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randomfoggytiger · 3 months ago

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React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (Home Again), Part IV

This is the one Revival episode I was semi-curious about: it may drum up a lot of heartfelt ~emotions~, but my glasses-on-emotions-off side is dying to be intrigued or surprised or… placated.

It’s gotta happen at some point during this series.

Part I (My Struggle I), Part II (Founder's Mutation), and Part III (Weremonster).

Let's go!

HOME AGAIN

It’s Home Again tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime~.

Oh, no.

(Note from the future: Looking back, this sign makes me want to rage.)

…Why are the firemen antagonistically hosing down the homeless?

“You people?” In D.C.? In 2015? Sure, Jan.

This man’s career woulda been over in five seconds.

The firemen’s careers woulda been over in five seconds.

The police wouldn’t be standing by eating food on the job while supervising, what?

Does.

Do the writers remember how police procedurals work?

Do….

Do the writers not care about the casefiles anymore? Well, yes; but… do they not care… at all?

Guys, if I read this in a fanfic I’d have already skipped to the end, skimmed through the last paragraph, and closed the tab.

Solomon Grundy or the avenging Angel of Death or the Homeless Havoc Haver got off a dumpster… truck… and.

I’m not taking any of this seriously.

If the MSR is really good, I’m going to save all my snark for the plot.

It’s a stinky one already.

THE POLITICIAN GUY STARTS SCREAMING, THE BAD GUY STOMPS IN, RIPS HIS ARMS OFF, AND THAT KILLS THE POLITICIAN GUY?? RIPPING HIS ARMS OFF???? REALLY???

And no, he didn’t rip him in half-- he ripped his arms off.

All the homeless people zipped up their tents knowing the dead garbage... thing was coming-- so, do they have protection from it, or are they afraid of it?

Also, why did that soda can crunch up before the garbage truck even arrived? A visual that the Garbage Gargantuan was coming? …Before he actually, physically arrived? Even though he apparently can’t manipulate matter in that way himself? Or hasn’t shown himself to do so, yet?

It’s all kinda… shoddy.

“Sir, are you there?” said the most unconcerned voice on the other end of his discarded phone. …You couldn’t give me… something?

Wait, the garbage truck dropped him off, drove off, then had to drive back, I guess, to pick him up mere minutes later. Less than five. Less than three, even.

That makes no sense.

Here they cooooooooooooooooooooome….

Oh, that’s where these outfits came from. This episode.

Scully still has her middle-aged wine mom low-cut, very unprofessional-- and your girl knew how to be hot and professional back in the day. (I’m not even saying she has to be prudish, I’m saying why that shirt? Leaving it unbuttoned would work for a softer blouse, but hers has stiffer fabric, which makes the shirt bunch weirdly. You can see it particularly in the uneven collar and wrinkled lapels:)

Wait, what’s that weird, discolored stripe on Mulder’s left chest? It’s not a shadow from the tie, I don’t think. Is it a wet patch? A thinning patch of fabric?

Also, yes, this episode is a rip-off of Arcadia, who cares.

“Well, it looks like this person was born with no footprints. …Which is impossible, by the way.” Yes, Mulder, the team knows, THEY ASKED YOU ON THIS CASE. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the cuts didn’t hold too long or end awkwardly. Whoever was in the editing room really hampered the already questionable quality of their material.

Scully’s voice isn’t as “smoker” anymore.

WAIT, WAIT, HOLD UP. NONONONONONONONONO.

Mulder just looks out a window and sees a MURAL of the KILLER??????????

WHAT, DID THE HOMELESS POOL THEIR POCKET CHANGE, BUY PROFESSIONAL GRADE ART SUPPLIES, AND PUT GARBAGE GARY UP ON A BILLBOARD?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

MULDER AND HIS HOMELESS ART, TAKE TWO, I GUESS.

Maybe it was a local artist who heard the homeless stories and put it up, but....

Wait.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Scully has Bill’s name. In her phone. As William.

As.

William.

AS.

WILLIAM.

That was purely to tease the fans because there’s no way Bill goes by William.

Scully doesn’t even call Bill ‘William.’

Wait.

Those aren’t Scully’s nails.

Did the hand model casting department even try.

I WAS RIGHT, oh, look, it changed due to Scully’s ~trauma~, I guess.

The writers and cinematographers and directors didn’t even try.

Why would Scully have Bill in her phone as ‘William Scully, Jr.’ and not Bill? He’s Bill to her, not ‘William Scully, Jr.’ the 2nd, ™.

She didn't: it was a ~ trauma mirage~.

And a badly done one at that.

The writers tried to have a little “oh, look, it’s William!” moment, but the caller layouts are completely different. 'William' is front-and-center whereas the 'William' in 'William Scully Jr.' is shoved off to the left.

They should have done an extreme zoom-in on the ‘William’ part of ‘William Scully, Jr.’, then a snap over to Scully, then a snap back showing Bill's full name. It would get the point across without being nefariously baity.

(Note from the future: This makes even less sense in retrospect.)

Shoddy scene splicing, what’s new?

Bill was in Germany, huh. Guess he’s still in the military.

WAIT.

Maggie, who is in Maryland, next to D.C., had BILL listed as her emergency contact. (Note from the future: Not even that, it's worse.)

Who was supposed to be in Germany.

