#i swear this was supposed to be someone else

[honeyedfate]

backstage confessions | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x fem!reader + feat. enhypen

genre. fluff (+ crack? im just a comedian really)

a/n. my first fic on this sideblog!! enjoy x

“what are you looking at?” jay’s teasing voice comes from beside you, effectively snapping you out of your daze.

you turn to him hesitantly, feeling like you just got caught doing something sinful. “mm?”

jay holds your gaze, clearly unimpressed by your pretence while taking a bite from his banana. he chews like he has all the time in the world and for a moment you wonder if he had spoken at all. then, he swallows and his lips curve into a smile. the kind you wear when you’ve already stolen someone’s wallet and are now humouring them.

“you were staring,” he eventually says. “at jake.”

“well, damn.” you laugh awkwardly. “don’t make it sound like a crime. and i wasn’t—“

“yea, no.” he shakes his head. “don’t even try. you were locked in for, like, the past 10 minutes. it was serious for you.”

“i have my reasons,” you sputter defensively, hoping those reasons will materialise inside your head right now. then the rest of his words catch up to you and you pull a face. “you’ve been looking at me for 10 minutes?”

“you would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy doing the same thing to someone else.” jay snorts quietly. “besides, there are no reasons. or there’s only one, really. i don’t know if you know what it is, but i do. i know that look.”

you arch your brows. “you sound confident.”

he nods, tossing the peel of his banana into the nearest bin. “i’m not a gambling man but i would bet on it.”

“enlighten me then.”

jay squints his eyes, giving you a look that almost rudely says right. as if you’re ready to hear the truth. and you probably aren’t, but you’re fatally curious and the thought of someone knowing you better than yourself feels both touching and offensive.

“enlighten you about what?” another curious voice cuts in and the two of you swivel around, coming face to face with none other than jake. he tilts his head to the side, big black eyes innocently meeting yours as a strand of curled hair falls down his forehead and oh. oh, you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that.

jay clears his throat, glancing at you as if to check if you’re drooling. “erm, just you know…” he helplessly flails his hands around, gesturing at everything and nothing at all. “stuff.”

you stare up at him.

“smooth,” you mumble under your breath and he elbows your side. jake’s gaze darts between you two.

“you want him to enlighten you about… stuff.” he repeats flatly and you swear you hear jay wince beside you. yes, this is extremely painful and it’s your fault, you hiss at him telepathically, hoping he could hear it. sadly, absolutely nothing comes to mind to eradicate the situation, so you just smile back nervously.

jake eventually bites his lip and forces an awkward laugh, taking a step back while his eyes shine with something you can’t place. “sorry, didn’t mean to pry. if you guys have secrets, that’s none of my business, erm, i’ll just go see what the others are doing.” with an even more awkward wave, he leaves the room.

you round on jay. “what was that?”

he retreats with his palms up, laughing sheepishly. “that was close, wasn’t it?”

“you think?” you say bitterly, flopping down on the cluttered couch, pulling out someone’s charger from beneath you. you haven’t even realised how fast your heart was pumping, but you suppose that seems like an adequate reaction seeing how the boy you’ve been stupidly in love with for months might’ve overheard how you were staring at him yearningly like an idiot. or a creep. god, maybe it’s an heart attack.

“you know,” says jay as he sits down on the opposite couch, speaking at a normal volume now that everyone has left the waiting room. “one day, you will have to tell him. does it really make that much of a difference if you do it today or next week?”

you shoot him an incredulous look. “park jongseong, you’re funny if you believe i was planning on telling him a damn thing. hilarious, actually, for thinking i’d do it next week as if i’d saved it in my calendar.”

“jake probably has.” jay shrugs, smiling fondly. “he probably has an alarm set too. he’s such a J.”

“you’re a J,” says heeseung the moment he strolls into the room, door falling shut behind him. “hey, y/n.”

you flash him a smile over your shoulder. “hi, hee.”

he takes a seat on your left and offers you an open bag of peanuts. you take some and he extends the courtesy to jay who stares at him blankly.

“trying to kill me again?”

“what? you’re not allergic to peanuts.” heeseung frowns, glancing at you. “right?”

“leave me out of it,” you say. “i’m feeling murderous today so if he is, those nuts should not be anywhere near me.”

he studies your face as though to see if you’re serious. “okay then,” heeseung mutters to himself before turning back to his friend. “well, are you?”

jay’s brows furrow. “no, i was just kidding. but you should know if i’m allergic or not, man. peanut allergies are not a joke. we’ve known each other for years, what the hell?”

heeseung stares at him in bewilderment. “you’re not even allergic.”

“i could’ve been, you a—“

“what’s going on?” jungwon cuts him off as he walks in. the others shuffle in behind him, looking at jay and heeseung curiously. “why are you fighting?”

neither of them reply while everyone else makes themselves comfortable on the couch. it’s a whirlwind of movements and things being shoved aside and someone saying “you’re sitting on my hand, riki.” and before you know it, heeseung and jake are sat on either side of you.

sunghoon looks around expectantly. “so? what are we fighting about? might as well join.”

heeseung huffs and pours some more peanuts into your palm, nearly emptying the whole thing. “nothing, he’s just being weird,” he grunts and you grin at jay while he pouts and looks away. apparently, that seems to be a good enough response for everyone and they fall into mindless chatter and doomscrolling on their phones.

you’re in the middle of talking to sunoo about a drama you started last night when you suddenly feel a hand gently wrapping around your left wrist. jake grins at your startled reaction and pulls it towards him to pick some peanuts from your palm. “sorry,” he says with way too much amusement for it to be remotely genuine.

“s’alright,” you reply, not able to stop yourself from smiling shyly when you realise how close you’ve been sitting. you’re close enough to count his lashes if you wanted to, especially when he reaches up to remove a piece of lint from your hair and lets you blow it away.

“oh, wait, i wanted to show you something.” he fishes out his phone and lets his other arm fall on his thigh. since his leg is pressed up against yours, his hand is lying on your thigh and you really don’t want to think too much about it because you might squeal and pass away from embarrassment.

before you can ponder the possibility of that happening, he moves his arm behind your back and pulls you into his side. you are so proud of yourself for masking your surprise and biting back a yelp. the whiff of his perfume and something that smells so undeniably like him drifts to your nose as jake leans closer to show you his screen. you’re looking at the pepe the king prawn trend on tiktok where people share their traumatic experiences, and this one in particular has you in stitches in less than four seconds.

“i knew you’d like this one.” he beams at you with a hint of pride in this voice.

“you were blowing up my phone with these last week.” you move back a little after the last slide, the last remnants of a good laugh hanging in the air between you.

“because i know you’d find them funny,” he says with a shrug like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you hum at the memory. “i had to turn off my phone because i was in the studio and wouldn’t have gotten any work done if your name had kept popping up.”

“oh?” jake looks pleased to hear that. he leans in closer, lowering his voice to a teasing murmur. “why? can’t resist?”

you playfully narrow your eyes at him. “shut up, you know how curious i get.” you look down at your hands. “besides, you stopped sending them, so i figured… i don’t know what i figured.”

a beat of silence follows in which you regret what you said. you didn’t mean to sound so needy.

“the only reason why i stopped was because i knew i’d see you today and i wanted to see your reaction.” jake’s voice is sincere and reassuring. “i saved so many for you, d’you want to see?”

ignoring how your heart flutters uncontrollably, you bite your lip to keep from smiling too much like an idiot. his eyes drift down, lingering there before he blinks rapidly, giving you a lopsided smile and opening the app again to a collection on tiktok that was named after you. no need to overthink that one, right? right.

madonna’s 'like a prayer' gets dramatically louder with each slide and you’re fully immersed, laughing at jake’s commentary and anticipating how it could possibly end when he suddenly stops swiping although there was only one sentence to read, and you’d be mildly offended if he believed you to be that slow of a reader. quizzically, you look at him only to find his eyes already on you. the effect is diabolical.

he’s really just smiling at you—something he’s done a million times even though you wish he hadn’t because you are so sure you could get drunk on it—but this one is painfully gentle and inviting. as if you had just told him you save baby animals in your free time and this was his secret show of tender gratitude. it’s all very confusing.

“you’re so pretty,” says jake, quietly as though it wasn’t even meant for your ears to hear.

his eyes hold so much softness and plain adoration—yes, adoration. even you can see that clear as day—that you immediately feel your mouth go dry and your chest squeeze around your heart. because what is happening right now? jay was right. you are, in fact, not ready to face the truth.

it is ni-ki who has you both crashing back to earth with the call of jake’s name. you tear your eyes away and blink at your lap.

“jay asked if you have anything planned next week.”

still out of it, he glances at you for some reason before settling his puzzled gaze on jay. “we have schedules every day next week, bro. we looked at it earlier in the car. you were there.”

“oh, i know.” jay grins and slides his eyes to you, mischief glinting in them. “so whatever it is you want to do, you should probably do it now. if you’re going to do it anyway.”

it’s like the entire room falls silent, prompting you to eye them suspiciously. “okay,” says jake slowly, clearly not getting the hint. you’re not sure you get it either.

“god,” you hear sunoo mutter under his breath, making ni-ki snort.

“i know,” jungwon sighs. “they’re idiots.”

[librarygarten]

I don't think I'm the only one who thinks Wars was an asshole? Like, is the reader supposed to have -known- they were actually controlling somone? The world they were from, the Links aren't real, right? And here he is instantly blaming them for playing something they'd only know as a game, cruelly making them cry and being just all around awful. I hope someone calls him out on it.

Sorry, nonnie :( Wars was indeed an asshole, but his game would probably one of the worst to live through. He had to watch his men die in a war that turned out to be some sort of sick entertainment for an interdimensional being. Add to that his whole... situation with Cia, and he's not thrilled with the idea that reader might have just. Over-written his free will while playing the game. Don't worry, Twilight will beat up Wars on your behalf <3

#2 Chain x Speedrunner! Deity! Isekai! Reader - Who's in Control?

Part 2 includes Sky, Twilight, and Legend Part 1 ✿ Part 2 (you are here) ✿ Part 3

When you first fell through the portal and joined the chain on their quest, you had revealed that they were only stories in your world. It had taken a while for them to understand the concept of a video game, and even longer for them to come to terms with the fact that some of the most traumatic events of their lives were reduced to children’s entertainment. However, as they talked with you, they came to another horrifying discovery: YOU were their “player.” Your actions in your world, the decisions you made while playing the games, directly influenced their own lives. What’s more, you were a speedrunner.

Sky

“Hey, Y/N?” Sky approaches you at camp, wringing his hands nervously. He won’t meet your gaze. “Did… did I do something to make you mad?”

“What?” You think back on your last few interactions. You hadn’t been treating him any differently. Unless you were somehow a jerk and didn’t even know it? You have been pretty sleep-deprived lately. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that…” He trails off, clearly not sure how to approach this topic. He takes a breath and tries again. “You kind of controlled us during our adventures, right?”

Well, crap.

“I think so? I’m not really sure how it works.” Now you’re the one that won’t look him in the eyes. “My influence on you guys is still… weird to think about.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. Learning the existence of your free will was questionable at best was not a great feeling. “But you controlled everything we did, right?”

“Not necessarily!” You can feel the sweat dripping down your neck. “Talking to some of the others, maybe you guys could influence me, too? Like, Four said he felt scared during the final fight, and that’s the same time that I messed up with the controls!”

Sky hums, as if agreeing. It’s clear he doesn’t believe it.

“But you’re the one that made me jump off that post in Skyloft.” He says quietly. He’s not angry. He just seems sad, honestly. “And then… Fi was there all of a sudden? I can’t remember exactly. Everything seemed so… out of order?”

You swallow the glob of spit in your throat. He was talking about the Back in Time glitch. How did he even remember that? It requires two save files and to move around while in the menu.

“You remember that?” You yelp. “Shoot, I’m so, so sorry. That’s a glitch to make the game faster. I swear, I had known you weren’t just a video game I would have never-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupts, giving a weak smile. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” You ask, but he walks away. He disappears between the trees, and you’re left staring at the empty clearing full of camping equipment.

“...Used to what?” You whisper to yourself.

Twilight

“Y’alright?” Twilight asks you. He’d found you a ways away from camp, curled up agains the side of a tree. You sniff, wiping your eyes but not meeting his gaze.

“Peachy,” you say sarcastically, but your voice cracks, and it sounds more pathetic than anything else. He sits down next to you.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” He smiles. When you don’t respond, he leans forward, trying to get a look at your face. “You know you can talk to me, right? Or I could be Wolfie, if that would be easier? Dog therapy is a thing right? Wolf therapy is just a few degrees removed from that.”

“Don’t go transforming for my sake.” You snicker, finally turning your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying. “It’s nothing. No need for you to get worked up over it.”

