#i do love seeing how differently people see my stories

[sunshinemakesmesleepy]

I’m not the same person I was four years ago. Not even by a long shot. The jump from 17 to 21 was huge. Not even from a stand point of life experience or emotional intelligence, but before I got to college, i was always on guard. I never felt safe, and I never really was safe. I was sick and I was paranoid, I was easily started and angry and emotional but also incredibly repressed. I was a shell of who I was and yet some how that shell managed to craft meaningful and life saving friendships and connections that got me out of the death trap of a house I grew up in, and out of the clutches of two incredibly toxic and flawed parents who maybe once wanted the best for me, but quickly realized that they weren’t willing to put in the effort to help me achieve that. And so up until I escaped, I wasn’t me. I was whoever I needed to be to survive. I look back at pictures and old journals and even art, and I don’t recognize myself. I see glimpses but it’s all incredibly ingenuine. And yet people learned to love that version of me, outside of my house hold, and so in a way that version became real, to an extent. But it wasn’t vulnerable. Even if it was honest at times. It was shallow and impenetrable and ever changing. It wasn’t me. It was a tool I used to keep me, the real me, safe. And I learned to live like that. To even enjoy it in the moments that could be afforded

After my brief stint in college, after dropping out and cutting my remaining bio parent off, after leaving and starting over and rebuilding myself from scratch, I look like an evolution of a version of my younger self I had to leave behind in the name or survival. I show my new friends and my new community pictures of how I was back then, as a teenager, at 17, and they don’t recognize me. They’re horrified. They say I look sick and sad and miserable. They can’t find the light in my eyes. They ask why my smile never shows my teeth. I say I was never happy enough to get there genuinely. And I never got the hang of trying to fake it. I tell stories of who I was and what I did and they furrow their brows because it goes against everything they see in me now. The bright smiles, the flash of teeth, the bleach blonde hair, thick and curly round my head like a halo. They look at my heat straightened dark hair, carelessly cut into a blunt bob, patchy on the sides from a once unknown disease, and frown. I ask if they think they could have loved me back then, and they say of course. But I was easier to love in some ways, as a soft spoken terrified teenager, uncomplicated and unexceptional. Now I am a full person, with complexity and insight, and so it feels like if they could love me like this, as flawed and honest, of course they could love the palatable simple quiet version of me that once was.

But to walk back into the embrace of people who’ve only loved you as you stand behind a mask. Who say through the cracks of your armor much less than what you they thought. Who don’t know the depth of your genuine happiness and joy, your real smile, the way you talk for hours without fear. To do that feels more so like the potential for rejection, that the preference of a fake mask versus the real thing, might just be the thing that destroys you. And when you’ve walked the line of life an death too many times to count, that’s saying a lot.

But then my sister, seeing me in person for the first time in years tells me that I look healthy. Radiant. Like the sun. My brother too. My old friends, mothers and fathers who took me in as their own. Over and over again, they say: you look bright you seem happy I am so glad you are not suffering as you once were let me get to know you now; and while I am afraid of their rejection, their distaste in my future honesty, I am even more so enamored with their compassion and their kindness and desire to get to know me now as I am.

I came back different, but I didn’t come back wrong. I am not who I once was but that is okay. My soul at its core has not changed and those who know that hold me close and tell me they love me as I am, no matter what version no matter what time, no matter who I will be or who I have been, they will still love me because I am still myself. Even if I am different, even if part of it is nothing more than a lie, that lie is still a part of me and so it still means something. Even if it’s false. Fabricated. A means to an end. Protection from outside forces.

Let me get to know you now. I promise I will love you despite anything.

And against my better judgement I agree. And I never regret it

"You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore."

"That's okay. I'll get to know you again."

[bu3ck3r]

tied together – part 2

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 7k

a/n: okay part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the kind words about part 1 i love yall fr. after you read spam my inbox and tell me how was it and what you want to see next in this series because that would help me finish writing it faster🩵

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

there were three different air vents in the ceiling above paige’s bed, and she’d been staring at them long enough to map out their pattern in her head. she could hear the soft hum of the central air unit kicking on and off, a quiet rhythm that should’ve been comforting. should’ve put her to sleep. but it didn’t.

nika was snoring lightly in the other bed. arm slung over her stomach. unaware that her friend was drowning in a mess of memories, nerves, and someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

paige rolled over again. the clock on the nightstand glared at her in burning red: 3:05 am.

she wanted to scream.

instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated groan. her legs tangled in the hotel sheets, which had somehow gotten too hot despite the air conditioning. she threw them off and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. her chest was tight again.

not the post-game adrenaline. not soreness.

azzi.

always azzi.

her name had been playing on a loop in paige’s mind since the final buzzer. since that short conversation they shared just off the court—tense and quiet and loaded with everything paige had been trying to suppress since their last goodbye. since the last time she kissed her in the backseat of her car with trembling hands and didn’t say anything afterward. since she found out azzi committed to south carolina in a headline instead of a phone call.

what azzi had said to her after the game kept echoing in her head:

“i don’t know if it’s too late.”

it felt like it might be. felt like they’d crossed whatever line you don’t come back from. not because of the game. not even because of the school decisions. it was everything in between. the silence. the missed chances. the way they’d let pride fill the space where honesty should’ve lived.

she ran her hands down her face, frustrated. it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

they were supposed to rise together. be legendary together. win together. lose together.

instead? they had become a story people whispered about. “paige and azzi would’ve been inseparable if they played together.”

now they were rivals.

she should’ve said more. in the tunnel. when azzi stood there looking torn between biting her head off and reaching out. paige had seen it—the war behind her eyes. she could read azzi like a damn book. could always tell when she was bluffing. when she was hurt.

tonight, azzi had been both.

and paige had let her walk away.

again.

and now here she was—three in the morning, sitting in a hotel bed , not an ounce of sleep in her body, and one very real urge building like wildfire in her chest.

she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, squinting against the light as she unlocked it.

her thumb hovered over azzi’s name.

they hadn’t texted in months. not since before azzi announced she was going to sc. not since paige stopped replying altogether. there were so many almost-messages saved in the drafts: little check-ins, late-night thoughts, deleted love letters.

she hovered her fingers over the keyboard. started typing. deleted. tried again.

are you still awake?

she stared at it.

didn’t send it.

she started typing again, like she had a thousand times.

i miss you.

just those three words.

she stared at them. read them over. read them again. her heart thumped like it was trying to break out of her chest.

then, like always, she deleted it.

she couldn’t do this through a screen.

not anymore.

she was out of bed five minutes later.

slipping her phone into the hoodie pocket. moving slow to not wake nika. she slid on her uconn slides and crept into the hallway with her hoodie pulled tight around her, the strings bouncing against her chest.

the hallway was dim and silent, except for the low sound of vending machines and the soft, faraway sound of an elevator ding.

paige walked past room after room, carpet muffling her footsteps.

room 350.

she remembered the number because she’d seen it on a clipboard earlier that day when the teams checked in. she was signing some form in the hotel lobby and caught the room assignments. her eyes had skimmed the page, heart skipping when she saw bueckers – 250 right above fudd – 350.

she told herself it was coincidence she saw it. she told herself she wasn’t trying to remember.

but here she was.

standing in front of it.

she hesitated, staring at the door like they held the answer to smthing she didn’t know how to ask.

paige closed her eyes for a second. her hand trembled as she raised it. she knocked.

the door opened fast—like azzi had been standing right behind it.

maybe she had.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair messy. hoodie oversized. barefoot.

she froze when she saw paige.

neither of them said anything for a second.

then azzi leaned against the doorframe, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was real or just something her brain had conjured up from exhaustion.

azzi’s pov:

the room was too cold, but azzi refused to get under the covers. she’d been sitting alone upright in bed for nearly an hour, hoodie on, legs crossed, just… thinking.

not about the game.

about her.

about the way paige had looked when their eyes met across the court again. like she hadn’t aged a day and yet somehow carried years in her expression. about the way her voice cracked when she said, “i don’t know if it’s too late.”

that moment replayed in her mind over and over, like a skipped record.

azzi had pretended to be fine all day. laughed with her teammates, took pictures with fans, smiled for the cameras. but she hadn’t been fine in months.

not since that night paige stopped answering.

not since she chose herself and sc and left paige behind—and paige didn’t fight for her.

azzi had her phone in her lap, paige’s contact open on the screen, but her fingers refused to move. her pride refused to reach out first. again.

she was just about to shut it off when the knock came.

it wasn’t loud. but she knew. somehow, before she even looked through the peephole. she knew.

she pulled open the door fast, heart already thudding in her chest.

and there she was.

paige.

hair messy. eyes tired. mouth parted like she didn’t know what to say.

azzi stepped aside without a word.

paige stood just inside the doorway, her hand still curled around the strap of her hoodie like she wasn’t sure she was staying. her eyes swept the room—messy bed,few azzi’s tshirts hanging halfway off the chair—but she didn’t comment. she just looked… tired. unsteady. like showing up at 3am hadn’t been impulsive at all, but something she’d been fighting herself over all night.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was a whisper. “paige it’s 3 a.m.”

“i know.”

another pause.

azzi tilted her head slightly. “you came all the way up here just to stare at me?”

“i wasn’t done,” paige said, her voice low. “back there. in the tunnel.”

azzi looked away. “you were right not to be.”

there was a beat. a breath.

then paige stepped forward.

“look, i don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. but i’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t still mess me up.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. just a little.

paige kept going.

“i messed up. i didn’t call when i should’ve. i didn’t fight for us when i should’ve. and maybe that’s on me. but i need you to know…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “it wasn’t because i stopped caring.”

azzi blinked slowly, her arms folding tighter across her chest. “it felt like it.”

“i know.”

more silence.

the hallway was still. the only sound was paige’s heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

then azzi stepped aside, just enough for paige to walk past her.

just enough to let her in.

and paige did.

she doesn’t say anything when paige steps inside. the door closes with a soft click, like the quiet has finally wrapped around them and won’t let go.

azzi leans back against it, watching as paige walks a few steps into the room—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to belong here.

the space between them is maybe five feet, but it feels like ten miles.

“nice room,” paige says, her voice low, teasing by instinct but without bite.

azzi doesn’t laugh. just gives her a slow once-over. hair tousled. hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. eyes tired but too alive for this hour.

“you’re bold,” azzi finally says. “for showing up here.”

paige shrugs. “you didn’t slam the door.”

“didn’t mean i was ready to talk.”

“you didn’t look ready to not talk either.”

silence again.

the adrenaline from the game, the tunnel, paige’s sudden appearance—it’s all still buzzing under azzi’s skin.

“you want to sit?” azzi asked quietly, voice low so it didn’t carry down the hallway. “or…?”

“yeah.” paige exhaled. “yeah, i just—couldn’t sleep.”

azzi moved toward the bed and sat cross-legged near the top, motioning for her to sit. paige took the far edge, careful like she was afraid to sink too far into the mattress. the air between them stretched, tight and quiet.

she doesn’t know what she wants more: to scream at her, or to lie next to her and pretend nothing ever changed.

“you really think showing up like this fixes it?” azzi asks quietly.

paige doesn’t answer right away.

“no,” she says. “but i think it’s a start.”

“i kept thinking about what you said,” paige said after a beat. “or what you didn’t say.”

azzi swallowed. “in the tunnel?”

paige nodded.

“it’s not that simple,” azzi said. “it never was.”

“i didn’t ask for simple.” paige’s voice was soft, but not weak. “i just want to know if it’s too late.”

azzi looked at her. really looked. the same loose blonde hair, the same tired eyes, the same little freckle under her lip she used to stare at when paige would lean in close and pretend they were “just friends.”

“it felt like you gave up,” azzi whispered.

paige flinched. “you left.”

“you ghosted me.”

“you didn’t call.”

azzi laughed, bitter. “you think committing to south carolina was about you?”

paige blinked. “wasn’t it?”

azzi’s breath caught. she turned away, stared at the lamp on the desk. “i couldn’t be in your shadow, paige. not forever. not when i was trying to figure out who i even was.”

“i never wanted you in my shadow.”

“you didn’t have to want it. it just happened.”

silence again.

paige shifted on the bed. “so we just… stop talking? after everything?”

azzi didn’t answer.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi hasn’t moved since she sat down. paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. her mouth. her entire body.

“you looked good out there,” she says, trying to break the silence again. “you always do, but… tonight especially.”

azzi looks up at her with a dry, unimpressed expression. “compliments now?”

“too soon?”

“try ‘not helpful.’”

paige nods, tries to laugh it off, but it dies quickly.

“i miss you,” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

azzi freezes.

the air shifts.

“you don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” azzi says slowly.

“i’m not trying to make it easy. i’m trying to be honest.”

“where was that honesty few months ago?” her voice is sharp, but not loud. controlled. the way azzi always was—even when she was breaking.

paige doesn’t flinch. “i was scared.”

“of what? me?”

“of choosing you and losing the rest.”

azzi stands up suddenly. “so you didn’t choose me, and you lost me anyway.”

the words hang in the air like smoke from a slow fire. dangerous. choking.

paige walks closer. not enough to touch. just enough to be in range.

“i didn’t know what i was doing. i thought we’d have more time.”

azzi shakes her head. “we had the time. you just… didn’t show up.”

paige leaned back on her hands, voice lighter, more teasing now: “we were definitely more than friends. i still remember the backseat of my car in december.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “we were cold.”

“oh, right. that’s why your hands were under my shirt.”

“you weren’t complaining.”

paige smirked. “i’m not now.”

and just like that, the air changed again. warmer. more dangerous.

azzi looked at her, studying the soft curve of her mouth, the way her eyes held hers like a dare. like she was testing how far she could push before something cracked.

“you always did this,” azzi said. “made it a joke before it got too real.”

paige’s expression faltered. “it was real.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

azzi didn’t mean to say it like that. but it was too late to take it back.

“i wanted you to fight,” she added, quieter now. “to come after me. even just once.”

paige stared at her. “you think i didn’t want to?”

“you didn’t.”

“i was hurt.”

“so was i.”

paige looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. “we were scared.”

azzi nodded. “we still are.”

neither of them moved for a long time.

then paige looked up, slow, like the weight of every memory was pulling her gaze. “i missed you,” she whispered.

azzi swallowed hard. “i missed you too.”

there was a pull. invisible, magnetic. paige inched closer, her knees brushing azzi’s now. her eyes were soft, unreadable. but azzi knew that look. that was the look that used to undo her in long car rides and quiet corners at tournaments where no one was looking.

she should’ve looked away.

but she didn’t.

and paige leaned in.

just close enough that azzi could feel her breath.

“i shouldn’t,” azzi said.

“you don’t want to?”

paige’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question. not really.

azzi’s heart beat too loud in her chest. “that’s not the same thing.”

usa basketball u16 women’s national team

it was after curfew one night during fiba women’s americas championship in argentina. they were buzzing on adrenaline and the quiet hush of a hotel where everyone else was asleep.

paige had crept into azzi’s room, just like this. hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. she had laid down beside her on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

they talked for hours. about fear, pressure and carrying the weight of a country on their shoulders. paige had this soft way of looking at her—like she saw the good parts azzi tried to hide under perfection.

then paige reached out and touched her hand, so gentle. their fingers curled together. and azzi had leaned in first that night.

their first kiss was quiet. unpracticed. but it burned in azzi’s memory like scripture.

the next morning, they never talked about it. but everything changed.

paige nodded slowly. “it was real, though. right? we weren’t just friends.”

azzi huffed a soft laugh. “friends don’t make out in hotel elevators.”

“or in the back of your mom’s car.”

“or sneak into each other’s rooms during usa basketball.”

they looked at each other.

and smiled. the kind of smile that held too much weight behind it.

october 2021

they were on the rooftop of some building, sneakers kicked off, music low. the stars were hiding behind a thick gray haze, but they didn’t care.

azzi was leaning against her shoulder, paige’s hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent.

“you ever think we’ll get sick of each other?” azzi asked.

paige laughed. “you’d miss me in, like, two days.”

“two hours,” azzi corrected with a smile.

there had been no doubt back then. just this quiet, loud certainty. the way you just knew when you were with the right person—even if the world didn’t make space for it.

azzi traced circles on paige’s hand. “don’t leave.”

“i won’t.”

both of them did.

paige leaned back against the headboard. “you remember the night when we went out on the roof?” she asked, voice low.

“oh my god,” azzi laughed. “you had me wrapped in your hoodie like that was gonna make us invisible.”

“you were cold,” paige said with a shrug. “and also… you looked cute in it.”

azzi turned to her, eyes playful. “so you admit it. you were down bad.”

“yeah whatever, but you know what else i remember,” paige said, voice soft. “usa basketball u16. you kissed me and then you wouldn’t look at me the next day.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “i was freaking out.”

“you still do that, kiss me and then disappear.”

azzi bit her lip. “and you still let me.”

paige turned her body slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

they were quiet again. but not the heavy kind. this was lighter. fragile.

“i kissed you first that night,” azzi said. “and i kept waiting for you to say something after. like, ‘tell me what it meant’. but you didn’t.”

paige looked away, shame crawling up her spine. “i didn’t know how. i was scared.”

“of what?”

“that if i said i loved you, you wouldn’t say it back.”

azzi was quiet.

and then she said, “i would’ve.”

the words hung in the room like a heartbeat.

azzi’s hands are clenched at her sides, and she can feel the war happening in her chest—part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry, and part of her just wants to fall into paige’s hoodie and pretend nothing changed.

“you broke my heart,” azzi says. quiet. not accusing. not soft. just true.

“i know.”

“and you waited until you lost to come here and say it?”

“i didn’t come because we lost.” paige looks right at her. “i came because i couldn’t leave town knowing i hadn’t looked you in the eye and told you everything i never said.”

azzi’s eyes start to sting. she blinks hard.

“i was angry,” she says. “for a long time.”

“you should’ve been.”

“and i hated you for a little while.”

paige doesn’t flinch.

“but mostly,” azzi says, her voice almost breaking, “i just missed you.”

they’re lying on the bed now, not touching, but close enough that their pinkies brush every time one of them breathes too deep.

it’s quiet.

their voices are tired. their eyes are heavier.

“i used to rehearse it,” paige says softly. “what i’d say to you if i got the chance.”

“yeah?”

“it never went like this.”

azzi smiles, faintly. “same.”

azzi looked over at paige, really looked at her. blonde hair messy, eyes bloodshot but glowing in the low light, hoodie drowning her frame.

she looked tired, but beautiful.

azzi shifted. “what do we do now?”

paige looked up. “what do you want to do?”

azzi hesitated.

paige’s eyes softened, and then she said it—just barely louder than a whisper.

“come here.”

the kiss came slow.

no rush. no adrenaline.

azzi leaned forward first, hands trembling just a little, and paige met her halfway. their mouths pressed together in something warm, something real. it was a kiss built on months of silence, years of closeness, and all the things they never said.

when they pulled apart, neither of them moved. they stayed forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same breath.

“i can’t do this if we’re gonna pretend it’s nothing again,” paige whispered.

azzi nodded. “me neither.”

“then let’s figure out how to be something. just… not tonight.”

“tonight,” azzi murmured, “i just want you to stay right here.”

another long silence. but this one isn’t heavy. not quite. it’s almost… suspended. like the night hasn’t decided whether it’s heartbreak or healing.

paige finally turns toward her. “do you think we could start over?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she reaches up and gently tucks a loose curl behind paige’s ear. her fingers linger, and for a second—just one—paige leans into the touch.

“i don’t want to start over,” azzi says. “i want us to keep going.”

“but we’re not the same.”

“no,” azzi agrees. “but maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

they’d moved under the covers at some point. not touching. not kissing. just talking.

about everything.

about how paige felt like the injury had turned her into a ghost and how she didn’t want azzi to see her fading.

about how azzi cried on the plane to south carolina, because she realized she didn’t know how to build a life without paige in it.

4:45 a.m.

they’re still awake when the first light slips through the blinds.

azzi’s head is on paige’s shoulder now. paige’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her wrist.

they haven’t said the word love all night.

but it’s everywhere.

in the silences. in the unfinished sentences. in the way neither of them asked the other to leave.

they don’t know what tomorrow looks like. whether anything really got solved. whether this is just nostalgia wearing a disguise.

but for now—for this hour—it’s enough.

just them.

just paige and azzi.

and the space between them finally closing.

