#i said i am going to build the most non-functional place for kit to stay

[tricoufamily]

they had to hire kit as a ranch hand on very short notice. they bought an old camper from the 70s and put it on the property for him to live in. we're not sure which is weirder, that kit showed up with nothing when he moved in or that they hung a goat head in the kitchen before he got there.

[sfiddy]

So Bad

For @academialynx , who made a donation to her local food bank in return for a fic!  This is a college AU, moderately prof/student (though the theme is that they DON’T break the rules) boatloads of yearning, and janky building maintenance that leads to getting locked in a closet.  She asked me to consider the Brandon Colbein song So Bad.  Which I did.  :)

Thank you, Dear!  Here we go!

Rated T

On AO3

On FF

On Tumblr!  (keep reading!)

Another champagne cork popped and a delighted cheer spread through the room.  Glasses, plastic cups, and hastily drained coffee mugs were refreshed and the party carried on.  Theirs was not a large music department, so to have attracted a fresh, exciting, multi-talented composition and collaborative piano specialist with a few international awards, one ‘early career’ grant and another from the National Endowment for the Arts meant their modest program was about to gain a little fresh clout at interdepartmental tenured faculty meetings.

“Congratulations again, Erik!”  Dr. Nadir Khan hauled Erik into a vigorous handshake and pumped for a full three seconds.  

Erik winced.  He’d be hamfisting the keys tomorrow if they kept this up.  “Thank you, Dean Khan.  It’s an honor to join as a full professor.”

“I am Nadir to you, and don’t forget it.”  Nadir refilled Erik’s plastic cup and tapped his department coffee mug against it, sloshing their champagne into frothy heads.  “It’s hard to believe it’s been five years, Erik!  You cost me a bet, I’ll have you know.  I didn’t think you’d stay after you had to teach that semester of History of Rock and Roll for non-majors.”

The lantern-jawed oboe professor laughed.  “Or the infamous Intro to Music Theory.”

“No, no,” disagreed Umbaldo Piangi, the portly voice teacher.  “When I went on sabbatical to Teatro La Fenice and you gave him The Chamber Music Outreach Project and graduate tutoring.  No warning!”  Even the big man’s clucking tongue was musical.  “But, Piangi is back, no?  I will cut back my performance hours and take back all the lessons and weekends and let Dr. Erik Devereaux return to his writing!”

“Actually,” Erik said, and the room stilled.  “The only part I disliked was the public part.  I never minded the private instruction.  If you would like to split the load, I’m happy to keep the instructional portion while you handle the tours, performances, and...outreach?”  He suppressed the grimace well enough.

Piangi, Italian down to his fine shoes, let out a whoop and grabbed Erik in a hug so tight it pressed his ribcage and nearly dislodged his delicate porcelain mask from it’s fine wire and leather fittings.

“Ah, my partner now!  I will call donors and show off the little tweeting songbirds with my lovely Carlotta while you teach them not to call for worms!  A toast!”  Piangi held up his plastic cup once again.  

Erik accepted a toast that crackled the edge of his plastic cup and hoped for something new and shiny to distract them.  Or for the lights to suddenly flicker and fail as they were prone to do, along with randomly closing doors in the terribly laid out office and work spaces.  The college had access to talent pipelines that the underfunded and neglected department had not been able to tap.  Their aggressive recruitment of him was a last ditch effort for change before the tiny group was relegated to a four piece for the university reagent’s cocktail brunch and a marching band for the far-better funded football team.

“To Dr. Devereaux!”

With a conspiratorial grin, Erik drained his cup and winked at Piangi.  “To the songbirds.”

…

Tenure in hand, Erik started his campaign.  Once he ditched the worst teaching credits to lecturers and adjuncts, he could focus on recruiting.  Specifically, to score a few respected but not-yet-headliner talents.  Emerging performers without a good gig had few options and the status and modest stipend to be a ‘visiting artist’ might be more attractive than the floating gulag of a cruise ship.  

A few excellent but relatively unknown performers could teach and perform, receive some finishing, and get quickly farmed out into the world.  The reputation-building move would be pricey, but no one gets paid dividends before investing.

His development grant would cover three such artists.  He got more than fifty applications.  Erik rubbed his eyes under the mask.  It was a good thing he never had plans-- it would be a long weekend.

…

The old music labs building had settled over the years and gained what the senior faculty referred to as ‘personality’.   Erik took this to mean ‘genially hazardous’.  No amount of facility requests or complaints brought the doors and keys division to do maintenance.

He was a quick learner though, and only got locked in his workroom twice before catching the door with his foot became second nature.   He even set a flaking brick, plucked from a neglected flower bed outside, in the corner by the door and kicked it against the frame as a doorstop.  Every time he came to his workroom, a narrow converted closet with a work bench and packed with shelves of manuscripts, music, errant repair kits and recording equipment, he would hit the outside light switch, unlock the door, step in, catch the door, then kick the brick.  

Switch, step, catch, kick.  His shoes were gaining new wear marks.

After kicking the brick into place, Erik opened his laptop and went over the last files.  He’d asked the department admins to strip out the audio files to just the audition pieces and remove identifying details from the fifty applications.  If he was going to invite talent, their first hurdle would be their musicianship.  Once he’d culled the herd to ten, he’d submitted his picks to the dean to select the three finalists.  Now they needed invitations.  Two vocalists and a classical guitarist made the cut and he spent the next few hours getting more acquainted with their files and ignoring the pings of his filling inbox.

At least it was just his inbox.  No one came to the music labs and his closet if they could help it.

If he was honest, no one came to meet him in person if they could help it.

…

Most performers were beautiful.  Entire websites and product lines were devoted to skincare for singers, makeup tutorials, look books and wardrobe consulting.  Erik’s particular variety of deformity would stand out in any circumstances, but in an entire department stuffed with the striking, stunning, and unconventionally glorious, he bordered on eyesore.  Even Piangi could command a room with his generous, rosy smiles and booming laugh.  

The mask was the best combination of memorable and functional he could muster.  Yes, surgery was an option but who signed up for years of unnecessary pain and the risk of infection?  He had better things to do.  

Like meet with his new visiting artists.  

The classical guitarist had supple wrists and forearms like Popeye.  His rolled cuffs drew the eye to the action while his cleverly knotted scarf kept you looking at his face, framed by artfully mussed hair.  

“We’re looking forward to your first concerts and hope you’ll consider collaborations with local programs.”

The baritone had a one in a million voice.  How he hadn’t been snapped up for opera yet was a mystery but Erik supposed it was his poor presence.  When you had the goods, you still had to sell them, and the young man’s love of neon, bad hair, and questionable repertoire (pin the tail on a Hal Leonard page) needed polish.  His work was shockingly precise and sounded like he had a cathedral in his mouth.

“Our faculty and staff are a rich resource for young performers and are always eager to assist.  We often work in parallel with the communications department and local professionals to prepare our artists for the culture and community as well as the stage.”

The soprano was the risk.  The recording had been largely boilerplate and her prior experience thin.  The reason she got in was a one-point-two second pause in her audition tape.  It was the silence that told Erik she had chops.  

Imagine, a soprano unafraid of silence.  It had been late in the weekend when he selected her and had not yet been able to examine the head shot.

“I… um...”

“Yes, Dr. Devereaux?”

“Welcome, Miss Daaé.”