“It is very clearly not ‘nothing’.” His eyebrows furrow. “Did one of the others say something? I swear if Legend was giving you grief again–”

“No, nobody said anything. It’s just a lot of things, I guess…” You explain hesitantly. “Like, I got sucked through a random portal and suddenly a bunch of game characters are real. And what’s worse is the things I did in the game actually happened to them? Does that apply to every game I’ve played? What about when I stopped playing a game? Or deleted a save file?” You thread your fingers through your hair, feeling more tears threatening to spill out. How many deaths and traumas were your fault? How many lives have you ruined? 

“You couldn’t have known. Heck, WE didn’t know about you.” Twilight pats your back, bringing you back to reality.

“But didn’t you feel something was off? I was like,” you make claws with your hands, emphasizing your point “controlling you guys against your will or something.”

“Well, it was kinda weird when I stared at a rupee for fifteen hours straight.” He chuckles, “But like I said, you had no way of knowing. Nobody here blames you.”

“I’m pretty sure Wars hates me…”

“Well, he’s an asshole.” Twilight rolls his eyes. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind next time he’s bothering you, ya hear?”

“Okay,” you smile, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Legend

“Speedrunning? That sounds incredibly stupid.” Legend scoffs. You had tried explaining some of the strange things that he had encountered during his adventure, only to be made fun of. Honestly, you probably deserved it a little bit.

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. People compete to get the fastest time, which usually requires glitches.” You chuckle nervously, scratching the back of your head.

“So you broke the very fabric of reality in order to win.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t break reality!” You exclaim.

“I climbed up a ladder and just… kept going up, even when there wasn’t anything to climb on!” Legend throws his hands in the air. “I held a bomb above my head and floated across a room.”

“That’s not necessarily breaking reality,” you grimace. He’s honestly got a point, but you’re not about to concede like that. “People can fly. There’s a whole race of bird people called the Rito in the other timelines.”

“Do I look like a bird?” Legend motions to himself, showing off his very-much-not-a-bird-self. “You know what? Forget it. If all you’re going to do is make excuses, I’m done.”

He turns to walk away, but you grab his hand. His back is to you, so you can’t see his face. Hopefully he won’t hate you too much.

“Legend, I swear I would never have played the games if I knew I was messing with real people. I had no idea.” You sniff, tears threatening to fall. You’re so sick of this. You’re so sick of needing to explain this to them. “Your games were some of the first games I ever played. I remember coming back from school as a kid, excited to play them. I… I loved all the characters. I spent hours trying to find every side quest, trying to get everyone a happy ending. When I started speedrunning… I never could have known… I’m sorry.”

He turns around, his bangs half-covering his eyes. He looks ready to cry, too.

“You loved her too, huh?” He whispers, then laughs, regaining his composure and returning to the snarky Legend you know and love. “Just make sure you don’t, like, puppet me around now, alright? I can’t imagine what the others would do if I started backflipping through walls.”

You giggle at his annoyed expression. They were sure to be insufferable about it.

“Deal.”

[revelboo]

Im not sure if these are updated based on request or based on your whimsy, but if it *is* request based, may I please beg for Ironhide? I love the old man >.<

If not, feel free to ignore and I will continue to patiently wait :) 👍

Love u so much for this blog; it gets me through the work day.

Honestly, it’s mostly based on people reminding me in the asks that I’ve neglected a character or story, because I’m not motivated enough to make a posting schedule I know I won’t stick to and those asks are sitting at over 300 at this point 😂 no matter how fast I go through them

Hold Me Down Pt 4

Ironhide x Reader

• “Rules,” he growls, servos flexing as you scowl up at him from where he’d unceremoniously dumped you on his cluttered desk. “You’re going to behave. Primus help you if I catch your sticky little fingers on anything that’s not yours.” And you’re looking around, ignoring him. Smacking a hand on the desk to make you jump and glare, he grins. “Act like a sparkling and I’ll treat you like one, darling.”

• Eyes narrowing at the big, red jerk, you curl your lip at him. He’d made it abundantly clear that you’re not getting away. That you’re stuck with each other and that he hates it. Well, that’s fine. The hate is pretty much mutual. He’d tried to give you a heart attack after all. And, okay, maybe you’d been trying to steal him at the time, but how were you supposed to know he wasn’t a real van? If anything, this is his fault. And what is a sparkling? Sounds like an insult. One thing you have figured out? He can’t hurt you or you’re pretty sure he’d have chucked you out while driving and that makes you brave to cover up the fear. “Look, demon van,” you say ignoring his pointed ‘it’s Ironhide.’ “You kidnapped me, so I have every right to make you miserable. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

• You’re grinning at him, no longer putting him in mind of a sparkling. No, they’re at least innocent. You’re a vicious little scraplet, all teeth and evil. “Try me.” Because he’s not putting up with any sass or attitude and unfortunately, you seem to be nothing but. He almost liked you better screaming. Bending slightly to get on your level, he reaches out and taps you on the head with a servo. Grimacing as you slap at him, swearing. Maybe gentler next time, he decides as you rub your head to send your hair into disarray. “I’d behave a little better if I was your size.”

• “Well, I’d punt you across the room if I was your size,” you mutter, rubbing your head. He’d thumped you hard enough to hurt. “Jerk. Demon van. Asshole.” Those big servos flex into a fist and you shut up. Know he can’t hit you, but the threat? Cringing and hating yourself for it, you glare up at him, heart racing.

• That shut you up, but it twists unpleasantly through him, too. That fear in your eyes so raw. It’s the look of someone expecting a blow because it’s familiar, cringing but still defiant. Resigned. “Look,” he grumbles, sitting down and suddenly exhausted. “I’m not going to hurt you, but you can ease up on the back talk.” Lips pressing into a thin line, you just shrug. Right. Brat. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not cut out for taking care of sparklings.” And far too old for it besides.

• That word again. You’re beginning to suspect what it means and it’s not flattering. “You understand that I’m an adult, right?” When he just stares, you swallow a laugh. “I’m not a kid, pal. I’ve been on my own for years and I don’t need taking care of.” Or want it. Relying on other people, trusting them to look out for you, to have your back can only come back to bite you. The only one you can count on is you. You’ve learned that the hard way. Anything else just gets you hurt and you’re so sick of pain.

Previous

You hold me down

You're the echoes of my everything,

You're the emptiness the whole world sings at night.

You're the laziness of afternoon,

[shinysobi]

pretty u

summary: when joshua, your best friend gets engaged, you can't help but feel as though you're missing out on something important. jihoon, your other best friend, kindly offers to set you up with one of his many friends. chaos ensues, seungkwan is an observer who knows everything, and unfortunately, mingyu is a hapless victim.

pairing: woozi x fem!reader

genre: crack, fluff, angst, light smut

word count: 11k~ish (NOW YOU SEE WHY IT TOOK ME SO LONG)

warnings: alcohol consumption, general warnings apply,

a/n: this is the final chapter, a doozy because i dragged my feet instead of completing it. but i wanted to finish this for the new years, and so, here we are, a belated merry christmas present from me to you, and hopefully i can write more in 2025 a/n 2: comments and reblogs are always much appreciated, and i'd like to know your thoughts about this story heheheh

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Chapter 4

Its funny, how easy it is, to slip into habits. Old habits, ones that have seeped into your routine over time. I wake up, check my phone for emails. I make coffee, check my phone for emails. I get dressed for work, check my phone for emails. On weekends, I do chores leftover from the week, read books I have to write reviews of.

I would most certainly not be taking a nap in the middle of a Saturday with Lee Jihoon. I would not be lying down in my bed, lying next to, nay, cuddled up with, Lee Jihoon. If anyone had told me, even a few hours ago, that I would be snuggled up with Lee Jihoon, my best friend since university. Wait. Can we even call ourselves friends?

“Jihoon.” I whisper, elbowing him in the ribs. “Jihoon.”

“Mm, five more minutes,” he mutters, “I’ll get up then.”

“Hey, wasn’t your meeting with the producers this afternoon?” I ask, “you’ll be getting in a world of trouble because you didn’t show up.”

“I won’t be getting in any trouble.” Jihoon replies, voice thick with sleep, “I’m the terrible child of the company. They’ll keep me around as long as I make good songs for them, they’ll change meeting times when I ask them to. They’ll do anything as long as I’m happy.”

“You’re taking advantage of your position,” I smile, shifting closer to him, “anyone would think you have a horrible work ethic.”

“It’s all okay when it’s regarding my—wait, what are we?” Jihoon sits up in the bed, still half-dressed, “are we still friends?”

“Depends. Do you kiss your friends?” I sit up, facing him, “then we’re friends. Otherwise, we’re not.”

Jihoon pulls a face, “I just imagined kissing one of the boys. Ew, no, never.”

“Then I suppose we aren’t friends anymore.” I smile, leaning in, “we’re something else, then.”

“Can I call you my girlfriend yet, or no?”

I laugh. From this angle, his face is soft, so soft it feels as though he’ll evaporate if I try to touch him, “depends. Do you kiss your girlfriends?”

Jihoon grins, pressing his lips to mine, “all the time.”

“M-hmm,” I smile, touching his cheeks, soft and pliable underneath my fingers, “Woozi, aren’t you being a little presumptuous? All the time? What do you mean all the time?”

He pulls a face, “I swear to god, if you start some bullshit again, I’m going to break up with you.”

“And we’ve been together for what, three hours? That has got to be a new record, even for you, Jihoon.” I say, laughing as Jihoon tackles me to the pillows, “not to mention you’ve been pining over me for the past what—six, years, since you went for your military service. Imagine liking someone for that long, and not telling anyone about it.”

“At least I had the decency to keep it to myself like a normal adult,” Jihoon replies, “you on the other hand, you were a wreck after a week. Imagine being that down bad over a man. You should be repulsed by yourself. What would Andrea Dworkin say?”

“And that’s it, we’ve had a good run, bye,” I begin, trying to get out of bed, but Jihoon stops me, “let me go. You said yourself that I should be repulsed because I like you.”

“Three hours and five minutes,” Jihoon replies, “not bad at all, given that two of them were spent sleeping.”

“Really, who the fuck sleeps after getting together with someone? It’s like, violating the first ethics of relationships,” I grumble, “imagine kissing your best friend, who’s now your boyfriend, who then proceeds to take a nap in your bed? Who would do that?”

“Were you disappointed?” Jihoon asks, his expression changing to sly, “were you expecting something else?”

I roll my eyes, struggling to get out of his grip, but unfortunately, all the hours Jihoon has put in the gym has now created a reality where I can no longer get out of his grip, “no, I wasn’t, I was just expecting you to not snore on me after kissing me in my living room.”

His face falls, and he is about to say something, when my phone rings loudly, making me jump, “what the hell? Why is your ringtone so loud?”

“It’s not!” I reply, “I just forgot to switch it back to silent after coming back home today. I had it set on full volume last night. And give that to me.” I swipe to accept the call,  and soon enough, Jeonghan’s voice floats through the speakers.

“How are you two doing?” Jeonghan asks, and I stare at Jihoon, who seems to be equally confused as me.

“Jihoon said he was going to meet you, I figured that you two might have finally gotten your shits together,” he clarifies, “I’m not that old, nor do I have enough sense to stay out of your affairs.”

“Yes, yes, hyung, you’re the nosiest of us all,” Jihoon grumbles from next to me, “yes, we’re doing fine, thank you very much.”

“Great!” I can hear the barely-concealed glee in his voice, “Chan, tell the rest of the guys to pay up. I’m the only one who guessed correctly that they were going to get together by today.”

“Pay up—wait, hyung, you were betting on my love life?” Jihoon screeches, “why the hell would you do that?”

“I’ve seen and heard you pine over her for the past eight years, you nitwit, of course, I’m going to host a betting pool for when you finally get together. Not to mention, you’ve just made me an entirely obscene amount of money, which I’m going to spend happily.”

“Wait, if you knew Jihoon was going to come to see me, why did you take so long to call us?”

“I was being polite.”

“For what?”

“Well, if you two were having sex, I would not like to be calling in the middle of it now, would I?” he giggles even as Jihoon and I both let out twin gasps of surprise, “What? Did you not put years of sexual tension into use?”

“That’s inappropriate, hyung.”

“So, you haven’t.”

“Oppa!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Jeonghan lets out one final demonic cackle (still cannot believe I called him my angel once), “I’ll let you two lovebirds be together. Oh, and Soonyoung told me to tell you, Jihoon, that he’ll take care of the meeting today. You can take a day off once in a while.”

“Thanks, hyung, I’ll go back to sleeping,” Jihoon mutters, handing the phone over to me and immediately burrowing himself in the sheets to get some more sleep.

