#i just shove it all in my queue multiple times so it posts one a day

[tom-is-online]

hi tumblr artists :)

REBLOG YOUR OWN ART, DO IT. GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO

theres no shame in it at all your art deserves to be seen if you want it to be

[alpimerealmsystem]

Mkay so help me out please

SO, here's a list of all the poetry I need to write AND all of the otherkin/alterhuman/therianthropy/non-human/ so many others/ stuffs I need to write PUT THIS SHIT IN MY ASK BOX PLEASE. TELL ME WHAT Y'ALL WANT ME TO WRITE ABOUT. Anything that y'all want me to write I'll get around to it quicker, but because I don't wanna ask more people about what they wanna see, I need others to motivate me to write, does that make sense? Basically seeing someone request shit mentally encourages me to write about that stuff. SO enjoy the lengthy list (I will do 3, one for poetry, one for werewolf stories cause why not, and one for non-human rants I can do)

First list, poetry:

Busy calming down

Wasting time (what I'm doing rn)

Something that makes you feel unreal (and tell me what makes you feel unreal if you request this)

Broken toys (but compared to humanity)

Sickness

Being able to put yourself first

Butterfly effect

Misunderstood

The Nimona book/movie

Nothing left anymore

Food magic

Demons

Going crazy

Out of originality

Too much of life

Losing a loved one

Silence

Rebirth

Love at first sight

Shouldn't have let someone in

Home

Small things that bring you joy (and tell me what does if you request it)

Fire

Aftermath

War

Controlling Fate

Any color (if you request it's your choice)

Full moon

Stranded on an island

Religion

Overcrowded

We always want what we don't have

Habits develop into character

Snow white

Ariel

AND THATS JUST SOME OF MY POETRY IDEAS (holy shit I'm going crazy)

Next list: The stuff people want to see written about non-humanity more (I am using this as an umbrella term)

We're normal people y'all

We have feelings

The day to day life of being alterhuman

Alterhumans complaining about humans ruining everything

Bugkin

Primatekin

Non-humanity being influenced by mental health

Species dysphoria

Kintype loss

People who are alterhuman due to zoanthropy or plurality

Ockin

Non-otherkin alterhuman Identities

Hearthome and otherlink

It's not a mental illness

Objectkin

Psychological kin experiences and about psychological otherkin

Transspeciess

Otherhearted representation stuffs

Fiction folk

Other vague representation

Multiple studies have come to the conclusion being non-human requires accommodations not fixing

Fictionkin representation

Otherkin being "disrespectful" with their identities

Respecting non-humans

The history of otherkinity

There's an interview I need to write up and post- if anyone wants to see that right away (it's with someone who has two spirits in one body)

The feral side of being non-human and the struggles that come with it

Relationship between neurodivergance and otherkinity

Recipes for alterhumans and their kintypes

The general pros and cons to being nonhuman

Otherkin not getting bullied (stories)

Not being comfortable in your own body

And that was a portion of the list I have for that :') NOW last list I promise. This one is for so many different werewolf stories (that I haven't gotten around to, I'm a failure, ik)

A werewolf ripping clothes they just bought due to transforming

A werewolf having to wear certain clothing to hide body parts when they're partially transformed (ex, a beanie for hiding ears, gloves for claws, etc)

A werewolf forgetting it was full moon

A werewolf growling at a dog cause it growled at the werewolf (also same thing for howling?)

A werewolf having to deal with stupid jokes

A werewolf having to explain claw marks around the house aren't from a pet to their landlord

A werewolf having to resist buying pounds of meat since they can't afford it

A werewolf doing dog stuff and not realizing it

a werewolf losing weight due to turning on the full moon

A werewolf not realizing their strength and accidentally hurting people

Werewolves with disabilities

These are all just portions of lists I have, anyways REQUEST ME STUFF FROM THEM. I will not shove it in my queue, it'll get posted as bonus content and also I will do anything outside of these lists to. I will write any short stories just nothing including nsfw stuffs or heavy gore (although I'm fine with some) and yeah. Please request because it will give me more motivation

[yeowninefive]

My 2023 Art Retrospective (Part 2)

This is the second part of an already long reflection of my art progress from this year. Click this link to read the first part.

Art output/reception: Not much else to say that was different from 2022, honestly. It's pretty straightforward sequel escalation--I managed to again beat my old records by a pretty significant amount--over eighty unique drawings, which increases to over ninety when including alternate versions...and the count goes even higher (over one-hundreds) when taking another factor into consideration (I'll address it later). I'd also again say that I do get the sentiment of my art being less obscure as it was in the past--I'd say there were a significant boost of interest (in views and/or interactions such as favorites/likes, reblogs/reposts, etc.) with my art in 2023 compared to 2022--with my 2023 art on dA actually showing nearly quadruple the number of favorites and number of views that my art in 2022 received (at least, based on my personal metrics of art with favorites/views above a certain threshold).

This giant amplification of art production is admittedly based on a few real-life scenarios. Overall I can definitely say that certain other hobbies that I like to do (watching films/shows and playing videogames/making Smash Bros. montages) took a major backseat; and that's actually something I'd like to address going into 2024. The question there of course is if I'm at a point where I could keep up my art production without--which is again where my time management comes in. I hope I can make better strides in figuring it out--there have been more than a few times where I've stayed up late working on art that I reasonably could had pushed off for later and went to bed, and spending lots of time on art that I could had spent doing something else. I am of the thought that if push really does come to shove, I'm okay with putting out less art for 2024 if it means I can get back to doing other things.

Another thing I'm thinking about/looking into using more is sticking more towards a fixed/predicting publishing schedule, so I can "stack up/queue" completed artwork and put more time towards other things. Posting art on multiple avenues is also time-consuming (esp. since I like to add tags and descriptions when appropriate), so I'm also thinking about learning how to utilize APIs, if possible, so I can quickly and/or simultaneously post new art to multiple platforms. Speaking of which.

Art platforms: I talked about trying to change strategy with my art platforms with the first-run/second-run approach, I even talking about having tumblr serving as more of a second-run account. Obviously, that didn't really pan out--that much is clear with this site still being the host for my retrospective art rambles, warts and all. I guess I'm just too embedded with this platform to really shift it towards second gear. Maybe I can take steps there by relying more with scheduled art releases.

I talked about expanding my platforms once Twitter started self-immolating under Elon's then-new control, and dA also showing its hand by jumping headfirst into the AI train. (And it goes without saying that tumblr itself, with the contentious choices and decisions taken this year, isn't off the hook with making dumb decisions--though they eventually overextended themselves/shot themselves in the foot and re-adjusted their focus. Which is...some sort of acknowledgement of mistakes, I guess?) I ended up wading into the waters of three new platforms (technically two, one was actually a 2nd take)...and my experience I'd say as a pretty mixed bag, probably leaning more towards negative.

Instagram was the one that I eventually decided to take another stab with, and I'm afraid I didn't get much, if any, value out of it at all. Even when re-entering that platform with my (to-date) most popular works as the focus, I ultimately felt the lack of interest rendered it of minimal value, even as a "second-run" art account; ultimately just having it go dormant. (By the same coin, it doesn't leave me really invested in setting up shop over at Threads--though I feel for anyone looking to swear off Musk-Twitter/X, I would definitely recommend people there as a baseline.) Cohost by the same coin is also pretty empty, but that at least has the argument of being a much smaller platform that is also aiming for a different approach to social media. Nonetheless, I feel like that's a platform I could probably pump the brakes on a bit in terms of use; with few people the wiser. Bluesky to me actually comes out the best out of the new ventures I've tried--namely because it has the most expats from Twitter that I'm familiar with, who I've been able to follow and share their art, and vice-versa. Even with it still lacking features, its growing audience (esp. with it now going public) feels like the ideal "new" platform to keep tabs on.

Between what's now currently five platforms I'm regularly active on (maybe four if I do move cohost towards more of a passive/background role), I don't see myself making any further expansions for 2024. Pillowfort I considered, but hadn't signed up the broad lack of activity, which eventually seemed to come back to haunt the site when they were at risk of shutting down due to lack of profits. They did manage a successful crowdfund, so hopefully that marks a turning point for their fortunes. Newgrounds is also probably the only other platform besides Bluesky that a lot of artists/creatives I follow have set-up shop; though I feel that if I do join Newgrounds, it will be as a replacement for an existing platform I'm already on, and not just another extension (e.g. if Twitter finally collapsed/was shut down/was widely abandoned).

Alternate art label/art blog: So when in art output I talked about an additional factor pushing my art over the triple digits this year? This was the additional factor. Sometime during the summer, I decided to open a new art blog under a new label where I can post art I normally wouldn't post under this label. (Art that to date, isn't explicit --not like I would be able to post such art here anyway-- but is suggestive/mature enough to not be worksafe.) Truth be told, there have are a couple of works on this blog/label that pushed the envelope a bit into that area anyway, and my main blog has historically had such material crop up on an regular--to--irregular basis regardless. In other words, this is a bit of an expected/natural extension.

My current policy is that this blog and my main blog don't really directly draw attention to it outside of a few instances like this one, or even really acknowledge it by name. The most I will say (for anyone curious/looking for it) is that art from that blog occasionally turns up in my main blog, and it (to date) has only featured some of my OCs (and at least one from another creator).

A Decade of Drawing: If you've been following my Twitter account, you may be aware of a long thread I wrote impromptu in response to another creator, with me discussing why I'm not as "big" as a creator that I probably/possible could have been or should had been, which I feel serves as a more self-critical review of my art trajectory over the past ten years. (Long story shortened into bullet points--subject matter, drawing process/frequency, "timing" of when I started drawing, the platforms I posted my art on in question, and commissions/requests. Some of this stuff I've already touched on in this retrospective already.)

However, I would also like to turn things towards more of a positive note by pointing out what I've done then compared to now. I'm still sheepish about stuff like doing art commissions; but I'm still able to occasionally crank out gift art like I do like nobody's business--and I mainly do those purely just for the fun of it. By that coin, although I'm still a (self-prescribed) obscure artist, I know there does exist small group of people on the 'net somewhere (other artists, just online friends, and others) that are honest fans of the stuff I make and continue following my works and ideas, and I don't ever want to lose sight of that.

I feel that I've also really broadened my art direction in trying to replicate multiple art directions and different subjects. I still have yet to really try and reattempt my oldest stuff (environmental artwork/landscapes), but I've also freely bounced around between original character design, fanart, animation, comics, and videogame concepts. Although I've drawn OCs and comics before, I don't really think I've ever really taken seriously writing down ideas for stories/characters and polish/develop them until I started drawing on a regular basis. (This seems a bit premature to boast as an accomplishment, but I really do mean it--it's honestly up to myself to prove it and really start translating the backlog of my concepts.)

I'll finally end things here by putting it into the perspective of this real-life factoid. A lot can change in ten years for the better, and I'd say it's not just my art that has done so. I started this little online art career shortly after I had just graduated from high school, and was getting prepared to start attending college. My first drawing tablet was itself a graduation gift. That was ten years (and an additional extra six-seven months) ago.

At some point in the first month of the new year, my degree (which after an entire decade of trials, tribulations, and setbacks, I was able to finally complete in December) is supposed to arrive in the mail. I'll probably post a little doodle to commemorate the occasion. In a lot of ways, I view 2013 as the end of an age and the dawn of the next; and I feel confident is saying with the end of 2023 and going into 2024, the feelings and sentiments are very much familiar.

....

I think I have finally covered everything that was on my mind. Again, here's an honest thank you to anyone who has stuck around to read the whole thing (so far), and have a Happy New Year's Eve/New Year's Day and a wonderful 2024.

[tittyblade]

tumblr etiquette 101

a list that is nowhere near exhaustive, from yours truly.

First off, welcome! Whether you’re a twitter veteran looking for anything but whatever twitter is, or a new user just done signing up, glad to see you in our ranks beloveds! Welcome home. Refer to this quick tour to make sure your fandom experience (or tumblr experience in general) is a positive one!

Disclaimer: I know it’s long, but please try to read or skim through til the end if you’re new here! This is by no means meant to be a rule book (for the most part lol), only a guide to help you get settled easier!

1) Your blog

This is where people will see and interact with you, so put some effort into it!

Try to choose a name (url) that’s simple. You can see it as your brand, it’s how people will perceive you and remember you. If you’d like to interact with other users here (and not use the site just for the content) it’s better to have something short and sweet, preferably without spaces. (Of course, these are only suggestions.) Rest assured, you can change it literally any time you want.

Have a theme. Utilize the tool that lets you edit your blog’s color or the font of your bio! You can make it match your profile picture, or your blog if it has a theme of its own. Make it feel homey :]

Fill in your bio. People will be checking out your profile probably more often than you think. Don’t leave it empty! Put in any information you’re comfortable with sharing and isn’t too personal (like your age if you’re a minor, or other TMI that can be found on other people’s carrds). It’s always better to add a name/nickname people can use to refer to you by, but feel free to use your blog description to shitpost still.

You can have an intro post. More often than not, you’ll see a blog have a pinned post, a post permanently appearing at the top of a blog until you pin another post or unpin it. You can make one of those, if you’d like to introduce yourself in more length, link any other socials or a carrd, and show others visiting your blog how you tag things so it’ll be easy for them to navigate. Not an obligation.

Keep your anonymity and your safety. It should go without saying, but there’s no harm in repeating it just in case. Your comfort, privacy and safety has the utmost importance. Don’t share any information you don’t want to. Don’t share your age if you’re a minor, or any other incredibly personal info. I’d encourage you to go by a nickname that’s not your real name, (blog name, your brand, remember?) since there’s safety in anonymity, and that’s lowkey one of the big deals of tumblr, but that’s up to you still.

Choose what you want to be visible. Your liked posts and who you follow are all things you can set to keep to yourself and hide from the publics eye, how handy! You should go through all the setting while you’re at it, set it to your comfort.

Side blogs are a thing. You can have multiple blogs that you can use for different things (see: different fandoms, art blog, etc) to keep them organized or away from your followers. Just remember that the replies and off-anon asks you send will be from your main blog, as well as where you follow other blogs from.

2) Interacting with others

You’ve set up your account, now comes the fun part!

Follow to your heart’s desire. If you care about others seeing who you follow, fear not! In tumblr, usually only two types of blogs keep their following visible to others: newbies, and big blogs using it to point people on other good blogs’ direction. Just turn it off, and go ham following people.

Customize your dashboard. Gonna mention just two things here: this is another reason why it’s really important that you follow blogs without sparing, your dash will collect dust otherwise; and you should turn off “best stuff first” in your dashboard settings, to have a better community here and all.

Follow tags. You can set it in your settings that posts with your followed tags appear on your dashboard.

You can check the og post for edits and context. When you see a reblogged post you don’t understand the context of (or don’t recognize the character in case of fanarts), click on the profile so it will take you to the original post. From there you can check the original poster’s tags to get the context, or see if there have been any edits made to the post, since when you edit a post it doesn’t update any past reblogs.

Send people asks... This is how you make mutuals, people! Do it off-anon if you’d like them to know your blog, or anon if you’d rather not! (You can still end your messages with a signature to show you’re the same person, -[name] is one example.) Send them nice messages, ask their opinion on something, discuss things, or just straight up shitpost lol. Go wild. The sky’s your limit and it’s definitely more than 280 characters.

...and let them ask you! You can set your preference in the settings, do it on desktop tumblr to access more settings tho! What you can customize on mobile is limited (like letting people ask you things anonymously, that’s only on desktop settings). In my personal opinion, it’s always better to tag their username (or a nickname you give them, if they’re a friend) on that post, since you wouldn’t want your interactions with your friends to get buried in your blog forever.

Comment on posts. If you have something to say but don’t want the post to appear on your blog you can add a comment. The owner of the post will get a notif for it, but for anyone else you need to tag them.

For the love of god, reblog. People will only see your liked posts if you have it visible to public and they specifically go on your blog to look at them. You like something? You reblog. It’s already hard for posts to circulate properly, if you don’t reblog them literally no one will see them. If not for anything do it for the artists. Just hold and drag on mobile to fast rb.

3) Your Posts

Finally here! Don’t be a lurker, post and engage!

Make use of “read more”. If your post is long, add it. That’s what you clicked on earlier to expand this post. On desktop leave an empty line and you’ll see three dots appear, and on mobile type :readmore: on that empty line.

Draft a post to come back to it later. Pretty self explanatory.

Queue your post. Whether it’s your own post or you’re reblogging, make use of the queue feature to a) not spam reblog and fill up the dashboard of people following you and b) keep your blog active while you’re gone. Mess around in the settings, it’s fairly easy to set up.

Schedule your post. Same as queueing, the only difference is you get to choose the exact time your post will go up. Handy if you want to schedule a post for certain dates like april fools, or 5 years in the future for some reason. 

Format your texts. You can do all kinds of fancy stuff here (that’s a link, try pressing on it). Twitter doesn’t have this, make use of it. Changes depending on whether you’re on mobile or desktop. (Desktop has less features.)

Check your stats. If you’re trying to understand the algorithm better or want to look at some pretty graphs you can get your data on that on desktop tumblr.

@ people in comments. You’ll get all the notifs when people comment on your posts but they won’t see your reply unless you tag them in your message.

4) Tags, and tagging a post

This is where my earlier statement “this isn’t a rule book” stops being applicable. It’s not a war crime to go against these, I won’t come chasing you (don’t take my word for this) but you’ll work up a bad rep. Just saying lol.

Do NOT crosstag posts. It’s really tempting to add unrelated tags to increase your posts’ interaction, I know, but that’s not what tumblr is about. Don’t be a dick and make other communities’ experience worse for them.

Always tag your posts with “crit/critical/discourse/etc” if it calls for it. There’s no exceptions to it. This is the reason you see people migrating to tumblr. Let people enjoy things.

Don’t main tag a critical/negative post. If your crit post is about “Thing”, you add the “Thing critical” tag, but not the “Thing” tag. People block crit tags if they don’t want to see it, don’t shove it in their faces by main tagging it. 

If you don’t want to see something, just block it. Another reason why people are able to survive on tumblr. You don’t start discourse, you don’t make call-outs, you block. You can find something for every community you can think of if you go looking for it. The worst of the worst probably won’t ever appear on your dash, but if you’re worried or feel the need for it, you know where the block button is.

Feel free to shitpost or ramble. More often than not you’ll see people rb a post with a comment, and their elaboration will be in the tags. The tags are only visible on your profile and the notifications of the owner of the og blog. Just a thing people do.

Reblog artists’ posts with nice comments in the tags! Commenting on a drawing is usually done through the tags (Not an obligation, again, just a thing people do. Feel free to add your comment on the rb itself if you’d want other people to see it tho!) and leave nice messages for the artists! It’s a win-win for everyone involved. 

If you have more than a single follower, always use the common tw warning tags. You don’t need to tw everything, but tw’ing some common things is the bare minimum human decency. Keep it safe for others. 

Tag a post “long post” if it’s really long. Pretty self explanatory. Don’t make people scroll through all that please lol. 

You can use them to organize your blog. This is more of a pro tip, if you’d like to not miss a post in your blog, cause they will start pilin’ up soon enough.

#Liveblogging is pretty fun. If you’d like to talk to people during streams, don’t forget to add the relevant tags still! Again, you won’t show up on people’s dash otherwise.

Whew! That got out of hand. Hopefully I didn’t bore you too much. Check out blogs like @heritageposts and @hellsite-hall-of-fame to honor our past o7. @mcytblr-hall-of-fame too maybe :eyes:. Anyways, don’t forget the most important rule of them all:

Enjoy your stay! You’re meant to have fun on here while also making friends (if that’s your thing). Just be kind and respectful of others, you’ll get the hang of the rest! <3

[snackhobi]

this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested.  It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose  at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.) 

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.) 

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist. 

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle. 

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.) 

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back. 

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power. 

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it. 

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

 “Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall. 

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered. 

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond. 

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it. 

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron. 

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi. 

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner.  There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.  

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway. 

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out. 

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot. 

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire. 

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway. 

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary. 

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting. 

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you. 

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else. 

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it. 

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright. 

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you. 

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.) 

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung. 

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth. 

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to. 

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up. 

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say. 

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really. 

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists. 

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.” 

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor. 

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn. 

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed. 

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad. 

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee. 

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is. 

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

 “Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say. 

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all. 

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice. 

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity. 

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think. 

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand. 

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?” 

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say. 

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

I missed you [Sirius Black x Reader] - Requested

Title: I missed you Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader Word count: 1k Published: 12 June 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: Sorry for posting late, I was writing another fic and my queues are being funny. Summary: Sirius is missing you, his girlfriend, and James finds the situation rather entertaining. It seems James and you are on the same wavelength when it comes to Sirius being a love-sick puppy. Request: [x] Prompt sent in by @theravenclawgal for my celebration event

Sirius Black x Reader Fluff #2 - “I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass. Fluff #12 - “Aw, you’re blushing.”

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Battle of Swords; 2.9k followers and 1st anniversary celebration event

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Sirius was seated on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room with James on one side and Remus on his other, whilst his eyes kept wandering towards the entrance multiple times in a minute, followed by a disappointed sigh. Peter was doodling something on his parchment, seated on the burgundy carpet, his attention completely focused on his paper, unlike his friends', who seemed more eager.

"You know, just because you keep checking the door every few seconds, she won't be coming any faster," James nudged Sirius with a smug grin across his face.

"Shut up, Prongs," he groaned in a reply as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"It's not like she is lost. She is in the bloody library, for Merlin's sake," he continued, rolling his eyes at his love-sick friend.

"Oh, shove off," Sirius scoffed, his eyes wandering to the door once again, a deep sigh escaping his lungs.

"If you miss her so much, I can ask Lily to make a Polyjuice potion and you can cuddle me at night," James snorted, watching his friend's face contort in a grimace.

"Where do you get all these stupid ideas from?" Sirius asked, pulling a face at the thought.

"You?" He asked, arching a brow. "It was your idea back when I started dating Lily," James scoffed in a humorous tone.

"Oh—," he frowned, completely forgetting about his stupid and stupider proposals. "Back then it seemed like an excellent plan," he added with a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth.

"Right, it's only good if it's your idea," he snickered as Sirius' eyes turned to the door once again. "You are hopeless," James scoffed. "Even I didn't pine after Lily so obviously," his words earned a loud laughter from Remus, attempting to muffle the sound with his palm. "Is there something you would like to add, Moony?" He asked in a mocking tone.