6.00 a.m.

paige doesn’t remember falling asleep. she only remembers the feeling of azzi’s breath warm against her neck, her name spoken softly in the dark, like an invitation and a promise all at once.

now, it’s morning.

the harsh kind. not soft and easy like in movies, where the light’s always golden and perfect. it’s gray, a little cold, and the sheets are tangled at their feet. her mouth is dry, her heart full of things she can’t quite articulate. she’s lying there in azzi’s bed, still wearing her hoodie from the night. everything about the situation feels like a careful balance, and paige isn’t sure how to breathe without making the whole thing fall apart.

azzi’s still asleep next to her, tucked against her side like a piece of her is trying to anchor itself in the moment. her hand is draped over paige’s ribcage, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of the hoodie, but the touch feels intimate, grounding.

it’s too early. too much. too real. paige doesn’t know how to walk this line between regret and longing.

she turns her head slightly, watching azzi’s face. the peacefulness there is so different from what’s been between them for years. paige doesn’t know what to do with the softness.

“i could stay here forever”, she thinks, but the world won’t let her.

azzi stirs beside her, shifts in the bed. the blanket moves slightly, and for a second, paige thinks she might slip into sleep again. but then azzi opens her eyes, blinking slowly as if she doesn’t quite understand where she is.

when their gazes meet, there’s something fragile there, something unspoken. but neither of them says a word.

the tension between them isn’t angry or distant—it’s something else. something too fragile to touch, but impossible to ignore.

azzi finally clears her throat. “you steal the covers even in your sleep.”

paige chuckles softly, though it’s awkward. “you drool on your pillow.”

azzi’s lips twitch, but it’s a strained smile. “good to know you’re paying attention.”

paige’s heart beats a little faster, but she can’t tell if it’s from the teasing or the something heavy still hanging in the air. she shifts slightly, her arm brushing against azzi’s. neither of them pulls away.

they’re caught in this moment—too close to run, too far to hide. but neither of them wants to break it just yet.

the silence between them stretches on, and this time, it doesn’t feel as comfortable. the clock is ticking. the day is waiting, and paige doesn’t know how to start the conversation. how to untangle everything they’ve left unsaid.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi pokes at her fruit, trying to ignore the strange sense of familiarity she’s feeling in this moment. she doesn’t want to feel comfortable. not yet. she doesn’t want to admit that the night before—whatever it was—mattered.

paige is sitting across from her, picking at a muffin like she’s doing her best to pretend this isn’t an awkward situation. but the air between them feels too soft for the usual easy banter they’re used to.

azzi stirs her coffee with more force than necessary, watching paige out of the corner of her eye. it’s too early for this, too raw. she doesn’t want to say anything that could make this harder than it already is.

but paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “i think that dude’s trying to figure out if i’m kidnapping you or something.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the table where one of the south carolina coaching staff is watching them. “you’re not that charming.”

“you let me walk you down here,” paige says, her voice quieter now.

azzi takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “that was pity.”

“that was longing, and you know it.”

azzi doesn’t laugh. just stares at paige, feeling that familiar tension—pulling her closer and pushing her away at the same time.

“can we just… not?” azzi says, her voice quieter, more serious than she intended. “we both know what’s happened. we can’t pretend it’ll be easy.”

“i’m not pretending,” paige says softly, her eyes not meeting azzi’s. “but it’s still real.”

azzi’s heart skips a beat. real. what does that even mean now?

she looks away, trying to steady herself. “we both have things we have to deal with,” azzi mutters.

there’s no more laughter between them, just the sound of soft clinking as they finish their meals, neither one willing to speak more than they already have.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi has no reason to be back at the hotel.

she has practice soon. she’s supposed to be with her team. but something about the morning makes her feel restless—an itch she can’t scratch, a question she can’t answer.

she ends up in front of paige’s hotel room door, her hand poised to knock.

but before she can do anything, the door opens, and there’s paige—hair still damp from her shower.

azzi’s heart skips a beat. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t even have a good reason for it. it’s just that this feels like the place she’s supposed to be.

“oh,” paige says, her voice startled. “i didn’t think i’d see you.”

azzi shrugs, playing it off. “just thought i’d stop by. no big deal.”

“right.” paige looks at her for a long moment, her gaze soft but unreadable. “are you sure you’re not just trying to make me lose my focus?”

azzi shrugs again, like it’s nothing. but something shifts between them, something unspoken and heavy. neither of them knows how to move past this, but neither of them wants to walk away either.

“i don’t know what you want from me, azzi,” paige finally says, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid to speak louder and break whatever fragile hold they still have. “i never meant for any of this to get… so complicated.”

azzi’s eyes flicker, caught off guard by the raw honesty in paige’s voice. she’s not sure how to respond. what do you say when everything you’ve been holding in for so long suddenly threatens to pour out?

“i just thought…” azzi starts, her voice trailing off as she looks at paige, trying to find the right words. “i just thought we could pretend it didn’t happen.”

paige laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “i wish. i really do. but you can’t unfeel something like this.”

azzi steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. the air between them feels thick now, charged in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know why she came, but she knows she doesn’t want to leave yet. not without saying something, anything, to ease the ache that’s settled in her chest.

“i didn’t come here to mess things up,” azzi says, a little too quickly. “i just… i just wanted to talk to you. to make sure you’re okay.”

paige stares at her for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure out if azzi’s telling the truth or just hiding behind words. finally, paige sighs, her shoulders sagging with a weariness azzi can feel in her own bones.

“i’m not okay,” paige admits quietly. “but i will be. i’ll figure it out.”

azzi watches her, heart aching. she takes a step forward, not sure what to say next, but she’s so close now that she can hear the unsteady rhythm of paige’s breath. she could kiss her again. she could lean in and make it all feel better, if only for a few seconds. but something tells her that would just make it worse.

“you can’t do this alone, you know,” azzi says, her voice soft but firm.

paige meets her gaze, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe?—but it’s gone before azzi can name it.

“i know,” paige whispers. “but i have to figure it out on my own. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

azzi steps back, letting the silence fall between them again. she didn’t expect things to be easy, didn’t expect her to just open up and make it all okay. but she hadn’t expected this, either—the feeling of knowing the space between them is widening, and that there’s no easy way to bridge it.

for a moment, neither of them says anything.

“i should go,” azzi says finally, though her voice cracks a little.

paige doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say anything. she just watches her walk toward the door, her face unreadable.

when azzi reaches the door, she pauses, hand on the knob. “paige, whatever happens, don’t forget… i’m still here. even if you don’t want me to be.”

paige doesn’t respond. she just looks at her, and azzi can feel her heart breaking in the silence that stretches between them.

pov: paige

paige steps onto the uconn bus with a heavy heart, taking a seat by the window and staring out at the world as it blurs by. the morning still feels like a haze—azzi’s voice lingering in her mind, her smile, her words.

they’re gone now. she’s gone.

but the ache is still there.

as the bus rolls down the road, the last few hours replay in paige’s head: the kiss, the awkward breakfast, azzi standing in front of her hotel room, her soft admission that she wasn’t okay.

paige closes her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, that isn’t the hole inside her chest where azzi used to be.

“i can’t keep doing this”, she thinks, but even as she tells herself that, she knows it’s not true. she’s already too far gone. and no matter how many times she tells herself to move on, to let it go, the feelings won’t fade. they never do.

she lets her phone buzz in her hand—another notification, another distraction. but when she looks at it, it’s just a text from ice:

you good?

paige doesn’t respond right away. she lets the silence fill her for a moment before tapping out a reply:

yeah, just thinking.

and she is. thinking about the kiss, about the unspoken words, about what it means to have something real slip through her fingers when she wasn’t ready to let it go.

paige stares out the window and lets the silence settle around her like armor.

there’s a text draft open on her phone.

i think i’ve always known it was you.

she doesn’t hit send.

but she doesn’t delete it either.

the bus ride back to the airport had been long, quiet, and almost suffocating. paige couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened the night before, azzi’s words, the soft pressure of her lips—everything was too vivid, too sharp. it’s as if the whole world paused for a moment when they were together.

but then, in the quiet of the morning they said their goodbyes and azzi had left.

paige knows she has to focus. the team needs her. the game is over, but there’s still practice, still the road ahead, still the tournament. but right now, she doesn’t want to focus on any of it.

her phone buzzes, again,text from ice:

yo, did something happened? you seem a lil off.

paige sighs, her fingers hesitating over the keys before she replies:

just tired. we’ll talk later.

she’s not sure what to say. she can’t explain this thing with azzi, this thing that keeps eating at her, and she definitely can’t tell ice that she’s been up thinking about azzi. not without sounding like a mess.

she shoves the phone back into her bag and leans back against the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up her spine.

pov: azzi

azzi is late. she knows it. the rest of her team is already stretching, warming up, the air filled with the low hum of sneakers on hardwood and the sharp calls of coaches.

but azzi’s mind is elsewhere. she’s still tangled up in the early morning hours, the faint echo of paige’s voice ringing in her ears. she told herself she was fine, that she was going to move on, that this wasn’t going to disrupt her focus. but every step she takes toward the court, every drill she starts, the pull of her thoughts drags her back to that hotel room.

she hasn’t been able to shake the look in paige’s eyes when they said goodbye. she can’t pretend it wasn’t something more, something that meant more than it should.

that goodbye wasn’t enough for her, and azzi’s pretty sure it wasn’t enough for paige either.

the whistle blows, and azzi quickly snaps her focus back to the court. the next drill begins, but her body feels like it’s moving without her.

she catches a glimpse of bree, watching her from the corner of the court, and azzi wonders if she has noticed the shift in her energy. she’s been distant lately, quieter than usual. it’s hard to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

aliyah boston calls out to her during a break. “hey, you good?”

azzi forces a smile, trying to brush it off. “yeah, just focused. lots on my mind.”

aliyah’s gaze is sharp, like she sees through the mask azzi is trying to wear. “whatever it is, we’ll get through it. you’re not in this alone.”

azzi nods, though the words don’t feel as reassuring as they should. she appreciates aliyah’s support, but there’s only so much that can be said. what she really wants to do is leave the gym, hop on a plane, and head to connecticut. to paige. her paige.

but she doesn’t. she stays, practices hard, and forces herself to focus.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige is finally in her dorm and flops down on her bed, the midday light creeping through the curtains in soft beams. her mind is still spinning, filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something a little more dangerous. she hasn’t stopped thinking about azzi, and it’s not just because of what happened the night before. it’s everything. the way they’re connected without meaning to be, the way azzi makes her feel things she’s not supposed to feel.

the door to her room creaks open, and her teammate, nika, steps inside, wearing an expression of concern that paige knows too well.

“you okay?” nika asks, her voice low, almost like she’s already figured out what’s going on.

paige doesn’t know how to explain herself, doesn’t know how to tell her friend that she can’t stop thinking about someone she should never even care about. she just shrugs. “yeah, just a little tired. a lot of stuff on my mind.”

nika looks at her for a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly. “i saw the way you were acting at breakfast this morning. you’ve been off for a while now. what’s going on with you and fudd?”

paige tenses. she didn’t think anyone had noticed—but of course nika would.

“it’s nothing. seriously. just… stuff with the game,” paige lies, her words not coming out as smoothly as she hoped.

nika doesn’t buy it. “uh-huh. i don’t know what happened, but you two have been different. don’t let this mess with your focus. we need you, paige. you know that, right?”

paige nods, but even as she says, “i know,” the words feel hollow.

what if this thing with azzi does mess with her focus? what if it messes with everything? she’s supposed to be a leader, supposed to lead her team to victory, but how can she do that when she’s losing herself in thoughts of azzi?

“thanks, nika,” paige says quietly, before turning away from her teammate. nika doesn’t say anything else. she just nods and walks out, leaving paige alone with the thoughts she doesn’t know how to sort through.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi can’t concentrate.

she’s in her dorm, getting ready for the team meeting before they head out for the next game. but all she can think about is the way they left things. how this—all of it—is too much.

“you’re letting this get in your head”, she tells herself, pacing back and forth. focus.

but focus doesn’t come. it never does when she’s thinking about paige.

the room feels too small, the walls too close. she feels like she can’t breathe, like the weight of this whole situation is bearing down on her chest.

there’s a knock at the door, and azzi pauses. “come in,” she calls.

the door opens, and aliyah steps inside, a knowing look on her face. “you’re still thinking about her, huh?”

azzi sighs, sitting down on the bed. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you don’t have to stop. but you need to stop letting it take over your game,” aliyah says, her voice firm but not unkind.

“i know,” azzi mutters, running a hand through her hair. “but what happens when the feelings don’t go away?”

aliyah sits beside her, crossing her arms. “i can’t answer that for you. but i know this: you’re stronger than this. don’t let paige bueckers, or whatever’s going on between you two, take away your power.”

azzi glances at her friend. aliyah’s right, of course. but it doesn’t make it easier.

pov: paige

paige finally admits it to herself. the feelings are too strong to ignore. no matter how much she tries to bury them, no matter how much she wants to tell herself this was a one-time thing, something’s shifted.

she opens her phone, staring at azzi’s name on the screen. should i text her?

the words come too easily.

hey, i’ve been thinking a lot. maybe we could talk?

she hesitates before pressing send. it’s reckless. but the moment it leaves her hands, paige knows she can’t take it back. she’s already in too deep.

what do you want to see in part 3?

[neeeooon]

PLEEAAASEEEEE i need a second part of the bllk characters turning into an animal but with different characters, like isagi, rin, chigiri, bachira, kaiser, or some other characters, i loved that fic sm 😭😭🥀

i got a few reqs for this so YES OFCC 🩵 also i didn’t realize karasu and haru have the same va so i added him here too (and kunigami for @ohagiyo )

when they turn into japanese zodiacs pt 2

bf(f) bllk & gn!reader. blue lock x fruits basket!

isagi yoichi

-> “a bunny!” you gasped, and without thinking, you decided to stalk the poor thing. you never catch them, but it’s fun to imagine petting their fluffy coats

-> when the bunny saw you approaching, it screamed. the sound made you freeze, given how human it sounded. how isagi it was

-> “bitch, you were gonna chase me?! what did i ever do to you!” definitely your best friend. you gaped at the creature, eyes near-spherical. “yoichi? is that you or did you slip something in my brownies again.”

-> “that was an accident,” the bunny defended, taking a tentative hop forward. you slowly fell into a sitting position, trying to wrap your head around what was happening before a question suddenly popped into your head. “how are you alive?”

-> isagi sighed. “it’s a long story involving a curse and this witch and—“ “no, no. i mean, bunnies only have a lifespan of 8-12 years and you’re way older than that.” if rabbits could glare, this one would. “that’s what’s on your mind? that i’m old? not that i’m a fucking rabbit?” “i’ve seen weirder.” “when?!”

-> you continued bickering with the rabbit, who you realized only you could hear after receiving some odd looks from people walking by. “we should go inside before someone thinks i broke out of an asylum and calls the police.”

-> stepping inside, you let isagi hop in and turned to close the door. a faint navy blue fog appeared, causing you to scrunch your nose, but when you turned around to bat it away, your eyes widened when they landed on a naked isagi

-> “dude?!” “i can’t control when i turn back!” you throw a towel at him, shielding your eyes with your hand. “i have some of your clothes around here somewhere. go put them on, you freak!”

itoshi rin

-> “what… the… f—“ “neigh.”

-> your phone dinged with a notification that a package had arrived. when you flung the door open, you expected a box on your doorstep, not a full-sized horse

-> you knew right away that this horse wasn’t normal. for one, while it looked black, you could tell that it was actually very dark teal. and two, it was glaring at you the same way your boyfriend did when you teased him

-> “would it be crazy if i said you remind me of my boyfriend?” you joked, moving to brush your hand through the horse’s swooped bangs when it scoffed at you. “yes. but you are crazy, so.”

-> you jumped back, snatching your hand to your chest. “tell me you didn’t just speak.” “okay. i didn’t just speak.” you’d recognize that tasteless sarcasm anywhere. “rin?”

-> the horse hung his head as your brain scrambled to compute what your eyes were seeing. rin. your boyfriend. a horse. a horse? “can i ask?”

-> he briefly explained his predicament, something about a family curse, but you weren’t entirely listening like you should have been. bro had hooves. you thought maybe you were losing your mind when a sudden poof of teal smoke choked you, and when you finally managed to swat it away, you found your boyfriend standing with his hands covering his naked parts

-> “let me inside, please?” you stepped aside, still dazed from the encounter, and keep your back to him as you locked your door. when you finally faced him, you saw his eyes sprinkled with fear. “are you going to leave me?”

-> your immediate response should have been no, but your lips didn’t form the word. instead, you forced a smile and said, “i just need a minute. it’s… a lot.”

-> “i’m still me, though,” he mumbled quietly, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. yes, you’d need some time, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hug him as he was then. “i knew it was. i’d recognize those emo boy bangs anywhere.”

chigiri hyoma

-> you almost screamed when you opened your door, previously intending to go on a jog, to find a tiger cub wandering around in your yard. your plan was to slowly back into your house, but when it looked up, your boyfriend’s voice flooded your head. “don’t freak out.”

-> you freaked out. “chigiri?! is that you?! wh—how—what happened?!”

-> chigiri’s head fell as he sighed, and you stepped aside for him to sulk into your house. “long story short, my family is cursed to become one of the zodiacs. i happened to get the tiger… are you crying?”

-> “i’m sorry, you’re just so pretty! can i pet you?” “don’t touch the fur.” “but it’s so shiny…” you couldn’t resist, and chigiri yelped when you scoop him up into your arms and hold him to your chest like a baby

-> he purred despite himself and threatened to nip your fingers when you scratch beneath his chin. “we’re totally getting a cat.” you noddd to yourself as he growled. “we are n—“ poof!

-> you coughed as pinky-red smoke filled your room, but when you peeked an eye open, you blinked to find your arms around your human boyfriend. your naked human boyfriend

-> blushing ferociously, you tugged the cardigan off your shoulders and quickly flung it at chigiri. you waited for the shuffling to quiet down before asking, “good?”

-> “good,” he confirmed, and you turned toward him with unblinking eyes. “so. you turn into a tiny tiger.” “unfortunately.” “at will, or…?” you trailed off when he shrugged. “only sometimes. like when my adrenaline is super high or when… whatever, the point is not always.”

-> you didn’t question him about it further and instead jumped onto the couch. “thoughts change on getting a cat?” “absolutely not.”

bachira meguru

-> you were peacefully eating an avocado blt and watching hxh reruns on tv when there was a tapping on your door

-> brows knit at the sharp sound, you placed your sandwich on the plate and opened the door, immediately cooing at the little brown and yellow-streaked pig on your doorstep

-> “how did you get here, little guy?” you cooed, kneeling down to let the animal sniff you when it suddenly jumped up on two legs and squealed, “y/n! i’m stuck!”

-> you jumped back, falling over and nearly throwing the creature off when it climbed onto your chest. when you saw it’s yellow eyes, you gasped. “bachira?! how—what—huh?!”

-> you carefully lifted your best friend into the air, hands under his armpits as you twisted him from side to side. “you’re a pig!” “technically a boar, but pig works too… forget that, i’m stuck!”

-> before you could think about it, you carried bachira into the house and set him on your couch. he looked around and spotted your sandwich with horrified eyes. you slowly pushed the plate away and cleared your throat. “in my defense, i wasn’t expecting my best friend to be a pig.”

-> his big eyes, full of betrayal, wobbled before yellow smoke blinded you and sent you sprawling off the couch. when your head popped back up, your eyes widened to find your best friend sitting shamelessly on your couch. naked

-> “bachira! clothes?!” “oh, right! sorry, i’m always naked when i turn back.” but he made no movement toward covering himself as he reached wiggling fingers toward your lunch. “i’m not feeding you until your ass is off my cushions!” “right!”

michael kaiser

-> you were awaken by the loud sound of crowing, which surprised you since there weren’t typically roosters in your area

-> you rolled out of bed when it got louder and decided to investigate. by the time you reached your front door the creature was screeching, and when you threw your door open, you raised a brow at the oddly-colored yellow and blue rooster

-> “hello?” you questioned no one in particular as you searched for the owner of the bird. “i respect your right to crow, dude, i really do. but it’s not even seven in the morning—“ “i’ve been trapped in this gods awful form for sixteen hours, y/n.”

-> you blanched. “no way.” the sound of your least-favorite friend hit your ears and left you stammering for something more to say. “why are you a cock?” “you mean personality wise or literally?” “both?” “let’s focus on the second option first.”

-> you inspected the rooster, humming and poking at him until kaiser threatened to bite your finger off. “has this happened before?” cock-kaiser’s feathered chest rose and fell. “yes, but it’s been a while. i can’t remember the last time i’ve been this for so long, and i don’t know how to change back.”

-> rubbing your chin, you decided to bring the beast into your home before the neighbors started gossiping that you’d finally lost it. “why did you come to me and not ness or someone who actually likes you?

-> “you’re deranged enough to believe me. knowing i can turn into… this.. won’t break your mind.” you shrugged and twisted his words so that you heard ‘you’re so awesome and strong, y/n!’

