaking out in a wide grin, as you waved shyly at him, the strictness melting off your features and morphing into something warm. He felt special in a way, to be the sole recipient of such a breathtaking smile. He felt as if he could write hundreds of poems about that alone. 

That smile feels even more precious as you stand on stage at the Seoul International ballet competition, seconds before the light would turn on and you’d begin dancing. In the split second of darkness, it is him your eyes sought after in the crowd, it is him you wink at, before switching into your professional mode.

You aren’t as nervous as he expected you to be. Somehow your facade only slipped when five minutes before the stage you beckoned hyunjin in for a hug. “Do you need anything?” he asked as he kissed your temple softly, tightening his hold on you.

“I just need to hug you for a minute. It helps me calm down.” 

Hyunjin had always known you were a stellar ballerina. You were humble with your achievements, speaking of your art as if you don’t have years of practice to attest to your expertise, as if you hadn’t gotten acclaims nationally and internationally.

Still, seeing you on stage made a different pride bloom in his heart. You are the rightful star of the night, the swan of ballet as the media had dubbed you— delicate with your movements, spreading your arms like the unfurling of their feathers, spinning delicately into the air with a grace that made his breath catch in his throat. You were mesmerizing. 

You didn’t simply move, or dance, that would be too simplistic to encapsulate how you breathed life into this art. Into him. 

And it is hyunjin’s arms that you run into, scurrying down the stage steps, an overflowing bouquet in your right hand and a gleaming trophy held tightly in the other. 

“You won, my love,” he shouts, ecstatic as you throw your arms around his neck, as he cradles your waist, spinning you around like how he always orbits around you. 

He puts you down, leaning in to kiss you with no second thought, your eyes closed as you savor one another, as your lips move as if commanded by the stars, to part only to meet again, and again. Till your cheeks are both flushed and all he can taste is the strawberry in your lip tint. 

Your eyes lock on his, your pupils widening till they swallow your irises, mirroring your breathtaking grin. Hyunjin felt as if the sun had left the sky and lodged within his chest.

But what Hyunjin failed to understand is that, for souls like his, happiness is only a fleeting passenger. Even then, it isn’t meant to be swallowed whole; it is to be eaten bite by bite, back hunched, hidden from the harsh glare of the universe. Perhaps this is the price he pays for defying the sadness that shadows him—his own eager canines sinking into joy, ultimately tearing it apart.

…

“I think I’ll go to Switzerland.”

It takes a few seconds for Hyunjin’s words to settle into your mind, for the syllables to unfurl slowly, like a wave gathering its strength before inevitably crashing on the shore. 

Once, Hyunjin had spoken of a figure skating center in Switzerland, one that Jihyoun praised endlessly—the pinnacle for skaters reaching toward gold.

“Will you go?” you’d asked, and he’d only shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.” The conversation had dissolved then, lost in the press of his body against yours, in the paths his fingers traced down your stomach— dizzying enough to make you forget the sound of your own name.

But you should have known—some things cannot be buried beneath the covers. They always resurface, haunting, inevitable.

You draw in a deep breath, your gaze settling on your congratulatory bouquet. The flowers have started to wither now, despite the sugar cube Hyunjin dropped in the water. 

Were they a trigger for the slow withering of your relationship, too? Did the fall of that first petal set the course for your own undoing?

“Okay,” you nod, biting your lip anxiously. “When will you go?”

“In three days. Or else I’ll miss the deadline to join.”

Oh.

You remain silent, feeling as though barbed wire coils around your throat, each metal spike pressing deep into your flesh. He steps closer, his warm hands cradling your cheeks. It takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

You suddenly imagine a life untouched by him. The thought fills you with a horrible urge to weep.

“I know it’s sudden,” he murmurs, voice low, “I tried to delay it as long as I could, but Jihyoun kept insisting, saying it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I don’t want you to feel abandoned.” 

You shake your head, as if to push that thought away, as if the notion itself is meaningless.

“I’ve always known we wouldn’t stay in the same place forever. I have to go back to Juilliard soon, too. I just… never thought it would happen this fast.” You sigh softly, a tender smile slipping across your face as you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. “But you’re meant for grand things, Hyunjin. If Switzerland is where you’ll find them, then I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I love you,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, a gentle, aching gesture. “We’ll make it work, right?”

He searches your eyes, pleading, his brows drawn into a worried knot.

“Of course, we will.”

It is the first time you lie to Hyunjin. 

“I love you,” he repeats, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the counter.

“I’ve only known love thanks to you,” you murmur. That much is true.

Hyunjin kisses you with hunger, his hand tangled in your hair, his body moving with a fierce rhythm—passion and love dripping from each one of his touches, each one of his spilled i love you’s between broken whimpers and moans. 

He loves you tonight like he has something to prove. As if his fingertips must be etched upon your skin, as if his name should be the one carved deep within you, the one found if you were split open to your soul.

Lying against his bare chest, you feel his breath rise and fall beneath you, the tip of his fingers sketching aimlessly upon your skin. Yet, you sense as if there is already a rift between you both. As if the news of his living has seeped between your bodies— the distance has already laid its claim, separating you both.

… 

You’re back in New York, slipping into the rhythm of your classes like a puzzle piece wedged into place, not quite fitting, yet you force it to. You spend each waking moment practicing your final dance at Juilliard—The Sleeping Beauty—the ballet that will close this chapter of your life.

Your apartment has remained unchanged; the conversations with your classmates are as futile as ever. And your heart still pulses, aches for Seoul, for the warmth you found there, in Hyunjin.

Winter settles in, snow gathering in quiet drifts along the streets. Two languid months slip by, time dragging its feet, as if too wishing to remain right where you left Hyunjin. You lose yourself in the pursuit of a perfect performance. And yet, the praise of your professors and peers no longer fills you as it once did.

It all feels hollow, empty, when you can’t remember the last time you and Hyunjin spoke, actually spoke, the way you used to.

You’d already seen this scene unfold in your mind the day he broke the news—more vividly still as he walked away in the airport. You had known the first few days would be good—frequent calls and texts, sharing the smallest details of his new life and of your familiar one.

But then, the silence would settle in, as it has. Because you and Hyunjin are both perfectionists. Because without your art, both of you are left with nothing but shadows of yourselves— hollow shells calling out in agony to what truly pleases your souls. 

You’re afraid to say it out loud, but Hyunjin’s face is blurring in your memory, details softening as though sketched by an impressionist’s brush. All that remains clear are the shadows under his eyes on your last video call, dark circles carved deep into his soft skin, his exhaustion bleeding through the screen as he struggled to stay awake for you.

There is no one to blame, and somehow, that only hurts you even more. You could sacrifice your hours of practice, and so could he. But then the guilt would come, ravenous, gnawing at your soul. And guilt is a hungry being, soon enough it won’t be satiated by you. Soon enough it will turn to your love for Hyunjin. 

And you couldn’t afford that. 

You miss him most on days like this, when nothing seems right from the moment you open your eyes. The city’s chill feels sharper, as though mocking you, reminding you of the warmth you left behind.

The wind bites as you step into the night, wandering aimlessly, your feet carrying you to nowhere in particular. Tears hover at the edge of your lashes, but you refuse to let them fall.

There’s no grace in the way you don’t allow yourself to cry, no mercy in how you hold yourself together. You've always been a performer, haven’t you? Even your pain feels like a scene you must perfect. Is it tragic enough? Does it carve deep enough to justify being felt?

You bite your lip, numb fingers pulling out your phone. You type out Hyunjin’s contact— my love. Your last message to him was two days ago.

With a sigh, you press call. He answers on the final ring.

“Hi, my angel,” he says, a bit breathless. Probably mid-training.

You force a smile, hoping he won’t hear the tremble in your voice. “Hi, baby. Practicing?”

“Yeah.” He hums. “Are you outside?”

“Im going for a walk.” Your voice quiets as the lump in your throat tightens, a chain wrapping around your words, binding you.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asks gently, and you nod though he can’t see.

“I am,” you lie. “I just miss you.” The confession slips out before you can stop it, and the weight of it crushes you. You miss him so much it’s killing you.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. You feel like throwing up. You have to make it quick before your courage betrays you. 

“I think we should end things,” you say quickly, biting down so hard on your lip that blood beads up, sharp and metallic on your tongue— just like your words.

“What?” he whispers, and you hear his faint apologies, the rustle as he moves to someplace quieter, someplace where you can break his heart without an audience.

“Why do you want this? Don’t you love me anymore?” His voice is small, fragile, and you feel the tears welling in your eyelids, but not yet.

“You know there’s no one I love but you,” you say, drawing in a breath that doesn’t wish to be trapped by you. “But we’re both so busy it barely feels like we’re together anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, I’ll try to text more, I promise. I’ll cut back on my training for you, I’ll—.”

“You know I’d never ask that of you.” You cut him off, smiling sadly and he falls quiet.

You see him then, in a haze of memory—Hyunjin’s head resting in your lap, your fingers lost in his hair. You hear his voice again, soft and raw, “My mom’s last wish for me was to win that gold medal. I’m terrified of letting her down. Just thinking about it—” He’d let out a humorless laugh. “She isn’t here, and yet I still feel this debt to her. Isn’t that strange?”

You know it well—the pain of failing those you love, even those who don’t love you back.

“Your mom wanted you to win that medal, didn’t she?” you say softly. “I would never come between you and that.” A pause. “But doesn’t it hurt more to wait for a message that never comes?”

“I…” he stammers, a sniffle slipping through the phone, and it nearly undoes you.

“Yn, I- you know that I love you.”

And in that instant, you know he understands. It’s because Hyunjin understands that you love him.

“I love you too, my Hyune.”

“Then don’t say this,” he chokes out, “say something cruel—something that’ll make it easier not to miss you so much when you’re gone.”

You can hear him crying, and the sound permanently breaks a rib within your heart. It sounds so raw, so painful that you wish to abandon everything and run to him. Had life not been this harsh to you, perhaps you would. Perhaps you’d have enough courage to believe that love can suffice for everything. 

“I came back to Seoul because my mother was sick. I thought…maybe it would bring us close again. But I think now that I came back just to meet you, Hyunjin.” His name falters, slipping from your lips in a stuttered breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking, “thank you for making me happy.”

The call ends, and you fall to your knees in the snow, finally surrendering to the grief tearing through you. Sobs wrack your body, raw and relentless, so fierce it feels as if your heart might just stop, as if you’ve become nothing but an ache, a bruised, throbbing mass of memories, pulsing with each thought of him.

Is this enough for you? you want to scream at whatever cruel hand pulling the strings of your fate. Has my suffering finally paid the debt of my existence— for both me and him? 

… 

You’ve come to understand that the expanse of human emotions is boundless, as vast and unknowable as the space that holds the universe. And with each passing day, it feels as if another star dies within you, its light dimming slowly, far from rebirth.

You once thought your heart had grown accustomed to grief—your life spent in mourning: parents you wished you had, love you wished had dared, even just once, to find you.

But mourning the happiness Hyunjin brought is something else. It’s a different kind of ache, not like the eruption of a volcano that fades into a quiet resigning. This pain lingers, dull and relentless, day after day, a wound that refuses to close, a pulse that never stills.

It has been a month since your fateful call. Hyunjin first sent you a bouquet of white roses, with a note nestled within—To the one who made me find love again, I will love you until my last breath.

You didn’t reply, but Hyunjin kept sending bouquets, each one arriving with a message that tore at your heart a little more than the last. I am thinking about you often; please think of me, too. As if you could do anything but that. If I am to exist in only one place, let it be in your mind.

You’ve hung each note on the fridge, their words staring back at you every morning as you make your coffee, exactly the way Hyunjin likes it.

Sometimes, you’d let the water run, overflowing in the coffee maker as you read his words again and again. Then, you’d catch a glimpse of your own distorted reflection on the water’s surface, wondering what it would feel like to drown in the sea, to let the liquid fill your lungs and wash over you.

But you never let the thought linger too long, chasing it away with the hum of a song. You know it will only lead you somewhere scary.

After three, maybe four months, the bouquets eventually stopped arriving. Hyunjin had surely grown tired of your silence.

The heart is no rigid thing; it doesn’t stay frozen in one place. It stretches and contracts, bleeds, then patches itself together again. But you hadn’t done much to heal it—truthfully, you hadn’t believed you deserved to feel good once more.

Then month five came, and there was no time left to dwell on anything. A strange relief, you thought, for a mind like yours, that never quite stops turning, even in sleep. Graduation loomed on the horizon, and you were terrified of your efforts going to waste, of them somehow never being enough to set you apart.

But one night, your professor placed her hand on your shoulder, her gaze warm as it met yours. Suddenly, you felt seven years old again. “I think you could be this generation’s prima ballerina assoluta, she said—absolute first ballerina, the best of the best. 

“Really?” you whispered, hardly breathing, and she nodded. “Yes, if you keep going this way, you will be.”

You thought about calling Hyunjin to share the news, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Instead, you spent the night picturing his reaction. It was pathetic, maybe, but you liked to believe he would’ve said he was proud of you, called you angel, kissed the tip of your nose, his eyes crinkling into half-moons. You fell asleep with his words murmured on your lips, as if they’d been real.

Month six rolled in, then seven. You had been keeping tabs on Hyunjin’s name as the Olympics approached. There has been news of him wanting to attempt a quadruple axel spin— forty-four years after the triple one. An automatic win, some would say.

You knew that if anyone could do it would be hyunjin.

You wondered if he too read the articles released about your performances. Did he smile at them, his sweet dimple surging forth? Or did your name sting him, like droplets of acid falling into an open wound? 

Month eight arrived, genuine joy weaving into your life once more. You took your final bow on the polished stage of Juilliard, the roaring applause ringing in your ears for days to come. You had the highest performance score of the history of the institution. Your professor’s eyes then searched yours— “where do you see yourself now? where would you feel happiest?”

Hyunjin’s arms. You almost said. Barely holding yourself. 

“I don’t know. I think I’ll try at operas. I want to perform the white swan there.”

“Then go to opéra garnier in Paris. I have a friend there. Talk to him, feel it out.”

You had almost kissed her cheek right there and then. Not only because the Opéra Garnier had been your childhood dream but because now, Paris was where the Olympics would be held.

You now had an excuse to be there. 

You kept looking for Hyunjin in every monument you visited. In the hush of night by the Louvre, along the quiet flow of the Seine, in the gentle strokes of Monet’s paintings at Musée de l’Orangerie. What would you do if you met him on a random street in Paris?

Thankfully, or unfortunately, you still hadn’t decided, you never had to find out. You didn’t see him.

It is the men’s singles day at the figure skating Olympics, and somehow, you feel more nervous than in all your own performances combined. You’re seated close to the ice, close enough to feel the chill radiating from it, close enough to capture every detail of the performances.

Then Hyunjin steps onto the ice. If not for your seat, you might have collapsed, your knees a mass of useless ground bones. 

He’s dazzling—achingly, excruciatingly beautiful. His hair falls longer now, delicate strands brushing his forehead like a prince out of a fairytale. His outfit is pure white, adorned with emerald diamonds cascading like droplets of light. Instinctively, you reach for the emerald ring on your finger too. 

Your gaze follows him everywhere, drinking in the sight of him tipping his head back in laughter, his nose crinkling as he talks to Jihyoun, every stretch, every step, every quiet act of his being. 

He was still as lovely, still as beautiful as you have always known him. 

You wonder if he’s thinking of you, too, as his eyes flutter shut before his music begins. What image knits behind his eyelids in that instant?

It has always been his face for you. 

