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chocosvt · 4 months ago

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HER | part two.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

⇢ part one | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

“Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

“Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I��m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don��t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically.

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut

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moonpascal · 2 months ago

Text

IN THE SHADOW OF MEMORY

CHAPTER THREE I series masterlist WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS:

angst, language, nose bleed, headaches, asshole parents, pov switch, smoking, ron’s mean, roommate oc, flashback is italicized, let me know if i missed any

AUTHORS NOTE:

big thanks to the amazing @amiableness and @mischievousmoony for reading and helping me with this chapter! i love you both so much! couldn’t do it without you both!

hopefully this answers some questions you guys had! i had fun writing this!

After a restless night, you wake up feeling somewhat refreshed, though a faint unease still lingers, like a shadow just out of sight. You push the feeling aside, blaming it on the inevitable tension of the upcoming war. No one could expect to feel fully relaxed until it’s all over.

Determined to shake off the dread, you pull on your house uniform and head out to meet the trio in your usual spot, hoping the familiar routine will help steady your nerves.

As you fumble with your crooked tie, cursing under your breath at its refusal to cooperate, you’re so absorbed in the task that you don’t notice someone approaching until it’s almost too late. You barely manage to stop yourself from crashing into them. When you look up, it’s Luna, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watches you wrestle with the stubborn knot.

“Morning,” she says softly, her voice like a gentle breeze. “Your tie seems to be having a bit of a rebellion.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, “It’s not the only thing,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

Luna steps closer, her fingers brushing against yours as she takes over the task of fixing your tie. “There,” she says, her touch light but sure. “Sometimes, things just need a little extra patience.”

You’re about to thank her when she suddenly tilts her head, looking at you with that faraway gaze she’s known for.

“I think today will be important,” she muses, as if she’s sharing a secret with the universe.

You blink, caught off guard. “What makes you say that?”

Luna smiles, a soft, knowing smile. “Just a feeling,” she replies, before turning and drifting away as if pulled by some unseen force, leaving you standing there, tie now perfectly straight, and the uneasy feeling from before somehow softened by her presence.

Reeling from your conversation with Luna, you continue walking through the castle until you spot Hermione and Ron waiting at your usual spot. But there’s no sign of Harry, which is strange—he’s always the first to arrive.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask, looking around.

“Forgot something in the library,” Ron replies, rolling his eyes. “Said he’d meet us there.”

You nod, though Ron’s irritation catches you off guard. He must’ve had a rough morning already.

The three of you head to the Great Hall and find your seats. As soon as you sit down, you start piling food onto your plate. After missing lunch and dinner yesterday, you’re starving.

The chatter of the hall is a welcome distraction, and as you bite into a piece of bacon, the savory flavor makes you sigh in contentment.

As you chew, you turn to Hermione, eager to share something that’s been on your mind. “Guess what weird piece of clothing I found in my dorm last night?” you ask, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Hermione raises an eyebrow, already playing along. “Don’t tell me it was Grace again?”

“It was Grace!” you laugh, enjoying how well she knows your roommate’s antics. “I found a Slytherin tie and a couple of jumpers by my bed. Honestly, I hope they didn’t do anything on my bed,” you add, making a face.

Hermione’s eyes widen, but before she can respond, you remember something else. “Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask you guys,” you say, pulling a small locket from under your shirt.

You fumble with the chain a bit, trying to unsnag it from the loose thread on your tie. “Do you remember where I got this locket?”

You hold it up, letting the gold catch the light as you rotate it in your fingers. Ron opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get a word out, Harry suddenly appears at your side, his expression tense.

“Ron, Hermione, I need to talk to you—now,” Harry says, his voice urgent. He grabs both of them by the shoulders, startling all three of you.

“What’s going on?” you ask, but Harry’s already pulling them to their feet.

“Sorry, Trouble. We’ll be right back,” he says quickly before dragging them out of the hall, leaving you behind.

You watch them go, feeling a pang of exclusion. They’ve always had their secrets, but it still stings to be left out. You poke at your food, appetite waning, and glance around the Great Hall at the other students, all absorbed in their own lives. The noise that was comforting a moment ago now feels distant and hollow.

As you finish what you can manage, the morning owl post arrives, letters and packages dropping onto the tables. You’re surprised when two letters land in front of you instead of the usual one. You pick up the one from your parents first, already bracing yourself for the sharp words you know are coming. Carefully, you break the seal and unfold the letter.

“We heard you had an accident and fell. That is no excuse to fall behind in your studies. Make sure you catch up on any missed work immediately and seek extra credit if possible. You need to follow in your sister’s footsteps or you’ll never amount to anything—”

The words blur as a sharp pain stabs through your head. Your vision swims, and the hall around you seems to tilt.

You blink, trying to clear your head, when you see Theodore standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you.

“What are you doing out here?” you mutter, your voice thick with the remnants of the pain.

“I could ask you the same, Tesoro,” he replies, stepping closer. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern in it. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

You turn away, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m not in the mood, Nott.”

He doesn’t back off. Instead, he reaches out, gently catching your arm as you start to move away. “Hey, I’m not here to cause trouble,” he says softly. “Just wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

For a moment, you consider brushing him off, but something in his voice makes you pause. You sigh, the fight draining out of you as you sink back down onto the bench.

He sits beside you, keeping a respectful distance. The silence stretches between you, but it doesn’t feel as awkward as you expected. After a while, you pull the crumpled letter from your pocket and hand it to him without a word.

He takes it, glancing at you before he starts reading. You watch his expression harden as he scans the lines, his jaw tightening with each word. When he’s finished, he folds the letter neatly and hands it back to you.

“They’re wrong, you know,” he says quietly. “You’re worth more than that.”

You look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” you whisper, though the words feel inadequate.

Theodore leans back, looking up at the sky. “You know, sometimes burning things like that helps,” he says casually, as if suggesting the most normal thing in the world. “It’s like telling them to go to hell.”

You blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Burn it?”

He nods. “Yeah. Why keep something that only hurts you?”

You consider his words for a moment, then slowly nod. “Yeah, okay. Let’s burn it.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as you take your wand out, feeling a little lighter. “Incendio,” you whisper, and the letter catches fire, the flames consuming the harsh words. You watch as the paper crumples and turns to ash, a strange sense of relief washing over you.

“Thanks, Theodore,” you say, glancing at him with a genuine smile. Somehow, he’s made the weight on your chest feel a little lighter.

“Trouble! Trouble!” Harry’s urgent voice pulls you back to reality. You’re still in the Great Hall, with Harry gripping your shoulders, his face etched with concern.

“What… what happened?” you ask, feeling disoriented. Your hand instinctively moves to your face, where you feel the warm, sticky sensation of blood trickling from your nose.

“You’re bleeding,” Harry says, his eyes wide. “We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey, now.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, pulling away slightly. “I can go on my own. You should get to class.”

Harry hesitates, worry etched on his face, but Hermione steps in, gently pushing him aside. “I’ll stay with her,” she says, giving Harry a reassuring nod.

As you wipe the blood from your nose, Hermione takes you by the arm and guides you out of the Great Hall. You can feel the weight of curious stares from your classmates, but you focus on Hermione’s calm presence beside you.

“I don’t want to see Madam Pomfrey,” you start to protest, a hint of anxiety creeping into your voice. You know you should go, but something inside you resists. That vivid memory from earlier—it felt so real. But why was Theodore Nott, of all people, in it?

“I know,” Hermione replies softly, her voice soothing. “We’ll go to your dorm instead. You can rest there.”

Her understanding surprises you, as if she knows exactly what’s weighing on your mind. You try to piece together the memory. It lingers, just out of reach, teasing you with its importance.

You’re lost in thought, your surroundings blurring into insignificance until Hermione pulls you into your dorm room. She sits you down on your rumpled bed, her face etched with concern.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to steady your racing thoughts as you notice the tension in her posture.

Hermione takes a deep breath, clearly struggling with how to begin.

“Something happened… something we didn’t want you to find out like this.”

A cold knot forms in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, then says carefully, “The fall you think you had… it wasn’t a fall. You were hit by a spell—by accident.”

Your mind races, trying to make sense of her words. “A spell? What kind of spell?”

“A memory charm,” Hermione says quietly, her eyes locking onto yours. “It was meant to erase specific memories. But it didn’t go as planned, and you were caught in the crossfire.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “A memory charm… but I remember everything, don’t I?”

Hermione shakes her head slightly. “Not everything. We think it’s caused gaps, places where something important used to be but isn’t anymore.”

Your heart pounds as you try to wrap your mind around what she’s saying. “What did I forget? How much have I lost?”

“That’s the problem,” Hermione says, her voice gentle. “We can’t exactly tell you what’s missing. We’re trying to figure it out, but it’s tricky. We didn’t want to tell you until we had more answers.”

You feel a mix of fear and anger rising. “So, you were just going to let me walk around not knowing?”

“No!” Hermione says quickly. “We were going to tell you, we just needed time to understand it ourselves. But we found you unresponsive and bleeding…”

You sit in stunned silence, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “What now?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll work through this together,” Hermione promises. “We’ll do everything we can to help you recover what you’ve lost, or at least figure out what happened.”

Her words are meant to comfort you, but the reality of missing pieces of your life—of not knowing what’s been taken—leaves you feeling detached. Hermione remains by your side, her presence a steady source of reassurance as you struggle to process this overwhelming revelation.

Theos pov: prior day

Theo hadn’t had much time to process the chaos Potter had unleashed. The shock of learning that you no longer remembered him, followed by the sting of your angry outburst, had left him feeling numb, as if he were moving through the day in a fog. He wasn’t even sure how he had made it back to the dorm. Everything felt surreal, as if he were watching someone else’s life unravel before his eyes.

He barely registered walking into the common room. Even Mattheo’s attempts to get his attention seemed distant and muted, like he was hearing them through water. It wasn’t until Mattheo physically grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a shake that Theo snapped back to reality.

“Salazar, Theo, you really zoned out there,” Mattheo said with a hint of concern, though he tried to keep it light. His eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Trouble?”

The question hit Theo like a punch to the gut. His body tensed, and the words he needed to say seemed to lodge in his throat. How could he possibly explain what had happened? How could he tell his best mate that he’d been secretly fighting against everything their house stood for, and that you—his girlfriend—had been caught in the crossfire?

Mattheo would probably tell him that he deserved it, that this was the price of betraying his house. Or worse, he might report it to his father, who would ensure that Voldemort dealt with Theo personally.

“She… she had a nasty fall yesterday,” Theo forced the words out, his voice strained. He hoped it would be enough to satisfy Mattheo, but his friend wasn’t so easily convinced.

“That why you disappeared last night? Is she okay?” Mattheo asked, his tone more serious now, his earlier humor fading.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Theo muttered, the words barely audible. It was the first time he’d spoken them aloud, and doing so made it all feel too real, too painful.

“What do you mean?” Mattheo asked, his expression hardening as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on him. Trouble who had been a pain in his ass and was finally tolerating you. Theo didn’t want to say it again, didn’t want to feel that same stabbing pain in his chest. But Mattheo wasn’t letting it go.

“Theo, what do you mean?” he pressed, his voice sharp and demanding.

“She remembers everything but me! Our entire relationship—gone!” Theo snapped, the frustration and despair that had been building up since the incident finally boiling over. He shoved Mattheo back, his fists clenched tightly as if ready for a fight.

The anger, the helplessness, the grief—they all mingled together, pushing him to the brink. Tears threatened to spill, but he refused to break down, not in front of Mattheo, not in front of anyone but you.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me! I’m trying to help,” Mattheo shot back, stepping closer as if to challenge him, his tone now serious and firm. Theo scoffed in response, rolling his eyes as he pushed past him, desperate to reach the solitude of his room.

Theo slammed the door behind him with a force that reverberated through the room, but he barely noticed the sound. He couldn’t breathe; it felt like the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him.

Everything he cared about—everything that mattered—had been ripped away, and he had no idea how to get it back.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the chaotic disarray of his belongings, though none of it seemed to register fully. His bed, unmade from where you had slept just the night before, looked like a mocking reminder of what he had lost.

Your tie, casually draped over his desk, next to the book you two had been reading together every night, felt like a relic of a time that had suddenly been erased. Little parchment notes, filled with love and encouragement, were scattered across the surfaces, each one a painful echo of a relationship that now existed only in his memory.

It was unbearable.

Desperate for an outlet, Theo grabbed the nearest object—a chair—and hurled it at the floor with all his strength. The wood splintered and cracked, pieces flying in every direction. A sharp shard sliced across his cheek, but the pain was a mere blip against the emotions raging inside him. It wasn’t enough; the destruction did nothing to quell the storm.

His eyes locked onto the fire poker resting by the fireplace, an innocent object that suddenly felt like the perfect instrument for his fury. He seized it, gripping it with both hands, and began to swing wildly at his bed.

The metal struck the wooden pillars with a resounding crash, splintering the supports, shattering the structure into ruins. His yells filled the room, raw and primal, as he tore through the space, obliterating everything within reach.

When there was nothing left to destroy, when the room was nothing but a mess of shattered wood, glass shards, and torn fabric, Theo collapsed against what remained of his bed. His back slid down the broken frame until he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the debris of his breakdown.

The numbness crept in, dulling the edges of his anger and grief, leaving him feeling hollow and lost. He stared blankly at the wall, his mind on the brink of spiraling again, unable to grasp what he was supposed to do next. How could he fix something so deeply broken?

His gaze shifted, and something caught his eye—a flash of color peeking out from under the bed. It was your jumper, partially hidden but unmistakable. He reached for it quickly, almost desperately, and when his fingers closed around the familiar fabric, he pulled it close. Dusting it off, he clutched it to his chest, his breath hitching as he buried his face in the soft material. Your scent lingered faintly, a comforting trace of you that seemed to cut through the haze of despair.

As he inhaled deeply, the tears finally came, silent and unchecked, sliding down his face as he held your jumper tighter. It was the first real release he’d allowed himself, the first moment he’d let the weight of everything truly hit him.

He had to find a way to fix this, to make things right. After his first class, he’d start working on a plan. He had to see you, make sure you were okay—and selfishly, because he couldn’t stand being apart from you any longer.

Theo rushed to class, almost knocking over several students in his haste. He didn’t bother apologizing; his mind was fixated solely on seeing you.

As he burst through the door, earning a few glances from his peers, his eyes immediately sought you out. There you were, sitting in your usual spot, and for a brief moment, Theo allowed himself to hope that maybe everything would be normal again. But as he approached and took the seat beside you, the tension in your posture made it clear he had been too optimistic.

He tensed in response, trying to keep himself together, even as the nausea of your apparent discomfort around him threatened to overwhelm him. Maybe it was a mistake to come to class instead of diving straight into research. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing you like this, not in his current fragile state. But what about you? Were you alright?

Lavender’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts as she asked how you were doing. Theo’s heart raced, dreading what you might say, what Lavender might tell you.

This wasn’t how you should find out—not after everything that happened this morning. So he quickly cleared his throat, giving Lavender a sharp look that silently begged her to drop the subject.

Luckily, the professor began the lesson before anyone could say more. But Theo wasn’t paying attention; his focus was entirely on you. He watched as you suddenly winced, shutting your eyes tightly and massaging your temples. His heart clenched in his chest. He knew you suffered from migraines, but this one seemed different, more intense.

Normally, Theo would offer comfort, holding your hand or rubbing your back—anything to help ease the pain. You had always said his touch brought you relief, that his warmth helped you get through the worst of it.

But now, how could he offer that comfort when you seemed so distant? The image you had of him now wasn’t the same as it was yesterday. Still, he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

He leaned over, pretending to need more ink, subtly brushing against you. To his relief, he noticed your body relax slightly, and he felt a small surge of pride. It seemed your body still recognized him, even if your mind was struggling.

He stayed close for the rest of the class, finding some solace in being near you, even if it wasn’t the same. When the lesson finally ended, you remained seated, your breathing shaky. Theo wrestled with himself before finally finding the courage to speak.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

His voice seemed to pull you from whatever trance you were in, and you answered him hesitantly, clearly torn between confiding in him and holding back. Theo could see the conflict in your eyes, mirroring the turmoil in his own heart. To be so close to you yet feel so distant was a cruel irony.

Tentatively, he reached out, resting his hand on yours. The familiar softness of your skin was almost too much for him to bear. The urge to pull you into his arms was overwhelming, but he resisted. And then, to his dismay, you apologized.

Of course, you would apologize. Theo deflated, disappointment crashing over him. For a fleeting moment, it had felt like everything was normal again, like this was just the aftermath of a minor argument. But reality was far harsher.

This wasn’t a simple fix, and Theo wasn’t going to get an easy resolution.

Accepting your apology was a small hurdle, but saying your name instead of the endearing terms he used to call you—amore, tesoro—hurt the most. It felt foreign, like a painful reminder of how deeply the spell had affected you.

He could see that you wanted to say more, but then you recoiled, almost tipping backward in your chair. Instinctively, Theo reached out and caught you before you could hurt yourself further.

“Whoa, easy there. What’s happening?” he nearly let amore slip out, but caught himself just in time. Before he could say anything else, you excused yourself and hurried out of the classroom. Theo watched you go, his eyes never leaving your retreating figure, wishing he could take away whatever pain you were feeling.

Determined, Theo hastily grabbed his bag and decided to skip the rest of his classes. He needed to get to the library. Madam Pince could take all the points from Slytherin for all he cared. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Theo stood frozen in the library, staring at the seemingly endless shelves of books. He didn’t know where to start, and the thought of asking Madam Pince for help made him grimace. He didn’t have the time or patience to search the entire library by himself. With a frustrated huff, he yanked off his robe, tossed his bag onto a nearby table, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves before reluctantly seeking out Pince.

“Mr. Nott, shouldn’t you be in class?” Irma Pince’s voice cut through his thoughts, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“What are the call numbers for any information on the Obliviate spell?” Theo snapped, too agitated to explain himself.

Her eyes widened slightly at his sharp tone, clearly displeased with his lack of manners. “Ten points from Slytherin, Nott,” she replied icily, before guiding him to the section he needed.

After a short walk, she pointed to the relevant shelves. “This better be for research only and not some mischief you boys are planning,” she warned, her gaze stern and unyielding.

Theo barely concealed his irritation, rolling his eyes in blatant annoyance. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, brushing past her to scan the shelves for useful books.

Pince stalked off, leaving him to his task. He gathered a few books and an old Daily Prophet article, his arms heavy with the weight of them. He dropped the books onto the table, pulled out some parchment, and prepared to take notes—anything that might help fix the mess he was in.

Starting with The Standard Book of Spells, Theo flipped through the pages until he found the section on the Memory Charm.

“The Memory Charm (Obliviate), also known as the Forgetfulness Charm, was a charm that could be used to erase specific memories from an individual’s mind. It was different from the spell that created false memories.”

Theo sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. This wasn’t new information—it was basic knowledge. Moving on, he opened the Daily Prophet article, hoping for something more useful.

“Obliviate is the incantation for a Memory Charm, a spell that erases specific memories from an individual’s mind. It is one of the most potent and potentially dangerous spells, as it can lead to severe and permanent memory loss if used incorrectly.”

His stomach churned as he read on, the words making his anxiety worse.

“The strength of the Obliviate spell depends on the caster, and in some cases, it can destroy memory so thoroughly that a witch or wizard may lose their sense of identity.”

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. The thought of you losing yourself completely was unbearable. He couldn’t let that happen. For both your sakes—and Harry’s—this had to be fixable.

After jotting down some notes, Theo grabbed the next book, A History of Magic, and started skimming through it. Most of the information was redundant, but then his eyes caught something that made his blood run cold.

“Reversing the effects of Obliviate is extremely difficult, if not impossible in some cases. Restoration of memories may require highly specialized magical treatment and is not always successful. Memory Charms could be broken through torture.”

Theo nearly gagged. The mere thought of you being hurt, let alone tortured, was more than he could bear. He forced himself to push those dark thoughts aside, continuing to scan the text. His eyes widened as he came across a bold warning.

“Caution: If the spell is carelessly cast, the brain will be in a delicate state. If you stress this person too much or aren’t careful when trying to restore their mind/memories, the results could be unpredictable, even leading to a complete breakdown of the mind.”

“Side effects may include headaches, fainting, vomiting, bloody noses, and/or completely losing themselves. Keep the person calm, distract them, or give them a Sleeping Draught.”

Theo’s heart seemed to stop. He’d seen you suffer from a headache earlier, and now he was certain that the spell had left you in this delicate state. Despair gnawed at him as he realized how little progress he was making. The hope of finding a safe way to restore your memories was slipping through his fingers.

Reluctantly, Theo acknowledged that he needed to tell Harry what he’d found. Your friends might make things worse if they tried to help without knowing the risks. Gathering his things, Theo abruptly stood up, leaving the mess on the table behind as he hurried out of the library. He needed to find those blithering idiots—your friends—before they unintentionally made things worse.

But as Theo stepped into the hallway, he was surprised to find the castle cloaked in darkness. Hours had slipped away unnoticed, swallowed by his mounting anxiety and frantic search for answers. The realization hit him hard—he’d spent the entire day buried in books with nothing to show for it but a sense of helplessness.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. The weight of his failure pressed down on him, but he knew he couldn’t afford to crumble now. Tomorrow, he’d have to face them—your friends. They’d have to work together, whether he liked it or not.

Theo took a deep breath, the resolve hardening within him. First thing tomorrow, Theo vowed, he’d get them involved. No matter what it took, he wouldn’t stop until everything was set right.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. Theo barely slept, his mind too consumed with worry about you. The absence of your familiar presence beside him made the night feel endless—he longed to wake up and see your peaceful face, to trace the contours of your features like he used to. What he wouldn’t give to have that back.

He needed to reach Harry quickly; there was no time to waste. Theo jumped out of bed and dressed hurriedly, ignoring the curious glances from his dorm mates—he was never up this early.

Bounding up the stairs to the Gryffindor entrance, he didn’t care that he irritated the portrait lady as she reluctantly let him in. Thankfully, he found Harry’s dorm room without much trouble, and quietly crept inside. Theo moved to Harry’s bed, clamping a hand over his mouth, startling him awake.

Harry jolted, wide-eyed and reaching for his wand before realizing it was Theo, which did little to ease his nerves. Theo, unbothered by Harry’s panic, rolled his eyes and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. He motioned for Harry to follow, stepping back toward the door and waiting for him to get dressed.

Once Harry left a note for Ron, the two headed out, Harry nervously trailing behind Theo. They made their way to a secluded corner of the library, where Theo suddenly stopped, causing Harry to nearly bump into him. Theo turned to face him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Things are worse than I thought, Potter,” Theo began, his tone cold. “Her condition is more fragile than we realized.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though the guilt of what he had done was eating away at him. You had always been there for him, and now, because of him, you were suffering.

“Because you didn’t mean to cast the spell on her, it left her mind in a delicate state,” Theo explained, barely containing his frustration. “We can’t let anything stress her out. The side effects could be devastating, and we could lose her completely if we don’t handle this right.”

Harry nodded, already sensing where this conversation was headed. Despite the tension between them, he knew they had no choice but to work together. “What do we do?”

Theo sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know yet, but what I do know is that I’m the only thing missing from her memories. We need to keep researching.”

“We should tell the others too,” Harry suggested, realizing the importance of getting everyone on the same page.

Theo agreed, though with a note of urgency. “You go get them. I needed to talk to you first before they start interrupting.”

As Harry left to gather Ron and Hermione, Theo stepped out into the corridor, his nerves on edge. It had been two days since he last had a cigarette, and the stress was getting to him. He pulled one out, lit it, and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar sensation calm him as the cool morning air brushed against his face.

His thoughts drifted to you—how you’d always hold your breath when he smoked, jokingly scolding him but never actually asking him to quit. You hated the smell, but you’d still kiss him if he asked. The memory brought a small, bittersweet smile to his face.

As he spotted the trio approaching out of the corner of his eye, Theo sighed and flicked the cigarette out the window.

“So, what does this tosser want?” Ron muttered as they neared. Ron had never liked Theo, always suspecting he had ulterior motives with you.

Theo rolled his eyes. “I’m here to make sure you lot don’t make things worse,” he retorted.

Ron glared at him, ready to snap back, but Hermione quickly intervened. “You mean Trouble?” she asked, concern clear in her voice.

Theo bristled at the nickname—he always found it annoying and unoriginal. “Who else?” he replied, irritation seeping into his tone. “You have to keep her calm. There are too many risks involved, and we can’t afford to make her condition worse.”

“How do we fix it?” Hermione asked, her worry for you evident.

“We don’t know yet,” Harry admitted, “but we can’t stress Trouble out, while we figure it out.”

Theo added, his voice firm, “If she starts to realize she’s lost memories, don’t tell her what they are—especially not about me. She doesn’t remember anything about us, only what came before. If you spring it on her, it could be catastrophic.”

“Why should she remember you anyway? I’d say that’s a win, don’t you think?” Ron sneered, a smirk playing on his lips.

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly stepped in front of Ron, blocking Theo from moving closer. “He’s joking! We’re going to fix this,” Harry assured, trying to defuse the situation.

Theo’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his temper in check. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and rolled his head to the side before continuing.

He explained the potential side effects, what to watch out for, and how to keep you calm if a situation arose. They agreed to meet regularly throughout the week to share their findings and come up with a plan.

With everything said, the trio left Theo standing in the hallway as they headed back to the Great Hall—and to you.

Theo watched them go, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a stone. As much as he disliked relying on Harry and his friends, he knew they were all you had now. And if they didn’t handle this right, it could ruin everything.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he tried to clear his thoughts. He needed to stay focused, to keep his head straight if they were going to find a solution. There was no room for mistakes, no second chances. They had to get this right or lose you forever.

If you enjoyed, please reblog or comment! Your words keep me motivated to write.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theo nott x reader #slytherin boys #theodore nott fanfic #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott angst #theo nott angst #theo nott series #moons writing

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allur1ngs · 11 months ago

Text

✮ a whisper of our love ✮

TW: don’t let the cute visuals deceive you this is pure ANGST to fluff, delulu bada strikes again, bada doesn’t know how to process her emotions but it’s okay she’s trying, reader is a chronic sweetie pie no one hate on her or i’ll find you, character death, guns, blood, descriptions of injury, grieving, emotional trauma, survivor’s guilt!! flashbacks in this fic are indicated by italicized text, sweet smut (dom & top!bada sub & bottom!reader, fingering–r!receiving, oral–bada!receiving, finger sucking–bada!receiving, scissoring/tribbing whatever you wanna call it–both!receiving obvs, tit sucking–r!receiving, a bit of spit… sorry, lots of praise & fluffy love–r!receiving) aftercare happens out of the fic

SUMMARY: bada confronts years of profound emotional turmoil to embrace the depths of her affection for you.

WC: 16.1k…no comment

A/N: find more information about this au on my masterlist! ...here it is!! the long-awaited official first kiss + first i love you, as well as first time together as a couple!! ngl i’m really proud of this one. many (not so obvious too) plot points come together this time so keep an eye out for them!! again–please ignore any spelling errors this is so long–& this one might be a bit heavy around the middle part so please take care of yourself!! but enjoy!!

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada or team bebe’s actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

Several months after the Seong incident, it finally felt like things were going back to normal. You got back into the swing of things, embracing your time in the Lee mansion, and rarely leaving unless you got antsy. You became much more vigilant while out, carefully observing your surroundings and never straying too far away from Hyo’s side. Malls, grocery stores, and casual strolls became few and far between, but at your behest. You gained a sense of normalcy staring at the same large walls and divots in your home—happy with your life as it is, everything felt complete.

Bada, on the other hand, who had become increasingly protective to the point she had been somewhat clingy, was finally starting to ease back into her busy work schedule, her visitations becoming rarer. Although you felt a bit melancholic at the fact that she was pulling away from you, you accepted that work would always be a large part of Bada’s life – whether either liked it or not.

Thoughts such as these swirl in your mind as you get ready for a new day, rays of warm beige sunlight peaking through your mesh curtains and swirling in the air of your room. Every part of your body feels relaxed, muscles moving fluidly as you dress yourself up. Today, you’d invited your friends over – with Bada’s permission, of course – for a small get-together. A real one.

They’d been nagging you for days on end about seeing you again, and after finally breaking under the pressure, you invited them to come over and have breakfast with you, then take a nice dip in the infinity pool. You could practically hear the squeals of excitement through the all-caps text messages they’d responded with, all agreeing to your proposal and before conversing about what bathing suit they’d bring.

Now, on the day of their arrival, you get ready slightly earlier than you normally do, preparing accordingly for your friends.

“Good morning, Hyo.” You greet your bodyguard with a smile as you step out of your bedroom.

“Good morning, kid.” She nods. “Up and about already?”

“Yup,” you begin walking down the hallway, Hyo following you without a second thought. “The girls are coming over today for breakfast.”

“Right,” Hyo acknowledges. “You bought all those groceries yesterday for them.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “I need to get started on the cooking so that the food is ready for them when they arrive.”

“What a great hostess you are.” Hyo lightly teases you.

“Please, it’s just common courtesy.” You have a hand in dismissal. “Besides, knowing Jae, she’ll be crying about how she’s ‘so hungry’ the second she gets here.”

“Jae…” Hyo trails off, her mind wandering back to the day you’d been kidnapped, and how the woman had aided in your rescue. “I can tell you two care about each other a lot.”

“We do.” You turn into the kitchen, greeting the staff that’s already busy at work. "She's the first friend I made and the longest-lasting friendship I've ever had."

“How long?” Hyo asks, leaning against the counter as you begin to take out ingredients.

“Let’s see…” you pause, thinking to yourself. “about… fifteen years now, give or take a year or so.”

Hyo whistles loudly, sucking her teeth. “That’s a very long time.”

“It is,” you nod, “but really, it doesn’t feel that way. She’s always keeping me on my toes.”

Hyo snorts, “I can tell.” You lightly elbow her in the shoulder before focusing back on the food in front of you. “So, how’d you meet the rest of them?”

“Through my parents and school.” You start chopping some of the fresh vegetables on a newly cleaned chopping board. “I met Min-Ji not too long after Jae. She was the class president, and I was one of the top students, so we naturally clicked. Our parents also were long-time friends, so that was another factor, of course.”

“Min-Ji… which one was she?” Hyo crosses her arms across her chest, trying to remember the faces of your friends from the party.

“She was wearing a black cocktail dress. She has long black hair–”

“Ah, yes.” Hyo snaps her fingers. “I remember. She had a very mature look.”

“That’s because she’s the oldest out of all of us.” You nod. “Da-Eun is the second oldest. She’s the sporty type.”

“Was she the one that almost attacked me for pulling you out of the house?” Hyo scoffs.

“Yes,” you laugh, “that was Da-Eun. But don’t hold it against her, she’s very hot-headed and protective by nature.”

“I won’t.” Hyo shrugs. “I think it’s important to have friends that care about you.”

“I agree. They’ve all got me through some tough times.” You move around the kitchen, pulling out spices and seasoning the food. “What about you, Hyo?”

“My friends…” she lets out a long sigh. “Are all the Bebe girls, Boss, and you.”

You give Hyo a bright smile, nudging her shoulder, “Aww, you really do consider me your friend.”

“Are you really that surprised?” She chuckles.

“No, I knew you couldn’t resist my friendly disposition.” you wink at her playfully.

“Right…” she trails off. “So what’s on the menu?”

“I’m making kimchi pancakes, and egg rolls.” You say, while beating the eggs.

“Do you need help, Ms. Lee?” The head cook suddenly cuts in, offering to cook for you.

“Oh no, it’s alright.” You kindly dismiss. “I’ve got it.”

The head cook lightly bows before returning to preparing Bada’s breakfast.

You glance at Hyo from the corner of your eye, motioning her to come closer. She raises her eyebrows, but complies. “I still find it a bit strange that all the staff call me Ms. Lee.” You whisper to her.

“Well, you are engaged to the Boss,” Hyo whispers back.

“But we’re not married yet.” You point out.

“In their minds, you already are. You’re the Boss’s wife.”

Hearing it said aloud makes it more real. Although you’ve been living in the Lee mansion, and getting to know everyone, it slips your mind that this large building will officially become your home in a few months. That all the staff will be working for you – though technically they already are – that Bada’s business will, in some ways, be yours as well.

You will have her last name. You will be her wife.

As if in a trance, you move about the kitchen on autopilot, cooking, and eventually cleaning once you’re finished.

And like divine timing, the doorbell from the very front gate sounds, ringing in the living room and kitchen, taking you by surprise. “They’re here.” You mumble, hurriedly plating the kimchi pancakes, egg rolls, and their drinks.

It takes them a few minutes to get past security detail – although Bada agreed to let them visit, her only caveat was that they’d need to go through extensive security, for your protection, of course. But the second they step into the living room, all of their eyes widen, stars in their irises as they take in the diamond teardrop chandelier, and the golden-trimmed decorations glittering in the morning sun.

“This looks like the inside of Buckingham Palace.” Jae awes, her hand covering her agape mouth.

“How do you know what the inside of Buckingham Palace looks like?” Da-Eun raises an eyebrow at the younger woman.

Jae playfully glares at her friend, smacking her on the shoulder lightly. “It was just an expression.”

“Control yourselves.” Min-Ji cuts in, trying to contain the look of utter shock and amazement marring her expression. “We’re in someone else’s home now, so no funny business.”

“Where’s unnie?” Ryung speaks up, looking around the vast living room for you.

“Sorry–” you walk in from the kitchen carrying plates in your hands, Hyo following close behind with some across her arms as well. “I would have greeted you right when you came in but I just finished plating the food.”

“Food?” Jae exclaims, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. “You made food for us?”

“You really didn’t have to–” Min-Ji says humbly.

You give them lightly scolding looks as you place down their food on the long dining table. It’s decorated to perfection; a crisp white tablecloth draped over the walnut wood table. Lit candelabras that drip hot candle wax rest in the center and outermost edges, small vases with blossoming flowers accompanying them. And to top it all off, in front of each dining chair, fine china and crystal wine glasses with embossed detailing are set aside next to firmly polished silverware.

“I invited you all over for breakfast, did you really think I wouldn’t serve any food?”

“We thought you would just let the staff make it instead,” Da-Eun admits.

“No, they’re already very busy preparing breakfast for Bada and Bebe.” You wave a hand in dismissal. “I didn’t want to burden them with any more work.”

“That’s so sweet of you!” Jae practically squeals, throwing herself at you and squeezing you tight in a hug.

You let out a small “oof” at the action, but eventually laugh and hug your best friend back. You stay like that only a minute before the sound of tiny sniffles reaches your ears, making you take a step back with a worried expression. Jae stares back at you with tears in her eyes, and a distressed look on her face. “Jae?” You say softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Unnie…” she trails off, her voice getting gradually louder. “You scared me!” She lunges forward, holding onto you like a koala bear while she sobs.

“Wha–”

“When you got kidnapped I was so scared! I really thought I’d never see you again.” She practically wails.

You look up from your best friend’s figure, your eyes locking with the other girls. They all wear solemn expressions, either looking at the ground or staring at you hollowly. Your heart squeezes in your chest, the realization that you hadn’t seen your friends face to face since that day finally dawning on you.

For hours, they must have been waiting at home, terrified out of their minds, wondering if you were dead.

You pat Jae on the back, comforting her. “I’m so sorry I worried you all.”

“We felt like it was our fault,” Ryung speaks up, hanging her head. “If we hadn’t thrown that party, you wouldn’t have been kidnapped.”

“If I’d have just pummeled that creep when I got the chance–” Da-Eun clenches her fist.

“None of what happened was your fault.” You cut in, voice stern. “I agreed to go to the party, despite knowing it would be dangerous for me. It’s my fault.”

The girls seem to perk up at your words, but only slightly.

“And Da-Eun, if you’d punched Seong, you probably would have ended up being taken hostage like me, or worse.” You point out. “Now stop commiserating and eat the breakfast I made for you.”

The girls reluctantly listen to you, all of them choosing a seat before thanking you for the food once again and digging in. Conversation flows easily after that, the topic of Seong and your kidnapping left far behind. Instead, you talk about lighter subjects, like what the girls had been up to while you recovered.

Once you all top off your breakfast, you walk your plates over to the kitchen and place them in the sink to clean them.

“Ms. Lee, would you like me to wash the dishes for you?” The head cook pops out of the kitchen, standing in front of you with his hands behind his back.

“Oh, it’s alright, we should do it.” You say, the girls behind you letting out murmurs of agreement as well.

The cook once again looks surprised but nods, ducking back into the kitchen as you begin cleaning.

"Ms. Lee, huh?" Jae playfully bumps your hip.

You let out a long sigh while chuckling. "I haven't gotten used to it yet."

"Well, you'd better because, in a matter of months, you'll be Mrs. Lee, the wife of the most powerful mafia boss in Seoul." Jae looks up at the sky, a giddy grin on her face.

"When is the wedding, by the way?" Min-Ji asks.

"Ah, we still haven't decided on a date yet," you mumble, having finished cleaning your plate, "but I think sometime in December."

"Oh, winter." Da-Eun nods.

"That’s a beautiful time to get married," Ryung comments.

"You know,” Jae begins. “I always thought Min-Ji would be the first of us to marry,"

"Really?" Min-Ji looks around at you all, a flush painting the apples of her cheeks.

"Well, you've had a boyfriend for what," Da-Eun starts flipping up her fingers, counting. "five years now?"

"Jung-Hoon will make a good husband," Jae remarks.

"Why are you all speaking as if we're already engaged?" Min-Ji blubbers, clearly embarrassed. "We still have a few years before we should start thinking about marriage."

"Yes, you do, Min." You call your friend by her nickname, lightly nudging Da-Eun and Jae in their sides. "You don't have to get married early like I am. It's all on your time."

With your last assertion hanging in the air, you and the girls finish cleaning up before heading toward the infinity pool on the second level of the mansion. The excitement rises between your friends the moment you step onto the terrace, their expressions starstruck at the clear water rippling against the opal tiles at the bottom of the pool.

They hurry over to the pool chairs, set down their bags, and strip their clothes off, leaving them in the swimsuits they had underneath.

"The water's so beautiful." Ryung approaches the pool, dipping her fingers into the water. "Do you go swimming often?" She asks you.

"Yes," you answer while taking off your clothing, your swimsuit catching the morning light. "It's very relaxing on warm days like this."

"I would kill to have a pool this big." Jae grabs your hands, walking you over to the steps of the pool where your friends wait for you.

You all tread in, the water fresh as it cradles the skin of your legs and chest, making you let out a content sigh. There's nothing quite like taking a dip during stifling heat.