“I’ll make myself scarce then, shall I?”

“Wait, oppa,” I say, thinking very hard, “you did this on purpose didn’t you?”

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

“I mean the whole situation. You were the one who kept telling me about how long Jihoon has liked me for, and you were the one who I called before Jihoon took the phone away from you and talked to me.” My voice takes on an accusatory note, “Yoon Jeonghan, did you manipulate me and Jihoon into confessing so that you could win a bet?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

“So, you did.” I stand up from the bed, ignoring Jihoon, who’s already snoring softly, “Yoon Jeonghan, you better give us a share of the pool.”

Jeonghan laughs on the other end of the phone, “fine, fine, I will. I’ll take you and Jihoon out for samgyeopsal this week. Cool?”

“Just so you know, while we both will be there, I still don’t appreciate this.”

“Come on, writer,” Jeonghan wheedles, “anyone could see that you were both circling each other for half a decade. It was exhausting to watch, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too!” he hangs up, and I go back to bed, sidling up to Jihoon, who hugs me in his sleep. Its nice, being this way. I can pretend that the world is just the two of us, in my bed, sleeping in the afternoon.

Jihoon doesn’t look lonely anymore. In fact, he looks happy, smiling even in his sleep. When was the last time I saw him like that? A memory floats up to my mind, of another afternoon, spent in Jihoon’s  flat, after we’d all finished giving the final exams. Jihoon had a job lined up with a production company, and I was about to start working with an online fashion magazine. Joshua was in graduate school, and everything was fine. We spent that one afternoon watching trashy soap operas on Netflix, drank too much booze and smoked too many cigarettes, and finally, just before we went to sleep, I could swear I saw a ghost of a smile on Jihoon’s face.

Until a week later, when his enlistment notice came, and I never saw that smile again. But now it is there, and I can reach out and touch him, and I can see his face relax even more under my touch, as if Jihoon had been craving it, even in his denial. I probably have, even after so long. Years of wondering ‘what if’ and now, finally, it’s here.

“Jihoon,” I whisper, “Jihoon.”

“What?” he burrows further into the blankets, “I’m cold now.”

“Jeonghan kind of manipulated us both into getting together.”

“He did?” Jihoon mumbles, “good for him, I now have a girlfriend.”

—

Jihoon wakes up in the middle of the evening, and shakes me awake too, because he’s hungry and I have to cook for him.

“I’m the one who told you about this apartment, so you kind of owe me,” he says, perched on a stool, “and no ramen, please. I’ve been living on that for so long I know all flavours that are there, and the convenience store guy looks at me strangely whenever I go inside.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” I mutter, chopping up vegetables to put in a stew, “I don’t have anything in the house, so you’re going to have to be happy with a random stew of things I found lying in the fridge.”

“That’s fine.” He replies, “at least I don’t have to starve.”

“Yes, Mr Woozi, I appreciate the concern, now wash the rice.”

Lunch (dinner? Linner?) is kimchi stew, with old vegetables and things that were almost going bad, but he eats it like it’s a Michelin-starred restaurant meal. Jihoon is not really picky: I’ve seen him eat everything from day-old scraps to a croissant that was growing mould on it (the less said about that the better) but us eating in my kitchen, this feels strangely domestic to me, in a way that’s almost scary.

“Are you scared?” Jihoon asks, spooning up rice into his mouth, “don’t worry, I’m scared too.”

I stare at him, “have you become psychic, by any chance? Do you want to change your profession to shaman?”

“I’d be a shitty shaman either way,” he replies, “the only person I know how to read well is you. You have that look on your face, so I asked.”

“What look?”

“The look that you get when you’re terrified of something, but you also want to do it.”

“I don’t have a look.”

Jihoon stares at me, “You totally do, I know it; it’s the same look you got when you attempted to take that class on Psychoanalysis in second year.”

“I sucked at it.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, you were terrified, but you also wanted to do it, I know that look. You might think you’re fooling people, and you can, but the last person you can fool is me; Joshua, to an extent, but I doubt he’s made a hobby of reading your every expression over a period of eight years.”

I make a face. Jihoon notices, because of course he does, “that’s the face you make when you don’t like what the other person is saying, but you know that they’re right.”

“That’s unfair, Jihoon.”

“Is it? I’ve known you for so long, of course I should know about your expressions.” He smiles, before leaning over to kiss me on the cheek, “that’s the expression you make when your surprised.”

“Then don’t fucking surprise me!” I press a hand to my cheek, “what was the reason for that?”

“Nothing, just making sure I didn’t dream up the last few hours, and that I can really kiss you whenever I feel like it.”

“I have to want it too, you know. Also, when did you get so keen on physical affection? I’ve literally never seen you be this way with anyone before.’

He shrugs, “I wasn’t pining over those people for years, so that’s there, too.”

I don’t know what to say to this, so I just laugh at his words, “Jihoon, aren’t you being a bit hard on them?”

“On who?”

“The women you’ve dated. The people I’ve dated. Like it or not, they are a part of us. They’ve made us into the kind of people we are today.” I take a sip of the soup, “would you have asked me out if we were in university? Or after you came back from the military?”

He pauses to think about it, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of kimchi, “probably not.”

“And even if you did, we would have hated each other, and broken up in a week. So, let’s not talk about the people who have given a part of their lives to us.”

Jihoon nods, “understood. Does this mean you’re going to invite your exes to your wedding?”

I laugh, “not to that extent, no, but I will respect them for their time and affection that they gave to me because for better or for worse, they were a part of who I was, before I fell in love with you.”

“Fell in love?” Jihoon gasps, “are you saying you’re in love with me?”

“As if this was even part of the question. Of course I’m in love with you.” I take a deep breath, standing up to clear out the remnants of dinner, “I don’t know how to say this properly but, I’ve loved you all throughout the time I’ve known you. As a friend, as a lover, as my family here in Seoul. I’ve loved you all the time. At the risk of sounding cringe, there has not been a time when I haven’t been full of love for you. Even if it didn’t seem that way, I’ve loved you for years.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, instead wraps me into a hug, “have you been taking lessons on how to deliver a speech?”

“Why, yes, I have.”

He giggles, which is a rare sound coming from him, “I’ve always loved you too. Even if I didn’t show it, even if I didn’t express it well, I have loved you.”

I kiss him, “sorry for taking all this time to realise my feelings.”

He shakes his head, “no, don’t be sorry for that. The way you are, the way you will be, I’ll always love you.”

—

I text Eunseo in the evening, asking her to meet me for coffee. Joshua and Jihoon are both too busy for brunch, so I have some time to burn. Eunseo texts me back within minutes, eagerly agreeing to meet me. I text her the name of the same café the three of us go to for brunch.

“You look great,” Eunseo says as soon as I walk in, “did something great happen?”

I stare at her. She’s dressed to go out this morning, wearing a light green dress under a heavy brown coat. In comparison, I’m wearing my office pants and a white shirt. We’re dressed miles apart. Saying that I look good is almost an insult.

But Eunseo doesn’t insult anyone, even knowingly, so I take my seat and say, “you’re joking.”

“No, not at all,” she replies, “you’ve got this glow that I cannot really put my finger on. It seems as though something great happened in the past few days.”

“Well, I did begin seeing Jihoon, so,” I shrug, but Eunseo is already clapping her hands in joy, “what? What’s going on?”

“Wait, I have to tell Joshua to come meet us,” she chirps, “I’m not saying anything until he comes back, but I’m so happy for you, you have no idea.”

Joshua, who was looking at suits in the morning, comes to the café within minutes, by which we already have ordered a bunch of things. He comes in looking harried, and the first thing he says, “I thought this was an emergency! You texted me she was dying!”

Eunseo laughs, “that was the only way to get your attention, josh, I’m so sorry.” Her expression shows that she isn’t sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Joshua sits down on the chairs, “you’re not sorry at all, Eunseo.”

They share a sweet moment, and normally, I’d pull a face and call them cringe, but today, I just don’t feel like it. maybe it’s the hormones of being in a relationship, or maybe I’m finally growing soft around the edges, but I think, what would happen if I text Jihoon to come see us right now? He’d probably scowl and refuse, but I can’t help but imagine the two of us in place of Joshua and Eunseo, sharing a nice moment. This is it; I think to myself, this is the moment you realise you’ve gone entirely crazy because of a man.

“Anyway,” I say loudly, interrupting the two of them, “Eunseo called you here because I have an announcement.”

Joshua stares at the two of us, “is she dying?”

“No! What the fuck, Joshua, I’m not dying!” I say, irritated by this line of conversation, “as I was telling Eunseo, I’m not dying, I just began seeing Jihoon.”

“But you can see him all the time,” Joshua says, still clueless as ever.

“Romantically. Joshua, romantically. We’re dating.” I say, rolling my eyes.

Joshua stares at me, speechless for a whole ten seconds, before he starts laughing, “finally. Cannot believe I had to endure all those years of Jihoon pining over you and you dancing around him because you wanted to avoid your own feelings.” He turns to Eunseo, who looks equal parts disgusted and horrified, “they are probably two of the most obvious people in existence.”

I narrow my eyes, “you both knew about this? And no one told me?”

To her credit, Eunseo looks apologetic, “I just didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge that we all were aware of the dynamics between you and Jihoon; you seemed like you were still figuring it out, and Jihoon didn’t seem like he wanted anyone else to know. But he’s right, you know. You two were seriously the most obvious people in the world.”

I want the earth to split up and swallow me whole, right at this moment. What do you mean we were the most obvious people in the whole world? “What do you mean we were the most obvious people in the whole world?” I wasn’t even aware that Jihoon had feelings for me until a few months ago! “I wasn’t even aware of my own feelings until very recently.”

Before Eunseo can reply to my statement, her phone rings, and she makes a face before picking it up, saying, “it’s the realtor. He is supposed to meet us later in the week.”

Joshua pulls an identical face, and not for the first time since they started dating, I wonder why it is that all couples start to look alike after a few years of being together. However, for the first time, I also wonder how Jihoon and I would look like after a few years together. Would we be annoying, like Joshua and Eunseo? Or would we be one of those couples who always fought and broke up and patched up, all within the span of a week, like those people in university? But that would mean I’d have to spend enough time with Jihoon, becoming one of those couples.

“You’re putting on your thinking face,” Joshua says, bringing me out of my reverie, “it’s the expression you make whenever you’re imagining something.”

“I don’t do that,” I defend reflexively, but I know he’s true, simply because this is not the first time someone has told me about my ‘thinking face’. It is, however, the first time that someone has called me out when I was thinking about Jihoon. “What were you saying?”

“Eunseo just left to take the call from the realtor,” Joshua smiles, “I must say, I saw this coming from a mile away.”

I scowl, “what do you mean you saw this coming from a mile away? I’m not someone who’s that predictable, am I?”

“Well, it is true. You are kind of predictable,” Joshua shrugs, “you’ve been wearing the same clothes since university, you eat the same ten dishes all the time, and you even like the same kind of side dishes. You’re very predictable.”

I sigh, “yes, fine, I’m predictable. Still doesn’t mean you saw this coming from a mile away.”

“Have you seen the way you and Jihoon behave around each other? No matter how much you say that you can’t stand the sight of the other person, Jihoon cares about you the most. He drops everything at a moment’s notice to come to your aid. You do the same thing too, it’s just that you aren’t as forthcoming about it as him.”

“Was that why you were behaving weirdly on that night?”

“What night?” Joshua seems to have entirely forgotten that one Sunday, except it is ingrained into my mind like its just yesterday, “I don’t remember anything.”

“The night that you proposed to Eunseo,” I say, trying my best to not sound frustrated, “when Jihoon told you he was helping me hook up with people, you reacted really strangely.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Joshua looks sheepish, “I shouldn’t have overreacted like that, but it was very confusing for me.”

“Confusing?”

“Imagine one of your closest friends, who has been pining over another one of your closest friends, telling you that he is helping the girl he has had a crush on for the past six years, in getting her a boyfriend. How would you feel about that?”

“Um, well,” I pause on it, “I’d think my friend was stupid.”

“That’s it!” Joshua yells, “see how it was confusing for me? all throughout university I thought Jihoon had a crush on you, but all of a sudden, after years as your friend,  he’s trying to set you up with other men? I thought he was being an idiot.”

“Well, I told him he shouldn’t be doing that,” I grumble, “he didn’t even listen to me and went and blabbed to you about how he was going to set me up with one of the boys.”

“You were the one who made that comment about Mingyu,” Joshua accuses, “I’d better not see you make any excuses for yourself. And what does ‘platonically motorboat’  even mean?”

“It means you would like to motorboat someone, but platonically, not romantically,” Eunseo says, walking into the café, “babe, the realtor wants to see us today, if we can.”