Instead of her daughter who is in D.C.

~~~~~~Tensions~~~~~~ I see.

Mulder immediately notices the slight change in Scully's voice and intuits Something’s Wrong. Good, good. The bare minimum, but good.

Wait, the EMTs found Bill's number on Maggie, or…?

So, did Maggie not have anyone listed as her emergency contact? ...And the writers want us to think Scully would stand for that in case of an emergency??

Well... that could be a valuable character beat, we’ll see.

Mulder telling Scully to immediately go and her “Yeah”ing and going is a good beat, too. They’re acting more like themselves... they’re acting like a 50-something version of themselves, at least; it’s good.

Don’t ruin this for me, writers. Don’t do it.

Scully’s gone and DID NO ONE THINK TO CHECK THE SECURITY TAPES??? NO ONE’S DONE THAT, YET????? NO ONE EVEN BOTHERED TO LOOK FOR A SECURITY CAMERA???

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

(WHY are we down but looking up into Scully’s face with really weird jumpcuts as she clops out of the building????

WHAT IS THIS.

This is not displaying her anxiety. It’s portraying impending madness.

THERE ARE FOUR. FOUR. MOUNTED SECURITY CAMERAS.

Mulder’s gauging the perpetrator's height based off of basketball players; but is this supposed to be a "heehee, haha, that's weirdo Mulder for ya" bit? Because his method is just... sensible and smart. (The other investigator has a split-second “what’s up with this dude?” expression, but that wouldn’t fit here because what Mulder did was, dare I say, normal.)

None of this is offensive, and it’s not drumming up real anger, so. That’s a win, I guess.

That street art was put up… this morning? THIS? Morning? How did someone scale and paint and get it all done before Mulder and Scully arrived?

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatever. Probably supernatural, anyway.

Mulder stepped in gum, then had the brilliant idea to preserve it as evidence. Smart.

Scully’s at the hospital.

Maggie’s in the hospital, alone. Ah, man.

This scene’s shot really well thus far. It has the right balance of music, the right balance of silence, the right balance of camera cuts.

And it’s immediately ruined.

WHEN MAGGIE GAINED CONSCIOUSNESS, SHE REPEATEDLY ASKED FOR "SOMEONE NAMED CHARLIE" AND NOT HER OWN DAUGHTER WHO LIVES IN D.C.

THIS ISN’T MAGGIE, WHAT.

There had better be a real-- and THOROUGH-- explanation for any of this. Maggie LOVED her little Dana and her daughter Melissa and Bill. But here we’re to assume Charlie has supplanted Melissa as the outcast or Dana as the favorite???

Really.

(Note from the future: Nope. It might be worse, though.)

To me, Dana was her "favorite"-- her "baby girl"-- all these years. The two always drew comfort and strength from each other, growing closer when Captain Scully passed and the other Scullys drifted away or died off.

But now Maggie wants Charlie. To what, right a wrong???

Scully has been shoved into this new reality of her mom not listing her as an emergency contact and only asking for Charlie-- NOT FOR HER, FOR CHARLIE-- and perhaps having suffered from health complications for a while now without filling her medical doctor daughter in on the details.

It’s so. Cruel.

“They’re estranged.”

CHARLIE’S ESTRANGED FROM MAGGIE.

WHAT.

WHERE DID THIS COME FROM.

I knew there were fandom speculations that Charlie was estranged, but I never knew it had confirmation in canon (well, the Revival canon.)

SO.

All this time, Charlie didn’t have a problem with his father-- since Bill is Captain Scully’s carbon copy and Charlie always called or communicated through him-- but with his mother.

What’s Maggie ever done? Honestly, what’s Maggie ever done for this to be her ending? What in canon pointed to estrangement or secrets from her children or whathaveyou?

If anything, this is Tena Mulder 2.0: estrangement from her son, asking for him to come before her death, keeping a health complication secret, dying without providing closure. But that’s not Maggie’s character and never has been.

I don’t understand this, Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong. At what point did you think this was the right decision to make for this character??

I can pick up what the writers are putting down-- no one truly knows another person, even if they think they do, etc.-- the FLAW with that logic is, we know enough about a person to notice if they're acting differently or out-of-character. And Maggie has always been a flamingly consistent person: she can’t hide her feelings and doesn’t feel shame in expressing them, she’s terrible at keeping secrets, and she’s torn apart if excluded from her loved ones’ personal lives. These traits have consistently remained the foundation of her persona. Changing them now-- so suddenly and completely-- is poor if not lazy or "hack" writing.

My fury is not solely because I like Maggie and want her to have a happy ending but because that’s not Maggie-- never has been-- and Maggie Scully would never act the way this Maggie has.

Regarding Charlie, he was never portrayed as “separate than” the Scully clan-- that was Melissa-- just always busy on military tour or whatever he was doing. He kept in contact with Bill, he let his sister babysit in Home (heh, Home Again, GET IT), and he sent presents to the family through Bill in A Christmas Carol. Maggie never seemed perturbed or disturbed or saddened or emotional when hearing his name or talking about him; and she would have been if there were something amiss.

“She, she didn’t ask for me, or for Bill, or for her grandchildren?”

The implication here is that Bill has children and Charlie doesn’t-- if Charlie had children, Scully would have assumed Maggie were trying to get in contact with his kids-- her grandchildren-- by calling him. Scully doesn’t say “all her grandchildren” or “her other grandchildren.” Nope.

So, Charlie’s not a dad, and Bill has more than one kid.

I do understand he was written as the lone guy with a wife (while Bill had a wife and kids) in Beyond the Sea, but times and lore have changed; and I’m disappointed Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong didn’t update their memory, too.

In a deleted script, Charlie was also, supposedly, single. And yes, that script was never produced, but I find it interesting that he and Melissa were kind of the “unattached” Scully kids, with Melissa being considered the black sheep and Charlie being considered largely absent.

“Hey, Mom. I’m here. I’ve been where you are. I know Ahab is there. And Melissa.” Um, okay. Something feels off about this, but I can’t pinpoint what.

“And Mom. I’m here.” That part can stay, wow it kinda got to me. Okay, Revival, you got something out of me. Huh. Don’t butcher this.

(‘Kay, so, I thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink the problem I had with the first statement was that it was a little clunky, a little “remider”y. But it bridges the gap between redundant and old X-Files dialogue, sooooooooooooooooooooo. I’m not sure how to sort it.)

“Bill, Jr.’s” (guess he’s forever called ‘Junior’, huh… that’s kinda hilarious, but also out of character) “here. And William.” Her crying over William a little, realizing she talked about him voluntarily for the first time, is also a nice touch. “And Charlie. Charlie’s here.”

Too bad I’m not invested in Maggie because… welp. Review criticisms above.

“Please, Mom, don’t go home yet. I need you.”

I do wonder why this is called Home Again-- I get it, it’s a wink-and-nod to M and W’s Home title, but the material doesn’t reaaaally sync. Unless, of course, Maggie’s real proud of “her boys”, and is tossing aside Scully’s importance aside because she never had children.... Well.

…Oh, my word, the two politiciany people on the scene are so highschool play. Stop, please. “Are you threatening me?”/”I’ve been threatening you for six months.”/”Well stop.” UGH.

Lady calls police-politician-whoever a name and Mulder jokes, “You married?” and mumbles a little as the lady stumbles over her words explaining…. That’s David-humor, not Mulder-humor.

Mulder having to become the voice of the homeless while hashing out this not-married couples’ couple banter aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand. Snore.

This is like a little Professor Layton sideplot where you can’t pass down the alley you need to get to if you don’t solve a random villager’s puzzle. Groovy.

Random homeless guy says “Band aid nose man” to Mulder and walks off. That’s a clue if I’ve ever been beaten upside the head with one.

Oh, look, the mural’s gone. Groovy.

WHY are we getting a flashback to Scully’s bedside from One Breath? I get it, I do, nostalgia, etc. etc. HOWEVER, I think this scene would have been better served if we heard Mulder’s voice instead of seen his hand because, I don’t know, Scully was in a coma and didn’t see this happening, I don’t think. Unless she had a bird’s eye view above her body and just hovered there for days, I guess.

Maggie has a new coin necklace, ooooooh, the woman without secrets had secrets, ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh. Ugh.

Bill called, and Scully finally called him ‘Bill.’

Bill needing to know if Maggie will die before he gets there and demanding expertise from Scully IS a Bill thing to do-- he’s probably not meaning to inflict more trauma on his sister, but he’s never paid attention to what does traumatize her. Nice, nice.

Maggie wanted to remain on life support, nice, nice, that fits with her One Breath experience and Catholic values, good.

That was a REALLY good scene, I will admit. Just having Scully watch someone else’s body be packed up for the morgue while Bill continually leeches answers from her on the other line, I wish that’s how the One Breath flashback had unfolded, too.

OH, it was a band aid, not gum, that stuck to Mulder’s shoe.

Why does the undead man need to wear a band aid on his nose.

Deadman’s neither dead nor undead. ‘Kay.

Scully’s being hyper-vigilant and boundary crossing into "doctor mode" while keeping an eye on her mom. Bored, trying to distract herself with work, nice, nice.

MAGGIE MADE A NEW DIRECTIVE WITHOUT TELLING SCULLY ABOUT IT. WHAT IS THIS, PAYBACK FOR WHAT HER DAUGHTER DID?????? But if this is payback to Scully, why is she ALSO punishing Bill??? Because Bill is being inadvertently punished: he was left in the dark, too, and only called incidentally. And even if that's the case, Scully's punishment is still WORSE. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Because of William???

Sorry, that’s not a Maggie thing to do. She mended fences between her husband and youngest daughter, embraced her despite the chaos of her life, even forgave her after the whole cancer debacle (being kept in the dark then forced into secrecy without the healthy outlet of discussion.)

MAGGIE’S JUST NOT VINDICTIVE, SHE’S NOT. WHY IS SHE NOW????????????????????????????????????????????????

Dudes are collecting the homeless paintings and selling them.

So the painting wasn’t---

OKAY, WAIT.

The mural (plural?) isn't supernatural.

Despite being completely finished and all materials being cleared away before Mulder appeared on the crime scene.

Despite two arthouse dealers swiping it before Mulder even walked away from the crime scene.

Despite them swiping it (hauling a ladder over, climbing it, unpinning the painting or whatever, climbing down, and scooting off) within minutes of Mulder seeing it from the window, checking the cameras, and going out to investigate.

With police swarming everywhere. After Mulder let the head of the team know he wanted to investigate the mural.

What.

Scully’s still dealing with this alone, ‘kay.

Not against that, either, because Mulder is busy and that is a thing he would do, even in his 50s. It’s how he operates. It’s how Scully expects him to operate. It’s how he operated when his own mother was on her deathbed (and after.) So, nice.

Maggie’s gonna get extubated.

The William screen thing keeps happening. Wish it WOULDN’T. At least do a zoom-in or weird camera angle then, not when Scully’s weirdly stumbling down the stairs.

Mulder’s here. That’s nice. Another thumbs up from me.

THIS is how you do character development: both characters acted on their modus operandi, but Mulder has grown enough to set aside time for Scully, to be there for her and help her. This isn’t after her mother’s death or after tragedy or after the truth has slipped through his fingers, this is during the long wait. Mulder’s still himself, but he’s also grown, too; and that growth hasn’t been shoved in our faces or jumped from A to B without proper explanation. Here, we get to see him make the choice and grow as a person. Further, Scully’s reaction lets us know this is NEW for her partner; and that she’s immensely grateful and touched to know he won’t leave her to do this alone.

THAT’s how it’s done.

Case stuff, who cares.

Mulder can’t stay. Scully’s going through it, doesn’t understand why her mother’s done what she’s done. Even Mulder’s surprised.

Disclaimer: this isn't The X-Files of old. These scenes may be good-- excellently acted, not too shabbily written-- but Mulder and Scully still don’t feel like Mulder or Scully. The characters (when not poorly written or wildly butchered) don’t even come close to the essence of IWTB, at times: as badly as that movie fell apart, at least Mulder and Scully retained a spark of their original selves. Here? DD and GA act as twins or doppelgangers. They’re not Mulder and Scully, they’re Clone!Mulder and Clone!Scully who exist separately from the juvenile nature of the cases they investigate, who exist only to sit near each other and talk over their past, and whose very existence and nature are determined by the writing flavor of the week. There’s no cohesion and no point to the plots-- there’s only a hint of Mulder and Scully, and, hopefully, a quiet second for the characters to absorb. And that’s not even a guarantee, anymore.

Mulder following after Scully and gently pulling her back when Maggie needs to be extubated-- good character moment. Scully not caring about the bigger questions right now-- also a good character moment.

The unfortunate darting on Scully’s top makes it look like she’s really cold in that hospital. (What an oddly constructed shirt, anyway. …Kinda just want to stare, marveling that it’s both: stiff and silkyish, has buttons and doesn’t, and isn’t naturally low-cut but is? ...I don’t miss 2015's fashion.)

A Home music number as someone gets murdered? Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Buuuuut why the lady and not the politician-police-guy? What? Why?

ANOTHER bit of character growth: not only does Mulder show up, but he stays. Ding, ding, ding! Good writer, that’s a good writer!

Though this all washes over and away because it’s in service of a Not-Maggie, so. Consider my investment shot.

Here are the lines I always read in gif sets:

“Back in the day, didn’t we ever come across the ability to just… wish someone back to life?”

“I invented it. When you were back in the hospital. Like this.”

“You’re a dark wizard, Mulder.”

See, those lines coulda been cheesy; but they were tempered and calmly handled. (Good writers, good writers, who’s a good writer!)

“What else is new?” Mulder adds, and laughs at his own joke. Self-deprecation and amusement in that one. And Scully is cheered up a little by it, too. Thumbs up, DD and GA.

Charlie called. Scully begging Charlie to “do what I can’t do” caught Mulder’s attention, as it did mine. That’s an interesting dynamic that could have been explored: she said it quite flippantly; and that’s a VERY big “I’ve just held you back” tell.

Aww, well. A question for a better series, I suppose.

AND Scully thinks Maggie will come back if Charlie talks to their mom. WOW, okay, that’s a lot... and will never be explored again. Ah, well. Again, a better series.

Charlie sounds how I expected him to, huh.

OH, NOW Maggie wakes up.

They all think it’s a miracle and then Maggie thinks Mulder’s Charlie. That made me laugh, I’m sorry. …Or am I?

WAIT, she didn't, scratch that. It's worse.

Maggie came back to say, “My son… is named William, too.”

Um.

Uuuuuuuuuuum.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM.

She really woke up, recognized both of them, then ignored her daughter, grabbed onto Mulder, and commiserated with HIM about their sons named William. As if she related to all of Mulder’s hardships and gave Scully absolutely zero grace or mercy.

That’s cold.

AND SCULLY’S SO DEVASTATED because she woke up that morning not knowing her mother had effectively cut her out of her life. Because of the past. Because of William.

WAIT. Wait. wait WAIT.

None of this makes sense.

Scully has been seeing ‘William’ all day on her phone. At first, we the audience assume that’s her continual guilt.

It’s revealed Maggie has open wounds over ‘William’, as well.

Maggie wakes up only to utter “My son… is named William, too”, which suddenly introduces a supernatural element to the messages on Scully’s phone.

But the only time Scully’s gotten supernatural messages in the past is from MELISSA.

So did Melissa try to connect with Scully to prepare her for Maggie’s final message before Maggie woke up? Did Melissa do that ever since Maggie collapsed, from the very first phonecall Scully received?

And if that’s the case… did Melissa hang out with Maggie in that forest with Ahab, but try to make connections with her living sister to prepare her?

And if so………………….. That’s the worst possible way to do it, giving Scully new layers of guilt and depression from failing her mother and reliving the moment she failed her son.

That’s… that’s. Melissa levels of unawareness, but she’s supposed to be all-knowing or less… Melissa in the afterlife, right???? If this is even Melissa????

And if it wasn’t Melissa, WHAT WAS THIS ALL ABOUT?????

Maggie wanted Charlie, she wakes when he talks, she ignores Scully completely-- who’s been by her side since coming back from being on-the-run, supposedly-- and talks about WILLIAM with MULDER.

It’s all so tangled and confusing. And, just. Mean. So unbelievably mean-spirited. To come back from the brink not when your daughter begs you to but because your son called while keeping said daughter and your other son out of the loop-- Bill was called by chance, after all-- and never leave clearer answers or messages or love or anything....

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow.

Tena’s was the worst death, but this angers me just as much because they did this to Maggie.

Yep, she’s dead.

SHE NEVER SAID A WORD TO CHARLIE, EITHER.

Her estranged son finally called and she died without speaking a word to him, or looking around for his voice, or anything.

Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow I’m mad.

At least the episode’s not pretending to be a casefile.

UH OH, here comes the (can’t remember the name, help me out) morgue bed. Scully’s panicking over it, Mulder has to go wrangle her (gently) AND THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE FELT THE ESSENCE OF SCULLY other than a smirk or a smile. THAT’s Scully-- the fire, the fury, the indignation.

“Margaret” is what Mulder calls Maggie. Can’t remember if that’s canonical, either. Oh, wait, he called her “Mrs. Scully” in the past. Eh, it makes sense he changed it to Margaret.

Wait, does that mean “Maggie” was her husband’s endearment, and everyone else called her “Margaret?” The “Scully” and “Dana” nicknaming duality got a little more layered. If, if, if.

Scully’s beating herself up about William, but at least she says, “That we gave away” which means she considers Mulder a part of herself and her decision (and that he’s drilled that truth into her head until it stuck.)

“Why did she say that?” Because the script told her actress to do so. “Why did she have to say that?” I know, cruel, isn’t it?

Not getting Mulder from this scene, either. David can act, but he’s tooooooooooo… muted, here. Mulder would have given a little more.

The last frame hanging on his face is okay, though. Still too… muted.

Only one type of spray paint on crime scene evidence, one search on Scully’s part, next clue found in three seconds. Because that’s how life works.

Scully still struggling with her mother’s death, not clued in. Mulder whistling after leaving the shop, really subtle, but a fine character tidbit.

SCULLY JUST DROPKICKED THE--

NO.

THAT’S NOT HOW PHYSICS WORK.

SCULLY’S LITTLE TWIG ARMS AND LEG AREN'T TAKING ANYONE DOWN-- LET ALONE A GROWN MAN-- WITH A TEENY TWIST-FLIP-KICK MANEUVER, ON STILTS.

WHAT. I thought that scene happened in the computer simulation whatever episode. WHATWHATWHATWHATWHAT.

I can hear 90s David screaming about feminism from here.

The case continues to descend into “who cares?"ville.

The kid gets away because Mulder doesn’t do stairs anymore. And though we're all with Mulder in spirit, this is his job.

“Mulder, back in the day I used to do ‘stairs’ and in three-inch heels.” ‘Kay, Barbie. But Ken didn’t.

“Back in the day…. Scully, back in the day is ‘now.’” …..

………..

……………

……………….

What.

What did that dialogue have to do with the kid getting away and Mulder not chasing him? If “back in the day is now”, then Mulder would have done stairs and caught the kid.

“Back in the day is now” doesn’t make sense even if you two flash your lights over it.

OH, LOOK, THE FLASHLIGHTS ARE CROSSING AGAIN, GET IT.

We’re, like, four episodes in and Mulder and Scully are still slowly getting back in the groove of The X-Files.

OH, LOOK, THE CAMERA SHOT IS HOLDING ON THE FLASHLIGHTS MAKING AN X, DID YOU NOTICE IT YET???? Yes, yes we did.

WHAT WAS THAT. A rubber mask and suit popped out, hit the wall in front of them, and fell back into the shadows????

That was as convincing as the rabbit fur puppets mauling Gillian’s face.

Hurry it up, I don’t care about the case.

Mulder doesn’t do stairs but can kick the door in with one try in his tight, tight Patriarchy Pants.

I can hear 90s David screaming about feminism from here.

Grotesque clay masks, got it. Okay. All right. I’m bored.

A new character, the garbage man, is going on about homeless being treated like trash. ‘Kay.

He’s the artist? What. Doesn’t... what. He wouldn’t have time to put up the art after the murder but before--

Forget it.

Oh, it wasn’t him. They were… supernatural? What.

THIS TRASH GUY MADE A TULPA OUT OF TRASH.

HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF MY TRASH BABY TULPA EPISODE. HOW DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE YOU.

I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS TRASH RIPPING OFF MY TRASH.

GET OUTTA HERE.

ACTUALLY GET OUTTA HERE. GO ON, SHOO. BEAT IT. SCRAM. GET LOST.

AND NOW THEY’RE SAYING 'TULPA' WAS A MISTRANSLATION????? OH, THAT’S RICH. SO WHAT HAPPENED IN ARCADIA WASN’T A TULPA, BUT THIS ONE MIGHT BE.

THAT’S REAL CUTE.

A realized Tibetan thought form would never harm someone or kill.

But what if… hang on with me a second… what if it already did?

This guy willed it, so it happened.

This is giving Scully an idea. Guess she’s gonna manifest Maggie from the dead. Or manifest William from the clouds, I suppose. Or manifest herself a better wig, I reckon.

WHAT IN THE EXISTENCE FLASHBACKS IS THIS. HOW IS SCULLY COMPARING HER SON’S BIRTH TO WILLING A MONSTER INTO EXISTENCE?????? I, I, WHAT. NO. NO, DON’T DO THIS. THIS IS BAD, THIS IS VERY NOT GOOD.

“He came to me,” the guy explains, and Scully now thinks William came to her???

Is… is this a revelation or a mental breakdown????????

“But in the end, he told me what he wanted to be.”

ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW??? IMPLYING THAT WILLIAM WANTED TO BE PUT UP FOR ADOPTION-- SHOWING HIM CRYING IN S9-- IN ORDER TO GIVE SCULLY SOME CLOSURE ON THAT MATTER AFTER HER MOTHER’S RECENT DEATH???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

NO ONE TOLD ME THIS. NO ONE WARNED ME.

THE AUDACITY OF THE WRITERS.

SHAME, ACTUAL SHAME, ON THEM.

…I will take all this back if the script does, but WHAT IN THE WORLD. THIS IS INSANE.

Never have I EVER seen Scully so broken mentally. Wow. Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong love her character? I’d think they view her as the band aid on their shoe. Wow.

(Note from the future: They don't take back any of this implication, only gaslight us into believing Scully was thinking a totally other, very normal thing about "responsibility." Which is utter doodoo.)

“All we do, is hold the pencil. All we do, is hold the clay. I think there must be spirits or souls--” GET OUT OF HERE WITH THAT FIELD WHERE I DIED GARBAGE. GET. OUT. YOU BUTCHERED THAT EPISODE THROUGH YOUR OWN SHEER INCOMPETENCE, YOU CAN’T TRY TO REWRITE IT NOW THROUGH ANOTHER LENS TO MAKE US SWALLOW YOUR POISON LIKE PUNCH.

GET.

OUT.

OF.

HERE.

“And if you think so hard, if you want them real bad, they’ll come to you.”

Stunning.

A thought experiment that would be interesting to tap into when explaining the *insert words* of The Field Where I Died’s plot, but is ABSOLUTELY. IRRESPONSIBLY. IDIOTIC. here in light of the sheer amount of trauma you are putting Scully through, right this second.

Full disclosure: I don’t care how many bad things are done to the characters-- I really don’t-- IF those experiences give weight or add to their stories or history. THIS, HOWEVER, DOES NOT.

I’M FURIOUS. I’M SO FURIOUS I MIGHT TEAR UP.