"Oh yeah," Remus chuckled. "As far as I'm concerned, Sirius is borderline alright compared to you. Remind me again, who ran after Lily for years?" He questioned, earning an annoyed eye roll from James.

"It's called determination," James shrugged.

"Or creepy," he murmured, earning a slap on the back of his head from James as he reached across the sofa behind Sirius. "That was uncalled for," he huffed at his friend, but James just shrugged again, ignoring the warning gaze Remus offered him.

The door finally opened and Sirius caught sight of your favourite bag. Before he even had a glimpse of your face, he shot up from the sofa and rushed over to the door. You didn't even have time to turn around completely when his arms sneaked around your waist, pulling you into his embrace, hinting a small kiss on your forehead.

"Sirius," you squeaked in surprise as you beamed at your boyfriend. "I'm guessing you missed me," you giggled as you placed a hand on his cheek, caressing his slightly stubbled jaw.

"Just a tad," he replied casually, earning a loud snort from James.

"Right, he has been checking the door every damn minute like a love-sick puppy," he scoffed as he sank deeper in the sofa.

"If I were you, I would shut up," Sirius warned him, but his cheeks taking on a slightly darker shade of pink gave him away.

"Aw, you're blushing," you teased him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "It's alright, I missed you too," you cooed as his smile grew wider.

"Of course you did, I'm a delightful company," he scoffed with a proud grin.

"Excuse me? Don't you think your self-confidence is a bit over the top?" You chuckled as he rolled his eyes.

"I'm just saying that I understand why you missed me," he shrugged as he leaned closer to give you a kiss, but you pulled back.

"Nah-ah," you shook your head. "Say you missed me," you grinned with a smug expression across your face.

"Why is this necessary, you already heard from Prongs," he whined, not wanting to seem any more love-sick than he already was in your absence.

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm dating you, not James," you scoffed, earning a playful laugh from the mentioned boy.

"Fine," he groaned in frustration. "Imisdu—" you heard him murmuring, the words alone making no sense to you.

"I'm sorry, but what language was that?" You snorted with a wide smile painted across your face.

"English," he nodded more to himself. "There you go, I said it," he tried to lean forward, but once again you pulled away.

"Darling, as far as I'm aware, I do speak the language and that was anything, but English," you snickered as you brushed a piece of hair out of his face, gently tucking it behind his ear.

"Why are you doing this?" He whined again, but you just couldn't stop when he made those adorable expressions. He tightened his hold around your waist and pulled you closer, sulking in your arms.

"It's not my fault that you look cute when you are whiney," you giggled as you hinted a small kiss on the side of his face, a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks.

"Fine," he let out a frustrated groan as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. "I missed you," he finally said the words. Even though you expected his tone to be annoyed and sulking, it was rather gentle. Instead of wasting any more of his time, a wide grin spread across his face as he leaned in to kiss you finally, missing the feel of your lips pressed against his. "I love you," he whispered against your mouth, earning a silent giggle from you.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglist is in a reblog from now on.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 141

Last week I posted a day early because vacation was doing vacation things to my sense of time.... This week I forgot to queue the chapter up because Monday was a work holiday, so I forgot today was Tuesday. *insert facepalm here please*

Thanks on this one go largely to @baelpenrose who rightfully pointed out that one part made very little sense to him and therefore was unlikely to make sense to a reader.  The clarification smoothed things out quite a bit, I think.  Just in case, whoever spots the area I’m talking about gets a cookie as soon as travel restrictions lift.

As always, thanks go also to @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname for completing the corners of my support system. And, a super-duper extra-special to @drinksteawithcake! I don’t know if I am allowed to tell everyone why, but you know why you get the extra-special, and I hope you are having fun!

BWAAAAAHP!   BWAAAAAHP!

“Uhhh?” I squinted in complaint as flailing arms clambered over me. One pair snagged me around my waist to drag me from bed before depositing me shakily on my feet. “What are you - ?”

BWAAAAAHP!  BWAAAAAHP!

Any trace of sleep was shoved out of my system, replaced by sizzling alertness when I realized I was hearing ship-wide alarms.  Shoving myself into the first clothing I grabbed, not even bothering with shoes, I was hot on Conor and Maverick’s heels as we raced out of our quarters and into the corridor. We paused only long enough for both men to kiss me and for “I love yous” to be exchanged before they turned and headed toward the areas indicated on their datascreens, while I hauled ass toward the Archives, ducking and twisting to avoid anyone in my path.

“Forty minutes,” Tyche told me crisply as I basically fell through the door, panting. “The Ark could be invaded and the battle over by the time you make it.”

“I ran….huff….the whole….ugh….way….” I managed to gasp out.  Part of me felt like puking, but I was pretty sure the muscles in my abdomen were too busy to figure out the logistics.

Clicking her tongue, she pulled me up from the floor. “Alistair, make a note to suggest to Xio that Sophia’s quarters be relocated once we have a better idea of when we are dropping into real space.”

I nodded numbly. “And probably… amp up… sensors… give… earlier… warning.”

“Nice outfit, by the way,” she laughed quietly as we finally reached the shelter point within the Archives.

Glancing down, I had to suppress a sigh. The first thing I grabbed to dress myself had apparently been a pair of Conor’s boxer shorts and a very filthy t-shirt that I assumed belonged to Maverick, since Conor’s was usually under coveralls. “At least you can’t say I took my time getting dressed.”

Her shaking head was greeted by faces in various states of wakefulness - this had been a drill, and woke nearly the entire Ark during their sleep interval on Delta shift.  But we weren’t out of the woods, yet: the drill didn’t end until all of Xiomara and Evan’s scenarios played out, including the mock combat and various tests of concealment for the other shelters.  As such, Tyche stood guard over the choke-point into this section, while Alistair had stayed behind at the entrance.

Early on, when the drills started, there had been fifty-fifty odds that the mock-invaders would make it this far, but over the past few weeks, that had narrowed to maybe twenty-percent.  It was still too high a chance in my judgement, and Xiomara clearly agreed as she stepped up training schedules and randomized the timing of the drills. 

Taking a swig of water from a stash of bottles, I queued up my datapad and stood next to Tyche, watching the ‘casualties’ from a point where no one could see over my shoulder to avoid panic, which I would have done in a real situation. “They didn’t find mess hall seven this time,” I murmured.

She glanced at my screen. “Acoustics are still too damned high. She must not be simulating for that this go around.”

One of the decoy locations lit up. “Looks like this time it’s heavy on thermal.” The location in question had been equipped with a cooking surface, triggered to activate when the klaxons that had woken me up went off.  Which Xiomara knew, but did not tell the ‘pirates’ for authenticity.

“How did they get past the combatants this time?” She asked, both curious and slightly worried.

Rolling back the sensor data, I watched it carefully. “Looks like these got in during the initial breaches, multiple points. But the line has held since, that’s good.”

Doing another check toward Alistair’s direction, she didn’t seem to see anything concerning. “How many?”

“Four,” I confirmed.  “Sam’s thermal camouflage is working beautifully, though.”  I couldn’t help but grin, and Tyche snorted at the same time. ‘Thermal camouflage’ was a bit of overkill as a name, but it was working well in every round. Potential access points were equipped with fast-acting environmental simulators - originally designed for temporary habitats on inhospitable moons - modified to release atmosphere like a Terran equatorial rainforest within one minute in an enclosed space.  It was a much more simple and elegant solution than any others we had found for giving combatants defending the Ark an advantage - instead of trying to create technology to make them look colder, make the entire area match human heat signatures.  Boom, instantly blinded enemies.

A tense half-hour later, the ‘all clear’ sounded, queueing grumbling from those who had dozed back off as everyone stood to make their ways back to their quarters. I waited with Alistair and Tyche for everyone else to be accounted for on the way out, and the three of us headed back toward our quarters together.  Alistair peeled off first, living closest to the Archives, and no sooner had my sister and I reached my door than the page sounded for the post-drill meeting.  She waved me off as she answered on her databand, and I did the same as I pushed into my quarters and flopped on the couch. “Councillor Sophia Reid, present, audio only,” I answered. “And no jokes, Pranav… I look like I smell awful.”

“Alistair Worthington, present, audio and video. I can confirm that she does, and she does.”

Laughter filled the comms and the rest of the group leaders and Councillors joined the debrief.  Finally, everyone was present and Xiomara called the meeting to order.  First, the leaders of each shelter reported in, as those usually went the fastest. There were a couple malfunctions in the deployment of the shielding to disguise the entrances and hide heat and electrical signatures, but nothing Huynh’s team couldn’t fix.  Tyche and Alistair made the recommendations around earlier detection and the need to move those sheltering in the  Archives closer as we approached time to drop out of relativistic space. 

Once that was out of the way, it was on to the combat and invasion teams. Overall consensus was that Sam’s trick with the portable environments was a rousing success and would be installed at each point determined to be most likely as a breach, with trigger conditions to be determined later. “I hate to say it,” Michael sighed, “but we also need Charly’s team to crank up the scovilles on the arrows and grenades.” His team had played the ‘invaders’ this go around, equipped with sensors and readouts to simulate the effect our defenses would have on the various species who most commonly were found on pirate vessels.  Evan had worked intensely with Pranav and Derek to ensure that the strategies provided by the readouts were modelled after similar strategies based on which ever species each team member was assigned, to ensure we weren’t accidentally drilling against human tactics.

Michael hated it, but he was strict about his team complying nonetheless.

“Seriously?” I squawked, and I wasn’t the only one. “One of those things accidentally went off in my quarters…. Can confirm, they’re pretty potent.”

“They dissipated too fast against my team, and also the contact element left a lot to be desired. Charly, you may want to consider adding a sticking element.”

“Duly noted,” she chimed in with a yawn, her normal pep doused by being woken up and then the drop in adrenaline post-combat.

“What about the sonic weapons?” Xiomara asked, moving the meeting along.

“Still less effective than Nixe is on her own,” a familiar voice I couldn’t put a name to responded with a sheepish tone.  “How hard would it be to train more people to shatter glass with their voice?”

“Incredibly,” Grey stressed. “It takes a very unique combination of training and the right vocal chords.”

“Then we may need to work on adding a projection component.  The sonic devices can match the pitch, but not the actual tone and direction. They’re very effective given time and especially contact, but we need something more immediately disabling.”

Xiomara groaned. “Are we back to Mariah Carey on this one?” Objections exploded until she muted the comms. “It’s that or opera.” Votes started scrolling up the screen, and I could see Xio nod. “Opera it is.  Let’s find a suitable piece and try using more analogue-style speakers.”

“I still say that death metal would work better,” Arthur suggested as soon as the comms were back on.

“Annnnd we already tested it, I will remind you. The volume works, but the pitches aren’t high enough to hit a broad enough population of species sensitive to sound.” After that nearly-obligatory objection, the meeting continued going through reports from each combat team until finally Xiomara announced the end results. “I have to admit, this was one of our best drills yet. Ten percent casualties of the combatants defending the breaches, only two percent among non-combatants, and the invaders were only able to traverse three decks before they were subdued.” She let the cheers go for a couple seconds before getting everyone’s attention again. “Yes, great job on the improvements, but let me remind everyone - those numbers still leave us below threshold for a healthy genetic population. Engineering teams, make the necessary adjustments with whatever resources are necessary. Shelters Three and Seven, you will start training for armed and unarmed combat with Shelter Fourteen and Combat Team Two daily.  Sophia, your team will coordinate schedules. Any questions?”

There were no arguments, not even a groan or mutter as the meeting was dismissed. Before I could even add the new task to my agenda the next day, I received the notification that Alistair had beaten me to the punch.

Glancing at the time, I wanted to hit something.  I had to be back up and at work in four hours, and the realization weighed me down with exhaustion.  The guys had come in and gone to bed while I was in the debrief, and I could already hear synchronized snoring coming from the bedroom.  Rather than risk waking them with my now-frozen feet, I pulled the quilt off the back of my couch and rolled myself into it.  Only minutes later, a heavy weight oozed across my hip and started purring furiously.

“Yeah, buddy. I agree. We need a nap.”

<< Prev  Masterlist  Next >>

[jjpmoans]

t’aimer sans cesse

↦ song: Hesitate from Eyes On You 

↦ lyrics: 'Yes, you, why are you making me this confused?/ I don't get you any more' 

↦ word count : 9k+

↦ genre : roommates to lovers

↦ warnings : fluffs, angst if you squint really hard

↦ summary : Park Jinyoung. You. Jeong Jaehyun. As complicated as it seems, you’d be honest when you said, you didn’t expect to be involved in this whole love triangle. Have you been missing signals or have he been sending you absolutely invisible signals? Is your radar broken? How have you not know? How have you been so dense? How long have you been foolishly hurting him?

↦ a/n : Hey everyone! I’m back with a new fic! I’m soo sorry it’s been a drought here on my blog. But i’m back and looks like Mr Jeong is joining us this time~ Anyways, this fic is written for the GOT7 Alive Fest on twitter and if anyone is interested, go check it out on @/GOT7_Alive_2020. They have both artists and writers joining the fest! Most of them post on ao3 and I am probably the only one who post on tumblr. Nevermind that, I hope you love the fic! Thank you for reading!

Morning classes are by far, the most hated part of your schedule. You don’t like waking up early, which explains why you’re not a morning person. You don’t remember when was the last time you met the morning birds and the sunrise since you usually wake up after ten in the morning and the sun is already up. You missed the chirping and the first ray of the morning but you’d trade anything for sleep at the moment. 

“Jinyoung.” you groan when you feel a finger poking your cheek and pinching it. You know it’s him, who else is patient to wake you up? Bambam and Yugyeom have long given up trying to wake you since you refused all their advances, even coaxing you with food. “I don’t want to wake up.”

You heard a few rustling and you exhaled in relief. Perhaps Jinyoung will let you off the hook and let you sleep this once. You don’t have that many morning classes, to be honest. You only have one, and that’s on every Tuesday. Usually you wake up and sign the attendance then go back to sleep since you had online learning for this semester, but since the situation has toned down and the university has reopened, today marks the first day of on-site class. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” you hear his voice and a few seconds later, you feel your face getting wet and his palm softly applying cold water all over your face. Another dip into the basin and he returns his palm to your face with another round of wiping the cold water all over your face which he carefully presses it on your eyelids. “Wake up. You have class at nine.”

You grumble, turning away from him to continue sleeping but at this moment, you’re almost wide awake after he technically washes your face for you. You can hear Jinyoung chuckling and you’re positive now that he has successfully woken you up. “Urgh. I hate how you wake me up easily.”

“Not my fault that I’m an expert.” he laughs upon seeing you getting out of his bed and into the bathroom. “Hurry up. I’m taking you to breakfast.”

“For what?” you appear again with your toothbrush inside your mouth. 

“To eat, you dummy. Your class ends at eleven and you’d be starving by then.” he picks a book out of your shared bookshelf, flipping it to the page he left before. “Hurry up! I’m giving you ten minutes!”

You stare in disbelief at him and when he sees you’re unmoved, he throws you one of your small pillows to get you moving. “Tik tok, y/n! Move fast!”

“I can’t believe you shove me into the bathroom.” you frown when Jinyoung just laugh at your complaint. He indeed shoved you into the shower after you’ve been standing for too long while brushing your teeth. “We aren’t even late!”

“You’ll thank me later.” Jinyoung grins, walking into the busy cafe. People are getting their first coffee supply of the day and so do you. Jinyoung and you are both coffee people, it just made sense to start the day with a cup of iced Americano.

As usual, Jinyoung will queue up so you can find a seat for both of you while waiting. It’s easy to catch a spot in the cafe during the morning since most people pack to-go breakfast. So you carefully choose a table for two, a bit far from the counter and hidden from the excessive sun exposure but still be able to see people entering the cafe. 

It’s just an unconscious habit of yours, to watch whoever that passes through the door. It’s just amusing to you how most people fall into the same time schedule, about fifty people probably have the same class to attend and twenty seven of them need coffee before class. 

“Here.” a tray of drinks and food appears before you, you make space for Jinyoung to place the drinks out of the tray and put the tray away. It’s so obvious which one of the food is yours and which one is Jinyoung’s. He prefers to have croissants for breakfast while you prefer egg sandwiches since you’ll be fuller and can last until lunch time. “Saw anyone you know?”

You shake your head before taking a big bite of your sandwich, munching them happily. The man before you just laugh at your behaviour, fifteen minutes ago you were wrestling with him to get into the shower and now you’re just behaving like a child, eating her breakfast with joy.

He sees the corner of your lips smudged with the mayo and his heart skips a beat, wondering how can you be so adorable being so messy. He can’t stand someone munching loudly but here he is, watching the corner of your lips moving and the sauce is still there. So he extends his hand, wiping your lips and retracts to lick his thumb back, before going back to eat his own croissant.

You didn’t mind, it’s not actually out of the ordinary. Jinyoung smiles, knowing how comfortable you are with him. Sometimes he wishes you don’t, because right now he just wanted to let you know how badly he’s in love with you. 

But of course he can’t. As best friends, he can’t. His feelings aren’t worth the awkward encounters or the cold treatment you’ll be giving him once you learn that he’s in love with you. 

“Alright so for the assignment partners,” your professor announces, indicating the class is ending in ten minutes. During the quarantine, he has decided that all assignments will be graded individually since the quarantine was expected to run longer. However with the on-site classes coming to life again, he wanted to make the last assignment graded in partners, so that he can actually provide better materials for the lecturers audit session. 

You heard your name being called and you swear your breath hitches when another name follows yours, loud and clear. “Jeong Jaehyun.”

“Oh my god.” your friend next to you gasps, utterly speechless at revelation of your partner. You as well, are shocked and completely blank out. “Oh my god. You got the golden boy.”

“Oh my god.” repeating the phrase over and over again, your friend taps you multiple times and you feel your throat dried. One of the reasons why she’s so excited is because you’ve developed a crush towards the golden boy from the start of the semester and she knows. She, who goes by the name Mina, is your only friend from the same course.  However it was short lived since you only got three classes with him and the quarantine started. Either way, you’ve completely forgotten about your crush until he was brought up again, 

You took Mathematics as an elective just because you thought it was fun and you wanted to try it. Jinyoung couldn’t make it, Psychology students are always packed and you, as the Language student, have too much time to spare.

“Mina. this is insane.” you are having a minor breakdown and Mina isn’t helping, squealing when she sees Jaehyun walking over towards your seat, nudging you not so subtly. “My lord, don’t nudge me like that-”

He stops in front of you and for a second you forget how to breathe, extremely mesmerized by his presence. Here’s why he’s the golden boy.

You knew from a classmate that he comes from the Engineering faculty, taking Mathematics as one of his complementary subjects in order to fulfill his credit hours requirement for this semester. It’s a given that he excels in mathematics as he’s an engineering student but his other achievements make him even more dreamy and absolutely golden. 

Jaehyun is also very popular in sports, he’s one of the baseball club players, the one and only sport club that is making names for your university. It doesn’t need you to attend their matches to know how well he’s been playing. His fame makes up for it. They have been winning almost every match and well, he contributes about two third of the scores. Above all of that, he’s apparently a member of NCT frat, where every single member is magnificently handsome, carved and painted by god himself.

In short, he’s the standard boyfriend you’ll never get.

“Uhm.” okay he has a bit of a flaw — no, not a flaw. Despite how famous he is, he’s apparently an introvert. He gets shy quite easily, more reasons to like him. The tip of his ears will be red if he feels nervous or shy and you don’t know what is cuter than that. “Hey.”

You forgot how to talk just by looking at him. Never would you have thought you’d be able to talk to him, well given the situation and his social status, you have no doubt you’re out of his circle. It’s only when Mina secretly pinches your thigh that you manage to find your voice, clearing your throat to reply to him. “Hi. Sorry, I’ve been so rude. I’m y/n.”

He offers you a smile. Jeong Jaehyun offers you a smile. You can finally die in peace. “I know. I’ve heard a lot of things about you.”

Oh. What is this? How does he know about you? Scratch that, why would he know anything about you?

“Wha- what? Excuse me?”

He chuckles and Mina’s gasp is completely audible to your ears now, you have no idea if Jaehyun catches that. But you know he does, after all his ears won’t lie to him. “I know you. You’re Jinyoung’s girlfriend.”

Even nothing comes out from Mina, you know she’s laughing. Of course, your reputation is affiliated with Jinyoung. There isn’t any person on the campus who doesn’t know about you and Jinyoung. To say you’re Jinyoung’s best friend is absolutely underrated, so they upgraded your status to Jinyoung’s girlfriend. You’re so close to Jinyoung that it made a lot of his fangirls mad. Why? Because just like Jaehyun, Jinyoung is a member of a frat. 

GOT frat specifically.

Things got complicated and you got his fangirls harassing you to the extent of harming you in your own house during your first semester. After much consideration, Jinyoung figured that it is safer for you to stay with him instead. No one will be able to harm you in a frat house, mainly because he is there but also, his members are very protective of you too. 

Hence he got Jaebeom to go to the administration and arranged your residency exchange. You have no idea how Jaebeom managed to convince them since no girls are allowed to reside in an all boys frat. However he powered through and the news spread as fast as they could, making you officially Jinyoung’s girlfriend and off market.

“Lord, not this again.” you mutter quietly but goodness gracious of course he heard it. Jaehyun’s laughter resonates again and this time you decided to just fuck it. “Firstly no, I’m not Jinyoung’s girlfriend. I’m his best friend and I have no idea why people keep saying I’m his girlfriend.”

“Maybe because you act like a couple?” Jaehyun offers his thoughts. Probably it’s true, Jinyoung has a soft spot for you. Maybe because he feels sorry for what you’ve been through, however you don’t mind. You love when Jinyoung is being protective of you. It reminds you of how much he cared for you.

“Yeah. Nevermind that. Do you want to talk about the assignment?” you hate to ruin the moment but you figured he needed to go somewhere and you’re already holding him back. If you want to chit chat, you can do it when you meet for the assignment.

“Oh yes.” he quickly whips out his phone and scans the task given, quickly sliding his phone to your direction. “Okay so I’ve done question no 1 and just need you to look over them in case I did them wrong-”

He- what? He already did the assignment? Screw it, you’re in love with him already.