-> kaiser clucked at you. “stop smiling to yourself. it’s not a compliment—“ and a poof of blue smog cut his rant off. when it faded, you quickly threw a pillow at the man so he could hide his family jewels. “i thought you said you didn’t know how to change back?”

-> “i knew how!” “so that definitely wasn’t an accident, then?” “of course not!” you grinned when his face started to pinken. “whatever you say. your secret’s safe with me.”

kunigami rensuke

-> it was a lovely morning. you weren’t usually one to take naps that early, but the room was so warm, the birds chirping outside, the sheep bleating at your door—

-> your eyes snapped open. flinging the knit blanket from your legs, you cracked your door open to find a mysteriously orange sheep standing directly in front of you. unsure of what else to do, you screamed and slammed it shut

-> “wait, y/n, it’s me!” the familiar sound of your best friend’s voice floated from the other side, followed by more bleating. “behind the goat?” you shakily asked. “… no?”

-> slowly opening the door once more, you stared back at the sheep that refused to look away from you. “rensuke, please tell me you aren’t a sheep.” “which is better: sheep or goat?” you sighed and opened the door further. “not funny.”

-> there was no way for him to fit through the front door, so you sat on the porch and carefully poked at his wooly coat. “aren’t you hot?” “not really. i’m not entirely sure how the transforming-thing works, but i’m fine.”

-> you weren’t entirely sure what to say. it was weird. if kunigami had been anyone else, you might have even turned him away and convince yourself that you were dreaming. “how did this happen?”

-> your friend plopped into a strange-looking sit beside you and explained his family’s curse. it sounded like something out of a manga, but you didn’t interrupt until he failed to mention how he’s supposed to turn back. “is there something i can do to help?”

-> “no, i usually turn back on my own, but this time it’s taking longer. i didn’t want to be by myself like this… sorry to spring it on you.” you shook your head. “i’m glad you did. what are best friends for?”

-> and you fell back when a poof of orange smoke invaded your senses. hacking, you sat back up to find kunigami still sitting, but now as a human again. you hurriedly pulled your hoodie off and tossed it into his lap. “oh, thank goodness. your wool was making my nose super itchy, bruh.” kunigami scratched at his head. “my bad… can i come in now?”

karasu tabito

-> you scored an A on your midterm, the test everyone in your class had been dreading since day one, and decided to treat yourself to some gourmet delivery: a fillet mignon

-> you dozed off while waiting, but it felt like only minutes before a strange-sounding knock on the door woke you. “coming!” you shouted as you clumsily jumped off the couch and danced to greet your delivery person

-> the second you flung the door open, you screamed. there was a cow standing on your porch. “i asked for rare, not raw!” you gasped in horror as the giant mammal tried to near you

-> “it’s m—wait, you ordered steak without me?!” you gasped at the cow, it’s voice—your boyfriend’s voice—echoing in your head. “karasu?!”

-> you had to sit down as he told you about his families curse, but didn’t interrupt until a question nagged its way out of you. “but… why not a crow?” “please don’t ask, i would much rather be a bird than this.”

-> cow-karasu hung his head, and you took the opportunity to ruffle his surprisingly spiky head of hair. his pretty lashes fluttered shut, and then you were suddenly surrounded by violet smoke

-> coughing, you peeked an eye open and stifled a laugh when you saw your naked boyfriend standing in your doorway. “can i come in now?” he asked

-> before you could answer, a new voice joined. “food delivery—man, i do not get paid enough for this,” the driver grumbled after his eyes met karasu’s bare ass. “enjoy your food, you freaks!”

[revelboo]

This is a sandbox storyline- basically a story starter anyone can play off of. No set Transformers universe here so any partner or partners goes- you want to romance BW Wapinator, IDW Megatron, and TFP Ratchet? Go for it. The premise? Cybertronians trying to find a human who's a compatible match to their sparks and biofields (bit different than my normal stuff, where here, a match needs to be made to be able to bond). Due to how severely endangered their species is, the factions are cooperating even if there still is palpable tension. The agreement is to lure potential matches onto a massive cruise ship where they can interact as their holomatter avatars with their real forms stashed in the hold. Flirting, chatting up, and romancing humans they're drawn to with the intent to reveal their true forms when the cruise stops at its first and only port of call. An isolated island.

If you want to play: no minors in any context, smut is fine, dub-con/forced seduction is okay, but anything beyond that is a nope. Pick whatever characters you want from any TF continuity and carry on the storyline. You can do next/previous like I do and reference this starter if you want, but you don't have to. It's free real estate since it's a very old fic I haven't touched in forever and it probably wasn't getting touched again ever otherwise, so have fun.

Cruise ship concept inspired by Swim Away by themaskismyface on Ao3

Cybertronian Cruiselines

Squinting up at the massive ship as the sun bakes you, people move around you up the walkway alone or in small groups. And some of your doubts ease a bit seeing the ship up close, because you'd honestly assumed it was a scam of some sort. The brochure that had come with your ticket had indicated it was a fantasy cruise. That you could roleplay and romance crew members as funny as it sounds.

Rounding a corner, you run into a queue of people and the cause? The two tallest men you've ever seen. One's mostly silver hair is swept back from an almost sinister, scarred face and red eyes that have to be contacts sweep over the crowd. The other one's hair so dark a black it almost looks blue in the sunlight, his eyes startlingly bright. Yeah. You absolutely understand the backlog now. Everyone gawking at the eye candy on display. That one with the contacts, his eyes almost glow with a feral light, lips twisting in annoyance. And that duster he's wearing looks too hot for the heat, his shirt halfway unbuttoned to show an expanse of tawny skin and tucked into tight fitting jeans. His buddy's shirt stretched tight over a broad chest as he smiles and reaches to hook a finger against his tie, tugging slightly.

"Welcome to the Iacon. I'm Optimus and this is my co-captain Megatron," blue eyes says, his deep voice easily carrying over the whispers. "Please get settled so we can set sail without delay." And he's sweeping an arm to get people moving in the right direction.

Glancing at the two hunks, you follow the crowd, pulling your luggage with you. If the entire crew is that lovely? You're going to have some fun. The ramp enters into an expansive main area, and your neck cranes to try and figure out how many levels there are above you. Never seen a ship this big before. Everything gleaming gold, cream, and glass. Looking far too bourgeoise for you to set foot in or touch. And it looks like the entire cruise line crew is right here, mingling and drifting among the guests. Men and women both and there doesn't seem to be any real dress code going on that you can tell. The only way to tell the crew from the guests is the lack of luggage and the little pins they're wearing. Little colored badges that look like funny faces. And there's multiple versions it looks like. Showing what their duty is, maybe?

"I can't believe that the future of our race lies with these pathetic creatures," Megatron growls, watching the humans wander up the ramp to the ship, fingers flexing in irritation at this indignancy.

Shooting him a censoring look, Optimus watches the humans go. "The strong should protect the weak. Though, these forms do take some getting used to." Rolling his shoulders, he rubs his fingers together, playing with the sensory net and the sensations that feel as real as if it was his own servos touching.

"It's a miracle humans have survived as long as they have," Megatron mutters. No claws, no fangs. Disturbingly squishy and weak, and still very determined to murder each other from what he can tell. Shuddering slightly, he growls as more of them head their way. To come gawk at him. But after centuries of failed attempts to create a hybrid or artificial spark? Their numbers are dwindling. This is the last, best option and he despises it. And as carefully as they selected humans to invite, he can't deny the dread that maybe it won't work. That the medics and scientists got it wrong and this is all a waste of time. That Cybertronians can't be saved. Head turning, he sees Autobot and Decepticon avatars crowding the railing, leaning to watch the humans that might be their salvation with open curiosity.

Annoyed when he sees several head into the ship to greet the humans. And to get close enough to see if any of them trigger reactions to their biofields. Oblivious little organics smiling and gawking at them as they're fussed over on the pretense of getting closer. Because that's the game here. A fantasy cruise where the crew, his people, cater to the human guests' whims, trying to find a compatible partner. It's horrifying that they've sunk this low.

[biancadoes1]

I see the discourse going back and forth about Nic and Luke. The brand deals conversations. The “beefing” comments. The fans going after one of them versus the other one. The comment about N “ratting” out L?! Left field that one.

I’m going to admit something. And this is why I’m doing this anonymously. Last June after “papgate” I unfollowed Luke. I questioned what kind of man he was. I didn’t like how things looked. I felt that as fans we’d been shown one thing and given a story while we were also being deceived. I think a lot of people still live there. If I’d seen his story about not letting “Cressida ruin our night” I would have looked at it completely differently. But alas, I was not privy to that due to my quick unfollow. I did feel very sorry for Nicola that next day because I felt that she had to go to bat for him. I felt she was the one who looked like she had lost a man to a girl 14 years her junior. I felt she deserved so much better. And yes, I was even hoping she was in a secret relationship with Eamon Farren or Luke Thompson. I questioned why their PR teams would even let this happen. I questioned why Luke didn’t just publicly claim A as his girlfriend after the cat was literally out of the bag. I thought to myself that I guess there’d been this whole grand scheme that had all been an illusion that the GA had fallen for. And then that chaotic week in August happened. And then Sorrento. And then silences.

Fast forward 10 months ahead. I feel bad at times for how I reacted last June. Once I watched the World Tour interviews again and saw just how uncomfortable L was with A I knew I’d been wrong. I knew I had mis-read the situation. And because I am a person that doesn’t just take things at face value and knows social media is not real life, I started to really dig deeper. I did end up following L again shortly after the unfollowing. I saw the very Nic coded post he made in September. The way he showed that cake online quickly as to make sure people knew he was not slighting Nic. Something I’ve never seen him do with A. There have been times I’ve questioned my resolve like when the post came out that his mom commented on. But there were way too many weird things about that post and that comment. It felt like a total set up. A set up leading to the BOSS event.

There have been a couple times I’ve had to take a break. There could be another one (or two) before we’re to an actual resolve. 🤪 So why am I still here? Why do I believe in N and L? Here’s just a few:

-The behavior of her family in Galway was not the behavior of a family meeting their daughter’s/sister’s co-worker

-The ring. Wearing that claddagh on the left hand with the heart pointing in means only one thing. A ring bought on the World Tour.

-Christmas and New Years. Where were L and N? Obviously not with the side stories. Matching sunburns/tans.

-The silences and the misdirections are mechanisms to mask the real story. Do I think they’re using them in the best ways? No. But I do think the silence speaks volumes.

-SAG Awards. They just solidified what we saw on the World Tour. It showed the intimate level of comfort L and N have. It showed the energy they have when they’re in each other’s presence. And it showed the glaringly obvious differences when they’re with A or J.

-Interviews. And the interviewers who question whether the couple in front of them is in love. Some have even said they are in love. Which makes me think there are many more who know the real tea.

-The “people just really want me to marry Luke” comment from N as well as the interview where L talks about the bracelet he got “gifted.” Plus so many more interviews and things they have said about each other.

-The defending of each other. You see L clear up the cake pictures quickly. You see N saying it’s definitely not true that L was checking himself out in the mirror at the SAG Awards. Do they defend A and J online? Nope…

-The absolute overcompensating N does when she’s trying to hide something about their relationship. At the SAG Awards when L says “we tried out Mexican from a place around the corner last night,” and N says, “You did?” Come on we both know they ate there together! And there are sooo many more times she has done it. Which just leads me to know she’s definitely trying to preserve the privacy of their relationship.

I could continue to go on and on. The changes in their social media interactions and posting, the no birthday posts this year, the gelato picture in Italy, the picture in water of two people with the same coloring and height difference, the continuous use of “Nic and I” like it’s said every single day, the JVN hints, the October hand picture, and on and on and on.

My advice is to always research all of it on your own instead of taking things at face value. Learn the tells. See the patterns. And just wait. I know it’s hard to wait for confirmation. I’m not a patient person. But I see in L and N a chemistry, a camaraderie, and an intimacy you don’t see in just “co-stars.”

And sorry for the length. One thing would just spill into another…

Many people had the same reaction. That same initial reaction that some people have never separated from. But don’t feel bad for that initial reaction now that you’ve come out of it. EVERYONE who was watching this unfold was left to just take in everything that was happening and people were confused and felt played and were shocked, especially if they weren’t aware of Antonia’s presence in the background.

I’m so glad to hear chaos week pushed you to look deeper though. Once you do, it’s abundantly clear there’s something off.

I love your advice as well because it’s something I preach as well.

ALWAYS research, especially when you notice something strange. Do it on your own instead of running to people to explain to you. Look at the bigger picture while also considering all the patterns and tells.

Kudos to you anon and I’m glad you sent this ask! I think there are plenty of other people who have had a similar journey through all this.

Happy to have you with us ❤️❤️❤️

[project-sekai-facts]

What grinds my gears is what when people say that the reason Kana5 is bad due to it trying to make Mafumon sympathetic.

A couple have even gone as far as saying that Kana5 is as bad as Toya5 for the same reason and I-

Look. I deeply understand the idea of abusers being more complicated than simply “evil trash” is hard to comprehend. And I may sound insensitive but,

They need to grow up. They should not let their biases cloud their judgement and assume something is bad just because a piece of media has something they personally don’t like

the difference between harumichi and mafuyumum is their awareness.

harumichi - fully aware of what he is doing, fully aware his son is his own person and does not stop him despite heavy disapproval

mafumum - completely oblivious to what she is doing to mafuyu, projecting an idealised version of mafuyu onto her (and possibly an idealised version of herself)

harumichi working toya to the bone is him applying how he learnt to toya. the intent was not to physically/emotionally harm toya but that is what ended up happening (physical exhaustion is to be expected, he should not have forced toya to keep working but he deals with the same so he probably doesn't think it's a big deal). that said, he is fully aware of the fact he is taking away from toya's childhood, and admits this in concerto that toya's life was not "normal".

mafumum is entirely unaware of her abuse to mafuyu. this is repeatedly made clear in events post sayonara persona. mafudad relays to her what mafuyu tells him and she's incredibly distressed to learn that she'd been hurting mafuyu and she doesn't know what she did wrong. she can be manipulative, but she's not aware that she's being malicious, she thinks she's genuinely doing what's best for her child who she loves. there's also some context clues such as her young age compared to other parents, the fact she doesn't have a job and the fact she's at a lower social standing to her husband that suggest she may also be projecting the life she didn't get onto mafuyu.

harumichi being given the attempted sympathetic backstory doesn't work. he is neglectful towards his son, but is slowly easing out of these ways a little bit. toya has already begun to make ammends without the need for making harumichi sympathetic. he's a bad parent who did a bad thing knowingly.

with mafumum it is justified. in her first appearance, we see her from the biased viewpoint of kanade, who sees her as a cold and neglectful parent towards mafuyu. however from mafuyu's pov, she is a loving mother who is misguided in how she shows this love. this is what unreliable notes is about. mafumum is a bad parent who did a bad thing unknowingly. she is sympathetic because she is a troubled mother coming to terms with the fact she ruined her child's life.

both characters are loved by their children by virtue of them being their parents. the story is going to convey that no matter how bad they are as people. yes, forgiving abusers in fiction is overdone and to some degree unrealistic, however we do not yet know if that is where the story will go. all we know is that there will be a reconciliation. but even if mafumum specifically gets forgiven, it would not be unjustified. i feel like the first impression we get of mafumum from Kanade POV left a strong impact on a lot of people that they can't let go of. the whole point of the current arc is to let that go. the game builds her up as this malicious antagonistic force so that it can deconstruct that when we get to see her from an unbiased POV. she's not a villain like many people make her out to be, she's a human who made a mistake. a very bad and very big mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. she is a loving mother who fucked up really badly because she was too obsessed over perfection to actually see her daughter for who she is.

if the writers try and make us forgive harumichi though fuck them he fucking sucks. like i feel like toya will because he's like that yknow but i don't think the audience should feel sympathetic towards him.

[lexalith]

HIDDEN pt.2 || Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)

summary: this is part 2 of my original fic HIDDEN. you should read that one first or you’re gonna be very confused!

warnings/this story contains: female reader, age gap (reader is 24 now, seunghyun’s 37) unresolved tension, mutual pining and emotional damage, reader’s life being absolute trash (?), seunghyun and the reader being very anxious people. angst (jealousy, heartbreak, guilt, shame, regret, self loathing, not being able to let go but also not being able to stay. timing never being right and love not being enough like alwayssss, i’m sorry) personal growth, forgiveness, closure, and a tiny little bitty bit of fluff if you squint your eyes very, very hard (lmao).

a/n: i never planned on writing a part two, but here we are! thank you so much for the endless support and for looking forward to this <3 as always, english isn’t my first language! seunghyun’s texts are in blue, reader’s texts are in orange. reader’s dialogue is in bold.

songs: champagne coast — blood orange (yes, again, because this is their song. i’m making it canon) ll all i wanted — paramore || lovers — anna of the north || all too well (10 minute version) — taylor swift

it’s been nine months since the breakup, and your life couldn’t be more different than it was—if someone took a polaroid of you now and held it next to the girl who packed her bags for seoul with stars in her eyes, you’re not sure you’d even recognize her. you’re back in brownsville, no longer coordinating payload systems at starbase—because, well, turns out when your year-long secret relationship becomes very suddenly not so secret, someone decided having you around was more trouble than it was worth. after they cut you off—citing professionalism and image and propriety—you didn’t really have a plan.

you spent a month unemployed, half-heartedly scrolling through job listings you didn’t want while lying facedown on the couch, alternating between waves of quiet panic and nausea that came every time you accidentally thought about seunghyun for more than five seconds. it was still raw then—the kind of heartbreak that didn’t just ache but physically made you feel sick, like your body was rejecting the entire experience. everything reminded you of him, and you hated it—how you could go from brushing your teeth to fully sobbing in the span of a minute because some memory had snuck in through the cracks, as if your own mind was determined to torture you for ever letting someone get that close.

and eventually, when your savings account started looking like a damn joke, you took the first job you could find—bartending at a small spot downtown. it’s not what you studied for. it’s not even remotely what you imagined doing when you walked across that graduation stage in your too-tight heels and got your aerospace degree handed to you… but it’s steady. you’ve memorized the orders of the regulars, learned how to hold your tongue when men call you sweetheart like it’s your god-given name or snap their fingers and whistle like you’re a fucking dog, and you’ve gotten really good at pretending you’re okay—smiling through it. your shoes are always sticky by the end of the night, your clothes reek of grease and cheap vodka no matter how many times you wash them, and there’s a tiny scar on your wrist from a shattered pint glass that slipped mid-shift during a friday rush. but hey… at least the tips are decent.

you’ve also been… seeing someone. the guy your friends had been annoyingly pushing for months (back when you were still secretly dating seunghyun and pretending to consider it just to shut them up). he’s your age, works in construction and is very nice, which sounds like a shitty compliment, but it’s not. you’ve been seeing him for about two months now—hanging out and hooking up. you like him. really, you do… a little bit. but every now and then you catch yourself comparing the way he holds your face to the way someone else used to, and you have to blink it away before it sinks too deep. he doesn’t know about seunghyun, of course. not the real version of it, anyway. just that there was someone before, someone who hurt you. and you appreciate his patience—he gives you space when you need it and doesn’t ask too many questions. and, well, he eats your pussy good, so. there’s that too. sometimes that’s enough to shut your brain up for a bit, enough to make you forget the ache that still sits in your chest like a bruise that never really healed. even though you know it’s not fair. and you wonder, sometimes, if this guy’s waiting for you to fall in love with him and has no idea that you’re still scraping someone else’s fingerprints off your skin.

but the most significant thing—the one that still sits in your stomach like a rock you can’t digest—is that you found out. you finally know. it was her. your mother. you didn’t even get it from her directly. you found it by accident—buried in an old email. you weren’t snooping—just printing a return label for something, waiting for the slow-ass printer to wake up—when your eyes caught the subject line: re: media contact – confidential inquiry. and you clicked it. you scrolled through every line with a growing sense of horror. you confronted her that same night. you didn’t plan it, didn’t rehearse what you were going to say—you just walked into the kitchen, heart pounding, and said, “how long were you planning on hiding the fact that you’re the one who leaked it?” she didn’t even deny it. just looked at you, quiet for a second, then said, “i did what i had to do.” “you had to?!” your voice broke, equal parts disbelief and fury. “you had to sabotage my entire fucking relationship?!” “he was taking advantage of you,” she said flatly. “what the fuck? what the—what the fuck is wrong with you?! you had no right to interfere like that! none!” “you think i didn’t see what he was doing? he was grooming you—” “don’t you dare use that word,” you spat, stepping forward. “don’t you fucking dare put it like that just because you needed a reason to feel better about what you did! i was twenty-two, not sixteen!” “i don’t care! he’s thirteen years older than you, and you—” “he wasn’t using me! i knew what i was doing—” “no!” she pointed at you, jabbing the air, furious and breathless, “you were just following him around like some starstruck idiot, lying to me, running away from your job, from your family—” “oh my god, shut the fuck up!” you snapped, tears hot in your eyes. “shut the fuck up! i was in love! and you fucking ruined it!”