HOW DARE YOU INSERT EXISTENCE FLASHBACKS TO--

i’m done. let’s just move on.

I’m struck anew with how these characters aren’t Mulder and Scully-- not even S9 Scully-- when both scenes are positioned back-to-back.

I just knew this episode would be butchered, but never would I ever….

By the way, to catch us back up to speed, Scully’s having this… revelation while a garbage man rambles about the MURDERING THOUGHT FORM he dreamt into being.

Also, the cuts and flashbacks A. reinforce my disdain of this series, B. are cheesy and corny, and C. are ham-fisted and clunky. You know how it should have been done? Without the flashbacks. Not one soul who is watching this episode needs to be hand-held through Scully’s memories, especially ones we’ve already seen mere minutes ago.

Scully’s clutching her cross after remembering her mom’s words, ‘kay.

I LAUGHED AGAIN.

Mulder’s been listening to this guy and looks over and does a doubletake because Scully’s frozen LIKE THIS:

Mental. Health.

Also, considering what happens to Jackson’s character later on… this episode is kind of implying Scully was so terrified by the constant tragedy in her life that she willed a tulpa-alien-god baby into existence (or WOULD have, if given the opportunity, which is worse) for her own selfish reasons, or for the world’s protection; then yeeted it to the adoption agency, anyway. (Note from the future: This implication doesn't make broad canonical sense, and is kinda reverted, later, but:) ...Which plugs dangerously well into her disavowal of William in My Struggle IV. Which makes me hate Home Again even more.

(Also also, that turns Scully into Arcadia's Gogolak. Stellar writing.)

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh, have to break this down.

If Scully thought William into existence, he wouldn’t be a normal baby in S8. Which he was. He also wouldn’t be a magic baby with independent will in S9 (who is closer to the alien DNA kids in Founder’s Mutation that cut themselves out of their moms to survive, but ANYWAY.) He’d be a thought form controlled by one impulse. A tulpa. Or-- let’s extrapolate-- a Supersoldier like Billy Miles. Which he wasn’t.

If Scully is comparing herself to the Syndicate that brought beings into a tormented existence for their own ends (or to the garbage guy’s intent) and is… freed? by that thought…. She needs help-- not “go to therapy, babe”, no, actual, real, extensive help outside of the FBI and away from work, period, for awhile. That’s so incredibly unbalanced it’s… kinda scary.

Also, again, if Scully willed Jackson into Existence-- say, by touching the alien spaceship?-- the timeline wouldn’t match her late S7 pregnancy-- but what else is new-- but would condemn her for Jackson’s later erratic actions, anyway.

And therefore, Scully becoming pregnant in My Struggle IV would have to be an actual, literal miracle because she didn’t taint it with a thought-form or alien DNA or any other thing this episode or Founder’s Mutation or the other Struggles are suggesting.

Any of these possibilities are foul. If William exists, he’d have to be a normal baby (as he was until the writers changed him) or it would crumble the very meaning of his birth and the leadup to it from Requiem to Existence.

It. just. doesn’t. make. sense. and. continues. to. be. cruel.

Scully now thinks she’s responsible for “making the problem” and Mulder’s like “huH” and “UHOH” at the same time.

Okay, let’s say M+W or M or W take the aforementioned implication back: this scene is utterly and unfathomably cruel, a cherry on top of the other cruelty they put Scully through this episode.

I’m gonna say it: at least Chris Carter gave William to Scully.

“You’re just as bad as the people that you hate,” a.k.a. "You did a bad thing by playing god and creating life only to abandon it."

Thanks M+W, I really needed “Scully comparing herself to the Consortium” on my list of Unexpected Things to Hate, that was nice.

NOW the tulpa’s going after the politician-policeman. Not before killing the woman who wanted the homeless on the streets if they preferred, but after, now that he's moving them into a nicer facility.

Oh, the guy’s soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo evil because one of the homeless people's dog’s temporarily at an animal shelter. Well, yeah it was kinda evil to separate them (temporarily.) Had to make politician-police dude eviler, I guess.

He smells something bad, oh, nooooooooooo…………….

Guys, gonna be honest. How’s this politician-police-whoever guy bad? He’s callous, but he’s moving the unhoused into housing where they can, hopefully, have better access to resources to get back on their feet.

…What’s the moral here? That no one treats them like people, therefore the tulpa or thought form will kill indiscriminately? Even if the homeless might be benefiting? That the garbage man just didn’t like HOW policeman-politician-whoever was operating, so thought up a tulpa to kill him and the others?

Slow clap for the stupidest morality tale I’ve seen in a bit.

I. just. Can the writers craft an episode where the homeless are actually being victimized?

Oh, wait, the 90s already did that. Huh.

Poli-man’s about to be murdered. Mulder and Scully arrive and gently jaunt down the hall towards his screams. That’s cute.

They were literally FOUR. SECONDS. too late. Then don’t express a sense of remorse or whatever that they were. And this guy isn’t villain- enough to be given zero remorse, c’mon, save that for the big 'uns.

Tulpa’s vanishing instead of walking away, I guess.

Scully’s too calm for acknowledging they just heard politician-policeman die. He was screaming for help and you two didn’t speed up. 100% they wouldn’t be able to pass the FBI field tests. A witness-victim-whatever just died because they were FOUR SECONDS late, that shouldn't have happened.

The gymnastics of this plot, summed up:

Monster always leaves band aids behind, I guess.

Garbage man made the band aid sculpture’s face into a smiley so it's gone forever, I GUESS.

Wait, LAKE SCENE??

THAT’S IT???

THIS IS IT??????????????????????

“I know now why Mom asked for Charlie even if he was out of her life.” OH, THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD and not A. “she’s a mom, so she loved and missed him” or B. “she created him so he mattered.” Because neither of those answers explains what she did and didn’t do or say to the two children that stuck by her.

*sharpens harpoon*

*THUNK*

I KNEW IT.

SHE WANTED TO KNOW BEFORE SHE LEFT THAT HE’D BE OKAY.

Then WHY did she ignore Charlie on the phone and TALK TO MULDER while laying on another layer of guilt about William WITH HER DAUGHTER, who'd been pleading for Maggie to come back to her, RIGHT THERE???

Just because Maggie “gave birth to him” doesn’t mean anything.

Like.

Guys.

Of course she wants to know her son’s okay, of course. She raised him, she loved him, etc.

But. But but but.

If she’s the loving mother we all knew from the OG series that SUDDENLY took a dive into secrecy and distrust and guilt-tripping, there would have been signs. Scully missed all of them, didn’t even know her mom had her living will signed by other veteran sailors (AND WHO ARE THEY?), doesn't even know what the quarter lore is.

You can’t have Maggie want to know her baby’s okay while actively neglecting and ignoring the others. You can’t.

*sharpens second, third, and fourth harpoon*

“She made him. He’s her responsibility.”

*THUNKKITY THUNK THUNK*

OH. MY. WORD.

THIS IS SO TWISTED.

Scully is now being guilted for giving up William, AGAIN, because she needs to "take responsibility" for him.

Canonically, she gave him up because she was taking responsibility for him-- to protect him, to take care of him.

And whether that decision was justified or not-- it wasn’t-- S9 Scully and IWTB Scully and pre-this-episode Scully and Mulder made the best they could of that decision for their son’s sake.

A.k.a. Responsibility.

HOW DOES THAT TRANFSER ONTO MAGGIE? What responsibility does she have to take?? Perhaps she drove Charlie away?? But none of her behavior thus far would have driven him away.

So, not only has Maggie’s character been harpooned on her deathbed, but her past off-screen behavior must also be harpooned in order to justify that "responsibility" line: a.k.a., she must have been a horrible person to Charlie, and must want to take responsibility for that action now.

Because “responsibility” doesn’t fit IF Charlie walked away of his own accord for his own reasons, separate from his mother’s actions or behavior.

Also, “responsibility” doesn’t fit PERIOD with either scenario: Scully already took responsibility for William when she sent him away (as stupidly as that decision was written, it wasn’t written for any other pretense) but Maggie DIDN’T take “responsibility” because she didn’t even apologize or question or talk to or whatever with Charlie. She did it WITH MULDER, and even THEN she was urging HIM to take responsibility of William, if anything.

Know what’s worse? They’re saying all the pain Scully is going through (and put Mulder and her family through) is because she hasn’t taken responsibility for William, and that she needs to go find him and make it right. IGNORING THE FACT THAT IT WAS REVIVAL MULDER, NOT SCULLY, WHO PUT WILLIAM BEHIND HIM. IF ANYTHING, IT WAS SCULLY WHO TOOK RESPONSIBILITY ALL THESE YEARS.

Which means Scully is culpable for everyone’s emotions and pain and trauma because she gave her son away for his safety. AND I DON’T EVEN AGREE WITH HER DECISION-- there’s no way she would have given William up, and most certainly not that way-- BUT YOU WRITE SCULLY INTO AN IMPOSSIBLE SITUATION, THEN PUNISH AND REVICTIMIZE HER AT THE HANDS OF HER OWN MOTHER IN ORDER TO "OWN UP" TO "RESPONSIBILITY."

I’m... pretty mad.

I should be furious, really, because this does unfathomable damage to… everyone. But My Struggle I's and Founder’s Mutation's brain rot runs deeper-- by comparison this is a 0.5 to its -1,000,000.

At least we know what the coin necklace date was supposed to mean: the date Charlie walked out of Maggie’s life. “Responsibility” and all that garbage.

“She wanted us to be responsible…. To make sure William’s okay, even if we can’t see him.” That is NOT what Maggie said, and that is NOT what she meant. “My son… is named William, too” was a commiserating statement spoken to MULDER, indicating he, like her, suffered from an estrangement. And who would be the enforcer or creator of that estrangement? The same woman who broke up with Mulder over depression (before he had a meltdown or breakdown, despite knowing his history of suicidal tendencies.)

The Revival does Scully (and her mother… and Mulder…) so dirty it’s. Ugh.

Can someone knock Not-Maggie's ashes over onto the ground or something? That way she can join her brethren, the dirt.

Let’s be honest, this Home Again should have been further down the season. ‘Cuz if Babylon’s next… guess they didn’t look for William.

Scully’s smoker voice makes its first appearance, ugh. Code broken: GA uses smoker voice when Scully is feeling teary or depressed.

UGH.

“...To keep him safe. That it was for his own good to put him up for adoption. But I can’t help but think of him, Fox.” The requires the special 'what', *ahem*: WAHT.

“I believe you will find all of your answers--” ALL. OF. YOUR. ANSWERS?

“And I will be there when you do.” WHEN YOU DO?! What is she, an elementary school teacher holding Mulder's hand while he explores around the gymnasium??????????????? Where’s the Scully who insisted this was her quest, too???? ...wwwwwWHAT.

This is. This is. Guys. Why.

“But my mysteries… I’ll never have answered.”

Um. Scully can’t figure out how to find William?

She can’t, just, go back to the agency and offer to connect with her son? 2012’s over-- the world might end, still, but CSM’s dead (as far as she knows), APPARENTLY there are no aliens or Supersoldiers, and no one’s cared about her and Mulder getting back on the files.... Where is THIS coming from???? Just ring up the agency, Scully!

UUUUUUUUUG.

“...If he’s ever been afraid, and wishes I were there. Does he doubt himself, because we left him?”

While Scully continues to speak, I must add: Mulder looks like a browbeaten 50s housewife. I love watching DD’s acting as much as GA’s, but David’s giving nothing here. I KNOW it’s a direction issue because he’s been consistently this key the entire episode (except for the... comedy or “dark wizard” scene) so SOMEONE wants Mulder to be this way. But.

But it doesn’t line up with his character from the previous eps.

And the previous episodes don’t line up with each other.

And all the Revival eps. don't line up with IWTB.

Or S9.

Or canon.

Etc., etc.

“What… questions does he have of me? The same that I have of this quarter?” Um. I thought we concluded that was the date Charlie walked out.

Isn’t Scully the investigator, here? Maggie kept that quarter necklace secret, Maggie kept her health secret, and Maggie only wanted to talk to Charlie-- ergo, Charlie’s connected to the quarter necklace. And if it’s not his birthday, it’s the date he left. Ergo, voila.

“And I want to believe--” yeah, yeah, yeah, “--that we didn’t treat him like trash.”

This doesn’t match.

The writing treated him like trash because Scully was written to give him up for no reason. (Perhaps "like garbage" is a fun dig at CC's decision, but Scully ends up taking the damage for it.)

Scully herself didn’t treat William like trash-- she was trying to protect him.

In short: writers = trash; Scully = not trash. Scully’s decision = trash, Scully’s canonical reason = not trash.

Are we following canon now, writers? Have you caught up WITH YOUR OWN SHOW?

Mulder decides against talking, opting to pull her into a hug, instead.

Um.

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhere’s the reassurance, Mulder. You reassured her in Founder’s Mutation quite soundly, but not. Here. When she’s in crisis.

Groovy. Stellar. Ugh.

...WELP, that’s the end, I GUESS.

CONCLUSION

What. was. that.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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star-dust-shark · 5 months ago

Text

pjo incorrect quotes as things me and people I know have said on crack

Jason: these grapes are funky

Leo: these grapes are fucky

Leo: *drops sandwich, cries*

Nico: I will never forget the fact that Piper and I where sitting together with headphones on and she looked up only to see me playing air guitar and head banging to whats my age again

Solangelo: *kith*

Will: *walking away with a dorky grin*

Will: *almost gets hit by car*

Will: *gets home and screams into pillow for twenty minutes, then picks up diary and writes like five pages about Nico, then texts him for like an hour and a half and afterwards draydreams about him*

Will: hmm I think I might like Nico

Leo: imagine having sex and someone moans like a hentai girl lol

Percy: *moans* KyAAaaaAAHHHhhhhhh

Reyna: bro apologized like Colleen Ballinger

Reyna: like fuck off I hope you die

Percy: tOxiC GosSiP tRaiN

Jason: not a groomer

Leo: *hair flip* just a loser

Piper: Im horny- I mean horngry- I mean- *cries*

Nico: mentally I am a fifty year old man

Will: yeah totally not obvious mister motley crue

Leo: jason

Leo: I have something to tell you

Jason: yeah?

Leo: Im gay

Jason: WHAT

Jason: NO WAY THATS CRAZY

Annabeth: my wrist hurts

Percy: emooooooooooo

Annabeth: I literally sprained it wtf

Hazel: no you cant commit mass genocide Nico

Nico: its pride month this is homophobic

Reyna: okay how about we play the quiet game

Reyna: whoever wins gets my two dollars

Reyna: three, two, one, ghost town

Frank:

Leo:

Percy:

Annabeth:

Jason:

Nico:

Leo: *face red, fists clenched, rocking back and forth*

Everyone: *concerned looks*

Leo: I cant- IM A BITCH IM A BOSS IM A BITCH AND A BOSS AND I SHINE LIKE GLOSS

Piper: your moms hot

Jason: lol what she ugly asf

Will: im concerned with your eating habits, Nico

Nico:

Will: its very serious Im kinda scared

Nico:

Nico: womp womp

Jason: would you suck my dick if-

Percy: yes

Jason:

Jason: if there was poison in it and I would die if you didnt

Leo: ive learnt something interesting

Leo: my arm skin one day may be cut off and turned into a penis

Leo: therefore...

Leo: *bumps arm into Jason*

Leo: JESUS JASON STOP TOUCHING MY PENIS

Jason: WHAT

*talking on tumblr*

Hazel: wyd

Frank: jus on tumblr and talking to you

Hazel: lol nerd imagine

Hazel: *bats eyelashes* what does gyat mean

Frank: uhh It means generous young amazing t-

Leo: GORL YA ASS THEEK

Rachel: Im so single

Will: skill issue? L ratio? no rizz? no game? no bitches?

Percy: I havent taken my meds

Annabeth: oh no good gods

Percy: so that means

Percy: I will either try to kill myself orrrrr

Percy: like violently fuck someone

Jason: I volunteer

Jason: I volunteer as tribute

Nico: hey girl *winks* r u a racoon

Nico: bc Im trash

Nico: *bursts into tears*

Annabeth: *walks into bathroom, sees spider*

Annabeth: *yelps* oh

Annabeth: hello mister spider

Annabeth: youre not so bad

Spider: *moves*

Annabeth: FUCK NAH PERCY WERE MOVING PACK YO BAGS

Jason: *hits knee* oh fuck- my knee-

Leo: okay

Jason: *scared* ur gonna fuck my knee????

Thalia: I am now a tree a tree I am a tree is me

Nico: im actually kinda insecure about my knees weirdly enough

Will: aww bb :(

Will: well I think you uh

Will: ...have beautiful knees???

Nico: *jokingly* I can read your mind

Will: oh no

Will: oh shit

Will: thats not good

Nico: it cant be that bad

Will:

Nico: are these thoughts about me, per chance?

Will: WHAAAAT NOOO *hangs up*

Leo: daddy hands, twig nerd bod

Leo: im confused why can girls call their friends girlfriends but whenever I call Jason my boytoy twink malewife manwhore someone gets pissed

Hazel: yeah, this guys really annoying me

Frank: ugh im gonna fist him

Hazel: ...

Frank: what

Frank: like beat him up?

Hazel:

Percy: my friend thinks youre cute

Annabeth: what? who?

Percy: me

Percy: Im the friend

Percy: I think ur cute

Nico: so weird when someone comforts you

Nico: like why

Nico: just lemme be a moody emo brooding sad angsty depressed boy for a bit

Piper:

Leo:

Piper:

Leo:

Piper:

Leo: *in toad voice* BItCH i SaiD wHaT i sAiD iD rAthEr bE FaMoUs InsTeAd iD LeT aLL Of ThAt GeT To MY heAd I DonT cArE ILL pAinT tHe ToWn ReD

Nico: *crafting with scissors*

Percy: *walks in*

Percy: what are you doing

Nico: ...crafting?

Percy: oh okay I thought you where cutting yourself

Nico:

Nico: IM MAKING A HELLO KITTY ART PIECE

Leo: *glares*

Frank: *glares back*

Frank and Leo: *glaring at eachother*

Leo: omg I just felt sparks

Frank: DUDE STFU WTF

*sees gay porn*

Will: thats it im homophobic

Nico: so I wrote this song

Nico: *adjusts mic, positions guitar*

Nico: *deep breath*

Nico: *strums single chord* my whole family died

Nico: thank you, thank you

Nico: just realized the only physical contact Ive had in like a whole month was Leo dabbing me up

Jason: straights ask why theres no straight pride month but like

Jason: isnt there a toyota month or smth

Jason: id say that works

#funny #lol #meme #pjo #hoo #toa #tsats #nico di angelo #will solace #jason grace #percy jackson #annabeth chase #leo valdez #reyna avila ramirez arellano

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sirianasims · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 1

Humble Beginnings and Weirdly Colour-Coordinated Aliens

This is Alexandra Duchelli, or Alex. Welcome to this legacy challenge simlit story, where we try to experience as much as possible. Right, Alex?

“Awesome, legacies are so much fun! Big houses, amazing clothes, great adventures! I can’t wait!”

Uhm, Alex? You’re a founder. You don’t have any money, remember?

“Oh. Crap.”

Yup. So you better start earning some money so you can get a roof over your head as soon as possible.

“I don’t even have a toilet!”

There’s a bush.

“… Right, better get going.”

After Alex grumbles through the first chords, we try the city to see if we can get some tips.

Poor Alex isn’t having much luck, and mostly receives smug looks from stuck-up townies.

Giving up on the tips for now, Alex goes to the karaoke club to brush up on her singing skills as well. You can’t be a singer-songwriter if you can’t sing.

This is also a great time for you to socialise, Alex! You should try meeting some new people.

“Some of these townies are a bit too friendly!”

Oh shush, stop complaining.

“Seriously, can I go home? Everyone in this city is weird!”

Oh come on, you’re just overreacting because you’re embarrassed that someone saw your attempt at swiping a drink. Maybe stay on the right side of the bar next time?

“No, I’m serious. There’s a man and a small girl outside just… staring… at a brick pillar.”

… Fine, you can go home.

“I’m not sure this is better.”

Shush, we need to get enough money that you’re allowed to get a job. And the tips are too slow.

“Isn’t it a bit counter-intuitive that I need to earn money before I can get a job?”

I don’t make the rules, Alex. Besides, I’m busy worrying about the aliens.

“The aliens?”

Yes. Apparently, the aliens are flocking to Oasis Springs, and somehow they mostly manage to be beautifully colour-coordinated. It’s honestly a bit unsettling.

Anyways, we need to find you a husband, This is a legacy, after all. How about this handsome fellow?

“Uhm… he seems a bit bookish. What about that hot guy over there?”

Oh honey. That’s Don Lothario. He’s bad news, you won’t get anywhere with him in a legacy, he’s non-committal. He’d be great as one of those enemies you’re supposed to get, though?

Alex catches up with the neighbours and even scores a dinner invitation to the Caliente house.

Nina: “Oh yeah, Don lives here too. Mom moved him in, she claimed she thought he would be a great fit for me or Dina, but I think she really wants him for herself. Anyways, no one is getting anywhere with him, he’s completely useless.”

“Alright, I’ll give up on Don. I guess I’ll find someone a bit less…occupied.”

Alex, who are you talking to? You should be in bed, or, I mean, tent, those skill points take energy.

“Oh, I just met these guys. This is Johnny and Malcolm. Apparently they’re brothers but there’s a lot of drama going on in the family.”

“Eww, can I have something else to eat soon?”

I mean, sure, you can buy all the food you want, but then it’ll just take longer for you to get a job, and thus to get a husband and a roof over your head?

“Dammit!”

As we head to the museum, I wonder. Is throwing up on a canvas art?

We also need those handiness skills, so Alex starts some woodworking.

Meanwhile, I am distracted by the amazing choice of shoes here.

Alex, wasn’t there a vase there, just a second ago?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

And so it continues on, with dumpster meals…

… voice training…

… more dumpster meals…

… and more impeccably clad aliens.

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #don lothario #johnny zest #alexandra duchelli #duchelligen1

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jassackles · 2 years ago

Text

I thought you never would-Chapter 7 (FIN)

Warnings: depressed!dean, asshole!dean, selfish!dean, hurt!reader, a lot of cursing

words: 3.5k

A/N: yes, this is the end already, because I started writing this story after my breakup which helped me to deal with my feelings, but I’m not that person I was when the breakup happened. So yeah it’s quite long, but I just wanted to finish this since I’m not feeling it anymore.

After that weekend Dean and Sam visited you at your hometown, weirdly Ryan didn’t join them. Which was weird since he wanted to visit you too, even asked what your mom likes so he could bring something.

You had a fun time with Dean and Sam at your house, they picked you up from work, got drunk, watched a movie, played some video games and cooked food.

You talked to Ryan via FaceTime and he was just weird as soon as Sam showed him you and Dean cuddling in your bed. You liked being so close to Dean since he smelled so good, you never thought a guy could smell so good. You nuzzled even more into Dean since you were just tired after work and drinking. Sam enjoyed the sight of his brother truly being happy and having a girl by his side who’s not crazy and fucking stupid like Kira was.

Sam honestly hated Kira, and yes hate is a big and heavy word, but he just couldn’t stand her. She took everything Dean did for granted, using his money and just everything Dean had to offer. But with you? You payed your own stuff, helped cleaning up whenever you were around Dean’s place, made sure Dean had to eat, wouldn’t spend too much money on stupid and unnecessary stuff Dean just didn’t need. You made sure he was okay and doing fine.

His and Dean’s dad really liked you after meeting you a month later, you were sweet always polite, helping around the house and in the kitchen, you always made yourself useful. All of the family members that met you told Dean, that’s you’re a keeper. Dean knew you were special, he told you in the beginning how thankful and grateful he is to call you his girlfriend, who’s helping him a lot.