“Really? He wants to meet us today? After changing the date so many times?” Joshua groans, “never mind. We should be glad he’s meeting us poor people, who just want to buy a newlywed home.”

“You should be glad he’s meeting you at all,” I say, gesturing for the check, “if I ever saw a credit score as bad as yours’, I’d refuse to give you any credit, let alone show you houses.”

Both of them pull identical scowls, “yes, yes, showing off your excellent credit, go on,” Joshua says, “I just know you bragged all about it to Jihoon already.”

“You’re not wrong,” I reply, grinning, “but Jihoon said I should brag to others too, so I’m bragging to you.”

“Never mind her babe,” Eunseo puts her hands over Joshua’s ears, “she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

The three of us walk out into the early winter morning, shivering in the cold. Joshua and Eunseo promptly set off in a taxi to go meet their realtor, while I make my way to my apartment, suppressing my urge to text Jihoon about his work. I’ve been endlessly curious about his process ever since university, but the only times he’s allowed me into the studio I’ve either fallen asleep within ten minutes of being there, or we had conversations about things that were not related to his music production. On the other hand, if I text him right now, badgering him about his work, I will seem like either a. an insane, clingy girlfriend, or b. a stupid, clingy girlfriend. In both cases, Jihoon is going to get sick of me so fast, he’s going to break a record with how fast he’s going to dump me.

In university, I was part of the journalism club, and on the first group outing, one of the seniors, drunk off of one too many soju cocktails, had taken the first-years aside and talked about how one should behave when in a relationship. “Now listen,” she had said, “never, I repeat, never, let him know that you’re into him, especially in the first few months of dating. The less he knows about your real feelings, the better.”

“But sunbae,” one of my freshman year-mates had raised her hand, “what happens if your boyfriend gets to know how much you like him in the first few months of the relationship?”

The senior had sighed, before saying, “you’ve got to understand why men like women. They don’t like the person we actually are; they like the chase. They like the person we pretend to be when we start dating them for the first time. Therefore, unless you’re absolutely sure that this is a man you want to keep around for a long time, you must not let your real self show around him.”

We had all nodded, as if we understood what she was talking about, and I had spent the last few years   of my life earnestly following this rule. Never allowing my real self to be shown around the people I have dated. But now I’m dating Jihoon, who has been around for all of the embarrassing chapters of my life. How do I navigate this new change in dynamic?

My phone pings, and I look down, expecting a text from Joshua or Eunseo, talking about their wedding, but instead of the two of them, its Jihoon.

hoon: did you tell joshuji?

hoon: he just texted me btw

hoon: he also says that we have both been huge idiots

I pause in the middle of the road in my surprise, and narrowly miss hitting a pedestrian. I always knew Joshua was a snitch, but telling Jihoon not even ten minutes after I’ve left? That’s just low.

big dick (canon): cannot believe Joshua snitched

big dick (canon): actually no, I do believe it

big dick (canon): he and Eunseo ditched me after brunch so I’m now being forced to go back to my home

big dick (canon): my home that I love and adore

big dick (canon): but still, I don’t really want to hang out in my apartment all by myself

big dick (canon): it’s so boring

big dick (canon): I’m going to kms

hoon: you know, one of the many, many perks of having me as your boyfriend is

hoon: that you can come hang out in the studio with me all the time

hoon: and I won’t even get angry with you, unlike how I get with others

hoon: because I love you, and this is a perk I provide to my loved ones ONLY

big dick (canon): you have canonically told all twelve of your friends to fuck off from the studio, at least once in your lifetime

big dick (canon): and I’m not even including all the times you have told me no for an interview

big dick (canon): if I count all those times, its going to go to a hundred, EASILY

big dick (canon): and you’re telling me to come hang out with you

big dick (canon): this is HIGHLY sus

hoon: just come to the studio my god you’re so dramatic

hoon: don’t take this as a sign to stop being dramatic, I actually like it when you do that

hoon: if you tell this to anyone else, I’m going to deny it and kill you

big dick (canon): you won’t do that you like me too much

big dick (canon): anyway, should I bring something for you to eat

hoon: have I ever told you that I love u

big dick (canon): yes, u have

big dick (canon): multiple times, in fact

hoon: ugh so dramatic

big dick (canon): I won’t get you anything, then

hoon: get me some fried chicken

big dick (canon): I’m having it delivered to your studio. I’m coming in ten

By the time I enter Jihoon’s studio, the chicken has been delivered, and I open the door to see Jihoon munching on a drumstick. Unlike other days, the studio is messy, and he looks like he’s been through hell. Which, if you take Jihoon’s word for it, is not much, just three meetings.

“Shouldn’t you leave one drumstick for me?” I ask, shrugging my winter coat off, “fuck, its cold as hell outside.”

“Needed brain food,” Jihoon replies through a mouthful of chicken, “had a meeting in the morning, the sound engineers needed some changes to be done to Hoshi’s title track.”

“Sounds like shit,” I mutter, picking up a piece, “you’ve been working on that since the morning?”

“Not just that, but the girl group song too,” he replies, “they liked the first song so much that they want another song from me. I’ve been looking through the scratch files on my computer to find out what songs I can give to them that aren’t emo ballads I made after one too many drinks.”

“You know, some of us just vomit after getting wasted. Are you trying to brag to me that you become more creative when drunk?”

“I’m not bragging, some of these are actually atrocious,” he says, pointing to the icons on the screen, “this one is just called ‘I’m never going to be alive’. What does that mean? Why was I thinking about this at three in the morning?”

“Entertaining suicidal thoughts at three in the morning is something we’ve all done, actually.”

“This is just called ‘Love hurts’, and this one, I named it ‘Park PD is a bitch’.”

“I’ll go tell him you said that.” I laugh when Jihoon’s face darkens, “okay, okay, fine, I won’t, but why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him at all. he was probably getting on my nerves at that moment, and instead of talking it out like real adults, I chose to instead make a song draft calling him a bitch.”

I look closely at the computer screen, “Wait, Jihoon. All of these songs are love songs. To an extent. How many love songs have you written over the years?”

He takes a minute to answer that, “since university, I’ve either created existential songs or love songs, so, I’d say, about a hundred? Give or take, but I won’t put a number on it, since I’m not really sure.”

“You wrote about a hundred love songs?”

“Yes, I did, and they’re all in here,” Jihoon pats the external hard drive hooked up to the computer, “this holds pretty much all of my work.”

“Makes sense as to why you would guard it with your life.” I reply.

I go to sit back down, putting my feet up on the sofa, and Jihoon gives me a dirty look. I just smile in reply. He’s always a stickler for these kind of rules, but it’s funny to see him be so rattled. I’m not going to lie and say that seeing him be irritated is funny, because it is. An angry Jihoon is a cute Jihoon, I’ve learnt that back in university. Especially when he pouts like that.

“You still wear minion socks?” Jihoon says, stuffing his mouth with chicken, “I gave you that as a gag gift last year, you should have thrown them out as soon as you got them.”

“I like the socks. They’re comfortable.” I reply, shrugging, “who gave you the idea to give me socks as a gag gift?”

“Soonyoung. He thought it would be funny to give you cartoon socks.”

“Joke’s on him, I like having my feet warm.”

After Jihoon and I finish the chicken and clean up in record time, he goes back to his workstation, and I’m free to observe him as much as I want to. Seeing Jihoon in his element is always an experience. Even in university, I used to observe him when he worked. He has a singular focus on whatever he does, from eating to producing music. I’m also not going to lie to myself and say that he isn’t attractive when he works, because somehow his attractiveness gets turned up a hundred notches when he’s working. Or maybe, I like him too much and I find everything about him attractive. His eyes are laser-focused on his work, and the lines of his neck, disappearing into his shirt, is at odds with the Jihoon in my bed yesterday, peacefully sleeping as he held me for warmth. Before last night, I never knew that Lee Jihoon was someone who got cold even underneath a comforter, and liked holding someone else for warmth.

“You’re staring,” Jihoon says, breaking my line of thought, “I’ve been talking to you for the past ten seconds and you’ve been staring into space.”

“I was just looking at my handsome boyfriend as he works. Is that not allowed?”

“Stop saying that.” He mutters, going back to his work, but I can see him turning red. Jackpot.

“Jihoon.”

“Hm?”

“Are you blushing right now?”

He turns around to give me an impressive glare, “no, I’m not.”

“The back of your neck is red.” I grin, “were you getting shy?”

“No, I wasn’t.” he lies, his ears going red. At this rate, he might burst into fumes.

“Your ears say otherwise, Jihoon,” I stand up, walking over to his chair, “your ears and your neck is red. You’re getting shy, aren’t you?”

“What! No, I’m not—” he pauses for a moment, turning away from me, before grabbing me by the waist, “stop teasing.”

“I won’t,” I giggle, taking the opportunity to climb into his lap, “see! You’re going all red.”

His face is still turned away from me, but I can see the blush on his cheeks, “are you going to continue to lie to me, Jihoon?”

He pauses, before huffing, “you’re gonna regret teasing me, you know.”

“Pretty sure I won’t—aah!”

Unfortunately, my plan had but one singular flaw in it. I had underestimated how much he worked out on a weekly basis. Jihoon just glares at me, before picking me up and walks over to the sofa, my legs dangling around his waist. Seriously, how much does this guy work out?

“Really? I was working, and in the zone, and you had to tease me like that?” he grumbles, before unceremoniously dumping me on the sofa, “I shouldn’t have invited you over. Let me go back to work.”

“But you did,” I grin, my hands around his neck, “you invited me over. Lured me in, I’ should say. You lured me in, and now you should pay the price.”

Jihoon groans, before smiling, “is this how it’s going to be all the time?”

“Mm, I’m afraid so.”

Lying down on the sofa, I can see the lights on the ceiling, bright white, ones that Jihoon claimed helped him with his workflow. I hated them in the beginning, claimed that they hurt my eyes, but over time, I grew used to them, to the point where I can’t imagine there being anything else. Bright white lights. A comfortable sofa. Jihoon’s face obscuring my vision, so close that I can make out every individual eyelash. His mouth, full and open, insistent against mine. Jihoon kisses like he wants to do nothing else, I’ve realised. As though this was what he wanted to do all along. Anything is okay. I’m not afraid of falling, if it’s Jihoon. which is why  I find myself doing strange things. Like allowing him to touch me, even if it’s in the middle of day, in a room where anyone might come in; like allowing him to undress me, even if I’m underneath harsh white lights. Because its him, because its Jihoon. I can touch him in return, slip my hands underneath the shirt he’s wearing, because I can press my mouth just as insistently against him as him.

“So, this is how it’s going to be, is it?” he says, unbuttoning my shirt, “wait. You’re not wearing a bra?”

I roll my eyes. Of all the things he can talk about, this is what he chooses to focus on? “No, Jihoon, its winter. I’m wearing three layers over this. Of course I don’t want to wear a bra. It’s too much work.”

“I wish it was winter forever,” he replies, continuing to unbutton my shirt, “good god, if this is the outcome, I wish it was winter all throughout the year.”

“The economy is gonna hate you.” I mumble against his mouth, “imagine a whole year of winter. The economy is gonna go haywire. And all because you’re horny.”

“It’s a proof of how much I’m attracted to you, that I’m still working on  your shirt after you just started talking about the economy,” Jihoon finally manages to slip off the shirt I’m wearing, “total buzzkill.”

I scowl, yanking his shirt over his head in one go, “sorry I’m such a buzzkill, then.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Jihoon kisses my cheek, “you’re so beautiful. Have I told you that?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Remind me to tell you this every day, then.” His hands are soft on my hair, stroking, “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

“Even compared to Jeonghan?”

“Even compared to Jeonghan.” He repeats, “why do you have to bring him up now?”

“Just like that.” I smile, kissing him softly, “so, you like this?’

“Is this how it’s going to be now? For the foreseeable future?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Thank god,” Jihoon murmurs, his hands on the button closure of my trousers, “I can’t wait for the future, then.”

—

Being in this industry means you have to meet with a lot of people. When I say a lot of people, I do mean a lot of people. I’ve managed to keep my connections alive, but it has not been easy getting to this place. Not the least for someone like me, who had no one in the industry to rely on. In the beginning, when I was working at the fashion magazine, everywhere I went I would be marked as an outsider, and it was surprising how easily doors could get closed. I’ve always been resentful of those times, but now, now it feels like a moment in time that never called its name out for me, and I cannot bring myself to care.

These are the thoughts that I usually have in the mornings. But now, things have changed.

For one, Jihoon is sleeping next to me, his hands holding me close. Its strange, looking at him like this, peaceful instead of a permanent frown etched into his brow, a small smile on his face instead of the scowl that seems to have carved out its own position on his face.