As it turns out, wearing a suit during one of the hottest days of the week wasn't Bada's brightest idea. The black-tinted window in her office only manages to absorb some of the sun's unrelenting heat, leaving Bada still sweating in her clothing, huffs of annoyance escaping her mouth every few minutes.

"Ugh," she groans, pushing her work away and sitting back in her chair. She spreads her legs, finding her calves unnaturally stiff—hours of sitting will do that to you, she supposes. Standing up reluctantly, Bada immediately removes her tie and suit jacket, as well as undoes the first few buttons of her dress shirt.

She fans herself with one hand, the other reaching down to grab a glass of water she'd been given with her breakfast. She chugs the liquid down in seconds, sighing when she's finished.

Steeling herself, Bada moves to sit down again but finds her legs still stiff and grunts in mild pain. So she decides not to sit down, and instead paces around her office. She loops about five times before she grows agitated and walks towards the door. She'd been working for five hours, pouring through the ceiling-high proposal documents from another group and was frankly going stir-crazy from staring at the papers.

She opens the door and leaves her office, trudging down the hallway without a destination in mind. That is, until the sound of lively chatter reaches her ears, making her pause and look around with a confused expression. She follows the noises, worry and curiosity itching at the back of her mind.

She finds the source on the second-floor terrace and pauses at the entrance, half of her body hidden in the shadows. Her eyes snap over to the unknown women swimming in her pool, the confusion in her mind only doubling. But then she sees you speaking to them casually, a bright smile on your face as you splash water at the women, all of them retaliating back and causing a water fight.

Then, it clicks in her mind. Today is the day her friends were to come over, Bada thinks. She mentally berates herself for forgetting about it—too caught up in her piles of work to remember. Before she can linger on the thought for too long, your friend's chatter dies down into a calm conversation. Bada steps back from the entryway quickly, her back laying flat against wall. She knows she give you your privacy, but despite her better judgment, she stays rooted in her spot, listening.

"This is so nice," Da-Eun mutters with a smile, relaxing so she's floating at the water's surface.

"So," Min-Ji swims closer to you. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"Not much," you admit. "Just... recovering. I had a pretty nasty bruise on my cheek. It just finished healing."

"Just finished healing?" Ryung frowns.

"But that was a while ago..." Jae adds.

"Seong had a heavy hand," you mumble, causing little ripples in the water by swishing your fingers back and forth.

Away from your view, Bada rests her head against the wall, her eyes staring up at the ceiling as images of your injury flash in her mind. She feels a pit form in her stomach at the memory, as well as a fire burning in her veins. Although she knows Seong is already long dead, it doesn’t stop the deep hatred in her heart from festering.

"At least it healed well," Min-Ji nods, pointing her finger at your skin, which is now free of discoloration.

"Yeah," you ghost your fingers across the skin of your left cheek, remembering how swollen it had been, as well as painted with yellow and purple hues.

Jae watches your movements closely, sympathy in her irises until she realizes something, and her eyebrows furrow. "Wait..." She reaches over and grabs your hand, holding it up to the sun. "Where's your ring?"

You give her a confused look. "What ring?"

"Your engagement ring," Jae says, looking at you expectantly.

Bada freezes in her spot, a feeling akin to a cold bucket of water being dumped over her head washing through her body. A ring.

How could she be so stupid? She never presented you with an engagement ring (not to mention she hadn’t bought one in the first place), although you're both several months into your engagement. If her mother were alive, she'd scold her for her lack of manners and for being inconsiderate of your wants—what most women want more than anything—a beautiful and heartfelt piece of jewelry that encapsulates their spouse's devotion and feelings.

"Oh..." you trail off before Jae’s words fully register in your mind. "Oh. I don't have one."

"You don't have an engagement ring?" All the girls blurt out at once, their expressions a mix between shock and horror.

“I guess we never really got around to it.” You stare down at your empty ring finger, not exactly knowing how to feel. You hadn’t even realized that Bada never presented you a ring.

“Never got around to it?” Jae’s mouth drops. “How do you ‘never get around’ to getting your engagement ring?”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a rock the size of Seoul on your finger.” Da-Eun remarks, shaking her head.

“We’ve been very busy–” you try to explain.

“But it’s a ring.” Jae asserts.

You say nothing in response, lips pressing into a line and eyebrows crinkling.

The resounding silence marinating in the air makes Bada’s stomach drop. You must think of her as an inconsiderate fiancée.

She berates herself in her mind as she speed-walks away, determined to make up for her oversight.

She’ll find you a ring befitting of your beauty.

Bada quickly realizes that finding the perfect engagement ring for you is more challenging than she initially thought. She's scrolled through countless websites of high-end jewelers, observing the sparkle of gold, white gold, silver – every type of finery imaginable. However, every ring she inspects falls short.

"Too gaudy," she thinks as she scans a ring with a disproportionately large diamond and a small band. "Too simple," her eyes scrutinize another ring, containing the smallest diamond she’s ever seen, with an equally bland and thin band.

In frustration, Bada pushes away her laptop, pulling her glasses onto her head and rubbing her eyes. "Why are engagement rings so hit or miss?" she asks the open air, as if expecting an answer.

Funnily enough, she does get a response. "Engagement rings?" Tatter steps into Bada’s office, carrying a large stack of paperwork.

"Tatter, if you are about to hand me another day’s work of documents, I might just lose my mind," Bada groans.

"I’m not handing it to you," Tatter says sheepishly, "I’m placing it on your desk."

Bada only groans louder, dropping her head onto the desk and lightly banging it against the wood repeatedly. "Boss…" Tatter trails off, grimacing. "You’re making me feel bad."

"Good," Bada huffs. "You should feel bad for me."

"Why are you so stressed out?" Tatter sets the papers down before stepping back.

"The ring," Bada rasps.

"What ring?" Tatter asks, her face skewed up in absolute confusion.

"The engagement ring. The one I never gave to my fiancée."

"You never gave unnie a ring?" Tatter says incredulously.

"No," Bada hollowly laments. "Now I’m trying to find a ring for her, but none of them are suitable."

"Can I see?" Tatter asks, motioning toward her boss’s laptop. Bada pushes her laptop in Tatter’s direction, showing her subordinate the screen. Tatter scans the images of the rings, pressing her lips together in thought. "This one’s nice." She points at a ring with a diamond in the middle, and two smaller diamonds next to it, resting on a thin, gold band.

Bada looks at the ring, her eyebrows furrowing. "I guess. But it’s nothing special. Her ring has to be special–"

"You know, rather than stressing out about it, why don’t you just find out what types of rings she likes?" Tatter cuts her off.

"And how do you suggest I do that?" Bada asks monotonously.

"Reconnaissance," Tatter smirks. "And I know just the perfect people for the job."

Bada picks up her head, staring at her subordinate with a wry expression – not quite sure if she should be worried or relieved.

The following day rolls around, the heat from yesterday having subsided into a comfortable chill.

"Hey kid, are you ready to go?" Hyo steps into your bedroom, her hands in her pockets as she watches you finish getting ready.

"Yes," you nod, voice quiet.

Your bodyguard frowns, stepping forward. "What’s with the sad look?"

You glance at Hyo, shaking your head. "I just have a lot on my mind. Sorry."

"It’s okay." Hyo places her hand on your shoulder. She guides you toward the doorway, but not before discreetly pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of your open jewelry box, your rings on full display.

"Why are we going out again?" You look back at Hyo, a dazed look on your face.

"You said you wanted to go for a walk and see the shops, remember?" She reminds you, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

"Oh, right." You nod, perking up a bit. "My mother asked me to pick up something for her at a store."

"Why doesn’t she pick it up herself?" Hyo steps up behind you, following as you begin your strides down the hallway and toward the spiral staircase leading to the first level.

"She’s packing for a trip." You sigh, "Can’t be bothered to leave her home for a second to pick up her designer dress."

"If you’ll let me speak a bit out of line…" Hyo trails off, her words pitching upward in a half-question.

"Yes, of course." You answer quickly. "We’re friends."

"...Your mother is quite the character." Your bodyguard asserts while digging out her phone from her pocket. She unlocks it while staying behind you and out of your line of sight, opening the picture she took of your jewelry box and sending it to Lusher.

She quickly types out, “Here it is,” with the picture attached to the message.

Seconds later, a gray bubble pops up, and Lusher responds. "Great, thanks!"

Hyo hastily sends another message, “We’d better get the ring ASAP. She’s been acting sad since yesterday…”

This time Lusher takes a few more minutes to respond, "Got it. Also, make sure to bring her to the right stores. Boss and I will be right behind you, so make sure to keep her distracted as much as possible."

Hyo texts back a thumbs-up emoji before closing her phone.

"Character is an understatement." Your voice makes Hyo straighten up immediately.

"That’s the kindest way of expressing what I think about your mother. You are my boss, after all." Hyo points out, shoving her hands into her pockets causally.

"I’m not your boss." You say, turning back to glance at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Bada is."

"She’s ‘the Boss,’ but you’re my boss," Hyo explains. "She’s my employer, but my job is to watch over you when she can’t. You’re my superior."

"I don’t like how that sounds." You frown. "Can’t we just consider each other friends rather than deal with the semantics of superiors and subordinates?"

"If that would make you more comfortable." Hyo shrugs. “Anyway, what’s your mother packing for?”

"Her annual trip to Calivigny Island with my father," you sigh.

"Ah, in the Caribbean," your bodyguard whistles. "A private, luxury island that only accommodates fifty guests at a time."

"She usually travels during the summer, but she missed the trip earlier because she and my father were finalizing the deal between Bada and my proposal."

"Tragic," Hyo remarks sarcastically.

"Isn’t it?" you respond, a smile quirking up your lips as you finally reach the stairs and begin heading downwards. You quickly venture down them and out of the Lee mansion while Hyo heads to the garage, taking out your usual black sports car and parking it in front of the perron steps for you. She helps you in, closing the door behind you before pulling out of the driveway of the mansion and heading out of the open gates.

The doors of Louis Vuitton glitter in the darkening horizon like a beacon of illumination meant to attract wanderers in the chilly night. And like a moth infatuated with the light, you step in front of the doors, your eyebrows creased together.

“I don’t know why I feel so nervous,” you mutter under your breath.

“Hold your head up high, kid.” Hyo grabs the heavy handle of the door, using her strength to crack it open. “You have more power and influence than anyone inside that store.”

You take in a deep breath and nod, stepping into the store, a small draft of warm air caressing you like a friendly hug. Inside, a whirl of earthy perfume paired with notes of vanilla, makes its way to your senses. All the decorations are painted with a yellow and beige light, the bags hanging from shelves are highlighted like jewels.

And like a newly cut diamond, you remain unseen for only a second before the older jewels notice your radiance, their eyes finding yours instantly. Women and men in their most elegant and finest clothing appraise you, their irises barely swooping over you before they widen to impossible sizes. They start to whisper amongst each other, your appearance surprising them and causing their eyes to glitter with excitement.

You stride forward, remembering Hyo’s advice as you approach a saleswoman–who is notably frozen in her spot when she notices you coming toward them–before someone steps in your path.

A man carrying a tray with a single bottle of sparkling water stands in front of you, his eyes glistening under the light, and a friendly smile stretching across his lips. “Would you like a drink?”

“Oh–” you breathe out, surprised. “Yes, thank you very much.” You take the water bottle, and suddenly the man is out of your view, circling around you and grabbing the coat keeping you slightly hot in the already warm store.

“Allow me to hang your coat,” he mumbles, tucking the tray under his arm as he gently uses his gloved hands to pluck the clothing off of you.

You look back at the man with a slightly dazed expression but smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He bows in front of you before exchanging a brief nod with Hyo and stepping back.

You gather your bearings quickly and walk up to the saleswoman, slightly clearing your throat as you hear the giddy whispering from the shoppers increase. “I’m here to pick up an order.”

The saleswoman seems to have gathered herself in the time her co-worker had taken your coat and offered you the sparkling water because now she’s standing straight and has a semi-nervous smile strewn across her lips. “Yes, of course. I can take you to a private room if you’d like.” She gestures to a room concealed by a curtain carrying the “LV” logo.

“Oh no, that’s alright,” you wave a hand in dismissal. “I’m just here to pick up an order, I won’t be staying long.”

“Please, it might take a while for us to find the order.” The saleswoman insists. “You can relax and enjoy some refreshments while we fetch it.”

You glance at Hyo from your peripheral, who looks like she’s trying her hardest to hold in a laugh. Internally rolling your eyes at her, you nod at the saleswoman. “Alright. Thank you.”

“This way, please,” she guides you toward the secluded room, holding back the curtains for you and Hyo to step in.

Inside, there is a glass coffee table, a large ceramic vase sitting at the center of it with white club chairs circling it. Behind, there is a lit wall with water beading down it, and a large mirror across from it.

You move to sit in the chair, but Hyo’s fast, pulling out your seat for you, an amused smile still stretched on her lips. You give her a light glare but mumble a “thank you” nonetheless.

The saleswoman, who’d stepped out for a second without you even realizing it, emerges again, though this time she’s carrying a golden tray like the man from before with refreshments and towels.

“Would you like a hot towel?” She holds it out for you using prongs.

“Sure.” You say hesitantly, grabbing the towel and feeling its warmth awaken your (somehow still) cold fingers.

The woman sets down the tray on the coffee table, presenting you with small cakes and snacks. “Please, take whatever you’d like, and let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod back, glancing at the delicious slices of cake with an edacious stare.

“And what name would your order be under?” The saleswoman asks.

You mutter your mother’s name, and the worker quickly nods, bows, then leaves the room. The second she’s out of sight, you hear a chuckle come from behind you, causing you to whip your head around with a glare.

Hyo covers her mouth with her hand, as she laughs.

“You’re evil, you know that?” You huff.

“Sorry, it’s really just so funny.” Hyo can’t hold back her laughter anymore, essentially all-out laughing at you. “You looked like a deer in headlights.”

“Because I was!” You exclaim. “I just wanted to pick up my mother’s order; why are they doing all this?” You gesture to the room in front of you.

“I told you,” Hyo briefly takes off her sunglasses to wipe away the small tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes. “You have more power than anyone in here. Of course they’re going to be kiss-ups.”

You sigh loudly, sitting back in your chair. “One order, that’s all I wanted… now I feel like they’re going to make me stay longer.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyo agrees. “Just say in the nicest way possible that you want to leave, and they’ll let you.”

“You know, the least you could do is help me out.” You scoff lightheartedly. “I’m still new to this stuff.”

“I could do that…” Hyo nods while trailing off. “Or I could watch you struggle. It’s much funnier.” She bursts into a small chuckle at the end of the sentence.

“I hate you.” You groan.

“Oh come on, lighten up.” Hyo finally stops laughing, but her smile never leaves her. “Why don’t you try some of the snacks she gave you?”

You perk up at the thought, casting your eyes back on the tea cakes and tiny, but expensive-looking foods. You pick up what looks like a small slice of strawberry shortcake and eat it, the creamy filling and delicious jam making you smile widely. When you finish chewing–it takes less than a minute–you hold up the tray for Hyo to see. “Do you want some?”

“Nah, I’m good.” She shakes her head.

You move to place the tray down before she suddenly speaks again.

“Wait. Is there any chocolate cake…?”

Your trip to Louis Vuitton ended up yielding many revelations. Number one, Louis Vuitton has to be the worst case of sucking up that you’ve ever seen or experienced, and number two, Hyo is absolutely obsessed with anything chocolate flavored.

“How many free products do you think are in those bags?” You turn to look back at Hyo, who’s juggling three large Louis Vuitton bags in her arms–one of them your mother’s order and the rest filled with gifts–while trying to take a bite of the chocolate decorations she’d taken off of a cake.

“Too many to count.” She says, voice slightly muffled by the food in her mouth.

You laugh before turning back and walking down the sidewalk, passing by other high-end stores. You continue walking for a long stretch until you register the sound of heavy footsteps not too far away from you. You furrow your eyebrows; Hyo never walks with a heavy step.

You pause, “Hyo, what’s that sound?”

“What sound?” Hyo stops as well.

“Footsteps…” you trail off, looking from your left to your right, then behind. You don’t see anyone else trailing after you, your confusion doubling. Perhaps it was just your paranoia manifesting into phantom noises.

Hyo immediately snaps into professional mode, looking back as well. She reaches under her suit and feels for her gun holster, stepping forward. “Stay back a little, I’m going to check it out.” She advances quickly, her eyes scanning the area with calculating expertise.

When she reaches the corner of a store and an alleyway, she quickly turns into it, her gun held up.

Through the darkness of the night, Hyo is just barely able to make out the shocked faces of her Boss, and Lusher crouched next to the side of the building. “Boss?” Hyo whispers loudly, looking between Bada and Lusher.

“What are you doing?” Lusher whisper-yells back. “You’re supposed to be taking unnie into a jewelry store!”

“I would be if you weren’t stomping your feet behind us so loudly!” Hyo shoots back, lightly glaring at her friend.

“Yah, I told you to be quieter.” Bada scolds Lusher, nudging her arm. “You walk like you’re carrying one hundred pounds of extra weight.”

“Why are you two ganging up on me?” Lusher whines. “I’ll try to be more quiet–”

“Hyo?” Your voice breaks through the chilly night air, causing the three women to stiffen up. “Is everything alright?”

“Yup, yes!” Hyo steps out of the alleyway with a forced smile, giving you a thumbs-up. “Everything’s perfect! It was just some drunk stumbling around.”

You give Hyo a hesitant look before nodding and turning to stare at the passersby across the street.

She quickly ducks back into the alleyway, tucking her gun back into its holster. “Lusher, if you want to keep following us, either lighten your step or stay farther back.”

“Okay, I will.” Lusher pouts, receiving another nudge from Bada.

Your fiancée looks Hyo up and down, noticing the Louis Vuitton bags hanging from her arms. “You’re carrying her bags. Good.”

Hyo smiles widely. “Thanks, Boss.”

“Did the trip go smoothly?”

“Yes, she was a bit out of her depth at first, but she handled all the attention well,” Hyo reports back like a proud sister.

Bada smiles to herself, thinking about you awkwardly speaking to the workers in the Louis Vuitton store, not used to being attended to like a high-ranking socialite. Everything you do is endearing to her–she only wishes she was there to see you sparkling amongst snobbish shoppers. “That’s my girl.” She whispers to herself.

Hyo and Lusher barely catch what Bada said, but in response, they both look at each other knowingly and smile.

“Alright, don’t keep her waiting.” Bada cuts in, shifting her demeanor back to cold. “And make sure she stays warm.”

“Yes, Boss.” Hyo nods then steps out of the alleyway, approaching you with fast strides. “Sorry, I took so long.”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “I was just doing some people-watching while I waited.”

“Right, well, the car is this way.” Hyo motions forward, only briefly glancing back to see Lusher and Bada’s head peeking out from the corner of the store.

You walk forward without a second thought, your head up in the clouds as you take in the beautiful starry sky, and the cloud of perspiration released when you exhale into the icy air. You walk in silence for the length of a block before Hyo breaks the silence.

“Oh, look, a jewelry store.” She tries to say casually as she stops right in front of it. “All of the pieces are beautiful.”

You pause where you stand, turning to face the store, a pit in your stomach growing. Your bodyguard is right, all the jewelry is beautiful. From teardrop diamond earrings to pearl necklaces and dainty bracelets.

But all you can look at are the rings.

The sign above them reads, “Two hearts, one love, forever in your ring.” You turn away from the store, a lump in your throat and a frown on your lips. Clearing your throat, you mumble. “Should we keep walking toward the car?”

Hyo glances to her right again, seeing Bada and Lusher motioning frantically at her to get you to go inside. “Uhhm, don’t you want to look at the pretty jewelry? Maybe pick something up for yourself?” She suggests.

“No–” You begin, but are cut off by a loud sound.

“Ow!” Lusher’s voice rings from behind the store, her hand rubbing at her foot. “You stepped on me–”

Bada slaps her hand over Lusher’s mouth, her eyes wide and her pointer finger coming up to make a “shush” motion. Lusher immediately calms down, suddenly realizing her mistake and wearing a mortified expression.

“What was that?” You take a step forward, about to head toward the sound before Hyo stands in your way.

“Probably just another drunk.” She says quickly. “No need to worry.”

You try to look over her shoulder, but she carefully pushes you forward and in the direction of the jewelry store. “Okay…”

“Well why don’t we go inside the jewelry store–”

“Actually, can we go home?” You ask, avoiding eye contact with the store and stepping back.

Hyo’s smile starts to twitch. “Come on, maybe just a peek–”

“Please.” You interrupt quietly, looking down at the floor.

Hyo sees out of her peripheral that Bada’s shaking her head and frowning, so she sighs and nods. “Alright, let’s go home.”

You turn and walk away quickly, eager to escape the thoughts plaguing your mind. Your bodyguard follows after you, having failed her mission terribly. Behind you, both Lusher and Bada step onto the sidewalk, the subordinate clutching her head in distress.

“She didn’t even look at the rings!” Lusher exclaims, deflated and looking dejected.

Bada remains quiet, watching you walk down the street, the wind whipping her coat around. “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, clearly! We’ll never find a ring for her at this rate,” Lusher says, expressing her frustration.

“No, I mean,” Bada pauses, placing her hand over the right side of her chest. “My heart. It hurts when I see her sad.”

Lusher stops whining, facing her boss with a caring expression. “What does it feel like?”

“It feels like I’m getting stabbed,” Bada admits, her face scrunching up in confusion and pain. “I want to rip my heart out and give it to her. I want to do everything in my power to make her smile when she frowns like that.”

Lusher lets out a deep sigh, sympathizing with her friend. “Oh, Bada…”

“I felt like this when she was taken by Seong,” Bada whispers. “But back then, I thought it was because I was worried about bringing her home safe.” She turns to face her subordinate, clutching her chest tightly. “Why do I feel like this?”

Lusher smiles sadly at her friend. “You’re in love.”

“...In love?”

Love was not the answer, she concluded. No, love could never be the answer. Since you first arrived at her home, Bada made it clear to you that she’d never fall in love with you. So the mental and emotional anguish she’s been feeling for the past few days must have been due to the stress of her work… right?

Either way, whether it was unconsciously or consciously at first, Bada started to avoid you. She found that seeing you less would make the stabbing pain in her heart subside, and even if it didn’t fully fade away, throwing herself into her work was a perfect distraction.

But it wasn’t easy. Obviously, you began to notice that your already few-and-far-between visits from Bada became essentially nonexistent. So naturally, you started to make an effort to see her. You tried to bring her breakfast in the morning like you had during your first month in the Lee mansion but hit a wall.

“The Boss will be taking her breakfast alone from now on,” Lusher informs you, trying to hold back her frown when she sees the excitement in your eyes dim, and how you practically wilt.

“How long?” You whisper.

“For the foreseeable future,” Lusher says through gritted teeth. It’s taking everything in her to not just let you into Bada’s office. But at the end of the day, nothing is stronger than Bebe’s loyalty.

“Oh,” you take a step back, trying to wear a friendly smile but failing. “I’ll come see her later, then.”

Lusher hesitates. “Not to speak out of line, unnie…”

You perk up, looking into her eyes.

“But I think it’s best for your emotional state if you keep your distance,” she advises you, her tone gentle and full of care.

But of course, being the determined and stubborn woman you are, you don’t heed Lusher’s words… to your detriment.

After days of only traveling between her office and her bedroom, Bada finally emerges from her work, having signed and looked over all the documents she’d been given for the week. In her desperation for a change in scenery, she left her office, completely forgetting why she’d been hiding away in the first place.

“Bada!” You call from behind her, a smile stretching across your lips.

The sound of your voice makes Bada freeze. The pain in her heart spikes, and a wave of regret flows through her. She doesn’t respond to you but stays rooted in her spot.

You run to your fiancée’s side, making quick eye contact with her. But the look she wears surprises you. Her dark brown, almost gray irises stare back at you like an impenetrable stone wall, hiding away any emotion she may be feeling.

For the first time in her life, Bada feels like she’s able to successfully hide her emotions. Because hearing your voice and seeing you makes every fiber of her body come to life. Perhaps it's because it’s been so long since she’s seen you.

The days she’d spent locked inside her office or bedroom made the sight of you even more irresistible. Your eyes, which she hadn’t met in what felt like decades shine under the light with an endearing gleam. Your body, which she hadn’t touched makes her fingers twitch, every digit aching to caress any and all of your flesh. Your lips…

Bada has to use all her willpower to stop herself from wrapping her arms around you and kissing you. The yearning her body has to embrace you and touch you drives her mad.

“Lusher was right.” Is all she can think.

…The realization disgusts her.

How could she be so selfish? How could she fall in love with you knowing full well all the torment and danger her feelings will bring you? How could she allow herself to fall victim to your every smile and caring saccharine phrases? How could she when she knows that she may end up laying in the street, sobbing, holding your cold body in her arms while you stare up at her, the light gone from your eyes, and crimson falling from your chest?

Your smile starts to slowly wither, a slightly timid expression encompassing your face. “Bada?” You mumble. “You finally came out of your office.”

A deathly silence echoes in the hallway, not a sound leaving Bada’s lips. She only moves her gaze away from you, instead staring straight in front of her.

“Uhm, I was going to ask you if we could maybe spend some time together?” Your voice comes out low, nervous, and like you’re unsure of yourself.

Again, that nasty tugging on Bada’s heart hits her, but this time she reacts to it by closing her eyes and breathing out through her nose. For her, it’s a method of calming herself down.

But to you, it relays a sense of annoyance you assume she’s feeling.

Once again she doesn’t answer you, making you shift uncomfortably in your spot. You stare at her with pleading eyes, begging her to say anything to you. Even just letting you know that she’s listening to you, and not acting like you’re a pesky fly on the wall, buzzing in her ear.

“I have work to do.” Finally, when she speaks, her tone is clipped, and full of ice.

You physically react, your limbs shaking at her phantom frost. Before you can even open your mouth again, Bada turns and walks in the opposite direction towards her office.

You’re left in the hallway, stunned and wondering if Bada was aware of the trail of heartbreak she’d left in her wake.

And yet despite everything, you keep trying to get through to Bada.

You try because you care. You try because no matter how hard you remind yourself that your union to her was just business, you can’t stop yourself from falling in love with her.

She saved you from your parents, after all. She gave you a home that you could call yours–she introduced you to the Bebe girls, who you now considered your close friends. She brought you into a world of glitz and glamor, while still protecting you and watching over you with the utmost care.

How could you not fall in love with her?

So, with a world of fluttering butterflies nesting in the depths of your stomach, you take in a deep breath and knock on her office door. When you pull your fist away from the wood, you’re met with an uncomfortable silence. Swaying nervously, you play with your fingers, waiting another minute before mustering the courage to knock again.

This time, a small sound emanates from inside, perhaps a loud inhalation or the sound of an annoyed breath. Your stomach turns at the thought.

When you withdraw your fist from the wood, an uncomfortable silence engulfs the space. Swaying nervously, you toy with your fingers, mustering the courage to knock again after waiting another minute.

This time, a faint sound emanates from within, perhaps a pronounced inhalation or an exasperated breath. Your stomach churns at the notion.

"Who is it?" Bada's frosty voice compels you to stand tall, the butterflies in your belly fluttering wildly, creating a tempest.

“It’s me,” you speak cautiously.

For what feels like the millionth time, a hush falls between you and Bada.

“...I’m busy,” is all she utters in response.

You close your eyes and gulp, uncertain of your next move. On one hand, you don’t want to disturb Bada, especially when she sounds visibly irritated. On the other hand, the yearning to see your fiancée again is overpowering. Being separated from her renders the hallways of the Lee mansion colder, your life dimmer, and the world slower in its spin.

“Bada…” you trail off, your voice low and caring. “I haven’t spoken to you properly in days.”

This time, there's little dead air before a chair scrapes against the floor, and her footsteps approach the door. Surprised, you take a step back just before she opens the door, keeping it ajar so you can see her but not enter her office.

“I told you, I’m busy,” she says plainly, her gaze avoiding yours.

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to meet her eyes. “You should take a break; you've been working nonstop for days now.”

“I have to,” Bada defends her actions.

“I understand that,” you nod slowly, acknowledging the stress she must be under. “But it’s not good for your health.”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to say it aloud, but Bada looks exhausted. Bags and dark circles under her eyes, absent before, now paint a picture of fatigue. Moreover, the expression she wears hints at an imminent collapse.

“You should take a nap, or if you really don’t want to rest, we can relax and watch this drama together–” you start to grow excited at the idea, a smile forming on your lips.

Meanwhile, Bada confronts a dilemma. She acknowledges her love for you, plain and simple. She wants to eschew work, opting to watch a drama with you, to hold you close and sleep with the comforting weight of your presence. Yet, her mind brands her feelings as selfish, a slow-acting poison disguised in sweet wine—pleasurable until it brings forth your demise.

“You expect too much of me,” Bada says through gritted teeth, spitting the words out with venom that extinguishes the small smile you’d nurtured.

“What?” You breathe, confusion clouding your expression.

“You ask me to spend time with you, you want us to watch a drama together,” she lists. “These affections you are asking of me–” She cuts herself off, shaking her head with a bored expression. “It is inappropriate. We are not a couple.”

In just a few words, Bada annihilates your world. The meticulously crafted memories of your time with your fiancée crumble, collapsing under the weight of her words. "We are not a couple." The phrase echoes in your mind, torturing you until your ears ring.

You visibly flounder, opening and closing your mouth in genuine shock. “Where is this coming from?” You ask incredulously.

“I told you I would not fall in love with you,” Bada argues. “Our union was a tactical business move that benefitted me and your parents, that is all. You are nothing more to me.”

As if your heart could shatter further, it bleeds in your chest, oozes crimson red, and cries out to be spared. For a brief moment, you're left so shell-shocked that you almost lose all sense of self. Rooted in your spot, you stare into Bada’s eyes as every part of your body pulsates with insurmountable pain.

“We don’t act like we’re in a marriage of convenience,” you fight back, words a hushed and hurt whisper.

She doesn’t respond, simply looks ahead, acknowledging the truth. She hasn’t treated you as a friend for months, let alone an acquaintance for longer.

“Bada. Look at me,” you order, your voice gaining slight confidence.

Slowly, Bada shifts her gaze to meet yours. In her dark brown irises, a storm rages—a tempest of unspoken feelings concealed behind a sheet of ice. Staring into Bada’s eyes, you shake your head with a hurt expression. The woman in front of you is unrecognizable. She doesn’t resemble your fiancée and the woman you fell in love with; she's a shadow, an imitation.

"Who are you?" Your eyes question Bada.

“I don’t know,” her eyes confess.

You take a step back from Bada, tears welling in your eyes. “You are cruel, Bada Lee.” Without uttering another word, you turn and rush away, almost colliding with Lusher, standing around the corner with Tatter by her side.

Lusher watches you leave with a disapproving look. She glances at Bada, who stands stock-still, appearing as if she’d been stabbed in the heart.

Her boss makes eye contact with her. “What? Aren’t you going to tell me off?” Bada says harshly.

Lusher only shakes her head disapprovingly, looking away from her friend.

Bada scoffs, clicking her tongue as she brushes past Lusher and Tatter, heading toward the stairs and the door to the Lee mansion.

Tatter takes a step forward, a worried look on her face. “Shouldn’t we go after them?”

Lusher holds her arm out to stop Tatter from walking ahead. “It isn’t our place,” she says softly. “It’s time for Bada to face her past.”

Blown glass casts colored shadows across Bada’s fair skin. Her grim expression contrasts with the bright colors, and the bouquet of sunflowers clutched between her fingers adds a touch of vibrancy. In front of her, a gold placard engraved with her mother’s name stares back at her.

“Hello, mother,” Bada murmurs into the open air. “I’m sorry; it’s been a while since I’ve visited you. I’ve been busy.” She shifts her gaze to the floor. “I met a woman.” She utters your name with reverence, “You would have loved her.”

She closes her eyes, envisioning your lively and beautiful countenance.

“You’ll be surprised to hear that I'm engaged to her now. We are to be wed in December.”

“You are cruel, Bada Lee.” Her mind echoes your words, and she opens her eyes.

“Well, perhaps not anymore,” Bada steps forward, exchanging the wilting flowers beside her mother’s grave with a new bouquet. The bright yellow sunflowers pop next to the gold, infusing the room with more color. “She made me feel strange emotions,” Bada confesses.

She thinks back to the first time she had a proper conversation with you. You’d come into her office and brought her breakfast, standing tall and confident as you poked and prodded, asking questions about her.

“When she’s happy, I’m at peace,” Bada reflects. Her thoughts then shift to Seong. “When she was taken from me, I was infuriated.” Her fingers unconsciously curl into a fist. She places her hand over her heart, feeling it beat wildly against her palm.

Her heart sings for you, no matter where she might be.

“But I know better.” Bada shakes her head. “I know better than to let myself care about her.” She thinks of the way she’d spoken to you an hour prior–how she’d lied to you– “So I hurt her.” She says, her voice low and full of shame. “I said whatever I could think of to make her hate me.”

Outside, the wind whips violently, thrumming against the mausoleum.

“...Because loving me is a death wish.”

13 years ago

A bright-eyed, 15-year-old Bada Lee steps out of her private school, her eyes scanning the myriad of luxury cars to find a silver Ferrari LaFerrari, the hypercar her bodyguard drives. Suddenly, the sound of a loud engine pulls up next to the curb of the school, right in front of where Bada stands.

“Ms. Lee.” Chung-Hee steps out of the car, a pair of black sunglasses covering his eyes. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yes!” Bada nods excitedly, heading toward Chung-Hee. He quickly moves to grab her backpack before opening the car door, the silver sides of the car shooting up into the air like wings. “Thank you,” Bada says as she piles in, a wide smile on her face.

Chung-Hee simply nods as he sets her backpack in the front passenger seat before sitting in the driver’s spot. He pulls out of the driving lot with ease, heading away from the school. “How was your day today, Ms. Lee?”

“Very good.” Bada nods. “Actually, I was talking to some of my friends…”

“Seoyoung Lee, right?”

“Yes.” Bada smiles. “She and some others were talking about taking some dance classes after school–”

“Ms. Lee…” Chung-Hee sighs. “You are already very busy with your English and piano lessons, not to mention horseback riding and taekwondo–”

“I know that, Chung.” Bada huffs endearingly. “But this is something I really want to do, not just another hobby my father makes me take up so that I can find a husband.”

Chung-Hee lightly drums his fingers against the wheel. “You’ll have to ask both your father and your mother–”

“Yes, I know that.” Bada makes a cheeky expression. “That is why I’m going to speak to my mother right when we arrive home so that she can convince my father.”

“Ah, your mother is not currently home,” Chung-Hee informs her. “She is buying groceries for dinner tonight.”

“Then will you take me to her, please?” Bada begs, pitching her tone upwards.

“I was instructed to take you straight home–”

“Pleaseeee Chung?” Bada continues, staring through the rearview mirror so that her bodyguard can see her properly.

Chung-Hee sighs in defeat. “One of these days you’re going to get me fired.”

Bada squeals in excitement, practically bouncing in her seat. “You know that’s not true. My father considers you a close friend.”

“I guess I am lucky in that regard.” Chung-Hee breathes.

“Well, anyway…” Bada sits back, her smile never dimming. “How is your daughter, Chung?”

Immediately, Chung-Hee sits up in his seat, a bright grin overtaking his lips. “She’s great, thank you for asking. And she’s doing wonderfully in school.”

“You must be proud of her then.”

“Yes, I am,” Chung-Hee says fondly. “She’s so intelligent, it blows my mind.”

Bada smiles sadly as she nods.

“And she looks up to me. Says she wants to be just like me when she’s older.”

“She sounds wonderful, Chung,” Bada whispers.

The rest of the car ride continues in a comfortable silence, although Bada shifts her gaze to stare out of the window. She counts every passing minute, becoming more and more restless to see her mother.

Finally, the car eventually slows down across the street from a grocery store. Bada starts to grin, practically buzzing in her seat. Sensing her excitement, Chung-Hee parks the car and quickly exits, opening the door, only for Bada to practically shoot out of the car and rush over to the grocery store.

Chung-Hee only sighs. “Yah, one day she really is going to get me fired.”

Inside the grocery store, Bada barely pays attention to the way the shoppers gape at her, only intent on finding her mother. She uses her long legs to quickly make her way through the aisles until she spots a familiar head of hair near the fresh produce. Bada makes her way over to her mother, calling out to her.

“Mother!” She says, only a few feet away.

Bada’s mother immediately turns around, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion until she spots her daughter rushing toward her. “Bada?” She responds, a smile growing on her lips. “What are you doing here?”

Bada stops right in front of her mother, throwing her arms around her in a hug that the older woman immediately reciprocates. “Chung-Hee told me you weren’t home, so I asked him to drive me here.”

“And where is he now?” Bada’s mother scans the store, searching for a tall man wearing sunglasses.

“Oh…” Bada unwarps herself from her mother and then turns to look behind her, only now noticing her bodyguard is nowhere to be seen. “I must have left him behind.”

Her mother sighs and shakes her head disapprovingly. “Where are your manners, Bada? You have that poor man running after you all day.”

“Sorry,” Bada mumbles out half-sincerely. Her mother glances at her before gently patting her back, prompting her to continue walking. “Are you done shopping?”

“Yes, I have everything I need to make dinner tonight.” Her mother smiles.

“Why do you come to grocery stores anyway?” Bada asks. “The staff bring in fresh ingredients and foods every day.”

“They do, and while I appreciate all they do for us,” her mother walks over to the cash register, placing her groceries on the counter. “It’s important to never become lazy. As your mother and the woman of the house, it’s my responsibility to prepare you and your father’s dinner, even occasionally.”

Bada listens to her mother’s words carefully, nodding along in agreement. She watches her mother hand over a heavy golden credit card to the cashier, who is about to refuse the payment, but her mother’s bright smile and persistence makes him give in and take the card, charging her for the food.

“Besides, the staff deserve to rest every once and a while, don’t you think?” Bada’s mother continues.

“Yeah.” Bada remains in awe of her mother’s humility and kindness.

“What made you so eager to see me that you came all the way here, by the way?” She asks her daughter, helping the worker bag her groceries, despite his insistence that he should do it himself.

“Ah,” Bada suddenly smiles nervously, grabbing two of the heaviest bags to help her mother carry out of the grocery store. “Do you remember my friend Seoyoung?”

“Of course I do, she’s your oldest friend, isn’t she?”

Bada nods. “Well she and some of my other friends wanted to take some dance classes after school, and maybe join a dance club afterward–”

“I see.” Her mother nods. “So you came to ask me to convince your father to let you, is that right?”

Bada stares at her mother with a sheepish expression. “Yes.”