“So we just need to work on the second question.” he finishes his sentence and looks up to you, flashing his dimples away. Ah right, his deep dimples are exactly the reason why you’ve taken a liking in him. Whenever you have online classes, a strand of his luscious brown hair will naturally parted away from the others, his dimples showing up occasionally when he’s solving questions. Out of every single window on the screen, you’ve been intently watching his window, mesmerized by his good looking face. “I guess we can set the time and place for us to work on this?”

You unconsciously nod, before quickly snapping out of your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m actually fine anywhere. I’ll check my schedules and we can try to set any time for it?”

Jaehyun hums, hesitated before asking, “Will you be comfortable if we do it at my place?”

Another quiet squeal makes you roll your eyes, at this point Mina isn’t trying to be subtle anymore. Jaehyun has been laughing whenever she lets out any kind of noises, which embarrass you even more. “Wait- you mean NCT frat!?”

You can’t believe she just asked that. 

“Wow, y/n. Spare me some of your luck, please.” she tugs on your arms to which you shrug her off easily.

“Shut up.” you tell her before catching Jaehyun’s attention again. “I’m okay with NCT frat. I’ll text you before I come over?”

“Yeah,” he replies distractedly when his phone shows an incoming voice call, seeming important since he freaks out, whipping his head to the door. “Sorry, the boys are having some meeting and I need to go now.”

He hands you his phone, his dial pad showing up. “Put your number in. I’ll text you.”

If someone ever tells you that Jeong Jaehyun will offer his phone to get your number, even for an assignment, you’d definitely assume that they’re insane and tell them to stop giving you false hope. But now you’re filling your phone number in Jeong Jaehyun’s phone and it feels more like a dream than a reality.

Only when he’s out of the lecture hall that you’re able to breathe, accompanied by Mina’s never ending teasing. Lord, why are you being extra kind today?

Unknown Hey it’s Jaehyun :)

You almost drop your phone before making unrealistic noises, your heart jumping in joy. You don’t wish to disturb Jinyoung who’s studying at his table but this calls for celebration. 

“Oh my god!” you decided to let it loose and quickly dance in the middle of your room out of giddiness. Jeong Jaehyun has officially texted you and he’s waiting for you to reply. “Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh!!”

Jinyoung stares at your dancing figure with an eyebrow raised, his pen in between his teeth. To say that your sudden dance abnormal is an understatement, he’s been watching you do even crazier and dumber things in the middle of the night during examination weeks but that’s out of stress. So he lets you cool down – not really since you’re still grinning while holding your phone. Definitely, something is wrong.

“Wait how do I reply-” you fumble with your keyboard, thinking of a proper sentence. It’s been three minutes since his text and it’s the perfect time to reply back. You have to act like you didn’t wait for him to reply.

Y/n Hi! Yeap, y/n here.

What do you say more? Did the meeting go well?

You contemplate writing another sentence when his reply comes in, startling you in the process.

Unknown Have you checked your schedule? What day are you free?

Y/n I did and I am free on monday and wednesday afternoon, then friday evening. Hbu?

Unknown Oh crap. I’m only free on wednesday evening 

Golden boy curses too? Oohh, hot.

Y/n Uh… I don’t mind doing it on the weekend? If you don’t have practise or anything.

Unknown Unfortunately [Sticker] I have baseball practice in the morning. But

Y/n But what

Unknown Can we make it at night? We can do the assignment in the next two weeks.  I have an upcoming submission and I’m fully booked this weekend. I’m sorry I promise you I’ll provide you snacks.

Y/n What am I? Five years old? [Sticker] I don’t mind. The due date is still far away.

Unknown Oh so you don’t want snacks?

Y/n Shut up. Give me McDonalds.

Unknown Deal. A princess will get what princess wants.

Your heart skips a beat. He calls you princess? From the first text? This sounds like a frat boy attitude. For a moment you laugh at yourself, of course he is. He’s technically a frat boy.

“Okay you’re creeping me out.” Jinyoung finally stands up from his study table and proceeds to sit on his bed. Your study table is next to his bed while his study table is at the foot of his bed. “You’ve been smiling creepily while texting. Who’re you texting with?”

You quickly reply to Jaehyun with a sticker and lock your phone, facing Jinyoung who’s still confused about what’s going on. You can’t handle this alone and you need to tell Jinyoung. If anything, Jinyoung is the first person that shall know.

“You know Jeong Jaehyun?”

He gives you an incredulous look, of course, who doesn’t know Jeong Jaehyun? One must be blind and deaf if they don’t know the golden boy. “Really? You’re asking me this now?”

You dismiss him immediately, moving to sit next to him on his bed. “He texted me.”

“He texted you?”

“Yes!” you almost screamed at him but hold back and throw yourself on his pillow, kicking the air. “We got partnered for an assignment and he texted me!”

Jinyoung is absolutely clueless because he stares at you again, confused. “So? Why are you so happy about it?”

“Oh god Jinyoung! You don’t understand!”

“Then tell me! And for god sake stop kicking already!”

You sit back up and watch Jinyoung carefully, before explaining, “Jinyoung. A handsome boy, from NCT frat texted me. And he’s not just any NCT member, he’s the golden boy. The standard boyfriend-you’ll-never-have. The Jeong Jaehyun.”

“And he texted me. And he calls me princess!” You watch Jinyoung’s face contorted with disgust and you push him away roughly. He would never understand. He’s not having a crush on Jaehyun.

“So what? I can call you princess too. What’s so special?” Jinyoung has now moved higher on the bed and his hands are crossed. This is why you need a girl best friend. When you have a boy best friend they are so dumb and they can’t understand this joy.

“Oh god. Because he’s so dreamy and I got a crush on him!” you lunge towards Jinyoung and shake him, forcing the information to sink inside his brain. “My crush just called me princess, can you believe it!!???”

“You have a crush on Jaehyun?”

“Urgh. You’re so slow.” you get up and reach for the door, yanking it open. “I’m going to Jackson. He’ll be more enthusiastic to listen to my story than you.”

You close the door and leave Jinyoung alone, stoned and unmoved on his bed.

You didn’t realise it but the previous sentence left Jinyoung speechless, sending him into a shock.

You like Jeong Jaehyun? Oh shit. Jinyoung is in a deep deep shit.

“Hi.” the door opens, revealing Johnny who looks like he’s been expecting you for a while. 

“Oh! Y/n!” he screams, well not screaming but definitely a higher octave than usual conversation tone. “Come in! Jaehyun told us that you’re coming over.”

Like you have agreed, Jaehyun invites you to come over two weeks after You enter the house, a fresh smell greeting you softly. The layout of the frat is just like yours, except that it is bigger, well to accommodate 21 people in one house. There’s only a few minor differences from your house, like how the kitchen and the living room looks extremely bigger.

You spot someone at the kitchen and you nod timidly, showing your respect in someone’s house. Lord, you feel overwhelmed.

“Who’s at the door- oh!” a high pitched tone yell from the fridge and you see Lucas hugging a jar of milk, probably taking it out. “Jaehyun hyung! Your pretty partner is here!”

You blush at the nickname, quickly trail behind Johnny who offers to send you to Jaehyun’s room. You agree, you can’t possibly manage to find his room by yourself. Actually, you take your words back. This house has a different layout than GOT’s frat, definitely you won’t trust yourself around here. One mistake and you’d probably end up in a room with at least three naked men.

“I have no idea why you’d yell, Lucas.” Johnny comments, ascending the stairs. “Jaehyun can’t even hear you.”

“I know. I just want to call her pretty.”

“Oh god.” your face reddens when Lucas continues to tease you that by the time you reach Jaehyun’s room, you’re as bright as a tomato.

“Heyyy you’re here- wow what happened? Why are you so red?” as soon as he opens his door, Jaehyun bends over to see your reddening face, scanning for any suspicious injury. Johnny however, starts laughing and he’s lucky you just met him today or else you’d already jab him with your fist. “Come one, Johnny. Who did this to her?”

“Lucas that kid. He’s teasing her all the way up the stairs.”

“Oh.” Jaehyun laughs as well, beckoning you to enter his room. “Shut that one up for me.”

“Aite, golden boy.”

You manage to tone down your redness after fanning it while watching Jaehyun’s minimally decorated room, all in black and white, three beds lining up next to each other, the study table at one corner and their closet at the other end. It’s a big room and with three people living in it, it still has spaces to work on the floor.

“Sorry if you find it messy.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his head sheepishly when you seated yourself on the floor, in front of the folding table that he has prepared. “I forced Jungwoo and Jeno to clean the room since you’re coming over.”

“So if you find anything suspicious, just ignore them okay?” you chuckle at his choice of words, as if you’d probably find something. The whole room looks clean, or so how it looks. You doubt you can find anything.

“I’m serious. I always find questionable things and you don’t want to know what they are.”

“Oh.” now that is something you didn’t think of. You know how they always hold parties and a lot of people come over, but you definitely didn’t think of that. “Okay now I’m afraid to move.”

Jaehyun lets out a hearty laugh, seating himself next to you comfortably. “Don’t worry. Nothing can harm you here.”

“Knock knock!” instead of knocking, Haechan chooses to enunciate the sound and in a split second he opens the door, posing at the door frame. “The delivery man is here and I’m not rich to pay for it.”

Jaehyun sighs as he pulls out his wallet, throwing it to Haechan. “Swipe it.”

You turn to Jaehyun, halting in your calculation. “Did you really order McDonalds?”

“I promised you.” he says softly, looking back at his own paper. “What my princess wants is what my princess gets.”

You swear the air suddenly gets hotter and Jaehyun turns super flirty since his first text. You kept texting back and forth, the awkward texts have long forgotten, now it’s always him asking you about your day and sending memes he found on the internet. 

“Are we flirting now?”

“Depends on how you define flirt.” he smiles and that damn dimples show up again, impossible making you even more giddy. “I’d say, I’m being me.”

“This is how you are?” you look at him up and down, giving him a disapproving look. “Do you flirt with every girl you meet?”

Jaehyun comes closer to you, looking at you straight in the eye. “I’ll have you know one thing.”

“I never bring any girl into the frat. Not even hookups.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t do hookups.”

“But I’m just an assignment partner.”

“Definitely not for me.”

You later learnt that Jaehyun has ordered every single meal on the menu because he doesn’t know what you like. You almost got tricked when you came downstairs and saw the food untouched when all the boys were practically circling the dining table but no one touched anything. It’s only after you picked your burger, fries and drink together with Jaehyun’s food that Haechan sprinted towards the table and started the food war with others.

“You just have to ask me, you know.” you tell him while he walks you home, smiling sheepishly while getting scolded. “You wasted a lot on the meals.”

“It’s not wasting.” he defends himself. “I let everyone eat the remaining. It’s not wasting.”

“Yeah, that’s one thing.”

The walk home is silent, a comforting silent. His house and yours is just a few houses apart but he still insists on sending you home. It feels so short because just in five minutes, you fall in step in front of your house. Tonight, you experience something new. You experience another set of happiness, surrounded by Jaehyun and his friends.

It’s different from being with Jinyoung and the boys, it just feels like it. With GOT frat, you feel like home while with NCT frat, you feel exhilarated.

“Hey.” you hear Jaehyun calls, making you turn to him. “I want to let you know that I enjoy talking to you.”

Your features soften, of course, you like talking to him too. “Same here, Jaehyun.”

He grins, walking backwards. “Talk to you later!”

“Good night pretty girl!” you shush him when he shouts a bit too loud. He laughs, running to his house while screaming the same sentence, absolutely madness. You love talking to him, perhaps a bit more than he does.

“Jinyoung.” he calls, trying to shake the said male into reality. However he gives no response, staring into space making Jaebeom sigh in frustration. “Stop making that face. It’s obvious enough that you’re jealous.”

“What face?” Jinyoung glares, putting his Americano cup down and exhales shakily. He knows what kind of face Jaebeom was referring to. His annoyed face. “I am not jealous.”

“Oh really? Geez, I would never know,” Jaebeom rolls his eyes sarcastically. If looks can slice, Jaehyun must have been slaughtered by the Jinyoung’s total concentration water breathing form and poof! He’d be a verified demon slayer. 

“Shut up.” It’s been an hour and you are still there, sitting at the table by the window, talking to Jaehyun. He has been eyeing you since you entered the cafe and was about to call for you but realised that a certain male has followed you after, seating both of you further from people. He’s not mad, no. He’s a tad bit sad. He doesn’t like this unsettling feeling and it hurts even more when he sees Jaehyun’s concentrated eyes gazing on you.

He knows that gaze. That’s just how he looks at you.

Ever since you first told him that Jaehyun texted you, something has changed. You start spending less and less time with him and more time with Jaehyun. You start waking early and rush downstairs, just to go on a morning walk with Jaehyun. At night when it’s supposed to be your time with Jinyoung, you’d spend it talking to Jaehyun, if not texting all night.

You haven’t realised it but Jinyoung is extremely jealous. 

He never had you that enthusiastic with him. You’re always you, nothing special you’d change just for Jinyoung. And the thought of it makes him sad, sad that he’s actually just a friend. 

“I think you should tell her, you know.” Jaebeom starts. Ever since you revealed that you had a crush on Jaehyun, Jinyoung has been constantly broken. It’s like you pressed a switch inside his brain and he malfunctioned himself. It’s rare to see Jinyoung acting out of character but this is what love does to people. It made you go insane. “What’s the point of torturing yourself watching the woman you love talking to another handsome man with heart shooting out of her eyes?”

“So you agree he’s handsome?”

“Jinyoung.” Jaebeom shakes his head exaggeratedly. “It’s Jeong Jaehyun we’re talking about. We all know that NCT house has some magic shit going around because every single member from that frat is drop dead hot and handsome. Now don’t avoid this. Tell her before it’s too late.”

Jinyoung has officially gone blank. He wanted to tell her, he really does. Jinyoung can’t count those nights where he has drawn a perfect plan in his mind, watching you sleep while mouthing unsaid words to you. He really wanted to tell you that he loves you. He had been in love with you for so long, he has forgotten when exactly he harboured his feelings for you. All he knows, one day he woke up and he felt his heart threatened to burst at the sight of you. 

However every single plan has its flaws and Jinyoung’s plan involves throwing your friendship into the mix. If only he’s not afraid to risk your friendship, he would have tried his damn luck. He would have confessed and he wouldn’t give any damn whether you’d be awkward or not. Things will be easier if he has no attachment. Yet, this attachment is the thinnest line he wouldn’t dare to cross.

“I can’t, Beom-ah.” he sounds helpless, the most helpless Jaebeom ever heard and they are childhood friends. He knew Jinyoung since they were eleven and nothing, nothing  ever broke Jinyoung this bad. Jinyoung is never a quitter but this time, Jaebeom sees him quitting. “I can’t risk our friendship, Jaebeom. I can’t. I can handle her fawning over someone else but I can’t afford being apart from her.”

Jinyoung is never helpless but somehow, he’s helpless when it comes to you.

“So you’re going to let her date Jaehyun?” Jaebeom, though his heart wrenches seeing Jinyoung so broken, he’s not going to let Jinyoung give up. “Because I’m telling you, Jinyoung. Jaehyun isn’t playing. We know how someone looks when they’re in love. I’ve seen it on you and believe me or not, I saw it on Jaehyun.”

Jinyoung has never been unconfident. He’s always that one student who is constantly positive that it will turn out well in the end. He believes that even if it’s bad now, it will be better soon. Beat him but now, he sees nothing like that. He can’t bring himself to think that if he confesses to you it will turn out good. That even if something happens, even if you distance yourself from him, you will be okay in the end.

Because it won’t.

“Tell her before it’s too late please.” half pleading, Jaebeom just can’t see his friend being this lost. “Tell her even if it risks your relationship.”

“What if I lose her?” he can’t answer that, of course Jaebeom can’t. It’s not his place to make an escape plan, it certainly is not his place to come up with your answer. But there’s one thing he is sure of.

“Then she certainly doesn’t deserve you.” 

“I need to talk to you.” Jinyoung starts, watching you focusing on your screen. Like always, you are grinning, probably laughing at some TikTok videos that Jaehyun sent you. 

“One second, Jinyoung.” you quickly type a reply and lock the phone, setting it face down. Another thing that has changed ever since you started talking to Jaehyun. Before, you had nothing to hide but now? Jinyoung doesn’t know you anymore.

You’re now totally focused on him, your eyes staring straight into his eyes but it’s different. It doesn’t feel the same. It feels like you’re someone else. You’re not his girl anymore. 

“Jinyoung?”

“Hm?” it’s bothering him how foreign his name comes out from you. It’s been a month and if he counts, you probably utter his name only twice a day. “Oh yes. The talk.”

You are sitting cross legged on your chair, waiting patiently for Jinyoung to start. You realised it too, that you’ve been spending less time with Jinyoung. You do feel sorry for him and you have an inkling that he wanted to talk to you about it. Jinyoung rarely needs to have a talk with you unless he feels bothered, and now you can see how bothered he is.

Taking a look at him, you suddenly feel your heart wrenches. How long have you stopped giving attention to Jinyoung? He has this frown on his face now, sometime you never see before. His hair is a bit longer and his hair colour is a lighter shade of brown. 

Who dyed his hair for him? After all, it must have not been you, since you’re busy hanging out with Jaehyun. But usually, you dyed his hair for him, saying you’re the only one who knows how to dye hair properly. Now that you look back, this concern is probably bigger than you expected.

You’ve abandoned your best friend and you knew about it but you did nothing.

“Uhm.” Jinyoung clears his throat, snapping you out of your trance. “I don’t think it’s like- like a big concern.”

“And you know I don’t like complaining either.” he stops, gulping nervously as he continues, “I just feel like we’re too far away.”

“I came home and we’re roommates but I can’t feel you here.”

“You’re so near yet so far.”

You know it will hurt. You know Jinyoung’s choice of words are already the softest he would have chosen, yet it stings. It reminds you of how ungrateful you are, leaving him for someone you have a crush on. He is telling you how he is sad, sad that he gets nothing like before. Your attention is now unavailable for him. It hurts him and now he’s projecting them in words.

Now it hurts you.

“I’m sorry if you feel like I’m demanding. But I just don’t know you anymore. I don’t know how you are, or what you ate for lunch. We’re drifting apart and it hurts me.” he continues as you stay silent, feeling the guilt eating you alive. “I know you have someone new…..yet is it so easy to leave me behind?”

Jinyoung is officially breaking apart. He feels like he’s childish, pouring his heart out but this is about him. This is him demanding you to be fair. He can’t stop you from liking Jaehyun, he can’t force you to love him back. He just wanted to remind you that he’s there. He’s there and please do something. 

“Jinyoung.” your voice cracks, slowly the tears fall on your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry I made you feel this way. I was too blinded by the newfound happiness and I forgot you. I forgot you who have constantly made me happy.”

“I’m so sorry.” you cried harder, reaching Jinyoung and hugging him. “I’m so sorry I made you feel this way.”

You feel his body shakes and you know he’s holding back from crying. You hated yourself for making Jinyoung cry. 

Jinyoung isn’t weak, no he isn’t. He’s been too strong that it breaks his limit. He wanted to let go. He wanted to let go for once and he’ll be fine. If nothing goes right after tonight, he’s done tolerating. 

A few quiet sobs and some awful jokes later, both of you are lying on Jinyoung’s bed, holding each other close. 

“Jinyoung.”

“Hm?”

“Can I sleep with you here tonight?” you ask Jinyoung, rubbing his arm. It’s been too long since you sleep in his bed and now you feel nostalgic. You’re overreacting but really, it feels too long. 

“I thought you’re going to talk to Jaehyun?” he teases, earning himself a slap on his chest. “Ow! What was that for?”

You laugh, settling yourself comfortably in his embrace. “Say Jinyoung.”

“Hm, what?”

“Do you approve Jaehyun?”

He looks down to you, questioning eyes boring into yours. You know it’s too soon, you know perhaps it’s not the best time to bring it up. But you just want to know his answer.

“For what?”

“To be my boyfriend.”

Jinyoung wakes up feeling empty, his eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. You’re still sleeping in his arm yet he has this unsettling feeling inside him. Recalling your last question before you sleep, he inhales a deep breath.

Will you be happy? Will his approval make you happy?

Jaehyun is a nice guy, Jinyoung knows that. Looks aside, he has full potential to be the best boyfriend for you. Jaehyun is caring and also when he loves, he’ll love you to the fullest. It’s not a problem to approve Jaehyun, he won’t hesitate if that’s the only case.

However it’s not.

Will Jinyoung be happy with his decision? It feels like the burden has increased tremendously, from jealousy to pain in just one night. It seems like the one month is just a trial for Jinyoung, now he needs to be prepared to lose you for good.

With his fingers raking your locks, he watches you sleep soundly. This is probably the last time he watches you sleeping in his embrace. This is probably the last time he’ll see you wake up in his arms.

Lord, can you help me stop the time?

“Nope.” 

“Jaebeom-”

“Nope. I won’t let you be as stupid as you are.”

Jinyoung lifts his eyebrows, offended by Jaebeom’s statement. He’s just offering a suggestion yet Jaebeom calls him dumb? “Hey! What do you mean as stupid as I am?”

“Jinyoung.” Jaebeom sighs exaggeratedly, holding Jinyoung’s shoulder in place. “When I told you tell her, I mean tell her your feelings your dumb ass. Not just telling her how you feel when she forgot about you!”

“I’m not a dumb ass.”

“Well you look like that to me now.” It’s another evening where you went over to Jaehyun place to finish the assignment and Jaebeom has no other way than to confront Jinyoung about how weird both of you have been.

Yes, both of you have been weird. Specifically, Jinyoung.

The morning you woke up in his embrace, you didn’t notice something was off. Probably because you forgot how it felt waking up with Jinyoung but definitely, Jinyoung was different. As if he had a switch in him, he started avoiding you, keeping your conversation minimal.

You thought it’s just you but one day Jackson asked you why you were both eating separately, one person at the other end of the table, then you realised that Jinyoung had avoided you. Yes, he made it subtle and you never noticed it until someone pointed it out.

Jinyoung still let you sleep with him and still woke you up like any other morning. He just doesn’t talk as much as he did before. And you brush it off, thinking it as another awkward change that you brought upon your friendship.

“You’re not a dumb ass?” Jaebeom asks. “Y/n has been at Jaehyun’s for hours and you’re still here, like a wife waiting for her cheater husband? Oh you’re just unable to think rationally.”

“Shut up. She’s not a cheater.”

Jaebeom had enough of these awkward encounters. It seems like none of you figured this thing out and he needs his lively frat back again. “Then I suggest you do something about y/n. It’s almost eleven and she’s not home yet.”