Nowadays, I wake up before Jihoon does, and on most days, I spend some time looking at his face. He was always beautiful, but now, now he looks ethereal. It takes all my self-control to not run from this, because how can someone like me be happy? What right do I have to happiness?

“You’re thinking too much again,” Jihoon says, shaking my train of thought loose, “I can practically hear your gears turning.”

“Morning,” I reply, hoping it sounds smooth and easy and not like I’ve been consumed with depressing thoughts.

Jihoon hums, pulling me in closer, “you always think too much. Its time you stopped thinking so fast.”

“Hm? Do you have a way of doing that?”

That gets his attention, and he opens his eyes. Still sleepy, but fully awake. “You want me to do something about your overthinking?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, I have a thought on how you can change that.”

“And what is that?”

He smiles, half-awake, and kisses me, and my mouth eagerly opens up to let his tongue swipe in, mapping the inside of my mouth with as much ease as he does when composing music. its almost embarrassing how eagerly my body responds to his touch, my hands finding their way inside Jihoon’s shirt without missing a beat, bringing him closer to me as if it’s a dance we have practiced over a long time. It’s a good thing that Jihoon is just as eager as me, pressing himself against me roughly, hard from the barest of touches. If he wasn’t wearing his sweatpants, he would realise just how wet I was from his touches alone, how he managed to reduce me to a wet, moaning mess with only a ghost of his touch and nothing more.

“Mm, just so you know, you’re kind of fulfilling a dream of mine.”

“Which is?”

“Having my way with you in the morning.” Jihoon grins, sitting up to pull his shirt off over his head, and my eyes widen as large purple blotches come into view. God, what did I do—those look like the work of a feral animal, not a mostly sane woman in her twenties. He, on the other hand, looks composed, dragging my shirt up and adding it to the pile on the floor. Almost immediately, his mouth is back on mine, his large hands manhandling my breasts. He’s just as affected as I am, moaning into my mouth as his fingers pinch and twist my nipples, the two of us barely managing to not devolve into a moaning, screaming, mess.

“Have I told you,” he yawns, coming up for breath, “your tits are incredible.”

I scoff, “yes, yes you have, Jihoon, multiple times. I get it, you like them.”

“Like them?” Jihoon grins, shoving two fingers into my mouth before putting his on  my nipple and sucking me hard enough to cry, “babe, I love them, they are perfect.”

Fuck. Jihoon’s obsession with my breasts means that he spent half an hour getting me off last night with his mouth and fingers alone, and I’m oversensitive to the point where his current ministrations are toeing the line between pain and pleasure. His fingers are in my mouth, long and deft, and I can remember where they had been the previous night.

“You gave me enough hickeys to last a lifetime, baby,” Jihoon mutters, still sucking roughly on my breasts, “it’s only fair I get to return the favour.”

Before I can even process what he means, he bites down on my nipple, hard enough that my back arches from the mix of pain and pleasure, and he can feel exactly how wet I already am. At this rate, he doesn’t even need to prepare me to fuck me, he can slide into me with ease, without even taking off his pants.

Jihoon is tired, sleepy, and so am I, the initial rush of waking up next to him fading away quickly as the early morning catches up to the both of us. There’s nothing rushed about the way he’s pushing in and out of me right now; it’s a slow embrace, something that I can hold on to for the rest of my day. Jihoon’s back is wide enough that I can’t really wrap my arms around him, and his mouth is slow against mine, insistent but not really pushing. It’s all Jihoon, and my brain is slowly going into overdrive because of how close he is.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Jihoon asks, after we’re both finished, lying in a haze of our own happiness, oblivious to the world around us, “if I haven’t, consider it an oversight I wish to rectify. As much time as it takes.”

“Are you—proposing to me right now?” I ask.

“Well, it’s not really a proposal yet, but I am going to. And it’s going to be with flowers and a grand gesture that you really can’t turn down.”

“Never took you for a romanticist, Lee Jihoon.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of dating me.”

—

Mr Hong is an impressive writer, which is perhaps why I have always been a little jealous of him and his work. It’s also not at all strange as to why he only agrees to interviews with me, given his prickly demeanour, which has not really improved in the years that I have managed to work with him.

But even with all my misgivings, work is work, and I make my way to the office to pick up my files for the interview, and Seungkwan offers me a warm latte, insisting that I should carry it into the interview. The drink is still warm in my hands, and I stare at him. he just shrugs, “what, you should take it to him, it’ll look nice if we bring him something to drink in an interview.”

“Seungkwan,” I say, trying my best not to laugh, “have you read all of Mr Hong’s interviews with me?”

“Yes, I have, why?”

“Then you should also know that he only drinks tea from a specific tea garden in India, right?”

Seungkwan stares back. “He’s that much of a tea snob?”

“He earns ten billion per year in book sales, he can afford to be a tea snob. He imports the tea himself. He doesn’t drink coffee, and he would also hate it if I offered him a drink. It makes him feel like he’s not being a good host to me.”

“She’s like a criminal profiler when it comes to him,” the Editor hands Seungkwan a file, “managed to get all this information from the one single television segment filmed at his house.”

“Kind of forced to, since there was no prior information on him,” I mutter, but Seungkwan’s eyes widen, and he grabs my hands, eyes shining, “what the hell are you doing? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“You’re so cool, sunbae,” Seungkwan says, almost giggling from his excitement, “can’t believe you exist.”

“Seems like her boyfriend cannot believe she exists either,” The Assistant Editor sets down a cup of coffee at my desk, “cute guy. Handed me the coffee and said I should give it to the Associate Editor.”

“Jihoon said that?” I ask, picking up the warm cup. It’s an iced café mocha, sugary enough for Seungkwan to cringe when he takes a taste of it. “Jihoon doesn’t really refer to me by my title.”

“He always does with us, though,” Seungkwan says, “in fact, he’s been quite besotted with you since your university days.”

“University? It took them that long?” Haewon tuts, “really, sunbae, you should have just gotten together by now.”

“He should be doing that more, if you ask me,” the Assistant Editor smiles, “how does it feel to be the author of one of the most popular columns in the newspaper? There are a couple thousand hits on it every day, and that’s me being conservative with the estimate.”

“They love that column,” the Editor pipes up, “we sure are a depressed country.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve just been giving a voice to the most depraved of our society,” I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder in what feels like a fourth time this morning, “Seungkwan, are you coming along?”

“Yes!”

Writer Hong’s house is in the same neighbourhood as Jeonghan’s, but he has been living in it since the 90’s and to my knowledge, there has not been a violent murder to reduce the price of the house. Not that he would complain about it, given his obsession with true crime and the lurid crime novels he had written in the 80’s under a pseudonym that I had dug out for him to agree for an interview; because while the television segment did help, it was nothing compared to the immovable force of Writer Hong’s refusal to be in the spotlight. Which is why I had to yell out one of the names of his books (written in the 80’s) before he could disconnect the call. It was the first month I had been working at the news desk, and I was different. Hungrier. For recognition, or for someone to tell me that leaving my comparatively cushy, but dead-end job at a fashion magazine to pursue a career in journalism (good journalism), but journalism that does not pay the bills, was a bad idea. It was my first scoop, and I still remember being congratulated around the office like I had conquered a country. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, something a young writer had accomplished against the better judgement of all the adults involved.

But then Writer Hong had gone and taken a shine to me. I like the way you conduct interviews, he had said, very short. Not like those other blithering idiots who only go on and on about how great my work is.

Which brings me and Seungkwan to this morning, standing outside his mansion—it’s a mansion, a house the two of us can only dream of buying one day—in the cold winter air, Seungkwan nervously clutching the file he’s kept holding on to ever since we left the office building.

I ring the doorbell, and Seungkwan whimpers. Whimpers. I give him a sharp look, and he manages to compose himself just in time for Writer Hong to open the door, grumpy and ruffled, but he opens the door and lets us in, and soon enough, we are sitting in the middle of a tastefully done room, waiting for him to serve us with expensive Darjeeling tea. Seungkwan’s foot vibrates at an almost supersonic speed.

“So,” he says without much of a preamble, entering the room holding a teakwood tray, “I should call you Writer now, instead of Associate Editor.”

Its difficult to stop the blush that spreads across my cheeks, and even Seungkwan lightens up at that statement. Writer Hong had always been someone who valued propriety and how to address someone properly above all else, a relic of the old age, even if he had hated it in his youth.

“I’m still Associate Editor to you, sir,” I reply, holding the porcelain teacup carefully, “the writing is just a column.”

“And one of the better columns I’ve read in the last few years,” he grumbles, “my wife made me read it, you know. And I thought it was nice. Better than what that hack Kim Hong-Sik has been getting up to in these past few days.”

“Did not think a column on unachieved dreams would be exciting to you, sir,” I say, with a small smile, and he guffaws.

“You should start writing properly, then,” he says, “if you think your column is not deserving  of praise, going against the word of me, arguably the best writer Korea has seen in the past few decades.”

“That’s going a bit overboard, don’t you think, sir?” I say, and Seungkwan gasps, but Writer Hong just laughs ad laughs, “I mean, Han Kang exists.”

“Best Male author, then.”

The rest of the interview goes smoothly, and he even warms up to Seungkwan considerably, although he calls his way of peeling oranges ‘disgraceful to the flavour of an orange’. Its good, and it makes me feel accomplished, at noon, and before we leave, he even relents to take a picture with me, amidst his impressive collection of Korean art.  

“That went very well,” Seungkwan says, as we flag down a taxi, “didn’t know he could be like that. He’s usually so—reserved. And grumpy. In all the award shows.”

“He’s big on privacy, but fame really got to that.”

“Privacy?”

“There was once a story about his daughter, who passed away before she turned a year old. He and his wife hated that article so much he stopped giving interviews.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I say, closing my eyes, and Seungkwan falls silent. He was probably too young to have read that article—hell, I was too young to have read that article, but its easy, to wield this destructive power if you have it, especially without any regard for how the other party might feel about it; most people in my line of work get drunk on it, ruining lives just for the sake of ruining them.

We pick up lunch at a corner store, and walk into the office building in silence. Seungkwan has been looking up old articles, and he’s upset, clearly, given how his mouth settles into a frown, one that doesn’t go away even after Haewon presents us with doughnuts from the cafeteria, a present, she says, from the Editor-in-Chief.

“They’re waiting for you in the Meeting room,” she tells me, and I frown, because why the hell would they be there?

“Ah, there’s the Associate Editor!” the Editor booms, his head poking out of the meeting room door, “come have a chat with us.”

Its normal, jovial even, but I approach the room cautiously, only to be greeted with wide smiles from the two men.

“There’s a book deal for you.” The Editor-in-Chief,  a man of blessedly few words, says, as soon as I enter, “they like the column, and they want to publish it.”

“Of course, the legal team is going to establish your fees and how much of it should be going to the company—” they drone on, but all the words and thoughts have flow out of my head because holy shit I have a book deal now. Writer Hong’s words from this morning come to mind, and I smile and nod through the entire meeting, assuring them that while the company’s lawyers are sufficient, I should like to talk to my own lawyers about this, and that everything is okay, I would really like to go over the terms and conditions of the contract before signing it, and yes, I was reviewing it positively. While they hate that a column is possibly going out of circulation, they can’t help but think about all the extra money this is going to be bringing in, the extra money and the popularity, being known as the company that fostered a young author’s work. It’s a win-win deal, one that I would be stupid to turn down.

I leave the meeting room and call Jihoon, my hands shaking, and he picks up within three rings, his voice soothing and calm like it always is, “hello?”

“I’m going to be a writer,” I say, no other explanation or long-winded preamble, and Jihoon understands, “can you come pick me up from work?”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

I stand up, straighten my pants, and leave the bathroom, marching straight up to the editor’s desk, “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“The rest of the day?” he sputters, “wait, what about the interview?”

Seungkwan pops up his head, “I can write that. It’s just compiling all that was said.”

“I’ll check it, and Seungkwan needs to take point on a project,” I say, “besides, if you want me to focus on the column full-time, then someone needs to interview Writer Hong instead of me, right?”

“Still, you shouldn’t be leaving in the middle of the day,” he protests weakly, and the Assistant Editor smacks him with a pamphlet, “what was that for?”

“Clearly, she has someone waiting to pick her up, you buffoon,” she groans, “when will you understand? Just because your love life is barren, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same as you.”

Seungkwan winces, “wait, are you going home with Jihoon-hyung right now?”

I roll my eyes, “would you prefer to have the sordid details?”

“No, thank you.”

A peal of laughter follows me as I walk out of the office, and then the elevator and then Jihoon is standing in the lobby, flushed and wonderful, his nose red in the snow and biting wind. Because I’m a sane woman who is not given to theatrics, I merely walk up to him and tuck my arm into his, moving past the sliding doors onto the street. He’s wearing slippers, I notice, he must have come here straight from the studio.