you don’t remember much after that—just fragments. you remember your mother shouting something about protection, about how she couldn’t stand by and watch you throw your future away over a man who was never going to give you anything real. you remember knocking over a stack of books, slamming a drawer so hard it bounced back open, dragging your suitcase out of the closet with shaking hands and yanking things off hangers without looking. she cried, kept repeating that she didn’t mean to hurt you, that she was scared, that she thought she was doing what was best. but you didn’t care. you were too angry and too fucking tired of being treated like you didn’t know your own mind. you haven’t spoken to her since. you don’t know if you ever will. because it turns out there’s heartbreak that comes from losing a lover, and then there’s heartbreak that comes from realizing the person who raised you is the reason you lost them. and now it’s too late to take any of it back.

you’ve been crashing with one of your friends for the past three weeks—sleeping on a futon that creaks every time you turn over and makes your back ache by morning. you didn’t really know where else to go. your job barely covers groceries—forget rent, forget deposits, forget the fantasy of having a space that’s actually yours. so now you’re here, trying not to be a burden, trying not to cry into your friend’s couch cushions at night because she’s doing you a favor, and you already feel like a walking pity case. sometimes you lie there and think about how you used to fall asleep in a king-sized bed with high thread count sheets and a man who kissed your shoulders before falling asleep with his hand in yours, and now you’re in someone else’s place, listening to the hum of a fridge that never stops running—feeling lonelier than you ever have in your entire life.

you thought life would’ve gotten better by now, but you spend the nights crying instead—staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. you cry because nothing feels right, because everything feels too hard, because you lost your job, your relationship, your home, your sense of direction—and even though you keep telling yourself you’re only twenty-four, that there’s time to figure it out, some nights it just feels like you’re stuck in and endless pain loop. no one warned you adulthood would feel like this.

you’re alone that night. your friend’s covering a night shift, the apartment is quiet, and your body feels like it’s made of wet tissue—fragile and bloated and cursed with every symptom imaginable, because the universe decided you needed your period on top of everything else. the cramps are brutal, your back hurts, your tits ache, and the fucking futon now has a suspicious little stain that you know you’ll have to scrub later. you’ve been crying (again!) and your throat is raw from it, your eyes puffy, your nose sore from wiping it too hard with paper towels. you feel pathetic. like genuinely, award-winning levels of pathetic. and maybe that’s what finally does it. you reach for your phone with hands that are slightly shaky, not because you’re nervous, but because you’re just so damn tired. of yourself, mostly. and maybe the universe too. your fingers open his old messages. you used to do this sometimes—type things you needed to get off your chest. but you never sent them because seeing your words in that annoying green bubble would be worse than anything else. it would remind you that yes, he blocked you. yes, he’s still gone. yes, this is over, and it’s been over. move the fuck on already, girl. so, following your little tradition, you type:

it was my fucking mom this whole time. she’s the one who leaked everything. i found out like three weeks ago, and i still haven’t processed it. i wish you knew. i wish i could make you know so you wouldn’t go on living your life thinking i betrayed you or whatever tf you decided to believe instead of trusting me. but anyway. talk about trust issues now, bc honestly, idk how i’m ever supposed to trust anyone again!🥰 love this for meeeee omg!😍😍 i shouldn’t have told her i was moving to seoul. i should’ve just disappeared from her fucking life and been happy with you and what we had. but no. because life can’t be that easy for me, right? no. life has to be a fucking bitch in every possible way. i’m so fucking tired.

your fingers hover over the delete button as you cry profusely after typing that paragraph—eyes blurry, throat tight, the screen glowing too bright in the dark room. and maybe it’s the hormones, or the sleep deprivation, but something inside you hits send. because why the fuck does it matter? he’s not gonna read it, he’s got you blocked. but the second you see the message go blue—you freeze. your stomach drops and you stare at your phone like it’s just slapped you across the face. he unblocked you. wait—what? since when? you shoot up like you’ve just been electrocuted, eyes wide as the full horror of what just happened sinks in. “what the fuck! what the fuck! shit, shit, shit—” you whisper to no one, pacing the tiny apartment. so much for crying in your period-stained pajamas—turns out all it takes to yank you out of a full-blown breakdown is the absolute fucking horror of realizing you just sent a long-ass vent session straight to the one person on this planet you were least fucking ready to talk to. congrats, girl! you keep outdoing yourself! “oh my—fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck! oh, god. oh my god,” you keep mumbling. when the fuck did he unblock you?! and why the hell didn’t you check?! your heart is in your throat, pulse hammering so fast it makes your vision blur for a second. you swipe back to the chat like maybe you hallucinated the whole thing. maybe the app glitched. but no. and before you can delete it, there it is—read. “huh?!” you stop in your tracks, frozen in the middle of the room. your mouth falls open. your lungs forget how to work. your entire body goes cold and then hot, and then cold again. “no. no no no no no no—fuck!”

you groan into your hands and sink down onto the futon. your palms are damp with sweat and your brain’s screaming. the message is sent. he’s seen it. and no matter how much you want to crawl inside your phone and delete it—there’s nothing left to do but sit in the aftermath. so you do. you sit, legs curled beneath you, staring at your phone screen. you check the time—3:41 a.m. in texas. in seoul, it’s late afternoon. you decide to leave your phone face up on the floor next to you and try to pretend you’re not watching it from the corner of your eye like it’s about to perform a fucking magic trick. every time it lights up, your heart jumps—once it’s duolingo, passive-aggressively reminding you for the hundredth time that you haven’t finished your korean lessons (well… thank you for the reminder, motherfucker!). and another time it’s your period tracker app asking if you’re feeling moody lately. no shit! you lurch forward every time, breath catching in your throat, only to get sucker-punched by disappointment again and again. and still, no reply. you try to sleep, not because you think it’ll work, but because it’s the only other option. but lying down just makes it worse—your thoughts are louder. you flip your pillow, then flip it again. the sheets are damp with sweat, your legs restless, your hands twitching toward your phone like it’s calling to you. you wait for hours… he never replies.

and by the time the sun comes up, you’ve barely slept at all. your eyes sting, your mouth is dry, and you’ve gone full zombie-mode by the time your shift rolls around. you survive your shift at the bar by sheer muscle memory, making drinks, taking orders and smiling through clenched teeth. and when it ends, your body aches like it’s been rolled through the pavement. you go home—your friend’s home—after midnight, feet aching, back sore, and stomach hollow from skipping dinner because the thought of eating made you feel sick. the place is dark when you walk in. she’s probably already asleep, and you tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before collapsing on the futon. you check your phone—still nothing. and that’s it. that’s the end of the story. why would it end any other way? of course he’s not going to reply. you should’ve never sent that fucking text. you should’ve stuck to your sad little ritual of typing and deleting and pretending you had closure. because this? this is embarrassing.

you toss your phone onto the floor like maybe breaking it will break the shame too, and flop onto your side dramatically… and then it buzzes. you’ve never gotten up so fast—hands scrambling for the phone. you swipe, thumbs clumsy with nerves because holy shit, there’s a notification from him. but somehow you manage to open the message.

Can I call you?

you stare at the screen. your pulse is pounding loud in your ears, and for a second you’re genuinely not sure if you’re going to throw up or pass out. your entire body is shaking and your blood has drained out of your face. you can feel it. you’re cold and clammy all over, heart thudding like it’s trying to punch its way out of your chest. you try to breathe—in through your nose, out through your mouth—before typing:

yeah, okay

your phone starts ringing a second later—like he’d been waiting. and the sound of it, his name lighting up your screen again after all these months, knocks something loose in your chest. the apartment is quiet—just the creak of the floor beneath your feet as you cross over to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. you slide it open as quietly as you can, since you don’t want to wake your friend, and step outside. it’s darker than you expected, the only light coming from the streetlamps below and the faint orange glow of someone’s window across the way. the balcony chair creaks under your weight as you sink into it, the metal cold against your bare thighs. your breathing’s all uneven now—short little gasps like you just finished running, though you haven’t moved more than ten feet—and you can’t stop staring at the screen. you swipe to answer. for a few seconds, there’s nothing. only silence. then, finally, a voice. “hi.” you grip the phone tighter, trying to stop your hands from shaking. “hi,” you say back. and then silence again. you can’t tell if it’s awkward or loaded or both.

you shift in the chair, curling one leg up underneath you. “how are you?” he asks. oh lord. he was literally fucking you raw less than a year ago… and now he’s making small talk. stop this madness. “i—i’m good,” you say, lying through your teeth, obviously. you clear your throat. “you?” “fine,” he says after a beat, but he sounds anything but—tired, like something in his chest’s been weighing him down. and then another pause, before he finally says, “i read your message.” “yeah… i know. i mean—i saw.” you chew the inside of your cheek, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve. “was it really her?” you nod before realizing he can’t see you. “yeah. it was.” he doesn’t say anything, so you keep going, just to fill the space. “i saw… an email she sent. and we—we fought. bad. i left the same day and i… i haven’t been back since.” “you—where are you staying?” he asks, and you hear something in his voice, concern. “friend’s house.” you try to make it sound casual. he goes quiet again, and for a second, all you can hear is the low static hum of the call. you bite your bottom lip before blurting, “i didn’t know you’d unblocked me.” “yeah. i did like a month ago, i think.” you hum. you want to ask why, but you don’t. because the call already feels like a glass balancing on the edge of a table, and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. and besides, you know you wouldn’t get the answer you want. if he wanted to talk, he would’ve. if he missed you, if he regretted it, if any part of him wanted to reach out… he would’ve. and he didn’t. so you swallow that sharp little ache, ignore the part of you that still wants to believe in something softer, and you say, “i’m sorry for sending that, by the way. i was… i don’t know. not in a great headspace yesterday.” “don’t apologize,” he says. “i’m glad you told me.” “you deserved to know.” “mmh.” the silence stretches for another second before he says, “thank you.”

the quiet that follows is soft, almost gentle. for a second you think that’s it—you can almost feel one of you hovering over the red button, and you know you should probably let it happen, let it end on something simple and clean. but you don’t want to hang up yet. so, instead, you do what you always do when your nerves start to buzz—you talk. “i’ve typed stuff before. like—messages. to you.” oh my god… shut up! shut up! why the fuck are you saying this? you want to swallow the words back down immediately but nope—your mouth keeps going. “i never sent them but… i don’t know. i wasn’t even supposed to send you that one last night—i don’t know why i did.” you press a hand to your forehead, silently screaming. “anyway i—yeah. sorry. i should just… shut up.” there’s a pause on the other end, heavy enough to make your fingers twitch against your leg. you expect him to change the subject or maybe just hang up altogether, and for a second you even brace yourself for the sound of the line going dead. but then he says, “what kind of stuff?” you blink, eyes still fixed on the quiet street below, unsure you heard him right. “what?” “the messages,” he answers, and his voice is a little quieter now, like he’s not sure if he should be asking. “what were they about?” you’re caught so off guard that you let out this small, breathless laugh that doesn’t hold any humor at all. “seriously?” you ask, more to yourself than to him. you rub a hand over your face. “i don’t know, just… random things about my life. like my day, what i was doing… sometimes just things i wish i could say to you but knew i couldn’t. i don’t know.” you trail off, embarrassed, already regretting every word spilling out of your mouth. “you can tell me now,” he says. you blink, heart stumbling a little in your chest, because you don’t know what you were expecting him to say—but it definitely wasn’t that. your fingers tighten around the phone again. “you… want me to tell you?” “i do.” you hesitate. not because you don’t have things to say—god, you’ve got too many—but because you don’t know what version of your life he’s expecting. probably not the one you’re living. “i didn’t think you’d care,” you admit quietly. “i care—of course i care.” oh… you close your eyes, press your palm to your chest and you can feel how fast your heart is beating. you force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “i’m bartending now.” you immediately want to cringe, because wow, what an opener. “they fired me from starbase. so… yeah. but it’s okay, this job isn’t so bad… i mean—it’s not good either, but it pays.” he hums, a soft sound of acknowledgement, like he’s listening. “and, like i told you, i’m living with a friend. after—after everything that happened with my mom… i couldn’t stay. so, yeah.”

something about saying all of that out loud—narrating your life to someone who once knew it better than anyone else—makes your bottom lip tremble before you can stop it. this tiny traitorous movement that you feel more than see, like the last thread of control slipping quietly from your hands. you swallow hard. try to hold it together and sound normal. “but i’m, um… i’m looking for a place,” you add, voice higher now, too fast. “something small for myself.” you don’t mention that your bank account laughs at you every time you open the app, or that you fall asleep on a futon in the corner of your friend’s tiny apartment, feeling like a burden. you don’t say any of that, because it’s pathetic. but the tears come anyway, completely against your will. not just because of your mom or your job or your life crumbling in pieces so small you can’t even name them—but because you’re talking to him. and everything about this feels so impossibly far from what you used to be. the way you speak to each other now, like strangers, it’s breaking you open in places you didn’t know were still sore. you try to sniff it away, wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but it’s useless. “are you…” his voice cuts through the line. “are you crying?” “no.” you suck in a breath. “i mean—yes. yes, i am. it’s just—i don’t know.” the tears are falling faster now, and your throat is thick with everything you’ve been trying so hard not to feel for the last nine months. you sniff, drag the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your nose, and bite out, “why’d you even call me, seunghyun? seriously. what was the point?” “i wanted to apologize.” he pauses. “i—i’m sorry. i should’ve trusted you, i should’ve listened. i was just… angry. and scared.” you exhale through your nose, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. “it’s okay,” you say quietly, even though part of you wants to tell him it’s not.

he doesn’t reply right away, and for a second you think the call might be really ending this time—that this was all he needed to say, a final stitch to close the wound and move on. but then—“i missed your voice.” your breath catches, and you don’t know what to say to that. because it hurts. it hurts so fucking much to hear it. “you hurt me, seunghyun,” you whisper. “i know,” he says, voice breaking. “i know i did, baby—shit. sorry. fuck, i—i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to call you that.” you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your knuckles to your lips like it’ll stop the sting. “don’t. don’t do that.” “i didn’t mean to—” “no, you don’t get to do that,” you cut in, sharper this time, words tumbling out fast. “this isn’t fair,” you say, and now your voice really starts to shake. “you’re not—you’re not being fair, seunghyun.” “listen—“ “no, i don’t wanna fucking listen!” you raise your voice, frustration spilling out faster than you can rein it in. “sorry,” you say quietly. “sorry. i—i didn’t mean to speak to you like that.” “i know,” he whispers. “but i understand. i deserve it.” “no, you—i just… it’s a lot. and hearing your voice like this again—fuck, i don’t know.” he doesn’t say anything, and you’re not even sure if that’s a good or bad thing, so you keep going before you lose your nerve. “you shouldn’t have unblocked me. you should’ve just left it the way it was,” you continue, sobbing between words. “what—” “i was doing okay,” you lie, even though you both know you weren’t. “or at least, i was trying. and then you—you do this, and now i feel like—i feel like i’m right back where i started.” he’s silent again, and it drives you fucking insane—how he always does this, lets the silence do the work for him, like it’s your job to fill in the blanks. “you can’t just show up in my life when you feel like it. that’s not how this works. you don’t get to block me, forget about me, go on with your life, and then crawl back into mine just because you’re curious or lonely or whatever the fuck this is.” your breath is shallow now, chest rising and falling fast. “i can’t do this, seunghyun. i can’t—” you cry. “so do it again. block me. because if you don’t… i will.”

you wait a second—two, maybe three—before you hang up. you stare at the screen for a beat too long after the line goes dead, your own reflection faint in the glass. your limbs feel shaky as you drag yourself up from the chair with the kind of stiffness that makes you wonder if heartbreak settles in your bones like lead. the apartment is quiet when you slip back inside. you don’t even bother changing. and when you fall onto the futon, you collapse. your chest hurts, in the literal, physical way—like there’s something pressing down on it, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. you’re still crying, face crumpling into the crook of your elbow. and even though you try to keep it quiet because your friend is asleep in the next room, your body has other plans. the sobs come in waves, ugly and loud and gasping, and there’s no one to stop them, no one to shush you or hold you or say it’s going to be okay. you press your face into the pillow and scream once, like it might help get it out, but it doesn’t. you cry until you’re too tired to cry anymore, until your body feels wrung out and empty. until your eyelids are heavy, your head pounds and the ache in your chest starts to dull—because, yes, even pain has its limits. and when sleep finally takes you, it feels like relief.

you don’t even hear her come in. it takes a few tries before your friend gets through to you, nudging your foot, then your shoulder, then finally your name, said a little too loudly for how early it is. “hey! you’ve gotta get up. don’t you have work?” you jolt upright like you’re coming up for air, groggy and disoriented, face crusted with dried tears. you mutter something like “shit, what time is it?” before fumbling for your phone. and that’s when you see it. seunghyun texted you while you were asleep.

Hi. I just booked a flight to Texas.

I’ll be in Brownsville for a few days, and I really, really want to see you.

I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me.

But if you do, I’ll be here next Sunday at 4 P.M.

he had sent a location.

We have a lot to talk about.

I didn’t want our call to end like that.

You don’t have to reply, just know I’ll be there, waiting.

And if you don’t show up, that’s okay too.

I hope you have a good day. 🫰🏼

your first thought is no. not even a soft, hesitant kind of no—just a loud, stubborn one that echoes straight through your head. NO. you don’t want to see him. you don’t want to talk. you don’t want to sit across from him pretending like the last nine months haven’t been eating you alive. you lock your phone, toss it somewhere near the futon, and move through your morning like you’re not actively dissociating—getting dressed and slapping on mascara with a shaky hand. you go to work, surprisingly making it on time. and when your shift ends, you go home. you eat leftovers straight from the container, ignore the ache behind your eyes, and tell yourself you’ve made a decision. you’re not going. simple as that.

but as the days creep forward and that sunday inches closer, your initial no—the one that came so fast and full of conviction it practically shouted over your entire body—starts to feel less like a boundary and more like a bluff you’re trying to convince yourself to believe. you find yourself rereading his texts on the bus ride home, or glancing at the clock and thinking about time zones again, something you swore you’d broken the habit of months ago. it’s not that you want to see him (girl… you do, you aren’t fooling anyone) it’s just that you’re curious. and a little bit stupid, apparently. and then, like your brain didn’t already have enough to chew on, instagram decides to kick you while you’re down. you get the notification late at night: TOP 최승현🌙 posted for the first time in a while. you stare at the alert, blinking. no way. how fucking convenient. you open the app before you can stop yourself, and there it is—proof that he unblocked you on your private insta, because you’re staring right at his profile. oh my… you’re a slut in mourning. it’s a selfie. he’s staring straight at the camera, head tilted slightly to the side to flex that stupid jawline, jesus christ... he’s wearing a black hoodie—the same one you used to borrow when you were together. more specifically, the one you were wearing the first time you let him fuck you raw. is he doing it on purpose? is this his way of getting your attention? trying to say he misses you? that he’s thinking about you too? or maybe you’re just being delusional and he’s literally just wearing his fucking hoodie like any normal person would… not everything is about you. right? you zoom in without shame, you stare, you squint and you hate yourself a little. you flip your phone face down and mutter, “fuck off,” like that’s going to do anything—like you’re not already replaying every time you tugged his hair while he was between your thighs, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue circled your clit.

sunday. 3 p.m. comes and you’re still telling yourself no, still convincing yourself with weak half-arguments and imaginary moral high ground, still walking around the room like you’re above it, like you’ve evolved past the the version of yourself who would show up for him no matter what. you’re not going. you’ve already made that decision—made it days ago. in fact, you’ve been repeating it like a fucking mantra: i’m not going, i’m not going, i’m not going. it’s the one thing you’ve been stubbornly sure of. and yet, by 3:07, you’re in front the drawer your friend let you use. you’re not sure when you stood up or how you ended up yanking it open, but suddenly you’re staring at your clothes like any of them will know what the fuck you’re doing. and you tell yourself: what harm could there be in just… seeing? just showing up, looking hot, and reminding him what he lost? right? what could go wrong? you drag yourself into the shower, rinse off the sweat and anxiety, and talk yourself out of having a panic attack while shaving your legs. you towel off, throw on something decent and slap on a bit of makeup as you wonder why the fuck are you wasting your free day on this, when you could’ve been watching reruns of some trashy dating show or doom-scrolling in peace. and before you can rethink your decision again, you’re on the bus, heart pounding harder with every stop.