“I don’t know, Bada. Won’t you be much too tired after school? And don’t forget you have piano lessons right after–”

“I promise I can handle it.” She says with conviction. “I’ll do all my lessons and taekwondo every day even after dance.”

“You’ll be exhausted–”

“I won't,” Bada argues with a small pout. “Please, mother: I think dance is something I could be very good at.”

The older woman pauses, turning to look into her daughter’s eyes. She sees them shine with confidence and pure hope, which makes her smile. “Okay,” she nods. “I’ll speak to your father about it.”

“Yes!” Bada cheers, side-hugging her mother the best she can with her hands preoccupied. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The older woman laughs, leaning into her daughter’s side. “Of course. If dancing is something you think you’ll enjoy, then I fully support you trying it out.”

That evening, under the warm Seoul sun, Bada experiences her last moments of pure happiness, unencumbered by worries or fear. She simply laughs with her mother, her heart bursting at the seams with love for the woman who cared for and nurtured her.

Her happiness blinds her to the moving figure across the street.

Ji-ah, Bada’s mother’s bodyguard has his head down as he crosses the street. Her mother smiles at him, greeting him again with a wave. But her eyes catch something, a glint of silver clutched in his right hand and almost completely concealed from her by his suit jacket. Her smile fades, confusion stretching across her face until she spots another man peering from the corner of a building, a nasty smirk on his face.

A blur of motion crosses Bada’s eyes before a loud popping sound fills the air.

The neighborhood falls into silence after, Bada jolting at the noise in shock. She looks around the street blearily, her mind still trying to catch up as her ears ring.

“Mo–” Before Bada can call out to her, the body of her mother falls into hers. They collapse in the street, grocery bags broken and food spilling out onto the concrete as Bada lets out a small huff of pain and surprise. She looks down, finding her mother splayed across her lap, a gunshot wound in her chest. “M-Mother?” Bada stutters in shock, her eyes growing wide in horror as she wraps her arms around her mother’s body.

In her daughter’s lap, Mrs. Lee breathes heavily, her eyes glazing over as pools of crimson fall from her chest, staining Bada’s hands bright red.

“No, no, no.” Bada breathes, placing her hand against her mother’s wound. “Ma… ma please stay awake.” She pleads, tears beginning to fall from her eyes as her heart pounds in her chest, a stabbing pain puncturing the organ.

“Are you hurt?” Her mother barely manages to choke out, raising her pale hand to clutch the side of her daughter’s face.

“No.” Bada shakes her head, now fully sobbing.

A few feet away, Chung-Hee finally arrivies near the grocery store, having been held back by a group of men. He recognised them to be lackeys of a rival of Mr. Lee, and swung before they got the jump on him. He managed to beat them all to a pulp before rushing down the street, his mind racing with thoughts of Mrs. Lee and Bada being in potential danger.

Before he could make it to them he spots Ji-ah brandishing a gun, and holding it up in their direction. He fires without a second thought, hitting Mrs. Lee.

Chung-Hee pulls out his gun quickly, shooting at Ji-ah across the street. He manages to hit him in the chest, then quickly fires again, emptying five more rounds into the traitor before Ji-ah falls to the concrete, dead.

Bada, unable to focus on the chaos around her only stares at her mother while sobbing, rocking back and forth. “Umma,” she cries, “Umma please, stay awake!”

Mrs. Lee only smiles, brushing her thumb against her daughter’s cheek. “You are beautiful.” She utters, her eyes filled with pure love and adoration. “I could not have asked for a kinder, gentler daughter.”

“Umma,” Bada closes her eyes, shaking her head as her tears grow hot, their salty liquid burning her cheeks.

“I love you.” Mrs. Lee whispers.

With the last of her strength gone, her eyes glaze over and her hand falls away from Bada’s cheek, hitting the concrete with a thud.

“No, umma!” Bada practically screams, clutching her mother’s body close to her chest as her frame starts to physically shake. “I love you too, please don’t leave me! Please, umma!”

Chung-Hee rushes over to Bada’s side, trying to separate her from her mother’s dead body. Bada only shoves him away, her eyes full of pure sorrow.

The sound of fast-approaching cars–her father’s men– just barely registers in Bada’s mind, reminding her of the shooter.

Bada shifts her gaze to the dead body across the street, her eyes going ice-cold at the sight of Ji-ah sprawled across the concrete.

Poison.

“Would you hate me for what I’ve done?” Bada speaks to her mother’s headstone. “For pushing her away?”

The wind thrashes against the windows.

“Because I do.” Bada admits.

The sunflowers next to her mother’s headstone quiver withthe breeze.

“I don’t know what to do with myself.” Bada places her hands over her eyes, feeling tears build inside them. “I should be happy that she hates me. I should be happy that she’ll stay away from me and be safe, but–”

The tears she’s been holding in finally break through. For what feels like the first time in 13 years, Bada Lee cries.

“I hate myself. I want to tear myself apart for all the things I said to her.” She confesses, sobbing. “I love her. I love her more than anything.”

The sunflowers shake.

“I want to be with her. I want to tell her that I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.” Bada’s heart races in her chest as she heaves. She tears her hands away from her face so she can see her mother’s headstone. “I wish you were here to guide me–to tell me what to do–”

Suddenly, the violent winds from outside cause the door to the mausoleum to whip open, the strong breeze blows past Bada, swiping the tears from her cheeks and rushing toward the sunflowers. The sheer force of the wind sends flower petals into the air, making Bada stare up at them in shock.

Then, a memory comes rushing back to the forefront of her mind.

22 years ago

Six year old Bada races through the garden next to her father’s office, giggling at the small birds nesting in a tree above her. She tries to reach for them–but although being very tall for her age–she can’t touch the branch they reside on.

Bada tries to stretch her legs even further, standing on her tippytoes as she reaches her arms up–but she immediately loses her balance, making her wobble until she falls back.

Unfortunately, Bada’s excitement made her blind to the fact that just behind her lied a bushel of roses, their thorns giving her a painful greeting as her back and arms get caught on the spikes.

“Ouch!” She hisses, quickly removing herself from the flowers. She now has a few cuts and scrapes littering her arms, which makes tears rush to her eyes. She starts to sniffle, about to begin crying–

“Bada.” The sound of her mom’s voice distracts her, making the young girl look up.

“Umma.” Bada says tearrily.

“What happened?” Mrs. Lee rushes over to her daughter’s side, her eyes filled with worry as they take in the small cuts all over her arms.

“I fell into the–the thorns.” Bada hiccups, pointing at the offending flowers.

“Bada, I told you not to play near the roses.” Her mother softly scolds her, gently picking her daughter up and placing her in her lap.

“I’m sorry umma.” Bada sniffles, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hands.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Mrs. Lee looks over her daughter’s injuries. “Thankfull, none of the cuts are too deep, but I’ll clean them–”

Bada, now much less emotional, shifts her attention away from her mother, instead staring up to find the birds in the tree above them. They rub their beaks and heads against each other, their eyes closed as they rest in their nest.

“Umma.” Bada suddenly interrupts her mother.

Mrs. Lee pauses, noticing her daughter is looking upward, and glances up as well. “Yes?”

“What does being in love feel like?”

Her mother looks down at her in surprise, a small smile growing on her lips. “Why do you ask?”

Bada looks away from the birds and at her feet instead. “Some of my friends were talking about love because Valentine’s Day is coming up. They said we should give chocolates to boys we love.”

Mrs. Lee’s smile widens, “Ah, I see.”

“But I don’t feel anything when I think about the boys in my class.” Bada mumbles. “So I want to know what I should be feeling.”

Mrs. Lee caresses the top of her daughter’s hair, completely endeared by the young girl. “You’re still young, Bada. You might not feel such strong emotions yet.”

Bada looks up at her mother, her eyes wide and pleading.

Mrs. Lee sighs, then nods. “Alright.” She moves her daughter around in her lap so she’s facing her. “When you’re in love, all you can think about is your partner. You wake up in the morning and your mind instantly goes to them. ‘What are they doing right now?’ ‘Have they eaten breakfast yet?’ ‘Did they sleep well?’” Bada’s mother mumbles. “When you’re with them, you smile very wide.” She reaches over to pinch her daughter’s cheeks, stretching her lips into a smile. Young Bada giggles at the action, her lips easily forming a grin.

Her mother laughs along with her, removing her hands from her daughter’s cheeks.

“And when you’re away from them, you’re very sad.” She makes a small frown, which Bada mimics cutely. “You want to be with them every waking moment.”

Bada glances down at her lap, her eyebrows furrowing. “And what if I can’t tell if I’m in love or not?”

“Oh, you’ll know.” Mrs. Lee nods.

“How?” Bada pouts.

Her mother thinks for a moment before smiling. She grabs her daughter’s arms and slowly starts to place kisses on her small cuts. Bada looks at her mother in surprise, a few giggles slipping from her lips at the action.

“You'll realize you're in love when you see your partner hurt, and all you want to do is make them feel better,” her mother mumbles. “You wish you had magical powers to heal all their wounds–” She places a kiss on Bada’s last cut. “So, you end up kissing every injury to help them heal.”

Bada breathes in wonder, her eyes glittering under the sunlight. “Is that why appa always gives you a kiss when you get hurt?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Lee nods, grinning widely. “He helps me get better, and it’s his way of telling me he loves me.”

“But what if one day you get really hurt, and appa isn’t there to give you a kiss?” Bada asks. “Will you not heal?”

“In that case, I’ll have to be strong and get better on my own.” Her mother whispers softly. “Although I wish I could, I can’t always rely on your father to take care of me. I need to be independent as well.”

“I think I know what it means to be in love now.” Bada smiles. “I’m excited to fall in love!”

Mrs. Lee laughs warmly. “That’s good, sweetheart. You should be very excited to find someone who will also kiss your wounds.” Together, mother and daughter sit in the garden, their heads and hearts filled with love.

A strong breeze suddenly whips around them, plucking a few sunflower petals from the bushel next to the roses. They dance and flutter in the air, making both Bada and her mother stare up at them in amazement.

As yellow sunflower petals fall onto the mausoleum floor, Bada smiles widely. She closes her eyes and nods. “I understand now, mother.” Opening her eyes, she glances at her mother’s headstone. “I know what I must do.”

She says one final goodbye to the resting place of her mother before racing out of the private cemetery, and toward her Porsche 918 Spyder. She’s about to pull out of the parking lot when her eyes catch a store across the street. She freezes in her spot, mesmerized.

There, on display, a misty gem sat atop a golden band surrounded by small diamonds, with flower-shaped gold holding onto the gem. It’s a unique, but beautiful ring.

“Perfect.” Bada breathes.

Arriving back at the Lee mansion, a cloud of sorrow and heartbreak fills the halls. Bada winces as she trudges up the stairs, guilt causing her throat to close up. Her feet take a mind of their own, leading her on autopilot to the place where she longs to be most, with you.

Bada stares at the wood of your door, suddenly feeling immensely nervous. She wonders if you’d felt this way when you bravely knocked on her door hours prior.

She raises her fist to knock, her ears just barely picking up the sound of small sniffles behind the door. Her heart screams in her chest.

She waits a few moments with no response before grabbing onto the doorknob, and twisting it open. Bada steps into your room hesitantly, her eyebrows furrowing at what she sees.

You’re sitting in your bed, your hands covering your eyes as you silently weep into them. Lusher sits beside you, rubbing your back soothingly as she tries to calm you. She looks up at the sound of Bada coming in, her eyes moving to Hyo who stands next to the door.

Hyo does nothing, simply glances between you and her boss while gnawing her bottom lip.

Lusher casts her disapproving gaze onto Bada, but her friend quickly shakes her head. Bada steps forward and walks to your side, kneeling next to the bed.

“Hey,” She says to you softly.

You don’t look up at her, only inch closer to Lusher.

Bada closes her eyes and swallows a lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She whispers sincerely.

Your cries seem to slowly die down at her words, now becoming small sniffles.

“I’m ready to tell you everything if you’re willing to listen.”

You finally take your hands away from your face to look up at Lusher. She stares back at you and smiles, nodding kindly. You take in a deep breath, “Okay.”

Sand crunches below you, and the sound of ocean waves whipping against each granule soothes your nerves. The night is cold, which makes you regret wearing the beige, glittery dress you’d chosen. You clutch at your arms, feeling goosebumps rise from your skin.

Bada notices you shivering and takes off her black coat. “Here.” She whispers, draping it over your shoulders and rubbing her slim hands up and down your arms to warm you up.

You stare at Bada, hating how your heart leaps in your chest at her tender care. You want to stew in your anger and hurt, but the way she looks at you with so much warmth and regret makes you melt. You’re weak.

Bada, now in a simple black shirt and brown slacks steps back. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” You mumble, looking at the sand pooling under your feet.

Bada nods, breathing out deeply. “Okay.” She looks incredibly nervous in front of you, and you almost want to soothe her worries. “I’m not sure how to start this…” She trails off. “But I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

You look up from the sand to stare into Bada’s eyes.

“The things I said to you were disgusting lies.” She admits, shame encompassing her expression. “You are more to me than just a business deal. You have been from the start.”

In the background, the ocean waves begin to calm.

“I never told you this, but…” She shakes her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “the day that we met, I came to talk to your parents to break off the deal.”

Your eyes go wide, and a look of confusion grows on your expression.

“I’d been having second thoughts about our engagement.” She closes her eyes, remembering that day vividly. “I was going to tell them that I wanted to call it off, but then–” her smile turns soft. “You walked in.”

Suddenly, you no longer feel cold, the heat of Bada’s coat and confession making every part of your body burn.

“And you were so beautiful. Like nothing I’d ever seen. So beautiful, and so smart.” She opens her eyes, taking your hands into hers. “I knew then and there that I had to go along with the deal. That I had to make you mine.”

You squeeze Bada’s hands, tears beginning to flow into your eyes.

“But I was terrified. I was so terrified of my feelings.” She starts to tear up as well. “If I were to let you fall in love with me, I would be putting your life at risk. I told myself I was being selfish.”

You want to cut in and deny everything that she says, but you let her talk.

“When my mother died…” Bada chokes on her words–she has to close her eyes and steady her breathing to continue. “She stepped in front of a bullet for me.”

The tears you’d been trying to hold back release, your heart aching in your chest in sympathy for your fiancée.

“Her bodyguard betrayed us... he was aiming to kill me but–” She takes another deep breath. “My mother took the shot.”

“Oh, Bada…” You whisper, throwing your arms around her to pull her into a hug.

Bada breaks down in the comfort of your arms, sobbing violently, and finally releasing 13 years worth of guilt. You hold onto her the entire time, rubbing her back and whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

"I should've been the one to die that day," she cries. "My parents could have had another child—a son. Someone they could be proud to pass on the business to."

“Bada Lee, you are the most hardworking woman I’ve ever met.” You insist. “Your parents would be so proud of what you’ve made of their business.”

Bada tightens her hold on your waist. “I’m sorry.” She slowly unravels herself from you, wiping her tears as she steels herself. “There’s nothing I want more in this world than to wake up next to you every morning. I want to stay by your side for what little time we may have together.”

You bite your lip, trying to stop your sobs from passing beyond your lips.

Bada takes your hand and suddenly starts walking toward a faint light in the distance of the beach. You give her a confused look but follow her anyway until you finally see what she’s bringing you toward.

Rose petals are scattered on the beach sand to create a makeshift walkway, lanterns with burning candles lighting up the sides of it while a small arch in the shape of a heart lies beyond the petals.

You instantly clasp your hands over your mouth, breathing out in shock and awe, turning to face Bada who only smiles at you. She takes both of your hands once again, then slowly starts to lower herself onto the sand, taking one knee in front of you.

“When I look at you, I see my future in your eyes. I know who I am with you.” She places a kiss on your knuckles. “I am selfish. I am a woman who will devote her every waking moment to caring and protecting you.”

She slips her hand into the pocket of her brown slacks and pulls out a black box. You start to openly sob when she opens it and reveals a beautiful engagement ring.

“So, will you allow me to be a selfish woman, and love you until the end of my days?”

“Yes!”

A mess of kisses and wandering hands, you and Bada trail into her private beach house. It’s small but cozy and intimate, exactly what you two need.

Bada guides you in the direction of the master bedroom, never separating from your soft lips. She huffs, her hot breaths caressing your skin as she opens the door and walks toward the bed. It’s decorated in even more rose petals that you crush when she lays you down, and hovers on top of you.

“I’ve said some terrible things to you today,” Bada whispers. “So let me make it up to you.” She places her hand over your right breast, squeezing it and making you moan. “Will you let me?” She asks. “Will you let me…make love to you?”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Yes, Bada.”

Bada smiles, closing her eyes in bliss at the way you alluringly say her name. “I love your voice.” She trails her slim fingers down your body before bringing them up again, and carefully helping you peel your shining dress off your body.

You’re left in your panties and your bra, heaving, passionate breaths making your chest rise and fall in quick succession. Bada stares at your breasts unabashedly before dragging her eyes over every inch of your body. She looks in complete and utter awe, taking in a sharp breath.

“I love your body.” She continues, lowering her hands to your panties, slowly pushing them aside. She finds your pussy glistening with slick, her eyes drinking in the sight with fiery irises. Bada parts your lips, watching carefully as strings of wetness cling to them, revealing your pearly, throbbing clit.

As if in a trance, she brings her thumb up to it, rubbing it up and down with varying degrees of pressure, studying how you cry out in pleasure at each motion.

“Do you like that?” She whispers, staring to trial kisses on your neck and breasts.

“Yes.” You immediately respond, losing yourself in the simple pleasure your faincée gives you. All the months of being untouched have made you so sensitive–so, so sensitive to the point that you’re releasing ridiculous amounts of slick onto Bada’s fingers.

“I want to feel you,” Bada confesses, moving her fingers away from your clit and to your hole. She traces her finger around it before gently inserting one in, your pussy sucking her in without any complaint. “Ah,” she breathes, closing her eyes. “You’re so warm.”

You let out a strangled moan at her words, begging her to continue.

She does as you ask, pushing her finger in deep before dragging it out–again and again she does this, slowly building up her pace until she’s driving her finger into you at an incredible speed. “You’re so warm, honey. So wet.” She repeats, stars in her eyes as she moves to kiss you passionately, all tongue and spit.

“More, please.” You ask again.

“Of course.” She whispers against your lips. Bada takes another finger and inserts it into you, the almost painful but pleasurable stretch makes you cry out, grabbing her unoccupied hand to squeeze it. “There you go.” She says fondly. “Make as much noise as you want to, honey. It’s just us.”

So you let yourself go, practically moaning like a porn star as Bada pounds her fingers into you, your slick sloshing against them and pruning up her digits. She doesn’t seem to care at all, instead changing their position to crook them upwards, dragging them along your walls, indulging you in sexual gratification like you’ve never felt before.

“I want you to cum all over my fingers.” She breathes, the words so heavy you can barely make them out. “Cover me in your juices. Do it.”

Driving her point, Bada lowers her face to your pussy, licking her long tongue against your clit. She flicks it, then takes it into her mouth, swirling her tongue against it.

You immediately cry out in pleasure, your mouth gaping open and eyes closing shut as your fiancée smirks against your clit. She continues her pace, pistoning her fingers in and out of you until she brushes your sweet spot–

“Oh my god!” You scream, your eyes almost rolling back in sheer bliss. “Right there, right there!”

Bada opens her eyes–her lids heavy as makes eye contact with you. “Right here?” She pushes her finger in once again, crooking it up perfectly so that it hits your g-spot perfectly. “Oh yeah, that’s the spot, isn’t it?” She mutters to herself, a proud smile finding her lips.

That, coupled with one long, hard suck and swirl from her tongue on your clit makes your eyes roll back, insurmountable pleasure flowing through you as you cum.

“Soak me.” Bada guides you through it, holding onto your hand tightly to ground you as you embark on a world of bliss, her fingers and mouth never slowing down until you start to whine.

“Please–” you choke out, your pussy sensitive from her touch.

Your fiancée slows her fingers and pops her mouth off your pussy, licking her lips before she fully pulls out her digits from inside of you. When she does, a gush of cum follows in her wake, trailing down and falling onto the linen sheets. She smiles at the sight, lifting her fingers to her mouth and sucking on your juices.

“I love the way you taste.” She separates her fingers to show you the beads of her spit and your slick combined into one debauched substance.

You sit up from bed, crawling over to her with a mischievous look. You grab her hand and bring it up to your lips, sucking on her fingers gently, moving your head up and down in a sensual motion.

“Fuck.” Bada watches you in awe, her cunt pulsing against her boxers and layers of clothes. “How are you so effortlessly alluring?”

You look up at your fiancée, dragging her fingers out of your mouth. “Bada…”

“Yes?” She asks, using her clean hand to brush her thumb over your cheek lovingly.

“Can I touch you too?” You drag your hand down Bada’s chest, stopping just before the waistband of her slacks.

Bada smiles and nods, grabbing your hand and beginning to take off her black shirt. She pulls it off of her body easily, letting it fall to the floor as her hand moves to remove her sports bra as well. You take the time to also remove your bra, now fully exposed while Bada takes off her slacks.

You try your hardest not to stare at her, but with every movement she does, her lean abs move, and her muscled arms strain. Bada Lee has an amazing body, and you can’t help but gape.

Your fiancée, unaware of your stare finally strips herself of her boxers–which she notes are wet with slick–and moves back onto the bed.

“You’re so pretty.” You whisper to her bashfully, moving your fingers up and down her abs.

The action makes Bada release a heavy breath from her nose, your feather-light touch making her abdominals stretch. “Thank you.” She smiles, leaning in to place a warm sweet kiss on your lips.

You break away after a moment, leaning your head down and motioning for Bada to lay back. She does so immediately, encouraging you to do as you please with a hand on the back of your head.

You slowly lower your head so you’re face-to-face with Bada’s cunt. You notice a few beads of wetness fall from her folds, making you smile proudly. She’s just as riled up as you.

Without a second thought, you part her lips like she had yours and place your hot mouth on her cunt, making her hiss. She throws her head back, once again her abs stretching as her long hair falls against her face. “Ah, fuck.”

You move your tongue inside of her, eyes going doe when she stares down at you with burning irises, so full of passion and heat that you unconsciously rub your thighs together, slick building between your legs again.

“You’re so good at that, baby.” Bada moans, grabbing your hair with enough force so that she can move you while still keeping her grip painless. She has to hold herself back–remember that this is about making love not fucking. Her full strength could truly hurt you. “Fuck yeah.” She curses, moving your head up and down as she uses you to pleasure herself.

You slip into a submissive role, allowing Bada to move and use you in any way, happy to bring her the same amount of ecstasy that she’d given you. You move your tongue in and out of her hot, gummy walls, slick running down your chin and the column of your throat until it dribbles in between the valley of your breasts.

Bada watches every movement and groans loudly, turned on out of her mind. She moves your head up and down faster, feeling every drag of your tongue and the pressure of your nose against her clit.

She’s so close, right there–

“Wait��” She breathes, letting go of your head. “Wait.”

You instantly shoot up, worried you’ve done something wrong. “Wha–”

Bada flips your position so you’re below her again. She takes your leg and crooks it against her hip, placing her cunt just inches away from your pussy. “I want to cum with you.” She heaves.

You stare up at your fiancée, your heart swelling in your chest to the point you’re worried it’ll burst. You grab her unoccupied hand and nod, smiling sweetly at her.

She smiles back, running her thumb over the engagement ring resting on your ring finger. She places a kiss on it before she uses her strength to lift herself up, and slowly lower her pussy against yours. She lets out another kiss, her cunt still sensitive from her almost release just minutes prior.

She starts out slow, rubbing up and down and positioning herself so that her lips meet the parting of yours. She encourages you to move with her, using her grip on your thigh to help you gain a rhythm in rubbing yourself against her.

You’re both so wet that loud squelching noises fill the air, your skin parting with strings of juices touching each other’s skin lewdly. Bada then starts to speed up her pace, rubbing up against your pussy as she sighs blissfully. She drags her hand up to your breast, grabs your nipple between her fingers, and starts to rub.

You let out a small moan which makes your fiancée twist your nipple with a bit more force, and then angle down enough so that she can flick her tongue against it. She takes your breast into her mouth, sucking rather harshly to pull out a louder moan from your parted lips.

She pops off your breast to smirk, pushing both of them together. “I love your tits.” She spits on them, then flattens her tongue and drags it across your nipples.

“Bada…” You trail off, tears of pleasure falling from your eyes.

“I know baby,” she mutters, her voice hitching when she angles her hips down at the perfect spot and applies just the perfect amount of pressure–she does it again. A mix of her groan and your cry ringing in the air. She slaps her pussy against your own, the shock of bliss shoots up her spine, and makes her curse. “Fuck, cum with me.” She closes her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure. “Fucking cum with me, honey. Let go and give me your all. I want it.”

So you give her what she wants.

Both you and Bada cum seconds later, both of your eyes closed tight in ecstasy as your pussies still rub against each other’s, riding out the high until you no longer can.

Your fiancée is the first to pull away, gently letting go of your thigh and stretching it onto the bed. Exhausted, she flops beside you, breathing heavily.

“How do you feel?” She checks up on you, her eyes finding yours in an instant.

“So good.” You admit with a smile.

Bada grins back at you, scooting closer to you until her body is pressed against your side. She flips you around so that you’re facing her as she wraps her arms around your waist. “Hi.” She mumbles sweetly.

“Hi.” You mumble back, holding back a giggle.

Both of your bodies are hot and shining with sweat, but neither of you cares. You stay tangled together, simply staring into each other’s eyes.

This time when you look into her irises, there’s no storm brewing–no icey wall keeping you separated from her. Just her pretty, dark brown irises. This is the woman you’d fallen in love with.

Your fiancée’s eyes say, “I know who I am.”

“I’m glad,” yours say back.

Bada leans forward, rubbing her nose against yours in a sweet gesture. Then she moves to place her lips inches away from your ear, whispering, “I love you.”

❝ the pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment. ❞

taglist:

@aericrys, @somerandomtinyperson, @bluebada, @dallaji, @luvjanexx, @hyejuwu, @diana-rose-25, @jjlovesbada, @cephox, @prilux, @youknow1234, @fae-the-wanderer @mightymyo, @aein-tings, @badasgirlfriend, @onlyyou-metanoia, @wiselight @badasoneandonly, @multiliker, @badabonita, @randomhoex, @justaharmlesspotat0, @sporadicfacebasement, @4bada, @seungxstar, @urlovebot, @neuftaeng, @hyunsllvr, @aixicl, @itzmy

(if your name is crossed out i wasn't able to to tag you)

want to join the taglist? send me a message or comment saying you'd like to be on it, and i'll add you!

#bada lee x reader #bada lee x reader smut #bada x reader #bada lee #bada lee smut #bada lee x reader angst #bada lee x reader fluff #bada #street woman fighter 2 x reader #swf2 x reader

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solitary-traveler · 23 days ago

Note

Heya :)

Im not sure if you write angst but I was wondering if you could do Scara with a reader that puts others health in front of her own, so when she gets injured in battle she won't even notice because she'll be worrying about Scara and not herself. <3

Echoes of The Past

The wanderer is left behind, with regrets and diminished hope swirling through his thoughts

Wanderer x gn!reader

Notes: Hiiii thank you so much @i0fty, I'm so sorry it took this long to write it 😭. I hope this makes up for it. Again I'm really sorry🙏—

Also, the italicized texts are the things that he writes in his journal

Art: @waternaeng on danbooru

Warning: Angst :)

You died yesterday.

The wanderer recounted as he sat on the wooden stool. His fingers ran through his indigo locks, a few strands escaping his grasp and falling back down to frame his face. With a pencil between his porcelain fingers, he could only stare at the empty notebook in front of him.

My…beloved, my Y/n passed away yesterday after being so stupidly reckless.

He sighed, the pen twitching within his grip. The further he puts his thoughts into writing, the more the uncomfortable feeling grows. It still hurt; it always hurt to think of you. He garnered at the page, forcing himself to resume staining the paper with lead.

You always placed the health of others above your own, a fierce guardian even amidst the chaos of battle, where your sole focus was my safety. It was maddeningly foolish—I was no fragile mortal, impervious to death’s grasp. Yet you pressed on, undeterred. I watched as you brushed aside your injuries, treating them like insignificant shadows. Even in your final moments, it was that boundless selflessness—the unwavering devotion that burned brightly within you—that ultimately cost you everything.

Wanderer gripped the pen tightly, almost snapping it in half.

Why did you have to be selfless?

Why did you have to die?

If I had been the one to notice your wounds, would you still be here? If I had been there to prioritize your safety, to shield you from the pain, would fate have been kinder to us?

He took a deep breath. This was supposed to be a relaxing activity, but somehow it just heightened his stress even more. His eyes darted outside the window, overlooking the bright lights of Sumeru city.

Not that it matters anymore. I can’t change the past. I know; I’ve tried.

In any case, the view from outside my window is as repetitive as always, the same flickering city lights twinkling like distant stars against the inky night. But I know you love it. You always had a strange fascination with city lights under the night sky. But I guess it is pretty. A strange beauty, one that whispers secrets of life and longing. I can somewhat understand why you found solace in its shimmering embrace.

He heaved, his shoulders slumped. They felt heavy as the burden of his loss creeped in once more. Embrace huh…Oh how he wished you were here, stubbornly hugging him from behind. He’d kill to live in that memory over and over again. To stay there forever, with the comfort he grew to miss.

Sometimes I wonder… What exactly it is you like about me? I… I never saw myself as someone worthy of love, let alone someone capable of it. Like a marionette, I moved through life, cursed to feel without ever knowing how to truly grasp those emotions. Yet somehow, you saw through the tangled strings of my hypocrisy, unraveling the quiet ache of my need for affection, hidden deep within my hollow frame.

His eyes darted towards a photo, one you stubbornly pestered him with until he succumbed. It was during his first day at the Akademiya and you had dropped by to tease the fuck out of him. Imagine him, a war criminal, domesticated and sent to school. It was excessively embarrassing. You had the cheekiest grin plastered on your face, your infectious laughter ringing in his ears. Your left arm slung around his shoulder. It was all so infuriatingly endearing. Wanderer can’t help the subtle twitch on the corner of his lips.

You were always a mystery to me, an enigma I could never fully grasp.

I wonder, sometimes… why me? What did you see in me that made you want me? I am undesirable, like a rusted tool left forgotten in the rain—only acknowledged when needed, only useful when used. Yet, you— You saw worth in me, even when I was at my weakest, when the cracks began to show, and when my facade crumbled. You knelt beside me, gathering the scattered shards of who I was. You pieced them together, making me whole once more.

I had been an enemy, a blade once drawn against you, yet you saw me not as a threat, but as a friend broken by my own battles.

Wanderer let out a bitter laugh. The memory does little to alleviate the tension in his “heart”, the twinge of misery that courses through his skin. That runs through his blood. It doesn't fully hinder the burn, it doesn’t prove to distract.

I was never one to believe in fate, but I'd dare call our meeting destined. I’ve never been one to bow to the gods, but I find myself thanking them—begrudgingly—for bringing you into my life. You’re an infuriating thorn in my side, with the wit of a fool. But you’re my thorn, my beautifully vexing pain in the ass.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

He sighed, his lips twitching into a frown. It was tiring. It was almost ironic how he can write essays upon essays about various topics without breaking a sweat, but he can barely fill the page when it’s about you. Reaching to pick up the pen once more, he scribbled a few lines that would end his entry for today.

Fate was a spider, weaving its web with cunning precision, drawing unsuspecting souls like us into its intricate design. Like two flies ensnared, we became entangled in the twisted, yet oddly rewarding, threads of destiny. The harder we fought, the more we intertwined, until I could no longer tell where your fate ended and mine began. But perhaps that wasn’t such a terrible thing. Perhaps that was the spider’s gift, not its trap. It threw me in the ocean of your love. I was dragged to the deepest depths, with no way of finding my way to the surface. I was expected to drown. And that’s what I did. I let myself be consumed by the waves of your tender touch and lose myself in the tides of your loving embrace.

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ghostlychief · 2 years ago

Text

Weighted Blanket

This is part 2 to Pockets of Peace

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Wc: 3.8k+ (First half is in Simon’s POV, second is reader’s POV)

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of children being victims on a mission (nothing graphic), brief, BRIEF mentions of self harm (this part is italicized if you want to skip OR can read it as wounds from fights or missions; emotionally vulnerable reader and Simon; some fluff; some cuddling

Summary: After your last mission, things changed between you and Ghost. Although feelings shifted and emerged, your quiet routine with the Lieutenant stayed the same. He never failed to provide you with little pockets of peace throughout your tumultuous life, and you treasure these moments, holding them close to your heart. Except this time, it’s you who returns the favor, and offers him a warm embrace to grieve quietly.

A/N: HELLO! Part two to Pockets of Peace is finally here. I really can’t express my gratitude for all the love that fic received. I really appreciate all your likes, comments, and reblogs. Comments are always so fun to read and same goes for the reblog tags <3 This is another purely indulgent fic lmao and I found this part harder to write than the first, so I hope you enjoy it just as much. As mentioned, the first half is written from Simon’s POV, so that was fun to explore and write. Sorry for any typos/grammar mistakes </3

ENJOY!

Simon didn’t have much to be grateful for in his life. Sure, he was thankful for the camaraderie he found within task 141, and his friendship with Soap (although he will never admit that they’re true friends). Outside of those two things, there wasn’t much, and he was okay with that. Comes with the line of work, he supposed.

It’s hard to trust people when majority end up pointing their gun at you, even after years of working together, training together, living together. Hell, it took him years to feel somewhat comfortable around the task 141 members. When he first joined, he barely talked to anyone except when necessary either when preparing for a mission, or during a mission. Afterwards he would float off to his room and be alone. He ate alone, trained alone (unless sparing was required by Price), he went out alone. Not that he went out a lot, but if he had to leave the base, it was alone. He was somewhat of a recluse, a phantom hiding in the shadows that the team rarely ever saw.

The team member he first grew closest to, not without them trying, was Soap. The outgoing sergeant was able to make a friend out of the standoffish lieutenant, and even got Ghost to crack jokes during missions, a big deal for task force 141. This happened a little over a year and a half after Ghost joined the team. And now fast forward almost seven years later, and here he was, still on task force 141, but with a friend of sorts. That was one thing he was grateful for.

About two years in, he started to eat breakfast when the other team members did. Did he sit with them? No, of course not, but he was eating at the same time, just a few tables away. He started training with the other members more regularly, and on occasion, would coach them and give them tips here and there. And after a mission, he would sometimes tag along with the other men when they went out to a bar to wind down.

One night, shortly after you joined task 141, Ghost begrudgingly accepted Soap’s invite to go to a bar with the other male team members. Once they got there and had a few drinks, they were poking fun at him for having a “soft spot” for the new recruit.

He just rolled his eyes at their comments, and muttered “Fuck off,” up until they started talking about your skillset. Specifically, your lack of skills in sparing.

“Well, she certainly could improve her technique. We were sparing the other day, and I almost squashed her like a bug.”

“Yeah, she’s fast, but sure doesn’t know what to do with her speed and size. I pinned her down almost every time.”

“Yeah, last week, I had her in a headlock and almost made her pass out.”

“Hey Ghost, haven’t you been training with her? I’m sure you crush her each time you spar; she doesn’t have a chance against you.”

“Doubt she’s improved at all, even with Ghost’s help.”

Ghost couldn’t help but notice the frequent use of the word ‘almost,’ and at this point, he had enough. The comments the 141 members made weren’t even accurate. Sure, you had some improving to do, but by no means were you bad. He felt like they just felt threatened by you, a young woman with much more potential than them. He also had a feeling that they were jealous of your mastery at sniping. To put it simply, Ghost knew they were full of shit.

“She’s actually improved quite a lot.” His rough voice pierces through the air, silencing the banter surrounding him.

Embers burned at the pit of his stomach at the thoughtless comments his teammates said so flippantly about you. Embers that soon caught fire, and burned bright crimson flames. He stayed composed, but his eyes flickered, darkened by the shadows of the black paint surrounding them, and the tarnished skull that covered his nose and mouth. All the more imposing to those who looked at him.

“Plus, someone had to give her pointers for fighting a highly skilled, large, and imposing person; something you short fucks couldn’t do.”

Ghost was met with silence once again, and he smirked under his balaclava. Since then, the other men of task 141 have not commented on your sparing abilities, not wanting to be cursed out by Ghost.

And hey, it was all worth it when the next day you defeated Soap, match after match.

New recruits of 141 typically come and go, retention isn’t all that great. So, when you joined the team, he wasn’t expecting you to persevere, and stay. He was impressed by your skillset; snipers are always impressive in his mind. But your agility and speed that allowed you to take down opponents twice your size, is what mainly caught his eye. Sure, you needed some improvement, but you were promising.

When you first joined the team, you were so nice to everyone, even him. That’s not something he’s privy to in his line of work. Yet, you didn’t seem intimidated by him at all, not in the slightest. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. You just kept being so warm to him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

Of course, he wasn’t nervous to be around you, no that certainty wasn’t it; but he couldn’t help the warm feeling that would spread through his chest whenever you would talk to him. At first you only conversed with one another in meetings, debriefs, missions, etc. All work related, with no cross over into ‘personal life territory’. Simon was content with this, he rarely ever crossed that boundary with the other 141 teammates, so why would he with you? Incidentally, you and him started to get paired together mission after mission, and he couldn’t help but want more.

Ghost was immediately impressed at your abilities to smoothly get in and get out during missions, especially with what little experience you had. Not that you were any less competent than any of the other 141 team members, you just hadn’t been in the field for as long as some of them. You were smart as a whip though, and you got the job done quickly and quietly, and never got in his way. That was something he deeply respected about you. You understood the task at hand, asked questions if needed, but otherwise were highly independent. An admirable trait that takes some weight off of his shoulders as a Lieutenant. Something that he quickly added to his list of things he was grateful for.

You also had the curiosity to learn more, and to learn from the more experienced team members. Always ready with a question, and never embarrassed to ask. Sure, you were quiet like him, but when it came to job stuff, you didn’t hesitate to make your presence known.

He still remembers, one night after completing a mission, you and him were sitting in the helicopter. You turned to him and asked, “How is it that you’re never scared?” Your sweet voice traveled over to him through the coms and he felt confounded by your question. He felt his stomach warm at your tone in which you asked him this. Did you somehow look up to him?

“Who said I was never scared?” He glanced over at you and saw your eyes sparkle at his response.

To say that Ghost was concerned after you got shot in the leg was an understatement. Although he tried his best to stay composed, he was having a full-blown crisis inside his mind while trying to get you to safety, which, was a safe house miles from your current location. He couldn’t properly examine your wound, so he had no idea how bad of a state you were in, and he hated blind spots.