“Very different from the feral woman who attacked me last night, I see,” Jihoon murmurs, strapping me into the seat of his car and kissing me for a tad bit (okay, thirty seconds) longer than what can be termed as an appropriate hello kiss.

“I was not that feral.”

“I have to wear a turtleneck for a week!” he exclaims, pulling down his shirt to show the extent of the damage, and I look away, embarrassed, “no! you don’t get to look away from me!”

“I like you in turtlenecks.”

That pleases him, and he smiles , “then I’ll wear them throughout the year.”

“Jihoon, you’ll suffocate.”

“I’ll have you.” He grins, “so, celebration?”

“I want to laze away today. Take a nap. Order shitty food.”

“I’m assuming there’s coitus involved. And not to mention, you dragged me out of work today.”

I wrinkle my nose, “do not say that word ever again, or else I’m kicking you out of my bed. And besides, what’s the point in being a famous producer if they don’t let you get home to your fiancée now and then?”

“What, coitus?”

“You’re no longer allowed into my bed,” I mutter darkly, and he just laughs.

The apartment building is mostly quiet this time of the day, but we pass a fair few old people who give us strange looks for coming back so early from work. Given that there have been multiple witnesses to me coming back at one in the morning, tired from overtime, and Jihoon walking into the elevator when the old ladies have finished their morning stroll, dark shadows under his eyes so pronounced he had to sleep for a week to get rid of them.

Jihoon presses the code to his home, and the two of us walk into the hallway, closing the door behind us to avoid the cold draught from chilling us to the bone.

“What should we get/” Jihoon toes off his slippers, scrolling absent-minded through his phone, “there’s a shop that delivers samgyetang, and I thought we could get some delivered, since you’ve been coming down with that cold for the past few days.”

“I’d like that,” I shake off my own shoes, sensible boots compared to Jihoon’s slippers, and kiss him again, for no other reason that I can and I will. He smiles against my mouth, “order me a whole chicken, Jihoon-ssi.”

“Two whole chickens,” he amends, “we can have the soup throughout the week. Shower?”

It is an innocuous enough question, but the way Jihoon’s eyes flash makes something shift inside of me, and I find myself returning his little smirk, peeling off the heavy coat, “you know there’s a water shortage.”

“Hmm. Its very bad. We should be conserving all the water we can.”

Jihoon pulls me close to kiss me again, and I laugh, leading him towards the shower.

—

My hometown is a quiet town. Sleepy, with neighbours that know everything about everyone. I used to hate them when I was younger, hated the way they always compared me to my sister, told me I had to be better in order for me to meet my parents’ expectations, as if nothing I did was good enough when compared to her. Nowadays, it’s a welcome distraction; reminding me of the fact that nothing in my town really changes, or will ever change. Not for the better, nor for the worse.

“Oh, are you here for the wedding?” the old man at the fruit shop says, as Jihoon and I walk out of the car, Jihoon yawning behind a closed fist, having slept half the way while I drove, “wait, you’re Yong-Hwa’s sister-in-law!”

“Yes, we’re here for the wedding,” I reply, as Jihoon shakes the falling cherry blossoms out of his hair, “just wanted to pick some fruits to take back to the house.”

That get’s his attention, and he spends an entire half-hour detailing to us every fruit he had at the store, and how good they would taste in season. In the end, we buy a box of strawberries, ones that he assures me are going to ‘taste like heaven’, and Jihoon is taking the driver’s seat for once, and we are speeding towards the house where I have spent my childhood and adolescence.

“Hasn’t been that long since I visited this place.” Jihoon says, turning a corner so that my home is visible, “this feels different somehow.”

“Yes, well, we weren’t together when you visited my mom. And its only a reminder of how much she wants me to visit, and I keep avoiding her requests.”

“But you’re here for the wedding.” He says, and I turn to look at him. Jihoon looks resolute, his mouth set in a line I haven’t seen for a long time, the light casting deep shadows on his face. My eyes move to the smooth gold band on his ring finger, its identical twin gleaming on my hand. He’s nervous, navigating this journey from being my friend to being my intended, meeting the family all over again, essentially.

There are flowers all over the house, bursting into bloom for my sister’s wedding, and I think to myself, this is how it usually is, huh. It’s a surprise that the usual dread that settles into me at the thought of getting married has been replaced with a pleasant anticipation, looking forward to navigating a lifetime with Jihoon.

“You’re here!” my mother shouts as we get down from the car, “they’re here!” she yells to someone inside the house, and soon enough, my father ambles out, looking every bit the disgruntles, emotionless father I had grown up with, looking at his youngest daughter and her partner. My mother envelops me into a crushing hug, but its my father’s gaze that I cannot return, because to this day I cannot live up to the ideal that he had had constructed for me.

My mother doesn’t notice the rings on our fingers, or even if she does, she doesn’t say anything, and we just haul the suitcases up into the house, where Jihoon has the guest bedroom, and I have my old childhood one. Settled in, I leave Jihoon to his devices, answering calls from the company about the new album, and walk down to the kitchen to help my mother with dinner.

“Is everything all right with Jihoon?” she asks, cutting carrots into tiny little pieces, “are you two finally together?”

I say nothing, just pour myself a glass of tea, “didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Oh, the couple rings were too nice to not notice, actually,” she laughs, “its good. You two suit each other very much.”

“Now you’re saying that to take the piss,” I grumble, “you’ve never once approved of the people I’ve dated, whether I dated them or not.”

“That’s because you dated them to stop your mind from crashing and burning,” my mother says, gentle as ever, putting the ingredients for soup into a big pot, “you’ve always been headstrong that way.”

“As opposed to my sister?”

My mother sighs,  a sign of a battle she’s already lost against herself, “I’m sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I wave my hand. It matters so much. “I was the problem child, I guess. Every family needs one.”

“You were not a problem child,” my mother says, “you were just out of our reach, at times. and when we finally thought we understood you, you ran away and concealed yourself from us.”

“That’s what I was taught.”

“And I should have taught you differently.”

“Never mind, mother,” I give her a quick smile, “you’ll be watching your daughter get married, and in a few years, you’ll be a grandmother, and that will give you enough happiness to tide you over for the next ten years.”

“I think about you too, you know.”

“Congratulations on that, mother.” I reply, walking out of the kitchen.

Jihoon is sitting on the bed when I open the door, hands clutched around a  cup, “I wish we hadn’t come back.”

He raises an eyebrow, “this is your home.”

“I know, its just—there’s no one here that knows me, and even if they do, its only by association, as the sister, and my parents are all on eggshells around me, because I blew up in their faces about my childhood, and how much I hated being here, and its never going to stop, is it, I’m going to be this way, this festering, annoying, difficult, person, and I’ll never really be normal ever again—”

Jihoon wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug that’s at once reassuring and scandalous, “you’ll be fine. Your family are, well, they’re sorry, and they’re on eggshells because they don’t know how to approach you anymore. It happens. You can leave to Seoul and have your career, but they’re going to stay on in this town, and be reminded of the fact that maybe they didn’t do enough. Let them hover. It’ll put them at ease.”

“Fine.” I grumble, “I just came back because I love my sister. And Yong-Hwa. He needs to have a chance to run away before he hitches himself to her.”

Jihoon laughs, “would you say the same thing for me?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

He unwraps his arms from around me, fishing in his pocket, “wait, I forgot the ring at home.”

I gape, “you were going to propose to me?”

“Yes, but now that I forgot the ring, there’s going to be no proposal.” Jihoon grumbles, “stupid.”

“That’s fine, it would have been inappropriate for us to take away my sister’s spotlight,” I grin, pulling him back into a hug, “I accept, nonetheless.”

“Really?”

“I do expect a proper proposal back  in Seoul.”

“As you wish, always.”

—

Jihoon proposes with a car full of balloons, and he enlists the help of the other guys to make the proposal truly memorable, a phrase that I’m rapidly beginning to attribute to him. its gorgeous, and everything I had never imagined when it came to a proposal. The wedding, however, is much my style, the two of us traipsing down to the courthouse to submit a form and being declared married by the clerk, who tells us darkly that there’s a divorce counter just in the next room. Jihoon laughs, and I laugh, before walking out of the courthouse to meet our friends (and family) for dinner.

It’s a new life.

—

To LJH,

For being my friend.

[val-cansalute]

𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝟶𝟺

summary: you haven’t spent the night with ellie since she left, and you didn’t think you would ever do so again. but now you’re here. and there’s this random ass dog here too ig.

a/n: LOLLLLL I DID IT!!!!! this is 75% yap but I swear it gets cute at the end plz just read plz istg

tag list: @diddiqueen, @amberputh, @fatbootymuncher, @sapphointhe21stcenturyposts, @jadelovesyou00, @ravyaryn

series masterlist

You turn your phone off, eyes fixed on that same blurry fleck on the ceiling as darkness floods back into the room. 

03:17

Unfortunately, those are rookie numbers to you, especially since that little get-together: the night you ended ‘things’ with Alexis over the phone, which somehow went surprisingly smoothly, on your part at least. 

Well, you hung up before gauging how she took it. The only implications were the incessant buzzes of your phone against the smooth wooden surface of your nightstand, now cluttered with junk accumulated during the past few days. Over the course of them, the buzzes slowed before dying out completely. Then came the silence, in which you were left to rot in your thoughts.

That day, you came home and embraced the emptiness of your bed after going so long with a stranger lying beside you, and you immediately began abusing the absolute tragedy of it all, using the breakup as an excuse to laze around constantly, take a day or two off work. The reality, quite clearly, try as you might to conceal it (which isn’t much), is that you’re not really at the appropriate level of impacted by the whole ordeal, whatever that would be.

Perhaps the worst part of it all - what you truly feel the most guilty for - is that your thoughts keep taking a turn towards Ellie. It’s like the area of your mind dedicated to her suddenly flourished with greenery and colour following her return like rain crashing down against the dry sands of a desert, and it has only amplified since that night. A constant reminder that the markings she left on the enclosure of your skull will never fade.

Maybe you should be annoyed - mad, even - about the way she acted. But none of the emotions clustered inside you come even remotely close to that. Too far in an unprecedented direction. 

But it’s not unprecedented. Not really. You’re acutely self-aware; you’ve always found it difficult to lie to yourself.

You think about her a lot, most of all about how she’s doing all alone in that house. You hope for a lot of things for her too. A lot. Things you shouldn’t hope for people you were supposed to have left in your past.

Ellie felt like dookie, which wasn’t unusual, quite the opposite. However, the reasoning was new. She felt like shit for that ugly thing that came over her, jealousy. She felt like shit because it was wrong to be jealous over the woman she once belonged to, the woman who also belonged to her, who doesn’t look in her eyes the way she used to, who laughs with someone else, holds someone else, loves someone else the way she used to love Ellie. Well, Ellie knows you love her because she knows you, but not the way you used to. There is a sadness there, a sort of pity, which irks her. It made her scared that you’d never see her the same way again.

And she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let the walls between you crumble even now, after everything. Still so on guard.

She wanted to do whatever it took to be part of your life: be respectful, give you space, be a friend, and she fricked up because you were supposed to be hers, and you would be, if she hadn’t lost her mind all that time ago.

She tried to ease the anxiety by texting you after the party, but when she looked down into the glow of the phone screen, rereading the words she’d typed out in apology, they seemed like the most laughable thing on the planet: rambles of incoherent, disconnected foolishness. She almost unsent them. You didn't respond anyway.

Tossing her phone aside, she picked up the guitar tilted against the side of her wardrobe with hesitation, and held it to her body, adjusting to regain fragments of familiarity. It felt a lot heavier than it used to, like the shadow of an old soul lingers around it, shaky fingers, greyed hair, gruff hum.

Her fingers strummed discordantly, in some distracted attempt at stringing together a tune, but no words came to mind when it was rampant with great hurricanes of guilt that dated back to times she didn’t even remember. A problem she couldn’t quite seem to rid herself of.

Now, she squats beside the dog’s makeshift food bowl under the porch light as fireflies flutter between the clusters of cobwebs bound to it, and she inspects the flecks of dust settled over the pet store biscuits when something clicks in her mind. The dog’s been acting weird. The barks have quieted to naught, he hasn’t gone outside to take his daily shit yet, and come to think of it, Ellie’s not sure he went yesterday either, but most importantly, the food has gone untouched. 

After a Google search, Ellie bounds up the stairs, scouring the rooms for him, and stopping with a thumping heart when she spots his dark coat flopped atop a rug dejectedly. She kneels beside him and runs her fingers through the tufts of fur, muttering,

“You not feelin’ too good, goober?”