…

The visiting artists would survey classes, provide demonstrations and guest lectures, and appear at university events, auditions, and generally get the word out that the department was shifting to a growth phase.  That was the official description.  Unofficially, there would be a mountain of effort to make each emerging artist a shot on goal for the department.  Recording deals, major and paid appearances, and successful auditions all counted toward the tally.  

Guitar was not Erik’s forte, and as much as he could contribute to the baritone’s look and polish, Erik had cultivated a far more… refined profile than the young man aspired to.  Erik maintained collars sharp enough to cut bread and a spotless sheen on his porcelain mask.  Right now, Dean Khan aspired to cut the young man’s mullet tail off.  

“Excellent, Miss Daaé, right on time.”  Erik slid the fall board up and they prepared to work.  She understood how to modulate her tone, how to select the emotional pitch to match the song, to contrast with it for effect.  She explored her range and willingly failed to find her borders.  It all made for an excellent student.

It was the quiet that made her breathtaking.  The anticipation of her.  Tenths of seconds that tightened the chest and made a quiver run through the blood.  Not often, only when it mattered, and only when it would matter enough to do so.  

When he could stand it no more, he asked her about it.

“I’m sorry, I can try to stop.”

“I didn’t ask you to stop, I asked when you started doing it.”

She considered him, her ribbons of curling hair twisting as she shifted.  “When my father was sick.  I could feel the need for silences because he couldn’t talk anymore.  It just felt… right.”

Erik nodded.  “Again.”

…

She’d been a late bloomer.  A ghost on the scene and at least five years older than the rest of the sopranos at her stage.  It also meant she hadn’t spent her entire high school and college career belting Broadway in the recital rooms, building nodes on her vocal chords.  

They finished late one night and he walked her to her car.  “So what did you do for practice?”

She pinked under the parking lot lights.  “I, um… waited tables at an Italian restaurant.  You know, where your server might sing opera when they bring you breadsticks?”

Erik nodded.  “Parmesan and Puccini?”

Bless her, she giggled.  “Bellinis and Bellini.  A few really knew when they were hearing but most just wanted to hear Nessun Dorma because they heard it on Youtube.  I managed to get a few singing jobs out of it but I mostly just waited tables.”  They stopped at her car but she hadn’t reached for her keys yet.  “I was a bartender and the second understudy for a Gilbert and Sullivan society when I saw your announcement.”

“Their loss,” Erik said.  He left off the second half.

“Thanks.”  Christine hesitated.  “I didn’t expect to be accepted, so… thanks.”  

Something changed in the breeze.  Something cool and soft in the night air mixed with the gold light pouring down from the lights.  It highlighted the curls that spiralled out of control around her neck as she tilted her head just so.  

It was just a moment, a funny thump that ricocheted in his chest at her upturned face, her soft smile.  Maybe her eyes flicked down, maybe her sharp inhale had a little catch in it.  Maybe it was the way her lip twitched, but a red flag suddenly waved in Erik’s head and he stepped back carefully.  He had a powerful fear of heat and burns.

“Yes, of course.  The, uh, department was very happy to offer the opportunity.”

She blinked.  “Of course.  Well, thanks for the great session and walking me to my car.  Have a nice evening, Erik.”

Christine drove away and Erik stood in the parking lot for some minutes after her taillights had faded.  He imagined it.  Surely, he’d taken a friendly conversation the wrong way.  She wasn’t his student, strictly speaking, but he had influence over her career, which would be just as bad.  

Besides, he had completely misread the whole thing.  Surely.  Women didn’t look up at him like that-- like he would kiss them.  After a walk after dark, telling him about themselves, and looking at him like that.

No one looked at him like... that.

Oh no.

…

She wasn’t strictly his student.  He was her mentor.  Even a brief thought made it obvious and completely inappropriate.  Did she think it would improve her opportunities?

Erik swallowed.  No, if that was the game she wouldn’t have backed off.  Surely he’d misread the situation.

…

They brewed tea together.  She remembered his favorite oolong.

…

He saw a cascade of curling hair on his way to the post office and his heart leapt.

It wasn’t her.  The disappointment was too confusing to examine.

…

His mouth went dry when her sweater slipped from her shoulder.  Then he knocked the music from the stand.

She smiled and helped him pick up the sheets.  

There were freckles on her shoulder.

... 

Five months into the visiting artist tour and Piangi had the concert hall packed for their first performances.  Franco the guitarist, who preferred just the one name, would play a twenty minute set, followed by the baritone Burton Armstrong, as baritoney a name as Erik had ever heard, then Christine, and finally Franco would play again with accompaniment.  

Erik was content to stay in a tiny box seat far to the side as Piangi introduced each performer.  Franco had gained the stage he deserved, and Burton had been convinced to get a proper haircut and suit, and sang a particularly impressive Russian ballad set.  

Christine was introduced and settled onto the stage.  She was radiant in dark blue, and decorated her baroque set with agility.  From his perch, Erik could as easily imagine her distributing bellinis as gracing an opera stage.  It was not an insult.  After her short set, she nodded and was joined by Burton.  A duet?  

She looked up and found him, up in his perch.  She nodded, and the two launched into a series of excerpts from Semele, Handel’s somewhat neglected tale of a torrid affair between a mortal woman and the god, Jupiter.

Their gazes met as she sang.

O Jove! In pity teach me which to choose,

Incline me to comply, or help me to refuse!

The baritone thundered.

Too well I read her meaning,

But must not understand her.

If Erik’s ears heard the rest of the concert, he could not recall it later.

…

Dean Khan adjourned the faculty meeting.  “Oh Erik, if you have a moment?”

They waited until the room was cleared and Nadir closed the door, then casually looked over the remaining pastries.  “Excellent concert last month.  The work with Burton is certainly paying off.”  

Erik leaned against the table.  “His socks were bright green, but we felt it was a workable compromise.”

“Franco is excellent in front of the crowd.  Has he met the flamenco dancers yet?”

“I put in a call.  I think he’s going to their weekly meeting next Thursday.”

“Marvelous.  Let me know how that goes when you hear, won’t you?”

“Of course.”  Erik felt his chest tighten the longer Nadir perused the snacks and chose to tear off the bandage himself.  “Anything else?”

“There is, in fact,” Nadir did not look up from the muffins.  “Christine’s performance was exceptional.  Truly filled with passion.”

Erik tried to take a sip of coffee but his cup was empty.  He faked it.  “She’s a wonderful artist.”

“Yes.  I couldn’t help but notice--” Nadir paused over the croissants, then passed them over to examine the cookies.  “You two seem to have a unique and strong mentor-trainee relationship.”

“Thank you.”  It had not been a question.  There was nothing here… yet.  “We work well together.”  

“I’m glad to hear that.  The program you’ve created is admirable for it’s transparency and integrity.”

“I agree.  Thank you for noticing.”

Nadir looked up with a slight nod, then selected a macadamia cookie.  “I’m sure the remaining six months will fly by, Erik.”

He had no idea how to respond.

...

Six months.  There were six months left in the visiting artist term.  There were more sessions, a mini tour, and a series of small concerts meant to showcase the new talent the department had ‘produced’.  

Six months of lies, pretending he was misunderstanding something.  Pretending he didn’t notice the way she was at his side and on his mind.  Then she would leave him to the dull, overworked life he’d made for himself in the hopes of making a name for himself while simultaneously avoiding attention.  More lies, but easier to swallow.  