The air buzzes with anticipation, thick with belief and doubt alike as everyone knows what Hyunjin is attempting tonight. All eyes follow him as he skates, tracing wide circles across the ice, bending low to the ground, spinning in perfect arcs.

Then, he launches into the air.

The seconds seem to trickle by as slowly as blood droplets rushing to a dying heart. You see it— one spin, planets orbiting around the sun, aching to inch closer to the warmth. 

Two spins— seconds marching forward to catch up with the next ones in a ticking clock. 

Your breath freezes in your throat, your hands grip the chair so much your knuckles turn as white as the roses hyunjin sent you after you parted ways.

Three spins— fireflies dancing around the light, drawn to it like milky stars.

And then he does it.

His fourth and final spin— your heart orbiting around Hyunjin as he achieves his dream, as he breaks the world record he long yearned for.

You fall back in your seat, a rush of relief loosening the tension in your body as the crowd erupts into thunderous applause. Unbelievable is the word on everyone’s mouths. 

But not on yours.

Your Hyunjin did it, like you knew he would. 

Tears gather in your eyes as he stares at the scoreboard, his gaze fixed, waiting, breath held alongside every other skater. 

Hyunjin’s name comes first. 

He collapses to his knees, the weight of his victory pressing down his body, finally breaking him open. Jihyoun rushes over, cradling him, shaking him, laughing, “You did it, Hyunjin! You did it, son!” The tears won’t stop rushing down your face; they have a life of their own now.

You watch as Hyunjin circles the audience, waving at the crowd cheering his name. He drifts closer to your section, his eyes scanning the sea of faces until, finally, he finds yours. 

The world stills, you force the earth to stop spinning to have this one moment with Hyunjin. You lock onto his gaze, holding it, savoring the way his lips form your name.

Then, as if pulled by a force greater than either of you, he climbs over the stands, moving swiftly across the seats until he reaches you. In an instant, his arms are around you, his head buried in the crook of your neck. “Yn, I…” he chokes, and you nod, whispering, “I know. You did it, Hyunjin.”

“I did it, Yn,” he echoes, his voice trembling. He pulls back to look at you, his hands resting on your shoulders, both oblivious to the flash of cameras, the seas of people flocking around you. 

No one here could ever understand what this moment means to him. No one but him—and you.

As he takes his place on the podium, tears shimmer in Hyunjin’s eyes akin to the reflection of the sun across the sea. He bites his lip, struggling to hold it together as the bronze and silver medals are awarded. Then the official steps forward, gold medal in hand. Hyunjin extends his shaking hands, watching as the ribbon drapes over his head, at long last. 

Suddenly, the past eight months of heartache are justified. You would endure it all again, twice over, if it led to Hyunjin having this moment. 

“Miss Juilliard,” Hyunjin says softly as he meets you by the door. He had asked Jihyoun to tell you to wait for him. Jihyoun seemed happy to see you once more. 

Hyunjin is different now than he was twenty minutes ago, when he threw himself into your arms, overcome by emotions too vast to name. Now, he stands before you, more composed, more guarded, though his gaze remains tender. He’s never been able to hide his eyes from you.

“Congratulations on your win,” you say.

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He knows.

In that moment, you see it all—the two paths unfurling before you. You could smile at him and he would smile back. Then you would part ways. And you would meet again, in a ceremony of some kind. And he would have grown only more beautiful, and the ache would have not softened. And his loving gaze would set on someone else but you.

Or, you could speak now.

“I made some tiramisu back at my Airbnb,” you say, your voice tentative. “Would you like some?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders stiffen, a debate flickering in his eyes. Then he exhales softly. “Of course.”

You sit side by side in the uber. His phone keeps lighting up with congratulatory messages until he switches it off.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling the need to break the silence. He tenses beside you.

“For what?”

“For stealing you away.”

His shoulders relax. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to come.”

The apartment you rented is small—studio-sized, really, but near Montmartre, where you’ve loved taking nightly walks by Sacré Coeur. Hyunjin slips off his shoes, placing them next to yours by the door.

For a moment, you both pause, staring at the sight of your shoes, side by side, once more.

He clears his throat as you gesture for him to make himself comfortable. He moves to the window, gazing at the city below, while you retrieve two plates, carefully setting a slice of tiramisu on each.

“Thank you,” he says softly when you hand him his plate. But neither of you takes a bite. It’s as if opening your mouth would lead to a torrent of words escaping, ones neither of you can contain. 

He yields first.

“You came,” he whispers, glancing over at you.

“I couldn’t miss seeing you win.”

“I missed you,” he says, biting his lip. Hyunjin has always been honest, especially when it comes to you. “It hurt a lot to miss you, Yn.”

“I’m here tonight.” 

Your words settle into the air as the hum of the world outside fades away. Hyunjin’s gaze, sharp and knowing, meets yours—those piercing eyes that have always stripped away your defenses, reading between the lines of your every unspoken thought.

He holds your gaze for a beat too long, and you fumble for your fork, needing something—anything—to diffuse the weight of what lingers in the silence between you.

Then, suddenly, his lips meet yours.

Kissing Hyunjin again feels like breathing in after being starved of air, like a cool breeze caressing your skin on a scorching day. A shiver spreads through you as he gently lowers you onto the couch, his body a pressing weight above you. Your hands find their way to his back, moving with the instinctive ease of muscle memory, while he kisses you with the fierce urgency of someone who’s finally tasted salvation. 

You wish to never part from him. You wish for your body to liquefy and morph into the hot rush of blood within his veins— anything so you wouldn’t have to part from him once more. You don’t think you can handle it. You don’t think you can lose Hyunjin again. You know you can’t.

When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed a soft pink, like fresh dahlias, his eyes glossy and filled with something unspeakable as they trace over your face. “Tell me, Yn,” he breathes, “do you still love me? I need to know, please. It’s been tearing me apart.”

“I love you,” you say, with every bit of honesty you can muster. “I loved you before I even knew what love is, and I will love you, Hyunjin. Whether you are near or not. I will always love you.”

A breathtaking smile unfolds across his face, warm enough to thaw every frozen corner of your heart, to make decades of loneliness melt away. You would endure it all again, face the heartbreak and the grief. Fall at your sister’s grave and repent once more. You’d do it all if it means your path will cross with Hyunjin.

“I was always ever yours to love.” 

Epilogue. 

Hyunjin has always felt as if he has lived many lifetimes at once. Like a serpent, shedding its skin, he had lost parts of his being in various places. Some he managed to retrieve, others not. He had a lot to learn, overwhelmed by certain things past. His thoughts weren’t always kind. His hands didn’t always sweep gently against his skin. 

But on days like those, you were there to love him. He had learned and unlearned many things with you. Hyunjin had found that love wasn’t a sharp emotion, it didn’t slice away at the heart, it didn’t puncture. There were no sharp edges when it came to you. Even if he lost you along the way, he would round up a corner and find you there. 

And he did. Hyunjin found you, even when you didn’t wish to be found. You scurried from place to place, set foot into Paris to Seoul, Alexandria and New York. The distance lessened then widened. But it never tore you apart once more. Your souls were satiated in a way. You could rest side by side now. 

And you did, as you settled in Seoul, decades down the road. Where both you and Hyunjin built a new training center. Figure skaters on the first floor, ballerinas on the second. The days passed by in happiness, laughter and giggles. There was no curse. No punishment. Not anymore. 

You are in a graveyard once more. You watch as Hyunjin sweeps the name atop the tombstone gently. Prima ballerina assoluta, he reads, the swan of my heart. His weathered hands shake as they clutch a bouquet of fresh red lilies, and your heart still aches at the sight. 

It is late at night at the graveyard, the branches are still humming to one another, like a melancholic flute. You understand now that they speak to the buried ones. “Not so long now,” they reassure, “your loved ones will follow.”

You believe them, and you will wait. For now, you’ll find solace in the red lilies sitting atop your grave. 

They are now meant for you, at long last. 

[joannasteez]

heat

pairing: cm punk x reader warning: explicit content below. yes, me indulging myself again. filth. minors dni pls. authors note: nothing really. just fully invested in the brainrot right now. word count: just a little 600er tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @2-muchsauce

there is nothing particularly ceremonious about this. his teeth feathering your ear, a graze to heated skin before the violent prick of it. a sinking in as he pulls. an exacting pain. something like a grudge. fingers ringed with cool metal and tattooed and handling your throat. a grip there formed with intent. to control. to steer and regulate the force of your hips. body delirious and sweet feeling as you melt into lust. the tiny cram of these supply closet tryst benefitting only the rush of adrenaline born from a terrible contempt shared for one another. it is the only thing shared. that and your penchant for pain. for little nipping tears into the body and the harsh work of his hand about your throat. 

and the juxtaposition is jarring. his confusion laced with amusement always. "you're a fuckin hypocrite if i've ever seen one", his voice coarse. words breathing hot into your skin. the birth of a deep throb in your spine at the noise of him. the slip of his tongue jutting over to wet his lips, slipping against your ear. a moan trembling faint. "all that sell out bullshit you keep spewing about me, around the locker room". the air funneling to your lungs, waning. head swimming. a featherweight feeling. delirium pure. 

and he feels delicious. hard and mean and thick. his body still and oddly patient as he lets you work yourself to release. lets you drive yourself to madness as you fuck against him. a low, unstable moan, dropping off breathy as it leaves you. the harsh rhythmic pulse in your clit a simple precursor to the bright spill of release that awaits you. 

"but look at you", he taunts. laughing dirty. mocking. his mouth ghosting its touch along your neck. a simple little kiss that works in opposition to his thoughts. "sittin and fuckin yourself so prettily on me". 

you do well in tainting the floor. arousal dripping lazily. a slick line from your pussy as it goes, tipping off to collect at your clit before it releases to the floor. the stretch of him, mind numbing in the best way. the feed in of him this sweet splitting open that aches your belly. a deep coiling there that works fervently to be undone. 

a steady tread upon a tight rope. the build before the break. your skin damp and his lips suckling your skin. the high palpable enough that your tongue throbs to taste it. 

"i-", the brilliance of words, of stones and little dagger sharp phrasings all done away with. "fuck", drawn and desperate. breath hitching as he sucks harder. the gift of a bruise. 

his free hand smoothens till its sweeping around and down sweltered skin. a slow venture over the supple plain where your inner thigh meets the mess of your pussy. deft, long, fingers finding the pearl of your clit. a tender roll of his touch there, wet and persistent. "you close sweetheart?", the term breaking into your skin uncomfortably. the sweetness of it odd and unusual. the sincerity hard to handle, leaving you wedged into silence. something he doesn't like. something he quite hates. "i'm talking to you", his fingers pinching. that bundle of nerves caught sharply between the action of it. slips of pain and loads of pleasure rippling about.

"yes", you give. like a sob. a plea. "yes". 

"c'mere", his mouth searching for yours. lips angling to meet his. hot tongue sweeping in. a tender slick twist as he rolls over your clit still. "let me help you some". his body flushing you tight against the wall. a wet lush stroking in as he goes. warm and hard still as he works his hips. 

his throat hums. dick feeling the deep tremble in your body as you step into the beginnings of a release. your voice bright and high pitched as you plead for him. as you call his name. 

"atta girl", he gives. delicate and consuming. a temporary wasting away of that faithful contempt.

[sminiac]

hello can i req a bf!jinsik headcanon pls😵‍💫😵‍💫

💌 — Gotchu bestie😜 I intend to get to every Xikers member, esp Hyunwoo, I’ve just been experiencing Jinsik brainrot after looking for inspo for this 😋

It’s was 5 am, I just slammed a redbull and all I can think about is:

Bf!Jinsik who is such a sentimental person that you can find stashes of memorabilia and keepsakes from you everywhere. Movie tickets, receipts, even candy wrappers that he just can’t bring himself to throw away that have been taking up unnecessary space in his wallet for months now.

Ex: he has these little sessions where suddenly he’s pulling out everything he’s associated with you ever and just sits and smiles like a love sick idiot, recalling the specific moment/day spent with you, he’s been caught a lot, sometimes the members become worried for his health because of how frequently they find him hunched over a piece of garbage, cradling it in his hands like it cost him an arm and a leg. They just don’t get it😩 + he absolutely refuses to give them any context for his collection of seemingly mundane items, those are his and yours alone.

Bf!Jinsik who not so quietly adores you, I think that if you’ve ever left a belonging of yours long enough he’ll just start wearing it as his own, like, remember that bracelet you forgot at his dorm last week? Yeah, already on his wrist, along with this I have a deeply rooted feeling that one of his favourite traits about you is your aesthetics, so he lowkey reassembles his wardrobe to subtly reflect your style, it’s all done subconsciously too which is so😞😞 he’s so cute, it hurts my heart, he’s so boyfriend.

Ex: he without a doubt would wear any clothing piece you’ve gotten him until it’s a mangled mess, and despite already having a replacement he gets so sad when you suggest finally letting it go. “But I wear it all the time.” “I know sweetheart, I can tell.” Eventually the both of you settle on him keeping whatever it is he cant physically part with, and he’ll retire it for the new item, will still occasionally pull it out when he misses you extra, like when he’s out of the country and you aren’t able to come:,)

Bf!Jinsik who gets teary eyed whenever you compliment him for doing well on stage, maybe it’s been a particularly stressful day, maybe he just hasn’t been able to see you as much as he wished he could, maybe it’s just because he loves you so wholeheartedly, whatever the reason is he’s smiling sadly as his cheeks fill out the empty space of your palms, the front of his brows are pinched up and now you’ve got his lip twitching, he’s so sweet, kisses you as much as he can even with such little time, his lips soft, damp from his tears ADHDSGGSSSAA god he’s so. As he’s being pulled away that ache you get when you’re homesick fills out the stretch of his chest. Let me stop there.

Bf!Jinsik who doesn’t know how to keep his affection to a minimum around you, goodbyes can never just be brief, with hasty words and quick hugs, no, he needs a whole 15, sometimes even 20 minutes because his hugs are looong, and they’re always so self indulgent, he just loves the feeling of keeping you wrapped up in his arms, does the hand thing where he pushes you in closer to him wherever he feels you aren’t close enough. Face buried in your neck, hands rubbing up and down your back, sides, 100% getting a feel of your ass, you can’t blame him.

Ex: Whenever you’re visiting him and the boys in KQ’s practice room he’s always somehow found a way for you to sit on his thigh/between his legs, just loves having you all over him.

Bf!Jinsik who finds it so cute how well you get along with his members, he’ll stand in the background most of the time, that notable calm expression on his face, a slight smile, he never interrupts unless he’s feeling particularly deficient of his girlfriend, then he’s going up to wrap his arms around you from behind, cheek pressed against your head, a lot of the time the conversation ends up becoming background noise as he holds you so don’t expect him to answer that question about going on a coffee run with Junghoon and Hyunwoo anytime soon.

NSFW under the cut!

Bf!Jinsik who has a thing for oral, but can’t bring himself to choose between giving or receiving, but if he were to say receiving it wouldn’t be because of the pleasure of your warm mouth, but because of how sweet you are to him, he swears your sultry words of encouragement and praise is what really does it for him. He gets so incredibly whiny, like arm shielding his eyes away from your view, struggling to get out a solid breath, drool pooling onto his tongue kind of whiny. Don’t even get me started on when he’s settled himself down between your thighs girl. Love, love, loves eye contact!! Knows you love that certain look on his face🤭 Encourages you to move with his tongue when needed, has that stupid smile on his face when his tongue is working lines at your clit, finds the way you twitch and jump amusing. Has taken the time to learn the nuances of your pleasure, like the difference between the pressure of his fingers inside vs on, ykwim?