That was the first mission he ever felt real fear for you; distressed with thoughts that said you wouldn’t make it back. Thoughts that kept bouncing around, tormenting him the whole journey to the safe house. Luckily when you guys arrived, he was able to fully assess your wound and it didn’t look life threatening. No, all he had to do was clean, stich, and bandage it.

Simple enough, right? Wrong.

Of course, of course the best way to get the wound clean and ready for stitching was for your fucking pants to come off.

Things were never easy for Ghost.

His nerves didn’t stop him though and he somehow managed to get through everything without making a complete fool out of himself. Though, if you could somehow hear his heartbeat, at all, it would have been a dead giveaway, as it thumped erratically in his chest. There were moments when he was afraid it would burst.

Then, only to make this mission even worse, was him waking up to your blood curdling screams in the middle of the night. His first thought was that the enemy found you guys, and they got to you first. He thought that he failed to protect you, which was a silent promise he made to himself after the first night you guys drank beer in his room.

However, when he entered the living room, he saw that no one was in the room, it was just you on the couch where he left you. Your screams turned into cries, then sobs, then screams again. It was deafening and he couldn’t stand to hear it any longer. It took a few good shakes to wake you and he felt his heartstrings pinch in his chest when you apologized to him for waking him up, completely disregarding the trauma you were currently experiencing.

He decided right then and there that what you needed right now was not a work colleague, but a friend. He carried you to bed that night, hoping to provide you with some consolation, wanting to provide you with anything that would make you feel safe again. And before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself closing the distance between your lips, and he felt you kissing back. He may have added that to the list of things he felt grateful for.

It’s been a few weeks since then. Your leg is pretty much all healed, and you have full mobility. All thanks to Ghost’s handy work. Although you felt fine and ready to get back out there, Simon insisted that you continue to rest. He even managed to convince Price not to assign you to any missions for the next month, which thoroughly pissed you off.

Who was he to boss you around and tell you when you were ready or not to start working again? He was technically your direct supervisor, so he did have the power to boss you around, but still!

Even though you were slightly peeved at him, you knew that it came from a good place. He was just worried about you, and this was his way of showing it, well, in front of the team at least.

In private, he had other ways to show you how much he cared for you. After he learned about your nightmares, he insisted that you come to him whenever they occur. You were hesitant at first to take him up on his offer. What if he just said that to be nice and he just feels bad for me? You didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Even though, you found yourself slowly start to cross more and more boundaries with him as the weeks went on.

So, the first night you experienced another nightmare, you found yourself in front of Simon’s door. You probably stood there for at least a minute, racking up the courage to knock. But before you could even do that, the door swung open to reveal a sleepy looking Simon decked out in black sweats and his signature balaclava.

Since he was so close to you, you had to crane your neck to look up at him and meet his eyes. Why he was still wearing his mask at this hour, you were unsure. He usually took it off to sleep, but you were too unmoored to ask.

“I heard your footsteps approach my door.” His gravelly voice fills the space in-between, and he casually leans on the door frame.

“Oh.” You looked down at your slippers and twiddle your thumbs.

“Why don’t you come in, yeah?” Simon’s voice lifts up a bit at the end of his question, and you look back up at him and offer him a small smile.

“I’d like that, thank you Simon.” It still felt weird on your tongue to call the Lieutenant by his first name, but your chest sparked each time you did so. He held out is hand and you fit your palm against his, and he leads you into his room, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

You and Simon talked for what felt like hours before you fell asleep, head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing your head.

It was a common occurrence after that, to visit Simon’s room at night whenever you woke up screaming in the dark of your own room. It felt like nothing could happen to you in your dreams, so as long as Simon’s arms were wrapped around you, almost like an anchor. Weighing you down, preventing you from drifting too far away.

But even with this new sense of security surrounding you, some nights when you fell asleep with Simon next to you, the nightmares would still creep into your mind. Though, Simon was right there to help bring you back.

If for some reason you both separated during the night and were sleeping apart, you’d reach out to him after waking, your hand patting the bed, searching for him.

“Simon?”

“I’m right here.” He’d then swiftly pull you back into him.

He’d rub your back. Up down, up down.

Wrap his arms around you. Squeeze.

Kiss your forehead. Smooth back your hair.

Whisper affirming words that reminded you that it’s all in your head, you’re safe in this reality, he’s here. No one is trying to harm you.

Other nights, you found yourselves simply enjoying each other’s company. You love to outline his forearm tattoos with your fingers and trace your hand up his arm to his broad shoulders, to his chest. You like to trail your hand across his abs and just love to explore his whole body with your hands.

He does the same, and his touch always feels so heavenly. Though his hands were calloused and rough, they were always extra gentle in handling you.

His hand brushes over the top of your thigh and his fingertips graze over the slightly raised bumps that span across your tender skin. Your once smooth legs, now marked permanently with light lines. You feel his hand pause after it initially goes over this area of your leg. And you know, that he knows.

Before you can say anything, and push him away, his warm hand comes back up to rest at the top of your thigh, and his thumb gently traces circles over the scarred area. He doesn’t say a word, but his touches mean everything to you, and it’s all you need.

You feel him squeeze his arms that are already wrapped around your form, and feel a slight pressure against the top of your head, like a kiss was laid upon your hair.

You feel your breathing start to slow, and before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Simon’s heart calling out to you like a siren with a lullaby.

You started to feel a deep sense of familiarity within the four walls of Simon’s room, and you knew that it would always be a place of condolement for your aching self. Little did you know, that you provided just as much relief, if not more, to Simon as well. Although more rare than yours, Simon had bad days too.

Tonight was no different than any other; you and Simon are lying in bed together and you’re semi-on top of him, leg thrown over his waist, head on his shoulder, fingers mapping out his entire being.

“If you want to talk about it, you know that you can, right?” You absentmindedly trace your pointer finger across the span of his chest as you ask him this. Drawing small circles into the fabric of his black t-shirt.

To Simon, it felt like there were small sparks leaving your fingertips every time you touched him, causing his heart to ignite.

“I’m always here to listen.” You remind him one more time.

Simon just came back from a particularly brutal mission, one that he has told you very little about. They were gone for almost two weeks and all you were able to find out from Soap was that children were involved- a sensitive subject for Simon. You can only imagine what he went through during the mission, and now, what he’s dealing with in the aftermath. You’re trying not to push too much, but you want him to talk to you.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But you shouldn’t have to.”

You pause your ministrations and crane your neck to look up at him with a slight pout on your lips. This was always a struggle with him, he didn’t like to talk to you, let alone anyone when he was going through something. He would just put up a wall and it broke your heart. Sometimes you would get bits and pieces, but never the whole picture; it was always fuzzy to you.

You wanted him to feel safe enough that he could confide in you, vent to you, about whatever was on his mind, but you knew it wasn’t that easy and that these things take time. You’re patient with him, as he is with you. It’s the least you can owe him for all he’s done for you. This is his time to lament, not yours to be nosey. So, you just let him be.

He lets out a sigh and then moves you so you’re laying completely on top of him. He tries not to be too rough as his hands grab onto your waist to situate you further, and he tucks your head under his chin.

One arm wraps around your middle and the other comes up to hold the back of your head.

“I just want you to be here with me right now, like this. That’s all I need.” His breath tickles your hair and you succumb to his wish, relaxing against him.

“Ok, I can do that.” Your hands come up to wrap around his neck, and you pull him impossibly closer to you, no inch of yourself is left untouched by Simon.

He likes to put you in this position whenever he can’t find the right words to explain. He instead craves the comfort of physicality, liking the weight of you on top of him.

Your hand comes up to play with his hair at the nape of his neck. You found that his hair tends to curl a little at the end, initially not expecting his hair to be this long. Silly, you know, but you’re honored that you’re one of the few people that get to see him like this.

You don’t know how long you and Simon lay like this; time always seemed to bend and disappear when you were with him. Since you guys had been lying in silence for so long, his voice startles you when he speaks for the first time in what felt like hours.

His hand that was resting on your lower back is now softly stroking your spine in a steady up and down motion.

“I felt scared for the first time in a while, on the last mission.”

His admission surprises you, but you wait a beat to see if he’s going to say anything else before you respond.

You’re glad that you do, because he continues to speak in a hushed voice.

“I- I didn’t know how to help them and they were looking towards us to be saved. And yet, we couldn’t save all of them. Some were left behind.”

You feel your heart start to crack again, the beginnings of the break started forming the moment you saw Simon step out of the plane when he returned back to the base.

And now it feels as though a chisel is working its way through your chest, chipping off piece by piece as you listen to Simon morn the loss of little lives. Lives he couldn’t rescue. You know it’s eating him up on the inside, with no respite in sight.

You personally have never been on a mission where the victims were children, and you’re thankful for that, so you can only empathize as much as your experience allows you to. You just have to remind him that he does the best he can, and not everyone can be saved, no matter how much you want to help.

You shift a little so your head is no longer tucked under his chin, and instead rests more on his shoulder. Since you’re so close to him, your lips touch is jaw.

You sigh, “I’m really sorry you went through that, Simon. I know that nothing I can say will change the outcome of what happened, and it doesn’t really matter what I say, but I do want you to know that you and the team did all you could. You did your best with what circumstances you were given.”

You feel him stir under you, and his arms warp tighter around your frame.

“You’re wrong.”

You feel you the pieces of your heart break into smaller and smaller pieces, losing hope that they will ever fit back together.

“You’re wrong to think that your words don’t matter.” Oh. “They actually mean the most to me.” Your chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to concave anymore.

“I really appreciate you; you know that right, Little Swan?” You feel him kiss your forehead and your chest warms at his term of endearment.

“Of course I do, Simon.”

“Ok, good.”

You bring him in for a kiss.

Simon found that he didn’t have much in his life, let alone much to be grateful for. Yet over the years, he realized that he grew quite the list.

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kaleidoscopewritings19 · 8 days ago

Text

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Title: Pretty and Burned

PART 2: Burned but Still Pretty

Warning(s): None. Age gap.

Authors Note: songs were not released in 2003, however, this story takes place in 2003. I do not own the rights to the songs. Songs were requested by Anonymous reader.

Songs used: reader sings Kat Hasty’s “Pretty Things” song they dance to is “Burns like Her” by Randall King. Songs are underlined and linked, lyrics are italicized.

Cigarette smoke left behind a haze, and the smell of alcohol filled your nostrils. You imagined most of the cigarette haze was from you; you had a Marlboro red between your lips. With each long drag, you would exhale, and feel more calm. Box breathing— with a twist.

The manager of the bar walked up to you, “Your up in ten. Tonight we have a tough crowd.” He said and he patted you on the back.

Being a singer and a songwriter was your dream. Sitting on tour buses, writing music, and pretty much being a drifter— was your dream. Your mom and dad, well, they weren’t worth thinking about. The childhood you had wasn’t worth carrying the baggage, so you started a clean slate.

You rolled from town to town, but Austin was always your home. And you came back to it to test your luck here. Your attire was different than what most of the women around here wore. Of course you had the chunky turquoise jewelry on your fingers and around your neck.

Your wrist tattoos were on full display, and smirked at the site of them. Everyone always had to comment on your tattoos- either they liked them or hated them.

The bar manager held up three fingers, signaling you only had three minutes to get your ass up on stage. You opened your guitar case and it creaked loudly. The site of your guitar made you shiver— there was one thing in this world you adored and it was your guitar. It had the same design you had on your wrist, and you and the instrument were quite the pairing.

This guitar was given to you by an older couple who took you in here in Austin. They gave you your own bedroom, and made you promise when you made it big, to always remember them. But how could you forget them? They gave you a better chance at life than your parents did. Mentally, you waved the thought away.

You stubbed out your cigarette, took a drink from your beer, and pulled the strap of your guitar above your head. “Alright ladies and gents, give it up for Y/N Y/L/N!”

A round of applause erupted in the bar room. You waved as you took your seat on stage, “Hey y’all, I’m back with a incomplete new song. It’s called “Pretty Things”, so I hope you like it.”

You began strumming the strings of your guitar, and your heart raced until you sang the first set of lyrics:

“You said that I drank too much

The tattoos on my skin are not your style”

You closed your eyes and thought about anything but the faces that were staring up at you. They were the same faces you have stared at for months, but your stage fright never seemed to completely fade.

“And you didn't like cigarette on my kiss

Well, I hope that's something you miss

'Cause I'm not slowing down for awhile.”

An all too familiar face walked into the bar and waved at you. Tommy Miller had become a good friend of yours— he was a couple years older, but he acted like he was your age— 20.

Your gaze fell on the person behind him; Tommy hit him on the chest, “That’s her. She’s the one I’ve been telling you ‘bout.”

You focused on Tommy, because somehow, his mere presence calmed you.

“I've been desperate to fix what we've been

But some things need to stay broken

Realized you're not worth me trying to hide”

The man behind Tommy looked similar to him tan, dark and handsome. He had a strong build, he was somewhat muscular, and you could tell he was a tough one. His dark eyes stared up at you, and he gave you a small nod— somewhat introducing himself from across the bar.

Just the sight of him made your heart race. He was undeniably handsome, and rough looking. Definitely your type, but definitely older. You could tell by his demeanor that he didn’t really want to be here, but Tommy always had a way with coercion.

With a smile and a wink, you continued to sing on to the chorus.

'Cause I'm never gonna be

Your southern Texas wannabe beauty queen

And I'm never gonna be

Your red dress, long leg, blonde hair southern dream

I know I'm more than just the pretty things

And that's alright by me, yeah.”

You finished strumming the rest of the tune, and when you stood up a round of applause filled the bar. Tommy and the guy that was with him cheered you on, and with a bow, you thanked the bar room.

Tommy raced up to you and pulled you into a bear hug. “Y/N! Great song. But why was it short?” He questioned and you smiled. “And what’s with that shirt? It’s a little revealing, yeah?” Tommy took his jacket off and pulled it over you. He was also like a big brother.

You rolled your eyes, and pushed his jacket away. “It’s called fashion, T. As for your other question: it’s not finished yet. I needed you to help me finish the next set of lyrics like you did on the last song.” You teased, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Beginners luck.” He replied and you cleared your throat and motioned for him to introduce you to his friend.

Tommy brought the man closer you, “Y/N, this is my big brother Joel. And Joel this is my sister from another mister, Y/N.” He said in a “trying” to be cool voice.

Joel stuck out his hand, “Nice to meet ya. Great song by the way.”

You could feel your face heat up, and you took his hand in yours. He had a firm hand shake and an intense gaze, “Pleasure’s all mine. And Thanks. It’s not finished yet, but I’m hopin’ to finish it tonight.” You replied and patted your guitar.

Joel’s eyes were fixated on your guitar, “That’s a nice guitar ya got there. May I?” He asked gesturing to hold it.

You pulled the strap over your head, “Course. You play?”

When the guitar hit his hands he sat down, got into position and started playing a random tune. “Yeah, I know my way ‘round a guitar. I got one of my own at home.”

With an ounce of courage you smiled, “Maybe sometime you can show it to me. And we can play some tunes.” You said and before he could answer you, the manager of the bar called you over.

You excused yourself from the two men, and went over to the manager.

Tommy smacked Joel’s shoulder, “She’s into you. Y’all would make a good pairing. She’s gorgeous. She sings—”

Joel cut his brother off before he could finish, “And she’s young .”

“She’s 20. About to be 21.” Tommy shrugged his shoulders, but Joel shook his head.

“I’m 35. With a twelve year old daughter. She could be my daughter’s sister for crying out loud.” Joel explained and Tommy rolled his eyes.

Joel stared at you talking to the manager. You were beautiful. Fun. Witty. Had a good voice. But too young to want to be with someone who was sixteen years older, and had a kid. Too much baggage for someone so ambitious and young.

You caught Joel staring at you, and you gave him a small wave. When the manager finished talking to you about singing the next couple of nights, you walked back over to the brothers.

“Hey Tommy, you should go get me a beer.” You said and Tommy practically jumped from the barstool.

“Yes, your highness.” He said with a bow, and you elbowed him in the chest. You took Tommy’s spot, and leaned against the counter.

Joel chuckled, “Seems you got him wrapped around your finger.”

You shook your head, “He’s a good friend. I’d do anything for him.”

Joel nodded, you cared about his brother— added bonus points. Your legs didn’t fully touch the ground so you leaned forward on the stool, and kicked your legs back and forth. “About earlier— when am I gonna see that guitar of yours?”

He smiled at your forwardness, “When my kid isn’t home.” Joel said honestly and you pursed your lips and nodded.

“Honest. That’s respectable. I like that.” You looked into his dark brown eyes, and hopped off the barstool. He raised his eyebrow when you held out your hand, “At least dance with me cowboy.”

Joel smiled and took your hand in his, and you led him through the crowd. Of course by the time you found an open space, a slow song took over the speakers, “Well, looks like a slow song. We can sit down if you want.” You suggested, and Joel shook his head. He brought you close to his body, and took your left hand in his. Joel led you in a simple two step dance, and you smiled. “I’m impressed- you know how to two step.”

“It’s been awhile.” He replied.

Give me something that burns like her

Give me something that hurts like heaven

The two of you focused on the beat of the music and the lyrics.

That kind of fire in my heart, leaving smoke in my shirt

I'll take it any way I can get it

The silence was loud between the two of you— until you spoke up. “What do you do for a livin’?” You asked.

“I’m a carpenter. What about you?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“A little bit of everything. I bartend, and the manager here pays me to play. I hustle in pool.” You replied as you named off what you could.

Joel nodded to your response, “Do you sing too?” You asked him and again, he nodded.

“Yeah. I do. If I didn’t get married so young I wanted to do what you were doing. Had a love for music when I was a boy.” He said and he spun you around.

When you were back against his body, you smiled. “Maybe we can sing a song up there together. Open mic nights are on Saturdays.” You suggested and he nodded.

“I’d like that.”

His eyes were a dark brown, and the neon light illuminated the small smile lines on his face. He must smile a lot, that’s a good sign. The feeling of his calloused hands against yours made your heart flutter, and then his other hand fell from your shoulder to your waist. You had just met this man, and somehow, he made you feel safe against his touch.

Joel felt it too- it was like an electrical shock that went from his hand all the way to his heart. You kept looking down at your feet, it was a nervous reaction that you felt underneath his gaze. Your black Stetson covered a majority of your face, and Joel took his hand and gently lifted your chin upward. He felt like being risky and brave tonight.

“Don’t be shy now.” He said as he brought you closer into his body.

You stared up into his eyes and felt like your heart was going to explode out of your chest. Now your chest was flush against his, and he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. He spun you around, and pulled you back into his body.

Joel never did these sort of things; he never danced so intimately with someone he just met. But you were different and he could feel that, you had charmed him all the way to the dance floor.

The two of you had stopped dancing and were staring into each other’s eyes. The other people on the dance floor maneuvered around the two of you:

This feeling that I'm feeling right now

Like it's been forever, chasing it down

Slowly, he removed your stetson, and hovered his lips over yours. Joel was testing the waters, but you were too eager. Standing on your tip toes, you pressed a kiss to Joel’s lips. They were softer than they had appeared, and his hands wrapped around your waist, he held your hat firmly against you.

His lips moved quickly against yours, and all you could do was smile in the kiss. This was all too new for you- kissing a man you had just barely met, and genuinely enjoying every second of it. Was it bad to be falling for someone this quickly?

Give me something that burns like her

Something that burns like her.

When you pulled away from him, you were breathless. He too, was trying to catch his breath, and out of nervousness, your bit your bottom lip. “I’m sorry- I just got caught up in the moment.” You said, and Joel rubbed the back of his neck.

“Don’t be- I uh. I enjoyed it. Haven’t felt that way in a long time.” He said and he handed you your hat. You ran your fingers over the felt on the brim of the hat. “I don’t do this often, and I’m never this forward, but do you want to go someplace else, and just talk?” You questioned, and Joel smiled.

“I would like that.” He said and you put your stetson back on.

“Awesome. Uh, let me go get my guitar and we can go.” You left Joel behind, and you could feel his gaze on your figure. This made you give your hips a little more sway.

Tommy watched this all unravel from a distance, and when he knew you were out of view, he walked over to his brother. “I told you she was something else. She’s a good person, Joel. Young, yes, but the world hasn’t been too kind to her.”

Joel looked at his brother and gave him a small smile. “I thought you two would hit it off, I just didn’t think you’d kiss her so soon.” Tommy said with a chuckle, and he clapped Joel’s back.

Joel watched as you placed your guitar back in the case. He never considered getting into another relationship- hook ups were okay, but his main focus was Sarah.

He never had time for these little excursions that Tommy would try to plan. But tonight, he wanted to get to know you more. When he seen you on that stage, he was drawn to you like a moth is drawn to a flame. The question that remained in the back of his mind was: are you going to burn him too?

His marriage didn’t last, so would this go any further? He didn’t have the time to think any more about the what ifs, because you were already coming back to him. Who would’ve thought this would be the best night of his life before the world went to hell in a handbasket.

_______

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Especially you, anonymous. This will be a three part story, I think. Let me know what you guys thought! Not proof read, just skimmed through.

Comments, likes, and reblog are always appreciated!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut

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egrets-not-regrets · 6 months ago

Text

Guesthouse of the (Lost) Astartes: To Render Aid (1)

Erriox and Lenora provide aid to a lost chaos space marine and his young bonded human.

Dialogue spoken in Gothic are bolded and italicized.

Author's Note: this is part 1 of the multi-part story. Here is Part 2, Part 3. and Part 4.

This fic is turning out to be very long, so I've divided it into two parts. It focuses on the relationship of a chaos space marine who is intensely bonded to his human and touches upon the issue with Black Templars bonding with humans.

Erriox is a responsible space marine and does responsible things. And no, he definitely does not do it for his bonded human's approval.

Thank you @squishyowl for making the fic dividers!

OCs: Lenora; Erriox (Iron Warrior); Ben; Malaran Blackspike (Black Legion)

Tagged: @kit-williams, @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @shadowfirecat, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan,

@sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Lenora had a sense that something was wrong just as Erriox barged into the house.

“Bring blankets and a medi-pack. He has an injured child.” He told her as he urged whoever he was leading to come inside the house. She swore and immediately went to her linen closet, drawing out a few bath towels and blankets, and set them onto the couch and one of the blankets on the ground. Erriox had already pushed away the coffee table to make more room. Lenora then went to get the first aid kit from her backpack. The other space marine stood there, unsure and wary of all the activity, only holding his bundled charge tighter against his armour.

When Lenora returned, she finally got a proper look at the new ‘guests’. The space marine was a chaos marine, she recognized the symbolism of the eight-pointed star with the red eye that decorated his worn and battered armour. He looked like he had seen better days and had good reasons to be wary. She worried about the human he carried mostly. It was still in the thick of winter, and very likely this person would be suffering from some degree of hypothermia. Even bundled in that blanket or cape, it was not enough to insulate from this biting cold for long.

“We should call and get them to a hospital.” She said to Erriox, about to pull out her phone.

“NO!” the chaos marine roared, about to leap forward to stop her. He didn’t know what she was saying, but he saw the phone that she was reaching for. Erriox snarled back, immediately shoving Lenora behind himself. Movement coming from the bundle in the chaos marine’s arms and a disconnected whine caught all their attention.

“Or-? Wha- s- wha- s-m going on?” The person in his arms was young, teen or a bit older perhaps, by the way they sounded. Lenora let out a breath of relief. Good. At least they were awake, somewhat.

She called out to them, slowly moving out from behind her Iron Warrior, his hand still preventing her from moving too far forward, “Hey buddy, I’m Lenora and this is my Astartes, Erriox. You’re at my house. Erriox brought you guys here to get you help. Do you understand me?”

The teen mumbled, “S… cold…”

“I know hun, we’re gonna take care of you. What’s your name?” She cooed comfortingly.

“Ben.”

“Okay, Ben. I’m going to have these guys help warm you up okay?

“K.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked.

“Ssso c-c-cold.” Even Lenora could hear Ben’s teeth chatter without enhanced hearing. The chaos marine let out a worried gruff “Ben?”

She turned to Erriox, her voice stern and serious, “I’ll need you to translate for me. One, Tell him I will need to touch Ben to check for injuries. Two, Ben needs warmth immediately and you space marines are like giant heaters. Skin to skin heat would warm them up the quickest. Either you or he needs to take off the top half of your armour, gauntlets too, and put the child’s back against your chest. Hold his hands in yours to warm up his fingers. ”

The Iron Warrior translated what she said to his chaos-touched brethren. Lenora could only understand bits and pieces of their conversation, but it was clear that the chaos space marine did not like what was being asked, especially about being unarmored. She frowned, tapping on Erriox’s armour to get his attention, “I hate to put you in such a vulnerable position, but could you do it? Once I get the heating pad working, we can use that instead. We shouldn’t be wasting any more time.”

Her Astartes glanced at her and after some brief but terse words to the chaos space marine, took off the top half of his armour, gauntlets and all, exposing his bodysuit. He kept his weapons within short reach though. Erriox then quickly snatched the young human from the other marine, and settled on the floor. The teen sat securely in his lap unwrapped from the cape, back against his chest, their hands clasped in his.

“Ben, this is going to be a bit weird, but I’m going to lift the back of your shirt so you have more skin contact with Erriox. That’ll warm you up faster, alright?” Lenora said as she lifted the back of Ben’s shirt before pushing him against her Astartes again, trying hard to ignore the chaos marine’s intense stare.

She covered the teen with the cape again, then knelt in front of them and asked, “Ben, could you let me take off your shoes?”

Ben only nodded, wincing slightly at the friction of his shoes being pulled off his feet. Lenora frowned, worried at the state of the teen’s extremities. They’re cold and looked red. She looked at him, “Could you wiggle your toes for me?”

He did as asked, his toes wiggling slightly.

“How do your toes feel?”

“Kind of tingly.”

She then pinched each of his toes, confirming that the teen was able to feel, except for some numbness.

Lenora smiled slightly, the frostnip on Ben’s toes wasn’t as serious as she thought. That’s a good sign.

“Luckily it’s just frostnip and not frostbite.” She told him, “I’ll give you heated socks to warm your toes and bring back some feeling to them. Your toes might start feeling like they’re on pins and needles for a little bit. Ok?”

Ben nodded.

“Can I see your hands?” She requested, “How are they feeling?”

The Iron Warrior released his hands so Lenora could check the child’s hands. Ben nodded, confirming that he could feel his fingers again.

Erriox watched in silence as his bonded patiently tended to their young charge, glancing at the chaos marine occasionally. His dear gentle Lenora, still admirably calm despite the chaos marine’s constant glare. She had a penchant for making those around feel safe and comfortable. Most people, Erriox thought, with the exception of that irritated chaos marine.

He wasn’t well-versed with all future successor chapters of the original legions as he arrived in Ancient Terra before Horus’ betrayal occurred. To be honest, he still hadn’t quite processed that fully. Nonetheless, he recognized the chaos marine’s armour to be from the Black Legion. His hand itched for his bolter at his waist under the chaos marine’s hard stare made, but luckily or unluckily, they were preoccupied with warming up the youngling. If his Black Legion cousin had such a hard time having them care for his charge, maybe he should doff his own armour and do it himself.

What had even possessed him to let this pair into their home, potentially endangering both of him and Lenora? Granted, the pair were in such dire straits at the time. Any longer out in that freezing weather would have exponentially worsened the youngling’s condition, and at worst, would have resulted in his death. I’ve gone soft, Erriox thought sourly. The slight upside was that the boy was now at least out of danger and the Black Legionnaire had yet to make a move to attack them. Though the Iron Warrior wouldn’t hesitate to use the youngling against his cousin if that came to pass.

Erriox could feel the youngling’s body temperature slowly increase and his heartbeat regulating back to its normal rhythm and strength. The child sighed in comfort as his posture sagged against his body, his breaths slowly evening out as drowsiness set in. He looked at Lenora and she smiled at him appreciatively.

“Thank you.” She murmured to him, giving him a reassuring squeeze on his arm as she pulled up another blanket to cover the boy. Erriox nodded curtly in acknowledgment, sitting straighter, holding the youngling securely against himself.

She patted the teen’s shoulder to wake him up, “Hey Ben, I’m going to get you a heating pad to hang on to and some heated socks. Do you also want some hot chocolate?”

“Please.”

Lenora smiled, “Alright. I’m sure we could all use some.”

She gave Erriox another thankful squeeze on his shoulder before going to get the heating pad and other items to further warm their temporary ward. Only to hear armour clanking and a muffled conversation while she looked for said items. Her brows furrowed with concern, wondering what was going on, though confident that Erriox had a good handle on that situation.

Malaran Blackspike closely observed the interaction between the Iron Warrior and his human tending to his own charge. He glared at them. How dare that Iron Warrior chastise him, short of calling him a coward, for not wanting to disarm himself in case of potential attackers. He didn’t know half of what they went through! And as if he trusted them!

Then he had the audacity to grab his youngling right out of his hands? Malaran’s fists were balled tight, holding himself back from drawing his weapon right there to fight the Iron Warrior. He knew they were trying to help his youngling, but he resented his lack of control and knowledge of the situation. They’re not here to steal his boy away like all the others, he had to remind himself.

To be fair, Malaran didn’t even understand why or how he got so attached to this youngling. Ben. Ben was this child’s name. As soon as he saw him, some wall in him broke. Some instinct in himself screamed to protect this boy. He must protect his child.

He couldn’t explain it. Perhaps they were kindred spirits, both as lost in this world as the other. Ben had been wandering, lost and confused, when he first found him after all. The boy was lucky that he found him first, rather than his less than human-friendly brethren. Though it felt like a constant struggle from the very start. First, fighting off and escaping his brethren, then coming to blows with the family’s Black Templar before finally escaping with his charge in tow, then fighting through and narrowly escaping a roaming group of ‘ferals’ that tried ambushing them one night.

He should’ve left his charge back at his family’s home. Ben would’ve been unhappy, yes, but he was safe there. Yet here they are, seeking sanctuary in a strange woman’s house after being found by some Iron Warrior. He counted himself lucky, though his pride would not let him admit it out loud. Ben was freezing to death and he was faced with an enemy he could not fight. He did not know where to go, where he could find sufficient shelter for him and his bonded little one. A strange kind of anxiety writhed in his gut.

This was all confusing and contradictory! A part of him felt a sliver of disgust watching how intimately and familiar they all interacted with each other, yet another part of himself warred with that thought. He should also be in that picture. He should be the one taking care of his young charge. Why wasn’t he the one warming him? He should get his youngling back.

“Iron Warrior, give me back the boy.” Malaran demanded.

“Why?”

“I will tend to him. He is my bonded human after all.”

Erriox eyed him with indifference, still cradling Ben who now dozed off against him, “Take your armour off. Your child still requires warmth.”

Malaran grumbled with frustration at being told what to do, but nonetheless started to remove his armour. He was not going to let this iron canid steal his youngling away so quickly after all they went through. The helmet dropped with a resounding clank (Lenora winced when she heard that. That one’s going to dent her floor.), followed by his gauntlets, and various pieces of his armour until his upper torso was devoid of it. “There. Now return my boy to me.” He demanded.

Erriox gently pushed up the sleepy teen, who groaned in complaint, “Ben. Wake up. Go back to… my cousin.” He turned to Malaran, “What is your name?”

“It is not your business to know.” The chaos warrior sneered, now seated on the couch, hastily bundling Ben into himself like a broody hen.

Erriox snorted derisively, “It matters not to me. Does your bonded even know your name?”

Malaran growled, “I was gifted my name from the boy. You know nothing of the trials we went through.”

“Yes, and you know nothing of us either. Yet here we are, saving your bonded from freezing to death. I am asking for your name, not your secrets. Unless you prefer I make up a name for you.” Erriox replied with a sarcasm-laced sneer. Frankly, he was getting sick of this Black Legionnaire’s belligerent attitude.

Reluctantly, Malaran grumbled out his name.

Lenora came back to the sight of both the Black Legionnaire and her Iron Warrior, each returned to sitting on a couch, each stewing in their own feelings. The coffee table was back in its original place. Ben, all bundled and tucked under the chaos space marine’s chin.

She turned to Erriox in question; his only answer was a shrug and, “He wanted his boy back.”

Perhaps it was best for Ben to be with his chaos Astartes; he certainly cares for Ben very fiercely, Lenora thought. She plugged the heating pad to an extension cord, immediately feeling heat emanating from the pad. She set the power to “low” before handing it along with the pair of her heated socks to Ben, pointedly ignoring the tensing muscles in the chaos marine’s arms.

“It’s to help you keep warm. But if you feel it’s getting too hot, feel free to turn it off and put it aside.” She advised the teen. Ben accepted the heating pad and put on the socks with some finangling, being slightly hindered by his chaos space marine. Lenora looked at the pair with quiet approval before turning to get the hot chocolate ready. Erriox stood up, “Do you need assistance?”

She looked to her bonded, “I could use the company.”

The Iron Warrior went to his human’s side, pulling out the canister of hot chocolate powder while she filled the kettle.

“How far do you want to aid them?” He asked quietly as they waited for the water to boil.

Lenora sighed, looking out into the winter landscape, “Enough so we can find out what’s going on and be able to send them to where they can get more help.” She murmured back, her brows furrowed in worry, “But I am afraid this is either a kidnapping and I’m missing the signs or this is something more complicated.”

She then let out a short huff with a grin of resignation, “I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Erriox laid his hand against the small of her back and assured her with a wry grin of his own, “We’ll see this to the end together.” She smiled back.

As they waited, Lenora leaned into his side; something she did out of habit when they cooked together, but right now needing his presence to ground herself from the stressful atmosphere. Erriox automatically pulled her in securely against himself, his arm wrapped protectively around her. Malaran did not miss that gesture.

It didn’t take long before Lenora and Erriox were back with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The chaos space marine growled at her as she made to pass a mug to Ben. She shot him an annoyed look, finally fed up with his suspicions, “Why would I kill Ben after all the effort to save him? That is stupid!” She said in frustration.

The marine was gob-smacked, her little statement in gothic catching him off-guard. Ben looked at her in awe. Erriox tensed, ready to leap to her defence should the Black Legionnaire decide to take action. Lenora only sighed and turned to Ben, “Sorry bud, I will leave the hot chocolate on the coffee table for you two to take it, ok? The last thing I need is for hot chocolate to spill on you.”

A loud, threatening growl erupted from the chaos marine’s chest, his suspicions at an all time high. How dare they hide the fact that she knew Gothic! Was she a spy? Why wasn’t the Iron Warrior concerned?

“How much did you understand?!”

Lenora glared back, not backing down, “Enough to know you were unhappy to take off your armour.”

“Are you calling me a coward?!” Malaran tensed, about to roll Ben off of him to get up from the couch.

Lenora was alarmed by his remark, “What are—? No!”

Erriox immediately pulled her back to his side on the other couch, putting himself between the Black Legionnaire and his bonded once more, “Think carefully about your next actions, cousin.” he growled lowly, threat and promise carried in his voice.

“Stop! Orca! Stop!” Ben pleaded, clutching to him tightly, “Please!”

Thankfully, the chaos marine backed down at his bonded child’s request.

Lenora turned to the boy, “Orca? Did you give him that name?” She knew the chaos space marine definitely had another name.

“Yeah! You should see how awesome and strong he is! He fought off all those other space marines all by himself!” Whether or not those other space marines were trying to rescue Ben or hurt him remained the question, Lenora wondered. It would be concerning if “Orca” had kidnapped Ben from his family though.

“I see…” Lenora decided to change the subject, if only to dissipate some of the tension in the room, “Are you a fan of marine documentaries?”

“Yeah! They are the best!” Ben perked up, glad that there was finally a topic he could talk about.

Lenora smiled kindly, “Orca is a good name. Don’t they hunt in family pods though?” she asked

The teen nodded, “They normally do, but there’s some orcas that can kill a great white shark all on their own!”

Malaran looked on with confusion upon hearing his given name while his bonded youngling animatedly chatted with the Iron Warrior’s human. He turned to the other Astartes, “What are they talking about?”

“Sea creatures and the merit of your given name. She said your boy gave you a good name.”

Malaran snorted, but he was satisfied. Of course his bonded would give him a good name! And name him after some sort of sea creature. He remembered seeing the few books that Ben had, contained pictures of water beasts, though he couldn’t understand anything of what was written. He felt the boy reach out for the drinks on the table. He crooned with concern and held Ben back.

Erriox sighed, “Let your boy have the drink. It is not poisoned if that is what you are concerned with. He needs to replenish his fluids.”

The Black Legionnaire relented and loosened his grip. Ben leaned forward and grabbed both mugs, passing one to him with a big smile, “Here! You should have one too.”

A warm feeling grew in his chest, similar to when Ben first led him home and gave him his name; remembering how the child tried to stuff him in his closet to hide him from his paternal parental figure. Malaran chuckled at the memory and looked at Ben fondly before taking the offered mug and patted his head. Ben giggled before snuggling back against his body again. The wall in him broke open further, letting the warmth strengthen his bond with his youngling. Watching Ben drink his hot chocolate, he decided to take a sip as well. It was sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Malaran decided that he liked this drink.

Lenora watched the pair with fondness as both her and Erriox drank their share. She let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned into her Astartes. Erriox glanced at her in question, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand, “Thank you for taking them in. You did good.” She murmured.

His gaze softened as he squeezed her hand in return, “You’re welcome.”

“Miss…?” Ben’s unsure voice cut through the lull.

“Lenora is fine, no need for the ‘Miss’.” Lenora responded kindly, “You have a question?”

“Yeah, you asked if Orca was the name I gave him. Does that mean he has his own name too? Can he tell me his name?” The teen asked.

Lenora looked at the chaos space marine, “You’re bonded wants to know your name. Do you want to let him know?”

The Black Legionnaire mulled it over for a moment then patted Ben’s shoulder, getting his attention, “I am Malaran, but I want you to call me Orca. You gifted me a good name.” He‘d rather his youngling call him by his given name; outside of being quite attached to that name, it was also for Ben’s own safety, in case anyone else recognized it.

“Ben, his name is Malaran, but he prefers to be called Orca.” Lenora translated for the boy.

The teen perked up, “He likes my name?”

Lenora smiled, “He sure does.”

“Can you teach me to say something in Orca’s language?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Ben looked at his guardian briefly before looking back at Lenora and Erriox. “Thank you for staying with me. You are awesome. I want to be strong like you one day.”

Erriox chuckled, surely this will no doubt inflate the chaos marine’s ego. He put his hand on Lenora's leg signalling that he would take over, “Ben, repeat after me. Orca, thank you for staying with me. You are amazing. I want to be strong like you.”