Her voice came from the hallway.  “Erik?  I’m heating up some water, would you like tea?”

“Is it the one you brought?”

A light laugh.  Sparkling.  “Of course.”

He dropped his work and grabbed his cup.  “Be right there.”

…

A very successful fundraiser was wrapping up on the top floor of the performing arts center.  It had a view over the campus, the nice side, and the glow of downtown caught the streaking rain on the tall glass walls.  

The donors had been generous, delighted with the new features of the program and the willingness to be accessible.  Erik stayed to the side, avoiding the center of the room where Piangi and his wife Carlotta took up residence.  Nadir circulated the room, nudging him out from time to time for a refill and to participate.  When forced to do so, Erik sloshed some middling red wine into his glass and let himself slip into Christine’s gravity for a few minutes before drifting away again.  

He could feel her gaze.

The cocktail party was to end at eleven-thirty, and by then nearly all the guests had left.  The last ones were rushed  out and Piangi hurried to the bar.  

“Open season!” 

A quick crush to the bar and every open bottle was ‘liberated’ to the long-suffering exhibits.  Christine topped off her glass and passed the bottle to a fellow soprano, hardly twenty years old, and the two laughed and kicked off their heels.  Piangi and Burton laughed over an earlier flub and the cello player, finally able to pack his instrument and relax, demanded and received a full glass.

Erik tipped back a hearty, warm swallow and emerged from the hinterlands.

“Oh, hi Dr. Devereaux!  Did you just get here?” teased Carlotta.  “Your legend only grows the more you hide.”

“All part of my devious plan,” he conceded.  Christine’s giggle mingled with the laughs of her peers.  “If you’ll excuse me.  Piangi, brilliant as always.”

“Same to you, Erik!  We plan many parties now, no?”

Easing his way towards the mirth, Erik relaxed.  There were plenty of others around, and this was just the after party to a long dog and pony show.  Listen to the pretty songbirds and throw money at the program, invitation only.  They all deserved drinks after three hours of that.

Christine was plucking a pin from her hair.  She shook the curls loose.  “Hi Erik!  God, I’m so glad to see you.”

“Oh?”

She held up a bottle.  “Yeah, you need a refill.”  

It had been a long night.  These events could be tricky to navigate.  Sometimes there was politics, other times business rivals.  More often, donors expected special privilege and access in exchange for their checks, as if the last hundred years of progress meant nothing.  The way a few of them had looked at Erik, maybe it didn’t.  

He let her pour some white wine over the dregs of his red.  Improvised rosé.  “Everything go okay?”  

“Good enough.  I think I have some auditions, and some stuff nearby might open up for me.”

“That’s great.  Who with?”

A nice chorus.  A solid baroque group.  Both could springboard to bigger things.  A few bigger things were here.  

“What’s bigger?”  She asked, her eyes dark and soft.  

He had not meant to speak, and now he rushed his words.  “Things!  Choirs, operas.  There’s a few small opera troupes and there’s churches that need choral directors that know how to work with organ and piano.”

She sniggered.  “Organs.”  The other soprano dissolved into giggles.

Erik pulled out his phone.  Clearly neither was driving tonight.  He absently tallied up his glasses and admitted he wasn’t either.

“Do you play the organ, Erik?”

“Yes.”

Christine stepped closer and, on pure instinct, Erik put his arm around her as she turned her head to speak.

“Can I watch?”  

His collar was tight.  He pulled up the app and ordered a car.

They ran through the rain, more than sprinkled, less than soaked.  Plenty wet to shiver from the chill of the driver’s exuberant air conditioning, though.  Between giggles and poorly composed directions, they dropped off the other soprano who wobbled successfully to her door before their driver sped away.  Christine did not shift away to the other seat, but leaned into him, tucking herself against his side.  

The driver glanced in the rear view mirror, then looked away.

She was cool and smooth.  Her loosened curls had tightened from the wet and tickled his neck and brushed against his mask.  

Her hand on his thigh.  Erik said nothing.  If he was silent there was a kind of deniability, or denial at least, of what was happening.  If he could deny that her fingernails caught on the inner seam of his trousers, then she could deny that his hand was firmly planted at her waist, holding her close.

And if she could deny that, then she could also deny that her nose bumped his chin, her ragged breath loud in his ears.  And they could both deny that their lips grazed, a not-kiss somehow more intimate than if their lips moved and pulled at each other.  Like her singing, it was the pause that made your breath catch and your insides tug.

“What number?”

Dashboards lights reflected in her eyes.  “That one,” she said, and cautiously settled.  The driver pulled forward and Christine unbuckled.  

“Good night, Erik.  See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Christine.”

The driver glanced in the rearview.  Erik looked down.  “Sorry.”

The driver shrugged.  

One more month.

…

He was hiding.  He’d been hiding for weeks; stopped looking for her, stopped even wondering where she was or if she was alone.  There was no way to be near her without the pretense of a piano that wouldn’t leave him shaking.  No way to think about her without wanting.

He was Erik, a composer, a conductor, performer, designer of auditory spaces and translator of music.  He was a collaborative pianist and vocal specialist.  He’d given everything to music and the service of it, the delivery of it.  He didn’t need this. He’d never had this.

No one ever offered.  So he’d found fulfillment elsewhere, until now.

Erik hunched over his work, safely tucked into his corner of the music labs building.  Between grading, senior thesis submissions, revisions to his own publications, and a request for a letter of recommendation, he could be plenty busy late into the night with no need for anyone to--

“Hello?  Erik?”

Erik snatched at his mask and settled it.  He’d been found.  Time to lie, except he can’t lie to her.

“Can I help you with something, Christine?”  He gathered a stack and stood.  She met him by his door.

“Well, yeah,” she paused, blocking his path momentarily before stepping aside.  “I need your signature on my visiting artist release.  And another on my endorsement for my new job.”

Erik hefted his armload to the work closet.  “I’m sure they look forward to meeting you.  Come on.”  He unlocked the door and held it open, then followed behind her, hitting the light switch with his elbow before catching the door on his foot, then he kicked the brick into place.  He had to hold the stack to keep it from spilling across the work table.

She handed him the forms.  Erik moved to a span of clean tabletop and started scanning the release form.  Government agency boilerplate to satisfy the grant was mixed with flowery language so no one would suspect they were anything but artists.  Yesterday Franco had brought Burton’s form-- yep, this was Christine’s.  So on and so forth.

Erik had just finished scratching out his signature when he heard a familiar scrape.

“Why on earth do you keep a-”

Click.

“--brick?”

Erik pressed the heel of his hand into his chin.  

“Are we… locked in?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”  A faint rumble vibrated in the walls.  “I don’t suppose that was just… construction?”

Erik let out a mirthless laugh.  “There were storms brewing earlier.  Besides, does this building look like they work on it?”

“Not really.”

Another rumble, louder, and the light fixture jittered.  

Christine finally took a deep breath.  “Have you been avoiding me?”

“No!  Yes.  I don’t know.”  He touched his hairline, recapped a pen.  “We crossed a line.  I had to get back behind it and I couldn’t if we…”  His hands skated across the table top nervously.  

“Is this about being my mentor?”