The sex at the beginning of the relationship was awesome, just excited and adventurous, but after some time it got…boring. Dean didn’t bother to work you up and literally just put his cock inside you, no foreplay, no making out, no nothing. At first you weren’t mad, but later you enjoyed touching yourself more than being fucked by your boyfriend. He didn’t even care about making you cum, it was all about him during sex. It wasn’t as much fun and exciting as you imagined it would be and it disappointed you. He didn’t put any effort into sex, complaining about why you didn’t cum and why it would take you so long.

Frankly, it hurt you, hurt you he didn’t put any effort into the sex and later the relationship. Yes, a long-distance-relationship is hard and needs a lot of strength, but if both people fight for and want it, it definitely could work out. You two couldn’t see each other a lot, due to your school and his work, but you always tried to visit him. You always really tried, even when money was tight for you, you always fucking tried. Dean wouldn’t get it sometimes that you couldn’t visit him every weekend, you just couldn’t.

Dean couldn’t visit you either since he was working on weekends and he also hadn’t a lot of money. So which lead to fighting from Dean’s side. Dean would’ve never admitted that he’s depressed, he cant be alone, he always needs someone to come home to. After his best friend died a few years back, Dean wasn’t the same anymore. He barely talked about anything, blamed everything bad that happened on him and he just closed off. Whenever you and Dean fought either over phone or in person, he would close off completely. You tried to teach him that you talk about something during a relationship since he preferred keeping stuff that was bugging him to himself than talking about it. He once was so depressed saying stuff he couldn’t do it without you and he needed you there everyday. He even made you think about it moving in with him for college.

There were moments, you had the feeling Dean was trying to change you, make you someone you weren’t. Yes you were fucking stubborn so was he. Even though you were stubborn you always compromised and did it his way. Sometimes you hated it.

The more time passed the more things changed. Dean started to take you for granted, taking the things you did for him for granted, taking for granted that you did grocery shopping from your money even tho it wasn’t your fridge you were filling. He took for granted that you cleaned his apartment and did his laundry. Basically everything you did he took it for granted. Kira never did this stuff, so he was using you, if we’re being honest.

But you didn't see it and you also didn't want to. You were helping him, because you loved him and you wanted to make things easier for him. After such a sort amount of time you already imagined living with him, like already mentioned you wanted to go college where he lived. It felt like he was your life, you felt so dependent from him, it wasn’t even healthy anymore. Which you realized some time Later.

Since he was your first love and boyfriend, the love you had for him was very very different. He was your first love after all.

When your birthday came around, it wasn’t him who wished you a happy birthday first. It was Sam. Sam. Not him. And you knew he was still awake. Dean was a Person who wouldn’t go to sleep before 3 am in the morning. What the saddest thing was ans what hurt you the most was that he didn’t call you to wish you a happy birthday, he wished you a happy birthday via snapchat. It hurt and disappointed you so much, it was the worst birthday you had. From the person you wanted to hear first, was probably the last one.

Sometimes it was hard for you to have sympathy for his actions, since some of them were just fucking selfish. It wasn’t even your birthday he forgot, he forgot your first anniversary. It felt like it didn’t matter to him, like you had no worth to him at all. You hadn’t meant to him as much as he meant to you.

There were times where Dean still talked a lot about Kira and you didn’t understand back Then he wasn’t over her. She was his first love. So you understood later on, since it was hard for you to get over him as well.

Dean also never really listened or tried to help you when you were feeling like shit and had shit going on. Your drivers license took so much money and strength from you, you were feeling desperate. Dean basically didn’t give a fuck. You two fought so hard and didn’t talk for at least two days. Which lead to why he didn’t call you for your birthday, because he was too fucking stubborn.

One day, you had a bad feeling, since Dean has been acting strange for a couple of days, so you needed to talk to someone. So you talked to Sam. Sam listened to you and told you, Dean’s having his introverted phase, where he isn’t talking to anyone socially. You knew he had phases like that, because he had one before, but this phase felt much more different than the other one. Sam tried to cheer you up that night trying to make you laugh, it actually helped and you managed to ignore the bad feeling in your gut.

Just a day after that Dean broke up with you, for you it was out of nowhere. It was unexpected. He told you, he didn’t love you anymore and his feelings weren’t as strong as they used to be because of the distance. You were the one who was unsure about the whole long-distance-relationship, Dean was the one who wanted to try. You’ve asked him so many times if he was sure and he always said yes, fucking yes, every damn time. He said, the long-distance-relationship wasn’t working for him anymore, he needed someone there and not every couple of weekends. The whole long-distance was hard for you too! You wanted to see him as often as you could, but he didn’t get it that you hadn’t much money.

Funny thing, he didn’t broke up with you via phone call, no! He broke up with you via fucking Snapchat! This stupid child didn’t even had the guts to do it via phone call if he couldn’t wait a couple of more days, since you planned on visiting him that week. No he couldn’t wait to do it like a decent human being, no! He did it like a fucking coward he was.

You had to leave school early, because he broke up with you during school time. You felt like something broke inside you. He was the first person you let come so close to you. He knew stuff, no one knew. You felt safe, but every word he said, were just…words. He didn’t mean them seriously.

He broke up with you, two weeks after you two had last seen each other. You didn’t understand why he didn’t do it back then, losing feelings couldn’t happen over night right? You lost feeling for someone over time and not over night like he did.

At this point you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. It felt like a big part of you was suddenly missing. It was hard for you to get no phone calls when he finished work. It was hard for you to not laugh with him anymore. It was hard for you to not play video games with him anymore. You were missing him so bad, it fucking hurt. You were feeling lonely after that. You and Sam stayed in contact.

Julia, their step-sister, stayed in contact with you too. They all liked you so much, they were very sad to hear that you two broke up. Dean’s step-mom didn’t understand it at all, calling him stupid for letting you go. You really liked them, those people were like a second family to you. You missed them everyday since then.

You even visited Julia once, guess to who’s apartment you went to first? Dean’s! You were having so much madness in you, you needed to tell Dean what a coward he was. You were more angry and hurt when you found out, he got back together with Kira just two weeks after the break up. Yeah he really got back together with that bitch. He called her many bad and barefaced names and still got back together with her.

You reminded him how he called her different names, reminded him how glad he was they broke up, reminded him of how she was only good at spreading her legs and using his money, while she was in his apartment. Since then you were doubting yourself, asking yourself what was wrong with you that he chose her over you. But he did.

He was dumbfounded and surprised to see you, that you actually ever showed up in his life again.

You laughed sarcastically, “You’re a fucking coward who couldn’t even break up with me via a phone call. You haven’t been honest with me! Now you’re fucking that fucking whore again? What’s wrong with you?! Y-You’re ridiculous and just fucking pathetic!” You yelled at him by the end you finished.

Dean clenched his jaw chewing in the insides of his mouth, “Then I am. You finished?” He asked coldly. Dean was furious and didn’t expect to get called out by his now ex-girlfriend while his girlfriend, former ex-girlfriend was in his apartment. He actually was also shocked to see this side of you, he never, literally never saw you this angry in the past year of your relationship. You always told him not to test you, because if you wanted to, you could be a bitch and it wouldn’t end funny for him.

Your eyes went wide not expecting him to be so cold after everything you two went through. He was your boyfriend and you expected some respect, but Dean wasn’t showing any respect at this point. All he did was shutting the door into your face. You blinked looking at Sam and Julia who were standing behind you. Sam rubbed his face, he lost the last faith he had in his brother. Sam did not understood how his brother could be so stupid and got back together with that bitch Kira. He was so disappointed and he wasn’t sure what to do with his brother.

You brushed past them walking down the stairs and leaving your ex-boyfriends apartment building. Your emotions were all over the place. You were feeling a little better that you could finally shout those words into his face after bottling them up inside you for weeks. You felt relieved.

“You okay?” Sam asked when he approached you.

“Yeah.” You said with a small smile hugging yourself.

“Come here.” He said and pulled you into a hug. You immediately melted into his arms feeling yourself tear up again. “He’s being a big dick. I’m sorry about the way he treated you. You definitely didn’t deserve that and neither did he deserve you.” He whispered as he rubbed your back gently.

You were so grateful to have Sam as your friend. It surprised you that he wasn’t on the side of his brother. Sam loved his brother a lot, but the thing he was pulling off with you, didn’t sit right with Sam. In Sam’s eyes, you were awesome and had a great personality. He understood why Ryan was crushing on you. Ryan distanced himself from Dean and you over the time you were together. You always told Dean to reach out to him again since a final fight lead to separate ways between Dean and Ryan. Dean eventually did the summer before you two broke up.

“Thanks,” was all you said and gave him a small smile. He smiled at you and nodded holding you for a little moment before letting you go.

What happened that night was something unimaginable. You ended up sleeping at Sam, probably not the smartest thing to do and regretted it the moment you woke up. You got so drunk at the next bar you guys found, both of you. One thing lead to another and you ended up in the same bed. You were supposed to stay at Julia’s place, she had to leave early because of work. Sam promised her to take you to her place, but that didn’t happen obviously.

Julia was worried sick when you didn’t show up but assumed you crashed at Sam’s place. You lied to her telling her you didn’t want to wake her up, since you were so drunk. She bought it.

When you were alone at Julia’s place, your mind kept going back to the talk you had with Dean. Julia and you talked about it when she came home during her break from work. She told you, to talk to him alone with no other people involved. You texted him and he even agreed to meet up and talk things out. And you guys did.

“Hey.” You said awkwardly.

“Hey.” He said with a tight smile. “You wanted to talk then…talk.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, “First of all, yesterday wasn’t the smartest ting to address the whole situation. But the way we broke up wasn’t fair. You broke up with me via fucking Snapchat which is worse than text and you told me, you love me the day before.” You rubbed your arm and looked at the ground.

When he didn’t answer you kept going, “We had plans. I wanted to move here for you, for our relationship. I was going to give up so mich for you, because I really love you, Dean. I trusted you, we talked about so many times and y-“

“I couldn’t wait anymore and come on, we wouldn’t have worked out.” He interrupts you.

Ouch, that one hurt.

“Do you ever loved me?” You asked out of the blue, just being curious and dying to know if he ever did.

“I did.”

“Then you have no clue what love means. You never put mich afford into this relationship. You didn’t even want to try fighting to make it work, just because you need to get your dick wet by that bitch.” You slipped so done with being nice.

“You’re right it wasn’t fair how I broke up and I’m sorry.” Is all he said ignoring the last part. You looked at him and just scoffed, knowing he didn’t mean the apology serious. He said it, because he knew you wanted to hear it.

“I thought you never would hurt and disappoint me the way you did.” You said and teared up. “Have a great life.” You walked off not able to stand there anymore. You were hurt and just devastated he left you. You were hurting.

You and Dean never saw each other again after you walked off, but you felt better after the conversation helped you to put your emotions into place. Kira stalked you on instagram most of the time because she felt intimidated by you, even though you lived miles away. It annoyed you, so you blocked her and her beat friend.

Dean blocked and removed you on every social network. You didn’t understand why. You understood he unfollowed you, but the whole blocking this was just ridiculous at this point.

You and Sam talked about the hook and told each other it was a one time thing which shouldn’t repeat itself.

Sam became your closest and best friend after the breakup and you were just grateful to have him.

END

tag list: @leigh70 @wittysunflower @jensensgirl

Thank you so much for reading!!

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gothamslostboy · 2 years ago

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The Lost Boys

Sexuality HC

These are my personal opinions, we’re probably not going to agree on everything and that’s ok! You can comment your opinions below as long as you’re not a dick about it :]

NOTE: I think after turning most vampires don’t gaf about gender and that will play into my hc

NOTE 2: the F_/M_ is for how you present. If you’re a guy who dresses feminine you fall into F, same for masculine girls. I did this bc I wanted to include Non binary ppl but it felt weird adding a 3rd gender percentage bc enby ppl don’t have a gender . So to clarify: the percentage is not gender, it is clothing preference

NOTE 3: yes I know it was the 80s. I. Don’t. Care. Gay ppl existed in the 80s and the whole movie has gay undertones so sush.

David

I originally said he was bi in this post bc I didn’t want ppl mad at me but imma be brave now

Gay asf

Likes seeing S/O in feminine clothes though

I know I said vamps don’t care after turning but every rule has an exception

F65/M35

Dwayne

F70/M30

Paul

Pan

No preference here, gender or clothing,just personality

He does like matching with his S/O so get him something in the same color or pattern

Marko

Does have a male preference though

Him and Paul definitely fuck

F25/M75

Star

Straight

Has experimented and decided it’s not her thing

Very supportive

F50/M50

Her boyfriend wants to wear a skirt? She’ll buy matching ones!

He wants makeup? Let her teach him!

Earrings? We saw in the movie she wants to do it!

Probably pierced all the boys ears

She doesn’t care how he dresses, as long as he doesn’t tell her how to dress either

Michael

He’s unsure but when asked will say bi

He’s still trying to come to terms with not being straight so he prefers S/O wearing more feminine things

(David rn: 💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼)

F82/M18

Lucy

Straight

Supports everyone

Doesn’t understand why people care about who others date

F6/M94

Loves a man in a nice suit

Still nice if he wants to try typically feminine things

Just doesn’t seek out more feminine men

Max

Straight

One of the vampires who DO care

Like too much caring

Weirdly insecure and kills men who hit on him:[

Eats primarily female victims

Only supports if it’s one of his pack

More supportive of the boys straight interest though

The boys don’t give a fuck though and if they are dating a guy will purposely show more affection in front of him

F100/M0 (he definitely still thinks women shouldn’t wear pants I’m sorry but he’s old af)

Grandpa Emerson

Straight

He used to be a homophobe (he was raised in a very homophobic time)

Lucy has talked to him about being supportive since she was a teen

Finally gets that it doesn’t affect him and supports

F50/M50

She can wear whatever she wants as long as she’s happy

Sam

I can’t decide if he’s aroace or not bc he’s still early teen years, and he was more focused on stopping his brother from becoming a vampire then finding a date

If he is interested in anyone, it’s dudes

He had that poster in his room, and was making fun of Michael for chasing a girl

He also has more of a fashion sense then most men of the 80s (I’m not saying having a fashion sense makes you gay, I’m saying if writers in the 80s wanted to have a gay character w/o saying he’s gay, this is probably a trait they’d give him)

F20/M80

He feels like feminine clothing would “draw too much attention”

Like the mf doesn’t wear the most attention seeking clothing in Santa Carla

Alan

Bi? at most

Huge fem preference

F70/M30

I don’t think he’d like completely girly girls

But still wants a partner how dresses nice

He thinks everyone looks good in long, loose skirts and crop tops regardless of gender

Edgar

Straight as a ruler

Supports, but doesn’t really get it

If Sam came out to him he would probably ask if Sam was into him, but genuinely didn’t mean to be offensive

He just doesn’t know why he needs to know

F40/M60

He’s ok w/ a girl who dresses up sometimes, but if you’re vampire hunting with him you need to be able to move fast, maybe leave the dress or skirt for another time

Yes I put the younger 3 teens here. I’m only doing the bc I think at 14 you are aware of your preference, I know I was many ppl I know were

#the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys paul #the lost boys marko #the lost boys #the lost boys max #the lost boys star #the lost boys david #the lost boys Lucy #the lost boys michael #the lost boys grandpa emerson #tlb 1987 #tlb #the lost boys hc #the lost boys 1987 #glb tlb

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yaomomvs · 4 years ago

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TAKE OUR HAND

seijoh x manager!reader

in which aoba johsai vbc just wants you to take their hand, just as the many times they have reached for yours when they needed it

pls i’m sorry i just wrote this for comfort, in having a terrible week and so, i just really need my seijoh boys to comfort me even if it’s just in my head and just so you know, and as i’ve been trying to convince myself, things always get better

tuesday, [15:56 pm]

“nice kill yahaba senpai!” kindaichi congratulates his upperclassman.

his voice makes you react, it scared you. still holding your pen and the notebook you always carry around even on normal practice days, your hand threatens you in the most scary way possible.

fuck no, just... breathe.

you are quick to leave aside the notes, and so, you look around to the boys, who just after the coach’s whistle sounds they are quick to approach your spot.

you take the water bottles as quickly as you can.

“oh y/n-san, i know we are irresistible but you can’t just slack off admiring us!” makki teases you laughing.

“if our dear manager is admiring someone is obviously me” oikawa says, before taking a sip of his bottle, slightly making you blush even more.

“i don’t think she likes idiots who still watch youtube conspiracy videos at 3am”

“iwa!”

“weren’t you the one with a secret obsession for romance manga, iwaizumi?” it’s mattsun time to expose his friend. iwai mi doesn’t hesitate and he runs directly to matsukawa, while kunimi brings out his phone to start recording the chaos in the gym.

you don’t listen.

your head hurts, and then, you once again feel this weird thing in you stomach. you have been feeling like this for the past week, and you try to ignore it . but sometimes, you just want the world to stop.

you can’-

“y/n senpai?” watari calls your name, and you notice his furrowed brows looking at you, worried. you blink and correct your posture. you had just zooned out. “is everything ok?”

“ah yes watari kun!” you force your self to sound relaxed because you feel the sudden gaze of the entire team “i was just thinking in a smart way to insult oikawa, but i’m worried he won’t understand tho”

“hey! you said i was your favorite”

you fake laugh once again assuring everyone that you were just fine. the day goes on, and somehow is becomes more difficult to just stay down not worrying about anything.

and they notice.

you don’t walk home with the guys today. instead you run to the bus not before excusing yourself with an ‘urgent family thing’

“just please don’t let makki eat so much ramen today!” you giggle as you run to the bus “i’m not in the mood to dealing with diarrea!”

“that was a secret between us darling!” the pink haired guy screams cheeks blushing.

and maybe you were just too distracted, but before you face them away some of them notice how quick your smile fades.

“you know guys” yahaba is quick to say “call me crazy but, why did she lie?”

—

wednesday, [10:22 am]

when was the last time you actually enjoyed school? not practice, but school itself. seeing numbers everyday in the board that you don’t understand is frustrating. your throat hurts, there’s has been a not there since the begging of the day.

swallow it, y/n, dammit

you decided to take this class, don’t blame the world, blame yourself. isn’t it supposed to be simple? why isn’t it being simple? is that...

"Square root of 57 is equal to Xo, miss"

"alright!"

it is not like it’s a race, you want to say. why was the teacher obsessed with speed?, it’s unfair. your time is not the same as that of others.

you drop the pencil and you recline in your chair, why couldn’t you do operations and analysis as fast as they could? you take a look around and the eyes of others look frightening. you see ambition, you see security, you see admiration.

the bell rings and you just want to run, and well in a way you end up doing it. leaving your homeroom, you tell your friends that for today you want to be alone, the halls of aoba johsai are big, for your fortune or misfortune. you go to the vending machine and when your drink falls, the minimum noise makes you startle, lately it’s like that, small noises or actions affect you way too much.

and iwaizumi notices it.

you don’t make a single move, it’s just the cold drink resting on your hands. and before iwaizumi could stop mattsun, he was already putting his hand on your shoulder.

“y/n!”

the orange juice spills and once again fear takes hold of you.

you see them both, you’re not stupid and you know hajime stares at you weirdly, and now mattsun, you hide your fear it a bit worse than yesterday, but you do anyways.

"someday, Matsukawa-san, YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME! and what will you do without me?" you try to say cheerful, wanting to take away the suspicion, for a moment it works.

"flunk history, that leads me to..."

"no, sweeheart, i won’t give you my homework"

you walk and both guys follow you, one faster than another, very naive of the situation. "I begin to believe you hate me," says Mattsun, as the three sit on a bench near the school cafeteria casually encountering kunimi who quickly joins you, patting the folds of your skirt as you sit down, you rest on the table and admire his needy expression and as the tantrum of mattsun grows.

minutes go by, your chest pain grows, but somehow you know how to let it go.

with your hands supporting your face, lunch passes between you and kunimi, you try to talk, you really try.

but still, your eyes just glow, and kunimi notices how it’s not the glow you always have.

—

thursday [12:03]

your head is spinning, you can feel the cold sweat. will this be the time? why do you feel so small? why can’t you say it?

it’s familiar, you recognize this feeling, an ocean, you’re floating, you know you can swim, but, you’re in the middle of nowhere, you look down. Out of nowhere the intimidating depth of the ocean is beneath you. And then, you sink. You feel like you’re drowning, you feel like you’re fighting the tide, but you just can’t do it.

i just need...

no, it’s not time yet, it’s still training. the boys... you’re the one who should take care of them, you’re the one who has to be be fine. they had no time to lose, they had a goal and for the moment that was the most important thing.

On that bench, your gaze is absent, you know it is so.

and through the window that overlooks your classroom, oikawa notices it too

“y/n...” he mumbled.

of course he’d noticed. at first it was not so clear, but now he remembers.