Bf!Jinsik who isn’t the most vocal, but the long shuttered out whines that you draw from his mouth make up for it. I think he holds back on talking because he knows he’ll be stuttering so bad you’d barely be able to comprehend a single thing.

Bf!Jinsik who occasionally dabbles into a more dominant role in bed, it’s unpredictable, sometimes his voice comes more firm, demanding, before your clothes are hurriedly discarded of like he couldn’t possibly get to you any faster, he’s huffing out a “Keep still.” As his hands are pushing your thighs up and apart, his expression sharp, many warning glares. He’d just want to make you feel good, but only if you listen.

Bf!Jinsik who is very… multifaceted😋🙏

[opaloharas]

hi hi ! this is my first fic since the one direction days... but gabriel brainrot got me feeling some type of way <3 and pls be nice to me i will cry ! cw: smut, treating gabriel like the princess he is, pegging, oral (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, bantering, gabriel being cute, i think thats it !!! no thots head empty

You and Gabriel have been seeing each other for a while now. And the more you and him got comfortable and lovey dovey, the more… specific conversations came up. 

“You know, I was reading this article,” He started casually, resting on his elbows against your kitchen.

“Baby, I know you just had your dentist appointment this morning. Did this article come from Cosmo?” You teased, ceasing your motions as you worked on preparing dinner for you two. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes, his attitude ever apparent, “Hush. But no. It was about spicing things up in the bedroom.” He cringed internally as he heard your breath hitch, “Something about… pleasuring your man.. Something something about pegging?” He continued, feeling his heart race as he looked anywhere but you, deciding to mess with his watch, doing his best anime girl stance as he waited to see what you would say. 

“Are you alive?” He questioned, tilting his head slightly, his deep hazel eyes examining you as you still stood frozen in the kitchen, knife in hand. 

“Look babe, if you’re gonna stab me, just avoid the face, please!” He whined, reaching out to touch you until he heard you say, ‘okay’, in the tiniest voice that he ever heard you speak. 

“I.. I might have bought uhm..” You mumbled, “This was years ago, okay? Before I even met you! But one day.. after too many margaritas.. I might have bought a strap.” You confessed. 

Gabriel was through the roof and to hide his excitement, he just nodded his head, scratching slightly at the back of his neck, “Cool.. cool.. cool.. You wanna uhm.. forget dinner?” He tried to ask as casual as he could, his palms sweaty. “Maybe we can put on some.. smooth jazz.. Light a candle. I think the one my brother got for me for my birthday is around here somewhere.” He hummed, starting to frantically search around the kitchen, opening drawers so he could look for the cursed candle. 

“Babe, it’s literally on our nightstand.” You laughed, packing away the started dinner, storing it safely in the fridge before guiding your eager boyfriend upstairs. 

The mood shifted as soon as the bedroom door closed, both of you standing in front of each other, the thought of the coming events making you both nervous despite being intimate thousands of times before. 

“So..” You both spoke at the same time, your movements syncing awkwardly so when you both went to kiss, your noses lightly knocked together. 

He started to slowly work on undoing the apron you wore, his lips trailing from the corner of your lips, down your jaw, and down your neck. 

“You’re so beautiful..” He swooned, sucking gently on the soft skin on the base of your neck, his hands running to slip your oversized shirt off of your frame. 

“Dios.. just look at you, baby.” He groaned, admiring the curves of you body, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist.. I might just have to take you all for myself.” 

Clothes continued to come off, Gabriel’s form hovering over yours as he kissed down your bare chest, his sights trained on bringing you the most pleasure. Because, he is a gentleman after all. 

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking at it gently with a soft hum, his other hand running down your body. At your hip, he rubbed small circles against your skin, easing your nerves from what was to come, “Relax, babygirl.. Let me go.. get the thing.” He whispered, kissing down your body, your back arching slightly off of the bed to lean into his little kisses, “Right after I..” His lips reached your inner thigh, taking in the sight of your glistening pussy. “Right after I indulge.” He grinned lazily, licking a long stripe up, basking in your moans as you tugged at his light brown hair. His tongue traced small circles over your clit, his middle finger making its way to slip inside you. His words of praise were lost on you as you could not focus on anything but him. He was working to bring you the most pleasure he could, wanting to treat you right the way that you deserved. 

“S-stop,” you whined, moving out of his grasp, pulling your hips away from his shining face, his hazel eyes pleading as he pouted out his bottom lip, “Wanna focus on you now, baby.” You sighed softly as you barely managed to get back up onto your knees on the bed, your heart racing with anticipation. 

You let him know that you would grab the pretty and pink dildo you bought all that time ago. You carried the little box over to the bed, looking into his eyes that were full of love for you in this moment, a soft flush on his cheeks that made his freckles more apparent. The soft light coming from your kitty cat lamp seemed to add only more emotions to the feelings you were both experiencing in this moment. 

“That is a small box. It might not be that impressive.” He commented with a teasing smirk, waiting for you to unveil the toy to him. With a roll of your eyes, you opened the box to reveal your eight inch dildo, his eyes widening at the sight of it. If you looked closely, you would have seen his eyes shine with even more eagerness. 

Without saying anything else, Gabriel moved to get on his hands and knees, his veins pumping with every single emotion he has ever felt in his life. In his mind, this was about to be the peak of his existence, you probably would end up getting a ring on your pretty hand as a ‘thank you’. 

You positioned yourself behind him after slipping into the strap, the dildo perched perfectly from your hips. Your manicured nails ran down his back, hearing him gasp softly as he leaned into your touch. Grabbing the lube that came with the dildo, you slowly prepped him, massaging at him tenderly. Your touch was electric to him, his head leaning down to whimper into your pillows. “More, please. ‘M ready..” He begged, feeling your fingers slip out of him. You pressed the tip of the dildo at his entrance, slowly letting him gauge his comfort levels. When he pushed his hips back all the way, your eyes widened in surprise as you watched the sparkly pink disappear inside him. His whines filled the room as you started to thrust your hips slowly, getting him used to the feeling. The more you watched your typically cocky boyfriend lose his composure beneath you, the quicker your thrusts got. Gabriel’s moans echoed off the walls of the bedroom, probably waking up all of the neighbors in the surrounding apartments, probably even concerning the rats crawling around the city streets. 

“Look at you baby, taking me so well.. You were made for me..” You whispered as you leaned forward, resting your head next to his ear, his eyes closed as he felt the pleasure start to weigh on him, his cock heavy. Hearing your words almost sent him over the edge. You nipped at his shoulder as he leaned his head down, drooling onto the sheets as he gave one last loud groan, his release coating the sheets beneath him. 

A shaky breath escaped him as he felt you pull out gently after giving him a few seconds to adjust, a trembling hand moving the loose waves that stuck to his forehead after your passion. You slipped out of the harness, rushing to grab a towel for him, placing it under him with a smile before he laid down again. “You did so good for me, baby.” You cooed, kissing his lips softly, admiring him as his body radiated from his orgasm. 

“That needs to be apart of our routine.. Always.” He chuckled softly, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, “I love you.” He smiled as he pulled away, holding you close. 

Yeah, you were definitely going to get that ring now. 

[sxtvrns]

duo of dreams

🎶 now playing: ordinary – nct dojaejung

P: Hueningkai x Fem!Idol!Reader

S: You were seductive. He was an angel. Two polar opposite concepts come together in ways no one would expect.

C: fluff, comfort, inaccuracy, self indulgence, girlboss reader, downbad hyuka, brainrot, drabbling, kinda long, not proofread

N: i am a baby moa so pls do not slander me if i dont get a millisecond of a certain stage performance correct. this is purely for self indulgence because i am so severely in love with kai and everything that he does. idek where this story went but im hoping it makes sense cuz i was so upset with the ending i changed it multiple times and this is the one i liked the most. this man is so fine and im glad im not the only one that thinks so

view the full perfume collection.

please interact if you enjoy!

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2021

The minute you turned 19, you knew what you wanted. Even before you turned 19, you knew what you were, and you knew what you wanted to make out of it. You were hot. Fierce, confident, and eye catching. Everyone knew it, too. You turned heads every time you went to the headquarters, seeing people stare at you out of the corner of your eye.

Before you were of age, though, you never openly exposed yourself in such a way. It was all a tough girl kind of concept. You tended to stay on the neutral, dark, concepts rather than cuter ones. If you were given an idea, you found a way to design it and stick it to your niche. You always preferred to do what you liked rather than being forced into a box with little room to do anything your way; it demotivated you.

As a solo artist, you had lots of creative freedom, being able to write your own songs and even nitpick at how you wanted them to sound. Sometimes you would just need a kickstart or a hint from another fellow producer to get the ideas flowing, and boy, did your mind flow with ideas.

Sometimes you were labeled as ‘provocative’ or ‘controversial’. Some even said you were acting too mature for your age. But it never hurts to get a head start.

When you weren’t music making, you often dabbled in modeling with your partnered companies or for magazines, really, any source of promotion. You felt even more confident while doing so as well, which further boosted your productivity in the studio. It all came full circle.

You tried to do what you like while also balancing music, and you managed to make it work. People looked up to you. Newer groups admired you, your stage presence, how you gave 100% in every single performance that you did, how you wouldn’t settle for anything less than perfect, how much effort you put into practicing.

You idolized your own fair share of groups as well. BTS, Blackpink, Twice; any group debuting for longer than you have, you admired. When you saw Suga crack a smile at your MAMA performance, you nearly broke character on stage, but held it in by letting your heart race and stopping your face from faltering. When Dahyun talked about you during one of her lives, saying you were cool and how she longed for confidence like yours, you nearly fainted on the spot.

You were still a growing girl with people you looked up to, inspired by everything that they do and how you could apply aspects from their performances to yours. You were truly committed to your craft.

You were invited onto a talk show, along with another group, whose name was not revealed to you. Off camera, you heard the footsteps of multiple people passing by, yet you didn’t know who since it was supposedly a surprise for both you and the other idols.

You adjust your mic, the cameras rolling and the MC and group introducing themselves. Though their voices together are loud, you can’t make out what they are saying, only adding more to the suspense. You’re suddenly given the cue by a staff member, walking out and seeing five men sitting together in their chairs with surprised expressions.

You’re equally as surprised, knowing you’ve seen their faces at previous award shows. “Tomorrow by Together?” You point at them, all of them jumping and freaking out at the fact you knew who they were. “Y/N, meet TXT!” The MC says, letting you sit in your chair as the boys calm down.

“Have you two met formally before?”

“I think once backstage, we were on Inkigayo together.” You answer, the event fully coming back to their memories as you mentioned it. “Do you remember our names?” Taehyun asks innocently, watching as your eyes scan over each of their faces before answering. You point at each respective member as you say their names. “Soobin. Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, Hueningkai.” They all cheer and applaud as you dramatically bow towards them and the camera.

“Is there something in particular you like about each other’s music?” The MC asks.

“TXT has a certain flow in their music that manages to get stuck in my head; No Rules and Frost have been playing on loop for the past few days since those are my favourites. And the rhythm and the way each song plays a role within a story is something I really like.”

They all nod, the MC turning their head towards the boy group. “Hueningkai should answer for us.” Yeonjun ushers, patting the maknae on the back. “Yeah, he has your music on 24/7. Nonstop.” Beomgyu adds, only making Kai even more shy.

“Well, Y/N has a really significant, gritty style to her music and a satisfying edge that balances out throughout her songs, so each song is different in its own way. She really pays attention to the role of each instrument in the background and how well they balance together, and her ballads are really well put together because of this. Of course, all of her songs are good, but her ballads stick out even more to me. They’re usually the ones I listen to the most.”

“He’s good.” You say, all of them laughing. “Frost is actually Hueningkai’s song.” Soobin adds. “Really?” The maknae nods, all redfaced and flustered. “That’s why it’s so good then. You did the laugh at the beginning?” He nods again. “I picked it up from you, a little bit.”

“That’s amazing. I loved it, it gave the song the whole like, badass vibe.” You say, immediately covering your mouth. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can say that.” They all laugh it off, going back to the topic at hand.

As the interview progresses, you slowly find yourself getting more comfortable with the boys in front of you, laughing and joking around as the questions go on and on. They treat you like a close friend though you’ve only known each other for an hour, and your heart is filled with a familiar warmth as you even fall out of your chair from laughing so hard.

You compose yourself before the interview ends, and when the cameras cut, it goes silent, all of TXT staring at you, and you staring back. Hueningkai is the first to break, everyone else following right after.

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the way he looks at her

hyuka had hearts in his eyes the whole time i swear

Y/N ONE CHANCE PLEASE

she is literally slaying so hard and all she’s doing is sitting in her chair

id freak out too if i was in the presence of y/n

IDK IF I WANNA BE TXT OR Y/N

hueningkai finally formally meeting his celeb crush guys the character development is real

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You lurked a lot on social media, having your own personal accounts and such. This also meant you saw all those comments about the tension between you and Hueningkai specifically. They weren’t wrong about it; in fact, there was something there between you two that you couldn’t determine.

It was like a chain operated by a crank that wanted to pull you two closer together. You felt yourself drawn to him, and he felt drawn to you, yet you didn’t know why.

“Hueningkai has the biggest crush on you. He has some of your posters hung up in our room and always stays quiet if your performance is on. He never stays quiet for anything.” Taehyun said, which stuck with you the rest of the interview.

During the recording, you couldn’t help but feel your eyes drawn to him specifically, and how he’d already be staring at you when you looked at him. He could feel it too, the crank wanting to turn. You both were resisting against it, not letting the chain pull you two any closer.

He was cute, for sure. His innocence seemed to radiate off of him, and the way it contrasted with your maturity made you wonder why there was such a significant tension between you two.

So while you sat in HYBE’s cafe on the 19th floor, sipping on an iced chocolate while staring down at the streets below, you tried to take your mind off of him. But it was the most fun you’ve had with another group, and you wanted to relive the laughter in your head over and over again for as long as you could remember it, but Hueningkai was always the first person that came back to your mind when you tried to reminisce. As much as you liked it, it also felt like torture.

The doors of the elevator open with a ding, Hueningkai ordering a lime bachaas at the counter, noticing a familiar figure at one of the window seats. He gets his drink, taking a sip before guessing. “Y/N?” You turn around at the mention of your name, noticing Hueningkai who’s waving at you. You wave back, wondering what to do. It’d be awkward to leave it at this.

You nudge the chair out, letting him sit down next to you. “Are you busy?” You ask, knowing it’s late at night but not late enough until practices usually end. “Just finished. Had some dinner.” He’s usually rambling when he’s asked questions, but maybe today tired him out. You can’t blame him, you were equally as drained. “You watched our episode?”

He huffs with a laugh. “Yeah. I saw the comments too. We’re everywhere.”

“Hope you don’t mind. The internet is crazy.”

“I’m aware of that. I don’t mind at all. Do you?”

You shake your head. “I don’t really care.”

A comfortable silence lingers over the two of you. It isn’t awkward in any way, merely the sounds of the machines behind the counter serving as background noise. “You really picked it up from me?”

“Huh?”

“That laugh. In Frost.”

He awkwardly chuckles. “Ah, well, it’s a bit strange to say it out loud but, when I was recording that part, I tried to envision what it was like in your shoes. All… cool and villain like.”

“You think I’m a villain?”

“Wrong word… more like dominant. When we were sent the sample recording, I could immediately see you doing the song as your own, like I could hear you doing the intro itself. When I imagined your vibe, that’s how it came out. Is that weird?”