you show up an hour late—closer to five-thirty than four—but you don’t feel bad about it. if anything, it makes you feel a little less like you’re crawling back and a little more like you’re arriving on your own terms. the place he chose to meet you is a rooftop wine bar in downtown brownsville with thick wooden beams stretched overhead to break the light. string lights hang loosely between them and the tables are spaced out, some close to the railing with a quiet view of the city below. he’s already there, of course, seated near the far edge of the terrace, next to the railing, with a half-finished glass of wine in front of him. you spot him instantly. he’s in a long-sleeved maroon sweater, and you don’t know why the fuck he’s wearing sleeves in this heat. his trousers are loose and slouchy, and his boots—yes, boots, in thirty-degree texas weather—are polished to hell, the soles thick and clunky. his cap sits on the table beside his wineglass, and he’s wearing his glasses—the ones that make him look so gentle. you used to love it when he wore them around you. he doesn’t see you right away—he’s looking out over the terrace, lips pursed like he’s deep in thought—but your stomach still drops like it’s the first time all over again.

you take a slow breath, then start walking. the heels of your shoes click against the tile, and the closer you get, the more surreal it feels—seeing him again. and then he looks up. you don’t know what you expected, but the way his whole face shifts when his eyes land on you catches you off guard. his brows lift just a little, like he’s not sure he’s seeing you right, and then there’s this soft pull at the corners of his mouth, the kind of expression people only ever give to people they’ve missed. he moves quickly after that, chair scraping back as he stands up too fast, brushing his palms down the sides of his pants like he’s suddenly unsure of himself. your heart thuds a little too hard as you close the last few steps between you, nerves spiking even though there’s no reason to be this tense—you’ve seen him like this before, touched him, kissed him, loved him. but now it feels like starting from scratch. “hey,” you say first, because someone has to break the tension. your voice comes out quiet, breathier than you meant. he clears his throat, shifting his weight. “hi.”

he stands there, hovering beside the table, and for a second it’s like neither of you knows how to move—do you shake hands? do you hug? his gaze flickers down to your hands, like he’s expecting you to offer one to shake, and then back up to your face. it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do, and god, neither do you. a hug feels too intimate, but standing here in this weird, polite standoff feels worse. so you do it—you step forward, close the space, and wrap your arms around him quickly, not giving yourself enough time to regret it. he’s surprised, you can tell by the way his arms come around you just a second too late. you pull away before it can get weird, and he lets you, hands immediately dropping to his sides like he’s scared to overstep. you glance at the wine glass, then back at him. “sorry i’m late.” seunghyun shakes his head, quick. “no, it’s fine. i—” he exhales. “i didn’t think you were coming.” you nod, slow and awkward, arms crossed tight over your chest for a second before you remember how that looks and force yourself to let them fall to your sides. “yeah. me neither.” he huffs a tiny laugh, almost embarrassed, and gestures toward the seat across from his. “do you wanna sit?” you nod, murmuring a soft “yeah,” as you move toward the chair. you sit, legs crossed, back too straight, and he mirrors you, settling across from you. the table feels huge between you. ridiculous, really—after everything you’ve done together, everything you’ve been to each other, now you’re playing pretend like two people on a first date who forgot how to talk.

he reaches for his wine glass, turns it slowly between his fingers without drinking. “you look good,” he says, eventually. “i mean… really good.” you meet his eyes, and then, because you can’t help it, “so do you.” he smiles at that, soft, almost sheepish, and then glances down at the wine list sitting neatly on the table between you. “you want anything?” he asks, tapping the edge of the menu lightly. “they’ve got a good selection.” you shake your head, giving a small, polite smile. “just water’s fine.” “water, then,” he says, and signals to the server passing by to order you a glass. there’s a beat of silence after the server leaves, just the soft clink of his glass when he shifts it on the table. he doesn’t look at you—just studies the red swirl of wine for a second like it’s got the right words floating in it somewhere—then finally says, “i’m glad you came.” you nod once, unsure what to say to that, fingers twitching in your lap. “and… i’m sorry,” he adds quietly. “about the phone call. the way it ended… that wasn’t how i wanted it to go.” “i know.” “i didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he says. “or backed into a corner. i just—my head was a mess, and i handled it wrong. i’m sorry.” “it’s fine. thank you—thanks for the apology.” and you mean it. he leans back slightly in his chair, exhales through his nose. his fingers trace the rim of his wine glass like he’s trying to occupy them. “i didn’t know if you’d ever want to see me again. after everything.” “i didn’t know either. up until like… three o’clock.” his mouth twitches into something that’s almost a smile. “last-minute decision?” “very,” you say. “bad one, maybe. not sure yet.” “i get it. i wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shown up.” “i almost didn’t,” you admit. “but then i thought—i don’t know. if i didn’t come, i’d just keep wondering what you wanted to say.” he nods, finally meeting your eyes again. “i wanted to say a lot of things.” “like what?” he hesitates, jaw tightening slightly, like the words are caught somewhere behind his teeth. he exhales, slow and heavy, and leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “i wanted to apologize,” he says. “for how things ended. for—for what i said. for not listening.” “seunghyun—” you start, but he shakes his head. “i didn’t believe you,” he goes on. “and i should have. i should’ve known better—i did know better. but it was easier to be angry than to be scared, and i was so, so fucking scared. scared of being exposed again, of people dragging my name through the mud all over, of losing everything i’d tried to build back up—” “i know. i know, hyun. i understand you. it’s… it’s okay.” it isn’t, though. “and instead of trusting you,” he says, like he didn’t hear you at all, “i panicked. i pushed you away. and i hate myself for it.” you shift in your seat, hands gripping the sides of the chair, aching with the weight of all the things you wish could make this easier. “hyun,” you murmur again, softer now, like saying his name might take the edge off his pain or yours. “you don’t have to—” “i do,” he says. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it… about how fast i let it all go. how fast i let you go. and the worst part is…” he stops, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “the worst part is that i made you think you didn’t matter to me. like it was easy for me to—to cut you off. and it wasn’t. it’s never been easy. it still fucking haunts me.” he pauses. “i just needed you to know that. i needed—i needed to say it to your face.” he exhales shakily, like just getting the words out took something out of him. his eyes stay fixed somewhere past your shoulder, like he’s afraid that meeting yours will make it harder. “and i missed you,” he says quietly. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

the words land somewhere low in your gut, like they’ve been thrown instead of spoken. and for a second, it stings in a sweet way, that traitorous part of your chest aching at the sound of his voice wrapped around something soft again, something that once made you feel safe. but the sweetness evaporates almost instantly, replaced by a sharp kind of heat under your skin, the kind that flares when something touches a bruise you thought had already faded. because you don’t get to miss someone and do nothing about it. not when you’re the one who made it clear, so fucking clear, that it was over. your jaw tightens. because no. no, he doesn’t get to say that. your eyes start to sting, the burn rising fast and sudden behind your lashes. and then, without warning, a single tear slips down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly with the back of your hand. “why didn’t you reach out, then?” he blinks, startled, like he hadn’t expected the question. you sniff once, wipe at your cheek again even though the tear’s already gone. “i waited, you know. for so fucking long. every day, i thought maybe today you’d say something.” you scoff. “but you didn’t. not a word—not until i told you the one thing that finally cleared me.” his lips part like he wants to speak, but you don’t let him. “and now you’re here,” you go on, voice shaking. “saying all the things i used to fantasize about hearing. and don’t get me wrong—it’s nice. it’s—it’s really fucking nice, i needed to hear it. but if i hadn’t sent that message, if i hadn’t broken down and hit send for once instead of just typing and deleting like i always did… would we even be here right now?” you’re not sure what answer you’re hoping for. but you needed to let him know how much it sucked to feel like the only one who kept looking back.

he exhales slowly, eyes falling from yours to the table, like he can’t bear the weight of them. because what you’re saying isn’t just true, but something he’s thought about too, something he’s afraid to admit out loud. “you’re right,” he says, voice low and tight. “you’re right. but i—i wanted to. so many times. but when i thought about saying something, i’d convince myself it would only make it worse. that you didn’t want to hear from me. that you were happier without me.” you stare at him. “you thought i was happy?” “i hoped. because the alternative fucking hurt.” “but you still let me think it was my fault,” you say, voice sharp with disbelief. “you let me sit in that, seunghyun. for months. do you even understand what that did to me?” he doesn’t speak right away—just drags a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to rub the shame off his face. “i know. i know i fucked up.” “you didn’t just fuck up,” you snap. “you abandoned me. you—you went on with your life while i… i lost everything. and all because you couldn’t bring yourself to believe me.” “i wanted to believe you,” he says, a little too desperate now. “i swear to god, i did.” “then why didn’t you?” he looks at you like that question physically hurts him. “you already know. i told you—i told you about han seohee. i’ve been betrayed before, and i just—it felt safer to assume the worst than risk getting hurt again.” “yeah?” you say, and your voice comes out rough, almost trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been trying to swallow. “well guess what, seunghyun—i wasn’t han fucking seohee. i wasn’t anyone but me. your… your girlfriend. and you didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. not even for a fucking second.” his jaw tenses, lips pressing into a thin line like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to speak. “i didn’t ask you to be perfect,” you continue, voice softer now. “i never did. all i wanted was for you to believe me—and you couldn’t do that.” he shakes his head, pained. “it wasn’t about you,” he mutters. “it was about me. my past. my shit. it twisted everything.” you shake your head, the frustration rising even though you don’t want it to. “yeah! and you let it win!” you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly through your nose, trying to collect yourself.

this wasn’t what you intended when you showed up. you really don’t want to raise your voice at him—shit, you weren’t even supposed to get this upset. the last thing you want to do is hurt him. “i moved across the world for you, seunghyun,” you continue, calmer. “i put everything on the line. and the second things got hard, you chose to believe the version of me that fit your fears.” his face falls. “i know,” he whispers. “i know. i thought i was protecting myself—but i should’ve protected you too. i should’ve protected us. all i ever wanted was to keep this thing—what we had—safe.” he sighs. “i’m really, really sorry. for everything.” the interruption comes at just the right time—the server appears, setting down the glass of water with a soft clink. you thank him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and seunghyun gives a nod before the server leaves, the space around you settling into silence again.

you take a sip, the cold water almost jarring against the heat crawling up your throat. the moment stretches, and you know there’s more to say. the conversation isn’t finished—not even close—but your chest already feels too full. it’s too much all at once, and you feel the weight of it pressing down behind your eyes. so, you set the glass back down and glance up at him, forcing your voice to steady and offering the smallest smile you can manage. “i watched squid game,” you say. “you were amazing in it.” his face softens and he lets out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah?” you nod. “yeah. like… really good. i wanted to text you when it dropped but… you know.” yeah, he knows… he had you fucking blocked. seunghyun nods once. “i appreciate that,” he says, voice a little quieter now, like he’s not sure what to do with the softness in your tone. “wasn’t expecting it to do that well, to be honest.” you hum, tracing the rim of your glass with the pad of your finger. “well, people love a villain. especially when he’s funny… and hot.” that pulls a small, surprised laugh out of him, and his cheeks turn red. “well, thank you.” you smile, gaze softening. “i read the interview you made back in january too, by the way.” “oh. did you?” you nod. “yeah.” “you know, i kept wondering what you’d think if you read it. part of me hoped you wouldn’t. the other part hoped you would.” “i did. twice, actually.” you smile faintly. “once when it came out, and again when i was mad at you. to remind myself you were still in there somewhere.” that seems to knock the wind out of him a little. you continue, “i think… i didn’t expect you to be that honest.” “i wasn’t planning to do it, you know,” he says after a pause. “the interview. for years, i thought if i just stayed silent, eventually everyone would forget. but i didn’t forget. i couldn’t.” you study him. “it read like someone who’s been carrying a lot. for a long time.” and you know that better than anyone—because you were there, in the thick of it, helping him through his worst days. his mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile. “yeah.” you let the silence sit for a beat before speaking. “i thought… i thought it was brave. i actually—i felt proud,” you confess. and there it is. the thing you’ve been meaning to tell him ever since everything ended, but couldn’t bring yourself to say until now. “i’m proud of you, hyun.” he feels it—that familiar, overwhelming tightness in his throat. he swallows hard, eyes watering slightly. he nods once. then, he opens his mouth, tries to speak, to say thank you, but his lower lip trembles before the words can form… so he closes it again. and hopes the nod is enough.

his family never said that to him. at least not after his mistakes were exposed. so this—this thing you just gave him, so casually and so fucking sincerely—it hits like a punch to the ribs. and it comes from you. you, who he’d hurt more than anyone else. it comes from someone who knows. someone who was there when he was a shell of himself, someone who saw the worst parts of him and stayed, until he made it impossible for you to do so. his eyes hurt and his throat burns and there’s a tremble in his jaw he can’t quite stop, and still he says nothing, because there’s nothing that would be enough to meet the weight of what you just gave him. “that part you said about the group,” you murmur after a moment, voice a little hesitant now, “how seeing them felt like looking at a photo of a family you’d been separated from…” “that’s exactly what it feels like.” “i know,” you nod, gently. “i’m sure they miss you too. i don’t know if you’ve been in touch with them or—” “i haven’t.” he cuts in quickly, and there’s a finality to it. you don’t push, but you notice the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tenses. there’s even a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face. “sorry. i didn’t mean to bring up something that—i mean, i wasn’t trying to pry. i just thought… maybe after everything, after all these months, it might’ve felt possible. or… i don’t know.” you trail off, suddenly unsure of what you’re even trying to say. maybe part of you just wanted to believe he wasn’t as alone as he used to be. he hums. then, after a moment: “you were the one thing that made that time bearable. everything else was a mess, but with you, it was—” he stops himself, mouth twitching, like the rest of the sentence is too fragile to say out loud. “you didn’t fix it. but you made it hurt less. and i’ve never—i’ve never thanked you for that.” “you didn’t need to. i knew you were thankful.” you pause. “and… i’m not saying the article fixed anything, but it made sense. why you pulled away. i get it more now.” “that doesn’t make it okay.” “no,” you agree, “it doesn’t. but it helps.”

after that, things start to loosen—the conversation shifts slowly, and the air between you starts to feel less dense, less charged with the tension that had been building since the moment you sat down. the heaviness doesn’t vanish, it’s still there but easier to ignore when you’re focused on something else, like the way seunghyun starts tapping his fingers against his glass, or how your knee keeps bouncing under the table because your body hasn’t quite figured out what to do with the weird, awkward comfort of being near him again. it’s not like either of you suddenly forget the months of silence, or the way things ended, or all the shit that never really got said… but eventually, the edge softens, and your mouths start moving for other reasons—comments that aren’t weighed down by anger or guilt, memories that aren’t necessarily painful, and a rhythm that, while still tentative, starts to resemble the way things used to be between you, back before everything got ruined. because at first, you’re both careful—testing the boundaries of what’s okay to say, what’s still too raw to touch—but as time passes and the conversation wanders into safer ground, you find yourself laughing. which then makes him start laughing too, and it feels bizarre and comforting all at once—like your body forgot how easy it used to be to laugh with him, how that sound had once been a constant part of your days. and when he leans back in his chair, a little more at ease, you realize it’s been a long time since you’ve seen seunghyun look like that. it’s still weird. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. it’s weird to be sitting across from him, in real life, hearing his voice without a screen in between, seeing the way he moves and talks and exists like a real fucking person again. there are still moments where it catches you off guard—how familiar this all is, and also how far away it feels from who you were the last time you looked at him like this.

and when he asks, “do you want to go for a walk? brownsville’s botanical garden isn’t far from here. and it’s still open for another hour and a half,” you don’t even pretend to think about it. you just nod, and the look on his face, that flicker of relief, tells you he didn’t expect a yes. his driver’s already waiting outside, like always, and neither of you says much on the way. the ride is short, ten minutes, maybe fifteen. you watch the town pass through the tinted window, and beside you, he’s silent, but not in the closed-off way he used to be when things were bad. it’s a softer kind of silence now, where he’s letting himself be here, in this moment, with you. the botanical garden is smaller than you remember, and it’s mostly empty by the time you get there. as you walk, side by side but not too close—under a pink sky that’s starting to fade into something darker—there’s still a nervous flutter in your stomach, still that ridiculous awareness of where his hand is, of how close it would be if you reached out, but you don’t. because you remember—you remember how fucking much it hurt to lose him, how badly it ended and how long you waited for an apology that never came, until today. and as you both slow near a bench surrounded by wildflowers and a few trees that creak lazily in the warm breeze, he gestures toward it with a quiet nod, and you both sink down into the wooden slats. there’s a few inches between you, enough space to feel the gap and remind you both that no matter how easy the conversation’s been, there’s still a line neither of you has crossed yet. for a moment, you both just sit there, watching the wind tug lazily at the branches, listening to the low hum of cicadas starting up somewhere in the distance. and then, very casually, he asks, “so… is there someone in your life these days?” god—he hates how obvious it probably sounded the second it left his mouth. he doesn’t look at you when he asks, just keeps his gaze forward, like he’s talking to the horizon instead of you, like the question is just curiosity and not the thing he’s been thinking about since the second he saw you again. you glance at him. “yeah,” you say softly, honest because there’s no point in pretending. “i’ve been seeing someone.” oh… it hits him harder than he wants it to. not because he thought you’d been waiting around for him. of course not. he knows better than that. knows he doesn’t have that right. but something about hearing it out loud, from your mouth, in that voice he used to fall asleep to—it makes his stomach twist. you can see it in the way his jaw tightens slightly, and in the way his hands suddenly find his lap, like his body doesn’t quite believe the version of calm he’s trying to sell.

a long silence settles in, and he tells himself not to ask the next question, the one that’s pushing at his throat, but it slips out anyway, “does he know you’re here?” you shake your head. “no.” he turns slightly toward you, brows pulling in just a little. “i never told him,” you add. “about us.” and that fucking stings. “i just said there was someone once. but not who. i wanted to respect your choice, you know… you didn’t want it out there, you wanted to keep it private. and i… i guess i got used to it, too. so… i kept that, even after it ended.” he swallows hard, but doesn’t speak. because what is there to say, really? he sits there, listening to your words settle into the space between you, feeling it again—the shame. seunghyun stares out into the garden with a tight jaw, wondering when exactly he stopped deserving that kind of grace from you—and why you’re still giving it anyway. he stays quiet longer than he should, but he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack under the weight of everything he isn’t saying. and maybe he should let it go—but he can’t. “is he good to you?” he asks. he hates how much he wants to know. hates how pathetic it makes him feel to sit here, asking about a man who has what he used to. what he walked away from. “yeah,” you reply, and your voice is careful. “he’s… he’s kind. he works in construction with his dad—they run their own small company, mostly residential stuff. but we don’t see each other a lot… he’s the kind of guy who’s in bed by ten and up by five, and my schedule’s kind of all over the place too, so… yeah. but it works. things with him are—they’re simple… easy.” you don’t mean it as an insult, but fuck, it lands like one. “that’s good,” he says, and the words feel like gravel in his mouth. he forces them out anyway, and forces himself to nod, like that makes it more believable. “you deserve that.”

seunghyun wonders if this guy knows how you like your coffee, if he knows how you get when you’re overwhelmed—how you play with the hem of your shirt, how your voice gets sharp when you’re scared and how underneath that, you’re just trying not to break into a million pieces. he wonders if this new guy has ever seen you cry, and if he did, whether he knew what the fuck to do with it. if he sat with you in it, or tried to fix it, or made it worse by telling you everything would be okay when he didn’t know shit about what was actually going on inside your head. he wonders if this guy knows how you ramble when you’re tired. if he’s heard the stories you only tell when you’ve had one glass of wine too many, the ones that make you laugh even as you wipe your eyes. if he knows the things you’re afraid of. he wonders if this guy’s ever traced the line of your spine with his fingers just to feel you shiver under him, if he knows how your breath catches before you ever make a sound, how your thighs tense when you’re trying not to beg. does he know how to touch you the way you like? and fuck—does he get to hear you like that? whispering his name, nails in his back, legs shaking, voice breaking around the kind of moan that used to make seunghyun lose his goddamn mind? and then, in the middle of all that wondering, he hates himself a little—for being so fucking jealous.