when kindaichi pinned your dark circles to him, while admiring you by fitting volleyballs in a way not of your own.

makki watches oikawa from your side, you don’t even know the pink-haired guy is there, unaware that he’s sitting next to you. but he notices. he’s been noticing for days that your eyes are threatening to close in the middle of class.

hanamaki catches your attention and instantly that mask you’ve been wearing for weeks appears again.

"hanamaki, i’m fine"

it doesn’t convince them. they both look out the window and nod.

oikawa notices, and god, he wished he had no reason to.

—

friday [14:00 pm]

breathe.

please just... breathe.

you’re fed up. the feeling of guilt and discomfort is still there, can’t you be calm? people don’t need to know, but why do you want to shout it?

the dressing room is alone, the girls from the soccer team are out and it’s your only chance.

the team needs you, hold on a little.

your footsteps are heard in the hallway once again, a symphony you’re tired of listening to.

your chest hurts, your heart is aching, but you just need a little more. hands are shaking, the cold in your body, you need to stop.

you have to make them stop.

but when you walk into the gym, even with your eyes down, all you feel is warm. and it’s because, the boys were standing, aligned begging for you.

no, they beg for your sake.

and everything stops.

one hand from him on your neck, and one hand around your shoulders.

because oikawa, without warning, now has you in his arms.

and then, only then, you break.

tears don’t take long to come out, along with desperate sobs. your legs fail and out of nowhere, you and oikawa are on your knees.

with an alarmed look, the whole club runs towards both, surrounding you as sensibly as possible.

"i’m sorry, i’m sorry I’M SORRY" is heard from you, between hiccups.

“love, listen...” iwaizumi approaches you,somehow he managed to catch up with you, somehow he managed to hold your hand.

"i promise i didn’t want to, but i can’t, i can’t anymore, why can’t i? i try and i try and i keep trying but it’s never enough! IM TIRED OF SEEING SOMETHING AND NOT BEING ABLE TO PROCESS IT LIKE THE OTHERS. I’M TIREDD OF NEVER FULFILLING WHAT I SHOULD”

yahaba’s heart aches, and just as most of the team, is shocked.

your hands, oh your adorable hands, those hands that bandage his in the middle of an important game, he sees them shaking horribly between iwaizumi’s.

“AND I’M SCARED, WHAT IF I LOSE YOU BECAUSE OF THAT BECAUSE OF ME? BECAUSE OF HOW I AM I-“

watari is quick to place your hair gently behind your ear, a kunimi covers you with his jacket.

“I LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND I DONT RECOGNIZE MYSELF” you lower your voice, its cracked now “oikawa I don’t recognize myself, I want to be me again" you whisper, and a knot appears in the captain’s throat, and he puts a hand on your cheek "please... just let me be me again" your throat burns, your eyes get redder.

the gym goes silent, your words still echoing in everyone’s head.

“why didn’t you-“

“i just couldn’t” you blame yourself cutting oikawa off “look at us! we are waisting time on me when we should be- i’m the one who has to- im you support not-“

“hey hey, love...” iwaizumi whispers his voice is filled with sweetness, letting you sit correctly and softly rubbing his thumb in your hands “how many times have you been there for us? y/n your hand is always there”

“that’s true” kyotani says, finally saying something, emotions overwhelmed him a lot, but he genuinely wanted to help you.

“there’s something about you, there’s light” kindaichi follows up.

“no matter where, or how bad we are, somehow you always are helping us stand up” mattsun also tries to carefully approach you, he wants nothing more for you to feel safe.

and oikawa’s arms were still around you. he never stopped.

“we have reached your hand so many times, so now it’s time for you to please take ours” oikawa holds you face, and you see the sincerity and kindness behind his brown eyes, it feels like home.

mattsun does a sign asking the coach for a day off, both of them smile tenderly at you and give the green flag. iwa and makki are next to hold you carefully helping you stand up. they help you stop shaking but it’s mad dog the one who wipes your tears away with a tissue watari handled him. still not knowing if he did it the right way. you still feel kunimi’s scent. you still see kindaichi holding your school bag making sure nothing is missing. yahaba is the one bringing you water. and oikawa still refuses to let you go.

all of them feel like home.

“thank you”

and that’s how you know everything is going to feel fine.

because this club was yours and you were theirs.

this was home.

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3liza · 3 years ago

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talking about flters and real beauty vs fake beauty and cultural standards etc always makes me think about all the victorian and edwardian novels i read, where the things that people thought about beauty were recorded at length. recently ive been reading a lot of Thomas Hardy (best known for Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure) and there’s so much discussion of the beauty of people, particularly love interests, both men and women. and these writers, and their eras, and the culture of the eras, was of course obsessed with beauty and youth and also artificial beauty (being the eras of the really transformative corsets, not to mention some of the earliest industrialized or modernized beauty products or processes), as all human societies are to a greater or lesser extent in their own ways, but the thing that sticks out to me in reading these books is how beauty is not the singular or even the most important aspect of a person’s overall attraction. if someone has a beautiful face or figure, it is mentioned, but never to the obsessive, fixated extent that physical beauty is isolated from and elevated over all other features in modern american/western culture. there are plenty of protagonists or love interests in these books who are described as not young, or not remarkable, or not pretty, or even ugly or frightening, but nevertheless compellingly sexy and attractive, or simply interesting, or worthy in some way.

its weird that the cultural consciousness has become seemingly ignorant of non-physical attraction. like that anon that was in my inbox talking about how they were “normal looking’ and therefore “needed” filters in order to “compete” with attractive people. it’s a weirdly mercenary and capitalist view of the social economy, first of all, which absolutely is not zero-sum no matter how badly the social networks want to convince us that it is. but there was never a single mention from that person about their ability to charm or entertain or attract using anything except a fake photo of themselves. wild. im fuckin worried about them! im worried about every young person how has brain worms

when i was about 4 and starting to become aware of how much adults were obsessed with my appearance because i was dainty and blonde and could do a passable shirley temple imitation, my parents gave me a very serious lecture about what physical beauty actually meant: i didn’t work for it (yet, i mean i do a lot of work now as an adult), it was given to me genetically. and someday, maybe sooner or more suddenly than anyone could predict, it would be gone. if accident, illness, or hardship didnt get me, old age eventually would. so with that being a certainty, i had better build a life and a personality on something other than my looks. and i said, ok. every day i get older im more grateful for that advice and the fact i decided to take it to heart instead of trying to gamble on Being Hot for long enough to get job security. which is also a valid career choice but it’s a risky one. always better to have a fallback just in case.

im of an age rn where a lot of women in my peer group are starting to get a very hunted vibe about the impending end of their youth, which is valid. theres nothing foolish about it, its not their fault, theyre not stupid or somehow lacking because this is an issue in their lives. but im noticing that i am significantly less freaked out by, idk, how long ago the 90s were or whatever, because i have been expecting to get old since i was in kindergarten. and i had adults around me who were just like “hey this is what old people look like and what bodies do over time. its not a big deal. everything on tv is fake btw”. i didnt get out unscathed, ive had eating disorders and all sort of weird brain-body problems.

my advice i guess if i have any is to go outside and really look around you. notice how almost every single woman, and most men, has at least some cellulite, even if its just when theyre sitting down or whatever. notice how everyone has blemishes and zits. most people have some dandruff. if someone is wearing makeup, it’ll be cakey or balled up or smeared or uneven or clumpy even if it’s just a bit. everyone over the age of about 20 will have stretch marks somewhere, even if they aren’t visible except in certain light. i was under the impression i didnt have many until one time seeing a picture of my butt in FULL natural light and finally saw the entire surface of both cheeks was covered in straitions, they just were hard to see most of the time because im the color of drywall and scars tend to be light. it’s really easy to spot hair extensions and wigs and fake nails and fake tans and shapewear once you figure out how to see it. and none of these things take away from someone’s character.

there’s a strong argument to be made that when corsetry was the norm, no woman was expected to simply be the shape of the corset unless she was actually wearing it. photographs and drawings of women in the 19th and early 20th century were retouched a bit as all photos have been, yes, but they were not retouched to make naked women appear to be corset-shaped. THAT is new. people are now getting surgery to be corset-shaped. and like, i dont think anyone should not be able to look however they want if they want to have that surgery. that is one meaning of cyborg feminism, probably. what i dont want, is for anyone to ever think that’s a normal way to look (except for veryvery tiny mathematical outliers, the Barbie Hips Georg of instagram) WITHOUT surgery or shapewear. which i see a lot now. i saw an instagram fashion designer with a very obviously surgically-altered body answer a question in her inbox about how she maintained her figure with some nonsense about diet and exercise. so now some (probably young) person out there is thinking that if they just do intermittent fasting enough, theyll look like a woman with butt and boob implants, a BBL, fillers, etc. that person probably thinks that if they arent able to diet and exercise good enough, they will fail at looking that way through their own laziness and lack of work ethic or whatever. i see that mindset constantly, especially in young women.

the surgery isnt the issue. the look itself isnt the issue. the filters themselves arent the issue. the issue is that on none of these images, is there an indication of what has been changed or how. the brain damage effect of filters would be lessened, i think, if everyone KNEW which images had been altered and how. so maybe thats the answer? mandatory labeling? i dont know. what’s terrifying is that the average adult human in america cant tell from a glance what has been altered in a photograph, no matter how clumsily, because they simply dont have a template for what a real human looks like anymore. the false images have supplanted the real images, the actual memories of alive humans that you know and have met or lived with.

if you go into any of the shittier men’s spaces online you will find threads for posting pictures of “beautiful girls”, and it is page after page after page of teenagers in full makeup, hair extensions or wigs, circle lenses, facetuned, bodytuned, surgery, etc, and then hundreds of men yearning and fanning themselves over her “natural beauty”. dont go looking for this stuff, it will permanently fuck you up to know what a basic guy on the bus is thinking about women every day. dont do it

but i also seriously predict a backlash into “natural” looks after this current madness, similarly to how the 1960s saw the rise of the hippie girl with swingin titties, pit hair and no high heels after the consumer beauty madness of the 50s. of course the 60s beauty ideals were in some ways just as fake, but there was some authentic yearning towards a freedom from capitalist bodies as well. so when that happens send me $20: paypal.me/3liza. should be in like the next 4 years or so. thanks

#filters #blog #hell world #long post

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maliby · 4 years ago

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Dare | Johnny Suh (+18)

↬ Pairing: Johnny x F. Reader

↬ Story Genre: smut, fluff

↬ Warnings: mature language, explicit sex scene

↬ Word count: 5.6K

↬ Summary: You and your friend Johnny have this ongoing string of wild dares. There’s just one thing: you’re never allowed to say no.

“Good morning class, today we’re going to start learning all about the matrix!” Your Algebra professor happily announced, completely unaware of the horror that swept over his students.

“Wait, is he talking about the movies?” Your friend Taeyong leaned in as soon as Professor Weaver turned his back to write on the board. The rest of the class groaned, having heard tales of horror from their seniors about the subject.

“No, you dufus! Remember last year when Taeil was having a mental breakdown?”

“Oh,” realization dawned over his beautiful face, his big eyes widening even more.

You had had a crush on Taeyong from the first moment you had seen him (just like everybody in your year), but that soon went away as you got to know him and found that you connected better as friends.

“Yup. Matrices…” You sighed in terror while you rested your chin on the palm of your hand. “Maybe Taeil has some notes he can give us-” At that moment, the phone in the back pocket of your jeans buzzed, breaking you out of your conversation. You fished the device from your pocket and looked at the shiny notification bar - it was a message from your roommate, Johnny Suh.

You looked to your left where said roommate was, sat just a few tables from you, and felt a feeling of dread creep up on you at the sight of his stupid grin. You didn’t have to read the message, you already knew what he wanted.

“Is it Johnny?” Taeyong asked as his eyes followed yours straight to the roommate you both had in common.

“Yes…” you mumbled through gritted teeth, quickly placing your finger on your phone’s Touch ID to unlock it and read the message.

Heeere’s Johnny 🔪 (10:35 AM): dare u to scream “fuck” as loud as you can

“Motherfucker…” you muttered with your eyes closed.

“What did he dare you to do this time?” You turned your phone to him as you noticed him trying to take a peek at it. “Oh no…”

It all started this one night at a frat house party. Back then, you were still crushing over Taeyong and, in a game of truth or dare, Johnny dared you to pick your nose and eat your own booger. Of course, any sane person would have said ‘no’ but, the tequila shots you had downed half an hour earlier made you anything but that. After that, not only did you not look at Taeyong for 2 weeks straight, but also dared Johnny to pick his crush’s nose. You thought he would never agree to it, but as soon as you saw the deed being performed right in the middle of the cafeteria, you knew you had just entered a game with no end.

“Y/N, you can’t do this! You’ll be in trouble!” Taeyong tried to reason with you, already knowing his words would fall on deaf ears.

“More trouble than I was in when I had to write a love poem to Professor Stevens on one of the questions of the Calculus exam?” You flinched as you remembered the talk down you got when Professor Stevens thought you were trying to have sex with him to get a better grade.

“Yeah...that was bad. But still-”

The buzzing of your phone interrupted Taeyong. You looked down at it and read Johnny’s second message out loud to your friend.

Heeere’s Johnny 🔪 (10:38 AM): are u scared? 🐔

You looked back at the sender of the message and felt annoyance grow as you saw him flap his arms around like a chicken and laugh straight in your face.

5 seconds. That was how long it took for you to completely lose your cool, flip Johnny off and yell from the back of the class: “Fuck!”

You were expecting a couple of things to happen, but nothing could prepare you for the general reaction you got: laughter. Everyone was laughing, from your classmates to your professor. Everyone except Johnny, that is.

“Don’t worry Miss Y/L/N,” Mr Weaver said from the front of the class, breaking your stare down with Johnny. “Matrices aren’t as scary as they seem,” Mr Weaver fondly smiled at you before turning back to the board to write something down, leaving you completely perplexed.

You looked back at Johnny who had his face in a frown and stuck your tongue out to him - it felt good to see his evil plans backfire.

“That was lucky,” Taeyong commented with a little chuckle.

“Tell me about it, feels like the Universe has finally compensated me for all the stupid shit Johnny has made me do.”

“You’ve made Johnny do some pretty stupid shit too.”

“Shhh,” you turned to your friend with your finger in front of your lips, making the universal gesture for silence. “Let’s not talk about that,” you patted him in the back and picked up your pen to start taking notes.

“I’m back!” You announced as put your keys on the glass bowl right by the entrance of your shared apartment.

“Taeyong, they were all out of your favourite yoghurt.” You heard noise coming from the kitchen so you moved your way there, but as you went inside you crossed paths with Johnny who was just leaving the kitchen. He was on the phone, and by the expression on his face, you figured that something bad must have happened.

“What happened?” You asked Taeyong who was leaning on the balcony eating the last of his yoghurt.

“I don’t know, it’s his mother.”

“Oh no, are his parents fighting again?”

Taeyong nodded as he licked his spoon and threw the yoghurt cup in the trash.

It was then that you both jumped up at the noise of the door slamming shut - Johnny had stormed out of the house.

Both you and Taeyong had called him loads of times but Johnny never answered, worry consuming you and your best friend. Eventually, you both decided to split up and go looking for him - Taeyong on his scooter and you on your bicycle.

After half an hour of looking for Johnny in the most obvious places, you started to get desperate. You were starting to run low on ideas of where he could be, but as you passed by a bus stop and saw an ad for a sunscreen with a girl on the beach you suddenly remembered something: Johnny once had told you that when he was feeling down he liked to go to the beach and listen to the waves because it really calmed him down.

“Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” You questioned yourself (earning a few weird looks from the people at the bus stop) before you changed directions and started to peddle your way to the beach.

The beach was mostly deserted (being that it was December and it was cold), but a brown-haired guy could be seen sitting alone in the sand.

You parked your bike in the empty bicycle spot, locked it and walked straight to the lonely boy. As you got closer to him and confirmed his identity you couldn’t help but sigh in relief - he sure as hell didn’t look good mentally, but at least he was physically okay. You fished your phone from the pocket of your jacket and sent a quick text to Taeyong before sitting right down beside one of your best friends.

“It’s a little cold for a swim, don’t you think?”

He smiled at you, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“My parents are getting a divorce,” he deadpanned before looking back at the sea, your instant reaction being to hug him.

“I’m so sorry Johnny.”

“I begged them to just talk it over. I begged them to try but...they won’t.”

“Johnny…” you started in a warning tone. You wanted to tell him that his parents have the right to be happy, but you completely understood where he was coming from - nobody wants their parents to split up. You just wish you could take away this bad feeling from him.

“I know, I know…” he answered, picking up what you were about to tell him. “It’s just...hard.”

You studied his face for a while and noticed his eyes were puffy from crying and your heart completely broke. You and Johnny liked to tease each other a lot, but the truth was that you really cared about each other, more than you’d probably like to admit.

You placed your hand on his back and started rubbing soothing circles. He probably could barely feel them over his bulky black leather jacket, but you couldn’t help but do it. “We’re here for you. Me and Taeyong. You know that, don’t you?”

Johnny turned to look at you and for a brief moment, his eyes held an emotion you had never seen on him. Something you were sure you had misunderstood. Something that, weirdly, made your heart pound.

“I know.”

Johnny kissed the top of your head and wrapped his long arm around you, snuggling you closer to him and his body heat. You placed your head on his shoulder and just sat there, hearing a mix of his breathing and the waves.

Suddenly your heart started pounding again - something about this felt way too intimate. Replaying the last few minutes in your head made you realize that all of this, somehow, felt like more than a friendship, and that, scared the crap out of you.

Your own body acted on its own, and when you came to it, you were already backing away from him and saying something to deflect the situation.

“You know there’s a frat party tonight don’t you?”

“Y/N... I’m not in the mood.”

“Johnny Suh, you are going to that damn party, and you are going to have a good time!” You knew he was stubborn and that you probably had no chance of convincing him but then, something crossed your mind; something that would dead sure make him go. “...I dare you!”

He chuckled. “That’s a low blow, using the dares against me.”

“Isn’t that the purpose of a dare though?” You smiled mischievously, making him smile in return.

“Touché.”

“Woo-hoo! Look at you!” Taeyong whistled as soon as you left your room, all dolled up and ready to go party. “Who are you trying to bang?”

You sneakily took a peek at Johnny who was sitting on the couch and felt a shiver run up your spine as you saw his eyes completely locked on your form. “Mmm, no one,” you lied in a playful tone.

The truth was you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that little moment with Johnny on the beach and, as you looked through all your clothes when deciding on what to wear, you couldn’t help but pick your most revealing dress with his reaction in mind.

“Yeah, I don’t believe you,” Taeyong said.

“Well tough luck! Now come on guys, the cab is waiting downstairs.”

When you were grabbing your bag to make your way out the door you felt a tall presence right behind you. He placed his big hand on the small of your back and whispered to your hair: “damn Y/N, didn’t know you cleaned up like that.”

You smiled to yourself and then turned to look at him. “Well, obviously you haven’t been paying attention.” You winked at him and turned back around, leaving to follow Taeyong to the cab while being fully aware of Johnny’s eyes on your back.

When both you and Johnny arrived downstairs, Taeyong had already sat in the front, making you both sit in the back.

The ride was a short one - only 10 to 15 minutes - but, nonetheless, it was full of tension. Taeyong was on his phone the whole time, and the driver kept quiet so, if it wasn’t for the radio the silence would be a deafening one.

Both you and Johnny didn’t take out your phones, as it would be usual. He just leaned his head on the window and watched the city lights pass by, probably still thinking about his parents. You felt bad. You didn’t want him to feel this way. You wanted him to be his usual funny self and dare you to do stupid shit, but seeing him like this just broke your heart.

You couldn’t help but stare at his side profile - he was handsome. Of course, you knew he was handsome, you were not blind, but this was the first time his handsomeness was affecting you. You couldn’t help but stare: stare at the way his styled hair brushed upon his eyes, stare at his straight nose and stare at his perky lips.

Suddenly, an undeniable urge to lean in and kiss him emerged within you. An urge so immense that you caught yourself actually moving towards him, only to be stopped by him turning to look back at you with a charged expression.

You shared a look for a few seconds. A look that made your insides tingle and your legs press harder against each other. What was happening to you?

Johnny’s hand was reaching over to yours, which was pressed on the seat between the both of you, and you could feel your heart start to beat faster. Suddenly, it felt like time had slowed down and all your focus was on that one hand. That hand that looked strong and delicate at the same time. That hand that looked like it had the power to not only be rough but also gentle. That hand that could grope you, touch you and fuck you so good until you cried for more. That hand that was so close that made you gasp in anticipation.