“Like what?” Jinyoung is now irritated. He doesn’t have any control over what you’re doing and even if he wants to, he can’t. “I’m not her boyfriend.”

“And Jaehyun is not her boyfriend either. So go get her.”

“What?”

“You heard me. As the house leader, I’m ordering you to get her ass from that NCT frat and bring her home.”

“She can come home by herself. Jaehyun will walk her home.”

“Park Jinyoung.” Jaebeom grits his teeth, pulling the said man towards the door and without hesitation, throws him out of the house. “Don’t let me put up ‘No Jaehyun is allowed’ in front of the door. Go fetch her home by 12. I mean it, Park.”

Then Jaebeom slams the door shut, locking it from inside. Though Jinyoung clearly has the key, he knows Jaebeom probably locked the door using the other lock instead. So he stood outside, leaning against the wall.

What is he going to do? Knock on NCT frat and ask for you? No shit he’s not going to look like a desperate man. 

But indeed, Jaebeom is right. Jaehyun is not your boyfriend either and he has a valid reason to be worried and to go get you at his house which is only five minutes away. Yeap, valid.

“I must have gone crazy.” Jinyoung mutters as he exits the compound and starts walking on the sidewalk in a painfully slow pace. “I must’ve looked crazy too.”

Five minutes turns fifteen, courtesy of Jinyoung walking around the neighbourhood and standing like a stool against the lamp post, contemplating whether he’s going to knock on the door or not.

“Well.” he sighs, walking up the NCT house and stands nervously in front of their door. “Aite, fuck this.” he knocks, slow at first but gradually the third knock is loud, followed by fourth and fifth. He did it on purpose, he knows how boys can be. Yugyeom and Bambam can be so focused while watching Netflix that they can’t even hear any other noises.

Jinyoung fiddles with his hoodie sleeves, his heart beating nervously as he waits for someone to get the door.

“Who is- oh, Jinyoung!” Thank god, Taeyong shows up, not Lucas or Jaemin or else Jinyoung would have a hard time being less suspicious. “Why are you here?”

Now that’s another hard question? Does he simply say ‘well my roommate is here and it’s already 11.20 and why the fuck is she still here’? Or does he say ‘i’m jealous so i’m picking up my girl’? Nope. Nope.

“Uh. Is y/n here?” He hopes he doesn’t sound like a desperate man asking for his crush’s whereabouts because he feels like he’s one. “It’s- it’s 11.20 and uh Jaebeom is kinda mad? She’s not yet back.”

Taeyong takes like- 30 seconds to let the information sink in, before frantically shouting for Jaehyun. “Jaehyun! Tell y/n that Jinyoung is here to bring her home!”

An awkward silence follows him, well of course it’s awkward. All pairs of eyes are watching him from all directions, curious of why he’s here to bring her home? You have been patronising this house for like, two months now and suddenly he’s here to remind her of her curfew?

He hears you come down the stairs, shock paints your face as you see him at the door. Firstly, well since Jinyoung avoided you, you don’t know why he suddenly came to take you home. Secondly, since when do you need someone to take you home?

“Jinyoung.” you reach the door, Jaehyun trailing behind you equally as confused. “Why are you here?”

The amount of ‘why are you here’ irks him that by the time you ask him the same question, he feels like his blood is boiling. Why is it so hard to believe that he’s here to take you home? Don’t you realise what time is it already? Why are you still at Jaehyun’s? These voices inside his head are shouting at the same time and he just- can’t stop himself anymore.

“Why? I can’t come here now?” his question, as soft as he wanted to sound, didn’t come out well. It sounds plainly rude, like he’s picking a fight with you. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Not that. I’m just confused.”

“Jaebeom told me to come and get you.”

“But I can go home by myself.” you point at Jaehyun behind you, who stays silent between your conversation. “Jaehyun can walk me home.”

At this point, Jinyoung feels anger bubbling up inside him and if everyone squints really really hard, one can see that his jugular vein almost pops. All this ‘Jaehyun this and Jaehyun that’ is starting to get to him and honestly? He’s tired of listening to it.

“Can we just go home?” as much as he wants to scream at everyone, he doesn’t want to make a mess at someone’s frat. He knows how Jaebeom works hard to maintain a good relationship with other frats and how hard it is to clean after messes. “I don’t think we should be having this conversation here.”

You silently agree, bidding the boys goodbye and step out of the house. Jaehyun’s eyes follow you worriedly, as if he knows that you’d probably end up fighting with Jinyoung.

In your eyes, Jinyoung is irritated by the fact that you asked too many questions but in Jaehyun’s eyes, he recognises those emotions as anger and jealousy. He’s been asking you about your true relationship with Jinyoung, knowing that it’s impossible for one to be that close without any feeling involved. Tonight, he found out why. 

Jinyoung is in love with you.

“Taeyong.” he whispers while watching both of you getting further away from his house. “Fuck, Taeyong.”

“What?”

“I messed up.”

“What??” how come Jaehyun didn’t realise it from the start? Of course, when he first got close to you, he thought that you and Jinyoung are just best friends and given he never really gets to talk to Jinyoung, well he just didn’t think of that.

“Taeyong.” his frantic eyes find Taeyong, who is as clueless as ever. “Jinyoung loves y/n.”

The leader’s vision switches to the couple on the street, looking at them with wide eyes. “Oh fuck.”

“I don’t understand him!” you throw your hands, ruffling your hair. It’s been four days and Jinyoung avoided you like a plague, refusing to talk to you even if you cornered him every time you got him. “He’s like, really confusing.”

Jaehyun bites the apple, listening to your story intently. You have told him through texts but here you are again, ranting about how Jinyoung is the most useless communicator and it’s impossible to take the words out of him if he decided to give you cold treatment.

“So you said he’s been weird after you asked him if he approves me to be your boyfriend?” he asks again, making sure he had his point right. Just like four days ago, Jaehyun has concluded that Jinyoung indeed, has been in love with you for so long but you’re just dense to realise it. It’s been proven true, you have the audacity to ask Jinyoung about it and not feel guilty at all.

“Yeah.” you sit on the foot of Jaehyun’s bed, settling yourself comfortably. You hang out more at Jaehyun since Jinyoung looks like he’s about to become mute whenever he sees you in the house. You figured you could give him some space. “I’m so confused right now.”

Jaehyun nudges you with his foot, making you look right up to him. Jaehyun has been too comfortable with you, becoming close just after two months. He’s at that stage where he just calls you with his feet now. 

“You wanna know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think that Jinyoung is in love with you.”

“What the-” Shock is not enough to portray your feelings right now. It’s a mixture of shock, disbelief and suspicions. You don’t know if Jaehyun is playing around because right at this moment, his face shows no hint of joking. “Jaehyun! It’s not funny!”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, annoyed with your ignorance. You’re the most clueless person he ever knows, and he knows Mark Lee! “Girl, listen to me.”

“What did Jinyoung say when you said I texted you?”

“He said, ‘so?’”

“And what did he say when you said you like me?”

“Is this another session to feed your ego?” you don’t trust Jaehyun, he has a lot up in his sleeves and you just knew him for two months. “I fed your ego too much, don’t you think so?”

“Shut up and answer me. What did he say?”

You roll your eyes. “He said nothing. Why are we doing this?”

“What did he reply when you ask about me being your boyfriend?”

“He didn’t reply. God, I don’t know where you are going with this conversation.”

Jaehyun takes another bite of his apple, munching while talking at the same time. “You see, he didn’t reply when you told him you like me. That’s fine, maybe he didn’t care. But when you ask him about me being your boyfriend, why didn’t he answer right away?”

“Well-”

“Because he doesn’t want to! Come on, Jinyoung can’t possibly tell you no right? You’d be too nosy and asked why.”

“Hey!”

“So what I think is, he likes you.” Jaehyun concludes, snapping his fingers in triumph. “Now the real question is, do you like him back?”

You shut up, eyes running away from Jaehyun’s. You don’t know, well you have no idea. You never thought about liking Jinyoung because you don’t want to risk your friendship. It might have crossed your mind a few times but you ignored the curiosity, you figured it’s the best to stay being friends.

Not that you don’t want to invest your feelings in Jinyoung, you’re just too afraid that it will backfire you. You don’t like rejection and you certainly don’t want to become awkward afterward.

“I don’t know.” you answer truthfully because really, you don’t know.

“Then find it out.”

You close the door to your room, putting down your bag on the floor and sit down on your bed. Jinyoung is at his study table, unmoved.

“How long are you going to give me cold shoulders, Jinyoung?” you ask, your feet kicking the air. You know he’s listening, even if he has his earphones in. That’s just Jinyoung style, to wear earphones so that no one bothers him, especially Jackson. Whenever Jackson comes over, he’d retreat when he sees Jinyoung stuffing them in his ears. “I know you can hear me, Jinyoung.”

“Let’s not fight anymore.” you look down, suddenly you feel sad. You feel like you’re losing Jinyoung. Is this what Jinyoung feels before? So near yet so far?

“It’s been hard without you, Jinyoung.” 

“The mornings are extremely cold without your laugh and the lunch is plain without you cracking up lame jokes. Dinner is boring because you avoided me and night…the nights are even colder without your hugs.”

“I know you’d say, ‘so what? You have Jaehyun so go and ask him to eat with you, crack up lame jokes and give you hugs.’ but I don’t want Jaehyun. I want you.”

Jinyoung has stopped writing, listening to you intently. You noticed this, which is why you continue, “Jaehyun told me that he thinks you like me.”

You didn’t realise it but Jinyoung stiffens at the mention of his crush on you, catching him off guard. He knows that someone will eventually tell you about this but he definitely didn’t think of Jaehyun of all people.

“I don’t know if it’s true. Jaehyun isn’t exactly the best fortune teller so I definitely can’t gamble with his words.”

“I just want you to know that you’re extremely important in my life. I never thought of putting you second just because I found someone new. In fact, I decided that I’ll stay as friends with Jaehyun, I don’t find him that attractive anymore.”

You stand up and walk over to his side, sitting on his bed just beside him, forcing him to face you. “So if that’s the case, can you please stop being jealous now? I don’t have anything to do with Jaehyun. We are not dating and can I please have my Jinyoung back?”

Jinyoung is frowning, his eyes scan you from the top to the bottom. “You don’t find him attractive anymore? Really?”

“Well-” you grin, crinkling your nose up playfully. “He’s still handsome. I can’t deny that.”

You feel more at ease, now that you’ve told Jinyoung what you’ve been wanting to tell him. It feels lighter, your brain and your heart. You hated the days where Jinyoung ignored you and you’re left imagining what you would do without him in your life. The thought alone scares you, the fact that you’ve been so comfortable with Jinyoung beside you and you never thought he’ll leave you for someone else someday.

“So you still like him.” Jinyoung confirms and turns around to his note again, picking up his pen. 

You scream, pulling him away from his work and tugs him nearer, trying to have all his attention on you. Jinyoung struggles to escape from your grips but fails miserably, laughing along the way. You join him, laughing together as you bring him nearer.

“Let me go, oh god. Since when you’re so strong?” he wrestles his way out of your grip again, hoisting you up and throws you on the bed easily. “Did you practise lifting Jaehyun’s dumbbells?”

“Yeah, I went there to exercise.” you reply deadpanned and laugh when Jinyoung tickles you as a revenge.

“Hey.” you call out, trying to get his attention again. Jinyoung’s arms have you caged, he’s on top of you while you lie comfortably on his bed. “Is it true?”

“What is?” Jinyoung’s eyes rake you face up and down, like how his thoughts are running wild inside his brain. He doesn’t know what to do, does he confess now? Does he confirm that it’s true? Does it mean you’ll be his? Can he do that? Can he kiss you?

“Is it true that you like me?” just as Jinyoung, you’re nervous. You’re conflicted. What if he doesn’t actually like you? What is Jaehyun really bad at guessing? You’re not surprised, nothing surprises you about Jaehyun anymore.

“What if it’s true?” 

“I’d be so happy.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking for a while and I don’t think i can ever end up with someone else other than you.”

“Oh yeah?” Jinyoung’s heart stops at your confession, then beats harder as he feels his adrenaline pumping his blood faster. “Can I kiss you now?”

You shake your head, watching Jinyoung’s eyes grow and a cute frown appears on his face. You wanted to laugh but you held back, looking straight into his eyes.

“Why not?”

“You haven’t said you like me.”

“Oh my god.” he curses, turning away from you when he feels his face grows hotter. “Fuck- fine. I like you. Are you satisfied?”

You laugh, nodding furiously. Jinyoung doesn’t waste any more seconds, diving right then to press his plump lips to yours, taking the perfect shape of your lips in his. 

Finally. His mind says, Fucking finally.

“God. finally.” he mutters to himself, somewhat trying to convince himself that indeed, he’s kissing you. “Oh god.”

“Do you know how long I have been dying to kiss you?” he reaches down to press another kiss on your temple, another on your cheeks, nose and your chin, then pressing the last one on your lips once again.

You chuckle under him, pressing your palms on his chest to hold him. “How long?”

“Too long, I’ve forgotten already.” his reply earns another laugh from you. 

Jinyoung moves to lie beside you, watching you play with the string of his hoodie. It’s funny how time works. About fifteen minutes ago you’re sitting on your bed, trying to fix things up and now you’re lying beside him after he kissed you breathless.

“I thought you’re dating Jaehyun.” he did. He really thought that after what happened, you’d hate him. “I hated myself for screaming at you.”

A strand of his hair falls on his forehead and you reach to swipe it away, pushing his locks behind. “Yeah, you’re quite rude.”

“Very rude.”

“I thought our friendship is ending.” you confess, eyes on his chest instead of his face. “I thought it’s the end of us. That you got fed up with me.”

“Then it turns out that you’re just a jealous boy.”

Jinyoung pushes your chin up, making you face him. “Just a jealous boy? You didn’t know how jealous I am when everything is about Jaehyun! Have you ever heard I talk about other girls? No right? See who’s rude now?”

Another laugh escapes you and you caress his face, calming him down. “I didn’t know, okay. I thought you were fine with it.”

“Yeah right.”

“But we’re here now, right? You don’t have to be jealous anymore.”

“Really?” Jinyoung’s finger finds your lock, playing with the strand. “Do you like me too?”

You really want to make him suffer a bit. Just a bit since he’s being a pain in the ass for ignoring you for one week straight. 

“Hmm, I need to think about that again.” you grin, sending Jinyoung into a series of screams.

“What the- out!” he pushes you off his bed with you hanging onto him while your laugh fills the room. “Get out of my bed!”

“Oh my god. I can’t believe you! Did you just play me?”

“Is my feeling that easy?”

“Get out of my bed!”

“Jinyoung!”

“Out!”

You don’t know about your feelings, just yet. But there’s one thing for sure. You love Jinyoung’s kisses. You can deal with that. But his petty ass? That calls for a serious mental discussion.

Copyright © 2020 jjpmoans. All rights reserved

[ Writings ]

[umbry-fic]

A Palette Full of You (3)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Sheena Fujibayashi, Zelos Wilder Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving & Sheena Fujibayashi & Zelos Wilder Rating: G Chapter: 3 of 6 Word Count: 6896 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 11/06/2021

Chapter Title: Race Into the Night

Chapter Summary: Lloyd, Colette, Zelos and Sheena visit the carnival to have a night of fun after the end of exams. Lloyd and Colette end up riding the Ferris wheel alone, where...

(Colloyd Week Day 3: Confession/First Kiss)

Notes: Chapter 3 of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Featuring much fluff and sap. Zelos is non-binary in this and uses they/them pronouns.

Chapter title from Yoasobi's song.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

18-years-old

"There is no way I'm ever going on that thing. You can't make me."

"Come on, you promised that if I scored better than you at darts you would ride the Riptide with me! Gonna go back on your word now, Sheena?"

"Stop smirking at me, Zelos! You clearly cheated! That game was rigged!"

"All carnival games are rigged. That's common knowledge."

"I don't care. You still cheated!"

"Cheated how? You were watching me the whole time!"

Colette giggled, watching her two friends have a go at each other as they inched closer to each other with each word they spoke. All three of them were leaning against the cold metal railing, though Colette was careful to keep a safe distance from Zelos and Sheena. When they were engrossed in arguing with each other, there was a safe zone, and a not-safe zone where one was liable to get smacked by a wildly gesturing arm or two.

Surrounding them were various stalls staffed by people who were enthusiastically calling out to potential customers, hoping to receive more coupons in the final hour before the carnival closed. There were pop-up game stalls featuring the classics like ring toss and soccer, food stands selling carnival staples like candy floss and popcorn, and even thrill rides like the aforementioned Riptide, a roller coaster that paled in comparison to USS' coasters but certainly had the most twists and turns of anything offered at the carnival. Adorning everything was bright neon lights and colourful decorations, and noise came from every angle, lending to a cheery atmosphere that could get a tad overwhelming at times.

Despite the late hour of 9 pm, there was still quite a crowd - mostly consisting of young adults like them, the majority of families having gone home for the night. She had bumped into quite a few classmates in the past three hours, who had come here with the same idea of having a fun night out with friends after the end of A-levels. A lot of pictures had been taken, until her cheeks hurt a bit from smiling so much, but it had been great fun.

She, Lloyd, Zelos and Sheena had managed to visit almost every booth, using up all of the coupons that they were sharing amongst each other. But even with their combined efforts, they had only managed to win one prize: the adorable Siberian Husky plush she was currently hugging. Though they'd certainly snacked on their share of popcorn, sharing one large carton between the four of them until their fingers were sticky with kernels.

"Colette, back me up!" Sheena begged, turning to face Colette. Despite the biting words that were leaving her mouth, her true emotions were betrayed by the smile playing at the corner of her lips. Sheena's hair was tied up into her trademark high ponytail, the ends of her hair swaying slightly in the weak wind.

"What, me?" Colette exclaimed, rather surprised she was being pulled into the conversation. Zelos and Sheena tended to retreat into their own world whenever they got into this state, forgetting anyone else existed.

"Uh, well..." Colette muttered, sheepishly smiling. "Sorry to disappoint, Sheena, but I have to give this one to Zelos."

"See? Even Colette agrees!" Zelos placed their elbow on the railing, leaning closer to Sheena, smirking.

Sheena didn't even spare Zelos a look, just shoved their face away with a hand, ignoring Zelos' sputters of protest. "How could you, Colette? How could you side with the idiot?" Sheena cried in mock betrayal.

"Well, I and Lloyd were both there, and we both saw Zelos win fair and square. And a deal's a deal," Colette replied, shrugging. Zelos did seem more insistent than usual, but she couldn't discern why.

"Just think of it as a date!" Zelos waved a nonchalant arm in the air, that smirk never fading as they took hold of Sheena's arm.

"Screaming in abject terror is not my idea of a date," Sheena hissed through gritted teeth, though she didn't free herself from Zelos' hold. "Besides, we're supposed to ride the Ferris wheel together once Lloyd comes back!"

"Eh, we won't make it before the carnival closes if we catch the Ferris wheel. Don't worry, I'll treat you to ice cream afterwards! And if that isn't enough to appease you, surely some Ajisen will." Zelos turned to Colette and winked, leaving Colette utterly confused. Was there an underlying meaning to all of this she was supposed to be catching?

"If you drag me on that damn thing, Zelos Wilder, I swear I will never forgive - GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! STOP!" Sheena shrieked as Zelos began to drag her by brute force towards the snaking queue of the Riptide. Colette gaped, watching Sheena struggle wildly, digging her feet into the ground and hurling curses that got steadily fouler at Zelos, who didn't seem to be affected at all.

"I'm back with the drinks!" Lloyd's happy voice came from behind her as he walked up to her, holding two cups with steam venting from their tops, hair adorably ruffled from the day's hectic events, woefully unaware of everything that had occurred in the time he was gone. "Wait, what's... Happening...?" he asked, only now spotting the gradually diminishing silhouettes of Zelos and Sheena.

"I... Uh, Zelos and Sheena are going to ride the Riptide," Colette said, explaining the situation as succinctly as she could. How else could she word it, anyway? There was no explaining the antics of those two.

"Alright." Lloyd shrugged, accepted her explanation and passing one cup over to her. She pushed the plushy into the crook of her elbow, freeing up a hand to accept the cup and still managing to almost drop it. She closed her fingers around the plastic cup, soaking in the warmth it emanated.

"It's hot chocolate," Lloyd explained between gulps as he practically downed the whole cup in half a minute. "They're out of hot milo. Sorry."

"It's alright. Any hot drink would have done." Colette finally took a sip, feeling the sting from the heat and sticking out her tongue.

"Should we wait for them to come back or go queue for the Ferris wheel?"

Colette sighed. "We should just go. The queue for the Riptide is really long... They know to meet up back at the MRT at 10."

The original plan was to take a group photo at the peak of the revolution of the Ferris wheel, but that didn't look like it was going to happen now.

So it would just be her and Lloyd riding the Ferris wheel. An activity that could be seen as romantic. The pamphlet for the carnival had even advertised it as a ride of love. When they'd walked past it just now, she'd seen that the Ferris wheel was decked out with a ton of wire hearts that lit up in multiple colours.

It was just ten minutes. It would be over in the blink of an eye! Totally!

"Then, let's go," Lloyd said, grabbing her hand and giving her a minute heart attack, causing her bravado to crumble into dust.

Nope. There was no way this could end well.

The two of them joined the short queue for the Ferris wheel, having thrown their empty cups into a nearby dustbin. Only eight people were waiting for the next empty carriage to descend to ground level and open its doors. Five of them - three children and two adults - belonged to one family, while the rest were a group of three girls, enthusiastically talking to each other. It wouldn't take long for their turn.

A bout of shivers overcame her as the wind picked up, the warmth of the drink already a memory. She wrapped her free arm around herself, gaze dropping to the floor as she once again regretted forgetting to bring out her favourite dog-ear hoodie. It was always hanging on her clothes rack, and it would have been so easy to just reach out a hand and swipe it on her way out. But no, she just had to wake up late and stumble out of the house still half-asleep.

She'd forgotten how cold the nights could get. Especially for her, someone who couldn't even handle the lecture theatre air-conditioning. Forgoing a long-sleeved T-shirt for her kiwi bird-print tee was not helping matters.

"Here." Something warm and soft was draped around her shoulders, and she looked up to find herself draped in Lloyd's familiar jacket, his face hovering close to hers. "You should have told me you were cold," Lloyd muttered, his breath tickling her neck. "I would have given you my jacket earlier."