Erik barked an ugly, bitter laugh.  “What else?  God, you just, out of nowhere, with your smiles, and the way you look at me, and sing to me, and the Semele…” Erik’s skin grew tight as he recalled the cocktail party.  He turned, face growing hot beneath the porcelain and his throat tightening.  He was a ruin.

“--and the touching and wanting and you’re… you’re just going to leave!  I’m a fucking idiot!”

On cue, an extended, throaty roar of thunder rattled the stone and brick until the bare bulb above could suffer no more.  With a loud pop, the narrow room went dark.  They both scuffled in the dark until they had hold of something sturdy.

“Erik?”

He was embarrassed.  He was frustrated.  “What.”

“You need to sign the other form.”

“Want to get away that bad?  Fine.”  He reached for a desk lamp and tried to turn it on.  He flipped the switch furiously.  The power was out.

“Here,” Christine held up her phone and lit the screen.  Her screensaver was… them? Beside a piano together?

Erik snatched a pen from the table and slashed his name.  “There.  Just search for facilities or call the university police.  They can unlock the door.”

“Erik, did you even look at it?”

“Why bother.”

She snorted at him.  “God, you’re so blind.”

“The lights were out.”

“Fine, you want to be a jerk, be one, but at least look at where I’m taking a job before you decide to walk.”

She lit up her phone once more and he glared at the page like it was staring at his mask.  He tracked the offer and terms until he reached the party names and…

“You took a job at… a middle school?  Here?”  He looked up into the dim light.  “You’re not leaving?”

“Meet the new grade six to eight choir director.  Go Scotties.  And now you have no direct influence over my career.”

Her screensaver dimmed, and before it went dark, Erik could make out a flash of their faces, turned to each other.  He wondered if Nadir had seen this moment, because they looked as passionate as lovers despite being feet apart.

The room went black again, and he could hear her moving.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That much has been apparent.  What do you know?”

She was close.  Close enough to feel the way she shifted the air.  “I know way too much about motif design, lyric phrasing--”

Closer.  “Go on.”  Her hips were near his. 

“Harmonic theory, vocals”

 “Can attest.”  Her fingertips were at his jawline, tracing his mask.  “I thought it would be cold.”

“It’s been on my face all day.  Early Romantic era competition and,” his voice scraped over gravel, “that I want you. So bad.”

Her kiss was her reply.  Erik’s hands flew around her as she pivoted to the table with him, dragging his mask upwards.  He gasped as cool air brushed his face, followed by light, curious fingertips and her hot mouth.  Erik knocked over the stack of papers and files with a satisfying splatter.

“Is that light over there?” she asked, dragging her lips from his.  “Around that cabinet door?”

“What?” he panted.  “I thought that was a panel.”

She pushed him off gently, peering up at the wall.  “Right there, see?”

Sure enough, there was a thin line of light.  It was a hidden door with a magnetic latch. 

“They can’t keep the regular door from locking you in but they put a trick door at the back?”  Erik complained as he climbed through awkwardly.  Very awkwardly.  Her lips were red and swollen.

“Let me grab my things and we can get out of here.”

Erik checked his watch.  “First, we’re turning in your forms.”

“It’s almost five!”

“We’ll make it if we run.”

Panting, they caught the dean just as he was packing up to leave.

“Erik, Christine?  Are you alright?  That was some storm we--”

Erik shoved the forms at him.  “Yep. Terrible storm.  Here.”

“Indeed, Erik.  Why, your hair is a mess and I’ve never seen your shirt untucked.”

“Big wind.  Yep.  Almost hit by lightning.  Here, time stamp?”

“Miss Daaé, you may want to adjust…”

“For God’s sake just take the stupid form so we can go!” Christine shouted.

Nadir laughed and scanned the forms.  “I don’t want to see you until Monday, Erik.  You better be late.”

He didn’t make it in until Wednesday.

...

[itscalypsosims]

Hey everyone! Finally uploading the rules to the Sims 4 Zombie Apocalypse challenge I’ve been playing! It was originally a sims 3 challenge I found on the sims forums that was never finished, so I’m still working on adjusting it to the sims 4 and making my own changes. 

If you’re intersted you can watch my Let’s Play for this challenge:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Mect-bEKcA&t=29s

Original (sims 3) rules can be found here:

https://forums.thesims.com/en_US/discussion/949037/sims-3-zombie-apocalypse-survival-challenge

I modified and changed them a lot for the sims 4, and added many new things to make the game more interesting.

Keep Reading for the Sims 4 rules!

Be careful! The zombies have arrived! Create a group of survivors to live through the apocalypse! 

Setting up the challenge:

You start off with 8 sims. These 8 sims will need to have four kids. Those four kids will have two kids and those kids will have only one child (Of course you can have more and add outsiders to the group. It’s up to you. The point is to have 4 generations). The last child will be the one who saves the world and ends the apocalypse. 

Every sim has to have a role:

The leader - The protector and the organizer of the group. They must have the kleptomaniac trait so they can lead their people on gathering and hunting expeditions.

A second in command -  The person the leader trusts th most. They will take the place as a leader when the leader is away gathering, pregnant, or dead. They should be friends with the leader. Must have the kleptomaniac trait.

Gatherers - Each gatherer will need the kleptomaniac trait. They are responsible for collecting items and gathering food. Swiped items that aren’t usable, you can delete and use the money to build. It is up to you how many gatherers you have in your camp.

Painters - They spend their time painting. You can use the money from painting to build walls. Can not have the kleptomaniac trait.

Planners - The intelligent one.  They spend the day learning how to craft things on the woodworking table. Remember, the higher you get in handiness the more things you can craft or fix. The planners cannot have the kleptomaniac trait.

Gardeners - Any sim can do this no matter what role they play in the group, but it would be useful for a sim to specialize in this activity as well as their other role.

A Doctor - Each generation should have a doctor. this is the person who will work on the cure and some other scientific things to use against the zombies. The doctor can have the kleptomaniac trait. (Rules about each generation’s doctor listed below).

**Remember - Only kleptomaniac sims can leave the camp! A sim without the kleptomaniac trait who leaves the camp must die. they can’t defend themselves.

**Try and craft/steal whatever is possible. Only use build/buy mode if you can’t obtain the object any other way. 

Select a camp:

The size and location are up to you, but you will need shelter from the elements. This could be a shed, a ruined green house, or even a run-down cabin. Just make sure there isn’t anything useful in them. Must have the off the grid lot trait. no beds, showers/bathtubs, electronics, fridges, etc. no crops or ponds. For more realism add trees to delete when you want to build. **Hot tip: Try to find a place in the sims world where you can fish quietly. Zombies will attack you while fishing outside of camp.

Few more setups before we begin:

Give each sim a sleeping bag. Use this mod: http://www.pickypikachu.com/2017/06/snug-as-slug-functional-sleeping-bag.html

Silent phones (Honestly, it doesn’t really work in the sims 4. just imagine they’re Walkie Talkies or something).

Delete the school with mc command center. If you don’t have it just make sure you always click off school.

Lock the door/gate for everyone. The sims will get out and will get bit if you don’t.

Go to the city produce stall and buy 4 tomatoes, 4 apples, and 4 potatoes, and 12 of any other fruit or vegetable. The 12 extra food will be for your sims to eat. Keep in mind that it takes a while for the plants to grow and you’re racing against time. You need to save as much food as you can. So make sure to plant your food as soon as possible.