“We’re here,” the cab driver announced, breaking you from whatever spell Johnny had you on.

“Thanks. Keep the change.” Taeyong paid the driver and left the cab, immediately moving to open up your door.

“Milady,” he bowed, acting as your personal chauffeur.

“Why thank you,” you awkwardly bowed back, still feeling shaken up by the events of the car.

“Okay, let’s move!” Your group started walking towards the house as soon as Johnny joined both of you from the other side of the cab, Taeyong still completely unaware of what had just happened. “I promised Yuta we’d play beer pong with him.”

“But Taeyong, you know I suck at beer pong!” You protested.

“I do. And that’s why you’re not on my team.”

“What?! That means I’m stuck with her!” Johnny whined from right next to you, making you turn and hit him in his chest, his hard pecks not going unnoticed by you.

“Hey!”

“Shut up Suh, you know as well as I do that you could use a drink,” Taeyong said before he spotted his friend near the entrance. “Yuta ma’ man! What’s up?”

“TY! I was beginning to wonder if you’ve gotten lost!”

“Sorry, Miss Y/N here took 3 hours to get ready,” he pointed back at you, making you hit him in his shoulder.

“Shut up Taeyong!”

“Come on man, did you get a good look at her? I’d wait an eternity if it meant I could look at an angel like her,” he winked at you before getting a sip out of his red plastic cup.

It was public knowledge that you and Yuta had fucked a couple of times. He was pretty hot, and the things he could make you feel with that tongue piercing of his were out of this fucking world. But tonight, you weren’t feeling him all that much - the tiny voice in your head telling you that that’s because you wanted to be railed by Johnny instead.

“Do you really think those cheesy lines are going to work?” Johnny asked out of nowhere with a hint of annoyance to his voice.

Johnny and Yuta were friends and him, more than anyone, knew that Yuta was a nice guy. Sure, he really liked to flirt, but he was also very respectful. So, his reaction made you wonder if he perhaps was feeling jealous. Secretly, you hoped he was.

“It already did man,” Yuta winked at you once again, catching you a little off-guard.

“Now, TY told me we’re not going to be on the same team for the beer pong. I’m usually a perfect gentleman, but I’m sorry angel, I can’t let you win.” Yuta came one step closer and picked up your hand and you swore you felt Johnny tense up beside you. “Maybe afterwards you could save me a dance?” He kissed the back of your hand and gave you a look that left little to no imagination of his true intentions - he wanted sex.

“Dream on, Nakamoto,” Johnny interrupted, coming right between you two and breaking your contact. “Stop stalling and let’s go.”

Johnny grabbed your arm and pulled you inside and away from Yuta and his advances. The look of bewilderment on your other roommate’s face didn’t go by unnoticed by you, but you forcibly chose to act like you hadn’t seen it. You didn’t know what it was, but you were liking this jealous side of Johnny and you were certainly curious for more.

“Alright, game on,” you heard Yuta comment before the loud music from inside overwhelmed you and your ears.

The game went on for a while. You lost, just as Taeyong had predicted. You didn’t mind, really. You just wanted to have a good time and the alcohol from the game was helping you do just that: you were currently in the middle of the dance floor dancing by yourself without a care in the world. You had lost your friends when you went to the bathroom and decided to go to the dancefloor when WAP started playing.

You were enjoying yourself. You were at that fine line where you were feeling the effects of the alcohol but you could still make your own decisions and you loved it.

Suddenly, as you were shaking your ass, you felt a pair of hands on your hips and a crotch on your ass. You wished it was Johnny, but as you opened your eyes and saw him sitting on a couch not far from you, you felt your fantasy crumbling. You turned around to see who you had just ground on and weren’t surprised when your eyes landed on Yuta.

“Hello angel, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really?” You tried to put a little distance between you, but Yuta just pulled you right back in, your bodies now in full contact with each other.

“The way you look tonight...you’re driving me fucking crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed in your ear, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. “All I wanted to do, was ditch Taeyong and the game and do that thing with my tongue that you like so much.”

Usually, that would be enough to make you lose your shit and pull him to the closest available bedroom, but tonight your mind was elsewhere. “Yuta...I’m sorry but tonight I’m not feeling it.”

His face fell in disappointment and he looked like a lost puppy, which partially made you feel bad for rejecting him, but you had to be honest.

“You sure?” He asked you.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’m sorry then...”

He was about to let you go; you could feel his grip loosening when someone yanked him back and away from you, leaving you confused.

“Leave her alone Nakamoto,” Johnny’s voice sounded right from beside you, making your heart jump.

“What the-? What is wrong with you Johnny? Why are you acting so- Oh…” Yuta looked back at you and you could literally see him putting all the puzzle pieces together in his mind. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” Johnny asked.

“Nothing,” you intercepted Yuta before he could say anything. “Yuta, don’t you have to go meet up with that girl?”

You made some weird faces at Yuta so he could understand what you were doing and, thankfully, he did.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Have fun!” He winked at you and turned to leave, making you sigh in relief that that whole situation was over.

“That was weird,” your roommate commented. “Was he bothering you? I know he sometimes can be a little...persistent.”

You felt a warmth spread throughout your chest. You knew Yuta could never harm you, but the fact that Johnny was so worried about you made you swoon. Then a thought popped in your head that made the warm fuzzy feeling turn sour: was he worried because he liked you or just as a friend?

“No, it’s okay. He did nothing wrong. Thank you…”

“You’re welcome…”

The mood got awkward for a minute, with none of you saying a word until Johnny broke your shared silence. “I’m gonna go.”

“What?”

“Yeah...I’m sorry, I’m just not really feeling it.”

He looked mentally down and you felt bad for him. Johnny was always the one cracking up a joke - wherever there was laughter, he was always present. He loved to dance and to have a good time, and it broke you to see him like this.

“Hey, come on, dance with me.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m really not feeling it…”

“Come oooon…” You didn’t know how you could convince him, but then an idea popped in your head. “I dare you.”

He chuckled and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of at least making him laugh. “Playing dirty again Y/N?”

“Well, you aren’t giving me much of a choice now are you Johnny?”

“I don’t know…”

Before he could continue you started imitating a chicken, just like he had done to you in the Algebra class and you couldn’t help but smile at his laughter once again.

“Alright, alright!”

“Yes!” You chanted in victory, promptly grabbing his hands and making him dance with you.

The dance started out friendly, with a few spins here and there, but it wasn’t long before tension started rising up and his hands were on your hips, just where Yuta’s had been. In your head, you couldn’t help but compare the feeling of the 2. Yuta had nice hands, that had certainly made you feel good before, but Johnny’s somehow felt better. His hands felt like he cared for you on a much deeper level. Like they could hold you and never let go. Like they could protect you from anything and completely destroy you at the same time.

As your inner voice went on an entire monologue about the wonder of Johnny’s hands, you found yourself looking him dead in the eyes. The way he was looking at you was making you think wild things, and with the buzz from the alcohol, you couldn’t help but want to act on those thoughts.

Without an ounce of self-control, you let your head move forward and your mouth whisper in his ear: “I dare you to grab my ass.”

Without a second of hesitation, his hands were on your ass and you were exhaling on his ear. The way his big hands were fully grabbing you and massaging you was turning you on so much that you could feel yourself get wet. You wanted nothing more than to have him lift up your dress and finger you in the middle of everyone.

Johnny moved his head near your neck and you thought for a second he was about to kiss you there, but you were surprised when he spoke in your ear. “I dare you to grind that sexy ass of yours on my cock.”

“Fuck.”

Just as he had done with your dare, you promptly complied, turning around and rubbing yourself on his semi. You both were walking on some dangerous paths, but you didn’t think any one of you could go back now.

As you moved your ass to the music and felt him grow harder and harder you couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to fuck him. You wanted him to end you. You wanted him to fill you up so good that he’d ruin any other man for you. You wanted his hands all over your body. You wanted him to grab your tits and play with your nipples. Fuck.

You reached your head back and whispered your next dare to him: “I dare you to play with my boobs.”

“Gladly.”

And then those big hands that were previously on your ass were now caressing your breasts and you felt like you were completely done.

“Mmmh…” you moaned, not sure if he could hear you over the loud music.

The way he was pinching your nipples over your dress made you feel glad you decided on not wearing a bra tonight. He was making you feel so good just with his fingers on your nipples and his clothed cock on your ass that your mind once again thought about what it would feel like to have the real deal.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

The dare had caught you off guard. You had been so in a trance by the grinding that your mind went straight to the fucking and skipped the kissing, but now that he had requested it you couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, consumed by desire, you turned around and glued your lips to his.

You wrapped your right leg around his hip (his hand once again coming to the rescue and grabbing your thigh) and felt his cock rubbing you straight on your clit. The feeling was so pleasurable that you felt like you couldn’t take it anymore, you had to have him now. So you pulled back from the kiss and plead for the last dare: “I dare you to fuck me.”

Johnny didn’t waste any more seconds, he grabbed you by your hand and lead you up the stairs to the first spare bedroom he could find. He then pushed you to the bed, making you fall right on the mattress.

“When I saw you with Yuta I went fucking crazy.”

The way he was towering over you and looking down on you as he confessed his feelings to you was slowly driving you mad. You never imagined you would be where you were right now, but now that you were you could confidently say that you wanted nothing more than this.

“I turned him down because of you,” you also confessed, now suddenly feeling shy and not being able to look him in the eye.

He chuckled.

Suddenly the mattress dipped between your legs as he joined you on the bed, right on top of you.

“How the fuck did we end up here Y/N?” His fingers gently placed a misplaced lock of your hair behind your ear, catching your breath at his tenderness.

“I don’t know...but I think I don’t want to go back.”

“Good. ‘Cause me neither.”

His lips were back on yours and although the kiss felt different this time, it quickly evolved to something more. His hands ran down your body and went between your legs, his fingers rubbing you over your drenched panties.

“You’re so wet baby. Is this all from grinding against my cock?” His fingers slid under your underwear and easily entered you, making you moan.

“Fuck, yes. I can’t stop thinking about your cock, it’s driving me crazy. I want to fuck you so badly.”

“I want that too.” Something dark took over his eyes. Something that, in combination with his low and breathy voice was making your desire for him grow to even bigger levels.

“Lately I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His free hand pulled down the upper part of your dress, exposing your breaths to his hungry mouth, as his other hand picked up its pace. “I lay awake at night just thinking about you: your smell, your hair, your smile, your eyes, your lips, your body…”

“Johnny…” you moaned his name as you felt that sweet pleasure building up from within you.

“Fuck, that sounded better than I imagined. Do that again, baby.”

Johnny’s other hand joined the one between your legs and began its assault on your little bundle of nerves, intensifying the amount of pleasure you were feeling. “Fuck Johnny, I can’t take it much longer…”

“Cum for me baby,” he instructed as he tried to alleviate himself by rubbing his cock against your leg.

“Ohshit-” you incoherently mumbled at the arrival of your orgasm, your walls spasming around his long fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” Johnny mumbled against the skin of your belly as he pressed soothing kisses on it.

You smiled and took in a few more breaths so you could talk.

“Since when are you this romantic Suh?” You asked as you finger-combed his now messy hair.

“Since always. I just only show it to special girls.”

You looked away, suddenly feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. Damn Johnny Suh and his smooth ass talking.

He chuckled before moving closer to your face and kissing you across your jaw. “Since when are you this shy Y/L/N?”

“Since-” You opened your mouth to answer him but came up short, ending up getting frustrated instead. “Shut up and take your clothes off!”

Your roommate laughed at your annoyance and immediately complied, removing his shirt and working on his pants. You couldn’t help but stare at his buff body: his bulging biceps, his washboard abs and his juicy pecks. You were so lost in desire that you didn’t even notice that Johnny was eyeing you up.

“Enjoying the view?” He teased, the stupid grin on his face driving you mad.

“Shut up,” you said once more, not enjoying the power he had over you.

“Take off your dress baby, I wanna see you too,” he requested as his hand caressed your naked thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

You obliged, quickly removing all your clothes and exposing your naked body to his hungry eyes.

Johnny didn’t say anything, but you could tell by the way his cock twitched that he was affected. So affected, in fact, that within seconds he was on top of you devouring your lips.

Both your hands wandered on each other’s body as he dry humped you between your legs.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, no. But wait a minute,” Johnny reached for the bedside table and opened the first drawer, finding exactly what he was looking for. “Jackpot.”

“Did you know that was there?”

“No, but I figured. After all, this is a frat house,” he explained as he opened up the package and rolled down the latex condom on his cock.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Fuck, yes. Just put it in.”

Johnny didn’t wait a second longer. He grabbed his cock, ran it up and down your slit a couple of times and slowly entered you, the feeling of fullness being completely indescribable.

“Oh Johnny, you feel so good.”

“Fuck, tell me when I can move.” Johnny was nuzzled up in your neck, leaving tiny love bites as you adjusted to his cock.

“You can go.”

He started moving slowly at first, a string of moans spilling out from both your mouths, but, soon after, his hips started thrusting faster and harder and you found yourself clawing at his back.

“Shit,” he hissed before glueing his lips back on yours.

For a moment you both lay there on your own little pleasure bubble, just fucking and swirling your tongues together, with moans and cusses being spilt left and right as you enjoyed each others’ bodies. For a moment, nothing else mattered - just you and Johnny.

“Baby, you’re taking me so well. You are so perfect,” he confessed as he kissed you all over, his words almost making your heart jump out of your chest.

“Johnny, baby, I’m so close.”

“Me too, fuck.”

Johnny was drilling into you so hard that the sound of skin slapping on skin was drowning out the music coming from outside. You were almost there, and as you felt that sweet feeling building up in your core you took a chance to really look at Johnny: the way he bit his lip, the way his brows frowned in pleasure, his dishevelled locks and the way his veins popped on his arms as he held himself up so as not to crush you. He was so fucking hot you couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

“Johnny, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, beautiful. I’m right there.”

That was all you needed. Just like that, you were crashing and burning around the man you had considered as ‘just a friend’ for years, your walls milking him dry and making him spill everything inside the borrowed condom.

You didn’t move for several minutes. Johnny fell right to your side and just lay there right beside you, your chests rising and falling in tandem.

What do you say in these situations? What were you supposed to say right after one of your best friends, and roommate, fucked the shit out of you? You had no idea, but thankfully, he took the lead.

“I dare you to fuck me again.”

The dare caught you completely off-guard, just like yours had caught him and you couldn’t help but laugh. For a good minute, that’s all you both did: laugh.

“Alright,” you reached for the drawer and grabbed another condom from the owner of the room. “But this time, I’m on top.”

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years ago

Text

Head Over Feet (1/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Yes, I know I have a bunch of other WIPs - and I am still working on all of them! But I’ve been so excited about this one, I just want to get it out there...

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 1: Loser Like Me (Part One)

Fall 2028

Blaine is dreaming. It’s all fuzzy, but there are hands… familiar hands that are on him clasping his own, cupping his face, trailing down, down, down to where it feels good. He begins to feel the warmth spread throughout his body. He feels good, so good… Lips are against his, rough and hungry, he is enveloped in want, in need… He lets out a groan, letting the pleasure overtake him. He reaches out, desperate for more, but as he does so, that good feeling starts to float away. He makes a grasp for it, but it’s no longer there, and he is left cold and wanting more.

And then his alarm goes off.

Blaine wakes up hard as a rock. He can’t remember the last time he had a dream about sex. Maybe when he had been a teenager? Or possibly college? But he doesn’t remember any of those dreams ending him with his dick actually aching to fuck something.

He stares at the ceiling for a good long moment, thinking the urgency will eventually wear off. He turns his head, slightly, to see the outline of his husband on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t bother to wake Sean -- not that morning sex had ever been a part of their marriage. They’re on opposite schedules; the show Sean is doing the costumes for is in the middle of its workshop, and if it gets picked up by a good producer, it could mean big things. And Sean is cranky in the morning, anyway.

Blaine can just as easily take care of himself.

He gets up, slowly. The erection still hasn’t died down, and Blaine begins to wonder if this is even normal for someone his age. Maybe he should call a doctor. He laughs to himself. Or maybe he should jack off and not worry about it.

He moves off the bed, having to go around it to get to the bathroom. In the process, he has to step over a huge pile of Sean’s clothes. Blaine takes a moment to pick them up, and throw them into the laundry basket. Two seconds, it takes. Is that really so hard?

The clothes also smell like booze and cigarettes, which means Sean has been staying out late with the company again. It’s fine, they used to both go all the time to the afterparties and the clubs, but some time after Blaine hit thirty, he didn’t find them as enticing any more. Something about feeling almost twice as old as everyone around him killed the spirit.

Blaine gets into the bathroom, turning on the light, and easily stripping out of the boxers that he wears to bed. His dick is still throbbing to be touched, so he gives himself a few hardy strokes before turning on the water for a shower. It’s weird, he thinks, as he gets in. Sex used to be the a staple of his marriage but, as the years passed, he and Sean manage once a week if they’re lucky. He hasn’t really missed it, or maybe he hasn’t noticed he missed it. Because getting off with just his hand doesn’t normally feel so good.

He indulges a little, thinking about that dream, and those hands on him. Letting someone else take over, take control, take him apart. He thinks, at first, of Sean, pulling from the catalogue of their sex life. Sean being the one to hold him, and stroke him, and suck him down. But as much as he tries to concentrate on his husband, the scene keeps pulling away, and there’s someone else there -- a faceless man with deft hands who knows exactly how Blaine likes to be touched.

He speeds up his hand, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. He braces himself against the tile of the bathroom wall, fucking furiously into his hand until his hips take on a life of their own. Eventually he comes, jolting hard into his hand. The orgasm tears through him, and he lets out a near scream that he hopes doesn’t wake Sean.

It takes a moment to come down, and he leans against the tiles, enjoying the blissed out feeling as the hot water sprays over him. He’s not sure what had brought all that on but he does feel more relaxed. He’s been too pent up lately. Maybe he does need to start seeing his therapist again…

***

On Wednesdays, Blaine only teaches one class and he is back home by noon in time, usually, to make himself lunch before heading out to do afternoon errands (or stay in and grade papers). Before the workshop started, he and Sean would usually make Wednesday nights their together time. But those have faded away over the past year or so. Blaine has gotten used to spending the evenings alone, to the point that when Blaine arrives back at the apartment that afternoon, he’s startled to see Sean there making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sean stands against the counter, chewing the sandwich slowly as he watches Blaine put his bag and coat on one of the kitchen table chairs. “You okay?” Sean asks, taking another bite. A bit of crust lands in his red beard, and he brushes it off and onto the floor. Blaine shakes his head, now he understands why the floor is always so filthy. “You’re looking at me as if I’m a stranger in the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine says. Maybe it’s not. It feels, weirdly, like an intrusion on his private time, but the thought is laughable. His husband is home -- he should be happy. Blaine begins to rifle through the fridge, pulling out a container of tuna fish to have for lunch. They could eat together, at the table, like civilized people. “What happened with the workshop?”

“Remember me telling you about Ashleigh and Karyn and their obsessive ambition to be the first to win a Tony? Or whatever the fuck they’re actually looking for.”

“Yes.” No? Maybe? He can’t keep all of the cast members of Sean’s show straight. But Blaine doesn’t really feel like listening to a who’s who tangent. He finishes making the sandwich as Sean explains further.

“Well, I don’t know how it started, but I know how it ended -- with the both of them in the hospital,” Sean says. “So with both the lead and the understudy out, the workshop is on hold for a little while.”

“Wait, who was the lead again?” Blaine asks. Sandwich made, he grabs some chips from the pantry and a bottle of water and heads to the kitchen table. Sean follows him, leaving his now empty plate on the counter, before taking his usual seat across from Blaine.

“Karyn,” Sean says, stealing some chips from Blaine’s bag. “The blonde.”

“Right.”

“So, I guess you have me home for a while.”

Blaine plasters an immediate smile to his face. He’s not entirely sure how to feel, though. “Are you still getting paid?”

“Yeah,” Sean grabs more chips. “Marv’s gotta girl lined up in case it takes longer. Shouldn’t be more than a week.”

“Ah.”

Sean taps his fingers on the table. Blaine sips from his water bottle. There’s a siren outside somewhere, and the upstairs neighbor’s dog sprints back and forth, causing the ceiling to creek.

“I paid the water bill,” Sean says after a long moment.

“Great,” Blaine says. “I still say we should get reimbursed for the neighbors tapping into our pipes.”