His jacket smelt like him, a safe, comforting blanket that reached to her thighs. It held his body heat, too, slowly seeping into her.

Colette flushed, turning her face away so she didn't have to look into those russet eyes. For there was concern there, as well as the ever-present kindness, but there was also more. There was no way to hide her blush, not when he was right here, but she still had to resist the urge to hide her face behind the plushy.

Why was she still trying so hard to hide, anyway? It's not like it was of any use. She was so obvious. As Zelos had told her, it had gone far past the point of being funny.

"Though I guess you're always cold," Lloyd said, tearing his gaze away from her and taking a hurried step back. Perhaps the words were meant to be teasing, but they fell flat with the out-of-place laughter attached to the end.

"I - I mean, it - it was my fault for not bringing a jacket in the first place," she stuttered, the words stumbling over each other in her mouth in her hurry to answer. Now Lloyd would know she was nervous too. She was doing really well, wasn't she? “But thank you.”

"The next carriage is here," the attendant called out, voice flat and expression terribly bored. He was staring at them with a barely veiled expression of disinterest, waving his arms to direct them into the next carriage, doors wide open.

"Come on." Lloyd grabbed her hand, the smile returning to his face. The Ferris wheel was lit up to the nines, throwing soft purple light onto everything around her and illuminating half of Lloyd's face. Beautiful. He was always so beautiful, but it was moments like these where it made her heart hurt, wanting so desperately to reach out and touch his face.

Heart pounding in her chest, she took her seat, Lloyd sitting directly on her left, their legs close enough to brush.

She placed the plushy in her lap, resting her chin on it and trying her best to slow her racing heart, knowing it would be of no use. Here, in this carriage that was slowly rising into the sky and gently rocking, it was just the two of them in this little space, cut off from the rest of the world.

It was hard to tell herself she was imagining the intense way Lloyd was staring at her, like she was the only thing worth looking at, even though the beautiful night scenery was right outside the glass. Nor was it possible to imagine the tension, sharp as a knife, that had arisen between them for the past half a year or so. Almost everything was the same: they were still incredibly close, but there was a hesitance there now - in the way Lloyd’s fingers sometimes curled away from hers, in the way she sometimes stopped before throwing an arm around his shoulder to embrace him.

Neither of them had spoken up about that tension, dancing around each other like fools. Even if he did return her feelings… Love wasn’t enough to bridge the impossible distance between them. She could never fully comprehend all that he felt, just as he could never fully comprehend the absence of what she felt. She could never give him what others could, not with her extreme revulsion towards anything sexual in nature. She’d be willing to try, for him, simply because her love for him knew no bounds, but… she couldn't say where her limits would be. Likely not very far from where she would start.

Even though Lloyd had been nothing but supportive of her, that didn’t mean he was willing to take a chance that could very well end in failure and heartbreak. She might not be enough for him when it came to a relationship. If that was the case, she could understand. Neither of them had done anything wrong. If they were incompatible from the start, then she could keep her silence. She’d be perfectly happy to remain as friends, even if these nebulous feelings would never leave her chest. She didn’t want to lose them.

"Um, do you, uh... like the plushy?" Lloyd asked, his voice cutting through her anxious thoughts. Awkwardness radiated off of him in spades as he shifted in the seat, turning his head away to stare down at the floor. At least she wasn't the only one that was nervous. He was repeating the exact question he’d asked her when he’d given her the plushy.

"I love it. It's soft, and it's cute. Thanks for giving it to me." The same answer she’d given him before.

Lloyd had been the one who won a carnival game - the ball toss, to be specific. He'd managed to down all the cans with a single ball and gotten the choice of any of the first-place prizes. Zelos had raised an eyebrow and asked him how he'd gotten past the unfair odds. Lloyd had sheepishly scratched the back of his head and said it was a lucky accident, one that he couldn’t repeat, which proved to be true in his later attempts.

Lloyd had taken one look at the prize pool, pointed out the Siberian Husky plush to the staff, and then stuffed it into her hands the moment he'd gotten it, proclaiming that it was a gift for her. Zelos had been outright snickering, while even Sheena had looked like she was holding back laughter, shoulders shaking.

Lloyd's hand found hers in the little space between them, his thumb rubbing the skin of her palm just below her fingers. It was a repetitive, soothing motion, helping to calm her down.

She hoped that, no matter what, they would always stay together. Whether as friends or more. Just the two of them.

"I'm glad you like it." Lloyd's voice was getting progressively quieter with each syllable his lips formed, slowly shifting right along the seat towards her.

“Can - can I…” Lloyd asked timidly, turning to face her and leaning closer. Her field of vision narrowed to just his face, barely lit by the scant light that reached them from the carnival grounds and the spokes of the Ferris wheel. Everything else was slowly turning into a blur. “Can I kiss you?”

The carriage had reached the top of its revolution. Through the window, she could see the sparkling lights of the high-rises in the distance. Silence suffused the air as no one spoke, the world itself seeming to hold its breath, neither she nor Lloyd moving a single part of their bodies as they stared at each other. His eyes were wide, filled with such incredible emotion, built up over years and spilling over at this very moment.

Her breath caught in her throat, a current of warmth making itself known in her heart at the fact that he’d actually bothered to ask. She’d expected Lloyd to - the kind, considerate soul that she’d come to know and love, but somewhere in the back of her mind was tucked the irrational fear that there would never be anyone who respected her boundaries, simply because she wasn't worth it.

She took a deep breath, preparing her answer. It wouldn’t be “normal”, that was for sure. It wasn’t a simple yes or no, but rather…

“Is it fine if it’s on the cheek?” were the quiet words that left her mouth, shattering the expectant silence as her grip tightened on the plushy. Maybe one day, she wouldn’t mind a kiss on the lips, but not today. She wasn’t up to it yet.

She doesn’t know what answer she expects. Probably a no. It’s perfectly understandable for Lloyd to just step away.

“Of course,” Lloyd replied instantly, the gentle smile on his face once again shattering all the preconceived notions she’d constructed in her head, absolutely terrified of rejection but huddling herself into a corner in the belief that that was all she could possibly receive. There had been no hesitation behind that statement, no hint of reproach or anger or irritation towards her.

“Yes.” The word slipped out without any thought, for she herself had yearned for so terribly long. The desire she had always held to love, and to be loved, despite everything - to experience it all with the boy that had always been part of her life and that she hoped could continue to be there for the rest of it.

She turned her head to the side, and it didn't take another moment longer before Lloyd pressed his lips against her cheek, one hand still holding hers while his other arm wrapped around her shoulder, the plushy trapped between them. He was nothing if not gentle, bringing up her earliest memories of being kissed on the cheek by her mother, before she had left her life forever. It was through that gentleness that the force of his love was truly impressed on her - for there was passion there, in the very act of holding himself back. Love, gentle like a warm flame, but not any lesser for it, for his love was just as impregnable as a brick wall, unyielding and unbreaking.

She could feel his warm breath against her cheek, his lips softer than she could have thought, his hair close enough to run her hands through as she’d always wanted. So she did, letting the strands fall through her fingers like melted chocolate.

Was he… smiling? It sure felt like it.

It wasn't a magical moment like people always said the first kiss would be like. After all, theirs was nowhere close to conventional, but it was an experience that belonged only to them. No sparks were flying in the air, nor did time stop. It was just the two of them, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces in the way they always had, and she couldn't ask for anything more.

Lloyd moved away, his arm dropping from her shoulder, hand joining the other to clasp her limp one. His eyes were shining with joy, the same joy that filled her heart and made it feel like it might take flight at any time. Everything had finally fallen into place.

Her whole face was now on fire as she turned away, leaning forward over her legs. Her hair fell by the side of her face like a veil, letting only tiny glimpses of Lloyd through.

“You’re sure?” she asked, knowing that she needed to clarify. Even if his actions had been the shining light that burned away most of her doubts, some still remained. Lloyd really, truly needed to understand what he was getting into. She would not let him mindlessly enter into a relationship with her without knowing about all the ups and downs, all the complications that would come with it. That would only end in them hurting each other, and then they might never be able to stand the sight of each other again. It was the dreaded future she never wanted to come to pass. “It’s not going to be easy."

“I know,” he replied, squeezing her hand, his russet eyes focussed on hers. “But all relationships have challenges, don't they? We'll figure it out together, just like always. And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll stay as friends, forever. I just want you to know that I love you.”

There is nothing but burning conviction behind his words, and a determination that reached deep into her soul and lit a flame of hope.

There would be many more difficult conversations that needed to be had, candid discussions that would need to take place. But for now, she didn't say anything more, hoping the unspoken “I love you” from her side could be understood, clear as day. She still couldn’t make herself say it, the final lingering doubt that she suspected would never fully go away holding her back: that romantic love had to go hand in hand with sexual attraction, and that one could not exist without the other.

She simply closed her eyes, leaning against him and enjoying the gentle rocking of the carriage for the remainder of their time on the Ferris wheel.

~~~

25-years-old

"Remember this Ferris wheel?" Lloyd teased Colette, squeezing her hand as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel at the reopened carnival. It wasn't the exact same one they’d ridden at the age of 18, for that one had been deconstructed years ago. But it was a near-perfect replica, down to the purple lights that lit up the spokes, though the hearts were gone. Even the bored attendant who was barely paying attention to her duties was right!

"How could I forget?" Colette laughed, her trademark bright smile on her face. Even after knowing her for twenty years and dating her for seven of those years, the sight of her smile never failed to light a spark in his chest.

At least this time Colette was dressed appropriately for the colder night, in a pencil skirt and a long-sleeved collared blouse with a few frills. She looked a lot more put-together than him, who was just wearing plain old jeans. He had picked her straight up from work before driving them here, after all.

All that was missing was the staff pass that she’d removed from around her neck and left in the car. Her smart-casual image, however, was completely shattered by the pair of grey dog ears poking out of her hair, attached to the headband sitting behind her ears. They even felt furry to the touch, though it wasn’t real dog fur.

A pair of brown ears sat on his own head. Colette hadn’t managed to win a grand prize at the game stalls like he once had out of dumb luck, but she'd managed to do pretty well at the ring toss, scoring almost all of her tosses onto the red-rimmed bottles. That meant she could redeem a few mid-tier prizes, so she'd gotten two headbands with dog ears attached, one for her and one for him that he could wear if he wanted to. He'd put it on immediately. Now they matched! He needed to take a picture of them sometime - Sheena and Zelos would appreciate the cute image.

More like Sheena would strangle him over digital space if he didn't send cute photos.

The carnival had finally returned after four years of absence, and he and Colette had jointly decided to return almost immediately upon hearing the news. It was small and honestly not that impressive compared to other theme parks they’d been to, but it still held precious memories. And it would make for a fun date, which it certainly had so far!

They'd retraced their steps from years ago, though unfortunately, they were lacking Zelos and Sheena. First riding the pirate ship, Colette’s hair going wild in the air as the ship swung from side-to-side, then visiting the game stalls, laughing at each other’s absolutely horrendous attempts, then buying and sharing a stick of cotton candy between them, taking turns biting from the fluffy substance and having their tongues curl from the overload of sweetness, before finally arriving back here at the Ferris wheel.

"I know I've said this already, but thanks for planning this all out," Colette said, linking her arm with his and smiling up at him as they joined the queue. The queue was much longer today, amounting to more than 40 people, by his rough estimate. It was still quite early in the evening, half of the sun still peeking over the horizon, the sky painted in a pink that would soon be darkening to orange. It was just as noisy as in the past, perhaps even noisier, for the families hadn't gone home yet. "There were quite a few kerfuffles with the system at work today, and this really helped."

"That bad?"

"Mm. We had a new intern come in today, and then the old system just decided to crash. Not the intern's fault, she's the sweetest girl. But it was still a headache to deal with."

"Well, I'm glad it helped. Though I'm just happy to spend more time with you."

If everything went according to plan, then he'd be seeing a lot more of her in the future.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, checking that the all-important box was still there. It was the crux of this whole operation, and he could not lose it.

Colette laughed, a sound that inevitably made him smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been free for the past few weeks. It's a busy time for the company."

"It's alright. I'll be starting work soon too, after all. Besides, we still stay two floors apart. There's pretty much no way we don't see each other every week, silly."

"Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't be a downer; you're right. Anyway, since tomorrow’s a public holiday, want to spend it over at my place?”

“Netflix and chill?” Lloyd answered, well aware that he was probably getting some weird looks from people close enough to overhear him. He wasn’t even sure if Colette knew of its double meaning - she was generally completely clueless about the world of euphemisms. Over time, they’d just started co-opting the phrase. After all, their time together at each other’s place was mostly spent… watching shows while curled up together on the couch, creating dishes that were more like unrecognisable disasters in the kitchen while attempting not to set the whole place on fire, or Colette playing video games at the foot of the bed while he tickled her neck with his toes. In terms of risque activities, they so rarely happened - and only after he checked, double-checked and triple-checked that Colette was feeling up to it and not forcing herself for his sake.

“I don’t mind, but we haven’t finished that card game we started last month. The card piles are still sitting untouched on my bay window. Wanna do that instead?”

“Sure!” He replied enthusiastically. Board games or card games always promised a good time, if infuriating when nothing would line up and Lady Luck was decidedly not smiling on him. Colette seemed to get all the luck in these party games. Maybe it was consolation for tripping all the time.

“It’s such a shame that Zelos and Sheena aren’t here,” Colette said, pulling out her phone. “I know they went on the Ferris wheel the year after we did, but we still haven’t gotten that group photo we were supposed to.”

“One’s in Europe and one’s in Australia. There’s no way they could join us on such short notice.” The last he'd heard from them, both were doing well for themselves and very happy in their long-distance relationship.

“True. I guess I can add them to the photo afterwards with the power of Photoshop. Oh, and Zelos sent me this really weird message...” After a few swipes of her finger, Colette shoved the bright phone screen under his nose.

Zelos Wilder: Looking forward to the good news ;)

“Do you have any idea what they mean?” Colette asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “They haven’t been replying to my question!”

Lloyd could feel his fingers twitching. Zelos Wilder wasn’t here, but if they were, Lloyd would have strangled them already. Trying to spoil the surprise, were they?

“It’s probably nothing! You know how they are. Always trying to cause chaos.” Lloyd shrugged, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious, as he tended to be.

“I suppose that’s true… What good news?” Lloyd could hear Colette repeating that question to herself under her breath, not quite soft enough for it to escape his notice. She didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was up with him, thankfully.

“It’s our turn! Come on, let’s get on!” Lloyd declared, just loud enough to startle Colette and cause her to nearly drop her phone. She hurriedly stuffed it back into her pocket, following Lloyd to the open carriage. She hadn't realised the space before them had completely cleared.

The attendant lazily waved them onto the open carriage with barely a glance at them, a mumbled: “Have a nice ride” leaving her mouth.

Lloyd was the first to scramble on, turning around to give Colette a helping hand - only to find her falling straight into him, having tripped over the raised step. With a shocked “Oh!” falling from her lips, Colette crashed into him, nearly knocking him flat onto the carriage seat. With a shocked yelp, Lloyd braced himself against the glass window of the carriage, barely maintaining his balance. Years of practice at stopping Colette’s sometimes fantastical falls over obstacles that weren’t visible to him had honed his reaction times to near perfection, giving him ample preparation for this situation.

The attendant continued to ignore them, gaze fixed not so discreetly on the phone sitting in her lap. The doors of the carriage slid smoothly shut, and with a jolt that nearly knocked them off balance again, the carriage set off on its journey.

"Um, sorry..." Colette apologised from her position pressed flush against Lloyd's chest, arms entangled in his. She slowly extricated herself from the mess, stumbling a few times but managing not to fall again, even with the gentle swaying of the carriage floor. He tried his best to steady her without falling over himself. She sheepishly smiled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Lloyd adjusted her headband, setting the ears that had been knocked crooked back into their rightful place. He’d told her multiple times that she didn’t need to apologise for tripping, but she still did, the habit too ingrained to break. It was endearing, though. “You?”

“I’m fine!” Colette smoothed out her skirt (though there weren’t any noticeable wrinkles in it from the fall,) and sat down to rest her weary feet, giving Lloyd the cue to sit down as well. “Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing heels…”

Lloyd did not want to imagine what would have happened if she was - she might have twisted her ankle, or worse. She rarely wore heels due to her clumsiness, but when she did, all sorts of accidents tended to happen.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket again, fingers feeling the velvet texture again.

It’s still here.

"What's still here?" Colette’s confused voice broke through his relieved thoughts. Her hands were resting in her lap and she was leaning forward, eyes shining with a curious light. The usual white lights of the new condominiums close to the carnival grounds shone, a few glimmers of pink visible as people celebrated Pink Dot. It was at this very moment that the Ferris wheel's lights turned from purple to pink, the spokes emanating soft pink light that washed over Colette, making her hair glisten - almost like an ethereal fairy with imaginary wings that shimmered, having come to visit him on this mortal plane. The dog ears only added to that image, somehow. Even now, the sight of her was enough to make him feel dizzy, both out of love and awe, even if he no longer blushed like an embarrassed schoolboy. Awe that she could get more beautiful every time his gaze landed on her. And awe that such an incredible person had chosen to trust him and stay with him.

He was so enraptured by the angel before him that it took a few seconds for her words to process in his mind, after which he froze in horror.

OH NO, HE’D SAID IT OUT LOUD. A thousand alarm bells were ringing in his head. Some days he was reminded that he was an adult now, and other days he was reminded that he was as much an idiot as he used to be. Some things just never changed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Colette said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she rested her chin on her palm, an amused smile playing on her lips.

He could just play it off - he knew Colette wouldn’t pursue it any further if he gave off the signals to drop the topic. She was just like that: the most considerate person he knew.

But…

The original plan had been to do it on the Ferris wheel. It even had Zelos' approval. This, right now, was the perfect chance to just let the cat out of the bag. And he would grasp the opportunity in hand before it could escape him.

For he could think of no future happier than one spent Colette’s side.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the purple box out of his pocket with a shaking hand, dropping to his knees on the surprisingly clean carriage floor, devoid of the usual spilt drinks and crumpled up tissues.

He could tell the exact moment Colette gleaned the true intent behind his actions, the blank, confused expression on her face morphing into one of shocked disbelief, eyes widening and hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Damn it, he’d completely forgotten the script he’d written with Zelos’ assistance in a back-and-forth over messages, Zelos alternating between giving actually good advice and being extremely annoying, though Lloyd had gotten them to shut up by asking them when they planned to propose. The two of them had both struggled to find the right words, since neither of them had done super well in English. But Lloyd had persevered, wanting to get his feelings across eloquently.

But now that he was staring into Colette’s blue eyes, all the words were sprouting wings and flying mockingly out of his head, leaving only blank space for him to reach uselessly for.

The one piece of advice Zelos had given him that continued to stick in his head was this: speak from the heart, and surely she would understand.

He couldn’t keep her waiting forever.

“I… ” He couldn’t help but start off slow, struggling against the block in his mind but determined to push past it. The words then seemed to just come to him, progressively faster as time went on, stumbling out of some unknown part of his mind - or perhaps it would be more accurate to say his heart. Somehow, throughout it all, he didn't drop the box despite his trembling hands. “Colette, you’re the most amazing person I know. Your compassion, your gentleness, even your clumsiness, they’re all vital parts of my life that I wouldn’t give up for anything. You are my shining star in the sky, the one that gives me hope, that inspires me to be the best version of myself. If I had the choice to relieve my life from the start, I wouldn't change a thing, because meeting you on that playground all those years ago was the best thing that has ever happened to me. All my years spent with you have been incredible, and I would like to spend many more by your side. So, just like years ago, Colette, I have something I need to ask you, right here and right now.”

“Will you… Will you marry me?” He finished, voice drifting off into silence as he flipped open the box to reveal the two plain, thin metal rings he’d bought. Colette wasn’t the type to go for flashy diamonds or colourful gems. She’d appreciate something simple like this.

He waited, the few seconds of deafening silence seeming to stretch out into eternity, broken only by the sound of blood rushing past his ears. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this very question, if in a different and less dramatic form. He’d already received her answer once. But he would respect whatever answer she gave now, and most of all, they would keep the promise they had made at this very place: that they would always remain friends, no matter what.

~~~

Colette still couldn’t quite believe her ears, gaze flitting between Lloyd’s face and the box he was holding up towards her, the two rings housed snugly within reflecting pink light.

Marriage had crossed her mind many times. She had learned over the years that it wasn’t a penultimate goal that had to be reached to prove her relationship successful, and she’d told Lloyd as much when he’d asked her two months ago if she’d be willing to get married.

But still, even if she had managed to break free from most of the notions the fairytales of old had implanted into her head, able to just enjoy them as sweet stories now, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the dream of having a fairytale wedding. One that was perfectly planned, with family and friends present to stand witness to their union.

She’d told him yes. That she would be willing to tie the knot with him, the one she loved. The expectation of a proposal had been simmering in the back of her mind ever since, often going forgotten. She had not expected the time would be now. Lloyd had been more fidgety than normal, constantly checking his pockets while disguising the action as keeping his hands in his pockets. She’d known something was up, but his true intentions had escaped her detection until just moments before, when she’d been taken off guard. All she’d thought when he’d pulled out the box was that it resembled the ring boxes in the dramas Sheena was always recommending to her, the ones that appeared in all the emotional proposal scenes, until the realisation had hit her in the chest like a truck.

Once again, like years ago, they’d reached the top of the revolution. The silence remained unbroken as Lloyd patiently awaited her answer, not pushing her towards one. And so events repeated, mirrored across time.

Colette slowly stretched out her arm, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as a smile graced her face. She nodded, her throat blocked by all the emotions that swirled in her chest, unable to say ‘yes’ out loud even as she screamed it over and over in her mind, the tears finally breaking free of whatever barrier was holding them back to spill down her face.

Lloyd broke out into the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, radiating pure joy as he slid one of the simple, elegant, silver bands onto her ring finger. It fit. Perfectly. When had he even learned her ring size?

She picked up the other ring that was meant for Lloyd, marvelling at how her hand could somehow remain stable as the rest of her body trembled in barely contained emotion. The ring was so tiny, held between her thumb and index finger, and yet it held such significant weight as she slid it onto his ring finger, the skin of his hand rough against hers and the metal cold.