You are allowed to buy one skill book and one nonskill book. I reccomand a handiness lvl. 2 skill book as it’s the hardest skill to achieve.

Set your family funds to 500.

Make sure your sims are all in the camp before you start the outbreak.

The apocalypse has started! Start the outbreak! You will need to use Sacrificial’s zombie apocalypse mod, you can find it here: https://sacrificialmods.com/zombie-apocalypse-news.html

There are a lot of stuff in the survivor kit you can find. First generation can only use the guns and ammo, and the first aid spray if they can afford it to cure a sim before they turned into a zombie. If they already turned - game over for them, remove them from your household before anyone else gets bit by them. (Each generation will have more things to buy as the doctors progress. Listed below.)

To gain money you can:

Paint.

Sell things you crafted on the woodworking table.

Sell things you stole and don’t need.

Delete walls. But remember- they’re your only protection from them zombies!

Deleting trees or anything made off wood. This is for realism when using the woodworking table.

Gameplay Rules:

One child per sim. Pregnant sims can't go hunting!

Sims must stick together when they leave camp. (Do that as much as you can. sometimes it’s safer to send only one sim, but there’s always a risk).

You can only have toilet bush. Until your planner can craft one out of the woodworking table.

No bathtubs or showers until your planner can craft them. You have to have walls for them.

No electronics, fridges, or lighting. There's no electricity in the apocalypse. 

Scavanging:

This includes fishing, harvesting, and stealing from houses. If you move towns while gathering, you must take a sleeping bag with you and spend the night in said town. You can spend up to 2 nights in that town, but in the hour you left of the next day you have to return to camp (if you left on Sunday at 11 am, you must return on Tuesday at 11 am, for example). If you don't return until then, one of the people who got left behind has to die. This is because you leave them with little food and protection.

**if you have Get Together I recommand starting a group with the leader in charge for the whole survivor group, and one for the scavangers. For scavangers only let kleptomaniacs sims join, and set the group activities to swiping objects, or maybe fishing and harvesting too. This will make the scavanges so much easier.

Being attacked:

Whenever your sims leave camp, they risk being attacked. The zombie apocalypse mod is hectic and they have high chances of dying. When you have enough money, you're allowed to buy weapons from the survivor kit to protect your sims. If you have a kleptomaniacless sim wonder out alone, they die- try to keep them inside the camp. If they get out with a klepto sim, hope for the best. zombies make no exceptions.

If a sim is bit, they will start turning. If you have enough money you can buy the first aid spray to prevent them from turning. Once they've turned, no turning back. Get them out of the household as soon as possible.

Sims keep dying and you’re in shortage of people?

You can add new survivors to the group! You can pick a non infected person off the street or create one yourself and put them in a different household. They can’t join until the leader approves them! The leader must make friends with them before adding them to the household. 

Pregnancy and children:

NOTE: As I haven’t arrived to that moment yet in my game, These rules might still change according to the way things play out.

Though it is a necessary part of life, pregnancy and births do come with their own risk. There's no healthcare in the apocalypse.

**Remember: Each sim can have only 1 child!

When the mother discovers she is pregnant, roll the number generator by 1-10. If you land on 1-4, the mother is sick. Keep her in quarantine and only let her eat fruit and vegetables. No fish. If she eats fish then roll the numbers 9-10. 5-8 everything is perfectly fine, no need to worry. The pregnancy is going smoothly, make sure to keep the mother in camp. 9, the mother dies, but the baby is strong. Wait until after the birth to kill her. 10 the baby passes away. The mother is fine, though distraught. Wait three days before you try again. If the mother has three unsuccessful pregnancies; give her the “hates children” trait. Terminate the pregnancy or delete the baby.

During the pregnancy, keep the mother in camp. If she leaves at all for any reason you will have to roll again. If your sims are trying to have a baby, It would be a good idea to keep her in camp until they are born.

Your Sims offspring should stay in camp until they are a teenager. If they do end up escaping roll a number. 1-2 they die. 3-6 they are sick. 7-10 they are fine.

You should have two boys and two girls at the end of generation one. You can use any mod or fruit to achieve this.

Optional: The child should take the roles of their parents. Or, you can base the roles on their traits. Your choice.

Leader rules:

If the leader dies, those are the options:

The second in command automatically takes their place. Base game compatibe.

If you have Get Together: Create a survivor group, and make the person you want to lead and is not the second in command try and take over the group. If they succeed, they become the leader. If you want it more extreme, they have to kill the previous leader (can also take over a leader if they don’t die, not only the second in command).

If you have Discover University: Make them debate. The winner takes over the group. same rules from the above applies.

When a new generation arrives, you can just choose a leader, and if you can’t decide you can use one of the above, or based on their traits and skills, and social interactions inside the group.

Generations: (Still in developement)

The first generation: The sufferes

These sims are the founders. This is the hardest generation. Lots of sims will die, especially when you start off. But as you work on their skills and scavange more stuff, you will get better at protecting them.

Goal:  By the end of the first generation you must...

Have a fully functional camp made by crafting and stealing. 

Have a graden full of harvestables.

Have at least 2 weapons from the survivor kit: One for the leader, one for the second in hand.

Have at least 4 kids.

Keep the doctor alive.

Rules:

Doctor 1 - The doctor must survive the first generation until the next doctor is picked, then has to teach them what they know. must survive until Doctor 2 achieves level 7 logic skill. Or else the next Generations can not do the things that will be opened up for them below (listed). Also, if the doctor dies no one will ever know how to stop the apocalypse.  This means the doctor has to acheive at least level 6 of Logic skill, and at least the first part of the nerd brain aspiration. (May experience changes in the future).

Can not be left without Kleptomaniac sims! Or else everyone dies and challenge over. 

Only objects that can be used from the survivor kit: Broadcasting radio (only for starting the outbreake), First aid spray (If you have the money), any weapons and ammo that you want (when you have the money).

The second generation:

The children of the founders. This generation will already have a functional camp and have been born in the apocalypse. They are born and raised survivors. When you raise your kids make sure to already work on their skills and assign a role to them. When you give them traits remember to give them the kleptomaniac trait if you want sims to leave camp. Can be the last trait you choose as they turn into a Young adult.

Goal:  By the end of the Second generation you must...

A sim in each role as the original group. (1 leader, one second in command, planners, painters, gardeners, and a doctor).

a fully functional camp! The second generation can choose to move camps! but they can only take what they can carry in their inventories (not the household one). choose carefully! (Use the freerealestate on cheat to move them and don’t sell the furniture to not gain more money by moving. they literally just took whatever they can carry and took over a new place).

Have a graden full of harvestables.

Have at least 4 weapons from the survivor kit. More people in the group know how to protect themselves.

Have at least 2 kids.

Keep the doctor alive.

Rules:

Doctor 2 - The doctor must survive the second  generation until the next doctor is picked, then has to teach them what they know. Must survive until doctor 3 achieved level 8 logic skill.  Or else the next Generations can not do the things that will be opened up for them below (listed). This means the doctor has to acheive at least level 7 of Logic skill, and at least the 2nd part of the nerd brain aspiration. (May experience changes in the future).

Can not be left without Kleptomaniac sims! Or else everyone dies and challenge over.