“I’ll talk to Greg about it.”

“Great.”

Blaine eats his sandwich in a strange sort of silence as Sean watches him. He feels like they should talk about something. What do they usually talk about these days? Work? The apartment? The new musical mini-series Netflix put out? Sean doesn’t ask how Blaine’s class went. Blaine doesn’t offer to talk about it. Nothing really feels like a good conversation.

Which is why Blaine decides to mention it… “So, I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was some kind of sex dream,” Blaine says, licking the tuna from his fingers. “I woke up hard as fuck.”

Sean gives a smirk. “I can’t tell if this is your way of telling me you want to fool around tonight, or if you’re concerned and want to see a doctor.”

Blaine laughs into his water. “I decided I’m too young still to have dick problems, and jacked off in the shower.”

Sean’s eyes go wide with amusement. “Shame I missed that show. If you’re still feeling it, we can mess around after lunch if you want.”

Blaine gives an unenthused shrug. “I’ve got some errands to run. Then I’m having dinner with Santana tonight, but if you want to catch the late show, it can be arranged.”

“We’ll see,” Sean says. “I told some of the guys I’d meet them out for drinks tonight. There’s a new bar opening over in SoHo.”

A flash of irritation runs through Blaine. It’s not the turning down of sex that bothers him. He really doesn’t want to spend his evening at a bar in SoHo. He really doesn’t want to spend the evening with Sean’s questionable friends ‘Way-Too-Flirty’ Don and ‘Drinks-Too-Much’ Steve. He doesn’t even really want to go out, especially when he has to teach an early morning class. But he’s not there to tell Sean what to do.

He finishes off the sandwich without a word. It’s not like Sean feels differently about Santana.

“You know, speaking of Santana, that reminds me,” Sean says, getting up from his seat. He goes over to the counter and brings back a red envelope. “This came for you today -- from McKinley High.”

Blaine takes it with interest. He gets mailers from Dalton Academy all the time -- even if he didn’t graduate from there, he had still technically been an alumni. But something from McKinley? That just seems weird. It isn’t the right time for there to be a reunion. He has no idea what it could possibly be.

He opens it up to find a black and gold invitation. “Oh,” he says a little fondly as he reads it. “My old glee club teacher is retiring. He’s inviting everyone back for homecoming weekend to celebrate. Cute.”

Sean grabs at the paper after Blaine lets it drop back to the table. “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers quietly.

“Would you want to go?” It’s not often that Sean comes with him on the rare occasions he heads back to Ohio.

Sean hesitates before he speaks, and snacks on another couple of chips before replying. “I probably should stay to make sure Marv has a handle on this whole Ashleigh-Karyn thing. That is, unless you’d like me to go.”

Blaine stares hard at the paper. It’s not like he couldn’t go. He doesn’t have to teach on Fridays, and the school is having a holiday weekend that same weekend. In theory, he could and it wouldn’t be a problem. “I don’t even know if I should.”

“Maybe go to see your parents, Blaine,” Sean says. “It’s got to be at least a few years since you’ve seen them.”

“I saw them last year at…” Blaine considers. Has time really flown by so quickly? “Huh, I guess it has been at least two since that Christmas we spent in Ohio.” He sits back in his chair to think about it.

“Hey, Blaine…” There’s suddenly a heaviness in the air. There’s something behind Sean’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Something that Blaine catches glimpses of every once in a while. Something that they’ve been avoiding and, for a moment, Blaine fears that Sean is actually going to bring it up. The room gets darker, just a cloud passing by the sun, but everything is still -- too still, and Blaine’s heart begins to race. The moment passes, though, and whatever Sean had been about to say changes. “I guess talk to Santana about it, and see what she says.”

Blaine stares down at the paper again. Suddenly, a weekend away from the apartment, away from the city, away from Sean doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

***

The fall wind is sharp in its crispness, but it’s still a nice enough evening to go for a run in Central Park. Three days a week, he and Santana Lopez go out for a jog then grab dinner at a nearby taco truck so they can sit and gossip. Santana, who’s office isn’t far from where they meet, is already waiting for Blaine when he arrives. She is stretching her legs, bent over in a V, wearing her usual black spandex pants with a bright, blue bomber jacket that billows slightly. Her designer sunglasses rest on the top of her head.

Because he has been thinking about high school all day, he can’t help but think that she hasn’t changed much. Her face has hardened a little with age, but Blaine knows her beauty care routine is much more extensive than his, and he knows how much she spends on wigs and dye jobs. Today, though, her long, black hair is pulled back tightly in a high pony, amusingly reminiscent of how she wore it in high school.

“Okay, so I have some hot goss for you today,” she says, immediately after they exchange pleasantries. She waits for him to do his own stretching, but continues to launch into her news. “So, you remember how I’ve been endlessly talking about the cute redhead on the floor below?”

“The one who works as a secretary for the greasy lawyer?” Blaine pulls his leg back. The stretching feels nice, he is glad he is able to get out of the stuffy apartment in some capacity tonight, even if he can tell Santana is a bit more ramped up than usual.

Santana nods. “So for weeks now, it’s been flirty glances, and unbuttoning buttons to show off some pretty pricey brassieres, but you know, nothing direct. Well, today she comes up to my floor, claiming the bathroom is not working in their offices -- and I checked, she was totally lying -- and she’s wearing this tight, and I mean tight, nearly see-through button-down. With no bra. She had on no bra. I could see her fucking nipples, Blaine.”

“The nerve,” Blaine teases. They begin to walk down their usual path. They have a good quarter of a mile before they usually start jogging, though they might go the first half of their two miles at a walking pace just so Santana could release her pent up energy verbally.

“Who doesn’t wear a bra in a professional setting?” Santana continues. Blaine arches an eyebrow at her. “Okay, so I have totally done it, but I promise you it was warranted. Anyway, I think she’s trying to kill me. I took all of my restraint not to pull her directly into the janitor’s closet and make out with her. And play with her tits. I can’t unsee her fucking hot tits, Blaine.” Santana grumbles, putting a fist to her head, as if it’ll magically erase the image.

“You know, you could ask for her number,” Blaine suggests, for maybe the third time since Santana has started talking about the woman. “Or, you know, find out her name.”

Santana looks at him sharply. He knows, she just wants a minute to bitch and revel in her janitor closet fantasies, but it’s not in him not to offer suggestions. “Her name is Liz. I at least found that out today.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Blaine offers.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she asks abruptly. “Usually, you’re talking my head off about school, and I’m always having to catch up to you. You’re trailing me by nearly a foot. Something’s going on.”

Santana’s senses are rarely off, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by it. He tries to quicken his pace but she is right, he is been in his head all day. “I’m thinking of going back to therapy.” He says it simply, laying it out as if it’s another fact, and not something that’s been weighing on his mind.

She gives him a concerned look. “Is this a ‘just you’ thing? Or a ‘you and Sean’ thing?”

“A ‘just me’ thing,” he admits. They are nearly at the lamp post where they usually start to jog, but he’s not feeling as up to it as he had been when he arrived at the park. “Sean’s staying home for a few days, and I’ve been restless lately…” he doesn’t quite say the things he’s thinking. “And, I don’t know, I had a weird sex dream this morning. I’ve been off all day.”

“Well, what does Sean think?”

“He offered to fuck, but I told him I had it taken care of.”

“What, no, not about the sex dream,” Santana stops in her tracks. They have to wait a moment for an older woman walking a doberman to pass in-between them. “What does your husband think about you going to therapy?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“God, Blaine,” Santana says, exasperated. “Well, if you really would rather spend your evening with me than reconnecting with your husband who is, as you well know, built like a fucking viking, then maybe therapy is what you need.”

It’s more complicated than that. She knows some of it, but maybe not all of it, and it’s more than Blaine would really like to get into on their fairly public walk through Central Park. But Santana has also grown to be one of his closest friends and, if nothing else, he can confide in her.

“I’m going to set up an appointment,” he tries to play it off as just another thing. She knows better, and gives him one of her infamous staredowns. “And if it’s something I think I need to continue to do, I’ll keep you informed,” he tries to assure her.

“You better, Anderson.” Her voice is sharp. “I may have a cold, dead heart, but I want you to be happy. And you know I’m always going to be blatantly honest with you, so I say this with all the love I can muster, but I don’t think you are.”

“I know, I know…” He’s not not happy. He loves his job. He loves his little apartment. He loves being in one of the greatest cities in all of the world. He and Sean are… “So, hey, did you get your invitation to Mr. Schue’s retirement party?” He begins to walk again. He knows he’s avoiding the conversation, so does Santana. But she rolls with it.

“He’s retiring? Dear god, he’s barely over fifty.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh. “Well, that’s what the invitation said.”

“And, fuck, no, I haven’t gotten one,” Santana says. “Though, it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve checked the mail. Who sends invitations through the mail these days? Just start a text chain like a normal person.”

“Would you go?” He asks. He’s been back and forth on the idea all day. Does he really want or need to see anyone from high school again? Possibly? Would it be nice to get away for a weekend? Most definitely. Can he really afford to skip town for a little while? That is the big unanswered question.

Santana bites her lip, thinking it over. “I mean it really depends on who else got these magical invitations. Oh, god, will Rachel Berry be there? Please tell me Rachel Berry will be there. Because I have got to see how little Miss TV-Princess does in a place that does not revolve around her ego.”

Blaine has never had the issues with Rachel that Santana had, but he does remember college. He does remember Funny Girl. “Sorry, Santana, I don’t actually have an answer for you on that one.”

Santana throws her hands in the air. “You keep in touch with everyone, right? Well, isn’t she part of everyone?”

“I think she’s become a little out of my status level,” Blaine replies, with a smirk. “Besides, I don’t keep in touch with everyone .” Truth be told, Santana might be the only person he talks to from high school. At least on a regular basis. For all the promises made during the time of staying BFFs forever, real life managed to get in the way of the magical thinking.

“Alright, let’s work it out, right now, cause this will be the determining factor,” she says. She pulls at a leaf from one of the trees above her, causing the branch to bounce. It nearly whacks him in the head, which causes her to giggle a little and shake her head. “Let’s see… Rachel Berry, possibly. Said ego might drive her back to the place where it all began.”

“Sam Evans will probably be there,” Blaine says. “He does still live in the area.” He and Sam don’t have a lot of contact, but occasionally they’ll do a long distance Fantasy Football thing or chat about a new video game they both own. He hopes Sam will go - he could use more of that laid back charm in his life.

“Artie clearly won’t be,” Santana continues. “I know, because I’m the one who put him on the European press tour for his new film.”

“I doubt Tina will be there either,” Blaine adds. “She just had her third baby, and she and Ron probably don’t want to make the trip from Boston to Lima with three young children.”

He thinks of Tina’s Instagram, the only way he really communicates with her, and the constant updates for her hectic life. She’s happy and looking good, and way too busy to drop everything and run back to Ohio. Blaine makes a note to give her a call at some point to congratulate her formally on the new baby, even if he had already left a cute note on the Instagram pictures.

Santana is too caught up in her thought process to say more about Tina. “Finn won’t be there for obvious reasons. What the fuck happened to Puck? I doubt he has an address to even send anything to. Quinn’s too prideful to drag her divorced ass out of Connecticut. You know she’s already taken a new lover ? She’s in her mid-thirties, and still hitting up the sugardaddies. I mean, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”

“Well, Mike’s in Chicago,” Blaine offers. Mike had been part of the Chicago Ballet for a long time, and had since become a dance instructor. Blaine had been at Mike’s wedding to his wife, Marie, a couple of years ago, and he’s another one whom Blaine wouldn’t mind seeing again. Maybe he, Mike, and Sam could have a nice guys’ night out that weekend. He’ll have to get in touch.

Santana nods. They walk by a woman sitting on a bench with two screaming children. Blaine feels bad for the woman, but he and Santana share a look -- both of them glad that they don’t have to deal with that kind of hot mess at home.

“Then there’s Mercedes,” Santana says, looking up and out into the world. “Goddess among women. We do not have the privilege to be in her presence.” Santana laughs at her own comments. “Seriously, though, I love my girl, but I don’t judge her for continuing to live her best life.”

“What about Brittany?” Blaine asks, tentatively. He has no idea if this is a sore subject for her or not because he doesn’t think Santana has brought her up once over the course of their friendship.

Santana becomes stoney-faced, as if not to give herself too much away. “No,” she says simply. “Brittany’s living in some commune in LA where she does Fondue for Two and runs a cat babysitting service.”

“That’s a thing?”

“In LA it is.” A fond smile climbs on her lips. “In any case, as much as I am always up for seeing my girl again, I highly doubt she’ll be back. I mean, we were still hooking up for a while the few times I made it out to LA, but recently she’s found someone a little more… permanent. And before you go on pitying me, let me assure you, I am more than fine.” She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects. For a person who is almost always open about her thoughts, she’s decidedly reclusive when it comes to matters of her heart. Blaine knows better than to try to pry it out of her. “Anyway, if we’re going to be upfront about exes, I believe there’s only one person left, if we’re not counting random chicks with mafia dads or weird Irish exchange students. And I’m sure we both know that there’s no way in hell Lady Hummel is coming back to Lima, Ohio.”

“Oh!” Blaine says, as if it’s a complete revelation. Kurt hadn’t even entered his mind, and it is surreal to think that his brain didn’t go there first.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually forgot about Lady Hummel and his heartbreaking ways,” Santana scoffs. “Pretty sure years of therapy couldn’t undo all the trauma that did.”

She isn’t wrong, and she would know, because she helped pick him up a year after everything had happened. But that’s the funny thing -- it’s not that he doesn’t remember Kurt. (God, he remembers all of Kurt.) He doesn’t remember the person he used to be when he had been with Kurt. There had been a time when he would have shifted the Sun and the Moon and the entire Earth for Kurt Hummel. A time when his heart had pointed in only one direction. And a time so dark that when Kurt had ended it, Blaine didn’t know how he would ever move on.

And yet he did.

The person he had been is now such a faded memory he can barely remember what those feelings were like. Kurt Hummel is just another name from his past, a person who, yes, helped shape him into the person he is now. But long gone are the emotions once attached to that name. Funny how things can change. Someone could mean so much to you at one point in time, and yet after time…

“I didn’t forget about Kurt, clearly,” Blaine says. He grabs her arm, and loops his own through it. The jog isn’t happening today, and he’s fine with that. Some days, it’s best just to have the company rather than the exercise. “I just think you’re right, unless Burt is dying or something. But doubtful that he’ll return for a silly retirement party.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Blaine shrugs, and gives a smile. He doesn’t know how he feels about whether or not Kurt will be there. He hasn’t thought about him so long. But he does know that after all this talk of the past, maybe he is ready to go back and see if anyone else is feeling the same way. “I think we should do it. Go back. I mean, why not?”

Santana shakes her head. “Oh, this whole idea sounds like the worst, but if there’s a chance I get to make-out with Quinn Fabray again, then I’m in.”

For the first time in a while, Blaine feels a little lighter on his feet.

***

Not a few weeks later, Blaine is on a plane back to Ohio.

He and Sean talked it over and, while Sean had been technically free to go, they agreed that maybe it would be better if Blaine went himself; the unspoken dialogue being that space isn’t the worst thing they could give each other. Blaine had not been able to help but be fidgety with his wedding ring during the flight but, intent on giving himself a weekend off from real life, he drowned himself in his favorite podcasts, and had tried not to think about his life in New York.

The party is on a Saturday afternoon, but he’s there on Friday so to spend time with his mom. They end up having a nice lunch together, and she takes him shopping. She’s as feisty as ever, somehow managing to remind Blaine of Santana, and he wonders if she’s always been like that or if that’s a new trait of being in your sixties. They end up FaceTiming with Cooper and the kids, and Blaine indulges his little nieces by singing them Disney Princess songs. The whole day weirdly feels like the family they usually are only around Christmas time, but he’s in good enough spirits that he doesn’t question it.

Later that night, his dad comes home, and they have pizza before his parents go off for one of their social benefit parties they often frequent, reminding Blaine of the old days when his parents were never home on a Friday night. He doesn’t mind so much because McKinley’s Homecoming Football game is that night.

His original plan had been to meet up with Sam since Santana’s plane isn’t coming in until tomorrow. But Sam declined, stating that Mercedes Jones is coming late that night and she needs a ride from the airport. Sam didn’t ask Blaine to come with him. Blaine calls up Mike, who is happy to hear from him, and says that he will be at the party but is only going to make the trip to Lima once on Saturday. He doesn’t bother trying to get a hold of anyone else, and ends up going to the game alone.

Coming back to McKinley feels like going back in time, and yet the kids running around make him feel entirely too old to be there. He half expects Sue Sylvester to pop out and start yelling at the cheerleaders, or Mr. Figgins to make some sort of half-time speech, but the world of McKinley has moved on, even if the campus has remained remarkably the same. The game is fun, but kind of boring, and he’s not surprised when the team loses by seventeen points. Still, seeing the array of alumni all cheering around him, he feels a strange sort of connection to the place in a way that he really didn’t when he actually went to the school. It’s a bit surreal.

Afterwards, not ready to go home to an empty house, he drives around for a bit, until by chance, he drives by Scandals, Lima’s decrepit excuse for a gay bar. Feeling somewhat amused, a little nostalgic, and a lot in need of a drink, he decides to grab a beer for old times’ sake. He decides, on a whim, to put his wedding ring in his pocket. He’s not actually planning anything, but it’s also not like Sean wears his anymore, anyway.

Scandals is even more in a sad state of affairs then he remembers, even if ‘Funk-It-Up-Friday’ is trying to give the place some of that Mid-Western Charm. He orders a bottled beer, and sips as he thinks fondly about the time he watched Dave Karofsky try to line dance. God, that had been so long ago…

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize the pick-up line is directed at him, but he does instantly recognize the voice. Much to his shock, when he turns around, he’s face to face with a much older, and yet still dazzlingly magnificent, Kurt Hummel.

#s.o. writes things #head over feet #klaine #klaine fic #it's the older klaine reunion fic!#i'm loving writing this one

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dottielovegood · 3 years ago

Text

ASMR - Chapter 4

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

_______________________________________

You can find chapter 1 here, chapter 2 here and chapter 3 here

Read this fic on AO3

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The following week, Azriel read Elain’s messages too many times to admit. He had answered her that “meat banjo” was, indeed, a vile word, and after that, they hadn’t really talked or texted.

He had saved her number as “Elain”, which had felt weirdly private. As if they were friends, which they were not. He was just her friendly helper, and she was his remedy for nightmares.

However, even though they didn’t know each other, Azriel felt an odd sensation in his chest when he thought about her. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that he was missing her, which was absurd. But the tight little knot in his chest felt very much like longing. He tried to tell himself that this was weird and stupid. He knew that he had a crush on her (even though he hated to admit it), but he could also see that it was a pointless crush. She was an internet sensation, he was a boring IT guy. She was light and happiness and flowers, he was dark and brooding. She made people smile, he made people uncomfortable. And then there was the practical side of things. They had met on the internet. She probably lived on the other side of the country. Hell, she could even live in a different country for all he knew. She might have a partner already - it’s not like he asked. And, last but not least, she probably didn’t have a crush on him.

Before talking to her on the phone, he had just thought that she was a pretty girl that deserved kindness. But after their phone call, he had definitely developed a crush. Which was another reason why he hadn’t texted her. He didn’t want to bother her and he didn’t want to have this crush. He wanted to stop feeling like this for a girl he would never see in real life. Yet, every night before bed, he found himself on her youtube page, watching one of her many videos.

She uploaded a new video to Youtube every Friday, so when Friday came around, Azriel was itching to get home so he could go to sleep (he told himself that he was looking forward to sleeping and not to seeing her face).

However, he had an entire workday to get through first. The office was mostly an open landscape and Azriel’s desk was next to Cassian’s. The only person with his own office was Rhysand, which was fair since he was the owner of the company. At two in the afternoon, Rhys poked his head out of his office.

“You guys are still coming for dinner this weekend, right?”

“Yeah,” Azriel and Cassian answered in unison.

“I told Feyre that I would help her with the food,” Azriel continued.

Rhys looked like he was going to kiss Azriel. “Oh, god. Thank you, man. I was scared that we would have to repeat the Christmas dinner,” he said and shuddered.

Feyre hated to cook and Rhys did most of the cooking at home, but for some inexplicable reason, she always wanted to cook for holidays or family dinners. To everyone’s dismay. Christmas had been no exception. She had burned the turkey, added salt instead of sugar to the dessert and somehow managed to buy the wrong berries for her cranberry sauce. Luckily, Rhys had been prepared and bought a few frozen pizzas and some ice cream, so the day wasn’t that much of a disaster, but nobody wanted to brave Feyre’s cooking again.

“Why don’t you just cook?” Cassian asked without looking up from his screen.