Lloyd jumped to his feet, pulling her into an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of her head (his nose bumping the dog ears), holding her close, his happy laughter rumbling through his chest. Even now, when he must have been bursting with joy, he was still mindful of her boundaries, refusing to do anything that would cross the line. Heart filled with warmth, she pressed herself impossibly closer, intending to just melt into his arms forever -

"Please get off the carriage."

The deadpan voice that belonged to neither her nor Lloyd broke through the peaceful bubble that had been constructed around the two of them. She froze, feeling Lloyd stiffen around her as well. Looking to the left yielded the view of solid ground, and the same uninterested attendant gesturing towards it.

Ah. They'd reached the bottom without even noticing. This was… embarrassing, to say the least.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be in the queue at the moment, allowing the two of them to escape from the Ferris wheel without much attention. It appeared that only the attendant had borne witness, and she couldn’t seem to care less, having returned to the booth.

Their interlocked hands swung in the air, the matching rings glinting under the bright neon lights of the carnival as she wiped away her happy tears, both of them grinning uncontrollably.

"I love you," Lloyd said, the words leaving his lips with ease, as they always had. "Shall we go home?” he asked.

Home was with friends and family and Lloyd, the one who held her heart.

Colette squeezed Lloyd’s hand. She felt light as a feather, like she could somehow fly with wings that she didn't have.

"I love you," she replied, the words coming so easily now. "Let’s.”

~~~

The attendant shook her head, scoffing as she returned to scrolling through Twitter.

“I suppose love does make the world go round.”

~~~

Next chapter

[turnupswritessometimes]

Banana Fish - AshEiji - Skipping Stones Ch7

Title: Skipping Stones

Part: 6/?

Word Count: 4326

Description: A collection of oneshots filling in some scenes that probably didn't happen in between episodes/scenes, but that I like to think did because these boys need to talk to each other.

Edit: This fic is also available on A03 under the same name. I would post a direct link but Tumblr then doesn’t put the post in searches so..

“Hey,” Ash’s foot nudged Eiji’s arm. It kept nudging Eiji’s arm until he looked up from the camera and tripod, raising an eyebrow at Ash. Sometimes, he really did behave like a child. “Let’s go – I’m taking you out.”

Eiji stared at him. Ash was sat on his bed, resting on his hands and looking up at Eiji like this was the most casual thing in the world. Like they weren’t sat in the bedroom just to take pictures of whoever happened to walk through Golzine’s front doors. He was taking Eiji out, even though Eiji was meant to be spying for him.

“What?” Eiji asked. Was Ash just bored? “Where? Why?”

“The cinema,” Ash said it like it was obvious. “You've probably never been, right?”

“They have cinemas in Japan, Ash.” When had he started saying Ash’s name like that? So softly - like it was something special?

“What's the Japanese word for cinema?” Ash asked. He had taken to that – randomly asking for words in Japanese. Eiji wasn’t sure if he was teasing or genuinely remembering them. Knowing Ash Lynx, it was probably both.

“Eigakan,” he said, watching Ash stand out of the corner of his eye. He kept staring out the window resolutely.

“You haven't been to a New York cinema,” Ash said, he tugged on Eiji’s belt loop and Eiji let himself be turned around.

“No. I haven't.”

“So, come on,” there was no arguing with Ash when he was like that. Eiji followed him from the room, grabbing a jacket on his way by.

“What are we going to see?” he asked at Ash’s back. He paused and glanced back at Eiji.

“Does it matter? People go to the cinema to snog all the way through the movie.”

“Are you saying you want to snog me all the way through a movie?” Eiji smiled, stopping just in front of Ash so that they were almost nose to nose.

“You are my boyfriend, after all,” Ash said. He looped his fingers back into Eiji’s belt loops, pressing their waists against each other.

Eiji grinned. He hadn’t been able to stop grinning. He put his hands over Ash’s, wondering if they should just skip the movie. Maybe they should just stay here, like this.

But he also wanted to go outside. He understood why he had to stay in, he was fine with that – but he was starting to go stir crazy. He needed a walk.

Ash would protect him, if anything happened. He released Eiji a moment later, scooping up his denim jacket as he headed through the apartment. Eiji grabbed his own – well, he grabbed one that he was borrowing from Ash – an orange baseball jacket he was sure made him stand out like a sore thumb. But it was also the one that made Ash smile at him, pausing with his hand on the door handle.

“What?” Eiji’s cheeks felt hot, his hands still on the collar of the baseball jacket.

Ash leant over and ruffled his hair. “It suits you. You look cute.”

Eiji batted his hand away, pretending to frown. He didn’t do a good job of it.

“Shut up, that’s you. You’re the baby,” Eiji grinned at him. They had barely made it out the door.

He expected Ash to frown back, but instead he smiled sweetly at Eiji, his head tilted towards him.

“It’s hard to remember you’re so wise and worldly when you’re so short.”

Eiji gave him a playful shove. If they had been standing back in the apartment, he knew that Ash would have caught his wrist and kissed Eiji – on the mouth or nose or temple – anywhere that would make Eiji grin and lean into him.

But they weren’t in the apartment. Ash didn’t catch Eiji’s wrist, he just smirked and locked the door and that was that. He understood why. The closer they seemed to each other the more danger Eiji was in.

“Aren’t you scared that we’re being followed?” he asked as they stood in the elevator, an Eiji and Ash staring at them from all sides.

“I’ll know if we’re being followed,” Ash said dismissively.

“Do you try to sound like James Bond, or does it just come naturally?” Eiji asked.

“It comes naturally.”

He loved this. He loved these days, where they could just ignore the gangs and the drugs and the guns and just – be.

Ash wandered through the streets like they were his back garden. They got the subway further into Manhattan, into more neutral territory. It was easy to forget about everything else. It was easy just to focus on Ash and making Ash laugh, even if it meant Eiji deliberately went stumbling down the subway train. Because he liked hearing that laugh – Ash’s genuine laugh.

He moved through the streets like they were his own back-garden, barely looking at where he was going. He watched Eiji’s mouth or eyes as he talked.

They stopped suddenly, coming to a halt in front of up to the cinema an old building squashed between modern department stores. A relic of another time that looked completely out of place.

"Is this a particular favourite or something?" Eiji asked ducked his head to look at Ash as they stepped through the doors. Automatic. It looked wrong against the old architecture.

Ash shrugged. He looked at Eiji as though considering something, bit his lip for a moment, then admitted, "I don't actually go that much."

"Yeah, I guess you'd be busy," they joined the end of the queue. It was old fashioned inside too, with velvet rope barriers and old movie posters in rusting frames on the walls.

"Busy, and-" Ash did that pause again. He was standing casually, his hands stuck in his pockets, but he looked almost nervous. Maybe he was looking out for people following. "I never really went - I watch all my movies online," that was illegal, Eiji thought, but almost everything he's done since coming to America was illegal, so he couldn’t exactly talk. "It was always operas or ballets when I was teenager."

Eiji opened his mouth to ask how come, and then the answer hit him and he shut it again.  He never knew what to say when Ash spoke about It. All he knew was that he wanted to make him feel a little better about it.

"You're not missing much," Eiji said. "People are annoying in the cinema. They eat and talk and-"

"Snog?"

"Yeah. Does that happen at the opera?"

"No, thank-" Ash paused. Eiji got the sense he was changing his usual phrase. "God."

He stepped up to the counter and only then Eiji realised that he had no idea what they were seeing, or what he wanted to see. Ash glanced at the board behind the staff and rattled off a name as though they had discussed it.

"Sweet or salty popcorn, sweetie?" Ash asked and Eiji wondered if he meant to say it or it it had just slipped out.

"One of each and we'll share," he said.

"Clever," Ash smiled and nodded to the guy and Eiji felt a flush of pride run through him. He passed the boxes to Eiji as he handed over the cash.

“So what are we seeing?” popcorn tumbled out of the tops of the boxes and onto the faded carpet.

“Some action film,” Ash shrugged, holding the doors into the theatre open as Eiji passed. “It’ll pass the time, right?”

He couldn’t argue with that.

The theatre was mainly full of teenage boys. A few bored girlfriends glanced across at them as they settled into the back row. Of course Ash had brought tickets for the back row. He was so incredibly cheesy like that.

And Eiji loved that.

He wanted to lean against Ash, but he wasn’t brave enough whilst the lights were still on. He felt as though everyone was looking at them, trying to figure out if they were together or not. It shouldn’t bother him – he shouldn’t care – but he was acutely aware of the danger that came with being close to Ash Lynx, and he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone here was going to report back about the two of them.

No, that was just an excuse. He was a coward. He had no idea how to do this – relationships weren’t something Eiji had ever bothered with. Now he had no idea what to do.

But if Ash noticed, he didn’t care. He kept making sarcastic comments to Eiji during the trailers, tilting his head across so that only Eiji could hear. He made him laugh.

It was all easy. It was like they had known each other years – had been with each other years, instead of a couple of weeks.

A couple of weeks. And so much had happened in that time. Eiji felt closer to Ash than anyone else in the world, but he supposed that was normal. They had risked their lives for each other. Multiple times. He didn’t have that kind of relationship with anyone else.

No one else made him feel quite like Ash did. The warmth in his chest and the feeling of belonging.

He was so lucky to have that. He was so lucky to have that with Ash – and to have Ash back. He didn’t know if Ash felt the same, but he could guess from those looks Ash gave him.

The film had started, but Eiji was barely able to pay attention. He could see those looks as though Ash was right in front of him. His eyes softening and sparkling like they were full of fireworks as he looked at Eiji. Like Eiji was the only thing in the whole world that was worth looking at.

It was unbelievable – that out of everyone, Ash gave Eiji that look.

He felt something warm settle comfortably on his thigh. Ash’s hand. It sat there like it had always sat there, like it was natural. 

“Ash-“ Eiji whispered, unable to get another word out when he felt Ash’s fingers squeeze. His stomach stirred.

“You mean that's not the armrest?” Ash murmured back.

Eiji couldn’t help it – he laughed. It was a lot louder than he had meant it to be and people turned to glare at him. It turned into a snicker, instead, and he put his hand over Ash’s, turning it over and linking their fingers together.

“Eiji – if I go too far-“ Ash started, his mouth against Eiji’s ear.

“Don’t think about it,” Eiji whispered. He turned back and realised they were nose to nose. He could barely separate Ash’s eyes in his vision. “I’ll follow you, Ash.”

Ash kissed him. It only took a slight tilt of the head and his lips were only against Eiji’s for a moment, but Ash’s mouth was warm and soft and it made Eiji’s heart melt.

“I can’t stop you from following me,” Ash whispered. People were starting to really glare at them now, Eiji could see them turning around in the corner of his eye.

“Nope,” Eiji mouthed it more than said it.

“You shouldn’t, you know,” Ash was still whispering. “People die when they’re around me.”

He was almost word for word with the movie going on in the background. Eiji wondered if Ash was deliberately acting it out.

“You sound like something from a teenage vampire novel,” Eiji said. He squeezed Ash’s fingers. “I know the risk, Ash. I’ve always known.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” someone ‘sshh’ed Ash and he held his middle finger up blindly at whoever it was.

“It plays on my mind,” Eiji whispered back. “But, carpe diem, right? I want to be by your side, so I’m staying by your side.”

“I can’t change that, can I?”

“No.”

Ash stopped flipping random people off, cupping Eiji’s cheek instead.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered.

“Yeah, basically,” Eiji said. It was easy to be bold in the dark, to kiss Ash and feel him smiling.

“What am I going to do with you?” Ash muttered to himself. His hand moved from Eiji’s cheek to the nape of his neck, his fingers buried in the ends of Eiji’s hair. Eiji just smiled, kissing him again.

His heart was racing, and Ash seemed to know, because he pulled away and rested his forehead against Eiji’s. Giving him space. Ash was taking this slow, being so incredibly gentle with him – like he was scared of breaking Eiji. It was a secret relief. He stared at him in the dark, monotone from the light of the screen. His eyes seemed like two sparks. Eiji, against his judgment, was seeing Ash in that suit again. That suit with a gun. An action hero. He let himself imagine another life, a life of 20s gangsters – crime as something glamorous and exciting. Mob bosses the way mob bosses should be – the way they were in films.

No, he could see Ash stood on the end of a dock, staring at a green light in the distance. Ash Lynx at the centre of a party, dazzling Eiji with a grin and calling him ‘old sport.’

Something exploded on the screen and Eiji glanced at it. He realised he had no idea what was happening. He decided he didn’t care, as Ash caught his attention by kissing his cheek. He turned back, revelling in the feeling of Ash curling the hair at the nape of his neck.

Ash was a lot more interesting than the movie, anyway.

*

They went to the Empire State building that afternoon. Eiji had insisted, smiling at Ash and swinging his hand until he finally gave in. He was huffing and puffing and rolling his eyes the whole way there, but he couldn’t control the smiles. He couldn’t control those sneaky glances at Eiji that he was starting to catch out of the corner of his eye, but had to ignore if he wanted to see them again.

“I don’t know why you even want to go – it’s just a tall building,” he said.

“It’s the Empire State,” Eiji said. “It’s iconic. You wouldn’t have me go to New York and not see it?”

“It’s so touristy,” Ash made a face and Eiji laughed.

“I am a tourist,” he said. They paused outside the building. Looking up made him feel as though he was going to fall over backwards.

Ash held the door open for him as they walked in. “I believe you came over here on a work visa, Mr Okumura.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t done a lot of work, have I?” Eiji walked backwards to talk to Ash, his hands behind his back as he smiled up at him. Ash was smiling back, bemused. “All I managed to do was interview you.”

“All you managed to do was get the greatest interview with a handsome and charismatic New York gang leader,” Ash said. They joined the end of the queue to buy tickets.

Eiji laughed again. He liked this – he liked laughing that laugh. “He’s modest, too.”

“Hey, I said no photos of my face, didn’t I?”

Eiji felt like that was another cue for him to laugh, but he didn’t. There was something in Ash’s voice that he was started to recognise. A bitterness that he couldn’t quite hide. He paused, letting his eyes fall down Ash’s face.

“I assumed it was so that no one knew who you were,” he muttered.

Ash placed a hand on his shoulder. The queue moved and they stumbled with it like it was a dance.

“I don’t like pictures of myself,” Ash’s mouth was close to Eiji’s ear. Like he was admitting a secret. “I haven’t seen one in years.”

It felt like someone had put a crack right along Eiji’s heart and that beads of blood were dripping out from it. He was never quite prepared for when Ash said something like that, when he guessed, rather than knew all the implications that came along with it. Which was worse – guessing or knowing?

He was starting to figure out what to say. ‘Sorry’ made Ash shrug and change the subject, like he knew that Eiji was feeling uncomfortable. No, it always had to be something slightly different. Something that told him that he wasn’t scared of Ash – holding a hand out for a wild animal to sniff.

“Good thing I left my camera back at the apartment then,” he said.

Ash’s hand tightened on his shoulder, turning Eiji so that he didn’t walk into the other people in the queue, but also resting his forehead there.

“How are you so okay with it?” his voice was still a half-whisper.

Eiji shrugged, a hand coming up to touch Ash’s hair, to push it away from his face, but only succeeding in giving him an awkward pat.

“Because I don’t want you to feel weird about it,” he replied. He wasn’t sure if it was exactly true, he wasn’t sure quite what was going on with it, but it seemed to be good enough. Good enough to get Ash to lounge against the pillar instead, shuffling along with the queue. “I didn’t like pictures of myself for a while. I must have been – thirteen or fourteen? I only just let my sister keep photos of me again when I was seventeen-ish.”

“So, I don’t get to see photos of an awkward, baby Eiji?” Ash was smirking like a wolf.

“Never,” Eiji turned away from him, hearing him do that bark-laugh and ignoring it.

“I bet you were adorable.”

“You won’t find out.”

“Your sister will tell me.”

“You don’t even know my sister’s name.”

“I can find out. I’m sure she has stories to tell about you.”

Eiji pouted at him. There were. Several. He knew Ash would just laugh and ruffle his hair and tease him about it, which was even worse. He’d be so nice about it. And there would be that look in his eye, that ghost of the person that Ash could have been peeking through. He wouldn’t say it, Eiji knew, but it would be hanging in the air. He hadn’t been an awkward child making mistakes.

“That’s fine. When you meet her, I’ll just make up plenty of embarrassing stories about you,” he said.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Well, I can hardly tell her that I’m dating a gang leader, can I?” Eiji smiled sweetly.

Ash frowned at him, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. He seemed to be finding it harder and harder to hide those smiles from Eiji and Eiji was revelling in it. He opened his mouth to reply, his cheeks pink, when an abrupt voice cut across them.

“How many, please?”

Ash blinked, seeming to come back into reality.

“Oh, um, two – please.”

He paid with cash, because of course he did. Eiji supposed it was only safe to.

“You wanna take the stairs?” Ash asked, handing Eiji’s ticket to him.

“No.”

“I thought you were an athlete?”

“Not anymore,” Eiji grinned, then shrugged. “I don’t really want to get all sweaty on a date.”

They were following a crowd of bright eyed tourists over to the elevators, and Ash paused in his step just long enough for Eiji to notice.

"This is a date?" he asked.

"Isn't it?" It was crowded and they were squashed against each other. No one else in here seemed to have bothered with deodorant.

"As long as that's okay," Ash said. He had a hand on the wall behind Eiji, shielding him from everyone else. His clothes still smelt of cigarette smoke from the last time he saw Max. Cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. Eiji couldn't figure out if Ash wore it to fit in or as an act of rebellion. He figured it was both, Ash never did anything for one reason.

"Of course it's okay," it was crowded enough that Eiji felt safe in taking Ash's hand.

He realised it when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Ash was still frowning as they were waved through the corridor to the next one.

“Your visa,” he said. “Is everything okay with your visa?”

“Yeah,” Eiji was only half-lying. He assumed everything was okay, because Ibe had set it all up for him. On the plane, he had known the ins and outs, but he had forgotten them now. It seemed so trivial. “Yeah, I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“When does it run out?”

He didn’t like that question. There was something in Ash’s voice that gave him away. He was planning to send Eiji back, asking nonchalantly as if it didn’t matter. So, he shrugged. “I’ll have to check.”

“I want you to be able to go, if you have to.”

“Can we stop talking about it?” Eiji didn’t mean to snap. He supposed a little bit of him did, though. It was all anyone seemed to be saying to him anymore and no one seemed to listen to his response. “That’s twice you’ve told me to leave today, Ash. Stop it now. I don’t want to hear another word about my going anywhere, okay?”

He had seen Ash grinning and shrugging at the outburst. He had seen Ash give him those soft eyes and telling him he was unbelievable and stubborn.

He hadn’t expected Ash to look at him with such a serious expression and remain silent for such a long time. The second elevator dinged again before he replied with a murmured, but sincere. “Okay.”

It had made Eiji twitch with guilt, and as they stepped onto the roof of the Empire State building he said. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize for telling me off,” there was the smile again, and Ash had stepped in front of Eiji to block his view as they headed towards the doors to the observation deck. “Especially not when I deserve it – I didn’t know you could be so scary, Eiji.”

“Shut up,” but relief was flooding through him. He didn’t really think Ash would stay mad at him, but he couldn’t stand the thought of them fighting. He didn’t want to be angry at Ash, for anything. And he figured that being mad at Ash was a lot like being angry at a dog – after five minutes and a glance at him, he would be forgiven. “And get out of the way.”

“How much do you trust me?” Ash put his hands either side of the doorway out to the observation deck, to the tutts of people around them. He didn’t seem to care, but Eiji felt everyone’s eyes on him.

“Fine,” Eiji closed his eyes, pretending to huff to let everyone else know that he was annoyed too. But he was smiling, he never seemed to stop smiling around Ash.

People muttered, he stood there, his eyelids flickering as he heard them pass. Ash’s hands appeared on his hips, letting him know where he was as he stepped around Eiji. After a moment, his hands reappeared over Eiji’s eyes.

He let himself be guided forward.

“I thought you said it was just a tall building,” he said.

“It is,” Ash replied from behind him. “But, you know, you want to see it, so-“

Eiji felt himself bump into the ledge of the building and his hands found the mesh around the roof. Ash dropped his hands back to Eiji’s waist, resting his chin on Eiji’s shoulder. For a moment, Eiji could kid himself he was still back in their apartment – that first day they moved in. Ash had done the same thing then and he had set Eiji’s heart racing. Feeling Ash there had made him feel so incredibly safe – despite the reason for the move. It had felt like home.

But up here Eiji could feel the wind on his face and through his hair. It raised goosebumps on his arms.

He opened his eyes and the sky seemed to stretch on forever. It was the moment that he was over the bar and all he could see was blue going on forever and forever. The moment he could kid himself he was flying.

But there wasn’t the head rush of going back over the bar. He was still stood there, still flying. Flying over the top of Manhattan.

The city looked strange from up here. Less busy and noisy, but he supposed even a concrete jungle looked beautiful from bird’s eye view. It was a sprawling landscape of greys, but the monochrome of it all gave it the air of a renaissance painting. He stared at the rows and rows of apartment blocks – so many people with so many lives, and he could stare at it all like a mirage of mankind.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed. He found Ash’s hair with his hand, ruffling it because he knew it disgruntled him and he would look up. “I can’t believe you don’t like it.”

Ash shrugged pulling away from Eiji and starting to walk around the roof. Their spot was immediately taken by two tourists with huge cameras. The moment was over, now he could only glimpse the view from over people’s shoulders.

“What’s up?”

“I get vertigo,” Ash said, over his shoulder. “It makes me feel funny to stand by the edge.”

“Then keep hold of me, yeah?” Eiji offered his arm and, with an especially dramatic roll of his eyes, Ash took it. He was noticeably subdued, at least to Eiji, barely looking out at the city, apart from pointing landmarks out to Eiji. He didn’t even need to look for that long.

Eiji let him lean against him and reassured him every so often – he received an indignant snort for his troubles. It made him feel strange, to be the one looking after Ash, but it felt right. It felt like he was repaying his debt. And someone had to take care of Ash. If he let Eiji, then fine.

Eiji would be there for him.

[sfiddy]

What's your favorite chapter you've ever written? What fic is it from? Why do you love it? Copy and post it here!

Hi Anon!  I’ve got a LOT to choose from but I’ll confine myself to more recent, multi-chapter works. 

One of my favorites is the first chapter of Balcony Duet!  I love how the whole work turned out, but the first chapter just has such a mood, an atmosphere, and a charming ribbon of humor wound through it that, for me at least, it really offers a wonderful summary of Erik’s life  It’s a lot like another favorite of mine, Gold Restoration. 