Malaran hearts nearly burst when he heard that. Ben’s pronunciation was a bit off, but the meaning behind it was there, with truth and sincerity. This was definitely his youngling, his bond made the right choice. He will protect and cherish this one for as long as he lives, regardless of who or what gets in the way. His purr grew to a loud rumble as Ben laughed when he hugged him and ruffled his hair. Their heartfelt moment was unfortunately cut short when Erriox asked his Black Legion cousin, “How did you end up here?”

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #oc: erriox #oc: lenora #oc: ben #oc: malaran blackspike #iron warriors #black legion

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storiesofsvu · 2 years ago

Text

A Dangerous Game Ch 1

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, dirty talk, semi public sex, dom/sub situations, daddy kink. Here we go! this is officially the longest first ch of anything ive written so dont expect all future ch's to be this long LOL. italicized chunk is a flashback

You were no stranger to FBI buildings and while you had paid the occasional visit to the home office in Quantico you’d spent the last fifteen years of you career split between field offices in Seattle and Jacksonville. Hence the little bit of hesitancy as you pushed the button in the elevator, hoping that you’d remembered the directions to the BAU correctly. You had experience working with a few agents from this unit over the years, whether it was directly on a joint case or simply a round of emails or phone calls when things looked like they might potentially be the same unsub. You were grateful to finally have accepted an official spot on the team, swapping out your days sweltering in the Florida heat for some much more enjoyable weather and to be able to set up a home base you were planning on staying in for a long while.

The elevator dinged and you stepped out of it, letting out a quick sigh of relief realizing you were in the right place, you were all of two steps out of the elevator when a voice broke through your concentration.

“I feel like I know you.” A bubbly blonde greeted and you glanced up, your heard tilting at how familiar her voice sounded, “wait, sorry, I’m being ridiculous aren’t I?” She laughed, “I don’t feel like I know you, I do know you. I was reading up on your file yesterday.” She stuck her hand out, “Penelope Garcia.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, quickly taking and shaking her hand, “yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve had a few phone calls over the years. You’re the tech analyst, right?”

“Yes!” She turned toward the door, pulling it open, “you’re probably looking to check in with Prentiss, c’mon.”

A somewhat familiar ‘face’ so to speak to help get you where you wanted relaxed you as you moved through the bull pen. It was no different than any other FBI office, you may be the new kid to the team, but you were far from inexperienced and you felt your confidence surging up at that reminder. Clipping a gun to your hip every morning was nothing new, interrogating high risk criminals was a part of your daily routine as your morning coffee was, you had this in the bag, there was absolutely nothing to worry about. If you didn’t click with someone on the team, who cared? You just had to come in, do your job and go home, you could make friends elsewhere.

Infront of you Penelope came to a brief halt, knocking on a semi open office door before a voice murmured a response from within.

“I brought you a present.” The words came out of her mouth in a slight teasing lyrical melody, pulling a small chuckle from inside the office as the two of you entered, Penelope stepping aside to gesture between the two of you, “Agent Wilson, meet Unit Chief Emily Prentiss.”

Emily finally managed to glance up from the case file in front of her, moving to stand in the same moment that you stepped forward to extend you hand. The second you caught eye contact there was a lightning fast freeze over both of your features as the two of you realized the person across from you was indeed the person you’d been tangled in bedsheets with less than ten hours ago. Your hand slid into hers easily and you only hoped the heat in your cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt, your skin tingling in remembrance of how her hands felt other places on your body.

“Hi.” Emily greeted, finally able to shake out of it, glancing toward the clock on the wall “you’re uh… punctual. I wasn’t expecting you… for another half hour.”

“Figured I shouldn’t be late on the first day.” You replied with a small laugh, one that Garcia echoed, “uh.. Unit Chief.. that’s… impressive. Don’t see a lot of women in those positions across the bureau.” Garcia laughed again at your words, a grin on her cheeks as she swatted at Emily’s elbow.

“Please. Emily here’s not only our Unit Chief she’s also ran her own Interpol team in London. She is the definition of impressive.”

Yes, Emily Prentiss certainly was the definition of impressive. You’d learnt all about that last night, even if what you hadn’t learnt was her last name.

***

O’Shaughnessy’s Pub was exactly what you would call a dive bar. Main level equipped with a long bar mainly seated with regulars, classic tunes played from a juke box in the corner, the dinging noises from VLT’s or various games around the room along with the clacking of pool balls ricocheting off each other echoing through the room. It wasn’t particularly dingy, but it definitely wasn’t high class, mostly beer and cheap spirits, a few patrons here and there smoking, the rumble of conversation and the live music from the basement filling the air. You were still discovering your new home surroundings in Alexandria and weren’t exactly picky about atmosphere right now, you’d just wanted a couple of drinks and a nice order of chicken wings after unpacking the most important boxes all day.

You’d long since finished your meal, sipping on your third tequila soda when a cheer from a nearby pool table pulled your attention off the television behind the bar. Your eyes swept through the space, laughing to yourself over the boisterous way the men were acting over the pool win. Shaking your head you lifted your drink to your lips, taking another sip while your eyes returned to their original spot. Only thing was, that was when you saw her. The dark haired stunner of a woman sitting at the very opposite end of the bar. She seemed to be watching you, a sly grin on her face and you felt heat course through you, quickly ducking your gaze hopefully before she noticed you’d spotted her. It was only a few moments later that the bartender placed a fresh drink down in front of you, when you raised a brow to them, they simply nodded in the direction of the other woman who raised her own glass subtly to you before taking a sip of her own drink.

Emily had gotten there after you, surveying the crowd as she approached the bar. She wasn’t particularly out to find a conquest, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt after the stressful week she’d had. This definitely wasn’t her usual watering hole, relatively far from home, and certainly not anywhere anyone else from work would be, which is just what she wanted. The bar was mostly full of rowdy younger what she would call boys, and the regulars, casually chatting with servers and bartenders, alternating between games through the bar. She ordered her usual, slipping into a seat at the bar and only a few moments later her eyes landed on you. She’d never seen you there before and while you were relaxed, she could tell just by your body language this was likely your first night at O’Shaughnessy’s. You were attractive, no ring on your finger, perfectly in her preferred age range and by the way you were watching the tv behind the bar and not constantly on your phone she was pretty sure you weren’t meeting someone or waiting for a boyfriend. She watched for a moment, chuckling softly to herself at the way you immediately shifted your body away from a couple of the younger boys who approached the bar for a fresh round, you had zero interest in them, that was for sure. So she took her chance, flagging down the bartender to send you a fresh drink and couldn’t help but smirk at the way your cheeks flushed with surprise when it was delivered.

She gave you a bit to relax from the sudden intrusion, giving you the chance to settle your tab and disappear into the night in case she’d gotten the wrong impression. Instead you continued to sip at the drink, risking glances in her direction when you thought she wasn’t looking. When the bartender came around to ask if she wanted another drink she said she did, and tacked on another of whatever she had sent you, scooping up both and making her way around the bar.

The drink was placed down in front of you so quickly it nearly made you jump, your head shooting up to the warm body suddenly next to you and you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of the other woman directly beside you.

“Looked like you might need a refill.” She greeted with a grin and you practically melted at the sound of her voice as she extended her hand, “Emily.”

“Y/n.” You replied, accepting the handshake and feeling the heat surge through you from the touch of her hand, tingles moving rather south within your body, “and thank you.” You laughed gently, “kinda feel like I owe ya one now.”

Emily chuckled in response, leaning against the bar as she took a sip of her drink, her eyes sweeping through the bar, taking in which games were free.

“What’d’ya say to a round of Buck Hunter, loser buys the next round?” She raised a brow in your direction and you laughed, slipping off your bar stool.

“You’re on.”

Buck Hunter may have been a game of pretend shooting, but the same approaches still applied. Emily could have chosen pool or darts, but she figured her experience in the field was about to win her a bet, a free drink and hopefully a lot more than that. She would easily be able to coach you through it, guiding just the way to hold the gun and the best times to shoot, the perfect excuse to get up close and personal. Sure pool could have worked, but most people already knew how to play, not everyone knew how to properly shoot a gun.

You graciously let her go first, your eyes dragging across her body at the way her muscles flexed while she played. Small chit chat flowed between you, what brought you out tonight, small talk that preceded flirtation, little teases or jabs here and there, cheers and compliments from you each time she made a shot. She very confidently hit everything but one, smirking at you with a gleam in her eye as she passed you the toy gun for your round.

She let you take stance in front of the game and before you could even raise the gun her hands hit your hips from behind, gently guiding you into the best spot to start in. You felt your breath catch in your throat as one of her hands trailed up your back, shifting one of your arms so you were positioned into what she thought was best. You blamed how close she was to you for missing the first shot before reassessing and hitting the next three while she chuckled softly, her breath hot on the skin of your neck.

“Nice shot.”

“Never said it was my first rodeo.” You teased back.

“You holding out on me?” Her fingers pinched gently at your hip and your breath hitched, “watch the left side.” She nudged at your body and you quickly refocussed, shooting right in time to take the virtual deer down, “good girl.”

The praise fumbled you, nearly missing the next shot and while you couldn’t hear her laugh over the noise of the bar you felt the sharp exhale of breath on your neck as she did so. You reclaimed your competency by taking down the next three kills with one shot each, focussing on the game rather than the feeling of her hand ghosting up and down your spine. It felt like with each shot she was inching closer to you, words and hands teasing you to the point of no return, fire surging between the two of you in a haze of passion and lust. You took the last three shots perfectly with no hesitation and Emily’s hand patted at your ass in congratulations,

“Someone’s a good shot.” She murmured.

“Call it beginners luck.” Placing the gun down in its holder you were about to turn around when her hands found your hips again, resting against your body and you could feel the heat from them dancing across your skin. Your focus was completely broken a second later when her lips met your bare neck and you did your best to hold back the gasp, your eyes nearly fluttering shut as she bit you gently. “Em…” you breathed out, only loud enough for her to hear, “not here….”

“Well… follow me.” She murmured, nipping at your earlobe before sneaking through the crowd and you followed her down the back hallway that lead to the bathrooms, which was where you figured she was leading you.

Instead she glanced up and down the hallway quickly, trying a door on the left side of the hall to find it open, dragging you inside before flicking it locked. You let out a quiet yelp, not that it would’ve mattered, the noise from the bar overpowered basically anything that would come out of the storage room. Within an instant she had you backed into the wall, a hand tilting your chin up to her face,

“Colour princess?”

“Green…. Oh so very green.” You replied breathlessly and she chuckled.

“Good girl.”

Once she had your confirmed consent her lips were on you in a bruising kiss, moving with fire against yours as she pinned you into the wall. Your hands looped around her shoulders, pulling her closer to you as the kiss deepened. She dared to run her tongue along the seam of your lips, planting her knee against the wall between your legs and you let out a small moan, accepting her tongue into your mouth. There was absolutely no doubt who was in charge right now and you were not complaining in the slightest. One of her hands wrapped around the back of your head, tangling into the loose locks of your hair while the other one clutched at your hip. Her thigh suddenly surged upwards and you broke the kiss with a gasp, the muscle flexing just right against your clit through the thin pants you had on.

“That’s it…” Emily chuckled darkly, her lips ghosting down the column of your neck, “ride daddy’s thigh like a good girl.” She husked into your ear, the hand on your hip moving you to get the best friction, guiding you to continue rolling your hips.

“Oh god…” You moaned out both at the sensation and the title she’d used, leaning more of your weight onto her as you continued to ride her thigh.

Her mouth made home in the crook of your neck, sucking, kissing and biting at the supple skin, pulsing pleasure through your entire body. You could feel yourself tingling, pussy clenching around nothing as your clit brushed over her thigh over and over again, certain that you were ruining your panties. She nudged you again,

“Harder, I know you want to angel, let yourself go.”

You let out a little whine, biting your lip as you ground down harder onto her, gasping as her hands ghosted up your sides, squeezing at your tits through your shirt. Fingers pinched at your nipples while she chuckled at the way you’d picked up your speed and she shoved her thigh harder against your clothed cunt.

“Head up.” She tilted your chin up, your head falling back against the wall, “let daddy see you come.”

“Oh god… oh fuck!” You cried out, your body shivering as the pleasure shot through you, thighs clenching around Emily’s leg and she chuckled darkly, a hand caressing down your cheek.

“That’s it.” She cooed, “good girl.” She waited a moment, watching the way your chest heaved before she pressed a kiss to your lips, “now what do you say we get out of here?”

“My place is only a few blocks away..”

The two of you barrelled through your front door, doing your best not to trip over moving boxes or piles of clutter as you made your way upstairs. Emily was quick to tear your clothes off, she had you completely naked and herself down to her underwear by the time you were in the bedroom. Her hand snuck between your legs, cupping at your cunt and she smirked down at you.

“Figures you’re this soaked already.” The tips of her fingers slid through your folds, teasing you, drawing more of your wetness out before a digit sunk in and you let out a breathy gasp.

“More… please.” You glanced up at her with begging eyes and she smirked, doing what you’d asked and sliding a second finger into your dripping pussy. “Fuck…” She pumped a few times, her fingers curling and scissoring within you, smiling when she hit that special spot and your knees nearly buckled.

“You have a strap?”

“Beside table.” You moaned and she pulled her fingers from you, making sure you were watching before she sucked them into her mouth, licking them clean and moaning over the taste of you.

“Get on the bed. You’re gonna be daddy’s good girl, right angel?”

“Yes.” You nodded furiously, scrambling onto the bed while she moved around it, collecting the strap and a bottle of lube from the bedside table, swiftly pulling it on, adjusting it to her liking before she dropped her bra to the floor and climbed onto the bed.

“Look at you…” she practically purred, fingers trailing up your legs as she settled between them, “such a pretty girl.”

Your body tingled under her touch, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of her bare and strapped in front of you. One of her hands teased at you while the other popped open the bottle of lube, smearing it around the toy. She leant over you, kissing you deeply while she began to tease you with the tip of her cock, rubbing it up and down between your folds, earning whines and whimpers from you that she swallowed through the kiss. Her cock rubbed up against your clit and you broke the kiss with a gasp, your hands clutching at her body as you started to beg.

“Please… oh god please fuck me daddy.”

“Alright angel.” She murmured, guiding the tip of her cock into you and thrusting until she was fully wrapped in your warmth and you let out a very satisfied moan.

“Fuck…”

“That feel good?”

“So fucking good…”

Your words were lost to moans and whines almost instantly as Emily began to plunge into you. Your skin was on fire, pussy fluttering with each thrust of her cock, nails digging into her skin as you clawed at her to be impossibly close to you. Her lips met yours again in a breathless kiss, teeth nipping at your already swollen lips as she continued to fuck you.

“More! Please!”

The words slipped from your lips before you even realized and Emily chuckled again, pulling out just long enough to flip you onto your stomach, pulling you up on your knees as she lined the toy back up with your drenched cunt. When she slid back into you she was not gentle, setting the bruising pace she knew you were begging for, your face buried in the pillows as you moaned and whined. One of your hands shot back to her body, nails scratching at her thigh as you began to shudder underneath her. Pleasure was coursing through you like it never had before, your entire body tingling and sparking as her cock dragged passed your walls. Emily was fucking you like no one else ever had and it was all you ever wanted in your life.

“So… so fucking.. uh.. fuck.. good.” You managed out and Emily smirked again, a hand wrapping around your torso she pulled you flush to her, nipping at your earlobe as her hand snuck up your body, pausing around your collarbone before she shifted it up to your throat, pausing once again.

“Colour angel?” Her breath was jagged, split up by each thrust of her hips as she continued to fuck you, whines leaving your lips with each pump.

“Green! Oh fuck green!”

Emily’s fingers squeezed at the side of your throat right as she fucked harder into your needy cunt, two of her fingers suddenly at your lips. You opened your mouth, eagerly accepting them, thinking it was her trying to make you be quiet. Instead her spit slicked fingers trailed down your body until she found your clit, rubbing furiously in time with each thrust of her cock and you were shaking in her arms.

“You’re so close baby, I know it. Let go for daddy.” She husked into your ear, biting at your neck again, “come on my cock…”

Her praise sent you over the edge, a loud cry leaving your lips as pleasure rocked through your body and you dropped down onto the bed, shuddering into the pillows. Emily smirked, her hands softly ghosting up your sides as she thrusted into you a few more times before gently slipping out of you, tossing the toy to the side.

“Holy fuck.” You let out a small laugh, your eyes already fluttering shut as you turned to glance at her, wicked grin on her face while she let you settle in her arms.

The last thing you remembered was catching your breath.

***

Somehow your first day at the BAU was a slow day, which you were honestly thankful for. You were able to spend the day going through old case files, reading up on the type of things they dealt with and getting to know the team. You spent hours pouring over their files, wanting to know as much as you could and to be as prepared as possible for your first case, you knew you wanted to keep this job and how your first open case went would determine that. You knew that no matter what, you’d worked your ass off to get into this department, you were meant to be here and now was your time to prove that.

It was past the usual punch our hour, everyone on the team had already gone home. But every time Emily looked up from her desk she saw you buried in another case file. Part of her cursed herself for not closing her office door but she’d sworn the whole ‘my door is always open’ thing was a literal thing when it came to her. She hadn’t done it on purpose, she’d just assigned you to an empty desk. It wasn’t until hours later she realized said empty desk was in direct eyeline of her own up in her office and now she couldn’t get the image of bending you over her desk out of her mind.

She tried to shake out of it, waiting for you to finally leave the office but you pulled yet another case file from the box beside you. You were committed, she had to give you that. You had both your laptop and a notebook open next to you, taking notes to remember and looking things up on the database that further intrigued you.

She was now certain that you weren’t about to leave anytime soon so she let out a soft sigh, beginning to pack up her things. She slid her blazer back on and finally locked her office, making her way through the bull pen to your desk and it wasn’t until she spoke you even looked up.

“You know, you don’t have to put in overtime just to be noticed, your resume did that on its own.”

“Jesus.” You jumped, “I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

“If I’m leaving, it’s safe to say you should be gone.”

“I dunno, someone wise once told me you should never leave before your boss.” You basically grinned up at her and as much as she appreciated the tease the word ‘boss’ would ring in her ears forever, knowing that things had to change.

“I feel like that doesn’t really apply here.” Emily laughed softly, leaning against the side of your desk and you finally flipped the case file closed, tossing it into the box it had come from. “What do you think about this placement so far?” She was surprised when her question was met with a small laugh from you before you looked up at her.

“We really don’t need to do this.”

“What?” her brow furrowed.

“Talk about the elephant in the room.” You huffed, pushing back your chair as you started to gather your things, “you left long before I even had a chance to wake up this morning. I never thought I’d see you again. This is all just some… weird fluke.”

“So…” she glanced around the bull pen to make sure you were both alone, “you’re okay… pretending this never happened?”

“You’re my boss now.” You nodded, “whoever I met in that dive bar, not a member of the FBI. Clean slate.” You held your hand up in defeat as you smiled softly, “goodnight Agent Prentiss.”

“Night Wilson.”

_______

@svulife-rll @ssa-sapphic @mickey-gomez @clarawatson @yesterdaysgone @hbkpop @cabotfan422 @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @melindawarnersgf @itisdoctortoyousir @emilyprentiss4life @andreasvu @softgamerking @httpjupiterbby @somethingimaginative17 @temilyrights @alexxavicry @mysticfalls01 @anya-casablanca @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @aliensaurusrex @alcabots @7thavenger @ladysc @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @thegrantwater @leftoverenvy @kades95 @disneyfan624 @dextur @m00nkn1ghts @gamma-ray-bursts @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @bookpillows @daffodil-heart @msvenablesbitch @its-soph-xx @going-gray @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @borg-queer @dead-of-niight

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfic #a dangerous game

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cloudygreece · 3 months ago

Text

With the time we have left together

Pairings| mute!Fem!readerxpostwar!Giyuu

READING TYPE| ANGST~some fluff (no happy ending) POV: 3rd person Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS| You finally get the life that you had always deserved. Unfortunately it will only last for 4 years. The mark of thr slayer slowly draining the life from your soul and body as you draw nearer to your impending doom, however you get to spend what little time you have left with the people you love.

CW! Themes of pregnancy, childbirth and death are present in this writing! (Its also pretty cringy, I wrote this at 2am)

A/N: just to clarify, y/n became mute due to an injury that was inflicted on her during the fight with muzan, one of her two vocal strips were severely damaged causing her to lose her ability to speak. Yes she did learn sign language after healing. (Italicized texts means y/n is signing) Y/N was a Hashira, there are also mentions of a Tsuguko (an apprentice of a Hashira) she will be present throughout the whole story (please give them a name if you haven't made one. You can use mine if u can't figure one out :D ~ Hanami Ito <3). Giyuu is a bit older than you! However the time of death due to the slayer mark never specified how long after turning 25 until they die.

Word count 1.5k

Key

(Y/n)-Your name

(T/n)-Tsuguko name

(B/s)-Breathing Style

⋆｡°·☁︎Hope you enjoy☁︎·°｡⋆

It was unfortunate. Her romance with her one true love started off so much later than she expected. By the time they were married, they both had only a year or two left; that was the price of the mark. The mark that both of them used to defeat the demon lord four years ago...

Two months have passed... ...and the former (B/s) Hashira is still healing. However, with her vocal cords and her breathing being weak, she could never explore the world outside of Japan. All she could do was stay at her shared home with her former Tsuguko (T/n) and Giyuu Tomioka, the former water Hashira that she once fought the demon lord head-to-head with.

It was difficult at first for all of them. None of them were able to communicate with (Y/n) about her thoughts, wants, and needs. Any noise she could make sounded like gurgled croaks and strained whispers, too soft or incoherent for anyone to understand. She had to learn sign language, and so did the others if they wanted to know what she was saying. Tirelessly, they all learned together; it was a good thing she didn't lose her hearing as well. Tomioka, with only one hand, felt relieved that (Y/n) didn't get injured even more. As time grew on, they became fluent in sign language, being able to interpret her words to others through the flow and movement of her hands.

Five months passed after the war ended... ...(Y/n), with nothing else to do, started to take an interest in baking. She would always find herself giving the sweets that she made to the last remaining slayers, who were finishing up their final recoveries. The three of them realized that the former (B/s) Hashira had a talent for cooking and baking.

With the money she and the other two had saved, they all opened up a bakery. They produce delicious breads and desserts. The trio had to spend countless nights trying to find the perfect recipes for them to sell, even though it caused some sleepless nights. It was the perfect life compared to what they endured in the earlier years of their lives for the two who formed the mark. As time grew on, their bonds grew ever closer, making it seem as if they were a family. However, the two slayers who formed the mark were becoming a bit fonder of each other.

1 year and 8 months had passed after the war had ended... ...when (T/n) noticed that the two started to catch feelings for one another. (T/n) would find ways to excuse themselves from the presence of their master and her unrequited lover, always leaving them alone as they held somewhat silent conversations with each other about the most mundane things.

2 years and 6 months had passed after the war had ended... ...and they finally tied the knot.

"Finally! Took you guys long enough! When's the wedding?"

(Y/n)'s hands flew around excitedly as she signed

"Oh, probably in 5 months! We'll make the cake, and we know where we're going to do our wedding and who we're inviting. We just need to figure out the flowers, catering, and our attire."

(T/n) has never seen their master this happy before. They could almost hear the excitement bubbling from her throat as she tried to speak. The burn and slash marks on her neck, covered loosely by her scarf, reminded the apprentice of how little time the couple had left. They cast their eyes down to avoid eye contact between the two; they knew it was inevitable, and yet they were able to find love with one another.

Suddenly Tomiokas voice broke the silence

"(T/n) We both understand your concerns about our health, and we are very aware of how much time we have left. Don't stress yourself out too much."

His tone was very dull, but his eyes weren't. His dark blue eyes showed kindness and reassurance toward the young apprentice. As Giyuu spoke, his one arm wrapped around her (Y/n) side, pulling her body closer to him. They both starred at each other lovingly, before walking over to (T/n) to give them a nice, warm, reassuring hug.

2 years and 11 months had passed since the war had ended... ...The cherry blossoms fell as (Y/n) walked down the pathway towards Tomioka. Her eyes darted across the aisle as she saw those in the corps who she had fought together with to finally bring peace to their homes. All of them were smiling as they watched her with the man she always dreamed of, officially joining together as man and wife. Words (and signs) of joy, affermation, sadness, and hope were given to one another. Finally, they slowly approach each other to signify their unity with a kiss. As flower petals coated the air with a flurry of pinks, blues, and whites, everyone cheered as the pair finally had one another.

3 years and 6 months had passed since the war had ended... ...The couple both started to show signs of weakening. (Y/n) began to cough and wheeze if she did too much work, while Giyuu became much more lethargic and weaker. However, the small family was blessed, with another member soon joining them.

"(T/n), I'm pregnant!"

(T/n)'s jaws hung low in shock as they dropped the pan full of freshly baked bread. (Y/n) quickly scampered towards her to help pick up the food. She signed slowly as she tried to calm her apprentice down.

"I haven't told Giyuu yet. Let's surprise him!"

The woman's face brightened the whole room as the two of them baked a small cake with the Kanji saying 'omedetou'. After closing down the shop, (T/n) called over Giyuu as the two showed him the cake.

"Huh? Why are you guys saying congratulations? Who are we Congratulating..??"

He looked at the cake bewildered, before he slowly looked up at (Y/n).

"Are you.."

She nodded eagerly before she was swooped up by her husband. Even with one arm and his strength weakening, he was still able to pick her up so easily. Happy giggles erupted from the mute woman. It was hoarse, but...she hasn't laughed in such a long time. It still sounded like how it used to. The sight of hearing her laugh after 3 years couldn't help but draw out tears in (T/n) and Giyuu. After a few minutes, everyone was bawling their eyes out.

I wish this happiness could last forever..

It's been 4 years and 3 month since the war ended..

A hoarse wail could be heard from the couple's room. (T/n) rushed ahead of Giyuu, who was struggling to walk in the direction of the cries of his wife. As they entered the room, (T/n) could see (Y/n) clutching the sheets of her bed, her knuckles turning white, and her hair disheveled as strands fell from her loose ponytail. The midwife next to her was coaching her through every step, calling over (T/n) to bring the towels that they had brought. Fear clouds the apprentice's eyes as they see their mentor's head fall back onto her pillow, her breathing shallow as she looks at her apprentice with tearful eyes. Her mouth slowly opened through hastened breaths.

"Today's.. my....birthday...."

She croaked out. Suddenly, Giyuu weakly enters the room. His footsteps were heavy as his knees fell onto the tatami mats next to his wife's mattress. Her hands fiercely wrap around his as she screams, pushing one final time before a small cry could be heard from around the room.

(T/n) just stood there. The realization hits them as they watch the baby being treated by one of the midwives. 'birthday..? Well, then that means she's...'

Their gaze reverts back to their mentor's body, her breath becoming more labored as the light in her eyes slowly starts to fade. Her hands gingerly passed by Giyuu's cheek as she smiled at him weakly. She mouthed something; (T/n) couldn't quite see it from where they were standing; in fact, they couldn't move at all; all they could do was watch as (Y/n) passed. Giyuu, now realizing what's happening, called one of the midwives frantically as they tried their best to resuscitate her.

'She turns 25 today..'

(T/n) already knew it was useless.

It's been 3 months.

There (T/n) stands in the rain, a baby strapped tightly against their body with a white cloth. The soft snore coming from the child brought warmth throughout their whole body as they stood in front of two graves.

A soft voice could be heard from behind.

"I'm sure Giyuu-san and (y/n)-san would be happy to see you taking care of their child."

Four other people slowly approached the apprentice and the baby. Tears streak down their faces as they place flowers on the graves. (T/n) sniffled and nodded as they turned towards them, their own eyes full of sadness as they watched the last remaining bloodline of the two former Hashira's being swaddled in the former tsuguko's arms.

"Thank you Tanjirou. I'm sure they both enjoyed what time they had left. Together."

Closing notes~ this kinda cringy :)

⋆｡°·☁︎requests are open☁︎·°｡⋆ ~Sincerely, Greece

#giyuu x reader #kny fanfic #giyuu x you #kny #kny giyuu #kny hashira #kny x reader #demon slayer #kny angst #angst #angst with a sad ending #angst and feels #angst and fluff #giyuu tomioka #tanjiro kamado #kny oc #reader insert #fem reader

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krinsbez · 7 months ago

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World building/Storybuilding: BattleTech+Pern

I said I would do it, and so here we go.

Pont the first: IIRC from *Dragonsdawn*, a one of the reasons that many of the original Pernese colonists were willing to leave their lives behind and try to make a go at down-teched pastoralism on a resource-poor planet out beyond the edges of settled space was because a big chunk of them were veterans of a brutal interstellar war. Also, because it was Admiral Benden's idea, and after the leadership he showed during said war, they were willing to follow him anywhere.

Well, that sounds familiar. So the original colonists being a segment of the Exodus Fleet that misjumped to ~2,000 years into the past somewhere in the Deep Periphery makes sense. And really, who but the SLDF is going to have a sapient supercomputer and the ability to turn small psychic flying lizards into Dragons? I'm gonna leave out the dolphins, though.

You are perhaps asking, wait, if you are leaving out the dolphins, why are you including AIVAS? Well, because I want to not just have Peen exist in BT, I want it to be RELEVANT, and since it's a single, resource-poor largely pre-industrial world, that means I need to give them as many advantages as possible, and an advanced AI with all the knowledge of the Star League goes a long way towards that goal. For the same reason I am considering having Yokohama be a WarShip. Although it's been sitting in orbit without maintenance for 2500 years, it probably isn't in fighting shape even before they used it to move the Red Star (can you do that with KF Drives, BTW?). I also considered that they have basically a Brian Cache at Landing, but again over 2500 years with no maintenance, and also that might be a bit much

Anyways. It's noted that the Dragonrider playbook was adapted from space fighter tactics, and AIVAS still recognized them as such in the Ninth Pass, so theoretically Dragonriders can be retrained as ASF pilots. Although, I am not sure that's needful: I vividly remember an illustration in The Dragonlover's Guide To Pern that show Ramoth as being roughly the same size as a jumbo jet. Ramoth is, of course, the biggest dragon ever, but there's no indication that she has gigantism, so one presumes the other Golds, while smaller, are of roughly similar size, that the Bronzes are only somewhat smaller than that, and the Browns only slightly smaller than that. Who knows about the Blues and Greens? But anyways, something that big dropping on your head out of *between* (stupid phone not letting me italicize on Tumblr) is going to ruin pretty much any Mech's day, even if they weren't also able to breathe fire or yoink you off to *between*, and maybe do other TK tricks.

Ok, so. As you might imagine by what I have said thus far, I am figuring that, on the Pern side of things, the planet is rediscovered during All The Weyrs of Pern, or perhaps slightly after if we leave out AIVAS deactivating itself. Not sure what's a good time on the BT side, or by who or how, and no idea what comes next.

Hence my asking y'all. Please help?

#Fanfic #Crossover #BattleTech #Pern #Dragonriders of Pern #BT #BattleTech Crossover #BattleTech Fanfic #Pern Crossover #Pern Fanfic #Storybuilding #Worldbuilding #Random Thoughts #A Request

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chocosvt · 3 months ago

Text

HER | part four.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here we goo. part four :o i can't believe it's already the fourth part!! i guess the last chapter ended on somewhat of a cliffhanger so may this quench your curiosity! but, beyond that...

this part has a punch of its own... dotdotdot...

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

Wonwoo was lucky to discover an empty, spare guest bedroom down an off-shooting hallway for you two to refuge in while the volcano settled upstairs. Furthermore, he was grateful that you had relaxed enough to be released from his straightjacket arms, and even more grateful the room was quiet. The confrontation had shot his nerves. His hands were still trembling. As you took a seat on the bed, Wonwoo moved toward the window and stared into his darkly silhouetted reflection, taking paced breaths until everything stopped pressing down on him. He’d already had his fair share of stalling fights between Vernon and other drunks at the downtown bars.

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight.

“Fuck, I feel like absolute shit…” you groaned, and when Wonwoo turned around, he saw you crunched up, fingers digging at your hair while you sat at the very edge of the primly dressed bed.

“Should I get you anything?” He asked in a soft voice, coming over to crouch down in front of you. “Do you want some water?”

You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring into your knees that were bent and flush against your chest. For a moment, there was nothing said, until you sniffed that very distinctive sniffle of someone who’d just snorted a line. Rubbing at your nose, you nodded.

“Please?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Wonwoo didn’t know where to get water, though he did remember the bottle dropped at the bottom of the staircase. He practically ran to grab it. Coming back into the spare room, Wonwoo clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and joined you at the bed.

“Here,” he offered, uncapping it for you.

You sipped from it eagerly, gulp after gulp, then wiping off your lips when it became too cumbersome to swallow.

He took the bottle back, capping it again and throwing it somewhere random on the bed. Wonwoo could see with concern that you weren’t entirely there—jaded, from the drinking and smoking and intaking a dangerous substance you probably shouldn’t have. Your face appeared so hazy, disconnected, as though you were staring off into a warm light buried in the distance that only presented itself to you.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Wonwoo sighed into the dark room, rolling up his sleeves, unsure of what he should do or even say.

You sniffled again, and shook your head. “I feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry... what do you want to do?”

Breathing out heavily at the small amount of labour it required to look backward at the bed, you nodded. “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo said, feeling relieved, “that’s a good idea.”

You smiled at him, though it was misted over and a bit loopy.

He watched you lean down, fiddling with the tiny buckle belonging to the right heel strapped over your foot. Afraid you might hit the floor like a flour sac if you stayed hunched over for too long, he instantly squatted down to help you, gently nudging your hand away.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Wonwoo reassured, loosening the buckle enough to slide the expensive, black heel from your foot, doing so with the utmost delicacy, akin to sorting fine china.

Just before he removed the other heel, Wonwoo caught you staring down at him with a particular admiration behind those glassed eyes that made his entire chest become swollen. He tried to ignore the feeling, no matter how elated it made him on the inside.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” Wonwoo answered, standing up and gesturing to the bed, “do you think you’ll take a nap?”

“… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay… should I get Princess to come stay with you? Or, I can always get Mingyu, too. Whatever you think is best.”

You were still looking back at the guest bed, unresponsive, and Wonwoo had wondered if you even heard him speak. The moonlight that cascaded in from the windows patched an intricate shadow overtop the quilt, and you started spreading your hand across it, as though you could pick up the silhouette and move it.

And then you glanced at Wonwoo again, smiled slightly. “Would you lay down with me… if I asked you?”

He immediately cleared his throat, “uh, lay down with you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I need your company. Please?”

He clenched his fist tight, an index nail carving along the cuticle of his scarred thumb. Logically, Wonwoo should leave—he should march back upstairs and go search for Mingyu or Princess to help nurse you through your brain fog. Realistically, however, Wonwoo wasn't going to do any such thing. Realistically, Wonwoo was very high, and very delirious, and completely at your beckon.

Kicking off his sneakers, Wonwoo crawled onto the guest bed alongside you. He breathed out a sigh of comfort as his back was perfectly cushioned by the supple pillows organized against the headboard. If he thought about it for too long—relaxing on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s home at two or three in morning beside a girl who’d just snorted coke upstairs in the attic and nearly leapt on her friend in a fight—his head would start to ache. So, Wonwoo didn’t think about it. He let everything happen as it naturally desired to.

You tucked yourself close against Wonwoo, closer than what was appropriate for two people who were presumably friends, stretching your leg across his waist and latching it over his hip, an arm around his wide chest, your head settled cozily underneath his chin.

He couldn't care less about the morality.

Especially when he wriggled his arm beneath you, his knuckles coming to stroke up and down your bare, soft back, feeling along the subtle groove of your spine with every lulling, especially tender caress. Truly, Wonwoo didn’t know why he cared so remarkably little about how wrong it was to touch you and hold you. Maybe it was your shallow and warm breathing that kept tickling his neck, or the weight of your leg against his pelvis—you as a whole seemed to smudge his rationality—his own personal drug.

“Can you please tell me a story?”

“Hm?” Wonwoo murmured, stilling his fingertips at the top of your shoulder blade. “Tell you a story? Why’s that?”

“Because, my head hurts. And I want a distraction.” You then poked your face up from his neck, staring at Wonwoo through the clouds in your eyes, sounding sleepy enough to lose consciousness. “And I love the sound of your voice, and how it makes me feel.”

He proceeded to rub something off your chin with a few brushes from his thumb, and nodded, tucking your head back down.

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

“Wait—” you suddenly mumbled, awkwardly reaching behind you for his hand rested against your shoulders, “—I liked when you were going up and down. It felt good. Please, can you do some more?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just stopped to think,” Wonwoo hummed with an amused smile, continuing to stroke his knuckles and hearing the heavy sigh you breathed aloud.

He thought a few moments longer for a story that he could tell you; something interesting, but not too detailed.

“I’ve got one.”

He made a rumbling noise in his throat to clear it, staring off at the dresser mirror opposite to the bed, where Wonwoo could just decipher that vague, silvery thread outlining your entangled bodies.

“When I was around eleven, twelve years old, my family used to go to this waterpark every summer, like an hour car ride from our house. My brother and I made up this game. We called it lifeguard, or, like, swimming attendant. Basically, you play dead in the water, and whoever’s the attendant has to save you. Anyway, it was a pretty stupid fucking game to play at a water park as you can imagine. But when we got there, the lifeguard wasn’t in his chair. So, like, my brother, trying to be cool or funny, thought it would be a good idea to sit in the chair himself. I had to pretend to drown.

The problem with that, though—the actual life guard was coming back. He sees me pretending to drown, thinks I’m actually drowning—I don’t know, I guess I was selling it super well—and he dives right into the water, pulls me out and everything, lies me across the cement all surgical like. I’m so fucking embarrassed, my brother’s ran off somewhere—I just go along with it while everyone’s watching, knowing damn fucking well I’m a sham. My mom’s panicking. She didn't realize it was part of some idiotic game we made up. I hated my brother for a week straight. I’ve refused to swim ever since.”

There was a chuckle against his neck, and Wonwoo felt your body vibrate with a soft fit of laughter. He hadn’t recalled that story in years, though it dusted off the latent anger toward his older brother that he had never quit holding. Nonetheless, it was still rewarding to tell you. That water park was once his most cherished place to visit, admittedly during a much different period in his life, when the only thing he worried over was whether or not they’d have his favourite ice cream flavour or if he might miss that gigantic bucket full of freezing water that dropped every half-hour.

“I’m sorry that happened…” you mumbled against his neck, your breath akin to a sweeping feather, “but it’s a bit funny.”

“No, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, grazing his hand low to the base of your back, “I can laugh at it now... even if I’m still mad.”