Only objects that can be used from the survivor kit: Broadcasting radio (only for starting the outbreake), First aid spray (If you have the money), any weapons and ammo that you want (when you have the money). - Zombie Repellent Spray - Only if doctor 1 survived until doctor 2 reached level 7 logic.

The third generation:

They are born and raised survivors. When you raise your kids make sure to already work on their skills and assign  a role to them. When you give them traits remember to give them the kleptomaniac trait if you want sims to leave camp. Can be the last trait you choose as they turn into a Young adult.

Goal:  By the end of the third generation you must...

a fully functional camp! The third generation can also choose to move camp. They figured out how to carry more things, life is easier now! They can use their household inventory. (Use the freerealestate on cheat to move them and don’t sell the furniture to not gain more money by moving. they literally just took whatever they can carry and took over a new place).

Have a graden full of harvestables.

Have at least 8 weapons from the survivor kit. More people in the group know how to protect themselves.

Have at least 1 kid - They must have the kleptomaniac trait and be the next doctor.

Keep the doctor alive.

End the apocalypse! complete the cure.

Rules:

Doctor 4 - The doctor must survive the fourth generation until they reach level 10 logic skill and complete the nerd brain aspiration.

Can not be left without Kleptomaniac sims! Or else everyone dies and challenge over.

Only objects that can be used from the survivor kit: Broadcasting radio (only for starting the outbreake), First aid spray (If you have the money), any weapons and ammo that you want (when you have the money). - Zombie Repellent Spray - Only if doctor 1 survived until doctor 2 reached level 7 logic. - High quality Zombie Repellent Spray -  Only if doctor 2 survived until doctor 3 reached level 8 logic.

The fourth generation:

The generation that will end the apocalypse. This generation will decide if the apocalypse will stay or end! If you managed to follow all the rules above, you have a higher chance.

Goal:  By the end of the fourth generation you must...

A sim in each role as the original group. (1 leader, one second in command, planners, painters, gardeners, and a doctor).

a fully functional camp! The third generation can also choose to move camp. They figured out how to carry more things, life is easier now! They can use their household inventory. (Use the freerealestate on cheat to move them and don’t sell the furniture to not gain more money by moving. they literally just took whatever they can carry and took over a new place).  

Have a graden full of harvestables.

Have at least 6 weapons from the survivor kit. More people in the group know how to protect themselves.

Have at least 1 kids.

Keep the doctor alive.

Rules:

Doctor 3 - The doctor must survive the third generation until the next doctor is picked, then has to teach them what they know. Must survive until doctor 4 achieved level 9 logic skill. Or else the next Generations can not do the things that will be opened up for them below (listed). This means the doctor has to acheive at least level 8 of Logic skill, and at least the 3rd part of the nerd brain aspiration. (May experience changes in the future).

Can not be left without Kleptomaniac sims! Or else everyone dies and challenge over.

Only objects that can be used from the survivor kit: Broadcasting radio (only for starting the outbreake), First aid spray (If you have the money), any weapons and ammo that you want (when you have the money). - Zombie Repellent Spray - Only if doctor 1 survived until doctor 2 reached level 7 logic. - High quality Zombie Repellent Spray -  Only if doctor 2 survived until doctor 3 reached level 8 logic.

Zombification Cure Serum: The most important one, this will end the challenge. Only if doctor 3 survived until doctor 4 reached level 9 logic AND doctor 4 reached level 10 logic skill.

You’re done! You found the cure! End the outbreak by using the Broadcasting radio to cure everyone!

[acaseforpencils]

The Ink Well Foundation.

The Ink Well Foundation is a non-profit that helps bring smiles to the faces of children facing adversity such as illness, neglect, and abuse. I cannot begin to express how big of an honor it is to have Elizabeth Winter on Case—this interview brought me to tears, and it means a lot to share her message on here, so that you all can help more children in need to be able to connect with this incredible foundation.

Bio: I am the Founder and Executive Director of the Ink Well Foundation. Growing up, I had cancer my entire childhood—it was a rare cancer that kept getting misdiagnosed, which meant a fair amount of biopsies and days in the hospital, and finally major surgery where I was told I might wake up without a leg. I am very fortunate in that the doctors were able to remove all the cancer without amputating, and I have been cancer-free since I was about 20 years old. 

That experience gave me a lot of empathy and compassion for kids facing long, isolating hospital stays. There were also other issues during my childhood: I experienced a lot of abandonment with a mother who just could not play the role of mother, and who eventually died when I was fifteen. In general, I just had a pretty severe lack of affection and emotional support growing up. All that made me very tough, in some ways too tough and it wound up creating only further isolation and pain. 

As an adult, I saw that pain mirrored in other children's eyes and I began to seek out a way to connect with them, to help them and myself learn to nurture and heal together. I strongly feel that genuine human bonding can fuel both physical and emotional healing. I also think getting out into nature and carrying that same respect to all wildlife helps us to become humble and connected in a very powerful way, so we stress those ideas in our work often.

In 2005, I was working in animation in New York City, and I stood up in a meeting at work one day, and asked if any of the other artists would like to come along with me to draw with kids facing illness and hardship. A couple people raised their hands, and we went together to Gilda's Club out in Brooklyn (that club house has since closed, but we still go to the one in Manhattan). The artists who came along in those early years, like Rami Efal and Ray Alma, Pedro Delgado and Sergei Aniskov—those people are all still volunteers today! That says so much to me about the kind of people this work attracts. We've all become like family over the years and I love those guys so much. 

It all began at Gilda's Club, but then I reached out to places like the Ronald McDonald House, St. Mary's Hospital and Bellevue Hospitals, and we slowly but surely became accepted and welcomed at healthcare and at-risk support centers all across New York, because the kids loved what we did, and at then end of every event they were begging us to come back. So we always did! That is the true mark of success for me every time, when the kids are yelling at us to get back there as soon as we can.

A few years ago, I learned about the great organization on the Upper East Side, The Society of Illustrators. Their Executive Director, Anelle Miller, connected me with all these other great artists like Stefano Imbert, Bil Donovan, Abby Merrill, and Elana Amity (who is now our Event Director at Mount Sinai Hospital, where she hosts a monthly live drawing call-in show that beams to all the kids' hospital rooms at once). They draw along with us and call or text in with questions and comments. It's hilarious and adorable. We also connected with the great people of the National Cartoonists Society, and wonderful artists like Ed Steckley, Adrian Sinnott, Howard Beckerman, Tim Savage, Marty Macaluso, Joe Vissichelli and so many more. 

After MTV Animation New York shut down, pretty much all my colleagues and I from great shows like Beavis and Butthead, Daria, The Head, and Celebrity Death Match all moved out west. So I had this great group of talented friends still living there, and based on the Ink Well's popularity in NYC, I thought, let's give it a shot there too! I reached out to my former colleague from Rugrats and Wild Thornberrys, Joseph Scott, and asked if he'd be interested in running things there. He is now heading up all our operations in L.A. and he is just the most phenomenally kind and talented person on earth. With his art skills he could do whatever he wanted but he devotes a huge amount of time to the kids we work with and I'm so moved by his giving spirit and boundless good energy. And Michael Daedalus Kenny is also stepping up in a leadership role as our newest Event Director, we've got amazing artists like Marla Frazee of Boss Baby genius, Monica Tomova from SpongeBob, Jeanette Moreno, king of The Simpsons, Chris Harmon from Futurama, Ashley Simpson from Phineas and Ferb, Christian Lignan of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, graphic novelist, Jeremy Arambulo and so many others so we're in great hands there. I just wish the traffic weren't such a problem! It really is tough to get around that city, unlike NYC where there's a decently functioning subway that goes to all our locations, so getting around is no real trouble comparatively.