“You know that she kicks me out if I so much as go near the kitchen when we have these family dinners. And since she started the hormone treatment, she has been a bit bitchy when she gets mad, so I’ll just do whatever she says.”

Azriel chuckled. He could tell from Rhysand’s tone that Feyre had been more than “a bit” bitchy.

“I don’t understand why she lets Azriel help, though…”

“Maybe because she knows that I’ll tell her to sit down with a glass of wine and a magazine, and then she can take all of the credit for the food?”

“Fair enough.” Rhys shrugged. “Just burn the food a little bit, or it won’t be believable.”

Cassian snorted. “No one would believe that something edible was made by your wife. Sorry.”

“She does make a great green smoothie, though,” Rhys grinned and held up his glass.

Azriel and Cassian looked at each other and had to bite their tongues to keep from laughing. The smoothie looked vile and smelled even worse.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Rhys went back to his office for an important phone call. “See you on Saturday,” he reminded them before closing the door.

Azriel and Cassian worked in silence for the remainder of the day.

When Azriel came home that evening, he made a quick pasta carbonara to eat in front of the TV. He was re-watching New Girl. It was his comfort show and absolutely nobody knew that he watched it (and had watched it multiple times). He would take that information with him to the grave. But it was fun and cute and sometimes he liked to imagine his friends as characters in the show. Cassian was probably Schmidt, because Nesta was one hundred percent Cece. Feyre was Jess, which meant that Rhys was Nick. And then there was Azriel. He wanted to say that he was a very cool character, but most characters on this show weren’t cool, and also, he was definitely Winston. Alone with a cat - sounds about right , Azriel thought to himself as he finished his bowl of pasta.

When the episode ended he just waited for the next to start. He didn’t have any plans for the night and nowhere to be. His phone vibrated where he had left it on the kitchen counter. He ignored it, feeling too lazy to get up. But then it vibrated again. With a sigh, he got up. He expected to see a text from Mor telling him to bring wine tomorrow, or maybe a strange meme from Cassian. What he didn’t expect was to see Elain’s name on his screen.

He could feel his heart in his throat as he read her messages.

Elain Hey, Shadowsinger. I’m uploading a new video soon. You should watch it!

Elain I hope that message didn’t sound creepy? I just meant that I think you might like it.

Azriel’s hands were sweaty.

Azriel You didn’t sound creepy at all. Of course, I’ll watch your video. May I ask what I can expect from it?

Just seconds later, Elain answered.

Elain You can ask, but I might not tell ;)

Azriel Should I be worried?

Elain Haha, no! I think it turned out great. You were my inspiration :)

Azriel could feel himself blush. He had never been someone’s inspiration before.

Azriel So, I’m your muse? ;)

Oh god, was that too flirty? Was the winky-face too much? He wished that he could take back the message.

Elain For tonight, yes!

Azriel stared at his phone, unsure of what to answer. Luckily, Elain wrote to him again.

Elain What are you doing tonight?

Azriel Nothing. Just eating pasta and watching TV. How about you?

Elain That sounds amazing. I have been editing this video for hours so I’m just tired and cranky, haha. I have just ordered a pizza and I think I’ll just eat it in bed as soon as this video has finished uploading. What did you watch?

Azriel If I told you, I would have to kill you.

Elain Oh, intriguing! Is it trashy drama? I bet it’s Grey’s anatomy! Or maybe… Love Island?

Azriel stared at his phone. Did she really think that he would watch something like Love Island?

Azriel I watched New Girl, okay. Don’t tell anyone.

Elain Your secret is safe with me! Also, I love New Girl! Especially Winston!

It felt as if someone was squeezing Azriel’s heart.

Azriel Really? Which character would you be?

Elain My pizza is here so I am going to put all of my electronics in a different room and eat my pizza while reading a good book. It was great talking to you, Azriel! Please tell me what you thought of the video when you have watched it.

Elain Oh, and I would probably be Winston’s cat. lol

Azriel almost dropped his phone. If he had to be alone with a cat for the rest of his life, he would definitely want Elain to be his cat , he thought to himself. Which was a weird thing to think about someone you didn’t know. Azriel dropped his head to his kitchen counter and took a deep breath before replying.

Azriel It was great talking to you too, Elain. Enjoy your dinner and your book :)

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. Azriel was going to be thinking about her for the rest of the night anyway.

30 minutes later, he got a notification telling him that Flower Girl ASMR had uploaded a new video. The video was called “ASMR for IT-guys”, which made him chuckle. He clicked the video and Elain’s beautiful face filled his screen again.

“Hello, my lovelies, lovelies, lovelies,” she whispered in her microphone. “This week’s video will be a bit different,” she continued, slowly moving her hands in front of the camera. “This video was inspired by my friend who recently helped me with some computer-related issues, issues, issues.”

Azriel loved it when she repeated words like that. And he liked that he somehow was a part of this video. It was something that connected them. Azriel paused the video and got into bed, knowing fully well that he would probably fall asleep soon if he kept watching this.

He pressed play again. “So, today, I thought that we would try a few computer-related triggers. I have a keyboard here,” she said and started typing on a keyboard that was out of view. “I thought that I would say a few trigger words while typing them.”

She smiled at the camera and pressed a few more keys. “I just wrote my friend’s name, but you won’t get to know who he is. But you know who you are. Thank you for your help!”

Azriel felt all warm inside.

She continued the video. “The first trigger word is IP address ”. Azriel laughed as she repeated the word multiple times while typing quickly.

“And then we have, laptop, laptop, laptop,” she continued, and Azriel felt shivers go down his spine when she popped the p’s.

Azriel had never thought that he would fall asleep to someone whispering “HTML coding” in his ears, but here he was. Relaxed and ready to sleep.

All thanks to Flower Girl ASMR.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

The next day, Azriel texted Elain that he had loved the video. He waited for hours, but no reply came. Maybe she just wanted to repay me for helping her? Azriel thought. Maybe she would stop talking to him now that he had seen the video.

The thought of never talking to Elain again made him feel a new kind of ache in his chest. An ache he didn’t want to feel. This stupid crush needs to end, he muttered to himself as he started to scrub his kitchen counter. He tried to ignore the feeling by keeping busy. He cleaned his apartment and did some laundry before heading over to his friends’ house.

Rhys greeted him by the door and ushered him inside.

“She started cooking like 15 minutes ago, please save whatever can be saved,” he whispered to Azriel. Azriel chuckled and made his way to the kitchen. On the way there, he passed the living room and stopped to greet his friends. He saw most of them on a daily basis because of work, but he was still happy to see them. Cassian and his fiancée Nesta sat close together on one of the green velvet couches. On the opposite couch sat Mor and Amren. Mor was one of the journalists at Velaris News, and Amren was an editor. They had known each other for years. Amren and Rhys had studied together at university, and Mor was Rhysand’s cousin. Once upon a time, Azriel had a crush on Mor. One night after one too many glasses at Rita’s he confessed his feelings to her and she had looked horrified. He had expected her to tell him that she didn’t fancy him and leave it at that, but instead, she had blurted “I like girls!”

Azriel was the first person she ever came out to, and he had felt honored. He also knew now that they wouldn’t have worked out together in the long run (even if Mor had been straight). They were just too different. She was energetic and outgoing and fun, he needed peace and quiet. But she was still one of his very best friends.

Amren on the other hand, he didn’t know as well. She had always been very private, but she was damn good at her job.

“Where’s Varian tonight?” Azriel asked Amren, trying to make small talk.

“How should I know?” she answered quickly. “I’m not his mother.”

Cassian stared at her. “But you are his girlfriend?”

She shrugged. “I don’t like to label things.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. Amren had lived with Varian for the past two years, but she was still reluctant to tell anyone about their relationship.

Azriel made his way into the kitchen, and from what he could tell, he made it just in time.

“What are you making, Feyre?” he asked, because truthfully, he couldn’t tell.

Feyre turned around quickly as if he had startled her. “Oh, hi Az,” she said and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

Something was burning.

“I was trying to make lamb chops with glazed carrots, roasted potatoes, and salsa verde, but…” she gestured to the stove, which looked like a disaster.

Azriel chuckled. “That’s ambitious.” He lifted the lid from one of the pots and could clearly see that she had overcooked the lamb 10 minutes ago. Also, why had she made them in a pot, and not a frying pan? It would be inedible.

The potatoes were still in the sink, unpeeled.

She gave him a strained smile. “Will you help me?”

“Of course.” Azriel put the grocery bag he had brought with him on the kitchen island. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” She sounded desperate.

“Please, for the love of god, let Rhys cook when we come over. You really don’t have to show off. You are good at many things, Feyre. But cooking is unfortunately not one of them.”

She nodded. “I know,” she sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island and buried her face in her hand. “I just...I need to be able to cook when I become a mother.”

Azriel took her hand in his. “You really don’t. Nobody expect fathers to be good at cooking, so why should every mother be good at it? Honestly, just let Rhys cook while you play with the kids.”

She smiled at him. “That actually sounds amazing,” she sighed.

“Right?”

Azriel started to pull out some ingredients from the bag on the kitchen island. He held up the tomatoes and the spaghetti, “How about some pasta arrabbiata with burrata?”

“Sounds fancy.”

He shrugged. “Everything sounds fancier in a different language. It’s just pasta with a spicy tomato sauce, and burrata on top.”

“Whatever you make will probably be better than that mess,” she said and glanced towards the stove. Azriel couldn’t disagree.

“Probably,” he laughed and got to work. Azriel placed all the pots and pans in the sink and started chopping the vegetables for the sauce, and in just 30 minutes, dinner was served.

“You are my hero,” Feyre said and kissed his cheek as she carried the big bowl of pasta to the dining room.

Everyone had already gathered around the table, wine glasses in hand. As Azriel sat down, Mor poured him some wine.

“This looks amazing,” Nesta said and Cassian nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, Az helped a little,” Feyre said and winked at Azriel.

“Just a bit,” Azriel said and took a sip of wine.

The conversation (and wine) flowed freely, as it always did. Cassian and Nesta told them about their wedding plans, Mor gushed about Emerie, a girl she was dating, and Feyre told them about life as a high school art teacher. Azriel would never understand how anyone could choose to spend their days with teenagers, but Feyre loved it.

After two bottles of wine, Nesta and Mor were in an argument about which animal was the cutest.

“No, I am telling you, Sloths are cuter than any animal ever,” Mor exclaimed. “Have you seen their dopey little faces?”

“Sloths? Really?” Nesta looked at her as if she had suggested that the sky was green. “Red pandas are way cuter! They are cute and cuddly, Sloths just look like every single stoner I went to high school with.”

They had been at it for 10 minutes, which Azriel found to be quite impressive.

“Can you both just shut up?” Amren gritted out. “The cutest animals are koalas. They’re even cute when they fight. I am right, you are wrong. Please stop this meaningless discussion before I die from boredom.”

Nesta and Mor looked at Amren, and then at each other.

“We obviously have to see Koalas fight if you want us to end this conversation,” Mor said.

Nesta nodded. “Obviously. Give me your phone, Az,” she said and reached for his phone.

“Why do you need my phone?”

“Because mine is dead and yours is right there on the table. Also, your screen is big and we need to watch this in full HD, for obvious reasons.”

Azriel huffed a laugh, unlocked his phone, and handed it to Nesta.

She clicked the Youtube app, and then her face fell. She looked at Azriel as if he was an alien, and then she showed the phone to Cassian who looked at him with the same facial expression.

What the hell had they found?

He didn’t have anything weird on his phone. And he sure as hell didn’t watch porn on it.

“What?” Azriel asked, and Nesta turned the phone.

Fuck. The last video he had watched was still loaded on Youtube, and of course, it was Elain’s latest video.

“What the hell is this?” Nesta asked, almost looking angry.

Azriel didn’t understand why she found ASMR so wrong, but he desperately wanted to explain himself.

“Well, it’s ASMR. It’s kind of… well, it’s hard to explain, but it helps me sleep and– “

Nesta interrupted him before he could finish. “I know what ASMR is. I am wondering why you are watching Elain?”

Azriel stared at Nesta in shock. Did she also like Elain’s videos? But that wouldn’t explain the anger and confusion.

“Do you...know her?” Azriel asked.

“Yes, we went to university together. She’s our florist for the wedding. She was the florist at their wedding, too,” Nesta answered and gestured towards Rhys and Feyre. “Surely you have met her?”

Azriel could do nothing but shake his head in confusion. If he had ever met Elain, he would have known. You didn’t forget a face like hers.

“Please tell me you’re not stalking her like some creep, Az. Honestly, her last boyfriend was the world’s biggest asshat.”

“I’m not stalking her,” Azriel blurted out. “I’m just watching her videos to fall asleep, I promise. I– I didn’t know that you knew her.”

Nesta eyed him suspiciously. “So, is this just a coincidence?”

He nodded. “Weirder things have happened,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Nesta glanced at Cassian, and then back at Azriel. “Fine,” she said after a small eternity. “You would probably be cute together anyway. Sorry for insinuating that you would be a stalker.” She really did look remorseful. “That wasn’t fair. I’m just very protective of her. She’s the nicest girl, but she has horrendous taste in men.”

Azriel couldn’t answer, because his mind was still stuck on the fact that Nesta said that they would be cute together. He wanted to ask Nesta why she thought that. He kind of also wanted to ask her if Elain lived here in Velaris, and what her favorite movie was, and if she, by any chance, had a boyfriend. But he refrained, he didn’t want to sound like a stalker.

“So, what the fuck is ASMR?” Cassian asked. “Is it like porn?”

Before Azriel could answer, Rhys said “It’s like porn for your ears, I guess,” and then the entire table was laughing.

“Nesta,” Feyre said when the laughter had died down. “Does Elain still have that cute, little shop on River Street?”

“Mhm,” Nesta answered and took a sip of her wine.

Azriel could kiss Feyre for asking. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he could see her wink in his direction before raising her water glass to her lips.

Azriel walked home that evening with a million thoughts in his head.

He made a list in his head:

Elain lived in Velaris

River Street was literally a 10-minute walk from his home.

Nesta thought that they would be cute together

This meant nothing

She probably didn’t even like him back

Just because they were in the same city, it didn’t mean that they would ever meet.

This was still just a crush

And it was probably one-sided

She hadn’t even answered his latest text message.

And as if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Elain I’m sorry that I didn’t answer you earlier. I’ve been at work all day. We had a leak in the basement and everything was just chaos. I haven’t even checked my phone until now.

He mentally scratched number 9 from his list.

Azriel No worries! Did you fix the leak?

Azriel checked the time on his phone: 23.30

Had she dealt with this leak until now?

Elain Yes! But so many flowers were ruined (I’m a florist) and I had to remake a few arrangements for a wedding that’s coming up.

Elain I’m sorry. You probably don’t care. I’m happy that you liked the video :)

Azriel wanted to tell her that he did care. That everything she said was interesting to him. He would probably even find her Starbucks order fascinating. But that bordered on stalker behavior.

Azriel Again, no worries! Sometimes when you’ve had a bad day, you just need someone to vent to.

Elain Exactly! Thank you for letting me vent :) This day is finally over!

There was a selfie attached to the last message.

Elain was standing in front of a big window surrounded by flowers. She was wearing a white, oversized shirt and her hair was in a messy bun. She looked tired but happy. She was giving him ‘thumbs up’ in the photo and through the window, he could see the Sidra. They were indeed in the same city. It made him both happy and nervous.

Elain Sweaty but happy to be heading home :)

Azriel received that last message when he walked through the door to his apartment. What the hell was he supposed to answer?

But then he thought back to Nesta’s words.

You would probably be cute together.

So he took a deep breath and gathered all his courage.

Azriel You still look beautiful though

He stared at his phone. Would she answer? Would she block him? Would she tell him to stop being a creep?

Elain Thank you :) What do you look like? I might have forgotten ;)

Okay. That was flirty. Even Azriel could tell that that was a flirty text message, and he was usually oblivious to such things. He quickly walked to his bathroom (it was the room with the best lighting). He checked his shirt (no stains) and mussed with his hair.

“Good enough,” he muttered, and snapped a selfie.

Before he could chicken out, he sent it to her.

Within seconds, he received a reply.

Elain Beautiful!

#elriel #elriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel x elain #azriel

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marky4l · 4 years ago

Text

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances

word count: 17.2k

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music.

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat.

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.”

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody.

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another.

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you.

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate.

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted.

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest.

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation.

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.”

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him?

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice.

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily.

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.”

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—”

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?”

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward.

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem.

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before.

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway.

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt.

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape.

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous.

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him.

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily.

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point.

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work.

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.”

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately.

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too.

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole.

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse.

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—”

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion.

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted.

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?”

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful.

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again.

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.)

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard.

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit.

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open.

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours.

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome.

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching.

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head.

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.”

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing.

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself.

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question.

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop.

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you.

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max.

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December.

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably.

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different.

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile.

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor.

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click.

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it.

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly.

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause.

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good.

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?”

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him.

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face.

She nears you. “Explain.”

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once.

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!”

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest.

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin.

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said.

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark.

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed.

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment.

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly.

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory.

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita.

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up.

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine.

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.”

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.”

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently.

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once.

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head.

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously.

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear.

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.”

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly.

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens.

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.”

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.”

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.)

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down.

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm.

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently.

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.”

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person.

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these.

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it.

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all.

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate.

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum.

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

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