you must feel the shift in the air too, the way his silence has gone from thoughtful to tense, like he’s holding something back. so you add, “we’re not… dating.” his head turns a little at that, eyes flicking over to you for the first time in minutes. “no?” you shake your head. “i’m not ready for that. not again. it’s been—i’ve been figuring shit out. still am.” he nods slowly. you glance at him, like maybe you’re trying to gauge his reaction, but he gives you nothing. “what about you?” you ask after a moment. “you seeing anyone?” “no.” it comes out fast and flat, like the idea pisses him off. you wait, maybe expecting him to explain, but he doesn’t. so you press, “not even casually?” seunghyun lets out a short, humorless laugh. “what would be the point?” your brows pull together, but you don’t answer. “i’m not exactly great company,” he adds, almost bitter. “and i’m not trying to let anyone close just so they can realize it for themselves.” “you are great company, hyun. don’t say that.” he just scoffs under his breath and shifts on the bench like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. “yeah, well,” he mutters, “guess that’s not enough anymore.” you turn to look at him. “what?” “nothing.” “no—say it.” you’re watching him now, fully turned toward him, and he can feel it—the weight of your stare, the tension in your voice. he shakes his head. “you’re here, telling me you’ve got someone, and—i don’t know, it’s just… i don’t know.” “you asked, seunghyun.” “i know. i just—i wasn’t expecting that answer.” you blink at him. “so what? you ask me if i’m seeing someone, and now you’re pissed that i answered you honestly?” “i’m not pissed,” he lies, and you both know it. “don’t lie to me. i know you better than anyone—” “do you love him?” he asks, and the question comes out so suddenly, so bluntly, it knocks the air out of your lungs. “no,” you say, after a beat. “i don’t love him. if i did, i wouldn’t be here.” he nods, like that’s what he wanted to hear, but the tightness in his mouth doesn’t ease. “okay.” “what do you want me to say, seunghyun?” you ask, keeping your voice even, though it’s getting harder. “that i waited around? that i haven’t touched anyone since you left? is that what you were hoping for?” “i wasn’t hoping for anything,” he snaps. you raise an eyebrow. “sure.”

he exhales, a short, frustrated breath, and leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirt path between his shoes. because the truth is—he was hoping for that. he was hoping you’d tell him that, even after all this time, you were still a little bit his. and hearing otherwise—he doesn’t know what to do with that. doesn’t know how to sit across from you like it doesn’t matter when it feels like it’s fucking tearing him apart—sitting here, stewing in his own mess, wanting things he let go of, wishing you’d stayed stuck when all you ever did was survive the damage he left behind. every twisted part of him that wants you to be okay, also wants you to still need him. he’s so, so fucking selfish. and you’re right, of course. every word. his hands curl into fists. his vision blurs. he doesn’t mean to start crying, but it happens anyway. fuck. he takes his glasses off and drags a hand over his face, hoping you won’t say anything, hoping maybe you’ll look away long enough for him to get it under control. but he can’t. “i’m sorry,” he chokes out. “i’m sorry i’m acting like this. i just—i didn’t think it would feel like this. seeing you. i thought i could handle it, and i can’t.” his throat aches. he wipes at his face again, furious at himself for crying, for falling apart in front of you, for being nine months too late. “seunghyun—“

his name barely leaves your mouth before he’s crumbling again, shoulders shaking. you slide across the bench, closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around him, firmly. he tenses at first, like he doesn’t know what to do with the comfort, and then he just folds into you. his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears, breath shuddering against your skin, and your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head instinctively. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “fuck, i’m so sorry. i fucked everything up.” you close your eyes, heart aching with the weight of it. “i ruined it,” he says again, voice cracking. “i ruined us.” “it’s not your fault.” “it is.” “no—you were just scared. my mom’s the one who put us in this situation. and yeah, you hurt me but i—i forgive you, hyun. you’re forgiven, okay?” you hold him tighter, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady because maybe if you stay calm, he’ll remember how to do the same. and for a while, he just cries. you haven’t seen him like this in a long time—haven’t seen him break this hard, this openly, not since the first time he told you he didn’t know how to live with himself. or the nights he’d curl into you, silent and shaking, too proud to sob until his body gave him no other choice.

when the worst of it passes—when the sobs begin to slow and his breathing evens out—he leans back and sniffles, avoiding your eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black cloth—one of those soft ones he always carried for his glasses, or for sweat when he was anxious. he dabs at his face, wiping away the tears first, then pressing it against his temples and the back of his neck. he’s sweating like hell, his hair damp, the collar of his sweater sticking slightly to his skin. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse. “i’m a mess.” you reach for the cloth gently, fingers brushing his as you take it from him, and he doesn’t resist. “let me.” you wipe the tears from under his eyes first, careful and slow, then run the cloth lightly across his forehead, down to his cheeks, around the curve of his jaw. your other hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him. “you’re okay,” you murmur. “just breathe.” he nods, throat moving as he swallows hard. and then, after a long pause, with a voice that’s barely there he says, “i… i still love you.” you freeze, the cloth limp in your hand, your breath catching mid-air. did you hear that right? and then, quieter, he adds, “i don’t think i’ve ever loved someone as much.” yeah, you heard that right. your heart stumbles in your chest and you sit there, watching him. he won’t meet your eyes now, like saying it took the last of whatever strength he had left. his shoulders are hunched, jaw tight like he’s bracing for rejection even before it comes. he looks younger like this, and older too, worn down by months of pretending he was okay, of convincing himself he didn’t still ache for you every fucking day. and you love him. oh, you love this man so fucking much… you wish you didn’t sometimes, wish it didn’t still hurt. you place the cloth down carefully in your lap and reach out without thinking, your hand brushing the side of his face, fingers sliding into his hair like muscle memory. and he leans into it. you let your hand fall to his jaw, thumb gently swiping along the damp edge of it. “i love you too, hyun,” you say. “i never stopped.”

his shoulders shake, and you can tell he’s holding back again, trying not to fall apart a second time. you take his hand in yours. “you said… you said that you missed me. earlier. and the truth is… i missed you too,” you whisper, voice low and breaking now. “i missed everything—us. i tried to forget all of it and i couldn’t. i didn’t want to.” his fingers twitch under yours and he grips your hand tighter. you can feel how warm his skin is, how clammy his palm’s gone from the crying and the heat and all the fucking emotion, but you don’t let go. you just hold on, because this is the first time in months you’ve both said the truth out loud, and if it’s going to hurt, you’d rather it hurt with him right there beside you. his eyes are glassy, and you can tell he’s struggling to find the words. “i used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking you were still next to me,” he says. “and every single time it hit me that you weren’t, it felt—” he stops himself, rubbing a hand over his chest to stop it from aching. “i missed you so much it made me sick sometimes.” and you believe him. because you know that feeling. you remember what it felt like to lie awake with your back to the wall, trying to sleep in a bed that felt too big and too cold, your hand unconsciously reaching for a body that wasn’t there anymore. you remember the mornings you’d open your eyes and forget, just for a second, that he was gone—and how that second was always worse than the rest of the day combined. but sitting here now, his hand still trembling slightly in yours, all you can think is: we can’t go back. “i love you,” you say. “and i want to be with you, seunghyun. i want—hell, i’d spend the rest of my life with you.” your voice cracks on the last word, and your chest pulls tight as the tears finally spill over. “and i mean it. but… what would change?”

he’s silent. not because he doesn’t know what to say—but because he knows exactly what he’d like to say, and none of it would be true. “i can’t go back to hiding,” you continue before he can speak. “i can’t—i don’t want to be that girl again.” he closes his eyes for a second, then nods. “i know.” “but i also know…” you exhale, voice shaking, “i know that’s all you can offer me right now.” he shifts slightly, like he wants to argue. “that’s not—” “there’s no point in lying, seunghyun.” he runs a hand over his mouth, pained. “i could—maybe, in a few months, if things calm down—” “you and i both know that’s not how it works,” you say, cutting him off gently. “a few months won’t change the industry. or the people watching you. it won’t suddenly make us easy. and you know, seunghyun… you know a few months is unrealistic. and i don’t wanna—i don’t wanna wait in the shadows anymore. i won’t do it. i promised that to myself.” he sighs, long and defeated. “yeah. i know—i’m sorry. i just… i didn’t think i’d be getting this much attention again. after everything. the interviews, the show… it’s all been more than i expected. and it could get to you too, for the wrong reasons—” “i know,” you nod. “i know. and i get it, i really do. i’ve already deleted half my socials because of the harassment i got when it was just a rumor, and that wasn’t even real to them.” his face falls, shame coloring every line of it. “i’m sorry about that, too.” “yeah,” you murmur. “it’s fine. or—it’s not, but… it happened. those months were awful. but they’re behind me now.” he watches you for a long second, then says, “if we’d been closer in age, maybe it wouldn’t have been so complicated.” you smile, even though your lower lip is trembling slightly. “yeah. maybe it would’ve been easier.” the world outside won’t stop pressing in, and the timing keeps pulling you apart before you even get the chance to hold each other properly. “i hate this,” he whispers. “i hate that we finally said everything and it still isn’t enough.” “me too,” you say, sniffing. “but love isn’t the problem. it never was.” he nods slowly, and you know he’s holding back more tears.

you look at him—his swollen eyes, the slight tremble in his mouth that mirrors your own—and for a moment, you wish you could be selfish. you wish you could say fuck it, go back with him, crawl into the warmth of what could’ve been, and pretend that love alone is enough. but you can’t. “maybe you were right,” you say, trying to laugh through the tears, your voice catching halfway through. “maybe breaking up was the right thing to do. for both of us.” oh… the way his heart drops when he hears that—how much he wishes he could take those words back. how much he regrets ever saying them in the first place. how much he’s begged time, in every quiet moment since, to let him go back and rewrite your story. but it’s useless. it didn’t feel right then, and it sure as hell doesn’t now. you’re all he ever wanted. you’re all he wants. and deep down, he knows—you always will be. and it fucking kills him. it kills him to know that loving you isn’t the question—he does. with everything. the question is what to do with that love, now that it can’t go anywhere. because if you tried again… if you gave in to the ache and the want and the desperation—nothing would really change. you’d end up right back here. except next time, you’d be even more broken. “if i were braver,” he starts, “if i was different—” “don’t,” you cut in. “don’t do that. you don’t need to be a different person, hyun,” you say softly. “you just need a different life. and you don’t have that right now—and maybe you never will. but it’s okay.” “how can it be?” he says, and there’s a crack in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “how the fuck is it okay to want something this badly and still have to let it go?” you let out a shaky breath and look down at your lap. “we can’t change it. this. it’s… it’s not okay—fuck, i know it’s not. but it’s what we have.”

he goes quiet again, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, tears still hanging in his lashes. you both sit in it. the sadness. the weight of every missed chance, every wrong timing, every choice that brought you to this bench. “if there’s another life,” you murmur, “maybe we find our way back to each other there.” he nods. “maybe,” he says, and you know he’s picturing it too. the could-have-beens. the should-haves. the soft life you never got to live. but not this one. he’s quiet for a while after that, like he’s still standing in that other life you just painted with your words—still walking through it in his mind, holding your hand in a version of the world where things were easier. and then his voice cuts through the silence, “but i don’t want to lose you in this life, either.” and before you can say anything, he adds, “do you think we could… i don’t know—be friends?” you turn to look at him, and he’s watching you carefully, not with expectation but with something closer to fear. he’s afraid you’ll say no, afraid you’ll cut the thread that still tethers you to him, even if it’s frayed and worn and barely holding. but you smile a little. it’s small and sad, but a smile after all. “yeah. i think we could.” he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “maybe not right now,” you add gently. “maybe we give it some time. let it stop hurting so much. but yeah… eventually, i’d like that.” he nods again, eyes flicking toward you like he’s trying to memorize your face in this exact light, with this exact expression—still full of love. “i just don’t want to lose you completely.” “you won’t,” you say. and it’s the one thing you can promise. “you’re too much a part of me now, hyun, you always will be. we’ll figure it out.”

the gravel crunches quietly under your shoes. the path back through the garden is dim now, the sun completely dipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky painted in that deep, rich blue, settling into dusk. every now and then, you glance at seunghyun in your periphery—his hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, like he’s trying to hold on to every last moment of this without showing it. you walk without touching, without speaking, but everything between you is loud. and then, just before the path curves toward the iron gate that separates the quiet of this place from the rest of the world, you stop. “seunghyun,” you say, his name barely above a whisper. he turns to you slowly, like he already knows what’s coming, like he’s been waiting for it without letting himself hope. you reach up with both hands and cradle his face—thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones, your fingers slipping into the soft, familiar edges of his hair. his breath catches, his eyes flicker, and then they fall shut just as your mouth finds his. his hands are on you within seconds—your waist, your back, the side of your neck, fucking everywhere. he kisses you back hard, full of need and every word he didn’t know how to say earlier. you make a soft sound against his mouth, one he swallows greedily, pulling you closer, gripping the fabric at your back like he doesn’t trust the world not to rip you away. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan, and when he groans against your mouth, his tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss. he kisses you hungrily. because he knows this is the last moment he’ll get to remember what it feels like to be wanted by you. his hands slide up your sides, and then one of them cups your face, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. your heart stutters in your chest at how tender it is—how fucking unfair it is that someone can love you this gently and still not be yours. you kiss him deeper, your tongue meeting his, your mouth opening wider like maybe if you just give enough of yourself, it’ll keep him for a little longer. but eventually, it has to stop. your hands loosen in his hair, and his grip on you falters. you pull away first, even though it feels like tearing something out of your own chest. you’re both panting, and your lips are swollen. “sorry,” you whisper. “i just… i needed to do that one last time.” you close your eyes and let your hand rest over his chest, right where his heart is pounding beneath your palm—fast and uneven, like yours. “i needed it too,” he says quietly. you both feel it settle deep in your bones—that quiet, devastating truth: the kiss was goodbye. to everything you were and everything you’ll never be again.

by the time you make it back to your friend’s apartment, the sky has already folded into itself, navy and thick. you step inside, the house dim and quiet, the hallway lit only by the warm spill of light coming from the kitchen where your friend’s probably left a candle burning. you move through the space like you’re not really there. your shoes come off, your jacket lands somewhere near a chair you don’t look at, and you’re halfway down the hall toward the living room with that hollow, buzzing emptiness ringing in your ears—when your phone vibrates once. and you think, for a stupid second, that maybe it’s him. but no. instead, it’s your banking app, and there on your screen, as casual as if someone had just venmoed you for last week’s pizza, is a deposit—an absurd amount of money, like… frankly ridiculous amount—and next to it, the name. choi seunghyun. you stare at it for a second, not really processing it, your brain taking its sweet time catching up, and when it finally does, you quickly message him.

seunghyun

WHAT THE FUCK

what

why

wtf

what the actual fuck

You told me you were staying with your friend while looking for a place.

I thought it might help.

are you crazy?

wtf

this is insane, hyun

It’s nothing🙂

it’s NOT nothing wtf

you wired me enough to pay rent for a year

maybe more

no, no, definitely more

way more

what part of that feels normal to you

this is so much money, what were you thinking

I was thinking you deserved it.

i don’t need you to take care of me like that

i’m not your responsibility

You’re not.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you however I can.

it’s too much, hyun

So is everything I feel for you.

i don’t know if i can accept it

Please do.

Friends help each other, don’t they?

i’m being so frl rn old man

Me too, princess.

are u trying to make me cry?💔 be honest

We’ve cried enough today.

I want you to be happy, so please let me do this for you.

thank you seunhyun, really

Of course🫰🏼

i love you

I love you too.

Take care❤️

you too :)

you press the phone to your chest, close your eyes, and sigh. and maybe it’s dramatic to cry over a money transfer, but here you are. not because you need the money, but because you know, this is the only way he knows how to take care of you now—by giving you something tangible and useful in his absence. and that hurts.

it’s been two years since that last conversation with seunghyun—two whole years since that kiss in the garden, since the deposit, since his last message sat in your phone. life didn’t stop after him. it moved forward the way time always does—slow. and eventually, you did too. you moved out of your friend’s place not long after meeting seunghyun—gave yourself permission to look at listings just slightly outside your price range, to stop filtering by ‘cheapest first,’ to imagine something more. and when you found it—a corner apartment on the top floor of a building, all warm wood and tall windows and soft morning light—you said yes. it’s not huge, but it’s beautiful. clean lines, a little balcony that overlooks the street, a kitchen that makes you want to cook even when all you know how to make is pasta… it’s the first place you’ve ever lived that feels like it was meant for you. and yeah, sometimes you think about seunghyun—you think about how he gave this to you. but mostly, you think about how you made it into something your own.

you also dropped the guy you’d been seeing back then and focused on yourself. let yourself learn how to be alone. you got a new job too—something better, something steadier. it pays well, and you don’t come home every night feeling like you’ve been scraped raw, which is more than you used to ask for. things with your mom are better now, or at least better than they used to be. she calls every week, asks about work (because that’s her favorite topic), sometimes even about your mood, and it’s clear she’s trying. but the thing that still sticks in your throat, the thing you can’t seem to move past, is that she’s never actually said she was sorry. she speaks like it was a necessary evil, like leaking your relationship to the press was some calculated decision made for your protection, not a betrayal that burned through your entire life. and maybe if she showed even a flicker of regret—real regret—you’d be able to meet her halfway. but without that, there’s only so far you can go.

you’re not healed. but you’re okay. you wake up most mornings without feeling like you’re drowning, you go to work, make dinner, fold laundry while music plays in the background. you laugh with friends and sleep through the night more often than not. and your screen time is down 12% this week—so, progress. that has to count for something. but some nights, when it’s quiet in your apartment and the city hums softly outside your window, you think of seunghyun. you wonder where he is, if he’s okay, if he ever sees something and thinks of you. you wonder if he’s happy, if he’s sleeping well, if his hands still tremble when he’s anxious or if someone else has learned how to hold them steady. and sometimes, you stare at the ceiling too long, or catch yourself holding your breath when a memory slips through—and it still surprises you, how much he lives in the smallest, stupidest things. because no matter how much distance time gives you, there are people who never really leave. and seunghyun, no matter how far away he is now—he’s one of them.

so when his name lights up your phone one random thursday evening two years later—you almost fall off your bed.

Hi.

Sorry if this is weird.

I was looking through my gallery and I found this.

it’s a photo taken from above—his arm stretched out enough to fit both of you into the frame, the angle slightly off-center. you’re completely out, fast asleep on top of him, arms loosely wrapped around his waist like you were trying to merge with him in your sleep. your cheek is smushed against the ridiculous pajama top—the one he bought for himself first, then ordered a second one for you when he realized how cute you’d look matching. yes, the infamous pajama set that everyone and their mother saw after your mom leaked everything. his hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, but his face is soft—eyes shining even in the low light of the room, a sleepy grin on his face.

Turns out, the picture those fans took of us wasn’t the only one we had.

I hope life’s treating you nicely🫰🏼

and something about it—about him still having that photo, still thinking of you enough to send it—makes you smile. you write back faster than you thought you would.

omg seunhyun!!! hii!!

when did you take that photo? and why didn’t u tell me about it?😭

I took it when you came to Seoul for my birthday.

I forgot I took it.

You woke up right after hahah😴😄

it’s sooo sooo cute🥹

It is😊

How are you?

i’m good :)) but a bit tired because i’ve been helping my friend paint her house and it’s been a lot of work

my arms are so sore😭

what about you?

you doing okay?

Yes! I’m good.

I missed talking to you.

me too :)) and i’m glad to know you’re doing well!

I also wanted to know if you’d like to go for a coffee next week?

I wanted to fly to Texas to see you.

We could catch up.

If you want to, of course🙂

yesss ofc, i’d love to :)🩷

i’m really happy you reached out

been thinking about you a lot, honestly

You have?

more than i’d like to admit hahah

i was wondering how you were doing :)

I’ve thought about you too.

And I’m really looking forward to seeing you😊

me too🙂‍↕️

I’ll send you the details once everything’s booked, is that okay?

yeah, sure, that sounds perfect :)

See you soon🫰🏼

when the day finally comes, there’s a quiet nervousness in your chest—not the kind that makes your hands shake, but the kind that hums beneath your skin. you don’t know what to expect. it’s been two years. whole seasons, whole versions of yourself have passed since you last stood in front of him. you’ve changed. you’ve grown. but some things stay. he’s waiting outside the café when you arrive—hands in his coat pockets, hair a little longer. and the second your eyes meet, he smiles. and you smile back, like no time has passed at all. the conversation flows without effort. you don’t even notice your coffee going cold—you’re too busy talking and laughing like it hasn’t been two years. and you don’t try to stop the feeling that rushes in, that warm, aching knowing in your chest that says, yeah. it’s still him. even after everything. it’s still seunghyun. you don’t know what’s going to happen next, and for once, that doesn’t scare you. you just let the moment be what it is, suspended in something that feels a lot like peace. because maybe this is it. maybe you don’t need another life to find your way back to each other—you already do in this one.

i hope this lived up to your expectations for part 2 :) i genuinely did the best i could. i’ve spent so much time on this fic and gotten so attached to everything about it that it doesn’t even feel like something i made up anymore?? like someone out there is living through it and suffering bc of seunghyun fr… my brain fully believes it atp😭

thank you so much for all the support you’ve shown to this fic, and for all the kind messages i’ve been getting because of it—i seriously wasn’t expecting it at all 🥹💗

regular taglist: @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @infinetlyforgotten @bettelaboure @scream-queen-25 @flwerangii

hidden pt.2 taglist: @ulquiorraswife @rubyylovestoread @youlikeex @liv2cool

[kittluzbills]

Hi, I have a request. Can you write about Joe dating other girls and the main character at the same time? But he falls in love with her and wants them to be together formally

hi baby :)

let me know how you feel ab this!! i actually like how it turned out which is very surprising (i did keep it in the chamber for a few hours but ignore that)

--

a change of heart - j. b.