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

“I just want to know… when did you move here? Did you come here for university? Or, was it before that? And, like… did your family come with you? Did you move alone? I’m just curious…”

“So, I spent two years at a university in Korea, for something different than what I’m doing now. It was accounting stuff—”

“Oh, more boring.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughed, reaching his hand underneath the warm plump of your thigh to adjust it more comfortably against his hip, “I actually agree with you. It was boring, and I was… to put it lightly, miserable. Very, very miserable. So, I dropped it, had a really long and excruciating conversation with my brother about the whole thing—what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I have an uncle that lives out here. Not close to our school. He’s hours away. But I figured, I’m old enough. I need, just—I need a fucking change. I’ll move out, stay with him, find my footing. And, uh, I ended up here.”

You smiled against his skin, lips practically pressed at his neck, and then you exhaled, pulling a shiver along the length of his spine.

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fleshed deeper against the underside of your thigh as he sighed into the still bedroom air, thinking back to the pressure, the bickering between himself and his parents, the desire to at last pull the pin and take a risk, even if said risk was going to crash and humiliatingly burn at his feet. In a way, it had. But with you, his reward was building back up again. It wasn’t all fruitless.

“Me too.”

"Thanks for sharing that with me,” you murmured, snuggling impossibly closer into his body and breathing him in like the sweet, baked scent of pastries fresh from a hot oven, or the airy honeysuckle outside on a summer’s day. “I like knowing about you.”

For once, Wonwoo wasn’t scared that you knew.

Maybe he should be scared. He wasn’t being cautious enough, instead pouring more soul into his heart than his logic. But then—why did it feel so good in that moment? Something he was terrified of had flipped on its head and turned into a real, tangible happiness. He continued to lay with you in the silence. The ceiling was full of shadows that he studied to keep himself awake while his thumb rubbed easy circles into your thigh. Your body was giving him heat.

If no one ever opened that door, Wonwoo wouldn’t complain.

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, he massaged away the desire for sleep that had finally managed to catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—” he began slowly pushing himself upward, helping you in the process with an arm at your waist, “—I’ll grab your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

Nonetheless, he knew you couldn’t stay cocooned against him forever, even if he wanted it more than his next breath. It felt awfully vapid to lose your warmth. The air around him was so much colder, like an icy metal. Wonwoo had nearly stumbled over his sneakers as he searched around the end of the bed, prompting him to squat down and shove his shoes back on. Next, he collected your lacquered, expensive high heels, which had practically blended into the darkness if not for the moonlight raining through the windows.

You were sat at the edge of the blankets, waiting for him.

“How do you feel? Better?” Wonwoo asked while crouching at your knees and fishing up the right heel first.

“My head still hurts a little. But I think I’ll be fine,” you admitted, allowing Wonwoo to softly touch at the back of your ankle as he helped guide your foot through the black loop. “It’s like—I can feel it a lot more now. I’m getting that weird, dreamy sensation, right before it really hits. And my mouth is kinda dry.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, now helping to fasten on the other heel, “I’m sure there’s more water upstairs. Is that too tight?”

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Should we try standing?”

Wonwoo straightened back up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his, and then he accepted some of your weight as he gave you a supportive tug. At first, you wobbled, but Wonwoo was right there to steady you.

You complained about the dizziness, but after a few more steps it had gotten better, and Wonwoo let go of your hand.

“Oh—uh,” he gently grasped your elbow, “before you leave—”

Lifting up your arms, you watched rather cluelessly while Wonwoo pinched at the fabric of the very short, white skirt and tugged it further down your thighs, covering the sensitive areas where it had ridden up when you were stretched out against him. A hand latched into his shoulder for balance, and you sighed out gratefully.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please don’t tell me if you saw my underwear.”

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

Wonwoo stayed quiet, but then he couldn’t fight his smile.

“… I know. Cute.”

You seemed flustered at the offhanded comment, which came as a surprise to Wonwoo, because he truthfully didn’t believe much—if anything at all—could fluster you. The phone in his back pocket buzzed with a text message and Wonwoo assumed it was Vernon asking him about where he’d gone. It was best to go back up to attic and reunite with your friends rather than dwell in the guest bedroom for an eternity. Though, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave at all.

“Uh, Wonwoo? Can you please wait one second?”

As you two paused at the door, his hand fell off the knob.

“Everything okay?”

Uncharacteristically, you fumbled with your fingers, tugging at the joints like they were disconnectable. He tilted his head at you, curious, and when your eyes locked with his he bit back a dumb facial expression at how wide your pupils had dilated, like an ocean abyss.

“Um, so, that girl Seokmin was talking about earlier? Sarah Gomez?” Sarah? He knew you meant Sierra, though he didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “I chatted to Vernon about it. He said she likes you and was flirting and... well, like, I-I have no issue if you… if you like her and want to do something, and—” you took in a really big, long breath that felt like a reach for self-comfort, “—just, if you two want to start hanging out, if you can still make time for our writing.”

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

“… Oh, you think—no, Her. It’s not anything. It’s nothing."

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

And it was exactly that. Wonwoo would never—could never feel anything even half as strong as the yearning he felt for you. It was something unmeasurable, something bigger than the universe, and yet, it fit into the core of his own chest like a dense and heated star compacting in on itself. Despite being so numbed by heartbreak, and years of a growing apathy, and all that disappointment he harboured toward himself, Wonwoo had sensed each and every time you thawed him out. You—a light, and yet a cold, awakening breeze.

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

Your shoulders began to sink as you relaxed at his remark.

Wonwoo shook his head. “She’s nice. But I’ve talked to her once, and that was tonight, for like, two minutes at most.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to think that I hated it, or that I was going to jump her ‘cause of what happened upstairs… I don’t want to talk about what happened upstairs, actually, but that’s not what—anyway. Sorry. And, uh, thank you… for being there for me. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“No, no. Nothing is ruined,” Wonwoo reassured you, picking up your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m having fun. It’s all a lot but… I’m enjoying it. I’m always going to be here for you, alright?”

You smiled at him. It was oddly shy, but Wonwoo loved it.

“So, if you want to head back up, I’ll join you soon enough," he said. "I’m gonna attempt to find a washroom in this place.”

“There’s one by the staircase. Clara and Bells used it.”

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

After you disappeared back upstairs to the attic, Wonwoo locked himself in the washroom for a moment of quiet. He checked his phone, realizing the time—3am—in addition to the horribly spelt text messages from Vernon, saying that Mingyu had taken Bells on a walk outside to calm her down. He sighed, signing off on the texts with a thumbs up. The night was only getting louder. Wonwoo didn’t know how much longer he could survive or who he would even call upon to get a ride home. Everyone was plastered or buzzed.

He had no desire to sleep here overnight, though if push came to shove, Seungcheol would likely have guest bedrooms to spare.

Turning on the sink faucet, Wonwoo set his glasses aside and cupped a handful of cold water against his face. It was a shock at first, yet it felt so refreshing, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but splash some more water until he felt the drops begin uncomfortably running down to his elbows and nudged the tap back off. Once patting dry his cheeks and forehead with a towel folded through a rung secured into the wall, Wonwoo proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor.

Readjusting the glasses back to his face, he stared across the dimly lit room at the half-opened shower curtain and its patterned seashells. For a second, he didn’t move at all. But then Wonwoo was getting up, walking over to the curtain and yanking it fully open. He returned to his initial position, sitting against the wall, and started counting all the different seashells. They weren’t organized in rows like the yellow rubber ducks from his aunt’s shower curtain back in Changwon—they were miscellaneously placed, spotted more than organized, and Wonwoo counted all the shells at least three times.

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

Deep within his pocket, Wonwoo’s phone buzzed again.

[ Vernon | 3:09 am ]: h ey glasses where tf are yoi?

He decided to text his friend back, though he knew Vernon was most likely off his face and wouldn’t notice for another hour.

[ Wonwoo | 3:09 am ]: Washroom. Be up in a few.

To his surprise, Vernon’s little typing bubble immediately appeared. Wonwoo developed a sick, squirmy feeling in his stomach for some reason, only to watch the bubble abruptly disappear and not return. God—he hoped the boy hadn’t fucking fallen out the window or slipped off the billiard table in his inebriation.

Setting his phone down on the tiles beside him, Wonwoo raked his fingers through his hair and sighed aloud again. He didn’t care much about messing up the very particular way he’d brushed and swooped it. Instead, Wonwoo thought about you.

He was just with you, and yet he missed you.

Unsure of when the feeling had ever started, Wonwoo began to recognize the ache for you some time ago—and like a little kitchen light in a prairie house that never burnt out, seen across meadows and rivers, even through the darkest nights—Wonwoo had felt the ache ever since. He thought it would die away quietly. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. He thought that love would never again step foot inside the house that was his heart. But it had. And it was the little light.

His phone vibrated.

Wonwoo glanced down at the illuminated screen, skimming over the jumbled, misspelt words to Vernon’s text with little regard, thinking nothing of it other than how sky high his friend was.

Another text. He scooped the phone up, grumbling to himself.

[ Vernon | 3:12 am ]: yo I dont mean t be weird buthahha I’m not gbnna lie u shud come upsrairds of u wanna see it

[ Vernon | 3:13 am ]: acyaully don’t lol

Wonwoo had not a fucking clue what Vernon was rambling about and was half-considering it to be all hallucinations. Maybe another fight had broken out. Maybe you were dancing on the table and had kicked over someone’s drink. There was a small cherry pit of curiosity in his stomach, though Wonwoo wasn’t ready to get up. He sat on the washroom floor for another ten minutes or so, deciding that he would go back upstairs, pitch his goodbyes, and book an Uber.

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

After playing with his hair in the mirror and smoothing out the pieces he’d disheveled, Wonwoo at last pulled open the door and emerged back into the warm corridor, the music still soaring underneath his feet. He began making his way upstairs and back to the attic space. There were at least ten new people to fill the smoky room, none of whom Wonwoo recognized, though he assumed most were Seungcheol or Mingyu’s friends. Vernon was seated on the couch, his arm sunk around a girl’s shoulders—the girl that had almost bumped into him when leaving the kitchen hours ago.

Someone had cranked the music loud enough to rumble the speakers sitting on the desk. Wonwoo could hardly decipher a single word that came from Vernon’s mouth, forcing him to lean further down as he grasped onto his friend’s hand and announced his leave.

“Awe, you’re headin’ out?!” Vernon shouted into his ear.

“Have to,” Wonwoo replied, “my brain’s gonna pop.”

Vernon slapped his shoulder. "All good—hey, thanks for even comin’ along, y’know? Stay safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah, will do. Uh, you seen Princess or Seungcheol?” He asked by Vernon’s head. “I’d be nice to see them before I leave.”

“No fuckin’ clue where they went, to be honest!” Vernon answered, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh! Fuck!” He’d suddenly latched onto Wonwoo’s arm. “Dude, you missed it. But if you’re lookin’ for Her—no luck. She’s uh, a little busy right now.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled. “I can’t fucking hear.”

Vernon proceeded to jerk his friend closer, breath fanning hot against Wonwoo’s ear. He turned frozen solid as he intently listened.

“Her—she came back upstairs, high as a fuckin’ kite. Mingyu came back up right after. I don’t know what happened, but, like, within a few minutes, they were on each other, man. I got scared—thought they were gonna start fuckin’ on the table. But, nah, Mingyu took her to the bedroom down the hall. We all scurried down and listened for a sec. Holy shit—she had to be gettin’ pounded—like, must’ve been face down ass up, fuckin’, gettin’ her guts rearranged or some shit. They were both so out of their minds. It was insane, y’know. You’re not gonna see her for a good while.” Vernon then sat back with a hopeless, husky laugh. “Mine as well shoot her a fuckin’ text and hope she can still read when Gyu’s done with her!”

For a second, Wonwoo didn’t believe him. Not at all. He thought it was a joke—staring at his friend, waiting for his face to break like sundried clay, not caring whatsoever that the girl tucked against his side was clearly annoyed at their conversation and waiting for Wonwoo to leave. It was all a stupid joke and Wonwoo wanted to hear Vernon say it. And then, he would punch him for it.

“Funny,” he chuckled.

But Vernon merely shrugged, folding an ankle over his knee. “Hey, Glasses. Dunno what to tell ‘ya! S’all true. I saw it. So Did Seungcheol n’ Princess. Go down there! Listen for yourself!”

Wonwoo shook his head, beginning to laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Jeez! I’m just tellin’ you the truth!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Wonwoo shouted overtop the bass, smiling, even though he was feeling more and more enraged under the surface. “You’re high as a kite, too, yeah?”

“I saw it, man!”

“Yeah. Actually—go fuck yourself. Night.”

Vernon stretched out a hand, attempting to catch Wonwoo by the elbow as he brushed past him, yelling something that was drowned to the humid, loud atmosphere. Wonwoo still believed it was a joke—a very awful, incredibly distasteful joke that he would probably ignore Vernon over for at least a few days. Wonwoo knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. He knew you most likely didn’t reciprocate the all the same feelings with as much passion as him. But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t discard him after he’d been so vulnerable.

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

Vernon’s words wriggled in a bold font to the forefront of his mind, even when he wanted to squeeze them out. But Wonwoo was exhausted, and now highly annoyed, and he knew the last thing he should do is excavate a truth that would be better off buried.

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

And so, he walked up to each door, lightly attempting the handle or pressing his ear to the wood. He found nothing, and the relief that opened up and flowed throughout his body was equivalent to the freshest breath of air. Wonwoo was about to text Vernon that his stupid stunt had failed when he heard it—that suspicious, croaked sound which prompted his fingers to stop dead in their typing tracks.

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

No, it was the music. It had been playing all night, anyway.

But then there was a thump. Once, twice, three times.

Wonwoo shoved his ear back against the crack in the threshold, one hand coming to rest ever so softly on the brass handle.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Muting even his breath in case it interfered with or somehow warped the noise, he listened longer, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

There was ice in his veins. All the blood froze so quickly. It was cold enough to turn his skin to frost but Wonwoo kept listening.

“If I fuck you any harder, I’ll break this fuckin’ bed, sweetheart. Is that what you want, huh? Tell me, baby. Are you that much of a slut for me? Hm? Are you that much of a whiny slut?”

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

“No—nonono—m’such a slut for you! Such a whiny l-little... Fuck! Mmm—c-can’t take it, Gyu! S’too much!”

“Move your fuckin’ hand! Take it, just like you asked for. If you’re gonna act like such a slut then fuckin’ take what I give you!”

Wonwoo couldn’t bear to hear a second longer. He knew it was your voice, your skin, your breath, your pleasure. It was entirely you at the rigid and exploitative hands of Mingyu. And Wonwoo felt sick. Something acidic surged up his throat in a stinging burn. With a hand latched over his mouth, Wonwoo raced toward the washroom, immediately locking himself inside before collapsing at the toilet and upheaving all the contents in his stomach. The nausea had never hit him so quickly before. His insides filled with even more dread.

But he wasn’t actually sick.

It was merely the horrible, haunting anxiety that came with opening up—its effects reaping toxically into his flesh because it had all been thrown back in his face like a sloppy high school lunch tray. It was hearing the girl he positively loved moan and writhe and beg for another man who didn’t care for her interests or thoughts or soul.

He’d cut himself open for you, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

—JUNE 16TH.

By the time Wonwoo woke up, it was five in the evening. His face was practically plastered—no, moulded, into the pillow—with a dried trace of drool streaked down his cheek. Wonwoo had never drooled before. The groan he released upon rolling from his stomach to his back was groggy and brittle, with his hand slapping cluelessly against the bedside table until he managed to grab hold of his black-framed glasses. He slid them on, and then wiggled further up the bed.

Before his irritable hunger, or the twisting of his full bladder, or the headache pulsing behind temples, Wonwoo felt a very gorged wound scissored into his heart. It was stinging raw, like sea salt from the ocean touching at an unbeknownst cut hidden somewhere sensitive on the body. Except, Wonwoo knew exactly where the cut was and how deep it ran and how much he was struggling to even breathe. He stumbled into the washroom, switched on the faucet, but Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to stare into the mirror.

Instead, he crouched down to his haunches, hands shakily gripping at the edges of the stone-cold porcelain for stability while the water gushed above him. With his eyes pinched shut, Wonwoo focused hard on every breath he took, so hard that white smudges began blossoming against the pitch blackness of his eyelids. His mouth suddenly jutted open, and he inhaled the biggest breath he could manage, but it cracked somewhere in the middle and Wonwoo knew he was going to start sobbing.

Unable to hold the sink any longer, Wonwoo let go of its sharp edges and curled up tight on the floor, the tears sprouting unbridled and glossing to stain over the rouge of his cheeks. In his mind, it was the most pitiful sight. He thought he would have learned his lesson the first time about opening up and trusting another, yet, somehow, he was back in the same fucking place. He thought he was being cautious. Not cautious enough. He thought he was taking his time. Not enough time. Wonwoo never judged anything right.

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: haven’t heard from u since Friday

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: pls tell me u made it home alright

…

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:30 am ]: Hey Wonwoo! It’s Seungcheol (got ur number from Seokmin btw)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:31 am ]: Really nice to meet you and glad you could make it out! Ur a super cool dude. Idk if you like pickup basketball but I always play on weekends at the uni B gym. If you ever want to come down or wtv let me know!

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:35 am ]: Princess says ur awesome

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Make it home alright?

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: It was nice to see you!!

—JUNE 18TH.

[ Vernon | 10:01 am ]: Seokmin and I r going mini-putting at that glow in the dark place I got fired from lol u in or nah?

[ Vernon | 10:25 am ]: helloooooooo? u there beautiful?

…

[ Vernon | 3:45 pm ]: glasses are you fucking alive dude?

[ Seokmin | 3:50 pm ]: Everything okay? Did u get sick?

—JUNE 19TH.

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: okay haha it’s not funny anymore

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: wonwoo I swear if you don’t fucking text me back in the next 12 hours I’m breaking ur door down cuz wtf man im fuckin pissing my pants over here

…

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: hey!!

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: I hope you made it home okay :) sorry I didn’t text you. I’ve been sick as a dog omg but I feel better today

[ Her | 9:02 am ]: I’m so glad u came even if it was a little tense or overwhelming at times lol. I loved seeing u there. don’t quite rmbr everything that happened but I’m sure it was fun

[ Her | 9:03 am ]: miss you a lot alrd

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: we still good to work on the book tmo?

Since he slept well into the afternoon, Wonwoo didn’t notice any of the morning texts until much later, when he finally sat down at the dining table to slowly nibble a piece of strawberry jam toast. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Vernon or Seokmin’s texts, more so the fact he had been trying to stay off his phone altogether. It was just too much and he couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else but himself, though, he supposed it might be time to answer poor Vernon.

Wonwoo had disregarded your texts—didn’t glance at them for longer than a millisecond or absorb one written word. At the moment, he didn’t know where he stood with you. Saturday had been brutal, Sunday was stupendously worse, on Monday he’d called in sick because the thought of stepping one foot outside his apartment made him ghostly ill, and Tuesday, today, he was quite mopey, lethargic, and hardly contained enough energy to even feed himself.

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Wasn’t feeling the greatest.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: I promise I’m alive.

He set the phone down beside his plate, continuing to tear at small sections of the toast to make it easier to eat. Wonwoo didn’t bother replying to anyone else. If they were truly that concerned as to why he hadn’t answered—which he knew they weren’t—then Vernon could disseminate whatever information he pleased.

Poking his glasses up with a pinky finger, Wonwoo saw his phone screen illuminate with a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: jesus christ wonwoo

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: don’t scare me like that I legit thought something happened to u

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: man check ur fucking texts lol

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: My bad.

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm]: soz u got sick

[ Vernon | 1:46 pm ]: u feel any better?

No—Wonwoo had almost audibly laughed. He felt pulverised, like a piece of trembling jelly hardly able to walk. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep the toast down without his grief getting in the way and tormenting the nutrients back out of him. But it wasn’t like his friend could do anything about it or make his nightmares end.

[ Wonwoo | 1:47 pm ]: Yeah, I’m okay now.

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: yeah got pretty sick myself tbh

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: next day was ass

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: well uh if theres anything u need lemme kno im gonna b out today I could prob stop by whenever

After thumbing up the message, Wonwoo grabbed his plate, walked over to the sink, and tossed it in, hearing it crash into the stainless-steel emptiness. He didn’t know what else he would do today. Probably nothing at all except lay in his bed and sleep.

[ Her | 7:00 pm ]: hey pls check ur messages <3

…

[ Her | 8:09 pm ]: hey can u fucking check ur msgs

…

[ Her | 10:15 pm ]: wonwoo this is embarrassing for me PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK UR MESSAGES!!

Hearing his phone ding for the third time that night, Wonwoo at last rolled over to drag the device aglow from the bedside table. As he lazily fixed the glasses over his face to squint across the fine print, his stomach dropped faster than the incline on a roller coaster. You were getting blatantly impatient with his lack of response.

The thing was, he always answered you. Even if he was in the middle of working, or blazed from his head to his toes, or half-asleep and hardly conscious—Wonwoo would always make time to text you back because there was nothing more important in his life.

It wasn’t that he was void of all desire to talk to you—it was that his body physically couldn’t allow it. His fingers suddenly felt so stiff, like they were wooden, and his mind flashed blank with not a single word to spare. He was still devastated with you, and that was putting it fucking mildly. Breathing out all the conjured despair and pain through his nose, Wonwoo left the phone on his nightstand, rolling back over to his side in another attempt to sleep.

—JUNE 20TH.

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: wonwoo why aren’t you answering me?

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: I was going to get rly mad at u and send a long nagging text or a voicemail but I feel like somethings wrong

[ Her | 8:10 am ]: we’re supposed to write today :(

[ Her | 8:35 am ]: I’m starting to get worried ugh

—JUNE 21ST.

[ Her | 11:20 am ]: wonwoo can you please send me something so I know you’re okay? even just a thumbs up?

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

[ Her | 9:30 pm ]: okay it’s basically been a week since the party and idk what to do. I’m so fucking pissed off at you bc why can’t you just answer me? Ik I’m not blocked which leads me to think you’re not pissed at me? otherwise u would block me

[ Her | 9:31 pm ]: you’re reading my texts ik u are

[ Her | 9:34 pm ]: just why are you doing this I don’t understand I feel like crying bc I don’t know what I did or why you’re ignoring me?? if I did something can you please tell me I just hate this fucking guessing game and I hate you for putting me thru it

[ Her | 9:35 pm ]: fuck you honestly

[ Her | 10:36 pm ]: but I still miss you so much

[ New voice mail from Her | 10:58 pm ]

—JUNE 26TH.

Wonwoo felt the phone continuously buzz in his pocket for the third time that afternoon—he was getting another call while at the pharmacy and at that point even his boss was beginning to take note. He hardly ever worked morning to afternoon shifts, but another staff member was sick and so Wonwoo was unfortunately hailed upon to take their place, though, he had realized it might be a good idea for him to experience the fresh, softer air against his face, which chiefly prompted him to accept. Even if he had thrown up his breakfast in the washroom just before his shift started, at least he’d tried to eat something—thawed out blueberry waffles with butter were still too much for his stomach. He should probably stick to toast.

As he stood behind the counter, marking down another bundle of vitamin bottles and their expiry dates from the clipboard, his boss was handing out prescriptions. Wonwoo was in the midst of a long, impossible-to-hide yawn when his phone started vibrating again, that stupid Sencha ringtone practically grating his ears.

“Wonwoo,” his boss said, “I think you better answer that.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ll shut my phone off.”

Her reading glasses were poised at the tip of her nose as she typed some information into the computer, each click from the chunky keyboard notably slower than the last.

“Well,” she huffed, clearing her throat, “whoever it is, that was their fourth time calling you… I do believe that warrants some attention. Now, if you’re sure it’s nothing at all, then I’d rather you keep that phone in your locker, alright?”

He paused, staring down at the clipboard in his hands.

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

Glancing over the shoulder of her pristine white lab coat, his boss nodded, and Wonwoo left the clipboard sitting alongside the vitamin bottles. He slipped into the employee break room and out the heavy backdoor, stepping behind the building for the utmost privacy.

Wriggling out the phone from his pants pocket, Wonwoo stared at the four separate notifications, all spread out within the past hour. Vernon had been attempting to reach Wonwoo for whatever reason, though he didn’t know what could possibly be so goddamn pressing that a text message wouldn’t suffice. He didn’t want to find out, either. But Wonwoo had already excused himself, and he didn’t want to waste the precious five minutes he’d been anointed.

He dialed his friend back. The call was picked up instantly.

“Vernon, what the f—”

“Glasses! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered your stupid phone! Where the hell are you, anyway? Mars?!” His voice boomed through the staticky line like a boxer’s jab and Wonwoo immediately moved the device from his ear, taking a second to orient himself.

“I’m at work, dumbass. Use your fucking head.”

“Work?! Oh, give me a break. Work! That’s your excuse?!”

Letting his temple prop against the uncomfortable brick wall, Wonwoo rubbed at his nose, his eyes squeezing out the sunlight.

“Just tell me why you’re blowing up my phone…”

“How about ‘cause I almost got mugged! That’s why!”

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

“Your girlfriend, that’s fuckin’ who!”

Wonwoo pushed off the wall using his shoulder, taking a few steps across the cigarette butt-littered walkway. He absolutely hated it beyond comprehension whenever Vernon referred to you as his girlfriend—even more so now—though he was plagued by the thickest confusion and he needed Vernon to calm down in order to explain everything succinctly.

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

“Okay, chill out, for just a second. And then talk to me. Because I don’t have a clue what you’re yelling about. I told my boss I’d be five minutes and I’m wasting out the clock.”

“Fuck—okay. So, I was gettin’ gas, alright? Mindin’ my own business when I see Her come outside the store. I thought, oh, hey, I know we’re probably not on the greatest terms yet but I’ll say hi.” He heard the boy cut himself off, and then laugh a bit, as though he were still reeling from the incident. “Dude, the second she sees me, I think I’m gonna die. She practically corners me at my Camry, like, askin’ me all this stuff: what happened to Wonwoo? Where’s Wonwoo? Do you know what’s goin’ on? Why isn’t he talkin’ to me?”

At that point, Wonwoo had squatted down in the middle of the walkway, rubbing a hand dreadfully against his cheek. He didn’t have a cigarette on him, but if he did, he’d be smoking it down to the pathetic nub. Vernon coughed and then started up his story again.

“I try to tell the chick—hey, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! He told me he wasn’t feelin’ well, we haven’t spoken much—like, fuck if I know all the details to your goddamn life! She doesn’t believe I’m givin’ the full truth. I tell her again: look, he’s real private, he doesn’t talk about much. If he is goin’ through somethin’, just give him space and time—blah, blah. She tells me I’m a bad friend! Like—what the fuck, first of all! A bad friend?! She’s—okay, anyway—"

Wonwoo began to pull at some green sprigs of grass pushing up from between cracks in the cement, just to give his nervous, trembly fingers something to do. His heartbeat was climbing higher in his throat.

“She thinks you hate her, o-or I don’t know what she fuckin’ thinks, actually. What I do know is that she hates me ten times more than she did before, n’ that you need to get off your fuckin’ ass and talk to her! Do y’know scary it is to have Her yellin’ at you?! I thought she was gonna light my hair on fire with the gas pump or some shit! Fuck. My heart’s like, still racin’. And not to terrify you but she might stop by your place later today—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted Vernon while shooting back to his feet, beginning to anxiously pace all over again, “you think she’ll stop by my apartment? No, that can’t—” Wonwoo stumbled on a rock, then reared his foot to punt it hard across the cement, “I-I don’t want to talk to her. I fucking can’t. It’s too much.”

“I don’t know what to do about that…” Vernon sighed, followed by the distinctive spark of a lighter crackling in the background. “Didn’t even know you were ignorin’ her… what happened, anyway? I mean, this shit seems real serious.”

The silence was so thinned but still unbearably long, and as Wonwoo listened to his friend ignite a blunt in order to mellow out, he felt that unmistakable pain twist at the pliable centre of his chest, like he was being carved into with a whittling tool.

Put simply, Wonwoo wasn’t ready to see you, let alone have a civil conversation that could be separate from his bitter, hurt emotion. There was too much he needed to decide alone, and as the hot, stinging summer air around him became concerningly harder to breathe, Wonwoo had no other choice but to hang up on his friend and burst back into the employee washroom. Eventually, his boss had stopped by to knock on the door, to which Wonwoo answered with the most reluctant, pained, hoarse voice he could muster.

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

“… I’ll give you a few more minutes,” she answered after a momentary pause, most likely realizing something was very wrong.

But he couldn’t hide it any better than that.

Wonwoo stepped inside the pottery shop, the bells overhead tinkling, and the attention of his landlord now piqued as she glanced up from the earth-coloured vase being washed by her paintbrush.

“Back from work?” She asked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, making his way toward the staircase, already reaching for the handrail, “can hardly stand. I’m exhausted.”

Sweeping some dried pieces of clay off her messy, weathered apron, she lent Wonwoo a sympathetic smile. “Well, rest up.”

He nodded at her.

Coming up to his apartment, Wonwoo was inexplicably relieved he hadn’t run into you at any point. He clicked his lock shut with another sigh, a more distant one that arose from somewhere so dusty and cold inside his chest. Maybe Vernon was right, Wonwoo thought while kicking off his shoes. Maybe it would be best to get such an excruciating, uncomfortable conversation out of the way rather than ruminate over how awful it was bound to be.

He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, then trudged into his bedroom to change from his pharmacy appropriate clothes.

But as he came to sit at the edge of his bed, thinking back to that night—all the touches and tender glances and how foolishly he presumed it would be okay to open those clandestine, personal pages he always struggled to share—Wonwoo knew it was still too premature. If he were to speak with you now, nothing productive or relatively good would come from it. He leaned forward into his hands and raked them distraughtly through his hair, tugging against the black fronds until he worried about legitimately pulling them out.

You were obviously concerned and worried—he knew that, and part of him ached because it was due to his own ignorance.

It just couldn’t happen yet.

Wonwoo was mad at you. He felt betrayed, disrespected, used. There was sadness, heavier than his body weight. So much emotion was blistering and alive inside of him with nowhere to go.

Collapsing backward, arms tossed beside his head, Wonwoo closed his eyes and hoped he might fall asleep deep enough in order to never wake up. That way, he would never have to face reality—he would never have to stand in front of you and cough up some half-baked explanation that only served to protect himself.

Through the haze and mist of his bizarre dreams that whipped by akin to reels from old age movies, Wonwoo saw someone he didn’t think would ever reappear in his subconscious again—Jeanie.

He had no idea where he was, or what those disembodied figures were that shifted in the blurred distance. She was the only detail he could pinpoint. Wonwoo walked toward her, pushing through something invisible but notably thick, like molasses. He tried inconceivably hard to absorb the intricacies of her face, but when he stared for too long, her features would start moving, almost melting off her as though she was a wax figure in a sweltering auditorium.

Yet, he could hear something.

There were voices becoming louder in his ears, and the more intently he listened for them, the clearer Jeanie’s face became.

The girl’s hair was chin length, dark. Dark like timbre. Or very fine-grated flint. It looked soft to one’s touch, if, in fact, one could possibly touch her without her shattering. I remember thinking that. The girl will shatter if I bump her, even if it’s an accidental thing—a gentle scraping sort of contact that wouldn’t even disrupt a feather.

I remember her eyes, too. My brother owned a box of marbles when he was twelve years old. When I looked into the girl’s eyes, it was like I was eight again, staring over the discarded sewing tin that held my brother’s smooth, large, galactic marbles he told me to never play with. I hated him for it. I think a part of me still does. But I don’t feel that resentment when I look into her eyes. Rather I feel the mystery and curiosity I believed was permanently erased alongside my youth.

Then there were her lips, which were small but plump. They seemed almost stained. I thought an artist took a stroke of watery, blood red paint to her mouth. It’s even hard to hear her when she speaks. I have to lean in so closely that my chest shrinks in on itself with coyness. I love it too much but I can’t let the beautiful, quiet girl know.

Wonwoo knew every word—he could recite them endlessly, without a sweat or a hiccup. It was his own writing after all, from the book he’d attempted to write for her during their relationship. Finally, he could see Jeanie standing in front of him, at the edge of clarity. Close enough to embrace and kiss and beg so pathetically for forgiveness.

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

The voices scattered in a mere instant, whisking away into the baby blue nothingness that engulfed him like a handful of sand grains on a windy beach. Instead, he heard knocking. It rattled his brain.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The atmosphere started to crumble. He was caught in that peculiar stretch of being half-asleep and half-awake, when it’s impossible to decipher reality from the reverie that doesn’t quite want to let go just yet. Everything shuddered and swayed like a house on stilts.

“Wonwoo! Open the fucking door! For fuck’s sake!”

And then, he was shooting up in bed, fast enough to prompt the dizziness that whorled the entire room into a confusing mélange of shapes and evening clementine colours. His heart was barraging against his chest, and Wonwoo had to settle a hand overtop the pulse to confirm with himself that the organ was still inside his body. As he wiped off the sweat that glistened by his temples, trying to mentally grasp the fading fragments from his dream, Wonwoo heard the knocking sound again. Louder. As though his door would cave in.

He knew it was you. You weren’t going to leave, either, not unless someone had to drag you out the building by the ankles, or until you spoke to Wonwoo about his impromptu ghosting.

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

He was pissed that such a bittersweet dream had been ripped away from him like everything else in his life—most often love and trust—and he was pissed that he never got any closure.

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

Stumbling into the living room, Wonwoo approached the door that was currently receiving the abuse of a lifetime. His hand grazed the knob, though it was nothing akin to the first time he’d let you inside his apartment, so nervous, flustered, doubting himself. When he opened the door, Wonwoo opened it with an unwavering abruptness that presented you at the threshold, your closed fist left still in the air like you were a marionette frozen by your orchestrator.

With your mouth agape and soundless, Wonwoo wondered if you would even speak. The shock was slowly spreading throughout your face, adorned as usual with that picture perfect makeup.

But he’d assumed too quickly.

“Jesus fucking Christ! So, you are alive!”

He stepped aside while you stormed into the apartment, and then he let the door swing shut, capturing the two of you in privacy.

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?! Did you forget how to read?! Write?! Answer your fucking phone?! I mean, would it kill you, Wonwoo, to text me back? Even just one word? Or, is that too fucking difficult?! It’s not like I’m asking for a goddamn scripture!”

Since March, Wonwoo had known you. It was nearly July.

Never had he seen you like this before. Sure, there were times you had gotten angry and that short fuse inside would burst. It was always jarring, but you tended to regain composure within the next minute or so, shaking off the confining chrysalis of your rage.

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

You were furious. Wonwoo watched you begin to pace the living room, your hands gesturing about wildly. There was practically a radiation that glowed from around you, red like singed charcoals.

“I can’t believe the rollercoaster you have put me through this past week, you asshole! I mean, seriously! I've never been this baffled! At first, I just assumed you were sick! Because—who wasn’t sick after that night? But we had to write the next day, and you always get back to me, so when you didn’t, my stomach started twisting up! I thought, something has to be wrong—Wonwoo doesn’t do this! He never stands me up! But I didn’t want to pry, because you fucking hate when I pry, so I left it alone! I left it and then I still get nothing!”

A Rubik’s cube was sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, you snatched it up and started jamming at the panels while continuing to pace the living room. Your hands were fizzling firecrackers, surging with ample energy, needing a task to direct all that accumulated anger so the fingers wouldn’t fly off your joints.

“But I see Vernon getting gas! And, wow, everything is just so peachy for him! Life is so sweet and sugary for the local drug dealer who just milked hundreds of dollars out of some stupid rich kids and their latent drug addictions! And you know what I had to do? I had to back him up like a feral fucking cat just to wrangle some information about you! Because I thought maybe you were dead, or kidnapped, or you just suddenly hate me! I looked like such a psychopath!”

You slammed the unsolved Rubik’s cube back onto the coffee table hard enough to dislodge a few pieces. They spotted his carpet like blood spatters. A tattered, deep breath was sucked up your nose.

“So, here I fucking am, screaming my head off because I am so pissed at you, Wonwoo! I want an answer even if it kills me!”

The air was dead silent, and Wonwoo wanted to let the room breathe for just a minute at most. Every single word you had spewed was compressed into the spaces of his apartment and if he didn’t give the atmosphere enough time to settle then his walls would undoubtedly burst. You refused to stare anywhere else but him. There was so much need and pain and agony behind those glassy eyes.

Wonwoo glanced down at his socked feet, swallowed hard, and then back at you. He had to speak. Nothing else would suffice.

“… Honestly… there’s no answer I can give you that won’t hurt, or make you any less upset… I don’t want to drag this out, either.” A subtle breath entered his mouth. “Her, we shouldn’t do this anymore—the book. I don’t want to help. You can finish it yourself.”

It was sharp, so meticulously sharp—a clean, smooth cut.

Though he was calm water on the outside, he felt a trembling behind his ribs. His heart was groveling with him to not be so cruel.

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

Something wasn’t connecting inside your brain. For some reason, you could not comprehend what Wonwoo was insisting. His patience was translucent and the longer he stood across from you in the living room, thinking about his interrupted dream and the vulnerability you stepped all over and the time he wasted—he could only get angrier. His fingernail scraped over his thumb like a tooth.

You wiped something off your face and started to laugh again.

“God—okay. There’s—I’m sorry but there’s absolutely no way you just said that to me… I come here, sick to my fucking stomach, worried about you. Yes, I’m mad but—I-I still care. And you—you’re going to—fuck.” A hand then clasped over your mouth as you pointed your gaze to the shag carpet, and for a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t decide if you were masking a laugh or a sob. “You’re going to tell me that we should just… stop, in your words. Or, you’ll stop, and I can keep trudging on. Am I hearing that right? Is that what you said?”

Wonwoo nodded.

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d just detonated a bomb.

At first, there was not a single crease or wrinkle that ruptured your disturbingly placid face. But, surely enough, he was beginning to observe the slow, inevitable fracturing that started with a twitch in your upper lip, and then a wicked furrow pulling down your brow, and that irritable blinking of your eyes as though someone had just blown a cloud of dust into them. Wonwoo knew it was coming.

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

“No, actually—” you stepped toward him, fingers pinching at the thick, almost palpable air while your eyes fumed with every malevolent thought that burned inside you, “—fuck you, Wonwoo.”

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?!” You screamed, your palms slamming against his chest and prompting him to stumble backward. “If I don’t leave, then fucking what?!” Even though it was just you shouting, it sounded like there were hundreds of anguished women behind each word.