A wheezy sigh fills the silence, almost as if in response, and Ellie’s brows furrow in worry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. C’mon, let’s get you to the vet.”

10 minutes later, she’s in Tommy’s truck, the engine growls but she realises she doesn’t think she can do this alone. She’s formed a weird bond with the dog, greyed coat and warm eyes. They feel homely in a way that makes her stomach churn and her throat tighten. There’s a slight squeak of the leather steering wheel in her grip as she tenses. 

Tommy’s out, Ellie’s not quite ready to see Maria, Jesse’s working nights, and a quick text exchange reveals Dina’s currently being knocked out by cramps.

She holds her phone in a shaky hand, glancing back at the dog who’s laying quiet on the floor and then looks back at the screen. It often hits her how small the number of people she can turn to is. Well, the list isn’t quite empty now. She’s yet to ask you.

So, with a thumb hovering over your number, twitching in hesitance for a few moments, she decides to bite the bullet and hits call. A few rings pass, each saturated with the increasing intensity of her heartbeat, and then you answer.

“Ellie?”

Your mind is foggy with sleep but you find yourself sitting beside her once again. The journey is quiet; you don’t feel the tension you thought you would. Maybe it's the fatigue obscuring your observation skills. 

She steers the truck into the car park and gets out, jogging over to your side to open your door and help you down. She grunts as she urges the dog out of the van and they scuttle along down to the entrance side by side. You smile to yourself at the sight a couple of steps behind.

Not many questions were asked during the short phone call.

“I uh- Are… Are you free - right now?”

“Um, yeah, I’m free, why? Is everything okay?”

“My dog’s not looking too great and I gotta take him to the vet, I guess… I don’t really know… what I’m doing.”

She has a dog?

“Okay… Do you… Do you want me to come with you?”

The receptionist tells Ellie the dog needs to be on a leash and she apologises before taking a seat.

The waiting room’s quiet and Ellie looks a mess. Her hair is shorter, choppier, just barely hanging over the curves of her ear. You remember it looking longer in the pictures of her while she was back in LA. She needs help fixing it up. You can picture her craning her neck in the mirror to snip at stray locks. Cute. She bounces her foot incessantly and the fidgeting doesn’t hide the shaking of her hands. Her eyes tell you she’s somewhere else - a place you think you recognise from all those years ago.

You know what she needs, watch her distant eyes flit down to the sight of your hand over hers, bringing her back to the surface. Baby steps.

When the vet gives the verdict, that the issue shouldn’t last longer than a week, injects antibiotics into the scruff of the dog’s neck, Ellie’s shoulders seem less tense and you set off home. 

There are thoughts that sometimes should stay internal, impulses you probably shouldn’t act upon.

But you love her. And you’re older. Less kind feelings about the concept of regret.

“Are you okay?”

She sighs, a slight croak in her voice but she smiles,

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. You-uh still living with Dina?”

“Mhm, but don’t drop me off there.”

Ellie turns to face you, eyes glancing back at the road repetitively, 

“What? You don’t- You don’t have to do that-”

“Obviously I don’t. I want to.”

There’s a slight pause as she looks over your features and then shifts her focus back to the road, whispering,

“Okay.”

Then, Ellie looks up at the dog through the rearview mirror.

“You scared me there, old man, thought you were gonna throw up on my bed or something.  Shit in the bathtub or something.”

You chuckle and she grins in that adorable way that drew you to her in the first place,

“I don’t know, dog’s are dumb. They do dumb shit.”

She tells you she just calls him Buddy and Buddy seems better already. He sleeps soundly in the backseat as Ellie’s fingers tap idly against the steering wheel. She glances over at you now and then, like she’s trying to make sense of the thoughts in your head through the expression on your face.

The door to the old house is like a portal to the old world, and when it’s open, you’re stepping into a memory. You can’t figure out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Ellie drops her keys onto the counter and moves to let Buddy settle in the corner of the couch, running her hand over his fur with veiny hands and tender movements, you almost feel a phantom touch down your spine. What it elicits in you seems a little dangerous. 

A worn pair of sneakers is sprawled out by the door. How the fuck does she still have those?

You take a seat by the dog and try not to sound too tense,

“How have you been? I mean… with everything?” 

It’s a loaded question, and she knows it, maybe too much so. Her jaw tightens for a moment, but she exhales slowly and settles beside you, her knee brushing yours, and, even though she’s very aware of it, she doesn’t move it away.

“Sobriety?” she asks, her voice careful. You nod.

Ellie leans back, resting her head against the couch. She stares at the ceiling, her fingers drumming against her thigh before curling into fists and imprinting crescent moons on her palm. Is she fighting the urge to pull away? She was always retreating when things got too close, too real. Your stomach is sinking.

“It’s… hard,” she admits, taking you by surprise though her voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Some days are better than others. I haven’t…” 

She pauses, taking in air like it’s suffocating to think about.

“I haven’t used anything in a while. Not since LA.” 

“Good. I’m glad, Ellie. That’s good.” you say softly, knots loosening in your heart, but you keep your eyes trained on her, analysing every little expression, every little movement. Her lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. 

“Yeah. But it’s not just about not using, you know? It’s… so much… Everything else. Dealing with everything else… It’s so hard not to keep… chasing something, distracting myself, running away instead of facing it…

I fell into it so quickly before… I shouldn’t have… I should’ve tried to let you in.” 

Swallow, the memories are filling your mouth, and they sting your insides as they move through you, still sharp as ever. Peace is all you need for her. Peace is all you need for her. 

You don’t really go to her gigs anymore. It’s a wonder she still does them, comes home drunk out of her mind every time. 

It’s haunting her every day.

The door opens, not surprising. You could hear her fuck around with the keys outside the door for a while before a gust of wind washes over you. She rushes to the bathroom and throws up again, dry heaving because there’s nothing to come out but alcohol.

It’s almost 4 AM. You rise to your feet and crouch down beside her, rubbing small circles over her back and feeling the nubs of her spine and the ripples of her ribcage beneath her thin T-shirt. 

“Stop,” she spits out with a scratchy throat and through a choked sob.

You sit with her for a while, until she gets up and walks to her office.

The door closes behind her, leaving loud nothingness in her workroom. 

As you lay in bed, gasps carry through the air. You wish, with everything in you, there was a way to heal these wounds, but you can feel it sinking, crashing.

“We can’t change the past, Ellie. And even if it hurt, I don’t blame you for what you did. You needed to leave. And… I just wasn’t what you needed at the time… You weren’t ready for a relationship. Running was all you could do.”

“I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispers, her voice firm despite the tremble in it,

“It’s weird… You’re right. I think I needed to get away from this place… Being here… The posters, the books, the desk, it’s like I kept finding little pieces of… kid me. And Joel.” 

Her voice almost catches on his name but she looks at her hands and navigates the minefield of memories, so much better than she used to be able to.

“But looking at them now… I just… I feel like I can face it.”

Laced through her words, images of his face. Grief which rushed through her, mind, heart and soul. The guilt - the longing, that burdens her spirit, little by little, pieces dissipate into fireflies and fly away. Fragile steps towards being able to look him in the eye - the essence of him left behind in her life.

250,000 Miles is whirring through an old CD player, there’s a box of stir-fry on the table by Ellie. You’re sitting before her, laughing at her for pretending to know how to use chopsticks, and at the fact that she’s absolutely tanked at this game of Catan. But she’s grinning at you, and her chest feels warm.

“Alright, it’s literally 1 AM, we need to pack this up. I’m becoming delirious.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You scoff, your lips still curved into a smile, getting up to carry your dishes to the sink, “Shut up.”

She scoops the empty cans of cola vanilla scattered around the table into her arms and drops them by the sink to rinse them out beside you as you dry your hands. You catch her smirking and nudge her, watching her scoff and whisper,

“What?”

Ellie turns to you and her cheeks are tinged pink. You're grinning at her and she's smiling at you and it feels so natural, the soft curve of your back, the chub of your cheek, natural to fall back into that old rhythm; it’s so easy to forget that she isn't years back in the past, to just lean in so you can feel the warmth of her breath fan your lips.

An exhale catches in your throat, a sharp thrum in your chest as your eyes flit down to her lips. You begin to close the distance, but hesitation is inevitable. The fear of hurting, of falling into the ravenous love you felt before it's ripped away from you again.

Ellie doesn’t push, her eyes dropping to the space you give. She knows she fucked up. You have a girlfriend, and you want to be nothing more than friends.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her voice thick with regret.

But you need her to know now, that you want this as much as she does, that you need her as much as she needs you. That you miss her so much.

“I broke up with Alexis.”

Ellie looks up at you with those wide eyes.

“Let’s take our time, Ellie. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

She can’t help the way her eyelashes flutter, lips curve down into a reverse smile.

The couch is a tight squeeze with Buddy still asleep at the end of it. 

You told her you were okay with sharing the bed, but she insisted, not wanting to push any further after what transpired earlier. The living room is cold - must be a draught coming in from somewhere. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep here.

Hesitant again, she sits up, and then makes her way to the bedroom, taking her place on the left side of the bed, facing you. And when you open your eyes, she doesn’t turn away.

“Night, El.”

“Goodnight.”

[universalzones]

"If only I had been a bit faster then I could've caught the intruder who attack Amy and destroyed the servers. Though that ability she had to phase through things wasn't something I hadn't expected, let alone when she did with with an entire helicopter. I considered giving chase, though thought I could be of better help here." Blaze supposed she didn't help, though not by much.

"I think a quick online search will reveal everything we need to know about him, at least for now." All Belle really wanted was his name, though knowing a bit about him wouldn't hurt. "As for the intruder, I saw what happened on the camera's so I have it saved into my memory banks. Playing the recording back and matching the timestamp with the time the servers were destroyed should clear us of doing it on purpose. I still wonder who it was."

"As for my story, I intend to tell the truth, and nothing else. I know it is bold and risky, though I won't lie. My father said the truth is often best when wanting to gain someone's trust. If he doesn't see me as a person, then I will simply say I identify with Mile's company. I'm sure you can add my in your system in a matter of minutes." Belle saw no reason to lie to the President.

"Then I suggest that when you're added to Miles corporate system he adjust the timestamp to an earlier date so they don't know you did it just today. Consider it a while lie." Kitsunami doubts they'd be happy for suddenly adding Belle to Miles corporate system, though if they think it happened far before this incident they'll be less eager to fight against it.

"Working on it, though I'm already getting complaints. Just give me a minute," Rowan said as he popped his head back into the room before going back out and continuing to make calls. It seemed they weren't too thrilled at his request, though it didn't sound like he got a no either. The lemur is just hoping they dislike G.U.N more than The Restoration.

"I have no intention of going anywhere until this matter is resolved. Hopefully the President is far more open to negotiations than that General. I swear, I was half tempted to give him a piece of my mind." Blaze understand some of his points, though he acted as if The Restoration hadn't done so much good for Mobius and helped so many people.

Lanolin crossed her arms and seemed at least somewhat more relaxed now that they had a plan. Though to say she wasn't still worried was an understatement. Still she could focus on Blazes question and give her a quick answer if nothing else. She was suddenly wondering though where Jewel was as she had hoped she'd find her way to this meeting. Her absence worried her but she had to focus on the here and now.

" Well we use computers to store our data. But when Amy was attacked the assailant also hit our servers to. I know Belle has recovered much of what we lost thankfully. So we shouldn't need to worry about that. I do think we should make a backup of the data for safe keeping as soon as things quiet down. "

She paused and gave Belle a glance with a curious look on her face.

" He just called himself the President, he never gave us an official name... probably intentional. But that does bring up a good point... we should use this hour to dig up what we can on this President. Knowing who we are dealing with might prove useful "

Miles however looked a little worried as he closed his eyes and sighed. This information worried him as he realized how it would look from outside perspective. Another reason for GUN to be suspicious, even if it wasn't nefarious he knew how it would look from an outside looking in perspective.

" How convenient... it'll look like we sabotaged our own servers to hide something. We all know that's not true, but from anyone elses perspective... this could all have been staged. Classic GUN framing tactic... i've seen it used before "

He sighed and gave Belle a sympathetic look as he still knew it couldn't feel good to be looked upon as an object to be owned. Rather then a person with there own freedoms.

" We should figure out how you wish to present yourself to this president ahead of time. We need to have a clear story ready to go so we are all on the same page. The last thing we need is to get caught in a lie... or fabrication of facts. "

He was genuinely worried about Kitsunami, and Surge to but he wasn't sure what o do about it. He had hoped those two could go work things out together. But it didn't seem like he wanted to run off and do just that. Maybe he was getting his head cleared, he knew this information was alot--- but he kept his mouth shut. He said what he came to say. He turned his eyes to Lanolin as she addressed the room again.