So here it is, in all it’s spottily edited glory.  Thank you, anon!

Chapter 1 

The Maestro

Evening fell in a soft cascade of yellows, oranges and pinks as Erik showered off the dust and scuffle of the theater. After applying a layer of protective cream over his fragile face, he shuffled off and relaxed into his couch. Managing a busy theater was a draining job, even when done mostly through others to avoid the stares and side glances of the morbidly curious, and left little time for what he really enjoyed. Even if he could, he wouldn't want the grinding job of day to day collaborative piano work. Not in a theater, anyway.

He poured a drink and carefully replaced his mask. If pressed, he would admit that he missed the moments when just a few people gathered at the piano and made music together. The intimate play of skill, interpretation, and talent that took what was on the page to a different level. The moment when the written score no longer ruled and the music, the music, led the way.

When his music led, people tended to notice his face less.

With a sigh, Erik walked across his living room towards the balcony doors, side stepping the piano that lived where anyone else would have… whatever it was that they had in their homes. Desks, coffee tables, cabinets; the pedestrian and mundane. He had a small couch, a tiny end table, and a piano. It was enough. He hardly sat in the couch anyway.

With a gentle press, his French doors swung open silently and let in a cool breeze. The courtyard below was dark, and the gardens many floors below were lit with tiny fairy lights strung from the tree branches. They hung low here and there, illuminating the bushes and flower beds. All around, balconies staggered drunkenly up the sides of the apartment buildings. Dim outlines jutting from otherwise smooth concrete façades.

It was funny how apartments boasted about their balconies, yet hardly anyone stepped onto them. Occasional glows followed by a puff of lazy, curling haze betrayed the smokers. A handful of others took in the evening autumn air that spiraled through the courtyard walkways and down from the sky above. Most of the jutting platforms were vacant.

As the evening settled violet shadows to the world's edges, Erik turned back to his rooms. Nature had exhaled and let the remaining shreds of day pass by. Darkness was gentler, kinder. Blurring the details. Everyone was the same in the dark. He flexed his hands and stretched his fingers.

He settled on Haydn, for the cool air felt like a lullaby. The notes danced in the courtyard, echoing playfully into the garden and up to the deepening purple sky. Variations evolved the music into a fugue that fused itself to a thoughtful motif he'd heard once, and finally Haydn once more. Erik ended his concert gently, for himself and, perhaps more practically, to avoid noise complaints. Then he toasted the accommodating night, finished his drink, and gathered the fortitude to finish his work. If he was quite fortunate, he'd manage a few hours of sleep before doing it all again.

…

The next morning passed in a blur of budget shifts and retroactive justification. It was followed by hasty medical attention for and filing the medical claims on behalf of his prima donna who, after her leading man bungled a set piece, ended up with a chipped tooth and bloody lip. Then more budgeting to replace the set piece after being bested by the prima donna's face.

Erik pulled his keys from his pocket and gave serious consideration to arson. When he reached his door, he unlocked it with a sigh and reminded himself that he loved the arts and his theater, loved music, and this was just the business side. Music took talent and training, and neither were free. He pushed the door open and looked down.

Damn. He had a note.

A scrap of cheap notebook paper had been shoved under the door with enough force to send it a foot beyond the threshold.

With a grunt, Erik bent and picked it up. If the little fart took issue with his playing they should have complained the day after he'd smashed out some Rachmaninoff and transitioned to Metallica, not after an evening of lullabies. He'd show them what a noise complaint should sound like.

He unfolded the note.

...

A humble request to the Maestro: Liebestraum No. 3 in A flat.

...

Erik immediately took back the little fart comment. It was the nicest scribble, really. Loopy enough to be artful, but with enough spike for efficiency. He hurried through his shower, threw on some clothes, and sloshed too much red wine into a glass.

Liszt. Who didn't love Liszt? Erik even had a hard copy of it somewhere, but immediacy demanded he queue it up on his laptop. A glance at the first bar and his mind filled in the rest; a conversation with an old friend. Then he flung the French doors open, only just stopping one from smacking against the wall to his bedroom.

The night again was violet-cool and breezy. The drunken balconies shared no secrets, and the smokers and shadows kept each other company. Somewhere though, somewhere in this was his audience, and they must not be kept waiting.

With a few deep breaths, a healthy swallow of wine, and a splendid neck crack, he was ready.

Erik gave the keys a light stroke as he placed his hands for the piece, then eased into the music, letting it flow through him and out into the courtyard; relief after a day of pounding power chords and paperwork. Such a deeply satisfying refrain, elaborated by flourishes that made the core seem simple, then repeated to emphasize their breathtaking beauty, the pearl in the oyster. Six little bars; love at the center of the dream.

He did not look at the music, all one needed was the six bars and after that it was frills and ribbons. Magnificent and transcendent to be sure, but decorations for what lay at the center.

Erik closed his eyes, letting Liszt spill into the cool evening air without really playing it, for in moments like these he became the music. There was no more theater, no paperwork, no mask and no Erik. He spread himself out in the song, a thin veil across the darkening evening.

Across a courtyard.

He let the last notes linger, hanging in the air, as long as he could before he reluctantly released the sustain. As they silenced, Erik opened his eyes and raised his mask to gently wipe the collected moisture underneath, caught in the misshapen twists and ridges of his… face.

Applause. One person. There was applause for his playing.

His audience.

Erik rose from the bench, replacing his mask as he walked to his balcony. The clapping grew louder as he stepped out, but he could not tell where it came from. The concrete walls of the courtyard bounced the sound in every direction. He was uncomfortable being watched, but the clapping did not stop when he stepped to the edge of his balcony, and came faster when he bowed.

It slowed, and finally stopped when he retreated. Erik was tempted to play an encore, considered seeing if his listener would offer another round of appreciation, but decided they had already pressed their luck with the other residents.

Besides, if he left his audience with an appetite, there may be another request.

His smile raised the mask over his cheekbones for a moment, and he closed his balcony doors gently, bidding a fond goodnight to the stars and his charming fan.

…

Though he tried not to, Erik couldn't help feeling a little disappointed when there was no note under his door the next day. He played jazz classics and sipped a gin and tonic. There was no note the next day, either, and he soothed his soul with a melancholy air and tea before retiring early.

After a dull day coordinating maintenance work and city inspectors, Erik trudged to his door with a substantial chip on his shoulder. It was irritating work, lacking even an intersection of art and business. It required calendars, carefully scheduling work away from stage time, and the quick diplomacy necessary to juggle multiple contractors on limited resources. It was dull without the good manners to be mindless.

Thus primed, his hands itching to play and his nerves begging for a stiff drink, Erik slid his key into the door. Perhaps a good pounding of Holst or some Mahler tonight. Either way, he'd have a shot before his shower, just to burn the day away.

The door swung open and Erik glanced down.

Oh. He had a note.

His bag smacked on the tile floor as Erik dove down for the folded paper.

…

Dear Maestro, Thank you for Liszt and the lovely jazz. Would you consider Shubert's Ave?

…

Well, wasn't that just jarring. Smashing out the loudest hot mess he could to… this. One does not easily trade a tirade for prayer. His fingers flexed impatiently.

Would he consider it? He was already debating which arrangement, the musician's equivalent of 'how high?'. While the request would be honored, he couldn't be blamed for taking liberty with it. Besides, he was an artist.

Showered and comfortable, Erik patted his face gently with cream and opened his bar cabinet. The first shot of tequila was far from smooth, but it burned so good and cleared the sticky, clinging day from his mind. The second shot burned, too, and he set on the third on the table near the piano, then he eased the mask into place and headed to the french doors.

The evening was warmer. A thick blanket of cloud overhead had trapped the daytime warmth. Storm season approached, or maybe it was the energy of expectation that crackled in the air. It was eerily silent in the courtyard, as if the smokers and crickets had all taken a vow of silence for the night. He could even hear the wind as it whistled through the hallways and down stairwells.

Erik imagined he could feel the eyes on him as he stepped into the soft darkness, making sure it was obvious that he, the Maestro, was about to play.

How little it took to capture his imagination these days.

He sat at the bench and removed the mask again. The Virgin Mother was about to be invoked and he wanted her to know who was calling.

The first notes came easy, reverently, but just before reaching the first 'benedictus', he added power, bass where it had not been, and Erik pounded into a crescendo and let it die back and sweeten for the refrain.

As he let the notes hush and prepared to really let go for the second half, a sound caught his ear. A sound he did not make.

A voice. From outside. Soprano.

Erik's hands froze for only a moment, his ears tingling, trying in vain to find the direction, but he knew that was pointless. Even if he wasn't inside, sitting in front of a piano, the concrete square outside would ricochet.

So he played on, softer, to hear the voice. He changed the arrangement to accompany the singer, not plow over her, and then repeated to give her a go at the entire song. As she grew more confident, her singing grew bolder, and she adapted and threw in trills and improvised around him. She was skilled. She was strong.

She was bewitching.

Too soon the song ended again, and Erik hopped from the bench and ran to the balcony. His applause joined that of his singer, their noisy clapping ringing around the courtyard.

"Brava!" he shouted, and heard a light laugh.

Oh, she was a diva.

It wasn't until he raised the third shot to his lips that he realized he wasn't wearing his mask.

…

The next day, there were two notes under his door.

...

My dear Maestro: Brava indeed! Perhaps just a lullabye tonight? -Your singer

...

The other was a noise complaint. Erik grinned and eased into some Brahms.

…

Erik stayed home the next day. After another day of repairs, he had no doubt the errors would make themselves apparent quickly. He assured his production and stage assistants of his full confidence in them and, knowing the hellscape they were in for, ordered pizza to be delivered for lunch. Then he ordered sandwiches to be delivered for dinner. His confidence in them went only so far.

He was absolutely not staying at home because the diva had seen him without the mask. But his sensitive hearing had not detected a gasp of horror and she'd kept clapping.

Conclusion? She was blind.

Error. She'd clapped louder as he stepped onto the balcony, and tapered off as he retreated.

Mad, then? Whatever she was, she was a delight. If he was lucky, she was in the market for an accompaniment.

Erik dragged his sofa and turned it to give a view of his door. He wasn't going to let her get away this time.

…

It was approaching the late afternoon as Erik replied to a reasonably coherent email from a stagehand. The current project needed more sophisticated rigging than they usually ran, but Erik was never without a plan, and had personally designed the modern fly system. It was worth a call.

"There's more capacity up there. Check the store room and you'll see crates labeled 'expansion'. If you run into trouble before I'm back, call the number on the plans and ask for Khan."

As he hung up,he caught the sound of movement in the hallway. Rustling.

By the time he heard paper tearing, Erik had his hand on the doorknob. When he whipped the door open, a young woman with soft brown curls piled atop her head jumped and dropped her notebook and pen. Erik bent down and picked up the notebook.

Same handwriting.

The woman stood up and straightened her glasses. She peered up at him as she plucked a curl from under a lens. She took a breath as if to speak but Erik held up a hand to stop her.

"Are you warmed up?"

She blinked. "I, ah… no. Not yet."

He pushed the door wide and stepped back to give her a view of… his couch. Erik swore under his breath and pulled the thing out of the way to give the woman a view of the small grand piano. "Never neglect a proper warm up. Come."

She hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Of course. I'm a stranger. A stranger wearing a mask no less. Look, I'll make this quick because I'm rather impatient to begin," He stuck out his hand. "Hello, I'm Erik, and I'm a very ugly musician. I'm very pleased to meet you miss…?"

She giggled and turned pink when her hand disappeared into his. "I'm Christine, and I'm a… a failed soprano."

He released her hand and stepped back. "Who told you that?"

Oh heavens, now she was blushing. "Fifteen years of vocal study, thirty failed auditions, three coaches, and an ex husband." Christine tilted her head. "Who said you were ugly?"

"God decreed it and my mother, good Catholic that she was, did not argue. Your problem is probably stage presence, not your voice. Your coaches were imbeciles, and I assume your ex is an ex for a reason."

Christ, his rapid fire was making his own head spin. He held the door a bit wider. "Are you going to sing or not?"

Christine hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and watched him carefully. "Okay. Maybe we can avoid a noise complaint if we're not serenading the entire complex."

Erik felt his uneven grin nudge the mask. "Philistines," he sniffed.

...

[easyfoodnetwork]

The Best Road Trip Snacks, According to Eater Editors

From Swedish Fish to charcuterie, these are the snacks that keep Eater staffers sated on long car rides

This summer, the road trip was the only option for many of us to get in some kind of vacation or pay a long-overdue visit to faraway loved ones. And given the unpredictability of food options along routes these days, road trip snacks — always an essential item on the road trip packing list — were more important than ever.

There are certain essential qualities to a road trip snack: You should be able to eat it with one hand and with minimal mess. But beyond that, there are several interpretations of the genre. Road trip snacks may be the foods you find at gas stations and convenience stores, or indulgent treats that make the trip more bearable. Some road trippers select snacks based on their resemblance to an actual balanced meal, or on whether or not they’ll ensure the driver stays alert at the wheel. Eater staffers’ preferred snacks run the gamut. Here’s what fuels them through long car rides these days, as well as in better times.

The sweet

Bit-O-Honey: Bit-O-Honey works as a road trip snack because you can eat an entire bag of them and not feel awful (trust me, I just did this on a six-hour drive from Northern to Southern California). It’s somewhat hilarious that this honey-flavored taffy seems to only be available at truck stops and gas stations. Drivers and passengers alike will crush hours gnawing on these glorious sweets, with microscopic almond pieces giving a modicum of texture. Getting the sticky bits out of your teeth is the rest of the fun. — Matt Kang, Eater LA editor

Swedish Fish: I always have a bag of Swedish Fish on hand for a road trip. They perk you up, they’re chewy and sweet, and they’re the kind of candy I don’t eat every day. It’s also the ONLY time I drink Red Bull. — Lesley Suter, travel editor

Frozen Snickers: I’ve always maintained that a frozen Snickers bar is much, much better than an ice cream Snickers bar, the latter being an inferior product that melts too quickly and the former being something that will last in the car. — Ryan Sutton, Eater NY chief critic/data lead

Sour Patch Kids: My husband and I both agree that Sour Patch Kids are an absolute must on the road. I prefer the watermelon, but he likes the classics. I’m still bitter that the classic recipe seems to have changed, though; I swear they’re not as sour as they used to be. — Rachel Blumenthal, Eater Boston editor

Beaver Nuggets: Road-tripping in Texas means you have to stop by Buc-ee’s and grab a bunch of their packaged snacks. Despite the unfortunate name, the Beaver Nuggets (actually sweet corn puffs) are really great. — Nadia Chaudhry, Eater Austin editor

Trail mix: I buy Archer Farms trail mix from Target — specifically the Monster one with tons of chocolate. Ignore the raisins. — Ellie Krupnick, managing editor

The savory

Snyder’s of Hanover Pretzel Pieces, Honey Mustard & Onion: These carry a Midas touch, covering your fingertips in a golden powder that plays off plain hard pretzels with two sources of tangy-sweet flavor: onion and honey mustard. Grasping for the few thin pieces that hold more powder than pretzel turns every bag into a treasure hunt. — Gabe Hiatt, Eater D.C. editor

Blue Diamond Almonds, Bold Wasabi & Soy: Those thin tubes of wasabi and soy sauce almonds are my road trip snack of choice for a number of reasons. First, they give you all the savory and salt pop of potato chips without the gross “ugh, did I just eat a whole bag of potato chips?” hangover. Second, the pain of wasabi build-up is a great way to stay awake during more monotonous stretches, far less cliched than slapping yourself or other self-abuse you see in the movies. Third, its narrow container is perfect to just tip into your mouth — an act that seems obscene (and obscures your vision) when it’s a chip bag, but makes perfect sense when the bag is long and narrow... and it saves your steering wheel, upholstery, etc. from every road tripper’s nemesis: snack grease. — Eve Batey, Eater SF news editor

Corn Nuts: Corn Nuts are not the sexiest snack, but they fit conveniently in your cupholder and you can just pick at them and shove a handful in your mouth with relative ease. Bonus: If you drop some, they don’t melt all over your car like a bunch of jerks. — Stefania Orrù, coordinating producer

Pizzeria Combos: Combos are so good, but not just any kind: pizza-flavored Combos are the best. They are super salty, bite-sized, and filled with some type of cheesy pizza flavoring. It’s like getting to dip a pretzel in cheese in every bite. I will always eat the whole entire bag on the road regardless of how long the drive is. — Stephen Pelletteri, executive producer

Regional chips: I go for regional takes on barbecue/red hot chips, especially if I am in a new-to-me area where there’s more opportunities to experiment with unfamiliar brands. Pennsylvania gas stations are the best bet for the intersection of multiple brands: One place might get you Snyder’s, Wise, Herr’s, Martin’s, Middleswarth, Utz... No real interest in mesquite/sweet varieties, though. — Missy Frederick, cities director

Ritz Bits, cheese: I only ever buy them at rest stops; I’m scared to invite them into my life outside of that context. — Emma Alpern, senior copy editor

The more holistic meal plans

Carrots and celery: My most recent preferred road trip snack is just straight carrot sticks and celery. I did that on a road trip recently and, magically, I didn’t feel like crap at the end of the trip. Plus, they have that snap and crunch that’s a necessity for a good snack. — Brenna Houck, Eater Detroit editor

Cheese and charcuterie: On the very Los Angeles end of the spectrum, I get mini-cheese and charcuterie boards from Lady & Larder in Mar Vista and then hand feed my boyfriend soft cheeses and cured meats while he drives. — Nicole Adlman, cities manager

Beef jerky, nuts, coffee, and electrolytes: Most of my road trips of late are about the destination, not the journey, and involve driving for 10-14 hours straight — so the idea is to make as few as stops as possible. My road diet therefore is gas station hillbilly x keto bro: beef jerky, nuts, coffee, and Smart Water (or any other electrolyte-loaded water). All the salt means you only need to pit stop when your car does, no matter much you drink, while a zero carb regimen blunts any possible post-prandial zzzs; there’s nothing worse than feeling super full when you’ve got six more hours in a car, even if you have that many episodes of You’re Wrong About left in your podcast queue.

The deep flaw in this plan is that you’re totally at the mercy of the gas station and whatever it merchandises. It’s sort of cheating, because going with the flow is how I approach long drives, but on my usual run between New York and Georgia, I’ve taken to plotting out where the territories of Wawa and Sheetz begin and end to guarantee access to actually edible jerky (the national brands are all trash now, RIP Field Trip) and potable coffee. (As someone who has no particular dog in that regional skirmish, I think Wawa and Sheetz are equally good? SORRY.) At the end of the day, it’s a road trip, and you can’t really appreciate arriving if you haven’t suffered along the way. — Matt Buchanan, executive editor

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2FCgQ6A https://ift.tt/2ZGSHD8

From Swedish Fish to charcuterie, these are the snacks that keep Eater staffers sated on long car rides

This summer, the road trip was the only option for many of us to get in some kind of vacation or pay a long-overdue visit to faraway loved ones. And given the unpredictability of food options along routes these days, road trip snacks — always an essential item on the road trip packing list — were more important than ever.

There are certain essential qualities to a road trip snack: You should be able to eat it with one hand and with minimal mess. But beyond that, there are several interpretations of the genre. Road trip snacks may be the foods you find at gas stations and convenience stores, or indulgent treats that make the trip more bearable. Some road trippers select snacks based on their resemblance to an actual balanced meal, or on whether or not they’ll ensure the driver stays alert at the wheel. Eater staffers’ preferred snacks run the gamut. Here’s what fuels them through long car rides these days, as well as in better times.

The sweet

Bit-O-Honey: Bit-O-Honey works as a road trip snack because you can eat an entire bag of them and not feel awful (trust me, I just did this on a six-hour drive from Northern to Southern California). It’s somewhat hilarious that this honey-flavored taffy seems to only be available at truck stops and gas stations. Drivers and passengers alike will crush hours gnawing on these glorious sweets, with microscopic almond pieces giving a modicum of texture. Getting the sticky bits out of your teeth is the rest of the fun. — Matt Kang, Eater LA editor

Swedish Fish: I always have a bag of Swedish Fish on hand for a road trip. They perk you up, they’re chewy and sweet, and they’re the kind of candy I don’t eat every day. It’s also the ONLY time I drink Red Bull. — Lesley Suter, travel editor

Frozen Snickers: I’ve always maintained that a frozen Snickers bar is much, much better than an ice cream Snickers bar, the latter being an inferior product that melts too quickly and the former being something that will last in the car. — Ryan Sutton, Eater NY chief critic/data lead

Sour Patch Kids: My husband and I both agree that Sour Patch Kids are an absolute must on the road. I prefer the watermelon, but he likes the classics. I’m still bitter that the classic recipe seems to have changed, though; I swear they’re not as sour as they used to be. — Rachel Blumenthal, Eater Boston editor

Beaver Nuggets: Road-tripping in Texas means you have to stop by Buc-ee’s and grab a bunch of their packaged snacks. Despite the unfortunate name, the Beaver Nuggets (actually sweet corn puffs) are really great. — Nadia Chaudhry, Eater Austin editor

Trail mix: I buy Archer Farms trail mix from Target — specifically the Monster one with tons of chocolate. Ignore the raisins. — Ellie Krupnick, managing editor

The savory

Snyder’s of Hanover Pretzel Pieces, Honey Mustard & Onion: These carry a Midas touch, covering your fingertips in a golden powder that plays off plain hard pretzels with two sources of tangy-sweet flavor: onion and honey mustard. Grasping for the few thin pieces that hold more powder than pretzel turns every bag into a treasure hunt. — Gabe Hiatt, Eater D.C. editor

Blue Diamond Almonds, Bold Wasabi & Soy: Those thin tubes of wasabi and soy sauce almonds are my road trip snack of choice for a number of reasons. First, they give you all the savory and salt pop of potato chips without the gross “ugh, did I just eat a whole bag of potato chips?” hangover. Second, the pain of wasabi build-up is a great way to stay awake during more monotonous stretches, far less cliched than slapping yourself or other self-abuse you see in the movies. Third, its narrow container is perfect to just tip into your mouth — an act that seems obscene (and obscures your vision) when it’s a chip bag, but makes perfect sense when the bag is long and narrow... and it saves your steering wheel, upholstery, etc. from every road tripper’s nemesis: snack grease. — Eve Batey, Eater SF news editor

Corn Nuts: Corn Nuts are not the sexiest snack, but they fit conveniently in your cupholder and you can just pick at them and shove a handful in your mouth with relative ease. Bonus: If you drop some, they don’t melt all over your car like a bunch of jerks. — Stefania Orrù, coordinating producer

Pizzeria Combos: Combos are so good, but not just any kind: pizza-flavored Combos are the best. They are super salty, bite-sized, and filled with some type of cheesy pizza flavoring. It’s like getting to dip a pretzel in cheese in every bite. I will always eat the whole entire bag on the road regardless of how long the drive is. — Stephen Pelletteri, executive producer

Regional chips: I go for regional takes on barbecue/red hot chips, especially if I am in a new-to-me area where there’s more opportunities to experiment with unfamiliar brands. Pennsylvania gas stations are the best bet for the intersection of multiple brands: One place might get you Snyder’s, Wise, Herr’s, Martin’s, Middleswarth, Utz... No real interest in mesquite/sweet varieties, though. — Missy Frederick, cities director

Ritz Bits, cheese: I only ever buy them at rest stops; I’m scared to invite them into my life outside of that context. — Emma Alpern, senior copy editor

The more holistic meal plans

Carrots and celery: My most recent preferred road trip snack is just straight carrot sticks and celery. I did that on a road trip recently and, magically, I didn’t feel like crap at the end of the trip. Plus, they have that snap and crunch that’s a necessity for a good snack. — Brenna Houck, Eater Detroit editor

Cheese and charcuterie: On the very Los Angeles end of the spectrum, I get mini-cheese and charcuterie boards from Lady & Larder in Mar Vista and then hand feed my boyfriend soft cheeses and cured meats while he drives. — Nicole Adlman, cities manager

Beef jerky, nuts, coffee, and electrolytes: Most of my road trips of late are about the destination, not the journey, and involve driving for 10-14 hours straight — so the idea is to make as few as stops as possible. My road diet therefore is gas station hillbilly x keto bro: beef jerky, nuts, coffee, and Smart Water (or any other electrolyte-loaded water). All the salt means you only need to pit stop when your car does, no matter much you drink, while a zero carb regimen blunts any possible post-prandial zzzs; there’s nothing worse than feeling super full when you’ve got six more hours in a car, even if you have that many episodes of You’re Wrong About left in your podcast queue.