“No, I love it. I can understand why you think that way. You did a great job, by the way. Really sweet of you to think of me like that. Your performance for that song too, fuckin’ sexy.” You cover your mouth, looking around and seeing no one else around. “Can I swear?”

He nods with a small laugh. “Sexy?” He asks. “If I’m being honest, you looked really fucking hot up there. Just saying.” His face goes warm, partly at the fact you called their performance ‘sexy’, but mostly at the fact you called him hot right to his face with no shame at all. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Take it how you will, I’m just telling the truth.” Your eyes meet his for the first time during the whole conversation. You break first and finish off your drink, his gaze enough to intimidate yet fluster you at the same time. “I’m gonna go now. Hopefully I run into you again.” You get up, about to leave when you feel a hand tugging on your sleeve, stopping you.

“Um, do you want me to walk you back? We live in the same building and all, I just– it’s dark out.” He rambles, a smile creeping up on your lips. “So you’re cute and you’re a gentleman? I really found the one.” It doesn’t directly answer his question, but the compliment has his heart racing faster than before. “Sure. Let’s go.”

As you walk back to the dorms, you manage to make small talk with Kai, filling in the silent gaps when needed. “I do appreciate your attention to detail.”

“For what?”

“When you were talking about my music. I really like hearing other people’s interpretations on them and what sticks out and such. I’ll be sure to write more ballads for you.” You start off, joking around. “I think it’s a bit funny you view me as someone higher and you’re casually hanging out with them right now. The only difference is that I debuted after you did.”

“You flattered me too much already tonight, Y/N. One more thing and I might just faint from your words alone.”

“Pleased to know I make such an impact on you.”

“You’ve made quite an impact on me for a while now.”

Unlocking your door, you tell Kai to wait outside for a moment, handing him a folded slip of paper. “Thank you for the peace, Kai. Goodnight.” You go to shut the door, opening it slightly again. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” You add, Kai walking back to the elevator after you shut the door. He doesn’t unfold the slip until he reaches his own dorm, numbers written down.

It was your phone number, words written right below it.

I enjoyed talking to you tonight. Text me whenever, and hopefully we can talk like this again.

His mind goes back to your words from earlier. ‘Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.’

Was it because you called him hot and that he was more secluded on the way back? It was only because he didn’t know what to say after. What was he even supposed to say to that? Thank you? You too?

Before he went to bed, he added your number to his contacts, and hid the note in one of his drawers. He realized one thing, though.

You were definitely flirting with him.

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The elevator door opens, Hueningkai alerted by the ding and turning around to see who it was. Your hood was on, yet he still recognized you, messing around and simply staring at you the whole time to see how long it would take for you to notice.

You see him out of the corner of your eye as you put your phone away, sheepishly waving at him as he proudly waves back, gesturing for you to sit with him.

“Do you wanna see something?” He asks, which grabs your attention. You nod, Hueningkai taking out his phone and opening his emails, tapping on something else. He fully reveals the screen to you, showing photos of him modelling for a campaign. He scrolls through them, and you simply sit there, admiring how he glows in every single one.

“God, you look so good in all of them.” You mutter, hearing him giggle as he shuts his phone off. “You’re the first person to see them.”

“Really?” He nods, running his hand through his hair. “I feel so special.” You smile, wondering how his silly demeanour could turn into that in front of a camera. “Do you want me to send them to you?”

“Can you really do that? It already feels a bit illegal just looking at them.”

“No one needs to know.”

You huff, accepting his offer. “If you’re encouraging it.” He turns on his phone again, sending the photos to you with a ding. “Have you been busy today?” He asks, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Writing. Dancing. I’m performing for KBS, so I’ve been rehearsing. Speaking of which, I just had an idea.” He leans in closer, intrigued.

“Could you… record a few lines for me? It’s for my festival performance; it isn’t a lot, I swear. Just some dialogue. Whenever you aren’t busy, of course.”

“I’m available tomorrow.”

“Great! Cool, I’ll text you more about it. You’re on the setlist too, right?”

“Yeah. Just our title track.”

“Looking forward to it already.”

“What song are you covering, anyways?”

“U-Go-Girl, then transitioning to my title.” His eyes widen, remembering the dialogue that would have to be voiced over by him. “Oh.” Thinking about it alone is almost embarrassing, but he takes pride in the fact that he’s the first person you thought of to record such… important lines. “If you don’t want to, I can find someone else–“

“No, no! I can do it, yeah, I can. I want to. Sounds fun.” He cuts you off, sounding almost too excited. “You know what you’re getting yourself into and not just doing it because I asked.”

“Really, I’d be honoured. Playing a part in your performance.”

“Good. I’d have a hard time finding someone else then, anyways. Wasn’t planning on asking anybody else.”

“So I was first pick?”

You pause, looking for an answer. “You’d add your own little Hueningkai flair to it. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but you’re gonna help me make it stand out from the rest. And that’s exactly what I want.” You always had a thing for being different. Different in a good and influential way, in a way where you wouldn’t be compared to others, rather others were compared to you.

You yawn, covering your mouth and letting your head hang to the side. “Today must’ve taken a toll on you, huh?” You feel his sleeve briefly brush against your hood. “Dance was… hard today. I couldn’t get the moves right even though it’s the easiest dance to ever exist, my brain was mush, I was failing to comprehend anything– I did great in everything else but the performing, stage presence part of it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. We all have bad days, and it’s okay to feel horrible about it, but you learn to move on and improve. Trust me, I should know.” Kai advises reassuringly, his hand having a gentle grip on your shoulder. “Thanks, Kai. I just feel like a bit of a lazy ass not being able to do things at the pace I usually do.”

“You haven’t been overworking yourself, have you?”

“Not necessarily.”

“If you need to take a little break, take one. Better to be conscious to perform than not perform at all.” He jokes it off, even making you giggle a little as well. “I’ll take your advice to heart, Kai. Means a lot that you care.”

“You aren’t lazy, by the way. I’ve seen your performances and judging from how you exceed everyone’s expectations, you are far from that. You’re a hard worker, Y/N.”

“You really know how to flatter a woman, do you?” His face flushes on the spot, instantly a flustered mess. “Like you said, I’m just telling the truth.” He says, mostly spitting out words that he isn’t entirely sure of. “And you pay attention! My goodness, I’ll never find another guy like you. I’ll treasure you forever, Hueningkai.”

“Stop that…” He murmurs, still flustered and warm faced.

“Don’t be embarrassed! I mean it. I’ll never regret ever knowing you and being a friend of yours.” He only hides his face deeper into his hoodie, giggling as you take a sip of your drink. “Don’t fall in love yet, Huening, you should take me out on a date first.” You tease, finishing off your drink and tapping on his shoulder as you get up to leave “Don’t make false accusations, you’ll get in trouble for that.” He follows behind you, throwing away his own cup.

“I really did appreciate the advice, though. Maybe I was a bit too harsh on myself. I promise I’ll try to be more self aware.” You look up at him with a nod as the elevator doors close with a ding, and he nods back, giving you a thumbs up.

When you arrive at your dorm, you finally figure out a time. “Are you free at 3 tomorrow?” You ask. “For what?”

“For recording, duh. Was this not the first thing we talked about?”

“It was actually the second thing.”

“Okay, smartass, that was rhetorical.” You laugh it off, waiting for his confirmation. “Yeah, I am. I’ll take some time out of my practice for it.”

“I can do it sometime else if you’re busy, then–“

“Y/N, I’m practicing all week, it’s fine. You won’t get my recording in time if you were to do it when my schedule isn’t actually packed. I’ll let them know, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“Fine, but if I get a complaint that pulling you out of practice was unprofessional I’m blaming you.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.”

“See you tomorrow, then?” You peek your head out the door at him, tiredly staring at him. “See you. Get some rest, Y/N.”

“You too, Kai.”

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Hueningkai steps out of his practice, following the directions you gave him through text, seeing a few staff members outside the recording booth. They let him in, shutting the door and putting on the given headphones. “Hi Kai. You ready? Need water or anything?” You’re sitting in the producer’s booth at the computer with another staff member.

“I’m good.”

“I’ll play the sample recording for you. Unless you want to go straight into it?”

“Sample.”

Kai had a way of mimicry that you admired. It stayed true to the original, but his voice made it stand out the exactly how you wanted it to, that he got it only after the second recording. You play it back to him, this time layered on top of your main vocals, the part transitioning to your song being the most prominent section where his voice really stands out. “Do you wanna rerecord anything? Personally I think this is the take.”

“Then I’m good.”

You frown at the way he describes himself, even though he isn’t entirely wrong. “Alright, then that’s it. Thanks for coming in.”

“Should I see you later today?” He asks, the other staff member looking at you. “Yeah, sure. Just get back, I feel I’ve taken you for too long already.” Hueningkai begins to tear bits off the lyric sheet, the sound of it reverberating in the room you’re in. You simply watch as he rolls the bits into tiny crumpled balls, leaving them on the stand.

“At least clean up after yourself. You can walk a girl home but can’t pick up your own trash?” You joke, Kai’s ears going red as he takes the bits with him, muttering a goodbye before leaving the room. “You’re close with him?” The staff asks, finicking with the audio.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing. You two seemed to just click instantly. Do you wanna hear how it sounds now?”

As the sky darkens, you wait for a response from Hueningkai almost too eagerly, checking your phone every time it buzzed in your pocket, hoping it was him. You stopped by your rendezvous, just to take a seat and listen to the recording over and over again; it was that good that you wanted to put it on loop and just admire it as many times as you could.

“Boo!”

Hueningkai pounces on you, his hands grasping your shoulders to make you jump. “Kai– do not do that! If I had a drink in my hand right now, I would’ve thrown it at your face.”

“So mean!”

“Reflexes.”

He sits down next to you, leaning in to see what took up all your attention that you didn’t notice him lurking behind you. “Wanna listen? It’s the backup vocals for my performance.” You offer him an earbud as he accepts, playing up until the transition. “And that’s most of it. For now.”

“Feels a little bit wrong to get early access to this.”

“It was only part of it. And now you know how I felt when I saw those photos of you.”

“They’re up now, so nothing to worry about. I saw your messages but that was during water break, so I didn’t get to respond. Figured I’d find you here.”

“I felt like giving up and going back to the dorms. This was a last resort.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to even text you afterwards. Slipped my mind.”

“It’s fine. This is all I wanted to show you anyways.”

He pauses for a moment, staring at the ground trying to remember what it was about the KBS festival he was going to say. “Oh! Right, I just remembered I was gonna tell you something.”

“What is it?”

He leans in closer and whispers something.

“I’m dying my hair.”

“Really? What colour?”

“Brown. Then after the festival, black.”

“Are you getting a new concept?” He nods excitedly, his grin unable to be contained. “I will keep my mouth shut. But I’m excited to see what’s to come!”

“I think you’ll like it. We’ll be working on recordings after the festival.”

“Oh?” You were intrigued. “I’ll like it?”

“It seems like something you’d enjoy, at least. I’m hoping you will.”

“Now you have me wanting to know more. You know this is very unprofessional of you, speaking about your group’s plans with another colleague.” You poke fun at him, leaning in. “I’m speaking to you as a friend, not a business partner. And with how much unreleased information we’ve been sharing with each other, it’s safe to say that we are more than just business partners.”

“I feel like a schoolgirl sharing secrets with someone.” You giggle, Kai’s smile growing. “I heard somewhere they call you Hyuka, can I call you that?” Why did the name sound so perfect when it rolled off your tongue? He did his best to stop his face from heating up and replied. “Yeah. You can.”

“It’s cute. I like it.”

He doesn’t reply, avoiding eye contact with you and simply replying with a nod. “You really get flustered over the smallest things, don’t you? Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Maybe it’s because I can’t believe the Y/N keeps flirting with me. Not very professional of you.”

“Oh, the irony! It’s corroding my heart…” You overdramatize, earning a snicker from the boy seated beside you. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop. I hope you know that wasn’t my intention.”

“I know. And it doesn’t. If anything, my heart beats so fast that I just can’t think of anything to say to you because I’m so focused on the fact my heart is racing in my ears.”

“So you like it?”

“I mean, who wouldn’t want to be called cute by the L/N Y/N? If anything, I’m lucky enough to be talking with you like this.”

“Now you’re the one flirting with me?” You laugh, checking your phone. “I have an interview tomorrow. I’m a bit nervous.”

“Why? You’re always great in interviews. You’re comedic, you’re stylish–“

“It’s one where the MC asks questions to get under your skin. Like a hot seat.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not… I’m not very open with my personal life. I don’t usually talk about it. He might go that far.”

“Can you not cancel?”

“Too late now. I was booked for it but didn’t care to ask what it was about since I was too busy with other things.” You feel his hand rub your shoulder reassuringly, giving you a look that said ‘it’s gonna be okay’. You sheepishly smile, his hand not leaving you for as long as you stay with him. “I just don’t want to get into controversy right before that big performance. It’s gonna ruin my confidence and my performance is gonna be shit and when I look back on it I’m gonna hate myself–“

“Y/N, you’re gonna be okay. Your fanbase would understand wholeheartedly if they are really fans of yours. They would defend you until the end of the line. Have you seen what they can do? It’s a bit terrifying.” He says, making you chuckle. “I get why you’re so nervous, but if the episode is that bad, they’d have a reason to not stream it.”

Hueningkai’s words stay with you the entire night leading up to the interview, where you’re seated in the chair and the cameras are rolling. The questions start off innocent at first, typical questions you’d get on any other interview.

“What is it like being a role model for newer idols?”

“What is your favourite performance outfit so far?”

“Is there a specific place you’d like to go to for a world tour or concert?”

Then it slowly started getting more… iffy.

“Do you have a ghost writer?”

“Did Bighit force you into the ‘sexy’ concept when you turned 19?”

“How many times have you cried over your duties as an idol?”

When it got into relationships with others, however, that’s where you drew the line.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend before?” The MC asks with a shameless smile on his face. “No.”

“Is there anyone you have your eyes on right now? A celebrity crush?”

Your face begins to burn red, your heart pounding so loud and fast you can hear it in your ears, and you’re struggling to spit out logical answers.

“Not in particular.”

“Sunghoon from Enhypen? You two are known to be close friends. Is he your type?”

“Please don’t bring my friends into this.”

“P1Harmony, what was his name… Jiung!“

“I don’t–“

“What about Hueningkai, the boy from TXT? Ever since that interview, people have been endorsing you two as a pair.”

“I don’t think you should be dictating someone to fulfill my relationship status. You have absolutely no power over me and my relationships with others, and God knows everything about me and my friends while you don’t, so keep your mouth shut.”

The whole room goes silent. You’re holding back tears and you want to swear at him so bad, but this seemed to be impactful enough already, so your eyes stare daggers into his soul, as if they pierced through his heart to make it stop beating. “Well, you certainly live up to your fiesty trait.” He laughs off, switching to the final cue card.

At the end, in your dressing room, you’re so overwhelmed with humiliation and embarrassment, the tears that couldn’t escape your eyes begin to flood again as you pull out your phone, the first person to come to mind being Hueningkai.

hyuka

are you there?

hiii!!!

how did it go?

horrible

it all went to shit

oh… are you okay?

can i see you later? same place?

sure, ill be there by 9

Your hood is on for the rest of the day, pace relentlessly fast as you walk into the headquarters. The face ID for the elevator can barely recognize you with how much you’re trying to hold back from crying, and you avoid any eye contact with the staff that join you in the small space. You finally look up when you reach the 19th floor, seeing Hueningkai turned around and looking at you, and you begin to break down then and there.