Tools of choice:  Our events are usually very handmade by design so that the kids can feel like they could do all of this easily by themselves. So we come up with themes like, “Who is your Superhero?,” and we ask the kids to focus on their strengths and what superpowers they wish they would have, and we draw their portraits as such. We are not art therapists, but we feel these event themes help to make the kids focus on positivity and their potential, and therefore help them to bond and heal. 

We do sometimes get more elaborate, like when we teach stop motion, claymation, and we once even taught them how to build homemade rockets on the roof of Bellevue Hospital! One of our Event Directors at the time, Nathan Schreiber, used to come up with the most fantastic science-focused events. He now runs a company called Science Ninjas, that helps kids learn about science with fun card games. But usually it's simple by design.

We are extremely fortunate to have Blick Arts as a sponsor. Their support enables us to provide each child with their own art kit after each event so that they can keep creating on their own after they learn new skills with us so thanks to them we have a lot of the arts tools we need.

Tool I wish existed: I think we do great working with anything we've got lying around- we emphasize the potential of just about anything to become art: we often create characters out of inanimate objects, make flip books, sculptures and puppets— using everything from card stock to socks to toothpicks and gum drops. We keep it accessible and inventive. 

How can we support The Ink Well Foundation? Because our volunteers are by definition "the artists behind the kids' favorite books, films, comics, and TV shows," we don't solicit volunteers from the general public. We do have an online application on our site, so other professionals that meet our criteria in the illustration, animation, and cartooning industries are welcome to apply there. 

What the general public can do is to help us spread the word so that more children can see that others are going through what they're going through, and also so that they see examples of adults believing in them and encouraging them. We try to promote the idea of art as self-expression and a way to get through trying times, ideally together. Connectivity and encouragement are critical to healing, and honestly, to just building a better world. So we talk about that a lot on our social media and at the events themselves. We also honor the kids' intelligence by talking about art in general there— we highlight classic and new artists and ideas and encourage them to learn from those masters as they develop their own skills.

Because we are a very small 100% volunteer-run organization, we focus on giving the kids the greatest events possible, and sometimes that means we don't have a lot of time for social media, self-promotion, and fund-raising. So spreading the word is huge and we are always extremely grateful for, and in need of, any financial donations. 

Where are Ink Well Foundation events held? We operate in New York City and Los Angeles because that's where the top artists in our fields are concentrated. We go to hospitals and at-risk support centers like Ronald McDonald House, Gilda's Club, Bellevue, St. Mary's, Mount Sinai, Childhelp, Covenant House and more. You can see the full list here. 

How can children who don't live near Ink Well Foundation events benefit from your Pen Pals Program? This is another reason we want people to spread the word. Loved ones of a child experiencing serious illness or hardship, who is physically or geographically unable to attend our events, can apply to have a special artwork sent straight to them. We ask the kids what their favorite animated films, TV shows, or illustrated books are, and then we have an artist who actually worked on that production make something tailored to that child. We then frame it up, and send it off to them by mail. 

We've done this with artists from SpongeBob, Captain Underpants, and just a week ago, we delivered a beautiful drawing of Curious George that our Event Directors, Franz Palomares and Lisa LaBracio (both of whom worked on Curious George) lovingly made. This was for a girl named, Maryanne who lives in Florida. She suffers from a rare disease called, vein of galen malformation that has led to brain damage and vision loss. She is unable to talk or walk or eat through her mouth and she suffers seizures but she understands everything around her, and she can feel texture. So Franz and Lisa made her Curious George playing in a sand box, and they glued real sand into the picture, so that Maryanne could feel that, and enjoy the art on multiple levels. Maryanne's mother, Sandra, said that she was thrilled, and that she loves to hold it. 

Our hearts are full being able to share these works with kids who need that moment of light, and that knowledge that an adult they admire, someone who doesn't even know them well, can care enough about them to take the time to create careful, tailor-made artworks just for them. We hope that helps to bring a smile in the moment, and build self-worth long term.

Misc. I'd like to mention that everything we do is 100% free of charge. No one gets paid, no money ever changes hands for the art. We have brilliant artists like Peter de Séve who is on our board and attends many events, while also creating characters for Ice Age, The Little Prince, and all his New Yorker covers. He could get a mint for his works, but he comes down and does this for free, and that's a testament to the power of that loving connection we all feel when we are just selflessly helping one another.

I feel this most acutely when I'm working with youth who have suffered abuse and neglect. We have an Event Director, Jane Archer, who leads our work at Bellevue Hospital. Many of those kids are there because they have been through unendurable trauma, and Jane connects with them beautifully. She begins with a meditation where we all envision our strengths together, we talk about our talents, and hopes for a brighter day, we imagine embodying those gifts and then we gently, patiently, ask the kids to help us draw characters step by step. Many kids start out very suspicious and resistant, even angry. But by the end of the events they are almost always laughing and teasing us, and they don't want to stop creating. It is my greatest joy to experience that transition and I hope we may continue to spread this support and faith in one another for many years to come.

Website, Etc: 

We are @inkwellkids on every platform:

Website

Facebook 

Instagram

Twitter

Find more posts about art supplies on Case’s Instagram! There is a Twitter as well. If you enjoy this blog, and would like to contribute to labor and maintenance costs, there is also a Patreon!

[day6imagines]

Dance With Me - College!AU

[ dowoon ]

*not requested 

word count; 1.9k

genre; fluff

summary - A college!au in which Dowoon, a music student, crosses paths with a fashion major and they immediately get along, despite their opposite personalities. Dowoon is encouraged to dance at a gig in a local venue, instead of shying away and standing reluctantly by the sidelines. 

Going back to college was never something I dreaded. I was just about to begin my third year at the country's most prestigious arts school. There was never a tedious, boring day being a fashion major; the subject was something I was passionate and inspired about. Third year would be just as fun and interesting as the previous two years, however it would be tougher with more detailed assignments and numerous of deadlines to meet. Last year I was fortunate to study abroad, appreciating my adoration for fashion even more.

After packing up and saying goodbye to my family for another few weeks, I got on the train, ready for a three hour journey back to campus. After I arrived, I followed the routine which I had grown accustomed to; dropping my bags off at my student apartment (which I shared with four other students) and greeting the students that had already arrived before leaving to collect this terms curriculum and timetable. I was delighted to see that for this term I had mostly morning classes, finishing early afternoon most days. I liked this since it meant no night classes, plus the campus and library were usually more quiet and less packed in the mornings. After I collected my information from the students office, I turned around to see the campus swarming with students, old and new. Something that I loved about attending an arts school was the fact that it was far from ordinary. The place was bustling with students chatting amongst each other, holding large portfolios, boxes of art supplies or cases for musical instruments such as guitars, violins, cellos et cetera. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips as I smiled, I was happy to be back and let another year begin.