The deep flaw in this plan is that you’re totally at the mercy of the gas station and whatever it merchandises. It’s sort of cheating, because going with the flow is how I approach long drives, but on my usual run between New York and Georgia, I’ve taken to plotting out where the territories of Wawa and Sheetz begin and end to guarantee access to actually edible jerky (the national brands are all trash now, RIP Field Trip) and potable coffee. (As someone who has no particular dog in that regional skirmish, I think Wawa and Sheetz are equally good? SORRY.) At the end of the day, it’s a road trip, and you can’t really appreciate arriving if you haven’t suffered along the way. — Matt Buchanan, executive editor

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2FCgQ6A via Blogger https://ift.tt/32vjvbk

[cosmosogler]

today i got almost everything done!

my mother woke me up at about 5:45, and then again at 6:20. i was super angry. then my brother and sister were in both the upstairs bathrooms so i had to go all the way downstairs and across the house just to go to the bathroom before i went back to sleep.

i dreamed that i was getting annoyed with a conspiracy theorist. “video games are downloading scientific theories into your brain!!!” it was the science that scared them apparently. and the computers. the person wasn’t even present, i was just hearing their voice as i played dream mario, which is only slightly like nintendo mario. i told the voice that video games are just another way to tell a story. i pulled a children’s book out of somewhere, i think it was “goodnight moon” actually. except the cover was wrong. but i was telling the voice that there wasn’t nothin wrong with telling a cute or simple story.

sometimes the story is “i got really good at jumping over hills and across floating spinners and on turtles.”

i only put on the snooze for five minutes because i really, REALLY didn’t want to get up with less than like seven and a half hours of sleep. i got up anyway and showered. i didn’t get to spend long in the shower though... i really need to shave but i haven’t had much time at all the last five, seven days. i shower every other day since it’s a little better for your hair and skin...

anyway as i was heading out to go to therapy dad decided to start asking me to do some chores. i sort of started one, i let eve outside, but i seriously didn’t have time to wait for her to take a sunbath and let her back in. then someone (not naming names, because i’m not 100% sure) decided to park their car in a way that made it impossible for me to pull out of the garage. so i had to go back inside, get that car’s key, move it to the other side of the driveway, go back inside to drop off that key, and then i could get in “my” car and get going. then people on the freeway kept cutting me off without using their turn signals and also were generally going below the speed limit so i would have to stand on the brakes. this happened more than once. then i almost hit someone trying to get over to the exit because as i passed them apparently they sped up while passing through my blind spot so they were farther up than i thought they would be when i started changing lanes. cool!!!!!!!!

in individual therapy i brought up a bunch of emotional problems i had started to explore a little bit in group therapy. i ended up talking for the whole 45 minutes straight basically. like, my therapist asked a few questions, and reassured me a few times, but it was like a huge information dump so hopefully in the coming weeks i can start addressing each problem individually. i also got my semester refund paperwork sorted out with her. i’ll be able to pick it up next week. i mostly focused on how none of my problems feel “big enough” unless they are unsolvable since i really didn’t get to talk about it in group yesterday. i said one thing that i kind of liked though. i said “i feel like if i didn’t have so many problems, i wouldn’t have so many problems.” 

what i meant to say was “if i didn’t have so many mental and personality problems, i wouldn’t have so many life problems,” but the vagueness was silly enough that my therapist made a face and laughed. i said i didn’t know what to focus on first and she said “you’re already working on everything.” i had listed the multiple projects i am trying to keep up with therapy wise... i dunno. i feel like if i can get over that big “problems have to be impossible” hurdle things will start feeling a little more manageable and i’ll be able to make progress more quickly.

guess i gotta spend more time thinking about that. i’ll keep you posted as things come up.

after that i picked up my paperwork from my physician’s office since i was on that side of town and got the number for the radiology lab that wants to do the last test. when i got home i shoved some leftovers in the microwave and called the lab and scheduled my “hida scan,” which is a gall bladder test i guess where they put a bunch of glowing stuff through your digestive system and see if it goes through normally. the scheduler said it normally takes two hours unless they find something, in which case it will take longer. luckily my next therapy appointment is 4 hours after my procedure... i hope that will give enough time. i will have to let her know. i definitely wouldn’t be able to do it on a group therapy day and the lady seemed pretty keen on doing it as soon as possible. and i can’t do it in the afternoon in case it goes long and dad isn’t able to get to work.

so 8 am next tuesday it is.

so i had my ravioli and went upstairs and then after a short break i watched the iron giant with oz. the movie is even better than i remembered. then we talked about physics stuff while i worked on gathering study materials with my classmates. i had a great time, and i hope oz did too. it felt nice to do an activity with someone that took up all our attention, so i didn’t have to, like, feel self conscious about not baring my soul or something.

i think when asher gets back i will talk to him about maybe spending an afternoon at the pottery lounge thing by the amc. it’s not cheap, but last time i checked i didn’t think it was too expensive at least. and i still have the ceramic dog i painted like 15 years ago so the stuff lasts. basically you pick out a little ceramic statue and you get to paint it using a selection from like 200 different shades. and i think you can stay as long as it takes to paint it. the smaller stuff wasn’t too bad cost-wise.

got sidetracked. after i hung up with oz and got all my emails and google docs in order i went and got groceries for mom. she was making quesadillas for dinner. i unfortunately had to pay for them with my own money, and it felt weird buying meat after all these years. but i guess i buy dog treats often enough that it’s not really, like, a compromise of my morals or something. i noticed that the dogs really went wild over the chicken strips i bought last time, so i tried to expand to “turducken.” (spoiler: they loved those too.)

so i dropped off the vegetables and stuff with mom, checked on the cactus mouse, and watched a couple of the videos i had loaded up while talking to oz. i try not to spend too much time reading or watching videos while talking to people because i get super focused on what i’m looking at and don’t hear what they say any more haha.

then i went downstairs and had my veggie quesadilla. it was... ok. i was still a little hungry afterward, but i also felt kind of ill so i didn’t want to eat any more. eating with mom was the WORST. she breathes loud and chews with her mouth open so it’s just a constant avalanche of awful squishy mouth noises. it made me so angry and annoyed that i think that’s what made me sick more than the food. i kind of abruptly stood up and put my plate away and took the dogs outside after trying out the new treats. i tried to play fetch with wiley but he was having none of it today. which is very odd... maybe it was just too hot for him to want to run around. 

i have been experiencing kind of horrible pain between my shoulder blades. i’m pretty sure it’s not my bra pinching anything because it’s way above the strap... probably a pinched nerve. i tried stretching my arms and shoulders and that seemed to help a lot, so i’m thinking i slept in a bad position.

then i went back upstairs and whined to myself about my therapy homework. i did more “self care” research and added a few more posts to my queue. and i talked with some discord guys a little bit. then i caught up on my self esteem journal and picked out one of my “short term goals” from my hospital-issued treatment plan. i used that as a base to expand on for my goal worksheet. i finished all that around 11 so then i got started on the owl picture for 40 minutes or so. now i am 35 minutes into my journal entry, which puts me at a comfortable time to finish up and try to sleep. i got another 10 minutes before i hit my target “get ready for bed” time.

my group mates and therapist expressed interest when i let slip that i like to draw on monday. the therapist asked what i draw. i wasn’t sure how to answer... “furries” isn’t really something i wanted to get into. and i haven’t drawn my own characters except for a reference for one of the art trades in a long time. i suppose i should post the uncolored version of that since i scanned it in and haven’t worked on it with the tablet yet.

so i just said “characters and people.” i like landscapes, but i have trouble spending enough time on them to really get into the details. i’m hoping the coloring pages will help loosen up my patience so i might start feeling like spending a million hours on one picture again. it’s been a couple years since i did anything complicated.

i’m thinking about maybe taking my sketch book... but i don’t want to spend a lot of time on explaining what the picture is of when i have more urgent things to work on.

tomorrow i have more things to do! i NEED to work on the welcome packet for ufl. i need to scan in a bunch of stuff, like my immunization records and my doctors’ notes for my refund file. i need to send an email to the preliminary test coordinator to figure out how to proceed with my studying... i need to know how much to panic about this. then after group therapy i need to drop off my sister’s old prescriptions at the police station. that won’t take too long. if i got energy i’d like to organize my desk and maybe also tidy up my room a little bit. write some things down to put in the jar. then i will work on my self esteem journal, continue reading through the self care resources i’ve got open in a million tabs, and work on the coloring page a little bit. that sounds good. and at some point i need to write my 1- to 2-paragraph essay for the refund. and also i gotta email my apartment complex about stuff like the bed size and some cupboard dimensions and whether there’s a microwave and stuff like that. some of those things i’m pretty sure i can just look up somewhere.

i think i can manage those things. the student orientation videos might have to wait until thursday but i can compile the paperwork and read the faqs and stuff. none of these tasks take long by themselves. so as long as i remember to take little breaks and stay motivated i think i can get it done and not have to worry about it so much any more.

ok, it is 12:30, which is only 5 minutes after my target time! i’m gonna do the daily pokemon stuff for 2-3 minutes and then get ready for bed. gotta practice giving myself credit for reaching/working on goals and stuff, even when i don’t want to.

[pog-with-a-blog]

I wrote this at 1 am after taking sleeping pills it’s great I’ma queue it for tomorrow idk if it’s worth reading but I, in my current mental state, consider it my magnum opus

I like honestl was led to believe that edgar allen poe was a good author but like. Damn. 

So I really like reading murder cases, like complicated ones, idk why. But I decided to see if I could do something slightly less creepy and I ended up on “the murders in the rue morgue” and like not to spoil a shitty disappointing mystery or anything but

Ok first off before the murder even happens he trys to pull a BBC sherlock. Like he met the fuckin guy at a book store and they were both trying to find a book that very few people had ever heard of. And then he saw him 2 more times and he was like “o shit damn I MUST get to know this guy”

and like honestly just take a quote that will explain everything else 

 “the force of his busy mind was like a bright light in my soul. I felt that the friendship of such a man would be for me riches without price. I therefore told him of my feelings toward him, and he agreed to come and live with me.”

no homo and then the guy watches him for 15 minutes while they walk in silence and then proceeds to tell him his entire thought sequence all because he knows him so well he says shit like “you looked at the stars so I looked at the stars and noticed orion was super bright so you must be thinking of orion and we read an article in the newspaper about an actor that quoted a book we both read about orion and I knew you would think of that actor and then you stood up straighter so I knew you were thinking of how short he was and he would do better in less serious plays”

“so then I was like ‘I agree, he is p short’ not to like impress you or anything just, like u know”

no homo tho. totally no homo. just 2 really good buddy pals

Ok done with that now the fuckin mystery. Two women sitting in a bedroom with only one bed, but multiple tables and chairs, reading some old papers and letters of no interest door locked from the inside but window wide open, fake locks on the windows but real hidden locks also

The mob heard an orangutan and not one person recognized it as an animal, they all thought it was a person speaking a language they didn’t know. 

Multiple people hear this orangutan in this room they were not in, but *noone* saw it running through the streets of paris or into the house

Not only that but there just happened to be someone who was a native speaker of french, english, spanish, and italian, all of whom heard the orangutan, just by chance. Also one of them, in france, did not even know enough french to tell the difference between an orangutan and a person speaking french, or recognize the phrase “mon dieu”

and also *neither* of the women hear the fuckin thing come in and stand there watching them (o btw it carried a knife all through paris and also while it climbed up a pole it still didn’t drop the knife) 

so then it, no motive, pure fear, cuts the woman’s head *almost* off, but not all the way off, and throws her out the window and she falls 4 stories, which still did not result in the full detachment of her head. Yet it fell off on it’s own when her body was picked up minutes later. 

then, again, pure fear, strangles a girl, like immediately upon seeing her goes straight to the “hands around neck til she dies which probably is not instantaneous idk??” but like. no motive just a scared stupid monkey. We know he’s stupid and acting with no intention because at one point he runs around the room aimlessly in fear, breaking all the furniture. But also he is patient enough to keep his hands around her neck til she dies

Now a note: If I were to find a bed ripped to pieces and covered in blood, I would probably not describe it as “there was one bed. everything has been taken from it and thrown into the middle of the floor”, I doubt  I would refer to it as a bed honestly considering it sounds like it was quite deconstructed??? 

Back to monkey. Not smart enough to kill with intention, but smart enough to attempt to know he did wrong and shove a body up a chimney and throw the other one out the window before fleeing

or maybe that’s just what monkeys do when they get scared. Shove dead bodies up chimneys and throw them out windows. 

oh and he closed the window behind him when he left how sweet

and then continued to roam the streets of paris without being found or committing more murders

and then mr. Gunna Fuck a Book  is totally getting off to Mr.  Book telling him that he posted an add in the paper saying they found an orangutan and the person who lost it should come get it and they know he’s a sailor btw

and he’s like “yeah I know it was an orangutan bc noone could tell what it was saying and I honestly don’t know he’s a sailor but sailors are strong enough to climb poles into the house like that and also they go to faraway places where orangutans can be acquired so like yeah it probably is might as well say that in the ad” and then  he’s like “shh I hear footsteps and right on cue mr. ex-orangutan-owner walks in in his sailor suit asking if they got his orangutan like im sorry do you see a giant ass monkey here bc i don’t

and then he tells them all abt how he and his male friend went into the forest, like no, i gotta quote this shit again

“But we went — a friend and I — we went into that forest — for pleasure.” 

no homo anyway we cought the monkey and brought it back and it caused ALOt of problems being all big and strong and stuff so I was like “why not bring it to paris haha what a great idea :)” 

and he keeps it in his apartment and I guess either it didn’t make noise or it did and all the neighbors just though he has like a new friend who didn’t speak a language they knew and yelled alot idk? 

[easyfoodnetwork]

From Swedish Fish to charcuterie, these are the snacks that keep Eater staffers sated on long car rides This summer, the road trip was the only option for many of us to get in some kind of vacation or pay a long-overdue visit to faraway loved ones. And given the unpredictability of food options along routes these days, road trip snacks — always an essential item on the road trip packing list — were more important than ever. There are certain essential qualities to a road trip snack: You should be able to eat it with one hand and with minimal mess. But beyond that, there are several interpretations of the genre. Road trip snacks may be the foods you find at gas stations and convenience stores, or indulgent treats that make the trip more bearable. Some road trippers select snacks based on their resemblance to an actual balanced meal, or on whether or not they’ll ensure the driver stays alert at the wheel. Eater staffers’ preferred snacks run the gamut. Here’s what fuels them through long car rides these days, as well as in better times. The sweet Bit-O-Honey: Bit-O-Honey works as a road trip snack because you can eat an entire bag of them and not feel awful (trust me, I just did this on a six-hour drive from Northern to Southern California). It’s somewhat hilarious that this honey-flavored taffy seems to only be available at truck stops and gas stations. Drivers and passengers alike will crush hours gnawing on these glorious sweets, with microscopic almond pieces giving a modicum of texture. Getting the sticky bits out of your teeth is the rest of the fun. — Matt Kang, Eater LA editor Swedish Fish: I always have a bag of Swedish Fish on hand for a road trip. They perk you up, they’re chewy and sweet, and they’re the kind of candy I don’t eat every day. It’s also the ONLY time I drink Red Bull. — Lesley Suter, travel editor Frozen Snickers: I’ve always maintained that a frozen Snickers bar is much, much better than an ice cream Snickers bar, the latter being an inferior product that melts too quickly and the former being something that will last in the car. — Ryan Sutton, Eater NY chief critic/data lead Sour Patch Kids: My husband and I both agree that Sour Patch Kids are an absolute must on the road. I prefer the watermelon, but he likes the classics. I’m still bitter that the classic recipe seems to have changed, though; I swear they’re not as sour as they used to be. — Rachel Blumenthal, Eater Boston editor Beaver Nuggets: Road-tripping in Texas means you have to stop by Buc-ee’s and grab a bunch of their packaged snacks. Despite the unfortunate name, the Beaver Nuggets (actually sweet corn puffs) are really great. — Nadia Chaudhry, Eater Austin editor Trail mix: I buy Archer Farms trail mix from Target — specifically the Monster one with tons of chocolate. Ignore the raisins. — Ellie Krupnick, managing editor The savory Snyder’s of Hanover Pretzel Pieces, Honey Mustard & Onion: These carry a Midas touch, covering your fingertips in a golden powder that plays off plain hard pretzels with two sources of tangy-sweet flavor: onion and honey mustard. Grasping for the few thin pieces that hold more powder than pretzel turns every bag into a treasure hunt. — Gabe Hiatt, Eater D.C. editor Blue Diamond Almonds, Bold Wasabi & Soy: Those thin tubes of wasabi and soy sauce almonds are my road trip snack of choice for a number of reasons. First, they give you all the savory and salt pop of potato chips without the gross “ugh, did I just eat a whole bag of potato chips?” hangover. Second, the pain of wasabi build-up is a great way to stay awake during more monotonous stretches, far less cliched than slapping yourself or other self-abuse you see in the movies. Third, its narrow container is perfect to just tip into your mouth — an act that seems obscene (and obscures your vision) when it’s a chip bag, but makes perfect sense when the bag is long and narrow... and it saves your steering wheel, upholstery, etc. from every road tripper’s nemesis: snack grease. — Eve Batey, Eater SF news editor Corn Nuts: Corn Nuts are not the sexiest snack, but they fit conveniently in your cupholder and you can just pick at them and shove a handful in your mouth with relative ease. Bonus: If you drop some, they don’t melt all over your car like a bunch of jerks. — Stefania Orrù, coordinating producer Pizzeria Combos: Combos are so good, but not just any kind: pizza-flavored Combos are the best. They are super salty, bite-sized, and filled with some type of cheesy pizza flavoring. It’s like getting to dip a pretzel in cheese in every bite. I will always eat the whole entire bag on the road regardless of how long the drive is. — Stephen Pelletteri, executive producer Regional chips: I go for regional takes on barbecue/red hot chips, especially if I am in a new-to-me area where there’s more opportunities to experiment with unfamiliar brands. Pennsylvania gas stations are the best bet for the intersection of multiple brands: One place might get you Snyder’s, Wise, Herr’s, Martin’s, Middleswarth, Utz... No real interest in mesquite/sweet varieties, though. — Missy Frederick, cities director Ritz Bits, cheese: I only ever buy them at rest stops; I’m scared to invite them into my life outside of that context. — Emma Alpern, senior copy editor The more holistic meal plans Carrots and celery: My most recent preferred road trip snack is just straight carrot sticks and celery. I did that on a road trip recently and, magically, I didn’t feel like crap at the end of the trip. Plus, they have that snap and crunch that’s a necessity for a good snack. — Brenna Houck, Eater Detroit editor Cheese and charcuterie: On the very Los Angeles end of the spectrum, I get mini-cheese and charcuterie boards from Lady & Larder in Mar Vista and then hand feed my boyfriend soft cheeses and cured meats while he drives. — Nicole Adlman, cities manager Beef jerky, nuts, coffee, and electrolytes: Most of my road trips of late are about the destination, not the journey, and involve driving for 10-14 hours straight — so the idea is to make as few as stops as possible. My road diet therefore is gas station hillbilly x keto bro: beef jerky, nuts, coffee, and Smart Water (or any other electrolyte-loaded water). All the salt means you only need to pit stop when your car does, no matter much you drink, while a zero carb regimen blunts any possible post-prandial zzzs; there’s nothing worse than feeling super full when you’ve got six more hours in a car, even if you have that many episodes of You’re Wrong About left in your podcast queue. The deep flaw in this plan is that you’re totally at the mercy of the gas station and whatever it merchandises. It’s sort of cheating, because going with the flow is how I approach long drives, but on my usual run between New York and Georgia, I’ve taken to plotting out where the territories of Wawa and Sheetz begin and end to guarantee access to actually edible jerky (the national brands are all trash now, RIP Field Trip) and potable coffee. (As someone who has no particular dog in that regional skirmish, I think Wawa and Sheetz are equally good? SORRY.) At the end of the day, it’s a road trip, and you can’t really appreciate arriving if you haven’t suffered along the way. — Matt Buchanan, executive editor from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2FCgQ6A

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/09/the-best-road-trip-snacks-according-to.html