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

“Y’know what I think, Wonwoo?! I think this is just like that time at SRX, when you told me the same fucking thing! You just picked up all your shit and left! No explanation, no prelude, no nothing! Is that what gets you off? Huh? Treating everyone like they’re pieces of scrap metal with no fucking emotion?! You can just do whatever you want! Doesn’t matter! Who gives a fuck about whose feelings I’m totally disregarding, whose time I’m wasting. I’m Wonwoo! I get to pull the plug on everybody because who cares!”

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

And while Wonwoo knew the better choice was to maintain his quiet, mature composure, it was much easier to disregard the guise altogether—chuck it straight out the window like a browned banana peel because as much as he’d like to believe he was refined, evolved, and in control, Wonwoo hadn’t ever been anything of the sort.

He shook his head at you.

“I disregard people’s feelings? People’s time? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Wonwoo! Don’t be so damn deluded!”

“Do you even hear yourself? A single word that you’re fucking saying? I disregard people’s feelings? Well, what about you, then? You—and, sorry if this puts a nick in the perfect, angelic image you have of yourself—but you just use people. And I don’t want to be used anymore. There’s my fucking answer that you want so badly.”

You gagged at him, slack-mouthed down to the floor.

“I use people? Wonwoo, are you fucking insane?!”

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

He laughed at the demand, rubbing a hand across his scalp. “Oh, come on—don’t make me spell it out for you, Her.”

“No, please do! Please spell out in that scholar-kissed, prestigious vocabulary of yours how I’ve used you!”

Wonwoo paced over to the fireplace mantel, this light-headed, tingly sensation beginning to merge with his blood and flow to every crack and crevice of his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but now that you two were shredding into each other, Wonwoo saw no point in sugar coating a damn thing. If you wanted the truth, then he would give you exactly that—it mattered no less to him.

“The book. How is that not obvious? I mean, for the last few months, that’s all I’ve done. Is help you. You didn’t even care about who I was before. You just wanted someone who could make your life easier and bend to all your whims at the drop of a hat. I’m the one who has to put up with your obsessions and gripes and your crazy fucking mood swings—I mean, do you even know how draining that shit is? You don’t, because you care about you. You care about writing this masterpiece for Mingyu—who, I should mention—doesn’t give a fuck about you. But you know that, right? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?

You know it when he treats you like a dumb object, belittles you in front of your friends, puts down and shows no support in your interests—like, really, Her? That’s who you’re in love with? That’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you just like him for his status? Is it because he pays for your coke and your clothes and your entire fucking life? And what about Seokmin? Your little puppy dog. Always so eager to do whatever you ask of him. He just does all the shit that’s not worth your breath. So, instead of wasting your time, you waste his instead.

Bells and Clara? Why the fuck do you even keep them around? You treat them like they're insufferable. But you know they make you look better—so much smarter, more organized, goal-driven—they’re just the two annoying drunk girls that tag along because as much as you despise them you just can’t deny how good they make you look. But that’s what you do! You use everyone around you and no one ever says a fucking thing because you’re such a tyrant!”

Wonwoo was fully cognizant of how sadistic it all was—that’s what he intended. If every word was not going to lacerate or bite or sink so painfully deep into your tissue that it felt like a bony dagger, then there was no point in saying anything at all. You were across from him, vibrating like an excited atom, your fists clenched while every possible hue of rage spilt down the length of your hollow face.

Simple enough—you’d asked him to spell it out, and that’s what he’d done. If could make it any clearer, he would. You then gulped, and there sounded a quiver to your voice that Wonwoo had never heard before. He stood tensely, awaiting your response.

“H-Hm, so… that’s what you think of me?” The end of your question sharply pitched off. “That’s your conclusion?”

“It is,” Wonwoo answered, pressing up his glasses.

Rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you nodded, meanwhile you stared down at your hands which began to slowly unfurl. Wonwoo realized that your fingers were trembling like dry, autumn leaves in a soaring wind. He’d never seen that before, ever.

“So, actually, what I think—” you coughed, placing an elbow overtop your mouth to catch the spit, “—I think that…”

For a moment, Wonwoo thought it was over. Your voice was so quiet, hushed, with hardly an ounce of tenacity or grit. But he should have known better than to suspect you of being so spineless.

“What I think, Wonwoo, is that you love to write, and read, because the only person you can communicate with is yourself. You… you are so emotionally stunted that it should be fucking studied. That was the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and you used all of it to basically call me fake, manipulative, and shallow.”

“Because you asked.”

“God. You are so empty, Wonwoo. You’re just a shell. You would rather exist inside your literary delusions than reality because there is nothing for you here. No real relationships, no real aspirations, nothing. And you know why that happened? You can’t fucking talk about anything. Instead, you just hold it all inside—you hold it and hold it until it starts seeping out and poisoning everyone around you. It’s your own fucking fault, Wonwoo. You're gonna drive everyone away. And then have the audacity to somehow point the finger, like they’re the one with the fucking problem. But it’s you.”

He could almost hear the clatter of the metal against the hardwood as you dragged out the metaphorical dagger. There was even a physical pain throbbing at his lower back, though, Wonwoo quickly began to accept the pain was aflame everywhere on his body.

Your lips were pressed together in a strict, firm line. If you opted to speak just one word more, then maybe the dam would break, and his apartment would transform into a sodden, soaked mess.

He watched your head begin to shake, and then you were swallowing down a gigantic, stinging lump. Of course, even at your most barren, emotionally exhausted self, you would get the last word.

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

He closed his door at the sound of your wrenched sob in the corridor. There wasn’t much else for him to do other than click the lock shut, pick up the broken pieces from his Rubik’s cube, and walk back into his bedroom. Wonwoo whipped the curtains shut, crawled underneath the cold, thin covers that he stretched over his head.

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

There was nothing even relatively stimulating that Wonwoo could do apart from aimless surfing through his phone, sparing the occasional glance toward the directory desk with its few uniformed clerks. A navy-blue suitcase was at his side, stuffed full of folded clothes and charging cables. As organized earlier in the year, Wonwoo had spent the week at his uncle’s house—even his older brother managed to stop by for a few days to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday.

For the most part, Wonwoo enjoyed his time there. The house was more like a cottage, situated on a fresh, small lake shaded over by the summer canopies of sycamore and evergreen trees. While he didn’t dabble in any swimming, Wonwoo had liked stretching out on the webbed hammock down by the firepit, rocking himself back and forth using a long leg that he kept strewn over the edge.

He missed that peaceful feeling engendered by the lakeside wind and the rustling leaves—how rejuvenating it all was to escape the monotonous hell that was his life back in the grey, stiff city.

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

Unfortunately, whether he liked it or not, Wonwoo had to go back and he had to pick up where he’d so painfully left off. No more pieces of refrigerated chocolate cake straight from the box or sitting outside on the maplewood patio to jingle a fake mouse at the paws of his uncle’s cat. No more packed joints beside the ebbing shoreline at midnight, or waking up to the most ethereal, golden light warming through the curtains as though the skies were made with honey.

Wonwoo sighed, plugging in the earbuds left dangling at his shirt collar. He scrolled through his music looking for a song to play.

Above all, it had nearly been a month since he last spoke to you.

Spoke wasn’t even the right word. That day, Wonwoo had set out to ruin you, because he could not bring himself to steep in all that misery and vitriol alone, bearing its weight like he was made from pressurized diamond when in truth—he was flaky and feeble.

The weeks that passed afterword were all blurred together. He talked to no one. Seldom saw anybody. Wonwoo had hardly existed.

A voicemail was still sitting in his inbox. You had sent it to him during a late night in June after the crazed party at Seungcheol’s family mansion, though Wonwoo never bothered listening to it because it was one of his biggest weaknesses—your voice—the most beautiful sound in the world as you had once phrased to him back at the café Wonwoo used to frequent. Then, he’d laughed it off, believing you were beyond full of yourself. Gradually, however, it became truth.

To hear you talk was to feel so in love that it physically ached.

“Train to Lees Station will be arriving within the next five minutes. Please make your way to platform C for boarding.”

The announcement finished with a ding.

Wonwoo got to his feet and grabbed the suitcase handle, beginning to pull it behind him while following the small, silent crowd toward the elevator. It was finally time to go home. Although home didn't seem like much to him anymore, if not just an aimless place in a bleak city that had lost all its warmth.

10:48 pm.

Wonwoo couldn’t sleep, or even take a nap.

When he would rest his head against the window, his eyes could only stay shut for no longer than a measly, frustrating minute. He’d completely exhausted his playlists. By midnight, the train would stop at his station, anyway. There was nothing left for him to listen to… except that voicemail. It was an awful fucking idea, but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake the temptation since it first crept into his memory all those hours ago.

Wonwoo didn’t want to think about you—not until he’d stepped off that goddamn train and had fully left all remnants of his short summer vacation behind. When he was back amongst the ignorant city people, and those towering glass infrastructures, and the constant honking, beeping, and roaring of motorized vehicles, would he even probe the thought. But—then again—so much time had passed. So much time to regret, anguish, and loathe his actions.

“… So, um—I-I just want to say first and foremost how much you suck for doing this to me, actually. You… god—fuck, if I have to blow my nose one more time… you suck, Wonwoo! You just—you fucking suck so much! You and your stupid privacy! I-I’m not trying to invade your life o-or get—or pry into something I shouldn’t be—I just want an answer, I want clarity, I want you to—I want—I need you to be a fucking person and just talk to me so I don’t hate myself! Because right now I feel like this is all my fucking fault!

… And it sucks because I don’t even know who I can talk to about this. I want to talk to you. But I can’t a-and… oh my god… we were supposed to write a couple days ago. At the park. I knew you weren’t going to show up but I went there anyway. I tried so hard to put down a sentence. But I hated all of it. I looked back at everything I’d written so far and I wanted to erase every single fucking word and blame you for it… f-fuck… I’m running out of stupid fucking tissues… oh… where’s the extra box?... I’m such a wreck.

… And, um, oh my gosh. Yesterday, at the mall, I went shopping, and I saw this really cute shirt. It was so pretty. Um… dammit! Sorry, I just hit my elbow… that hurt, Jesus Christ… uh—right, so, I saw this shirt and it was so cute with little buttons on it. It was white and blue. A little bit of frills. I know you don’t like frills but I promise it was just the right amount. A-And I have the perfect skirt to go with it. So, um, I put it on, and it fit really nice. I took a picture in the fitting room and I wanted to send it to you but you’re not talking to me right now. But, uh, I did buy it.

I was wearing it today. But then, like, the worst th-thing ever happened… um, it ripped. I ripped it. I don’t even know how, I was just going through my closet and it caught on a broken hanger or something and then all I heard was a b-big rip… it’s totally ruined now. I don’t know but I burst into tears. I was crying so hard and you were the first person I wanted to call but you’re not talking to me, a-and—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore… I just—I’m mad at you, I’m so fucking mad but I still care and—please, I miss you. I really, really miss you, Wonwoo. It hurts inside.

I’m sorry this is so long… I think m’gonna stop talking because my sinuses are closing up and my throat is burning. Um, I’ll go n-now. Just—fuck you. Please text me or call be back. Please.”

The message blipped off.

For a moment, he was frozen solid, staring back at his reflection through the dark window at his shoulder. I’m so fucking mad but I still care. Then, in an instant, Wonwoo had wished he never listened to the voicemail. He tore out his earbuds and bundled them up, shoving them into his pocket alongside his phone.

He was on the precipice of a horrifying change, but he didn’t know exactly what—just that he was looking at something so smooth and grey and warmed up from the blistered sun.

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

By the time Wonwoo had returned to his apartment last night, he was dead tired—a zombie, practically—scuffing his feet against the wooden flooring with his suitcase rolling behind. Face-planting upon the bed that hadn’t felt the dip from his body weight in a week, he thought he would rest his drooping eyes and give himself a moment to settle. Except it wasn’t just a moment, it was hours and hours of sleep that felt like a single second. When he woke up, his arm was completely numbed from being tucked under his cheek.

It had actually scared him. Wonwoo immediately shot up, staring down at the lifeless limb which he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself hoarsely, squinting against the sunlight which blinded the bedroom. “How long was I out…”

Digging the latter hand into his pants pocket, he let the blood slowly tingle back into his other arm while checking the time on his phone. However, the device was dead. For all he knew, it was the year three-thousand and there would be flying cars and Blade Runner infomercials gleaming in the city smog. Once he was able to move his arm, Wonwoo slid off the bed and laid down his suitcase, beginning to zip open the compartment.

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

Letting his phone recharge on the bedside table, he returned to unpacking. His laptop, toothbrush, books, socks, pairs of underwear and oversized shirts—he stored everything back in its appropriate place, tossing the occasional article into his laundry hamper, until the suitcase was nearly emptied. The only item which remained inside was a small plastic bottle, translucent orange, baring a white prescription label with a few pills remaining side.

His venlafaxine.

Wonwoo had started taking the medication again, roughly a week after his fight with you. Upon completely losing his ability to sleep or eat or survive an entire day without crippling in on himself like the world was a sinkhole waiting for him to slip, Wonwoo came to the realization that—what the fuck—he didn’t have to plainly suffer, and that all the time he spent ignoring the drug because he couldn’t even value his life enough to swallow one tiny pill was a useless, cruel disregard for the body that tried so fucking hard to protect him.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

By the time Wonwoo ate breakfast—a simple piece of toast with peanut butter—his phone was halfway charged.

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

“Get over it, Wonwoo. Don’t overreact... c’mon, c’mon, don’t give me that sad little face… it was funny!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

“Oh, you just said a curse word. Mom is gonna be so mad. Kids your age aren’t supposed to start swearing yet.”

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, what if she takes away your books? I bet you’ll get upset then, won’t you? Or those weird little playing cards you have. What if she’s so mad, she burns them! You’ll cry yourself to sleep like a little baby.”

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

“I know you do. And I let you sit here sulking. But now I’m just trying to get you to talk instead of mope. When you’re in a bad mood, it puts mom in a bad mood, and then I have to suffer with both of you being all brooding and cranky. Talking is an important skill, you know? Especially when you’re all pissed off. ”

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t understand why I’m the piece of shit, here. We always play Lifeguard at the water park. Now you want to throw a tantrum because, what? It was funny!”

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

“Okay, so what? Did you die, Wonwoo? Did you get banned from the park? Did you ruin your entire life?”

“No…”

“Exactly. It was uncomfortable, and you didn’t like the situation. I get that. But you put yourself in that position, alright? Stupid shit always happens when we play that game. You know the consequences. We’ve been over this before. Remember when you threw that life preserver on my head and almost gave me a concussion? I was pissed at you. But you’re a kid, and you weren’t really thinking, and I should’ve known. That’s why I didn’t curse you out. Let’s say we both learned a lesson from this and call it a day, huh? C'mon, the bucket is filling up. Let's catch it before we leave.”

—JULY 28th.

Wonwoo was sitting in a wicker-back chair downstairs in the pottery shop, his laptop placed on the corner of a table that had been covered with a white, plasticky sheet. The white was hardly visible through all the smears and stains attributed to month-old dried paint and clay. His landlord had asked him if he would oblige to waiting for the mugs her last class had just sculpted to finish drying in the kiln while she ran to the bank. An egg timer was placed on the desk in her office, and Wonwoo could hear it ticking away in the background.

The door to the shop had been propped open using a mandala decorated rock, and while Wonwoo browsed along an online book on his laptop, he partly listened to the miscellaneous bits and pieces of conversation pushed indoors by the midday summer wind.

Initially, he’d dreaded coming back to the city after the week-long repose at his uncle’s, but in truth, Wonwoo was adjusting better than anticipated. Maybe because he was attempting to look after himself more than usual—he was actually taking his medication and he’d weened himself from frequent, almost daily smoking to once every few days, though Wonwoo did realize his bud was getting low and the only person he knew to inquire for more was Vernon. He hadn’t seen his friend in person since the party, and their texting had admittedly dwindled ever since Wonwoo fought with you.

That was just over a month ago now.

Wonwoo had gone an entire month without texting you, talking to you, seeing you. He was doing better, feeling lighter.

But there remained one core part of him that was still very incomplete and damaged. Suddenly, Wonwoo was shivering in his seat. The warm sun was brightening up the shop and reflecting its light off the stained glass windchimes dangling from the ceiling, though he chose to blame the chill on the breeze trickling indoors.

Deep down, however, Wonwoo knew he’d done something wrong. So, very, very wrong. He’d hurt you like a bullet through bone.

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop, where he’d been staring into the screen with a glazed over and distant expression. Instead, he saw a young woman, about his age, walk into the pottery shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t recognize the woman’s features—chin length, wavy hair, coarse and russet brown, tanned skin and a face polka dotted with freckles. Piece by piece, the memory rebuilt itself in his mind and he felt somewhat stupid.

“Oh—jeez, Wonwoo! What the heck—you’re like, the last person I would expect to run into here. Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

Sierra, the girl who’d fashioned together his drink.

“Yeah. That feels like forever ago... what’re you doing here?”

He pushed down on the laptop lid and sat up straighter in the wicker chair, accidentally looking into the eyes of the girl who was shyly clinging to Sierra’s side. She immediately glanced elsewhere.

“I live here, actually.”

“Oh! That’s cool,” Sierra smiled. “Your family owns it, or?”

“No. The lady who runs the pottery shop also has ownership of the units upstairs. She rents them out. I live up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling as to emphasis his point.

“Okay, okay, that make a lot more sense. Still really cool.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh—yeah. So, this is my younger sister, Cora,” Sierra explained, grabbing onto the petite girl’s shoulder. “She was supposed to have her first class today, but she was feeling, um—well, you know how kids are. She’s just a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Wonwoo concurred, noting the resemblance between the two. “I was deathly shy when I was little.”

“Right? We were just gonna stop by to meet to the teacher ahead of her next class. I thought it might make everything easier.”

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

“Yeah, said she had to run to the bank. I’m sitting down here because I’m waiting for the pottery to finish drying in the kiln. I would give you an ETA, but I have no idea when she’s coming back.”

Glancing down at her sister, Sierra ruffled the girl’s hair.

“That sucks, huh?”

But she said nothing, just clung tightly to the back of Sierra’s yellow shirt, deciding to nod her head in response. Sierra shrugged.

“Is she usually here around this time?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirmed, “you could try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, wicked. I would wait but I’ve got a list of errands for today and I’m not even halfway through. And I’m sure Cora wouldn’t want to sit around, anyway. We just got a pool put in at the house.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

“No, not at all. The most I do is dip my feet in.”

“Aw, boo,” she said with dismay, shoulders sagging. “Well, it was nice running into you, Wonwoo. And—um, it might not be your thing, but I work at the Honeymoon almost every night—like, six to midnight. So, if you’re ever in Centertown, you should stop by.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

Once they left the pottery shop, Wonwoo set his elbows onto the plastic-sheeted table and leaned into his cold hands, sighing heavily as the egg timer continued ticking. Sierra was polite. She seemed warm like the sunshine and beautifully sincere. Wonwoo could read from her tender brown eyes that she desired more out of him—a friendship, a relationship, maybe something blissful, blurred, and in between. Though, it was nothing Wonwoo could give her.

He thought about the comment she made in regards to their pool—if he ever swam. Wonwoo didn’t swim, not since that horrible incident of Lifeguard all those years ago, back at the waterpark he used to attend alongside his older brother. Still, it got him thinking.

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

It contained all the video clips he’d taken of you with the camcorder throughout your writing journey. He had every single one, from the grassy running ring at the high school to the footage he’d taken of the evening sky the day you two visited the beach.

His mouse hovered over a clip.

Fuck—he really shouldn’t do that. Every moment would sting like a red hot, peeling sunburn. The mouse moved away from the video clip and Wonwoo sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand against his face at the near torment. But… it had been so long. He missed you.

“Whatever…” he sighed to himself, clicking the video.

It took a moment to start up.

“Okay! So, this is Mooney’s Bay. It encompasses chapter three, and—Wonwoo, you have to film my intro! Why are you filming the sand?”

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

“I’ll stand in front of them… okay, are you zoomed in?”

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Remember when I zoomed in and you said I shouldn’t do that because it doesn’t capture the scenery properly?”

“Well, I said that because you were zooming in on me when you were supposed to be getting the ambiance shots! That’s why I said don’t zoom in. You can zoom in for the intro. Is the light better?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does my hair look good? Actually, do you think it’s too windy? I’m worried about it being too windy, and then I can’t hear my introduction. I have to be able to hear my introduction. I’m really nervous. Wait—let me take off my flip flops. There’s so much sand in them and I hate it. Okay. Am I covering the people?”

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, this is Mooney’s Bay, and… and… wait—oh no! I forget my lines. What was I supposed to say, again?”

“I’m not sure, it’s your script. Something about chapter three.”

“Oh, I remember now! Okay, again from the top. Cut this out!”

He remembered that warm day as clear as the bay’s shiny water—specifically, the plethora of takes he had to film because you kept fudging up the script typed out on your phone. Wonwoo surfed through the rest of the clips pertaining to the beach, smiling to himself whenever you would fumble the words for the umpteenth time and groan in sheer frustration. Eventually, the backdrop turned from blue skies to an evening sunset. You two had spent hours there, and the filming had ended with tangy lemonade and watermelon.

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, introduce the flavour. Like show and tell.”

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is my flavour: it’s strawberry cheesecake. The red bits are the strawberries and those chunks are the cheesecake. I picked it because this is the flavour I got when I went on my first date with Mingyu. I love strawberries the most. Cheesecake is my favourite cake. Um… I don’t really know what else to say…”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

“Not perfect even though it’s your favourite things?”

“Well—because the ice cream is too hard. I like soft ice cream. If I waited like, ten minutes, then ate some, it would be higher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Okay! You’re not supposed to be inserting your personal comments! You’re just supposed to say prompts and stuff. Don’t make me revoke your camera privileges.”

“You know anybody else with my camera operating skills?”

“Seokmin.”

“He couldn’t film his way out of a paper bag.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t already said.”

The abrupt end to the video made Wonwoo sink down in his chair with a dumb, wide smile. You did in fact, wait the entire ten minutes for your ice cream to significantly melt in the cup, then forcing Wonwoo to watch with unfiltered judgement as you stirred it up like a smoothie. You said it helped with your sensitive teeth.

He could understand that.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to watch much more, he chose one final clip to open—the most recent one he’d taken. It was from the day you raced home in the rain after exploring the nature museum, right before Princess had swung by to pick you up. He had been fooling around with the camcorder while you two sat on the couch.

“… Um, so… do you care if I keep this shirt? It’s a good bedtime shirt, and I don’t really have any. I mean, only if you say it’s okay.”

“Uh, sure. I hardly wear it anymore, to be honest.”

“Oh. What’s it from?”

“A math competition thing. If you straighten that part out… that’s Euler’s number… this other one is your classic integral.”

“Hm, yeah. That’s such a great conversation starter. Have you guys ever heard about the integral symbol? Such a classic!”

“You jest but it got me quite a bit of recognition.”

“Like you want recognition.”

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Ah, okay. So if I wear it out, will I get random geeks coming up to me on the street asking about it?”

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

“Yes, so when they come up to me, I can say I have a really smart, talented, loser friend who owns it. So I can brag about you.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose. Can you drop the loser part?”

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

“Seriously? Life has already humbled me enough, I think.”

The clip ended, and Wonwoo was staring back at himself in the screen’s black reflection. He could recall that oddly hollow feeling which situated uncomfortably large in the pit of his stomach when he realized how much he missed you.

But how could he not yearn for you? When you were so captivating, and infinitely brilliant, and stubbornly hard-headed in a tantalizing way that made him feel completely alive and invigorated.

I fucked up—it was all he could think as he pushed his laptop away and buried his head into his arms—I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up and I pushed away the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, the small egg timer that had been sitting on the landlord’s desk a room away erupted. It started rattling and clanging and while Wonwoo should have shot up from his seat to turn it off and check the sculpted mugs cooking in the kiln, he stayed in his seat.

He felt glued to it.

All he could think about was how badly he needed to talk to you, hear your voice, see your face, smell your scent. Maybe he didn’t deserve it—Wonwoo knew he didn’t—but he loved you too much.

He couldn’t let you fade into a deep, dark memory.

—JULY 30th.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to his favourite café on Sunnyside Avenue for almost two months. He was therefore quite surprised at their new interior upon giving into a last-minute whim—visiting for a quick coffee. They had finally swapped their metal chairs for more cushiony seats, and the circle tabletops for square, wooden ones. The style of chalk writing on the overhead menu boards had changed, too.

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

Usually, Wonwoo only stopped at the café to work on his writing and indulge in a raspberry lemon scone that was supposed to be a treat for having been productive, though he always ate it before a single word would ever grace the paper. Since he began helping you with your book back in March, he frequented the café less and less. It brought a smile to his face, recalling the incident of you slapping your hand against the window and jarring him half to death.

He used to be so afraid of you. Never would he imagine the comfort you’d end up bestowing him—and the fact he’d lose it all.

“I can help whoever’s next!”

Turning his attention from the corner where his old table used to sit—now occupied by two girls sharing a latte and giggling as they perused their phones—Wonwoo approached the barista he failed to recognize, waiting to take his order. Realizing he’d lost his metaphorical loyalty badge and that he could no longer just coolly toss out, ‘the usual’, Wonwoo had to remember what it was he even liked.

“Just an iced coffee,” he said, “and, uh… do you still have those scones with the raspberry and lemon filling?”

As the barista pressed something into the tablet screen, he shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not made here anymore.”

“Oh, damn.”

“We do have a new strawberry scone, though, for summer. It’s got a confectionary sugar drizzle. It’s pretty popular.”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the coffee.”

“No problem, man. Total is three ninety-nine.”

“Card, thanks.”

It might have been stupid, but Wonwoo couldn’t think about strawberries without thinking of you, because you always smelled like a sweet, ripe, and vibrantly red strawberry—it was the scent of your skin, which he so pathetically missed feeling warm and velvet against his. He bet one-hundred percent you would have ordered that scone.

After tapping his phone against the card reader, Wonwoo stepped aside and waited for his coffee. It was a Sunday. He had work tomorrow. There wasn’t much happening in his life.

“Iced coffee, right here.”

The barista slid the cardboard cup across the counter. Wonwoo grabbed it with a polite thank you, and then settled an inspecting glance around the café for a place to sit. He shouldn’t have come in the afternoon—it was always their busiest hours apart from early morning—and it seemed the redesign had promptly boosted their relevance, because Wonwoo couldn’t remember a time when the tables had ever been so filled. He stepped further into the seating area, though, someone familiar had just caught his eye.

Princess.

She was sat at a table close to some beautifully potted ferns and palm leaves, typing on a laptop while a plate with a half-finished sandwich and a plastic cup of matcha remained by her elbow. At the exact moment that Wonwoo saw her, Princess had also looked up, and as though by magic, their gazes caught without hesitation.

At first, Wonwoo panicked. The breath dropped out of his chest and he pondered waving to her, turning tail, and fleeing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was aware of the fight between you and him—she was your best friend—and Wonwoo knew from the manner in which her lips apprehensively curled into a numb smile that Princess already knew everything. Still, she waved at him.

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

Maybe it was an indescribably stupid decision, but Wonwoo opted to swallow the fear and dread and anxiety in his throat. If she didn’t want him to sit with her, then he trusted that Princess would make such a boundary extremely clear—but Wonwoo had to try. He had to make some sort of initiative, some form of amends, and above all, he wanted to know about you, even if the answer hurt terribly.

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

Princess’ tattooed hands stilled on the keyboard. She flitted her round, deep brown eyes up at him, and he felt frustrated that he could extract little to nothing from their depths. Again, she smiled.

“I’m alright. Just working on some forms for work.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Do you, uh… do you care if I sit?”

She didn’t speak, but continued to stare at him with a lip worried between her teeth, and it was then Wonwoo could realize the conflict swimming through her gaze. The panic started to build again, and the regret surged into his stomach like a tsunami.

“Really, I don’t mean to make things awkward,” Wonwoo was urged to clarify, the cold cup feeling increasingly slippery in his clammy hand, “I can go. I don’t want to cause any problems."

“No, no—” Princess shook her head, meanwhile her tone remained strained and uncertain, “—it’s okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. I mean, it’s plenty full in here. I’m not that busy.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You can sit, Wonwoo.”

He exhaled softly, proceeding to pull out the chair. It felt quite nice sitting against a cushion rather than the hard metal he remembered.

Princess reached for her matcha, placing the straw between her lips and taking a long, heavy sip as though to prepare herself for the awkward nature of their incoming conversation. Wonwoo did the same. He didn’t even know where to start. Was it better to burn off his nerves through small talk or jump straight into the heat?

She moved the long braids off her shoulder, heaved in a breath.

“Well, let’s just get the bulk of this talk out of the way. I know what happened. I know you’re not friends with Her anymore. I know the way it ended was super ugly. I know that she spent, like, three days at my apartment, miserable, in tears over you, Wonwoo. So, I do feel a certain way toward you. I hope you can understand that.” She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. “But, we’re adults. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about… some things.”

“No, I—I get that.”

Already, he wanted to throw up. Despite all his repressing, he could still hear that choked, vulnerable, completely broken sob you croaked out the day you left his apartment—how mercilessly it had haunted him for the entire week—made him believe he was a monster, a masochist, the lowest form of human being. Wonwoo felt there was no excusing it. He would always hate himself for it.

“What are you curious about?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Princess glanced down for a second, staring at the smooth, black surface of her laptop. She then clicked her nails together.

“I-I just… how could it… how could it go so wrong?” The girl wondered aloud, leaning back into her chair, seeming despaired at the aftermath. “From the second I saw her get defensive of you at Spring Street, I knew how much she cared. I knew that you meant something to her and for whatever reason, she wasn’t going to let anyone screw it up. And she became so much lighter. Everything wasn’t an attack. Everything she did wasn’t so agonizing anymore.”

Wonwoo’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing underneath the table, the nervous energy accumulating rather than draining away. He wished he had the perfect answer, but he couldn’t yet find one.

Her head tilted, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know… I thought you could be so good for Her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life that’s like you. But—I mean—fuck, we’re here, now, aren’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, staring straight into the girl’s shiny, unwavering eyes that held so much sentiments of angst and betrayal, like she herself was carrying your rage. “Princess… I… I want, so fucking bad, to give you a good answer for why everything blew up. I do. But—just—every time I try to look inward, every time I try to understand it at its core, I feel like it’s all shrouded. I know I fucked up. I know it. She made—makes—me happy, too. But I’m not there yet.”

“You’re not where?” She asked, pressing forward. “At a place where you can understand what you did? Why you did it?”

Fiddling with his cup atop its cork coaster, Wonwoo nodded.

He then chewed into his bottom lip, feeling the skin break.

“Can I ask… what did you think of me? When she told you what happened? If you have to be brutally uncouth, I don’t care.”

Princess abruptly laughed at the request, head tumbling forward into her gold-ringed hands. He wasn’t sure if she would oblige, as the laugh sounded nervous yet tinged with disbelief, which led Wonwoo to believe she had thought some very unpleasant things.

“Um… let’s see...” she chuckled hesitantly, smoothing antsy hands along her dark skin, “I was definitely gagged, let’s start there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just—I didn’t believe that you would be capable of being such a fucking asshole. I mean—” she collapsed back into the chair, throwing up her arms, “—can you blame me? You’re quiet, well-mannered, intelligent. Everyone loved you at the party. I think the fact you could turn around and be so… s-so cruel, so hostile, like you were—I don’t know—trying to gut her, just seemed impossible. But Her doesn’t lie. She has no reason to make it up. I wasn’t able to think much at all because I went comfort mode. I just wanted to focus on getting her mind off you.”

“And… afterward?”

“Well, I wanted to destroy you, obviously.”

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

Instantly, his stomach dropped to his feet, and Wonwoo was certain his face had paled like a washed-out t-shirt. Princess’ gaze settled upon him with intense focus. Wonwoo scratched at his thumb.

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, the words erased from his mind in a mere snap of one’s fingers. Instead, Wonwoo stared at the girl while she politely waited for a sign, knowing his very loud, lacking response was an answer enough in itself if his eyes weren’t already panicked and practically writing the narrative for him. To admit his true heart to another person was the most horrifying predicament Wonwoo could articulate. He was far from capable.

Princess raised her brow. “I’ll take that as a—”

“You can’t tell Her. Please, please, please, whatever you do, whatever you think of me—just, please don’t tell Her,” Wonwoo blurted, the perspiration drenching the palms that sunk into his knees. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if she finds out. Really, I—”

“Wonwoo.” Princess reached under the table, and he felt her cool, soft hand settle overtop his. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay? Just breathe. You look like you’re going to have—"

“Don’t say it,” he exhaled shakily, “I-I know…”

He proceeded to close his eyes, draw in a long, deep, thorough breath, while his knee continued jittering and his chest felt so tight and twisted with fear. He closed his eyes and recalled the washroom belonging to his aunt’s house in rural Changwon, with the bright blue shower curtain and its pattern of yellow rubber ducks.

Wonwoo counted all the rubber ducks on that childhood curtain, the number having been scorched into his mind like a scar, until he felt the world fall back into tune. The steadiness of Princess’ hand over top his was a gentle reminder that he was indeed alive and not a puddle of mistakes melted to the café floor. Pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose, he reopened his eyes to see the girl’s the sympathetic, earnest face. Wonwoo cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah—I’m okay… just—uh, th-thank you.”

She pulled her hand away, smiling, “no problem.”

The two proceeded to sit in silence as Wonwoo further collected his bearings. He glanced around the café, recognizing no one else amongst the crowd, and spotting more and more modifications that had appeared since his last visit—the light fixtures overhead were different, the decorative wall art had been replaced, and the baristas were all wearing hats with a new, improved logo. So much had developed in his absence. So much had to change.

He looked at his iced coffee, which he took a sip from, and realized that he didn’t prefer the taste quite like he used to.

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I don’t deserve this. I know that me even asking this might seem so unprecedentedly stupid. Her probably doesn’t want you talking to me, which I get, and I know you feel conflicted about me being here… but… fuck… Princess, I have to know something about Her. Anything. I don’t care if it’s the smallest, most insignificant detail you could think of. Just one thing… that’s all.”

The delivery was undoubtedly begging, perhaps pathetic, but he could not find it within himself to care. He missed you too fucking much, to the point it was becoming insufferable, unliveable.

Folding one leg over the other, Princess leaned back and grabbed onto her matcha, spinning it slightly. She was no longer meeting his eyeline, and that drowned his hopes in a watery grave.

He settled his elbows onto the table, his finger gripping at the air with every pleading word that he could somehow conjure.

“I know you don’t want to; I-I know it. I know she fucking hates me, detests me, wishes we never met. But this is the most regretful I’ve ever been, a-about anything in my life. And—I know that I’m pushing you—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—if I can just know one thing, I’ll leave you alone. I-I mean, is she… did she get a new shirt, after that one ripped, on the hanger? Does she still go to the SSA meetings? Or—I don’t fucking know—is she writing? Is she doing something new? Have you seen her smile at all? Or heard her laugh? Genuinely laugh. The one where she can’t even breathe and she grips onto you and buries her head into your neck? Is she still just as quippy? Constantly rambling over herself? I miss that so much… I miss all of it… everything about her… there’s nothing I don’t miss.”

Princess was biting her lip, refusing to say a word.

Wonwoo hadn’t intended to barrage her. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave the café without wholeheartedly trying.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, placing his forehead against the black wood of the table, breathing back the bitterness, the frustration, the tears. Princess was a boulder, it seemed. He’d lost, picking his head back up after a moment of composure, and pushed out his chair.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her gaze heavy with sadness.

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

“Bye, Princess,” he answered, his throat irritably tight.

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

As her voice picked up amongst the cluttering dishes and drawls of conversation, Wonwoo turned around to see the girl’s remorseful expression and the hands shoved tightly under her arms. Princess paused, staring at the coffee mug he’d abandoned at the table.

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

But Princess shook her head, making a twisting motion at her lips like she was fastening the lock to a chest. It was her one thing.

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

It had been far too long since Wonwoo last texted, spoke to, or saw Vernon. When he left for an entire week to stay at his uncle’s cottage in the midst of July, he hadn’t even shot the boy a message that he was leaving. As cold or uncompassionate as it may have sounded, Wonwoo never really considered Vernon to be that important or necessary to his life until he sat back and thought about their relationship: a studious loner with an unperturbed drug dealer who somehow formed a bond that hadn’t predictably eroded.

Sure, it helped that Vernon became his plug and there was technically a reason for their symbiosis, but what Wonwoo hadn’t taken note of was their closeness over the months.

Perhaps it was guilt, or the sting of losing you and having experienced Princess treat him like an ugly secret, or the simplistic, innate need for human contact, that Wonwoo finally decided to reach out and invite the boy over for a smoke. Vernon agreed, though it wasn’t until the near cusp of midnight that he stopped by. Together they sat on the complex rooftop, two perfectly packed blunts between them, lit by their sparking lighters. The conversation drifted from topic to topic like a passive leaf being tugged through a breeze.

Wonwoo was able to realize how desperately he needed a moment like that—no guards, no anxiety, no hyper-analyzing every little goddamn comment or action—just friendship.

And Vernon made it easy.

“Not to mention the fact that Seokmin—he fuckin’ sucks at mini-puttin’ by the way. Jesus Christ, man. There was a twelve-year-old girl a hole behind us who was makin’ shots like Tiger Woods, and then here we are, waitin’ for Seokmin to make a shot that is damn near impossible to—like, okay—tell me why he’s got one leg on the fuckin’ rock and the other stretched halfway across the laneway like he's droppin’ into the splits? Why does it need t’be that hard!”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo half-laughed, half-coughed into his elbow, the smoke instantly rushing back out his mouth.

“Holy fuck. I wish I’d seen that in person.”

“No,” Vernon deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves, “you don’t. At that point, just pick up the ball and move it into the hole, man. That twelve-year-old’s got places to be and we’re over here climbin’ on rocks and crawlin’ under bridges like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

“Oh—me too,” he chuckled. “Fuck someone once in the storage closet at glow-in-the-dark mini-put and suddenly you’re ‘a detriment to the company.’ Like, get the fuck outta my face.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah—just sold her like two-hundred bucks of ecstasy.”

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

“No, no—Ruby’s chill! Always came to work stoned half the time, though. Dude, no. It was the other girl that fuckin’ ratted on us.”

“Damn… so, is Ruby the one?” Wonwoo teased.

As Vernon removed the joint from his lips, a swift trail of smoke ejected into the nighttime air. He huffed in disagreement.

“Nah. She’s a good friend you can screw on the low. Know you guys won’t catch feelings. Makes it easy. That’s what I’m about.”