Joe had always been the kind of guy who liked to keep things casual. He dated other girls, had fun, but never committed to anyone. It was easier that way—no expectations, no complications. But everything changed when he met Y/N.

At first, it was just like any other date—lighthearted, full of laughter, and a bit of harmless flirtation. But as the days went on, Joe found himself thinking about her more than anyone else. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her—the way she smiled, the way she made him feel seen, like no one else ever had.

He tried to keep his distance, juggling a few other girls on the side, sticking to the routine that had worked for him in the past. But every time he was with someone else, his mind wandered to her. Every conversation felt flat compared to the ones they had. Every kiss felt empty. He couldn’t stop thinking about how real things felt with Y/N.

One evening, they were sitting on a quiet bench in the park, the evening air cool and crisp around them. Y/N was telling him a funny story about something that happened at work, and Joe found himself smiling, but not just because of the story. He was smiling because he realized just how much he’d come to care about her.

"You're different, you know," Joe said, his voice a little quieter than usual.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

He hesitated, then laughed nervously. "Just… different. In a good way. It’s hard to explain."

She tilted her head, studying him. "Well, I like to think I’m a pretty good listener. So if you ever want to explain it… you know where to find me."

Joe’s heart raced, his feelings for her suddenly feeling too big to ignore. He took a deep breath, his thoughts swirling. He couldn’t keep up this act anymore.

"Y/N," he started, his tone serious. "I need to tell you something."

She paused, sensing the shift in his mood. "Okay, what's up?"

Joe turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers, feeling the weight of what he was about to say. "I’ve been dating other people. I won’t lie about that. But… I realized something."

Y/N’s gaze softened. "What did you realize?"

"I realized that none of them feel like you," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "And I don't want to keep seeing other people. I don’t want to date anyone else. I just... want you. Only you."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. "Joe… are you saying you want to be serious? With me?"

Joe nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yeah. I know I’ve been a bit of a mess with this whole ‘keeping my options open’ thing, but it’s always been you, Y/N. You make everything else feel... meaningless. I care about you, and I’m not gonna keep pretending I don’t."

She stared at him for a long moment, her heart racing, unsure if this was some kind of joke. But when she saw the sincerity in his eyes, she felt something inside her shift. She’d always known there was something different about him, but hearing him admit it? That was another thing entirely.

"So, what does that mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It means," Joe said, taking a deep breath, "I’m asking you to be with me. For real. No more games. No more dating other people. I want to be with you, Y/N. I’m done messing around."

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest. This was the moment. She could feel the weight of it—how everything could change in an instant.

"I thought you didn’t do the whole ‘commitment’ thing," she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Joe smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Yeah, well… I was wrong."

Her smile softened. "Okay, Joe. I’ll give you a chance. But just know—you’ve got a lot to prove."

He grinned, relief flooding through him. "I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

And in that moment, Joe knew—he wasn’t letting go of this. Not now. Not ever.

---

requests are open as always. should i start a series based on an album? its such a broad question but it seems fun!

my masterlist :)

xoxo, kitt

[lurkingshan]

I think the het couple in Heesu is fine (though I much preferred how the manhwa dealt with Heesu's feelings of isolation and the issue of being gay in a world where most are not without having a het couple). Honestly my biggest issue with them is how much time their sideplots take up when we could be spending that time developing Seungwon and Heesu's relationship. I just don't feel like for them being the main couple, they've really gotten the development and time spent together that they deserve. Again I could be biased since I'm coming from the perspective of having read the source material, which the show has deviated from at almost every step. But I just find it really hard to care about Jiyu's singing or Chanyoung's tennis issues. Especially when it feels like Heesu and Seungwon don't really have the same level of care put into their stories outside the other characters. Like I much would've preferred the time spent with Chanyoung's tennis issues to be spent seeing more about Seungwon and his Moms. Or just Seungwon and Heesu getting to be together. I feel like since the show invented the Jiyu/Chanyoung relationship and gave them much bigger roles than they had in the source material, they overcompensated in giving them all this sideplot that wasn't really necessary to the show and adds almost nothing of substance to it, while then cutting out or cutting short a lot of important developments between Seungwon and Heesu.

Hey anon. I'll be honest, I disagree with just about everything you've said here. I know it can be hard to be objective when you're coming in with a preconceived idea of what a story will be--whether that's due to an attachment to the source material or to BL genre conventions--and to get something completely different. But as a longtime kdrama viewer and someone who is decidedly not attached to the manhwa, I recognized what this show was doing from the start and I think it's done it all quite brilliantly. FWIW, I think this show is an example of a fantastic adaptation that adds a lot of depth and nuance to fairly simple source material, and I much prefer this version of the story.

Chanyoung and Jiyu get to be real and whole people in this story, not just props to serve the main ship. One of my longstanding issues with BL (and many het romcoms) is the way the other characters are often only there in service of the romance. They don't care about anything but pushing the main ship toward each other, and they are usually used just as comic relief or as the stand in for the viewers. That trope has its place, but I always like it when every character in a story is an actual person with motivations and conflicts of their own. Heesu has achieved that beautifully. Jiyu is one of my favorite characters this year, and that's not something you often get to say about women in BL. The friendship between Chanyoung and Heesu is such an important part of the story, and I also love that the show is unpacking the ways in which Heesu, and many forlorn piners before him, can lose sight of the good relationships they already have in their pursuit of the thing they think they want. Everything that happens with Chanyoung and Jiyu's romance supports the main narrative of Heesu's growth, he and Seungwon's relationship development, and the themes about how queerness makes things different for them. It's exactly what a good side couple is supposed to do in a story.

I also super disagree with the notion that Heesu and Seungwon are underdeveloped or haven't had enough screen time. First of all, when you consider that Heesu is almost triple the length of the average KBL, Heesu and Seungwon are getting more screen time than most KBL couples do, even if they are not the focus of literally every scene. They've been getting closer every episode and we've spent quite a lot of time with them separately and together. They are both working through their hang ups and fears, and the story is taking its time to let that play out organically rather than forcing it to go fast for the sake of delivering more romance tropes (another thing I often dislike in the genre). This is crucial not only so their development feels real and believable, but also because the queer couple having more obstacles to get on the same page is a huge part of the point. We have had the pleasure of watching Heesu slowly fall for Seungwon without even realizing it was happening, and now arrive at awareness but still have mess to wade through because Seungwon has been too afraid to tell the truth. It has been a fantastic love story from where I'm sitting, and I'm looking forward to the conclusion.

It has made me sad and pretty frustrated to see the vitriol many BL watchers have aimed at this show. If we want queer stories to reach more people, we can't reject anything that deviates even slightly from the BL formula. It's remarkable that Heesu in Class 2 exists, that it was given proper funding to develop a whole ass queer kdrama with great writing and acting and strong themes and great production values, and that it has executed its story at such a high quality level. I hope those of us who appreciate it for what it is are enough to counteract the hate being directed its way, because it would be a shame if it becomes the only show of its kind thanks to the backlash.

[feral-ferrule]

GAR Goth Night, Choy and Una’s Night Out

Veetch/ force sensitive OC Choy, Tech/Twilek OC Una plus cameos from GGN

Rating: sfw

Word Count <2000

An Elaboration from this

A continuation of this and this

Story and art under the cut

🦇 🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Vetch and Hexx disappeared into the crowd, blending in with the bodies and lights and haze from the fog machine that had been kicked on. Choy felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Can you ‘elp me with the other big feathers?” Una, her tall Twilek friend, leaned down once again to bring her fontage arrangement within Choy’s reach. “Zey are all loose and annoying.”

“I’ll leave the little ones. How’s that?” Choy secured a couple flowers in the gap left by the feathers which she handed to Una as she stood up.

“Ahh so much better, thank you, Choy.” Una absent mindedly tugged and twirled one of her lekku and looked around at the people around her.

Choy’s eye was caught by a flash of white and the red glow of a small low light camera. There was a group of men of different sizes standing off to the side, one was huge. “Hey let’s go introduce you to Tech! You two should get a picture together at least!”

“Who eez Taeck?”

“Teh-“ Choy emphasized the short vowel, “Tech. Short for technical or technically. He’s one of clone force 99. The Bad Batch. You were staring at him when we got here. The one in white,” Choy explained as they skirted the walls of 79’s rather than cut across the throng. At the back door there was a clone with half white hair smoking a death stick. He took in the sight of them and squinted. Choy arched an eyebrow and pulled on Una’s hand.

“Oh, Tehhhch,” Una practiced. “He eez a clone? He does not look much like one,” she whispered to Choy as they got closer.

Tech was scanning the crowd and pressing a button on the side of his goggles. Wrecker was just behind him and had noticed the Twilek staring. He said something to Tech, who continued to scan the room opposite the girls.

“No, over there, 9 o’clock!” Wrecker grabbed the top of Tech’s head and twisted it to face him towards Una.

Choy snickered at Wrecker’s tactic, “🎵Una, he’s looking at you🎶,” she said letting her voice rise up and down in a singsong, “let’s go do introductions.” Choy pushed her around and forward.

Wrecker and Tech watched as Una approached. Tech swallowed hard. “Hey guys!” Choy cheered up at the tall clones.

“Choy!” Wrecker boomed, scooping her up in a bear hug.

“Aw you brought Lula!” Choy said, “fancy hat you got there big guy.” Wrecker set her back on the floor gently and she straightened her corset

“Aw, well, yeah, yeah it goes with my jacket, but I got too hot, I’m, this place is burning up,” he stammered, pulling on his shirt collar as he watched Choy lean forward a little to reset a boob that was threatening to escape.

She noticed his slack jawed stare. “Sorry, wardrobe malfunction. Anyway- this is Una, she’s my best friend at the temple and we snuck her out for some fun tonight.” Choy said gesturing to Una. Tech, I love the look you went with, you two match! Tech?”

“Yes nice thank you Choy, to see again you. You are lovely to make my acquaintance,” Tech said in a daze to Una. Choy barked a good laugh at Tech. Una giggled, “Zee pleasure is all mine.” She held her hand out for him to shake and he flipped it over to bow and kiss her knuckle. She blushed through her white makeup and brought the feathers up to hide her gasp.

“Would you like to dance?” asked Tech.

“Oh yes but I don’t really know how to like everyone else is,” she said looking around. “This is a bit different than what, what I used to do…” she trailed off.

“That is quite alright. I will instruct you.”

“Oh reallly romantic, professor Tech,” Wrecker laughed, rolling his eyes. Tech glared at him and led Una out onto the dance floor. They shone like a beacon in the lasers and strobe lights. Una copied what he did at first, but quickly picked up on him being supremely goofy. She adjusted her dancing to be more like the girls around her.

“She’s a natural,” Choy laughed.

“Good thing,” Wrecker said, shaking his head at Tech.

“She really derailed him. Where’s the rest of you guys?” Choy asked him.

“They went to get drinks at the bar I think, it’s been a while.” He turned around scanning the bar area. “Uh oh, hahahahaha, looks like Hunter’s making friends,” he pointed down the bar over the heads of the crowd near them. “Oh,” he said noticing Choy craning her neck and hopping on her tip toes. “Here I’ll give you a boost,” he said, encircling her waist in his huge hands and lifting her like she was a little Tooka. The scene of what looked like a tiny, half naked human woman ferociously grappling Hunter who was also mostly naked appeared over the crowd. A bubblegum pink and purple Theelin was trying to pry her off of him. And around on the other side f the bar by the service door were two clones and a keg. One was attaching a tube from the keg to the other man. Wait, Choy squinted, was that- “That’s Crosshair’s girlfriend,” Wrecker said, his head level with hers now, “she don’t like Hunter one bit.”

“Clearly,” Choy laughed as Wrecker set her down, “but I can totally see Crosshair and her together.” She wondered to herself about the clones with the keg. “Have you seen Echo?”

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Hexx, Veetch, you’re dismissed,” Mayday said as he studied the rose in his hand. His men saluted, looked at eachother and walked away.

“Finally. I’m getting a drink, you going to go find little miss flirt?” Hexx asked, crooking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Veetch said, “you good for the minute?”

“Go get’er.” He clapped Veetch on the shoulder.

Veetch wandered through the club, head on a swivel. The girls weren’t where he’d seen them before. He backtracked toward the bar and saw the tall Twilek dancing with a tall human guy wearing a fancy white outfit. But poofy black dress girl wasn’t there. He scanned the crowd below their heads for her hair and bows as he kept moving. Bodies bumped and slinked past him as he made his way across the dance floor. Then he saw a really huge soldier with blast scars across his face wearing a top hat. He towered above the people around him even as he bent down to lift up- poofy black dress girl. He held her up to his eye level and they laughed at something by the bar. He’d better get over there- if the giant was making moves on her he’d not have a chance against that guy. Veetch struggled forward as the song ended and several couples all crowded in his way.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Tech and Una walked over to Choy and Wrecker. “Echo?” Wrecker asked, confused, “He wasn’t with us.”

“You two looked great out there,” Choy smiled at her friend and Tech.

“Yeah. Una looked great,” Wrecker laughed.

“You should get a picture together,” Choy said as Tech shot Wrecker another glare. “There’s a holo booth right over there,” Choy pointed at a curtained box nearby. There were two pairs of feet visible below the curtain.

Una and Tech glanced at each other. Tech tipped his head that way and gave her a small smile.

“I have some credits, my treat,” Choy said as she walked over with them. The couple inside exited, laughing at their strip of flimsy. Tech held the curtain open for Una and helped her protect her fontage as they folded their tall frames inside the booth. Choy fished a credit out of her bra and looked up to see a familiar, bearded face watching as she pulled it free from her cleavage. Veetch, she remembered, noting his slack jawed gawking.

“We are ready, Choy,” Tech said inside the booth.

“Alright,” Choy said, locking eyes with Veetch and slipping the credit in the booth’s pay slot. She slid her hand down the side of the booth as Veetch held one hand out to her, his other behind his back.

“Would you still like to dance with me, er…”

“Choy, short for Echoy’la,” she said, taking his hand. His expression showed some surprise and concern and he asked, “Are you Mandalorian? That’s a Mandalorian word.”

“No, your brothers named me and it just stuck I guess.”

“Well I hope you aren’t lost or sad anymore,” he said, bringing his other hand to cover hers. She glanced at it and noticed three of his fingers were shortened, missing the tips and scarred. He quickly withdrew that hand and looked a little hesitant hoping she wasn’t disgusted by his injury.

She stepped into his space more and smiled reassuringly at him, “I’m happy right now.” She found his scarred hand with her free one and grasped it, holding his hands down and to the sides as she inched closer. She could feel the expected mix of emotions off of him as well as something else. Looking at each of his eyes in turn and down his nose to his mouth she asked, “How about that dance, trooper?” Gratitude. It was gratitude to something big.

He let out the breath he’d been holding and moved back pulling her forward towards the dance floor. “Yeah let’s dance,” he grinned through his whiskers. She noticed a discolored darker patch on one of his cheeks. He led her out to a space in the throng of dancing bodies and turned around. Choy was already bouncing to the beat and shimmied right up into his space. She had noticed his boots had some impressive spikes which she stayed mindful of. He kept a modest distance facing her, only reaching for her waist as he noticed more single troopers start circling and angling themselves to cut in. As he put a hand on her waist the music faded and a bell-like tone sounded out cueing a slow and romantic song. Veetch looked up from his hand and at her face to gauge her willingness to slow dance with him.

Choy had felt the attention of several men around her. She subtly angled herself away from each in turn and drew closer to Veetch feeling a flash of possessiveness from him. He put his hand on her waist and, as she placed her hands on his shoulders, the song ended. Several couples and all the single guys except for one left the dance floor as tones rang out resonating with etheric and melancholic lilted vocals. She felt him hesitate and his body language offered to leave the dance floor. She circled her hands around the back of his neck and looked up at him through her lashes.

He softened his gaze on her and brought his other hand to her waist, pulling her closer. As close as the stiff crinoline petticoat would allow. He swayed her around a little, turning in a slow circle. She noticed the solo clone out in the middle of the dance floor moving in exaggerated sensual movements with a fan in his hand. He was absolutely in his element she felt. It made her smile.

She felt Veetch’s hands explore the curve of her back, her waist and slide down till they hit the flare of the skirt’s stiff structure. Deflected from her hips, his hands roamed and caressed back up. His thumbs followed the corset’s boning up to the cups of her breasts. He hesitated there and curled his fingers into her back. He stared at her like she'd vanish and he’d never see her again. She slid her hands from around his shoulders and down to his strong chest. She could feel his heart beating and a pull of want, a craving for more warmth from her, and a tiny flicker of dread of this ending and coldness.

She decided to indulge him and pushed her hands under his cowl, finding the bare skin of his shoulders. Veetch squeezed her more, his thumb testing the plush give of the curve of her breast. Focusing energy through her hands she willed it to infuse Veetch with a deep comfort and heat. Veetch’s eyes widened as he felt this change inside him and saw a glow around Choy. He paused his hands, he was confused as to where to take this. “Are you-“ he began to ask then looked past her.

Choy felt a presence close behind her. “Mind if I cut in,” a voice almost growled.

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GGN taglist: @ghostymarni @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech @foxwithadarkside @fiveminutetrash @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @feral-ferrule @ladylucksrogue @nika6q @skellymom @vimse @gargothnightzine @noblelightfighter @returnofthepineapple @freesia-writes @covert1ntrovert @vikushat @nocturius8015ficore @mamuzzy @risavulpes @niobiumao3 @sazzujazzu @blackseafoam @thora-sniper @gars-weaponeer @leenathegreengirl @vodika-vibes @headphones-ct-09978 @bad4amficideas

[seilnakyle]

heeyyy, I know you're busy, so feel free to answer this whenever you want/can. why don't you like gcs? i don't read their comics so I'm curious

Hiii thank you for asking 💗

There is so much, “Gotham City Sirens” has ruined the complexity of their relationships with Selina, prior to the New 52, and is pretty much an industry plant friendship/team that made everything less interesting and usually mischaracterizes or abuses Selina for it. The name and playboy esq covers are the only iconic thing about it, and for some unfortunate reason it’s created the false perception that Harley, Ivy and Selina were friends and had always been, when in reality, before the New 52, they were NEVER friends.

Catwoman's first interaction with Harley involved her slicing Selina’s throat, drugging her, and trying to get her to kill Jim Gordon. For no particular reason.

Catwoman (1993) #82

Catwoman (1993) #83

Of course during the original Hush, Poison Ivy brainwashes Catwoman and forces her to commit crimes for her which leads to Selina almost getting killed by Killer Croc, then Harley Quinn shoots her 😭

Hush #3

THIS is toxic yuri.

I don’t hate the concept of Catwoman occasionally teaming up with rouges, or being friendly with them, but Ivy and Selina had real moral conflict too. No matter how far back we go in Selina’s history, even as a villain, she isn’t down with hurting innocent people. Harley and Ivy have different morals.

One of the more interesting Poison Ivy/Catwoman stories is from Catwoman (1993) #57, set during No Man’s Land. Where we see that theres a lot about Ivy that Selina admires, but she still wont let her hurt Gotham.

I mean Is this not already far more interesting than the “bestie” dynamic??

Following this and Hush, their relationship was shown to be on bad terms in the beginning of GCS. The “partnership” between the sirens was always meant to be temporary because Poison Ivy and Catwoman didn’t trust each other and Selina had ulterior motives for teaming up in the first place. Not to mention this whole book is just “Catwoman gets tortured, drugged, brainwashed and betrayed” 😭

But for some reason people think it’s a peak concept and want them all to be bestie weed smoking girlfriends bc they don’t have any context except the name and sexy covers. Who needs complexity?

The abuse is non stop in Sirens. Harley and Ivy torture Selina over Batman’s identity

Gotham City Sirens (2009) #2

Then she get’s kidnapped and mentally abused AGAIN for Bruce’s identity by Shrike and an old student of Ra’s Al Ghul. Because of this, Talia manages to convince an extremely gullible Zatanna, who was already in trouble for messing with memories, that the CATWOMAN the greatest thief in the world, is too easy to capture and needs to have the identity of the only man she loves (who VOLUNTARILY told her mind u) forcibly taken from her.

No, Talia doesn’t actually gaf abt “protecting Bruce’s identity” all of a sudden. This is specifically about eliminating a romantic rival and using a member of the JL to do it. Stupid.