“Woah, Y/N…” He runs over, catching you before you can fall on your knees. “What happened? What did he ask?” You feel like shit knowing Kai is trying to help you, but you aren’t able to say anything because you’re so overwhelmed with tears and how embarrassing you look crying in front of him.

“Do you want to come to my place and we can talk about it? Or do you want to go to yours? The boys are just practicing vocals so it’ll be just us, no need to worry about someone overhearing.” He’s so extremely patient with you, making you cry even more. You point at him, meaning you want to go to his place, because it was the first thing that came to mind. “But what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m only worried about you.”

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who does he think he is???

i cannot believe the staff did not notice how uncomfy y/n was even after she yelled at them

the fact he just laughed it off like what?

this was so incredibly disrespectful, i dont even know how this show is still up

who is allowing this to be aired theres clearly something wrong with this

he knew he crossed a line and did not care how stupid can you be

i knew there was something off about this

imagine being scolded by y/n id disappear off the face of the planet forever

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You sat quiet in your waiting room, scrolling through the posts on social media all written about you and that damn interview. You knew you were in the right, and you hoped everyone else knew that too. Luckily, they did. They didn’t bash you for anything, their dissatisfaction going towards the MC and the show.

You received endless support and praise for standing up for yourself and putting the host in his place, and you were so incredibly relieved for that. You watched the show broadcasting patiently on the TV in your room, TXT’s title track beginning to play. You were so fixated on it that you almost forgot you were going on next, the staff calling you backstage.

When their performance ends and they come offstage, you clap and cheer for all of them as they pass by, waving at Hueningkai enthusiastically when you see him. “Hyuka!” Even under the dim light, you see him with a tired smile as he runs over to you. “Wow…” He looks at you, eyes trailing over your outfit. “You look good.”

“I could say the same for you.” Maybe it was the lighting, or how nervous you were, but seeing your friend post-performance trying to catch his breath, sweat dripping down his face, his cheeky smile as his gaze with those tired eyes doesn’t waver from yours, you knew it was wrong to be thinking such things. But he looked hot. Really hot.

“I’ll see you in your room?” You ask, and he nods, head turning away first and eyes last. God, he had a gaze that could kill you.

The metronome begins playing in your earpiece once you’re on stage, and you let your confidence take control. Hyuka’s voice plays in your ear, and if you’re being honest, the one thing that usually runs through your mind is thinking about how cool you are to be on stage and performing for such a large audience. Did it make you seem like you were full of yourself? A little bit. Did you care? No.

When the song changes, so does the mood. The lights change colour and are different brightnesses, and so does your outfit. You discard your jacket and the skirt you’re wearing, adorning a matching pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and a fishnet longsleeve underneath. Your title track begins, and the crowd screams so loud you can hear them over your instrumental.

After the rush of adrenaline from being able to make the crowd scream louder than ever, you walk offstage, saying thank you to all the staff as you pass by. You make a quick pitstop to your room, grabbing a few things before trying to find TXT’s. The next performers pass by and give you cheer silently, and you can’t help but smile back despite your exhaustion. You knock on their door, a staff member opening it. “Hi Y/N. How come you aren’t in your room right now?”

“Is it okay if I come in?”

“Is that Y/N?” Someone asks.

“Y/N!?” Another voice asks, who you can recognize as Hueningkai. The staff member moves aside, and there’s Hyuka, standing behind him with that goofy smile on his face. He pulls you in for an unexpected, brief hug, looking at you all thrilled. “Your performance was amazing! You looked so good up there, and the transition and your execution–“ He’s so excited that he just jumps around with glee, and you manage to laugh at his enthusiasm.

You take a seat on the empty couch with a content sigh, Hyuka then sitting next to you. “I loved your performance too. The brown hair suits you.” The colour made him look younger as if he wasn’t already, innocence along with it. “I like it. I wish you’d keep it.”

“You should’ve seen my in my group’s Magic era.”

“Do you have photos? It’s been a while since I’ve last seen it.” He pulls out his phone, photos of him from that time showing up after mere seconds of him typing it in. “You looked so cute! And so much younger…”

“We were both 17 that time, so obviously. I saw your concept during this time too. You looked cute too.”

A part of you wants to believe that he means it. Another part of you is making you think that he’s just saying it to be nice since you do that to him all the time. “So you’re saying that I’m not cute now?” You ask rhetorically, letting him search for his answer. “I’m saying that you’ve always been cute. How’s that?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” He’s looking at you so sternly that you want to believe him, and the fact he hasn’t broken out into laughter probably means that you should. “Soobin, Hueningkai is flirting with Y/N.” Beomgyu says, making you the first to break eye contact with him. “Don’t make her uncomfortable, Hueningkai.” His leader says, lounging in his chair.

“I think she likes it.”

“I do not.”

“Then why is your face so red? You don’t see me all flustered when you call me cute.”

“Actually, I do. We’re even.”

You both sit there in silence, Hueningkai scrolling on his phone mindlessly, lurking on his social media. He opens his camera to check and fix his hair, but notices you in frame, your eyes shut and head on his shoulder. You fell asleep on him.

He’s frozen in place, unsure what to do. He doesn’t move for as long as your rest on him, merely going back on his phone with a quiet chuckle. He snuck a few photos with you, and looking at them he realized that you were still as cute as he called you, even while you were asleep. When he looked up from his phone, he saw Yeonjun with his camera facing the two of you, fingers tapping on the screen.

“What are you doing?” Hyuka asks, Yeonjun immediately putting his phone away. “Nothing.” He lies, going back to using it as normal. You don’t stay asleep for long, being called back to your room by one of the other staff members. When you leave the room, Kai gets a text from Yeonjun, odd being that they were merely across the room from each other. He opens it to reveal a few images and even a video of the two of you together.

“Look at Hueningkai… Y/N is sleeping on his shoulder. Our maknae has really grown up and his crush is resting with him, they’re so cute. Saving this for when they date in the future.”

You nearly doze off in your own waiting room until your phone buzzes in your hand, a text from Hyuka appearing. It’s photos of the two of you, mostly of you sleeping on his shoulder while Hyuka is on his phone or taking selfies with you.

you looked so peaceful i felt bad when i had to wake you up

were you about to sleep in your room? im sorry if i woke you up again :(

ah its okay

who took the other photos?

yeonjun

were you just on your phone the entire time

i didn’t wanna wake you up!

can i come back

im not sure let me ask

👍

no u cant cuz the show is almost over

aw man

we’ll talk tomorrow! its my off day so we have all the time in the world

you’re over exaggerating a little bit

only a little bit

:P

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Y/NS PERFORMANCE MY LORD

SHE LITERALLY ATE THAT UP

she proved that flop of an mc wrong

is that hueningkai’s voice in the background??

GUYS AM I TRIPPING OR IS THAT HYUKA

hueningkai doing the dialogue for y/n’s cover is something i didnt know i needed

r they like best friends off screen because that’d literally be so cute like y/n asking hyuka to do the vocals for her

they sound so good together omg

collab when?

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2022

You were close with Hueningkai. You talked a lot, you hung out a lot, you even did media promotions with him, and you had little inside jokes that no one seemed to get, which made them funnier.

You two also had a tendency to… flirt with each other.

You could never see if he was being serious or not, and he’d never tell you afterwards and just move on. You’d do the same, which was only fair, but you really wanted to know if he meant it. Sometimes you wished he did. Other times you didn’t care.

You did lives together, mostly consisting of gossip and eating snacks, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You even walked in on him once in the middle of one, and was unofficially invited as a guest.

You did promotional content with each other, and had a lot of pictures together in your camera roll. You almost lost important screenshots and info because of it. But every time you opened your gallery, you smiled, seeing pictures of him and the two of you messing around together reminding that there was more to life than just work.

It’s officially known by everyone, you and Hueningkai were best friends. Two peas in a pod, doing a lot of things together when you both were free. You were being shipped together, and while you were worried it made him uncomfortable, you also kind of liked it. Which begun the spiral of thoughts: did you have a crush on him?

You felt even more like a schoolgirl talking about it with your friends, except you were left alone with your own thoughts. You only flirted with each other about what, hundreds of times? He’d pat your back to calm you down, hold your hand if he noticed you shaking, run his fingers through your hair when you’d ramble, hug you when you need it, wipe off any crumbs that were left at the corner of your mouth…

He had comebacks that made your face go red, snarky replies and comments that made your heart race more than anything else, he looked hot when he was performing, like, really hot, he made sure you were the first person to see his unpublished modeling photos (all of them drove you crazy), he looked really pretty with contact lenses, he was the only person that could leave you stuttering and scrambling for words…

The list went on and on. And the more things you found out you liked about him, the more the answer became clear. You liked him. You liked your best friend.

Sure, he’s told you before that you were his celebrity crush, but that’s different. You liked him on a personal level, a level that could make or break your relationship with each other, and that was what scared you the most. You really liked him, to the point where if he rejected you, you’d go dark for a few days trying to recover.

You wanted to tell him so bad. Every time you tried, your heart would race uncontrollably and you couldn’t choke out a single word. It was almost embarrassing how flustered his simple actions made you, let alone on a livestream.

“I told my sisters about you.” He says, staring up at the clear, starlit sky. “Really?”

“My younger sister is a big fan of you, actually. She debuted this year. Older has plans to, and she says you’re really cool.”

“Tell them I say thank you. What group is your younger sister a part of?”

“Kep1er. Bahiyyih?”

“You did that Tiktok with her, I remember. You guys look scarily alike.”

“We really don’t.” You glare at him, straight faced. Hueningkai looks at you, face illuminated by the lights hidden underneath the plant fixtures. “You look pretty.” He thinks aloud, knowing you heard judging from the expression on your face.

You laugh. “I know.” You expect him to laugh the same, but his face doesn’t seem to change in any way. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I always have been. You just never see it that way.”

“Oh.” You’re struck with a pang of guilt, cursing yourself internally. “You weren’t just being nice?”

“I meant every word I said. I hope you’re taking me seriously right now.”

It seems like I’m not, but I am. I really am.

“This is awfully bold of you, Hyuka.”

“I really like you, Y/N. How’s that for bold?”

He was being serious, unphased with genuine, meaningful eyes. “You always stayed by my side, even when I was feeling down. You remember the little things about me; my drink orders, the snacks I get, my habits, and merely being able to see you makes my day a whole lot better.”

You’re standing there, mouth slightly hanging, unable to say anything. The words are stuck in your throat, and you want to say something, but you feel like you’re gonna faint if you speak a single word.

“I… I can’t…” You’re too embarrassed to face him, knowing his eyes are on you. “I need to go…” You mutter, hand brushing over his for a second before leaving him unanswered on the silent, dimly lit rooftop.

You’re running down the stairs, mashing the buttons on the elevators, messily typing in your key code, falling to your knees once you step foot in your dorm. You’re coughing so much from your horribly paced breathing, and the pain adds to your tears, slowly trailing down your face.

Why were you crying? You didn’t deserve to cry. You were the one that hurt him, leaving him there because you were a coward. It hurt like hell. You barely managed to clean yourself up, falling asleep the second your head hits your pillow.

Practice the following day was straightforward, but you still felt empty. You would’ve gotten a text from Hyuka already, but the only messages there are the ones from yesterday. It hurts to see it so empty, and you want to talk to him, but what if he already hated you?

Entering the elevator, you run into Taehyun and his hooded mop of black hair. “Hi Y/N.” He greets. You tip your head to greet him, guilty for being able to talk to one of Hyuka’s friends and not him himself. “You should go talk to him. He skipped out on practice today.”

“Does he hate me?”

He scoffs. “Hueningkai could never hate you. You made his life 100 times better, according to him.” He pauses and sighs as the elevator nears the floor to the cafeteria. “Even for a few hours, he really didn’t seem like himself. If anything, he’s wondering if you hate him.”

As the door opens and Taehyun steps off, you get a text from Hueningkai.

im sorry.

forget i said anything.

“Shit.” You mutter, Taehyun eyeing you the entire time until the doors close. It’s one swift ride down to the bottom floor, and again, you run, but this time faster than you did the day before, spamming the buttons on the elevator and going to his floor. You stop in front of his door, knocking on it and ringing the doorbell. “Hueningkai? It’s me.” You say. No answer.

“Hyuka? Please, can we talk?” You plead, not hearing anything from the inside. You spam his messages instead, calling him 10 times before giving up. You then remembered accidentally peeking at him entering his dorm code, but you forced yourself to forget it for the sake of his privacy. Given he wasn’t answering, you forced yourself to remember.

He jokingly scolded you that day before shutting the door, but what did he type before that?

Your faded memory punches in the series of numbers you picked out, the door suddenly unlocking. You look around, seeing an empty hallway before shutting the door and locking it, taking your shoes off and running to his room. “Hyuka?” You call, hearing muffled sniffles from a distance. That had to be him.

You didn’t bother knocking. You opened to door, seeing Hueningkai’s face all messed with tears, puffy red eyes, and his arms clinging tightly to one of his stuffed animals. His eyes widened before he hid his face with a tissue. You walk over to him, helping him wipe his face with the tissues. You quickly get up and rush to his kitchen, refilling the glass of water on the floor beside his bed.

He’s calmed down by the time you get back, accepting the glass and drinking half of it. “How did you get in?” He asks, voice hoarse. “You typed in the code once and I accidentally saw. I took a shot in the dark.” You hold his face in your hands, warming them, wiping away a fallen tear with a stroke of your thumb. He clearly didn’t remember. “I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t be. I’m sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You sigh, heart pounding in your ears. “I was a coward for running away. It was stupid.” He chuckles. “I don’t even know why I’m crying, I just started thinking of you, and everything I’ve lost, and…” He cuts himself off, knowing he’d start crying again if he said anything else. “I’m right here. You haven’t lost anything.”

You move his hair out of his face, and all you can do is look at him. His post crying face, rosy and glistening, a content smile on his face. “I like you too, Hyuka. Your duality, your laugh, your carefulness, your personality…” You begin to look at the smaller details on his face. “Your eyes, your lashes, your jawline…”

“Your lips.”

The crank holding the two of you finally snaps, and you’re fully drawn to him.

You kiss him, and everything feels just right, sensing his surprise through the noise he made at the sudden action. It’s a first for both of you, so you could be as awkward as you needed to while learning how to kiss each other. But you were fast learners, and you got the hang of it quickly.

He pulls you closer by the waist, holding you close to him as you straddle his hips, kissing you fervently. So fervently that you swear you hear him moan in between a few kisses, and you try not to enjoy it as much as you do. Pulling away for a second to admire him, the way his chest heaves as he’s out of breath, his eyes doing the pleading for him.

You lean in closer. “Do you like being like this?” You ask, forehead against his, lips grazing over his own. “Mhm.” Your hand holds his face again, warm and tempting. “Is this what you’ve wanted?” He nods again. “For how long?”

“Too long.”

His lips are back on yours, dominant and hungry. He was the only one that could restrain you like this, and for once, you didn’t mind not being in control. His kisses move down to your neck, feeling him smirk after eliciting a groan from you.

“You can’t…” You start, feeling him stop and pull away. “People will see. We can’t risk it.”

Being in the industry meant that lying out of hickeys was nonexistent. Dating scandals would come abuzz and the only thing people would ask you for the next few weeks was who gave you that purple mark on your neck.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The door suddenly opens, and you’re met with a shaken Beomgyu, eyes wide and jaw dropped. You immediately get off of Hueningkai, putting your hood back on and sitting on the side of the bed, gesturing zipped lips to the poor boy. “Soobin! They’re– they’re… Y/N’s here!” Beomgyu rephrases, a better choice of words than what you assumed he’d say.