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

Scraping his thumb against the rough spark wheel of his favourite Bic, Wonwoo lit the small, dancing flame, bringing it close to his blunt and crisping the paper more heavily. He proceeded to draw in a long, smooth breath. The atmosphere was almost silent if not for the distant murmur of midnight traffic. Wonwoo watched the abundant smoke as it slowly streamed out his nose. It eventually dissipated against the blackness, existing just long enough for Wonwoo to appreciate that weightless sensation it gave him.

Vernon swept a hand through his hair, smiled at Wonwoo.

“Okay, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off—” the boy began with notable caution, taking a quick hit before removing the blunt from his lips “—but, uh, what exactly… did happen… between you and Her?”

For a moment, the vigilantly placed question hovered in the cool summer air as Wonwoo breathed out another cloud. However, he didn’t let the smoke disappear on its own, rather he blew into it harshly and forced the flurry to melt. One way or another, he knew this topic would surface. And Vernon was right—he completely had the right to tell his friend to fuck off—because no matter how much time had passed since, Wonwoo still felt the wound with all the freshness and intensity of that night. He remained stiff, thinking.

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter. We’re havin’ fun, anyway.”

Wonwoo was going to agree—yeah, let’s skip it—but at the last second, he burned the reliable safety of his choice. The thing was, he hadn’t really discussed the fight with anybody. Sitting down and talking to Princess didn’t bestow the alleviation or closure that Wonwoo thought it would, especially considering her loyalty to you and the fact she hadn’t desired that conversation more than she desired a hole in the head. He was able to relieve some tension upon visiting his uncle’s, but, ultimately, Wonwoo was doing the exact thing you had accused him of—letting things sit and fester.

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

After tugging at the edge of his thick beanie, Wonwoo rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and decided to bite the bullet.

“Uh, no—all good. You’re curious, I get it.”

Vernon’s eyes widened underneath the moonlight and the warm, glowing radiance that crept over the building precipice. He nearly choked on the smoke.

“Wait—dude. Really?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo angled his face toward him, nodding.

“Okay, uh… wow. Wasn’t expectin’ to get this far.”

“Need a moment to catch your breath, yeah?”

“Psh—shut the fuck up, Glasses… actually—no, yeah. Let me take a hit first. I feel like this is gonna be a deep-dish pizza, y’know?”

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

He copied his friend, crisping the blunt one last time before pressing his lips around the paper and drawing in a big breath.

Right before the prickling could desiccate his throat, Wonwoo exhaled everything into the abrupt breeze—not just the smoke, but his fears, his worries—whatever might stunt or thwart him from understanding that it wasn’t so terrifying to be candour.

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

“Okay, player. You’ve got my attention.”

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

What’s going to happen if he chokes on all his words?

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

Wonwoo, you have spent practically your entire life writing and crafting sentences and the most adolescent, tormented prose imaginable—how is it that you cannot configure one thought?

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

He thought about glancing at Vernon to gauge his reaction, especially when his friend didn’t offer one word in response, not even a pointed hmph, or a sniffle, or something satirical to suggest that all his teasing had some actual truth and substance.

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

“And… that night, at the party, we had this really sincere moment… I mean, maybe it wasn’t that sincere—she’d just done a line of coke and had been sipping alcohol and smoking all night. But that’s how it felt when it was happening. After the bullshit with Bells, I took her to a spare bedroom to calm down. She asked me to lay with her.”

Wonwoo paused to collect his breathing. Even just the memory of your body pressed against his was enough to rake up those buried emotions from his insides like old, autumn leaves. The memories of your heat, and the giggling into his neck, and the way your fingers would occasionally trace shapes on his chest as you listened to him talk—nothing had ever felt so cosmically right.

“Um… yeah. I don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t care about if it was wrong or right. If Mingyu came barging in, or someone else, or—fuck, if the goddamn roof caved in—I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her so fucking bad. We didn’t kiss or anything. We just laid there together, like, intertwined, you know? I told her some stuff. We were just talking… I think, in my mind, I just wanted to have this moment where I was something to her, more than a friend. And I just—I put this stupid fucking notion in my head that it was true.”

Eyes squeezed shut, blunt poised between his fingers, Wonwoo rode the high of another hit, ignoring the deep, sensitive pain cutting his bone marrow. He kept excavating despite the hurt.

“But—I-I mean, a girl like that?” He laughed, head bending down between his propped knees. “A girl like that, you know? She is so—sh-she’s—I shouldn’t want her at all. I should want nothing to do with her. But—I don’t know—she has drive, and things she’s passionate about, and she can be so unrelenting and fucking bossy, but then so soft, and calm, and I just get drawn into her like a moth to a flame. I think everything’s okay, you know? I don’t get that… that dread—that feeling like I’m constantly failing, and useless, and like everything is out to get me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t glanced at Vernon once. He didn’t want to.

That way, it felt like he was alone, talking to himself, maybe talking to the moon. It erased the veil of pressure and eased his typically constrained, rigid muscles. Feeling his glasses begin to slip, Wonwoo lifted his head, pushing the circled frames back up his nose.

“I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why it’s her, specifically. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. She has Mingyu to love. And it just—it fucking frustrates me so much—" Wonwoo breathed out the irritation, licking his lips, “—because we’re having this sweet moment, and it’s so perfect, and right. But then all of a sudden, he’s just—he—she's letting him fuck her. Like that moment we had was nothing, like I didn’t just be the most open I’ve ever been with her. And—I know, I know—she’s high as fuck and not thinking straight. So, what do I chalk us up to, then? A bad trip? A blur in time? A moment you live once and then just forget? What the fuck do I make of that?”

Something crackled inside him, akin to match being lit, palpable enough that it motivated the boy to his feet because this cramped, knees-to-chest position wouldn’t suffice in channeling the energy he felt. Wonwoo moved the blunt to his lips, attempting to speak while it hung at the corner of his mouth, though he only left it there for a few seconds in his urgence for another hit. He started pacing.

“That was such a dogshit moment, you know? Going down there, wanting it to be a lie, almost believing it, but then—I hear it. I-I hear the way she’s getting fucked and I hear her moans and her whimpers and I hear the way he’s using her.” Wonwoo kicked a stone off the edge of the building, one hand shoved into his sweats pocket while the other fed him a brief inhalation from the blunt. “I’ve never felt that before. Awful. Like, indescribable devastation. I ran to the washroom to throw up because my body just couldn’t handle it. It felt like such a kick in the fucking teeth. And I was mad at her—like, fuck you for throwing back all that trust into my face, you know?”

He shook his head, then balancing at the rim of the complex like a fall from that height wouldn’t leave him broken.

“I was so fucking pissed at her…” Wonwoo muttered, staring down at the shadowed streets, “every time I thought about it, I just felt sick… but, obviously, we have to hash it out. That’s why she jumped you, or whatever—I wasn’t texting her back because I knew nothing good would come from it. Like I said, though… she’s unrelenting. Shows up at my door, banging on it like there’s a murderer outside. I was in a terrible headspace. I… I kind of…”

The words jammed on his tongue.

Wonwoo had to walk away from the ledge as a foggy sensation muddled his senses. Hands, beginning to tremble, pulled in torment down the back of his black beanie, the blunt caught between his fingers as he remembered the inexcusable maliciousness to his ranting. It echoed through his head like a gong.

He squatted down, rubbing at his wrinkled, aching brow.

“I… I basically—j-just—I tore her to fucking shreds.”

There was so much emotion clogging his throat. Every word was a struggle to enunciate, and each one burned and stung more tangibly than the last, as though he’d swallowed knives.

“It didn’t even feel good, you know? It wasn’t cathartic, or victorious. I felt like… do I even deserve anything? She went into the hall and… that sob. Oh my god… bawling her eyes out because of my stupidity. Because of my inability to be a fucking person as she mentioned.”

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

He reached out his hand, letting the small bits of rubble stick to his fingertips, thinking, about everything, how he destroyed it. You were just a panicked river, trying to heal and soothe, but the message was lost under the current. Wonwoo had been a scalding fire, one that charred everything the instant it touched his vengeful heat.

There were only ashes. He didn’t know how to rebuild a relationship from something so fragile and ruined at his beckon.

The frustration was boiling in Wonwoo’s gut. All his shortcomings, the ignorance to the flaws he buried, how he treated you—it was all bubbling together like some sort of poisonous, infectious brew and if he didn’t somehow release pressure then he would crack like ceramics. Wonwoo maneuvered the thick blunt from his fingers into his palm where he crushed it, hard.

“Uh, Wonwoo? It’s… it’s okay, man. You—”

“Fuck!”

The tattered piece of crisped tobacco paper and grinded weed flew into the air, the breeze pulling the remnants somewhere unimportant. Vernon immediately smothered his words. He could only stare, frozen, as Wonwoo tore off his glasses, rubbing a sweater sleeve against the beginning pricks of tears that bulbed up from his eyes. He sucked in a long, shuddering, ragged breath.

“I fucking hate this, Vernon. I-I’m everything she said I was. I do it to myself. I always do it to myself. I want to change so badly but it never feels like it’s happening fast enough, a-an-and—and—and—”

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

Vernon was on his feet in an instant, quickly brushing his hands off against the fabric of his jeans, the blunt now tucked behind his ear. Wonwoo continued rubbing into his eyes. His friend’s face appearing before him was nothing but watery smudging, almost like a ruined oil painting. Wonwoo hiccupped.

“No—Vernon—y-you don’t understand, you—I-I fucked up, alright? I fucked up so bad! I—” he could hardly breathe, his glasses dropped somewhere on the roof, “—I just wrecked everything and—”

“Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!” Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook them sternly. “Shut up! You’re takin’ all the fuckin’ air!”

The abruptness snapped a wire in Wonwoo’s brain. It was so unexpected that he almost wasn’t sure if it happened. However, his torrent of seemingly endless anxious thought began to falter, with a very slow but gradual concentration toward the softness rosying his friend’s blurred face. Vernon rubbed against Wonwoo’s trembling arm, and with a gentle tug, urged him to sit down.

“C’mon, get on your ass… there ‘ya go. Awesome. Now… where’s your—oh, shit—they’re right here. Lucky you, huh?”

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

As Wonwoo busied himself with carving those scratches against his thumb, Vernon extended a hand to his friend’s cheek.

“Let me rid get of these tears… so you… can actually… see…”

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

“Let’s put these on, yeah? Are you okay with that?”

Vernon seemed to accept the quietness as him not quite being ready, and so the boy settled for resting a tattooed hand on Wonwoo’s knee, familiarizing him with a grounding touch. In due time, Wonwoo was relaxed enough to properly swallow.

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

Wonwoo sniffled, imitating a rumbling sound to clear his brittle throat, meanwhile there was a breeze ghosting along his exposed nape. It was just as comforting as Vernon’s touch.

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m just glad they didn’t get crushed.”

When his friend’s calm face clarified in the silver moonlight, with his unjudgmental eyes, and his compassionate smile, Wonwoo began to realize that… perhaps, being trusting and vulnerable and honest was not the worst thing in the world. There was merit and relief. There was a friend waiting on the other side with an open hand.

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

“Listen, Glasses. If you’re gonna apologize to me, then shove it right back up your ass. Seriously. There’s no need.”

“Well, I mean…” Wonwoo wiped his runny nose, “I kind of unloaded on you, and, I didn’t intend for that. I really didn’t.”

“I asked you a loaded question in the first place, didn’t I? I ordered a deep-dish pizza and that’s what I fuckin’ got.”

“Well… I-I… I’m glad you can look at it that way.”

“God, Wonwoo. You’re actin’ like this was a total blindside. I know you, y’know? Maybe not to a tee, but I know you.” Vernon kept his hand against Wonwoo’s knee, dusting some grit from it. “And I know you’re gonna feel regretful about all this, but you shouldn’t, alright? ‘Cause, look—you did somethin’ that most people—they go their entire lives without doin’. You dug deep and acknowledged your flaws. And not just the pansy shit, like—oh, I’m bad at time management, I forget to put the dishes away, I don’t fill up the ice cube tray, I never reply to texts—I mean the real stuff.

The really dark, uncomfortable stuff that we know is there but it’s so much easier to ignore. The stuff that gets in the way of our happiness, or success, or connections—bein’ the sin-sincerest versions of ourselves—it’s so much easier to pack all that bad stuff down. It’s there but at least it’s not out here. But then, like, maybe one day it is out here. And it’s hurtin’ everything around you. And some people will still let it slide because there’s always somethin’ else to blame. What is that bullshit—acceptance is always the hardest part? I don’t fuckin’ know. Anyway, you should give yourself some credit, Glasses. Seriously. I’m proud.”

“Proud?” Wonwoo chuckled weakly, returning the warmth of his friend’s honeyed eyes. “That's such a mom thing to say.”

Vernon’s hand shifted to whacking Wonwoo’s arm. “Don't get smart.”

“No, uh—I’m joking. Thank you, Vernon… really.”

“Hey, I know I’m your drug dealer, but I consider us friends, y’know? And not every friend’s gotta be your support beam. But I think you’re someone worth supportin’… hey—that sounded pretty smart and eloquent, right? I’m basically you, now.”

Wonwoo smiled. “You're missing the glasses.”

“I’ll just take yours,” Vernon chided, giving his friend’s chest a light push, “what’re you gonna do, anyway? Four-eyes.”

“I think if you wore these for more than five minutes… you’d get a migraine,” Wonwoo supposed, watching Vernon nod his head.

“Damn. You’re probably right. Not worth it.”

“Mmhm…”

“… But, um… y’know what I do think is worth it?”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

Vernon paused, as though to contemplate his response, but when the words left his mouth, there was pure firmness behind them.

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

Pressing his lips together, Wonwoo stared off into the corner.

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

“I’m serious! You know she’s perfect for you, right? A bossy girl who’s about her shit but can soften up for you is exactly what you need. Girls like that—they care so fuckin’ much, y’know? And she’s majorly into you. I saw how she hugged you at the party. How she got all smiley and sweet. I mean, she was gonna punch Bells in the fuckin’ face to stop her from makin’ a move on you. She’s got a man, I know. And I’m not sayin’ be a fuckin’ homewrecker. But, like, I don’t know… Mingyu’s all image and no substance. A fuckin’ airhead.”

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I liked him a lot more when he was handin’ me two-hundred ‘a Seungcheol’s bands. I know he just invited me to that party ‘cause I can get him n’ his rich friends high. I’m not stupid. Keep your enemies close, and your friends—wait, fuck—keep your—”

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

“Yes! Don’t let her go! Are you crazy, Glasses?!”

“What am I supposed to say? I-I was such a cunt.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man—offer to lick hers. Bet she’ll forgive you right there on the spot. Damn. That’s how I’d do it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

“Eh, whatever. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Wonwoo exhaled a large, solacing breath, glancing toward the moonlight that beautifully shimmered down in its pearlescent webs, bathing the rooftop akin to the blue mirages at the nature museum.

Vernon was right.

He couldn’t let this be the end of your story.

—END OF PART FOUR.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut

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prfctparis · 1 year ago

Text

I’d Give You My Lungs So You Can Breathe (I’ve Got You, Brother) [CH1]

AO3 Link / Next / Masterlist

summary:

Danny Fenton was adopted at age ten, with little to no memories about his former family. At age fourteen, he died yet lived and those memories began to return. He didn’t do anything about those memories – didn’t plan to, at least not yet – but then he got captured by the GIW, saved by his friends and someone who might be his sister who he only somewhat remembered, and taken to Gotham to, apparently, his biological father for safety until further notice.

Team Phantom was there, too, and they did not sign up for this family drama.

a/n:

so i figured i’d post this here too, since there are so many dcxdp lovers on here, and in case someone has no access to ao3 somehow or just doesn’t use it…well, here you go! also i’m bored & this blog needs some action lmao. anyway, this first chapter is technically a prologue, but whatever. there are 2 more chapters i have already written (which are also on ao3), so i’ll upload them here in a day or so if anyone wants me to, and i’m gradually working on the next one. hope you guys enjoy! FYI, so no one is confused, in this athanasia is danny’s twin – not damian :)

warnings for the entire fic:

canon-typical violence of the DC variety; angst; memory loss/repressed memories; do i need to say major character death(s) or is that just a given for this fandom; questionable parenting tho every parent is trying to do good & care for the kids; implied/referenced past child abuse bc of the child assassin backgrounds; pls tell me if i missed something

CHAPTER ONE —

[italicized conversations are implied to be spoken in arabic]

At age ten, he didn’t remember much of anything.

He woke up at the edge of some woods, in dirty and dark clothes that, for some reason, made his mind go Assassin. His head was fuzzy, and the left side of both his chest and back hurt, and there were streaks of dark brown-ish red on his hands that flaked off when he scratched at them.

Eventually, he got up. The sun was rising, and he needed to figure out where he was. So, he walked. He walked, and walked, and when he made into a town, he kept on walking. The sign read ‘Amity Park’ in English.

…That unnerved him. Usually he didn’t read things in English. Right? They were in another language, letters and words read from right to left rather than left to right. Arabic, his mind supplied.

Why was everything in English? he thought, a little hysterical, and then tensed, eyes roaming around as if someone might have heard him – might have had a sixth sense to sniff out fear.

He wasn’t allowed to be afraid, or panic. He couldn’t afford to. He couldn’t. Because…

Because of what?

“Excuse me?” A young voice broke his thoughts.

He spun around and saw a girl with red hair and blue headband with a backpack on her shoulders. She was older than him by a few years…maybe.

(He was ten. How he knew that, he didn’t know, but he was ten.)

“Are you lost?”

Face careful not to show any emotion, he glanced around. The roads were beginning to get busy. People were walking out of buildings, and into other ones.

The girl just smiled – nothing that made him want to bolt, or fight to get away, or freeze in fear. It was…kind. “It’s okay if you are, I can help you. I’m Jasmine,” she said. “But most people just call me Jazz; it’s a nickname. Can you tell me yours?” She knelt down. Some of the nerves dissipated at the action; no longer was she standing over him.

For a moment, he continued to eye her suspiciously. Then, he looked away with furrowed brows as he tried to think. His name… It started with a ‘D’.

“…Danny,” he spoke, voice quiet but rough, after a few more seconds, and looked back at her. He didn’t know much of anything right now, but he did know someone used to call him that. It was short for something. “My nickname is Danny.”

Jasmine – or Jazz – smiled again. “That must be short for Daniel,” she said.

No… Yes? He didn’t know. It didn’t feel right, but not really wrong, either. So, he shrugged.

“Well, Danny,” Jazz began, “can you answer my first question? Are you lost? It’s okay if you can’t, but I still want to help you.”

“I…think so,” he spoke slowly. And, much to his embarrassment, his throat started to tighten with panic. “The sign said Amity Park. But I do not– I do not know where that is.”

“Yeah. You’re in Amity Park, Illinois.” Then, belatedly, “In America.” Her brows pulled together. “Do you- Do you know how you got here?”

He started to shake his head slowly, but the panic and fear had reached their peaks. The movement became rapid, and tears made his eyes sting. “I do– I do not know, I–.” His breath stuttering cut his words off, but the action moved his wounds on his chest and back and he winced, pressing a hand to the one near his heart. “I do not know how, or what happened to– to me, and it hurts.”

Jazz’s eyes widened. “Okay. Okay, it’s okay – I’ll help you. Will you let me?”

Something in him told him to say no. To run. This girl wasn’t trustworthy; she could be dangerous.

But he was scared. Terrified. (Why didn’t he know anything?) So he ignored that first instinct with a shaky nod as tears ran down his cheeks.

And Jazz helped him.

Jazz ended up becoming his sister. His older sister. That adjective to describe her was important to him, for some reason. Adoptive less so. She was his sister – adoptive or not – that was who she was; but she was older.

Maddie and Jack – who, eventually, became Mom and Dad to him, and who, as absent as they were, really did love both him and Jazz – asked once if Danny had a little sister, one day after he had explained that to them offhandedly.

Danny thought. He tried to remember.

“…No,” he answered. Because as far as he knew, he didn’t.

But also because saying, I don’t know, was getting exhausting. He’s only been with them a few months.

He grew to hate not knowing things.

(Jazz said it was anxiety, or potentially paranoia, but also maybe PTSD. Danny thought she was just being a know-it-all with her new found love of psychology.)

Some days it felt like he was missing something. Not just his memories, but something that was a part of him. Another person, or two.

Maddie and Jack would say something odd, or confusing, and he would turn to look at someone who wasn’t there to silently question and/or judge them.

At age fourteen, Danny, on a dare, did something very, very stupid.

He died, but also didn’t.

He accidentally got his parents’ ghost machine to work and now ghosts caused chaos in town.

He became Phantom – a halfa; someone who was dead, but also alive – and became the town’s vigilante, of sorts.

He…began to remember.

This wasn’t the first time he died but lived.

Sam and Tucker, his two best friends, were there at the accident, so they knew from the get-go. He told Jasmine, not too long after, mostly because she suspected something and he was shit at lying to her, but he told her. Mom and Dad, avid ghost hunters, were kept in the dark about it.

For a while, no one knew he was starting to get his memories back. After all, how was he supposed to explain that he was a former child assassin?

But then he had a nightmare-esque memory of being a child with a katana in his hands, a girl his age close by, and a toddler between them. Someone barked orders in Arabic.

He was forced to kill.

(Not the girl, nor the toddler. But someone. Someone who didn’t deserve it.)

Danny woke up having a panic attack, with Jazz hovering over him. After some tears, calming down, and spending the following two hours sitting in silence on his bed with his older sister, he finally told her.

There were more tears.

Jazz just held her little brother tightly.

Sam once brought up that he fought like someone who was used to somebody being beside him.

He feigned confusion and chuckled. “What?”

“When you fight, you leave blind spots open,” she explained further. “Like you’re relying on someone who isn’t there.”

Tucker nodded. “She’s right. I noticed, too.”

Danny shrugged. “That’s just how I fight,” he said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

What he didn’t say, was that he now had a fuzzy memory of fighting with someone – that girl his age from his memories. But it wasn’t necessarily fighting as it was training, and it wasn’t always with one another but also against each other.

Sam hummed. “Okay, Danny.”

Dan happened.

Danny didn’t want to become Dan.

He began having nightmares of an old man dressed in green radiating pride because of him – because he was Dan.

It made him sick.

Vlad Masters – also known as Plasmius, also also known as a pain in Danny’s ass – cloned him.

He now had a little sister. Ellie. Vlad named her Danielle, and she at first went by Dani, but that got too confusing, so. Ellie, she became.

She roamed around the world after the whole situation with Vlad got handled, and Danny let her. But they kept in touch, and she often told him where she was headed, or where she was resting, or how long until she might come back.

Sometimes when she stopped by, when they were hanging out, something about her jogged fuzzy memories of a little brother. But then sometimes the way she fought with him against Vlad and ghosts brought up vague snippets of another sister.

At age fifteen, he defeated Pariah Dark. Enough said.

He also told Mom and Dad about the ghost thing. And the assassin kid thing. They took it well, considering.

He no longer had to worry about vivisection by his parents, or about being kicked about because he killed someone as a child and they were now scared of him, or something.

They still loved him. He loved them.

Memories about his childhood were still sparse, though they were gradually coming back.

(Some good. Most bad. Danny woke up from nightmares far too many times, nowadays.)

“Are you… Are going to want to find them? Your family, I mean,” Dad asked, late one night when Mom was asleep and Jazz was studying and Danny decided to bother him instead of his older sister when he came home with a large gash on his arm from Skulker.

It was random, but he still answered. “Um, maybe eventually. My younger siblings, at least. I don’t know their names, or even if…”

“Well, when you decide to, I’ll help out in any way,” he said.

He smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

Dad smiled, gently ruffled his hair, and then pulled him into a near-crushing hug. “Of course, Dan-o.”

At age seventeen, the GIW barged into Amity.

It didn’t go well.

They caught him.

He didn’t get out until after he turned eighteen.

+++

At age ten, Athanasia watched her grandfather run a sword through her twin brother’s chest from the shadows.

She stood there, numb and in shock. A voice in her head screamed at her that, if someone were to attack right now, she would also die. She couldn’t help but not care when her twin brother was bleeding out before her eyes.

And unless she wanted to face Grandfather’s wrath as well, she couldn’t do anything about it.

Grandfather, with a casual swipe to clean his sword, turned away. “Clean this up,” he ordered the servants. He flicked his wrist to Dányál. “Rid of the body. It is time I speak with Talia.”

The servants obeyed. A couple began to clean. One picked up Dányál and began to leave, staunching the blood with cloths as to not leave a trail. On quiet feet, Athanasia followed.

Suspicion and confusion addled her brain when she realized the servant was going to one of the Pits. Her footsteps became more determined, but no less quiet.

She followed them to the Pit. Watched how the servant dunked him into it until the wound was no longer life threatening. Then followed them to one of the many hidden exits. Watched as the servant left with her twin brother for good.

Her other half was gone. Something in her shattered.

Athanasia now had a burning hatred for Ra’s al Ghul.

Life in the League was different now, without her twin. Too different.

She wanted out, but couldn’t leave Damian.

Not yet, anyway.

At age eleven, she met Jason Todd. Sort of.

He was catatonic, most of the first year, but still a good fighter. She was mostly indifferent to him, the adoptive son of her biological father.

(Mother didn’t know she knew about that, about Bruce Wayne – the Batman – being her, Dányál’s, and Damian’s father. But there were so many times she would overhear Ra’s complain about the man and Mother’s previous relationship with him before things clicked together.)

But then she learned Jason shouldn’t even be breathing, and her indifference turned into intrigue.

Alive, but should be dead? It reminded her of Dányál. Made her wonder if he was catatonic as well, wherever that servant took him.

Her feelings about him did a 180 when she noticed Mother looked at him how she used to look at Dányál, years ago. The looks stopped when Dányál first began to voice his dislike about killing, but now here that look was, directed towards a boy no older than sixteen.

That look stayed after she dunked him in a Lazarus Pit, and Jason, in Pit induced rage, killed everyone in the room he woke up in. It formed into pride – a look Athanasia never saw towards Dányál.

It angered her. What – was Mother trying to replace her twin brother with Batman’s lame sidekick? She was offended on her twin’s behalf, wherever he was now.

On one of the nights she snuck into Damian’s rooms to spend time with him, the young boy noticed her anger. He asked what was wrong. She told him nothing. He scowled in that way when he knew someone was lying and there was no one to reprimand him on unnecessary emotional expressions. She flicked his ear. He hissed. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she told him. “Now – tell me why I heard about another fight between you and our dear cousin, Mara.”

Damian’s scowl turned into a sneer. An impressive one, too, for a six year old. “She insulted Dányál. Called him weak.” He paused. “So I bit her.”

Athanasia had never been more proud.

At age twelve, she spoke to Jason for the first time.

“Tell me about Batman.”

Jason turned, confused surprise clear as day on his face as he looked at her. “They have kids here?”

She stared at him, unblinking. “Tell me,” she repeated, demanding, “about Batman.”

He crossed his arms, eyes calculating as he continued to stare back. His head tilted, his eyes squinted, and then his brows rose like he saw something that he wasn’t expecting.

Agitated, she said, “Do you need another dunk in a Pit? Are you still catatonic? Answer me, Todd.” She snapped the last sentence in Arabic.

Jason rolled his eyes. He muttered a few cuss words. “Why do you want to know about Batman?”

“I need to know.”

“That doesn’t answer my question–.”

“And you have yet to answer mine,” she sneered.

They had a stare down. Jason blinked first – Athanasia smirked. He cussed again and ran a hand through his hair, which now had a white streak in it ever since he got dunked.

“He’s a detective. A good one,” he said. “One of the best, if not the best.”

She nodded once. “Is he a good man?”

That caught him off guard. For a moment, he didn’t answer, and she began to worry that her plan was already failing and she hadn’t even started it yet.

“Yes. Yeah, he’s a good man. Flawed to hell and back, but he’s good.” His brows pulled together. “Why? Why ask me?”

“Because you are his son, and he is your father.”

The teen glowered. “He is not–!”

Athanasia left before she could hear his dramatics.

There weren’t many moments where Athanasia spent one on one time with Talia. At least, moments where the woman wasn’t training her into a perfect assassin. Sitting here, in front of her vanity, with Mother braiding her hair and humming quietly, was a rarity.

And Athanasia was about to ruin it.

“I want to fake my death.”

Mother’s hands froze where they were nearly done braiding her hair. “Excuse me?”

“I want to fake my death,” she repeated. Maybe Mother liked Jason so much because they both needed phrases spoken twice, she thought. “To find Dányál.”

“What,” Mother hissed.

“And then,” she went on, staring straight back at Mother through the mirror, as if daring her to interrupt or refuse, “I want you to send Damian to our father, Bruce Wayne – the Batman.”

“And why would either of us do those things?” Mother asked slowly, dangerously.

“Because I watched Grandfather run a sword through my twin’s chest, and then I watched him be put in a Lazarus Pit to keep him alive by one of your servants who was disguising himself as one of Grandfather’s. Because I do not want be the heir, and I want to find my brother, and I do not want this life for Damian, and Jason Todd said Bruce Wayne is a good man.”

Mother didn’t respond right away. They continued to stare at one another through the mirror.

“If you have an ounce of love for any of us, you will help me.”

Mother finished the braid, then sent her away to her room.

Athanasia instead went to Jason’s rooms, where she snuck in again and poked through his collection of books Mother brought him. He complained and tried to get her to leave. She jabbed him in the gut with her elbow and asked what made Batman, Bruce Wayne, good.

Jason cussed her out.

He still explained what made his father good.

(“There is a very likely chance he will not remember you. As well as restoring memories, it can take them away.”

“I know, Mother.”

“Do you?”)

At age fourteen, Athanasia did just what she planned to do.

She faked her death.

But not without speaking to Damian first.

“Listen to me,” Athanasia said, hands cupping Damian’s face. He tried to move away. She gripped tighter, but still made sure not to hurt him. “Listen to me,” she stressed, “I am leaving. I have to go somewhere, and I will not be back until I find Dányál.”

“Dányál is–.”

“I said what I said,” she interrupted. “Understand?”

He scowled. It was cute. “No.”

“Too bad. Do not stop pestering Mother about meeting our Father, understand? Hopefully the next time we see each other, you will be with him and I will have our brother. But when you do meet him, do not mention me or Danny. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

Damian huffed. “Remove your hands before I remove them for you.”

“No,” she said, and pulled him into a rare hug. He squawked, and wiggled away not even a second later. “Fight Mara for me while I’m gone.”

She slipped him a communicator she remade that only went to the matching one she was keeping for herself. He hid it in his clothes immediately.

And then she left to die, but not really.

Her heart stopped for five minutes.

At age sixteen, she finally found her should-be-dead brother.

He was in a haunted town in Illinois. Ghosts were real, apparently, and made themselves at home in this town. It was…odd. And ironic. And Athanasia couldn’t be happier.

She found that he was adopted by a scientific couple, who went from hunting ghosts with no ethics at all to studying ghosts with ethics. They had an 19 year old daughter named Jasmine, and Dányál went solely by ‘Danny’ but everyone (adults, really) occasionally called him ‘Daniel’. He had two best friends: Sam Manson and Tucker Foley. They were good people.

Dányál also seemed to be unknowingly following in their father’s footsteps. He and Phantom were obviously the same person. Although, Phantom often called himself a ghost. Dányál wasn’t one.

And as much as Athanasia wanted to make her presence known, and hug her twin for the first time in six years… She couldn’t. He was happy here, even with constantly fighting ghosts.

So, with plans to keep an eye on him, she left Amity Park.

And then went to Gotham City.

A year ago, Damian sent through their one way communicators that he was now with Father. From time to time, she now checked on Damian from afar when passing through, not yet in person because Dányál still wasn’t with her.

She also regularly broke into Jason Todd’s safe houses and stole one or two guns, or pushed the furniture five inches in various directions, or messed up his meticulously organized books, or stole food that he made.

It wasn’t what she saw herself doing after faking her death, but, well… At least they were all out of the League.

At age seventeen, she got word the League infiltrated the Ghost Investigation Ward.

And they had Phantom.

She wasn’t able to get him out until after she turned eighteen.

+++

At age five, Damian lost a brother.

The day started out normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. He trained, sometimes with Mother, but more often than not with other instructors. Sometimes Grandfather watched, and he did this time. It surprised him, not that he would show it.

Later that night, Athanasia snuck in. Unshed tears were in her eyes. Immediately, he was on alert.

“…Uhkti?” he asked.

Athanasia moved to sit in front of him on his bed. She reached her hands out until she was cupping his face, which was odd. Dányál did that, usually, but almost always to be annoying. The action felt…weird coming from his sister in a more serious way. He wanted to move but was frozen.

“I have to tell you something,” she spoke slowly.

With a start, he realized she was sad. Why was she sad? Not many things could upset his big sister.

“What is it?”

“…Dányál is gone,” she said. Her voice choked. “Dán– Danny is gone, Dames. He… He will not be coming back to the League. I’m sorry.”

Damian’s confusion crumbled into sorrow.

Seeing Athanasia without Dányál was something he didn’t like. For the most part, they didn’t allow the kids to interact outside of training, their cousin Mara al Ghul and the children of the Demon’s Fist included. All, except the twins.

They were born together. They lived together. They trained together – but also sometimes against each other. Those always turned into draws.

Two halves of a whole.

He once heard someone call them the Twin Terrors. He understood why – they were ruthless when they fought by themselves, but decimated opponents when they were side by side. Damian expected them to lead the Demon’s Fist together – and they did, for a short time. But then something changed.

It was abruptly only Dányál. But then Dányál died. Then it was Athanasia.

Mara said it should be her. She taunted his sister. She then began to taunt him. Athanasia never gave in, but during training she didn’t hold back. Damian did give in and vowed to beat his cousin in every fight against her, training or not.

No one called his brother weak.

(Mother seemed to agree. Two members of the League got caught speaking about perhaps Dányál al Ghul just wasn’t strong enough. They were gone by nightfall, and Damian walked in on Mother cleaning blood off of her sword.)

At age seven, he first noticed Athanasia’s hatred at their Grandfather.

It was during a training session. Him against his sister. Grandfather was watching and judging. Athanasia beat him, but he came close to beating her.

It was when Grandfather had his back turned, when they were off to the side tending to bruises and wounds, when Damian glanced up at Athanasia and saw nothing but pure hatred on her face.

It was gone a second later.

Damian almost thought he imagined it. Almost.

“Who killed our brother?” he asked one night.

They were sitting on the window sill of an opened window, squished together as they watched the stars. It was uncomfortable. Damian didn’t mind.

“Why do you think I know?” she asked in return.

“Because you are you. You learn things – detect them out.”

“‘Detect’ is a big word for a seven year old.”

“I will gut you like a pig–.”

She never told him.

He had his suspicions, though.

At age nine, Athanasia left him. Left the League of Assassins.

She said she would see him again when she found Dányál and, seeing as though their brother was dead, Damian knew he would most likely never see her again.

He sort of hated her for leaving.

Though, he still took the communicator she gave him and kept it on his persons at all times, just in case.

Just a week after she left, word spread through the League that Athanasia al Ghul died during a mission gone wrong. Mother came back with bloodstained clothes and a look in her eyes that made Damian refrain from asking any questions.

A servant tried to offer their condolences. Mother slit their throat.

He continued to ask Mother about his Father, though. She continued to refuse, and said he would learn about the man once he beat her in a fight.

Damian took that challenge to heart and made sure he got better and better and better – until he was as good as his older siblings.

Mara continued to be an annoyance and a pain. With now two of Talia’s children dead and gone, she taunted Damian with how pathetic they were. How Dányál was killed because he began to defy orders and refuse to kill. How it was only a matter of time before Damian died, too, and she would be the true rightful heir to the Demon’s Fist and then the Demon’s Head.

It was far from the truth. He might not be the fighters and killers Dányál and Athanasia were, but he was better than Mara. After all, he was the only blood son of Talia al Ghul and a great, powerful man he desperately wanted to meet. He was a far better assassin than Mara ever was.

They fought against each other during training again.

He won, of course.

He also blinded her in one eye.

At age ten, he finally got to leave to meet his father. It was not as he was expecting.

There was a rule: no killing. Damian didn’t like that rule. That was how Dányál got killed himself.

What he also didn’t like, were the hundreds of other children Father had – apparently they were Damian’s siblings. He already had siblings, two of them, and they were both gone, and he didn’t need any more of them.

He sent Athanasia a message saying that he was now with Father. He got a simple, ‘Good,’ in response and nothing else.

He was both relieved she was alive and angry that she still hadn’t come back.

“Where the fuck is your sister?” Todd asked after they first met.

Damian stared him dead in the eyes and asked, “What sister?”

“Y’know… Your older sister,” he said.

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Um, yes, you do.”

“Then what is her name?”

“It’s… Well, what the fuck does that matter? She’s your sister, you should know!”

“I told you, I do not have a sister. Do you need to be dumped in the Pit to fix your brain again?”

Todd paused. He then let out a string of curses and angrily left.

Damian smirked to himself.

Shortly afterward, Father died. Except, Timothy Drake, like the idiot that he was, believed that he was still alive.

In that way, he reminded Damian of Athanasia and how she left to find she left to find Dányál, and he also reminded him of Dányál when he snarked while fighting, which he was admittedly great at. He also excelled at detective work.

Drake eventually left to find Batman.

Damian hated Drake.

Richard Grayson was…okay. Certainly better than Drake, the insolent whelp that he was. Grayson took up Batman, Damian was Robin. It was rough at first, but they eventually got the hang of it.

It just…took some time.

And then of course Drake came back with evidence that Father was, in fact, alive.

(Damian also had a metal spine, now, but that was neither here nor there.)

At age eleven, Father came back from being lost in the time stream.

Richard went back to Blüdhaven. Drake came and went from his own place and to the manor. Todd did his own things as per usual. Cain came and went, too, but often tried to spend time with Damian.

Drake tried once, too. It shockingly went well – right up until ‘Dames’ slipped out of his mouth.

“Do not call me that,” Damian snapped, the awkward but good atmosphere disappearing within milliseconds.

Drake startled. “Whoa, okay,” he said. His hands were held up as if he was surrendering. “All right, I won’t. I’m sor– wait, Damian, come back! I’m sorry!”

Damian ignored him and stalked to his room.

At age twelve, his communicator with Athanasia went off, the message telling him to look into the Ghost Investigation Ward immediately.

Only, he didn’t see or hear it.

He was dead, at the time, thanks to Heretic.

He didn’t see it until after he came back. He tried to get into contact with his sister once he did, but something blocked the connection.

It wasn’t until months later, now at age thirteen, when he heard from her again.

And she had Dányál with her.

#dc x dp crossover #dc x dp au #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #dp x dc #dc x dp fanfiction #idk which one to use so why not all of them #my writing #hope u guys enjoy!#dpxdc #dp x dc fic #dp x dc au #danny phantom #dc #stay with me my blood #batpham

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