Maybe I was beginning to regret ever thinking I liked morning classes. Waking up before seven am was proving to be a bit of a struggle. However, once I had gotten up and showered, followed by a cup of coffee, I was able to function and proceed to the main library. This term most of my classes were design and drawing, along with textile studies with a term project of piecing together a fifteen page portfolio along with designing garments. It definitely was quite a lot but I enjoyed the demanding work in which my major required. I chose my favourite seat in the library, by the back at the window in a corner surrounded my tall bookshelves and set out my drawing supplies, getting ready to spend the first hour of my morning before classes began practicing some sketches.

Most days I have lunch with two of my closest friends, one a music student and the other being a drama and theatre arts student. We would happily chatter away about various topics, complaining about our food choices which resulted in us just sharing each others food instead.

“Oh! There’s a sort of start-of-new-school-year gig at ‘The Venue’ on tonight, should be pretty fun,” Jae announced, picking up a piece of watermelon from my fruit box.

“Um, I suppose it could be fun, we haven't gone to any back to school event yet anyways,” I added, opening the cap off my water bottle and taking a sip.

“Then it’s decided, let’s go. We’ll meet up there at nine,” Jae explained, picking up his backpack and placing his notebooks inside the pocket.

“See you then, I’d better head to class now so I’ll see you later on,” I said, gathering my lunch’s rubbish and throwing it into the bin.

Deciding what to wear was always a challenging task, however with my different taste in fashion and devotion for it, I loved to spend ages matching different materials, colours and prints. Tonight I decided to pair an oversized plain white shirt with high waisted distressed black shorts which I got at a thrift store (I made them more my own by embroidering floral designs with brightly coloured thread) with floral printed heeled boots, accessorised with a plain black velvet choker and hooped earrings. I kept my makeup simple, only adding eyeliner and a small bit of glitter on my cheekbones. I grabbed my wallet, keys and phone, throwing them into my small bag before hurriedly making my way out of the apartments building and into the city. Butterflies erupted in my stomach as a wave of excitement hit me. I was looking forward to having a fun night out with my friends since I missed their company all summer long.

[ dowoon pov ]

“Thanks again Dowoon for lending me your spare drum kit, I was panicked we wouldn't get anything in time and this show is really important, I owe you one big time,” Sungjin explained, moving equipment onto the small stage in the bar near campus.

“You’re fine, honestly,” I said, helping him by carrying instruments onto the stage and placing them down in their specific spots.

“You should stick around for the show, even play a few songs in the warm up if you'd like, it'll be great,” Sungjin offered.

“I was actually going to just head home, but thanks,” I replied with a polite smile.

“Really? It’s your second last year here! You should be out having fun, please stay! Come on, let’s test out these instruments,” Sungjin elucidated, picking up a guitar. I laughed quietly before walking over to my drum kit. Shortly after we played a few songs, people started filing into the small bar. I stood up from the stool behind the drums before finding Sungjin and thanking him for letting me play a couple of songs.

“No problem Dowoon, anytime. Stick around for the show, I’ll chat to you later,” Sungjin quickly said, before disappearing behind the curtain by the stage.

I aimlessly walked over to the end of the bar where there were less people. Wonpil, another music student in the same year as me, saw me and came over, a big smile plastered onto his face.

“You’re here! I have some friends I would like to introduce to you! Come on, come on, they're over here,” Wonpil shouted over the loud music, pulling me by my right arm. Before I could respond and protest, he pulled me half way across the room before coming to a halt in from of three other people. The three people in front of me seemed merely familiar, but I could put no names to faces. After a brief introduction to everyone, Wonpil and the two other guys, Jae and YoungK, ran off and vanished into the dancing crowd of people.

“Hey, Dowoon, is it?” the girl who introduced herself as Y/N asked.

“Oh um, yes it’s Dowoon,” I stuttered, heat creeping to my cheeks instantly.

“It’s nice to meet you, I never see you out but I see Wonpil around and he has mentioned you a few times, it’s weird that we have been going to the same school for over two years and I have never even met you,” she said, a smile on her lips.

“Yeah, that’s strange,” I nervously laughed, attempting to hide my shy and timid demeanour with an easy going and confident facade, which was beginning to fail.

Her whole appearance was alluring, her effortless yet well put together ensemble absolutely stunning. She wore a natural bright smile which in turn caused her dark orbs to glisten. This stranger, who I knew nothing about, somehow caused me to fall into a trance where I was unable to form a sentence without stuttering and making a fool out of myself. She softly giggled at me and began asking me questions about me being a music major, thinking it was the most fascinating thing she had ever heard. This was something I instantly noted, she listened intently to what you had to say and paid utmost attention. I had never really liked anyone before and had never been in a serious enough relationship to know what it's like to be in love, but Y/N made me feel some way I had never felt before. The aura of confidence she radiated was enchanting and her soft, delicate voice was something I could listen to non stop and not get tired of.

"This band is amazing, I hope they play more gigs in the future," Y/N commented, holding a drink in her left hand. I worried about the way I even stood around her, did I look uncomfortable? Did I look awkward? I didn't want her to think I was this unconfident, shy person - which I may be, but she didn't have to know that.

"Oh, they're really good. Sometimes I fill in when the drummer can't make gigs," I added.

"Seriously? That's amazing! You play drums? I've never met a drummer before," she smiled, placing her now empty glass behind her on the bars counter.

"Yeah, I've been playing for years now, it's the reason I study music I suppose," I admitted, running a hand through my hair to brush it out of the way.

I learned that she was a fashion major which explained her unique and different style.

After we had spoken for a while, Y/N picked up my hand in hers and tried to pull me away from the corner we were currently stood in.

“Wh-what’re you doing?” I apprehensively muttered, scrunching my eyebrows together.

"We're gonna dance," she matter of factly stated, tightening her grip onto my hand attempting to make me move. However, my strength was advantageous - I could remain stood still, refusing to move.

"What's wrong? Why won't you dance with me?" she said, a tiny hint of sadness evident in her voice.

"It's not you, I really can't dance, like it's terrible," I replied, holding her hand back to reassure her it had nothing to do with her. I would've loved to have danced with Y/N, if it weren't for my horrifically bad and clumsy looking dancing skills.

She tried to stifle a laugh before covering her mouth with her hand.

"You'll regret it, don't worry, nobody's watching! Come on, dance with me!" She cheerfully said. Her soft voice distracted me, causing myself to forget I was supposed to be holding myself still but her tight grip on my arms defeated me, causing me to slightly stumble as she tugged me closer and closer to the dance floor.

"Come on Dowoon, dance like nobody's watching, no one here cares! They're only here to have a good time so let go and let's have some fun!" she hollered before holding my left arm up high in the air and spinning herself around underneath my arm.

“Live in the moment! Have fun and feel good! Come on, don't hide,” Y/N continued to call, swaying about to the loud, thumping music.

I could feel the bass and drums of the band underneath my feet and pounding my chest. Y/N held our hands together, twisting back and forth, her long hair swishing around and a beautiful smile prominent on her face.

Before I even realised what I was doing, my feet moved and I began to dance, causing Y/N to smile and laugh, something I wish I could see forever.

In those beautiful few moments, I didn't care who saw me, I did not care if people laughed and pointed at my horrendous dancing, people’s opinions of me and the self consciousness that had previously consumed my mind seemed futile now. All that mattered was that I not only learned to have a bit of fun but I got to spend an evening with the most different and ethereal person I had ever had the priviledge to encounter. I could not describe the happiness that engulfed me that night - I learned to let go and dance.

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