“I’m sorry. That was a dick move of me.”

“It was. All I wanted was closure, and I got it, so it’s okay.”

His hand rests on top of yours. “Can I be your boyfriend, Y/N?” You blush, face hot as if you weren’t just making out with him a few minutes ago. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. But what about our label?”

“You’re closer with Bang than I am. Could you talk to him?” You nod, kissing him one last time before leaving, avoiding eye contact with Soobin and Beomgyu on the way out. You bump into Taehyun on the way to the door. He looks at you with a smile, following with an affirmative nod and letting you go.

Taehyun budges through the border of Soobin and Beomgyu at his own bedroom door, Yeonjun peeking over and seeing Hueningkai all red and smiley. “What happened?” The oldest asks, eyes still on the youngest.

“Y/N happened.” Soobin answers, Yeonjun’s gaze locked on the maknae. Maybe it was his older brother genes that he noticed something different than the Hueningkai he saw this morning, but judging from the fact you walked out with your hood on, Hyuka’s shirt being slightly crumpled, his blanket gathered at the footboard, some of his plushies fallen out of place, and slight tinges of pink on and surrounding his mouth, he deduced you two had a little bit of fun.

“Took him long enough.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

2023

Your relationship was smooth sailing as it ever could be with your schedules. A member of your team had to arrange a meeting with Bang discussing the relationship between you and Hueningkai. Keeping it a secret would have been the better option, but knowing Hyuka, he’d still show you off to everyone even if being scolded to keep quiet about it for hours on end.

Bang said he ‘had a hunch’ from the first interview, not showing any objection, but naming the risks and controversies that would come with the publicity of your romance. You two were too lovestruck to care about public opinions, but you still were wary of your interactions with each other, Hueningkai especially, knowing that getting into a scandal only involving himself would bring the group down with him.

You two were content with the way things were, but Hyuka tended to have the mindset of, ‘if it happens, it happens’ despite being so cautious, and you’re sure the staff members at Music Bank saw the two of you being intimate in the halls because your boyfriend just had to kiss your forehead at that time, no sooner or later.

Rumors started to arise, given how close the two of you had become. You were always close, but this time you were much closer. There were a lot of behind the scenes cameras at music shows, sometimes catching the two of you in the background together. Once you were even caught with Hyuka taking a nap on your thighs, and that only further proved the existence of the two of you dating.

The one time you decide not to wear a mask and just your hat, paparazzi caught the two of you holding hands on the way back, those gossip articles really planting all previous evidence as if their life was on the line.

Both of you never confirmed anything to the public. You simply just moved on with your lives as if nothing ever happened. It was brought up in a few interviews, but you managed to avoid answering questions on terms of your relationship, using the excuse of privacy.

It was surprising to everyone when they saw a video uploaded on TXT’s channel titled something along the lines of: ‘Hueningkai’s first date’, you couldn’t remember it off the top of your head. But you did vividly remember officially stating that the two of you were going out, and have been going out for a while.

The feedback was, as far as you knew, positive. Being dubbed as ‘the duo we’ve been waiting for’ or ‘netizens’ favourite couple’, you mostly appreciated the fact that you didn’t receive any threats, and only a loss of some fans. Maybe people just couldn’t handle the fact that you two looked so damn good together.

“What are you watching?” Hueningkai asks from the kitchen, seeing you staring at your phone intensely. “Your interview. You’re throwing away your plushies? But I got you one.”

“I’m keeping yours, of course. I’m getting rid of my hoarding habits, so I don’t really want anymore as gifts. Yours will always have a special place in my heart, and I’m never gonna get rid of it.”

“Can I at least keep one?” He considers it for a moment, then nods. “Sure. Which?” You don’t even have to think about it. “Honey.”

“Really?”

“You let me hold him when you invited me here so I could cry and rant after that shitty interview. So that one will also have a special place in my heart. It was also the first one you offered to me. Maybe when I’m alone and I have it in my arms I’ll think of you.”

“You can have him, since he means that much to you.” The sink turns off, shaking the water off his hands and drying them, going to his room and retrieving his, well, now your stuffed animal. The moment you hold it, your thoughts are flooded with nothing but of Hueningkai, despite the fact he took a seat right next to you, placing an arm around your shoulders.

“Jesus, you look fuckin’ sexy in these photos.” You say, zooming in and saving them to your camera roll shamelessly. “Speak for yourself. Front cover on Vogue? You looked so beautiful in those photos. I’m so incredibly lucky.”

You put your phone down, turning to hear his answer. “How so?”

“That you’re my girlfriend. That I get to be your boyfriend. That I get to see your beautiful face every single day, and that I know little things about you that others don’t.”

You chuckle. “I want to kiss you so bad, but the others are gonna come back soon and God knows we won’t be able to stop.” His hand gracefully holds your jaw, his finger tracing along your jawline to let himself move his face closer to yours. He speaks in a whisper.

“Then don’t.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

if you’re really, really tired, i want to hug you and pat you to sleep. i just miss you, even right now. 🎧

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

SCREAMS

WELCOME BACK

I’VE HAD A WEEEK OF THINKING ABOTU EP 4 NONSTOP AND THE ONLY REASON I’M NOT POSTING ART IS BECAUSE I’M PARANOID ABOUT PEOPLE UNTHINKINGLY SLAPPING SPOILERS IN THE TAGS (its happened before) BUT DADSY HAS MY ENTIRE SOUL ANYWAY

ITS EP 5 TIME AND HECK HECK

MONKIE KID SEASON 4 EPISODE FIVE WE HALFWAY THROUGH BOOOOIIIIIIS

BUCKLE UP I AM NORMAL ALREADY FOLKS

actually to be honest I’ve been pretty chillin until I doodled Pigsy and Mk and now I’m feeling feral THIS SHOW REALLY IS SO GOOD FOR MY BRAIN YELLSSS

OKAY OKAY HERE WE GO COURT OF THE YELLOW ROBED DEMON HECK SOUNDS FUN LETS BOOGIE

continues to be a banger theme song that i will listen to all the way through every time it plays thank you very much

. . .

i need a moment

lays down

Pigsy absolute beloved ;-;

ALSO I’M KINDA WHEEZING AT THE BLUE ISN’T REALLY MY COLOUR

HECK I DIDNT’ APPRECCIATE EP 4 ENOUGH SO YOU BEST BELIEVE I’MA BE CHERISHIGN THE CRAP OUTTA EPISODE FIVE

I’M JUST SO HAPPY PLS BGSL;DKFMSDF

Pigsy washing his clothes in the river, Mk doodling i adore I’m so much and MEI BELOVED BALANCING SWORD ON HER NOSE I’M

THE VIBES ARE SO GOOD I WILL CRY

i had to rewind because i just sat here watching and just ;-; SUCH GOOD VIBES MAN |;A;/

ALSO HECK DIOLOGUE

HECKINGDSFLKMSD

PIGSY CALLING OTHER PIGSY A MONSTER

HMHMHM JOTTING THAT DOWN UR HONOUR

NGL BUT THAT VALIDATES MY OWN LITTLE SELF-INDULGENT FIC I WROTE A WHILE BACK OF TIME TRAVEL AND HIM DISLIKING PAST HIM SORRY I’M JUST GRRGRRRAWRRR BITES /POS

IS PIGSY HAVING TROUBLE ACCEPTING THAT WAS A PAST LIFE?

HECK I’M BITESBITESBITES

THE LAST EP KINDA FELT CONFUSING WHERE TANGS FELT VERY THUROUGH IN WHAT THE BIGGEST REGRET THING WAS BUT

AFTER LITERALLY JUST THAT LINE I’M LIKE OH SO HIS GREATEST REGRET WAS JUST BEING WHO HE WAS HUH FR

I’M LIKE THIRTY SECONDS IN AND ALREADY NORMALGBS;LDFKMA

Tang with the name correction ;-;

PIGSYGBSDFLMWE

DON’T GO COMPARING ME TO THAT DEMON

I’M JUST PLAIN OL PIGSY

|;A;/

I’M FINE IGNORE ME

Pigsy ur so valid for wanting layers on hHNV;LKSMFSD But my good sir no need to apologize for being a hunk smhBG;LSKDFM;WOEF

Mei

Mei absolute beloved

a

s SCREAMS

DRAGON TIME

WE GONNA SEE HIIIMMMMMMM

considering i had so much brainrot about Wukong and Ao Lie brother moments after season 3 if we see him and we get any of his care for his bro i will be emotionally destroyed /pos LIKE I BEEN THINKING ABOUT THEM SM I TELL YOU AAAAAAAA

Mei: oh he must’ve been awesome

you’re right mei he was

just didn’t get much… screen time. book time? time BG;KSADFKMSDF

I WONDER HOW THEY’LL CHRACTERIZE HIM

HECK

AAAAAAA

SO MANY OPTIONS

i am very normal if we see him i’ll cry

Mei’s got some seriously good balance now

MY ANCENSTORGSLDFKMAGNMAWE

.

Okay i wanna laugh over Mei’s I THOUGHT MONKEY KIGN WIAS YOUR DAD! HE’S NOT MY DAD!!!!

I WAS GONNA LAUGH BUT U H

THIS IS THE SECOND TIME THIS HAS BEEN MENTIONED

MK IS LITERALLY DRAWING A STONE EGG

THE PEBBLE CRACKING IN HIS FLASHBACK

BUDDIES OF MINE SUDDENLY ON THE MK AND WUKONG SIBLING TRAIN

head in hands

so this confirms the theory that smacked me in the face last week this is fine

Mk fr probably a pebble from swk’s rock or something i don’t know TOO MANY FINGERS POINTING IN TAT DIRECTION I DONT’ KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THAT FEEL FREE TO PROVE ME WRONG UNIVERSE I WOULD GLADLY ACCEPT IT

AM I AFRAID TO LEARN ABOUT MK’S BACKSTORY NOW?

YEAH A LITTLE BIT

EVERYHTING IS FINE

TIS IS FINE

A

AH

PLS

SCREAMS

HE SAID IT

SHAKES YOU

GUYS HE SAID IT I’MGNSDFLK;MASDF

THE POINT

AND

PIGSY’S MY DAD

PIGSY SWEATINGBDL;KMASD

PLEASENG;LKSAMF

UR HONOUR

UR HONOUR PLEASE

THIS IS MY SEASON

THIS IS MY SEASON

HECKING

GETTING EVERYTHING I COULD EVER WANT SHUT UUUUPPPPBGS;DFKLMAW;EOIMFE

AAAAAAAAAAAAA

HIS BLEP AND CONTINUES COLOURING

Y’ALL MK MY BELOVED I ADORE THIS DUDE SM

PIGSY BLINDSIDED BY BEING CALLED DAD SO BLATANTLY I’M ON THE FLOOR

MK REALLY JUST

LETS CUT THE CRAP THAT’S MY DAD EVERUYBODY ELSE CAN GO I’MGBSD;FKMASDF

Guys I think i found my favourite episode

no lie this is

everything to me rn

PLEASE

A CONSPIRICY BOARDBG;SLKDMFWE

TANG’S DOODLES

SANDY STILL OFF SCREENGBSD;FKM;WOEF

CAN MEI BECOME A HORSENGKLMFD

GOOD QUESTION ACTUALLY

HECK HECK I FEEL LIKE THIS IS MOVING TO FAST I WANT TO GO BACK AND REWATCH THE WHOLE MONKEY KINGS NOT MY DAD PIGSYS MY DAD UH KID I’M NOT TECNICALLY-

HEKCKMGNDSFMSD

YEAH

I CAN’T BELIEVE

THEY’RE THEORIZING ON SCREEN

ABOTU WHETHER OR NOT MK’S RELATED TO MONKEY KING

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL I FEEL LIKE I’M SCROLLING THORUGH THE FANDOM TAGBGBSDL;KFMSDF

I WILL CRY

HECK THIS IS SO FUNNY SEEING IT ALL SLAPPED OUT LIKE THAT I’VE LITERALLY THOUGHT THAT ALL IN THAT ORDER WE’VE MADE SO MANY THEORIES LIKE THIS I’M WHEEZINGNSDFL;KMSDF

BELOVED MONKEY KING

REAL SWK CONFIRMED

I’M GONNA SCREAM

THEY LEGIT DOING THIS??

FR???

I CAN’T BELEIVE THISGBSD;FKLMOEWF

SO

MK

RELATED TO MONKEY KING SOMEHOW CONFIRMED IG

ALL THAT

PLS

HE’S AT LEAST A STONE MONKEY

I DON’T KNOW HOW THAT WOULD WORK I LIKE MONKEY KING BEING ONE OF A KIND AND ALL THAT NOT SURE ABOUT THAT APPROACH BUT HECK IT WE BALL IG

ALSO PLEASELMGSAOFE

MK JUST LIKE NOOOO NONONONONOOO NO THANK YOU THAT’S CRAAAAZY

ah yess because he’s normally sooooo forthcoming with information

HELPGSDLKF

YEAH

SHE GOT A POINT LAD

SHE DO BE GOT A POINT

poor mk not looking very stoked at this possibility

CURIOUS YOU’D THINK HE’D BE ECSTATIC BUT IG TRUAMA DOES A LOT BGSDL;FKMS

MK COMUNICATING LEGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

WELL WHEN WE FIND HIM WE CAN ASK HIM! :D

PLS I JUST LOV EHIM A LOT GUYS

PIGSYGBSD;LKFMWE

PIGSY YOU’VE BEEN HERE FIVE SECONDS WHY ARE YOU ANNOYEDNLGKMMFEEF

I’m telling you now! :D

PLS IT TAKES A SECOND TO FIGURE THESE THINGS OUT

H

HECK

SCREAMS

HECK WAIT

I’M NOT READY

THIS IS SO EARLY IN THE EPISODE WDYM

USUALLY THEY WAIT TILL CLSOER TO THE END TO LULL YOU INTO A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY

WE’RE ONLY TWO MINUTES IN

HELP WAITBG;LSDKMF

also welp ig mk really is stone monkey HOW DOES THAT WORK I DON’T KNOW I’M IN PIECES GO BACKGNS;LKFMWE

i DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S MONKEY KINGS ROCK MK I THINK IT’S YOURS

ALSO UM WHAT THE HECKNVG;LKSDMFBGN;AKFMA;WOEF

MK VERY EAGER TO HAVE MONKEY KING EXPLAIN TO EVERYONE HE’S DEFINITELY NOT HIS DADGBSDF;LKM;SDF

th

heck

okay

so

so

soooo

that sounded

less like monkey kings voice there

and more like

ahem Mk’s

SO WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

SCREAMS AND SHAKES YOU ALL

I SWEAR IF HE’S A CLONE

OR HECKING

SOMETHING ID ONT’ KNOW

HE HECKING BETTER NOT BE DEAD

IT BETTER NOT BE MONKEY KING ISNT’ ACTUALLY MONKEY KING AND MK’S HIS REINCARNATION AND MONKEY KING IS ACTUALLY JUST A CLONE LEFT BEHIND TO COACH HIS NEXT LIFE THAT STUPID THING I MADE UP I SWEAR I WILL BE CRUSHED PLEASE DONT’ BE THATBG;SDLKFMAWOE I MADE THAT UP FOR ANGST PURPOSES NOT FOR IT TO BE A HTEORY FOR CANON

i am full of fear

HECK THOSE ARE GIANT EYES

SCROLL CURSE

UP

OH NO THEY LOST THE CHEAT SHEET

CHEAT SHEET WAIT THAT’S SO FUNNYGHSBDFLK;MWEF

OH HECK

HECKK

ECK HECK JGSDJLFSJD

MEI

WATCH IT

OH SHE’S FAST NOW

OH RIP

WELP

I DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING

SO WE’RE GONNA GET A MEI ARC IN THIS ONE AGAIN HUH

BREAK THE SWORD DISSAPOINTED FAMILY OR SOMETHIGN GOTTA RE-PROVE HERSELF OR SOMETHIGN HECKINGNFDL;KMWE

THAT’S SUCH PRETTY ANIMATION THO HECK EHCK

WE’RE ONLY 2:50 IN WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS SCREAMS

.