Hating Gotham Sirens truly isn’t enough I need Selina get a gun and kill all the bitches in this book 😭

It wasn’t enough that they already tried to destroy ALL of Selina’s decades of character development by saying she was only a good person because Zatanna “fixed” her, they have to go ahead and rip away her memories of Bruce. Even the retcon of the spell only working because of Selina’s already existing good potential makes me FURIOUS bc what do you MEAN “She just couldn’t?” Without the mind theft???

CATWOMAN STOLE THINGS! And was NEVER on an evil team. WHY is she in the same conversation as villains like DR LIGHT my god why the fuck would the justice league want to mind wipe a young thief from Gotham this shit is so stupid

Anyway Zatanna, goes through with it again….

Zatanna then finds a memory of Selina and Talia that leads her to discovering she’s been played. About time.

They scrap for a second and Zatanna zaps her like a bug, Talia breaks her nose, Zatanna punches her in the face, and then Talia randomly fires missiles at Selina 😭 I hate this book man

It exploded and we see Ivy and Harley pretend to care for a second before it’s revealed she’s alive.

Zatanna returns Selina’s memories. But also offers to wipe her mind of Bruce with her consent this time. Selina rejects the offer, and things end rough between the two of them. Selina should have at least been allowed to curse everyone out tbh

Near the end of the series, we get to a point of what I think a good representation of the Sirens relationships should be like. Harley and Selina bond briefly over betrayal and love and are friendly enough. Selina and Ivy have a contentious alliance that ultimately breaks down.

After everything she’s been through, Selina “betrays” her “friends” and has them put in Arkham. Ivy is pissed and breaks herself and Harley out to kill Selina for revenge. All of this culminates into Selina explaining that She is the only reason the Bat hasn’t dealt with them himself and shes done nothing but try to help them, and we get this moment where Selina herself explains why “Gotham sirens” never made sense and was NEVER gonna work.

It ends with Selina once again dying on the cross for them as she lets them get away after attacking her and distracts Batman. If these two are supposed to be Selina’s “weed smoking girlfriends” as fanon says, then she is in an abusive ass relationship 😭

And modern Sirens content? Poison Ivy has been so defanged, Harley is Harley, and god help any character written around her, and Selina get’s mischaracterized as a selfish woman only out for herself (hq show Selina) While dc tries to give the anti-hero “villain with a heart” treatment to Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn.

Now apparently they’re going on space adventures in the new siren book. We’ve already known Dc has lost the plot when writing for Harley, but what are Ivy and Selina doing in space?! Why do we have to pause Catwoman’s already struggling solo for this slop that absolutely no one will be reading for the story 😭 It benefits none of these characters and only serves to regress Ivy and Catwoman once actually compelling relationship more.

Gotham City Sirens, they can never make me like you.

[dotthings]

mid-late S10 Destiel things:

Robbie Thompson in S9 introducing Cain's story and Colette followed by Robert Berens in S10 "you're living my life in reverse" is chef's kiss baton pass for the destiel long game. CINEMA!!!! Pay attention this was not accidental!!!

Dean entrusting the blade to Cas instead of handing it back to Crowley is so weighted. Crowley was the fling. His wild summer. Cas is someone he has feelings for that he trusts, in it for the long haul.

The Executioner's Song deleted scene. With Cas and Crowley taunting each other about how in love with Dean they are. "All in a desperate effort to save your boyfriend." "Maybe he's your boyfriend."

Dean's confession, which yes that is also about Dean himself and him thinking beyond just hunting and being a killer and what else he wants and bi Dean coding not just about Cas but it is also about Castiel. Now, um… recent events, uh… make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don’t know. I mean, you know, there’s – there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time. The priest says "Go a little deeper, perhaps", and Dean answers "Yeah. Yeah, I’m just starting to think that… maybe there’s more to it all than I thought." Dean is looking for a deeper (romantic) connection, he's bi coded, Cas is queer coded, and Cas is right there and S10 has some things going on with them. So without it taking away from Dean's individual arc and themes whatsoever. It's about Cas.

Cas getting to punch Metatron who killed Dean was very satisfying, and how interesting Metatron is still so fixated on Cas. Wants to connect with Cas. Back in S9, he dressed up in a trenchcoat, wanting to emulate him. Envies Cas. Metatron who in S9 called Cas out on how he drapes himself in the flag of Heaven but it's really all about saving Dean, asks Cas in S10, "what are you...what is your mission now" and we know the answer, and so does Metatron, we know he knows because he already said it in S9 and now he's just...taunting Cas with it. Anyway, ongoing theme of angelic resentment, and perhaps in this case even some envy, of the connection Dean and Cas have.

Dean being so happy to see Cas return to the bunker and his grace has been restored and Dean calls it a win. While Cas is practically blushing and doesn't seem to know where or how to stand or what to do with himself he's so pleased. Ugh they're so adorable!!!! And ridiculous!!!!!

Dean's subconscious--manifested as the Benny hallucination--saying it would "ruin" Cas, as well as Sam, to have to kill Dean. So some part of Dean's brain realizes how much Cas loves him (They are both close to Dean, Sam is Dean's sibling, Cas is Dean's best friend and...whatever else he is. The relationships aren't the same, they're both close).

Dean and Cas "take your daughter to work day" with Claire, Dean trying to comfort Claire by explaining that because of her father's sacrifice, Cas was able to save the world. Dean calls Jimmy Novak a "hero" but gives Cas credit for saving the world. Dean reassuring Cas "it's good. It's a good thing" that he wants to continue his atonement with the Novak family but reassuring Cas that he's not a dick (while Cas is so much harder on himself than Dean ever is). Dean and Cas bickering, Cas acting like a worried spouse about Dean, and persuading Dean to stay behind with Claire, with orders "no fighting. Both of you." Sound more married why don't you!!!!! Claire telling Dean to look after Cas...like...this girl noticed some things. That they're close. & sensed Dean cares about Cas too.

Dean being terrified that Cas will be the next one chewed up and spit out by the quest to get the mark off his arm.

Cas calling the bunker "home" for the first time

The Dean and Cas fight scene. "everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world"

Given that Rowena couldn't harm Dean and how powerful the mark it, it seems unlikely Cas can actually kill MoC Dean. And instead of turning away, Cas indicates he'll be watching over Dean for all eternity, both of them immortal, and Cas having to witness Dean become that, and Cas unable to abandon Dean.

"Dean, stop" ("She loved me unconditionally. She forgave me. She only asked for one thing." "To stop.")

Cas's hand wrapped around Dean's wrist and the way Dean's hand shakes on the blade. He can't kill Cas even if he's strong enough to.

Rudy the random hunter thrown in there, just so it doesn't get too obvious that it's Cas's beaten up face that's haunting Dean the most. Dean seeing Cas's face in the mirror.

And the deleted scene from Brother's Keeper where Dean dreams about Cas. "You have an admirer."

One might ask also why invent out of the blue a backstory for Rowena involving the child she cared for more than her own son, when the grace of an angel in love with a human would have made a lot more sense to use for the mark removal spell.

[beforeastorm]

I'll fully admit to being a pedantic asshole, but can someone please point me towards when Tim actually uses the word realism? I've searched every interview I could find and I can't find the reference.

Tim talks extensively about the stakes feeling real, or the characters or world feeling real, but (again, I'll own my pedantry), that means something different than "it's about realism" or "it's realistic" or whatever permutation people are claiming he said.

If he said it, let's see it; I could've missed it (you can win the great satisfaction of proving an insufferable know it all wrong in front of the entire internet).

If, he in fact did not talk about realism... People are still welcome to offer criticism, but can we do that without putting words in Tim's mouth or creating some kind of straw man?

The only time I can find "realism" is in Peter's statement, but the context of that is thanking the on set firefighters and technical advisors for their assistance over the years.

All Tim's references to things feeling real that I could find, as well as the relevant portion of Peter's statement are below the cut.

Deadline

"Once I had made that choice, suddenly the world of the show seems so much more real to me"

Hollywood Reporter 

“So it was time for there to be some real tragic fallout from a story.”

TV Insider

“Look, I know this is the right decision, because as soon as it started to happen in my head, the whole world of the show felt more real to me. These people felt more real to me.”

"but this time I think we all just felt like we were losing a real person, someone that we loved"

TV Line

"On the other hand, if the stakes are never real, if there’s really no chance that any of this peril in which these characters find themselves amounts to anything, I think the show could die."

"The stakes are real is kind of what I want to say. When I landed on this idea, the world suddenly felt more real to me. The characters felt more real to me. They felt like real people."

Variety

"how suddenly the whole world felt more alive. It felt more real because this thing had happened.”

"I had to convince them it was real"

The Wrap

"[The show] needed a major character death for the audience to feel that there were real stakes in any of these cases"

"I needed a major character death if I wanted, going forward, for the audience to feel any kind of suspense or that there were real stakes involved in any of the cases … If you feel like everyone’s going to be fine, I think that the show just dies of inertia at that point"

"It’s because now life means everything to him, and it is a real sacrifice and actual atonement for what his origin story was. It makes sense in every way."

"but as soon as I committed to this, it felt like the world of the show just felt much more real to me"

"But on this show that takes place in a heightened version of the real world — where I could always land the plane or right the ship, or get them out of the tsunami — on this particular show, I think to everybody, the crew and the cast, this death just hit differently."

Peter's statement

"Humbled by working in step with our technical advisor, Chief Mike Bowman, and real firefighters, I wish to thank you all for helping me bring a sense of dignity and realism to the character in our larger-than-life emergency landscape. Your kind and complimentary words have meant the world to me."

[yongkizz]

To be loved by an artist

Pairing: Hwang x Fem!Reader

Summary: “Just being with her was enough for it to be perfect.” His response was quiet but filled with adoration while he turns back to the canvas in front of him.

Warnings: None really, mentions of nudity and implied black reader but anyone can read

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: credit to @cafekitsune for the divider

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Hyunjin leans towards the camera, his lips parted slightly as he reads the comment back. “What made your first date perfect?” He smiles as he thinks about the answer, a soft hum leaving his lips before he answers.

“Just being with her was enough for it to be perfect.” His response was quiet but filled with adoration while he turns back to the canvas in front of him. His hands carefully paint something onto the painting. It’s placed perfectly out of frame of the live, allowing stay to know hes painting something but not see what it is. 

“Someone asked what I’m painting. I can’t exactly say, but it’s something that’s important to me.” He went back to painting, softly dipping the brush in a dark brown, mixing it with a pale brown to get the skin color right. Everything about her was burned into his memory, and that included the color of her skin. He moved the brush back to the canvas and gently stroked the paint onto a certain spot. Hyunjin tilted his head to get a better look at the painting in front of him before humming softly. 

Even on a painting, and without any shading, it felt like her skin was glowing underneath the lights of his studio. His heart fluttered at the idea and he forced his eyes off of the painting and back to the phone to read comments. 

“You guys are nosey today.” He laughs quietly and dips the brush into a cup of brown water. He swirled it around before pulling it out and turning back to the camera. He continued to read comments, his eyes scanning over them as they quickly rolled in. 

“I’m wondering, what is the best dates Stay has been on?” The comments move quicker within seconds of his question, hundreds of fans replying to it. He smiled as he read them, someone saying star gazing while others said a stay at home movie night. He would have to try star gazing with you. 

There’s music playing in the background, Die with a smile filing the silence as he hums to softly and paints. His eyes trace over the figure he’s started to form with the different colors. It was a soft brown that reflected the lights back to him. He smiled lightly and continued with what he was doing.

After a couple minutes of fine detailing, Hyunjin pulled his eyes up from the canvas to look at his phone, where a comment catches his eye. He leans forward to  read it better, his lips parting as he reads it outloud.

“How did the rest of Stray kids react to meeting her?” He hums at the question, leaning back slightly as he thinks of what to say. He set his brush down in the glass of water and turned his body to face the phone.

“Well, she got along with Chan the quickest. They both bonded over being the leader of their groups. They also bonded over both being writers, each in their own way. She can write both songs and a full story, so they talked about that when they met.” He hums and thinks of who he could explain next. His mind drifted to Minho and he continued to speak.

“For Lee know it was way different. They bonded over their enjoyment in teasing me. I would say annoy but we all know they aren’t annoying me. I don’t know what I would do without them both, they’ve become a part of my routine.” Especially you, is what lies unspoken as his eyes drift to the painting of you. 

“Uhh, for Changbin they connected over the gym. He helped her with overcoming her nerves the gym. Especially the other people in the gym. Sometimes they go together but it isn’t very often. She says he’s to extreme for her.” He laughed slightly and moved to the task at hand.

“Introducing Han to her was easy, they’re both extremely dramatic. They also can both fall asleep anywhere. One time, shorty after I introduced her to them, we were at the studio recording for a song. When my part was over and I walked out, Han was asleep on the chair while she was asleep hanging off the couch.” He smiled at the memory, his hand gently stroking the brush onto the canvas. 

“When I first introduced her to the group, I played a game with her to calm her nerves. Felix walked in and noticed the game and the two quickly bonded over their love for it. Her and Felix are definitely the closet out of everyone, with Han being a close second.” Hyunjin leaves this part out, but the memory of you winning after the three of you got competitive is fresh in his mind.

He sets the brush down in the water and reaches for another one while thinking of how you and Seungmin bonded. He dips the thinner brush in the light brown and softly paints onto the leg of the sketch. 

“The day we were at the studio is when Seungmin met her. He was playing guitar in the other room when I was recording and she got curious. The two talked for a good 30 minutes about the guitar and anything about it. It was refreshing to see, I was worried they wouldn’t click as fast as the others but it worked out.” He glanced at the phone to read some of the comments. 

“Last but not least is Jeongin, The two didn’t connect as quickly as the others but it wasn’t as slow as i initially thought. I can’t really explain why there was a slight hesitant between the two, but they eventually talked and learned that they’re both the middle child.” The low music filled the silence after he finished his sentence, his eyes flicking between the canvas and the phone. 

20 minutes passes with soft conversation the music and the sound of brushing. The painting was almost complete, drawn and painted from Hyunjin’s memory. His lover lay on the canvas, laying on a bed of flowers, her hands covering her bare breasts and her legs crossed to cover herself down there. It’s intimate and painted with nothing but the purest intentions.

To Hyunjin, you were nothing short of a masterpiece. Something not even he capture properly, but he would spend the rest of his life trying his hardest to get as close as he can. And to him, this painting in front of him, was pretty close.

The sound of keys jiggling followed by your voice cuts through the house, and Hyunjin all but perks up at the sound. He quickly, but respectfully, says goodbye to Stay before ending the live with a small smile. He stands once the live is over, setting his brush down and going to the door of his studio.

“Coming babe!”

[just-b-wilde]

A happy ending for Nick and June

Today I caught a wave of positivity, and I want to share with you how Nick and June’s story could have a happy ending…

(I just let myself daydream a little, okay?)

Come along with me...

• During the revolution in Gilead, June, Nick, and probably Luke would all be involved. Although, honestly, I’m not sure if Luke would be more of a burden than a help—but I need him for one particular scene, so in my vision, he’s there.

• Nick would get into trouble, and someone might try to kill him. My bet would be on his father-in-law, Wharton—maybe because he finds out Nick doesn’t love his daughter the way he thinks she deserves… but probably also because he learns that Nick’s been playing both sides.

• June would be caught up in this situation. While the obvious route would be for Wharton to try to kill Nick’s beloved as revenge and Nick would heroically save her like he has so many times before… I’d much prefer if this time, it was June who risked everything to save Nick—even if she was the one to take the bullet.

• That would lead to a dramatic moment where June might not survive… but today we’re being positive, so yes—she survives.

• Luke might witness all of this too, maybe just from a distance—seeing his wife throw herself into danger for another man. And at that moment, he’d truly realize that his June is no longer his. And when he sees how much Nick is suffering because of what happened to June (just like Luke and everyone else who loves her), maybe that would finally spark an honest conversation between them about how their situation can no longer be ignored.

• What happens with the uprising and how Gilead is resolved? No idea! I’m leaving that alone… the creators didn’t get anywhere with that throughout the entire show, so I’m not about to dive into it either.

• In any case… Nick would have a baby—maybe another daughter? But Rose would die in childbirth. …Although, wait—I am feeling positive today, right? Okay, then let’s say Rose dumps Nick voluntarily because she wants her husband to actually love her. And she knows that won't happen with Nick. But honestly, I’d be more inclined to believe she wouldn’t survive the birth (which is also a huge theme in this series). Sorry, Rose.

• And Hannah? Honestly, I’m one of those people who believes it’s been way too long for her, and it’s completely understandable that she would be a different person now. So if they find her and plan to rescue her… maybe… it would be nice if someone actually asked her what she wants. She’s not the little girl she was the day June lost her…

• And after that? I picture a small time skip—just a few months ahead. It doesn’t have to be Hawaii, but maybe a beautiful and safe beach somewhere, far away from all the problems. June and Nick would finally be there together with their daughter, just like they dreamed of so many times… and maybe their other kids would be there too, with a brighter future ahead of them.

And you know what? It's gonna be Hawaii!

So, what do you think? Would you like an ending like that? Honestly, I know it probably won’t happen… but it would be nice, wouldn’t it?

And even if the creators won’t give me this kind of ending—I’ll definitely write it as a fanfic on AO3!

[cute-little-fly]

Hi!! Fly here.

I will make a post in reference to the fan discussion that we have been having after all the mess of the animatic. I will talk just about the very initial part of it and canon scenes in case you want to stick around :).

After seeing a few comments about Stolas after all what happened recently re-ignited this discussion; I have noticed that what people didn’t like about Stolas is that he is shown being sensible. That you see him crying and losing it, that he is appalled by his life’s expectations. That he is basically a very sensible and overtly emotional person, and that is being shown as his true nature, even if the acts dismissive towards imps at the start or that he is shown to be sassy too. They can’t put these two things together in one person and feel empathy towards said character.

However, my actual take and the reasons I made this post: if Stolas’s wasn’t like that, his story wouldn’t make so much sense or the story for Stolas would have to be another; for a few details, in my opinion. Or they would have had to change some stuff.

The reason why Stella is so annoyed at Stolas, from what I have thought, is that he doesn’t inhabit this mold of “strong prideful mighty prince”. Is precisely because she thinks she was forced to marry someone that is a “pathetic man” in her eyes. (This is the mold I think the Stolas critical crew wanted him to be too).

They were kinda okay with this at the start, I guess because it is more what it is expected from a Prince, and it felt just like a softer variation from pilot Stolas. However the cracks were starting to appear in this same episode.

What made me think this is that they say that the initial part of the video is what they wanted Stolas to be in the series… but, I think that even in the animatic that part is fake. That part is what Stolas projects to others. Not even in that fan animation Stolas is really like that.

He also looks cool not gonna lie but… Stolas’s story is not about a badass prince. Is about a person that is being coerced into his role, his real self being cancelled and diminished; that will become badass after freeing himself from the constraints of it.

I mean… for me he is already badass just for this and for enduring so much and raising Octavia like he did… But I mean badass in the sense of seeing him being this confident and overly himself guy.

These people wanted Stolas to truly be this mighty and super proud prince with a very strong personality. But he is just… not that or not strong in that precise way.

And maybe… the badass he will become won’t also be of their liking, but that is precisely the point. He doesn’t have to be the perfect guy FOR US. He will become that for him and the people he loves. Not to be of the liking to others because that is precisely the point.

Who he is doesn’t have to cater to that monarchy or people’s expectations of what a prince should be. Stolas was born a prince but he doesn’t have the real qualities for it (I think he is good in his actual job but it’s bad at belonging at the monarchy), and that is kinda the interesting thing about his character.

His entire life has been acting in a way others expect and even that isn’t enough, and is used to mock him.

Stella wanted Stolas to be precisely how some people wanted him to be… so, in that case why would Stella hate him? I wouldn’t see Stella hating so much on Stolas if he was another Andrealphus.

Stella (as we have spoke about her in all our analysis here) maybe feels frustrated or controlled by the men of her life. Stolas is the first let’s say “soft” or “sensible” man she shares with. It’s the first one she is able to control or regain some power from her position too, and it’s because of this. Stolas is too burdened with all his situation to have the strength to face Stella, even if he could technically do it. This wouldn’t make sense with the other version of Stolas, or the entire situation had to be framed differently.

If he was the asshole prince he was in the pilot he also wouldn’t have any issue belonging to the monarchy. Maybe he still would live in a hell of a marriage, and all of that, maybe he was abusive because he was abused by Stella too. But I wouldn’t see him be willing to trade that if he liked being a royal, and I think it would be more a back and forth situation between the two.

Finally, what I want to say is that his story is really well crafted. What happens in the series and his personality fits very well. Maybe the way he was introduced to the audience and the way the series later tried to show to people what was truly happening with him wasn’t pulled out completely fine. But, Stolas being like this is not ruining him. It’s just another valid route the character could be taken.