THEY BETTER NOT HAVE BEEN ALL BUBBLED TO DIFFERENT PLACES I SWEAR

oh no yup separated

I’M SO SORRY MEI ILY

OH RIP

WELP

YUP EVERYBODY SEPERATED

AWESOME

.

HELPGML;SDFM

CONGRATS TANG LOOOKS ILKE YOU’RE IN THE KINGDOM OF WOMEN

GL WITH THAT

WIAT HELPGNSAOWE

HE FR JUST SCREAMS AND BUBBLES AWAY

HELPGMSLDF

I WAS EXPECTING HIM TO BE THERE LONGER HELPGNSDLFKMSDF

peak comedy there well done lets scream and run away from that chapter so true bG;LKAWEMFAEWFNAWFE

.

Mei.

Mei you

Mei you literally have the fire of Samadhi

you have the Samadhi fire

you don’t need a swordnGL;KMAWFE

OKAY THO MEI EP OR SOEMTHING IG

SHE’S GONNA GO ON A JOURNY OF SELF-DISCOVERY IG

ALSO WHERE THE HECK DID MK GO

WE SAW EVERYBODY ELSE

WER’ES MY BOOOIIIII

OH I HATE HIM

IMMEMDEATLEY

WHO’S THIS CLOWN

FIESTY

EAT MY FIST

WHY IS HE

TALKINGNSDFL;KMWE

KILL  HIM

SUS OLD MAN

OH RIGHT YEAH YOU’RE THIS GUY

OH HE’S A VIBE ACTUALLY

LONG HAIR VIBIN

.

YOU BETTER NOT HTINK MEI IS YOU’RE HEKCING WHATEVER

OR MAYBE YOU WANNA CONSUME HER

OKAY YEAH

FUN

I’LL BE SPICY ALRIGHT

OHH

OKAY CONCERN

BURN HIM ALIVE

COME ON W

oh

not gonna

eat her right away oka

ITS HIM

ITS HIM

ITS HIM HITSBSFBGANFABF;IOAWMEFAWMGFA;LFMAWOIEMFAF

SCREAMS

SCREAMS

ITS HIM

TIS HIM

SHAKES YOU SHAKES YOU ITS HIM

I KNOW IT IS

ITS HIM I TS HIM TBNSLKMGNEEM

ITS HIM

GREEN

GREEN

ITS HIM

SCREAMS IT HE

ITS HIM ITS MY MAAAN

ITS HE

SCREAMS

ITS AO LIE

SHUT I’M UP GONNA CRY ITS HIM RIGHT NOW HE

I’M HAVING A MOMENT HERE GUYS GIVE ME A SECOND I’M GONNA CRY

OH HE’S SO SCRUNGLY

OH HE’S SO

YES

OH THE LONG SLEEVES EXCUSE ME HE’S SO DELIGHTFUL

I IMMEDEATELY ADORE HIM

I am not normal

HE’S BEAUTIFUL

HIS LITTLE HEADTILT

I WILL SOB

HELPGMSDLFKMSDF

TANG JUST ZOOMIN

NOP NOPE NOPE NOPE

THE NEZHA MOMENT

THIS IS ACTUALLY SO MUCH FUN

HECK AO LIE IS SO SCRUNGGLY I WOULD DIE FOR HIM YA’LL

HE’S DRAWN SO NICE

HES’ BEAUTIFUL

MEI GETS TO HANG OUT WITH HER ANCESTOR

SHE��S EITHER GONNA BE ANNOYED BY HIM OR VIBE AND I’M GONNA CRY EITHER WAY

OH NOPPES OUT TANG ET MOVING

YUP NOPE

THAT’S THE WORNG DOOR VERY MUCH

OH HE’S LAUGHIGN AT HER

WHATS SO FUNNY GUY

I LOVE

I LOVE HIM

SISTER

PLS

I ADORE HIM

YOU DONT’ UNDERSTAND I’M IN LOVE WITH HIS DESIGN THE VOICE ACTOR IS SO GOOD

THE :3 FACE THEY’RE GIIVNG HIM

i am actually going to cry YOU GUSY HE’S SO SCRUNGLY

PLEASE

PLEASE HE’S EVERYHTING TO ME

I WANT TO GIVE HIM SNACKS

THE TRIP

PLEASE

HE’S JUST A GOOFY LITTLE GUY

truly this is the youngest sib during the journey truly tis him

i love how i’m just assuming this is Ao Lie when i actually have no proof its just the vibes via the story and the fact he’s beautiful and green and absolutely delightful I WOULD DIE FOR HIM YOU DON’T UNDERSTANDNGLSDMAGNWO;EFM

oh man we’re only halfway through this is gonna be a long post hG;KLSDFJSD

THIS GUY

YUP MILDLY ANNOYED

I LOVE HIM

OH

OH BUDDY NO

BUD

BELOVED

I’M ABOUT TO CRY

BRUH REALLY

JUST VIBIN

WAITING FOR HIS PWOERS TO BE SNATCHED

AND MEI JUST OUTRAGED BY THAT

YEAH

I’M

HECK

HECK GUYS THAT’S HER ANCESTOR I’M GOING TO BURST INTO TEARS THIS IS A THREAT

INACTION IS CARELESS

IN

INTERSTING

MADAM

MEI NOT ALL OF THAT IS CORRECT

OH LETS GO I HOPE THIS IS A BOTH LEARN SOMETHING FROM EACH OTHER ARC I WILL CRY

MEI HECKA PASSIONATE ABOUT HER FRIENDS

HELPGMSDFLMADF

DO NOT SENSE

PLEASE

PLEASE HANG ON THIS IS MOVING SO FAST

THEY WENT FROM LIKE

HI HI

*INTENSE PHYSCOLOGICAL DISCUSSION*

THEY JUST MET PLEASENG;LKMSDFE

IS IT GONNA BE LIKE

GET OUT AND THEN SURPRISE! I’M AO LIE!

ANYWAY IT WAS NICE MEETING YOU BYEEEE

PLS

A SWORD IS POWERLESS WITHOUT THE HAND THAT WEILDS IT

I ADORED IT

MY DUDE WHO IS PROBABLY AO LIE no its’ definitely Ao Lie AO LIE BELOVED I LOVED IT ITS A GREAT BIT OF WISDOM

THEIR LITTLE BANTER IS SO FUNNY PLEASE

MEI’S READY TO BITE HIM HE’S JUST SILLY GOOFY MAN

THEY BOTH GOT GOOD POINTS

man family dinner must be fun if his sister’s anything like Mei bGALK;SMDFAOWEF MAN I LOVE THEM

TANG REALLY GOING THROUGH IT

M

MO??????

MO??????

MO IS THAT YOU???

HECK???

WHERE’D YOU COME FROM???

WHY AREN’T YOU WITH SANDY??

i mean sandy’s probably not sandy rn but MO????

OH HECK

HELLO

AH

LOUDLY

DECLARING THAT HUH

WHATS GOING ON OVER THERE

Y’know hang on before we listen to Wukong’s bros trash talk him i wanna think about the fact that Wukong and Ao Lie probably get along great because they’re so alike

they’re just silly goofy Ao Lie probably reminds Wukong of himself back when he was just goofing off pls

OH??

OH MACAQUE’S THERE LISTENIGN TO THEM TRASH TALK HIS BELOVED FRIEND?? YEAH?? OH I’M INVESTED LETS FREAKING GO

unpredictable sure is a word for WukongnGL;KMEAFWE

CHARERISTICALLY QUIET PLSNG;LSDKMF

oh wow hey

New VA nailing it actually

deeper sounding

more gruff hang on i need a sec

lays down

heck

okay

okay we’re good

lets see if Azure’s vibes continue to be rancid or he says something to bring it back

also my goodness what a good thing to slap in there, Monkey king gone for years at a time sure does make it sketchy i’m biting this

OH HE’S IN THE BIG OL KING SEAT UH

TANG RECIGNIZING HIM FROM THE DOODLE

PLS THAT’S SO SILLY /POS

NO YEAH ME TOO DUDE

HE’S HECKA SUS

HIS VIBES CONTINUE TO BE RANCID

also heck i’m curious as to what they’re gonna do with this

like if Mac goes along with those three and then it’s actually the other way around not Wukong betraying them but them betraying him that’d be WILD considering we’re all so sure its something Wukong did but heck maybe Azure really does do something heck heck

OKAY BACK TO THE FAMBLY

and the excellently designed dude i immediately hated

he and Ao Lie are on opposite sides of the scale for me pleasemKLGASDF Cool design I IMMEDEATELY HATE HIM and COOL DESIGN I ADORE HIM

Whats up greasy ole face weirdo

oh

OH BELOVED

BEAUTY FIRST

DID I HEAR THAT RIGHT

DID HE JUST SAY BEAUTY FIRST OR AM I JUST IN LOVE WITH THE DESIGNGNSDLFKMABGOWEMF

I’M GONNA ASSUEM THAT’S WHAT HE SAID AND CRY OVER THE FACT AO LIE IS PRETTY WE BEEN KNEW

OH MAN MEI’S GREAT

YEAAAHHHHH

SCREAMS

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

is the the DANG DRAGON MOMENT U SEEM MORE FAMILAR ARE WE RELATED MOMENT OR GNSLDK;MFAOWEIM

AAAA

SEH’S SO GOOD I LOVE HER A LOT

GET EM MEI

OH

AYO

MADE HERSELF A SWORD

LETS FREAKING GOOOOOOOOOOO

SHE’S SO GOOD

I LOVE HER

WHITE HORSE DRAGON

HEAR THAT AO LIE??

HEAR THAT???

Its okay i’m fine i’m just losing it

GET EM GURRRLL

SHE’S SO

FREAKING POWERFUL

OH WOW THE DRAMATIC

HAIR SWOOSHY

I JUST THOUGHT IT WAS THE RIGHT DAY TO BE CARELESS

OH

OH FREAKING

HECK

WOW

HE’S

OH WOW

AW

I LOVE

HIM

I LOVE IM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM

ITS YOU

AO LIE LIKE EH??

VA GO BRRR

I KNEW YOU WERE COOL

OH REALLY YOU THINK SO? :D

HE’S SO SCRUNGGLY

OH THE COOLEST

PLEASE

I WANT MORE OF HIM

I WANT MORE OF HIM SO BADLY

I BEG OF YOU

HE IS EVEYRTING TO ME I GOT CHILLS

HECK

HECK

OH

OH

OH MAN

MAN

AMV TIME HERE I COME THIS SEASON IS SO FREAKING GOOD I’M LOSING IT

I’M GONNA MAKE SO MANY AMVS I SSWEAR

I’M GONNA WATCH THIS EP ON LOOP

AO LIE IS EVERYTHING

I WANT HIM BACK

PLEASE

AAAAAAAAAA

|;A;/

SCREEAAAMMSSS

OKAY

OKAY

MK

OH MY BOY  ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

HECK HE WAS STRAIGHT UP KNOCKED OUT UNLIKE EVERYONE ELSE

GO BACK WHERE’S PIGSY HECK HECK HECK

I WANT MORE DADSY CONTENT WAAAAIT

OHBOY

WHERE ARE THEY

W

OH PUTI

OH

OH

OH

OH ARE WE

WHERE

HECK

HANG ON

SHOOT

HE IS NOT REPLACING SWK IN THIS

I SWEAR

I WILL LOSE MY GOSH DANG MIND IF THEY DO THAT

SWK IS TOO IMPORTANT TO ME DON’T DO THIS TO ME

HECK HECK HECK HECK HECK

SCREAMS

OKAY

OKAY SO MK IS IN

MONKEY KINGS PLACE

HECK

SO CONFIMRED MK STONE MONKEY AT LEAST, LITERLALY SWK’S SON OR SIBLING AT MOST OR LITERALLY SWK, AO LIE IS MY MOST FAVOURITE EVER I WANT HIM AND SWK BEING GOOFY TOGETHER RIGHT FREAKING NOW, ZHU BAJIE’S GREATEST REGRET MIGHT JSUT BE HIM BEING HISMELF, LBD LOOKED RIGHT AT TANG, MEI CAN MAKE HER OWN NEW SWORD NOW, MK MIGHT BE REPLACING MONKEY KING, AZURE’S VIBES CONTINUE TO BE RANCID, THE NEW VA FOR MAC IS DOING A REALLY GOOD JOB OF SOUNDING CLOSE THE TO THE OG (nothing but appreciation for this guy thank you big shoes to fill) AND THEY’RE ALL SEPERATED, TANG FOUND MEI THO, AO LIE WAS READY TO GIVE UP HIS OWN POWERS, THEY CLASHED BOTH HAD GOOD POINTS, TANG BOOKED IT OUT OF THE KINGDOM OF WOMEN, MK DIDN’T KEEP HIS FRIENDS IN THE DARK ABOTU HIS VISIONS FOR LONGER THAN LIKE TWO EPISODES AND IS COMMUNCIATING, SEEMS TO HAVE A PROBLEM THINKING ABOUT SWK AS HIS DAD, PIGSY GOT CALLED DAD PIGSY’S MY DAD, AH HECK HECK THIS EPISODE HAD SO FREAKING MUCH THEY FOUND MO, HOLDS HIM GETNLY, MACAQUEEEEEE AAAAAAAAA I LOVE ALL THESE GUYS SO MUCH

SHUT UP I THINK THIS IS MY FAVOURITE EPISODE NOBODY TOUCH ME I GOT EVERYTHING BUT WUKONG AND I’M ON A HIGH

KNOX OUT I GOTTA GO RUN INTO SOME SNOW

[freelancearsonist]

✨ wip wednesday ✨

ok i've posted a lot this past week lol and now i don't know what to work on. here's a list of what i've got going, pls vote for your favorite :)

can you tell i have dieter bravo brainrot

if you want more info pls feel free to send as many asks as you want :) i'll post lil snippets of whatever you're curious about

[ruporas]

i only intended to send 1 ask and come back l8r but i have chronic brainrot and rereading your bound to want comics is just nonstop reminding me of all the things i loved about them. so u get 3 deranged rambles in a row!

THIS ONE WILL BE SHORTER I THINK

(spoilers, it isn't)

but i actually realized this Just Now, rereading the comics side by side/one after the other as i pick them apart

but in vash's dream, their relationship is so one-sided.

wolfwood verbally hesitates to indulge, saying it feels "wrong" to dance together. his hold on vash is a bit loose, and he doesn't really make eye contact.

it's vash who leads the dance, and vash who reassures him, says it's okay, tries to say that he wants to be together... and leads into that charming dip at the same time. every move that's made, it's made by vash. wolfwood just lets himself be pulled along, and seems surprised by it the whole time

...but it's a dream. and reality is so different. SO VISCERALLY DIFFERENT.

in part 2, there's SUCH a theme of wolfwood taking the reigns on their relationship. of course half of that reason is because vash has backed off completely and is running from his problems, but even then he's actively stepping up. he's reaching out. he's proactively trying to rekindle their connection.

it's HIS idea to sit them down for drinks, HIS idea to open up with honesty, and when vash starts to cry, HE'S the one that reaches out to wipe the tears away.

even when they start dancing after the ID, it persists. wolfwood is the lead now, and he's also the one that asks for vash's hand first. he's also the one that OPENLY ADMITS that he wants vash, when vash never could (or would? the nightmare did cut him off, but that could've been symbolism for the way his own fears choke him up and never let him say such things out loud. idk pls tell me)

but now wolfwood's hold on vash is steady and strong. actively holding him close and urging him CLOSER. even taking the lead to pull him in for a kiss at the end

though as much as i talk about wolfwood taking the lead in their relationship here- which he DID- it's also so much more reciprocated. it's healthy. they're both drawn in by each other. even if there's more themes of wolfwood taking charge here, this is REALITY. THEY BOTH WANT EACH OTHER. VASH HOLDS ON TOO, EVEN IF WEAKLY THANKS TO HIS FEARS

and it's just such a brutal, silent representation of how insecure vash is about this sort of thing... among other emotions.

in his mind, wolfwood barely participated at all. their relationship ended badly, too. but in reality, it's SUCH a two-way street. they both cling to each other and they're both so desperate for each other.

like aaaaagh i almost wish the dream was a little longer so i could analyze the differences more lmaooo. the pacing for it is already so perfect, but it's such a neat peek into how vash perceives their relationship in his subconscious, where there's no holds barred

idk i just feel like you're so amazingly insightful about how vashwood works emotionally. you understand them so deeply, from their tendencies to their insecurities and more.

and i might've been wrong about some stuff in this ask, but i'm ok with that. it's an opportunity for u to correct me on your interpretations and talk more about vashwood >:)

you're not wrong at all!! i was also going to not elaborate too much bc i could speak forever about their individual perspectives and view on the overall relationship, but here we go,

it can definitely be viewed as one-sided with the insecurities heavily weighed on wolfwood's side in the dream and vash leading him into reassurance, that it's okay to just be, and it's okay to share in that moment of intimacy, before it's quickly washed up by his own impending fears of having that luxury. it's a reflection of his personal desires too, of what he can lean into to help wolfwood feel loved and bearing his heart.

but yes, ultimately, reality is different!! vash can't bring himself to do ANY of that and he withholds, for 2 weeks and probably longer if wolfwood didn't intervene. wolfwood, to me, is a Very generous person. he DID give vash space to sit and think about it for that time, but he realized soon enough that this wasn't something that was going away and that it was actively weighing on vash. when wolfwood realizes vash needs a push, he goes for it immediately, leading to his directness, to opening a bit of his own vulnerability, and then realizing mid-convo what it was all about, making him more decisive in his actions.

vash has repressed for sooooo goddamn long, he can do it for another million years if he had that time, so if he needed to, he would repress all the way up until their separation. wolfwood is very Human and even if time had ran differently for him growing up, he still runs on human time, which i feel aids in him being more strong in his pursuit initially ( that is to say, imo, as their relationship progresses and gets deeper, it kind of flips, with vash being more earnest and open, similarly to how he might be in the dream, and wolfwood returning that earnestly in full, but he's also plagued everyday by his mission and guilt and the potential doom of no man's land-- but anyway, that's a detour note-- )

like aaaaagh i almost wish the dream was a little longer so i could analyze the differences more lmaooo. the pacing for it is already so perfect, but it's such a neat peek into how vash perceives their relationship in his subconscious, where there's no holds barred

ehe well!!! bound to want is only one of my long vashwood comics!!! bounds of more opportunities in the future to dig into vash's self isolation, being as lonely as he has been for soooo long, and his point of view on yearning for wolfwood and whatnot. i can dig into it for so long, hopefully i'll have more time to work on my other longer comics over the summer that may dive into this area!!

i always found vash's pov to be really interesting, because in the manga, we see a lot of wolfwood's progression and his love for vash bloom through his inner thoughts, but we don't get to see vash's thoughts of wolfwood, not until . ahem. so, i have fun analyzing the way vash rescinds in general when it comes to relationships while juxtaposing his intense desire and want for this one person that manages to make him want in the first place. and in bound to want particularly, i wanted this to take place after the ship/home arc and before the remembrance of july arc. canonically, it's too early for them to develop these kind of relationships, but i've taken the reigns and shuffle events in there to further their love, as one who takes canon to fanon does.

i've always viewed vash as the first to fall in love in trimax and it's a steady accumulation, from their first meeting 2 years ago when he was read at point blank by a weird priest, to being the first face of the old world he abandoned that he sees, to wolfwood lingering around, following… filling up the space so he isn't alone anymore. and despite their conflicts and disagreements just prior, vash ultimately relied on him during the home arc, needed to because he couldn't have done it alone unless he wanted to lose more people. he knew wolfwood then, he knew his methods, but in that moment, he couldn't tell him to not kill. he didn't tell him to kill either, he just left it to wolfwood, trusted him so vash, with all his grief and emotions, could handle emilio. and afterwards, wolfwood comes out injured but not broken, he's okay! and i think that really sinks into vash, the whole concept behind reliability is so foreign to him because he really tries to handle everything by himself and now there's suddenly someone else who gets what he's asking for with a mere glance, someone who he can fight back to back with, and it'd just be soooo much for him.

the thing about vashwood is that they're both lonely in a very similar manner and they hurt, shy away from the companionship of others, but they are both also kind and giving. and i'd imagine they'd both recognize this mutual feeling somewhere in the air between them, but neither approaches it because it'd just lead to hurt.

because vash has been in love for muuuuch longer though, i think him steadily figuring out the potential hesitation behind wolfwood initiating anything makes him want to start the conversation first, but thinking of starting is different from actually working up the nerves to. there is confidence in their companionship and trust in wolfwood, but wolfwood is also a guide and time and time, that's been reiterated back to vash; a reminder that their time together is temporary, that wolfwood is here for a mission and not for him, and that vash has a responsibility at the end of their journey that he can't bring a human in to fight alongside him. Combine that with his complete and utter fear of himself considering he doesn't know how his body works at this point, it's a combo of insecurities in both parties of the relationship that he /wants/, but knows he shouldn't and doesn't deserve to have.

i don't know if any of that made sense, i rambled a LOT more than i needed to GMKSMGDSGMKSD BUT YEAH. ANYWAY. there's tons to explore behind vash's psyche and wolfwood's, GOD, wolfwood's psyche is so… i shake him everyday. but with vash, even if there is greenlight signs from wolfwood, he will always doubt first. i imagine, after he got rescued by wolfwood in vol 8, only then is when he can unabashedly 110% have full faith in what he reads from wolfwood and trust in what he feels, which is devastating considering the limited free time they got to have.

BUT OK ok im done. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR MESSAGESSSSS, THESE MEAN A LOT TO ME, as i mentioned!!! i'm very thankful for all of your analysis and tidbits to my silly little comic… it really makes me genuinely so happy that someone could give so much thought on it and pick up things that were intentional or just providing observations, its so wahhhh T__T I FEEL HONORED, really, thank you so so much!!!!

[blooming-cecilia]

you are so FOUL for bringing catbard into this too, now im insane over both of them at once 😭😭😭

bites my fist

househusband venti thoughts + being left alone w his baby and spending the day with them while spouse is at work .....

[melis-writes]

i need your cognizance … im kind of new to the al pacino fandom and ive binged watched his filmography in over 3 days and i LOOOOVED EVERYTHINGGGG but mostly just staring at his gorgeous faaaace (im rolling my eyes and biting my fist as i type this)😮‍💨🥵😩 but im rlly having trouble finding my footing with the elephant in the room … and that is him having a baby at his present age and dating a woman 50+ yrs his junior… like im in too deep now, i just watched his nypd episode and that’s how far ive already went😭(not complaining👀) but im also at this stage where idk what or how to feel about him doing that. obviously ive acquired an above-average-more-than-wikipedia knowledge about him (i like him a normal amount, trust me) and i won’t willfully overlook the fact that he’s kind of a womanizer and one that is commitment-phobe, so i guess him having new girlfriends isn’t out of the blue but to date someone THAT young? like that could be ur daughter😭 in fact his eldest daughter is a few yrs older than his current gf

anyway what im rlly trying to say is, i need u to weigh in on this and pls tell me ur opinion. ive read ur impressive work and it encouraged and inspired me to read the godfather as a book, and not just settle on watching it. and with that in mind i thought u were the right person to provide insight on this. as u can see i love al so much, im actually thinking of making myself a bday cake with his picture on it, similar to a pic i reblogged a few days ago, but im soooo conflicted on this. like i truly am. i know it’s bad to have parasocial relationships w celebrities (especially younger versions of themselves OMG) (but im rlly not i just love him sm and admire him) but im at this phase where im afraid that finding out more of his humanly desires would disappoint me? and yes ppl might say i shld avoid putting celebrities on a pedestal bc they rlly dont give a fuck abt who u are😵‍💫 and i would definitely love to be one of those ppl that could simultaneously admire a person for their achievements and recognize their kind behavior but also acknowledge their wrongdoings … but if i do that isn’t it kind of telling on my end, of my behavior and shaky moral compass😫? or, now that im in too deep, maybe im just trying to maintain this idealized version of him in my head and this is simply a reality i refuse to accept😭? bc honestly when the news broke out a lot of ppl were divided, with most responses pandering to eerie and just odd reactions, but a small minority claims a different take, along the lines of ‘if two consenting adults wanna make a family then why not’ and this rlly bugs me bc ??? apart from it being an awfully lazy analysis there’s just SOO much to unpack about this situation. like theres just way too many layers and there’s nuances too. one of the replies actually said men at the age of 60 should already be neutered to prevent from procreating ever again and why i kinda agree to it ?? 😶 like im so conflicted … like i rlly am … this is eating me out and consuming me i honestly dont know what to do.

anyway IM SO SORRY FOR THE RAMBLING AND FOR HOW LONG THIS WAS … im sorry for the overcomplication … pls take ur time in answering this im rlly sorry id rlly appreciate ur stance on this … I LOVE UR WORK SO MUCH IT KEEPS ME SANE. especially with the gifs🥰🥰🥰🥰 bc of u i still get to fuel my indulgences. THANK YOU

Ah my dear, welcome to the Pacino fandom, first of all. 🤣❤️ We Pacino girlies welcome you with open arms here lmao I know exactly how that intense ass Pacino brainrot can hit and how hard too. 🥵

You're right first of all about the fact that there's a lot to unpack beyond the "it's two consenting adults in a relationship" piece but here's the thing, it's not meant for us to unpack. At the end of the day, all we can do is hear news, gossip and read articles about Al's relationship and this and that but we don't know how much of it is actually true and what's really going on, and we can't know. It really has nothing to do with any of us, and those two don't care what the public think either. It's Al and his gf's private life and judging on how shit broke out, they seem to have a lot more to worry about on their plate than anyone else's reactions.

Al is basically a womanizer from what I've read lmao. He always really has been and I know things obviously changed when he got older but an early article that came out saying Al and his gf are dating mentioned the age gap doesn't bother either of them and his gf has dated men around the same age and even older than Al. This is their personal and private life, after all. Men can have children at a very old age, this is just how science works lmao although it can be baffling at 80+, it's still a thing. From what the gossip online says, it looks like this was an unplanned thing and Al isn't doing so good. He doesn't seem to be jumping over the moon about everything from what I read either. I think this is hard for him, tbh.

And some people may think it's weird someone as old as Al is still having sex but given his track record, I'm not surprised at all lmao. To avoid disappointment from celebrity parasocial relationships and putting them on pedestals, you need to come to an understanding that you're also recognizing and putting up (in a way) their flaws on that pedestal too. Al is not a perfect human being, nobody is, but he isn't out here trying to be perfect or live up to anyone else's definitions either nor should he.

I love that you admire and love Al like the rest of us, but you also need to come to an understanding about the things he's done or said or whatnot that you don't agree with or necessarily like. He's just a human being at the end of the day, it's so complex. Don't think too hard on it, because everyone has their flaws and mistakes and as we recognize this, we can still love them for the great things they do. That's really the only thing you need to do.

I think the fandom as a whole looked way too far into this man's personal life. It does not effect us whatsoever and it's honestly none of our business. Al doesn't owe us anything and he's not trying to be a role model to us; we shouldn't be this held up about his personal life. I know it can be hard not to care, but sometimes all you need to do is acknowledge it, accept it, and move on.

I would also recommend reading the biography "A Life on The Wire" by Andrew Yule. It has a lot about Al's life from early days, to romance, to his personality and everything inbetween. It's seriously extremely detailed and gives you a whole new insight on just who that man is!

Feel however your heart wants to feel. You don't have to get held up in Al's personal life like others or form a strong opinion just because someone else has. Something like this doesn't need to stop you from admiring what a phenomenal actor Al is and how he's a fine ass man too. 😭

[tenthousandyearsx]

Hey! I'm curious, pls indulge me: which book or fic that you've read in 2023 has made the most impression and why? x

Hi magpie! What a great question to find in my inbox. ❤ I actually rarely look back or make lists for some reason, so it was lovely to do so just now!

Books:

I saw someone reading “Lanark” by Alasdair Gray on public transport last December. I had never heard of it before, so I looked it up and it ended up being one of the wildest things I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I really, really liked the first book, it made me think of The Master and Margarita (which I adore!) and it seemed plucked entirely from the author's unconscious, which is always a bonus with me. But as I read the other three books, I got progressively more frustrated and annoyed, so I honestly don’t know if I’d recommend it. That said, the opening book was such a shock, I can’t stop thinking about it. I just keep wishing I could unread the rest. 😬 (Sorry for the conflicting rec! You might have read it already – and if so, I’d love to know what you think).

Because I'm so conflicted about choosing the novel above, my second pick is a reread of a book I used to love as a teen, but that nobody seems to have heard of. It’s called ‘The Only Alien on the Planet’ by Kristen D. Randle. It has nothing to do with aliens; it's a getting together YA novel about a boy who refuses to speak or be touched and the female protagonist, who's a transfer student and doesn't know what she can or can't do around him. It was my first time rereading it in almost two decades and I still loved it so much. I have no idea what it would be like to read it for the first time as an adult though. CW for childhood trauma – but it’s not a heavy novel. I fell for the male character all over again 🥲.

(Also, because I know you like danmei as much as I do, I just want to add here that I’m dying to read Nan Chan – but I haven't yet!!)

Fics:

I’ve been binging a lot of Alhaitham / Kaveh fics – their characters are so compelling and I cannot get enough of the whole quarrelling scholars living together dynamic they have going. On top of this, I discovered only a couple of days ago that Alhaitham is based on Tagore among other things, so now my brainrot is even worse.

This is probably not a ship you’re interested in, but if you are, I loved "pure conjecture" by shrimpheavnnow. It's 5.7k words PWP but it’s so them, and I thought the premise was hilarious. I also need to mention a wip I’m following, which is very much on the same vein but looks like it's going to be 12 glorious chapters of PWP: “testing, testing” by Lithopus.

Drarry: I don’t normally read memory loss fics, but I read "Somewhere in My Memory" by maraudersaffair while I was stuck at home with covid and it brightened my week so much I’m still thinking about it months later. I’m personally really bad at writing domesticity, and I thought their day-to-day looked so effortless here!

Oh! I also read astolat’s Jeeves and Wooster fic for the first time a few weeks ago ("Jeeves and the Blessed Indiscretion") and I thought her Wooster’ voice was brilliant.

Sorry for the long reply! I was probably supposed to pick only one but I got a bit carried away.

If you have any fic recs, especially wangxian and hualian, I'd love to hear them! x