" Alright! Then its settled... We have--- 45 minutes! less then an hour now... Rowan let me know when you have a place for our people trapped outside the the blockade. Belle... i'll leave you and Miles to figure out how you wish to present yourself to this president... i'm sure you both can come up with a good approach. "

Her eyes turned to Blaze with a deep sigh

" In the meantime i think i need to talk to Surge... see how she is going to handle this. I dont see a scenario where they don't want her as part of this trade... and i need to know what she intends to do. Can you stay by the coms until i get back? i doubt they will call again before the time is up but... i want someone i can trust here until then "

[sass-ruby]

okay. HOLY FUCKING SHI-

Sun² (dark sun) looks like he's thriving LMAO 😭

Let me just say, THANK YOU MOON FOR BEING SO CURIOUS

I'm curious too, so this satisfied me so much

We got A LOT of information, and one VERY jaw dropping one

So.. sun² created a paradise for himself and others, most likely suns but not every sun. That- that honestly sounds so sweet 😭 I'm pretty sure by psychotic, sun² meant like- do things without thinking, go insane, kill for no reason ect ect.. since he doesn't like violence from what I've been able to gather. The violence he has probably committed, I am guessing was necessary because sun² thinks reasonably

But I wonder- do suns go there when they die? Like, heaven? There are already people there.. but are those people suns or random people??

His dragon is there to be a protector so, it's most likely dead suns I think..? To protect them? That'd be so sweet, I hope that's the case

Goliath died, oof 😭 I never cared much about him but that ONE THING he said to sun once;

"You..might be pathetic, but you're so much more than them."

The fact that EVEN goliath, someone so egotistical, sees sun's morals.. yet others cant and just see it as being cowardly

Our sun has been proven to be the most empathetic among all suns. He HAS done bad, but hasn't continued to do so, he tried his best to make it right. I love him sm I swear

But oh goodness. There is one MOST important jaw dropping lore we got out of sun².

Oh my fucking gosh.

Oh my.

The fact he chose this sun specifically.. BECAUSE HE COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT HIMSELF.

We already knew he was like sun, but moon broke him. Just like how it usually goes in dimensions, here's the thing, though. Even if he did the same back to him, he could NEVER kill him.

Now there's more space to understand why he did it. He couldn't do it, he wanted to give other suns a chance.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

This is too shocking for me I'm sorry

I did not think that SUN² COULDN'T KILL HIS MOON

I guess that was a thing that truly connected all suns before sun's² whole thing

The fact our sun was the first, THE FIRST WHO WAS ABLE TO AND THAT IT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT.

Finally. FINALLY IT'S BEEN PROVEN HE'S SPECIAL IN SOME SORT OF WAY

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG

The "I hate him, but couldn't kill him" thing reminds me kinda of my mother and I, just with different context 😭 like- I hate her but can't hate her completely. I have mommy issues QwQ

I literally sometimes get so mad at how she treats me that I hope she dies.

Although- lets not get into that

The point I was trying to make is, even when you swear you hate someone close to you... ESPECIALLY YOUR OWN FLESH AND BLOOD, you can never completely hate them.

That is only what I've been able to gather from other things like that

ALSO ALSO ALSO aLsOoOoooO

Why did sun² sound so unsure.. at that one part.

"I suppose nexus could sure try, if he was still around. Mumbles if he was still around..."

WHY DID HE SOUND SO UNSURE.

I wouldn't be surprised if he said it like that because he's seen how many times villains come back in this dimension ☠️☠️

LITERALLY I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED

But if nexus comes back, SHIT.

A part of me believes he will. It's after Christmas, and the new tradition is that shit happens after Christmas because the October takeover tradition ended

AAAAAAAAAA

I'll be kinda happy about it, ONLY BECAUSE THE ANGSTTT

YAYAYYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAAAAA

Another also and another woa!! >:D

"why does EVERYTHING have to be US"

"you think I have that answer? Heh, even with my intelligence.. I can never answer that one."

EVEN SUN² ACKNOWLEDGES IT

Because the show runners need to feed us, that's the answer <333

Their lives are something else 😭 they have to deal with something new everyday. They can never catch a break

That would be all. BUT HAHSHHDD I LAUGHED SO HARD SEEING SUN² FLY HELPPPPP

He had his "I was a fairy" moment 🎀 NDNDJSJMS

okay now it's all :3

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[6azia]

Faking for real?| Chuuya x Dazai

—summary. It's only a mission, so why was Chuuya feeling that way to Dazai

—content warning. only light angst

—word count. 1,2k

—azia‘s notes. @pill0wc4se I finally finished it and I will continue watching bsd after finishing arcane <3

The dim room buzzed with the tension of an unasked question, but the answer was already on Kunikida’s clipboard.

“The two of you will need to attend the Black Sun Gala as a couple.”

Chuuya froze mid-eye-roll, turning toward the stern-faced detective. “What?”

Kunikida adjusted his glasses. “The syndicate hosting the gala values appearances of commitment in its ranks. They’ll only let in established pairs. You and Dazai are the most believable option.”

Dazai, who had been lounging in his chair with his usual lack of enthusiasm, suddenly perked up. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he leaned toward Chuuya. “Hear that, Chuuya? We’re finally making it official.”

“Shut up, you idiot!” Chuuya barked, his hands already curling into fists. “Why can’t someone else do it? I don’t even like him, let alone—”

“You’re the only ones with enough chemistry to sell this,” Kunikida interrupted. “Chemistry?” Chuuya snapped.

Dazai smirked. “You hear that, darling? We’re practically meant to be.”

“I swear to God, Dazai—”

“Enough,” Kunikida barked. “The gala is in two days. Practice your... dynamic. That’s an order.”

Chuuya groaned, dragging his hand down his face. This mission was going to kill him.

—

The rehearsal began in Chuuya’s apartment, a space he quickly regretted allowing Dazai into.

“Alright, listen up,” Chuuya said, pacing the room like a commander preparing for battle. “We’ll keep it simple: hold hands, maybe a kiss on the cheek if we have to. None of your over-the-top, attention-grabbing crap.”

Dazai, sprawled on the couch like he owned the place, propped his chin on his hand. “Oh, Chuuya, where’s the passion? The romance? If we’re going to do this, we need to make it convincing.” Chuuya glared at him. “Convincing? You couldn’t convince a blind man you’re serious about anything.”

“Harsh,” Dazai said with a pout. “But I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent actor. Want a demonstration?”

“Not really.”

Too late. Dazai stood and closed the distance between them in a single, fluid motion. He took Chuuya’s hand in his and gazed into his eyes with a level of sincerity that caught Chuuya off guard.

“My dearest Chuuya,” Dazai said, his voice low and smooth, “from the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t live without you.” Chuuya’s face turned red, and he yanked his hand away. “Cut it out, idiot!”

Dazai grinned. “See? You’re already blushing. I’m just that good.” Chuuya turned away, muttering under his breath. Idiot. It’s not because of you...

—

The Black Sun Gala was a picture of opulence: glittering chandeliers, golden drapes, and a sea of well-dressed criminals.

Chuuya hated every second of it. Not because of the danger, but because of the way Dazai’s arm rested around his waist, pulling him closer with every passing minute.

“Relax, love,” Dazai murmured in his ear, his breath warm against Chuuya’s skin. “You’re supposed to look like you enjoy this.”  

Chuuya gritted his teeth, forcing a tight smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

They moved through the crowd, playing their roles perfectly. Dazai was charming, effortlessly mingling with the guests, while Chuuya stayed close, his sharp eyes scanning for any signs of trouble.

At one point, a woman approached them, her gaze flicking between the two. “You two make quite the pair,” she said with a sly smile.

Dazai tightened his hold on Chuuya, pulling him even closer. “Oh, we do, don’t we? He’s my everything.” Chuuya’s face burned. “Tch. Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, though he didn’t push Dazai away. 

After some pleasantries they both went back. 

—

Back in their shared hotel room after the event, Chuuya sat by the window, a glass of wine in hand. “You were quieter than usual tonight,” Dazai said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just tired of playing pretend,” Chuuya replied, staring out at the city lights.

Dazai chuckled, flopping onto the bed. “Playing pretend is the easy part. It’s when the lines blur that it gets tricky.”

Chuuya glanced at him, his chest tightening. Do you even realize what you’re saying?

He turned back to the window, his grip on the glass tightening. Damn it, Dazai. When did I start... feeling this way? And why does it have to be you?

“Don’t overthink it, Chuuya,” Dazai said, as if sensing his turmoil. “We’re almost done here.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya muttered. “Almost.” With one big gulp he downed his glass.

—

The next and  final night of the mission brought a new level of tension. They were supposed to blend in, but Chuuya was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Dazai, ever perceptive, noticed. “Chuuya, you’ve been acting weird lately.”

Chuuya scoffed, trying to deflect. “I’m fine. Focus on the mission.” Dazai grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Is that all you care about? The mission?”

Chuuya froze, his heart pounding. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snapped back, trying to free himself of the grip without drawing too much attention on the both of them.

“You’re hiding something,” Dazai said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “And you’re terrible at it.”

Chuuya yanked his hand away, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t see anything, do you? You think everything’s just a game!”

Dazai’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Chuuya...”

“Forget it,” Chuuya muttered, turning away. “You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it.”

—

Later that night, Chuuya sat on the rooftop, the cold wind biting at his skin. He stared up at the stars, his thoughts a tangled mess.

He heard footsteps behind him and sighed. “What do you want, Dazai?”

Dazai sat down beside him, his usual grin replaced with something softer. “You always run off to rooftops when you’re upset.”

Chuuya didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon. They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Finally, Dazai spoke. “You’re not as hard to read as you think, Chuuya.”

Chuuya turned to him, his hands tensing on the concrete floor. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dazai’s gaze softened. “It means... maybe I don’t see everything, but I see enough.” He mumbled while tracing Chuuya’s fingers and finally cupping his hand on his own.

Chuuya’s breath caught. “Dazai, I-”

Before he could finish, Dazai leaned in, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Chuuya froze, his mind blank. When Dazai pulled back, his usual smirk returned. “There. That’ll help sell it, right?”

Chuuya stared at him, his heart aching. You really don’t get it, do you?

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked away, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’ll do.” 

After that, Chuuya was left in his conflicted sea of thought, while Dazai made his way back inside to the gala.

“That has to do unfortunately for forever” Chuuya breathed out into the dark night. Looking up into the sky there were two bright stars beside each other, twinkling, reminding him no matter how close he will ever get it will never be enough for Dazai to understand his feelings fully.

A warm tear escaped his eye and landed beside his now relaxed hand. One day in the afterworld maybe. Chuuya mused around and stayed there till the gala ended.

[moonknixght]

Was doing normal lighting study and ended up drawing Miguel O’Hara

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello Madam. Sorry Madam.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[mishy-mashy]

I said this in a whole reblog, but just copy-pasting to a separate post because I think it'll give some reading comprehension and reblogs don't show up in the search feature.. again, I'm reiterating what I said in another post.

Go check out @demidokuriya 's post for this; OP's post made me put this all down in like. 20 minutes. Mind went vroom vroom cuz HEY THEY'RE ONTO SOMETHING.

(They also reblogged the post with some hint to some behind the scenes of what led to the ideas if you wanna check that out)

Look below at how, when Mineta told AFO to spare Tokoyami, AFO specifically went "..."

He remembers Jirou and thinks, The braying howls of the weak...

He was going to take Tokoyami's Quirk. He took Hawks'. But after Mineta pleaded with him, AFO just straight-up left and didn't take anyone else's Quirk.

AFO saw Yoichi in Mineta.

These scenes are near-identical to each other.

Mineta and Yoichi (at that time) are both much smaller than the normal person at their age

They're both hurt, yet dragged themselves up from the ground to throw something at AFO, to get his attention and make their voice

Both are considered weak, even if they have a Quirk (Mineta's Pop-Off and Yoichi's undeveloped Factor)

The fact that Yoichi got AFO's attention here by throwing a can at him, while Mineta got his attention by throwing a Pop-Off ball; and it stuck.

Mineta's call for his attention landed and actually stuck to AFO. This is unlike when Yoichi and his can bounced off, and AFO kicked him, not listening to him; AFO listened to Mineta and left Tokoyami alone, technically doing what Mineta wanted—to not hurt this person.

AFO just went on to hurt more people away from Mineta's [Yoichi's] eyes so the small weakling wouldn't see.

Yoichi and Mineta both cried to AFO to not hurt in his ways, when AFO was intent on stealing people's Quirks

AFO even stole Hawks' Quirk during this time.

He had time to steal Hawks' Quirk, and though he could've tossed him to the side, he let Hawks stand in his way.

He had the energy. Right after this event, he flew off and left the scene. But he didn't go for Tokoyami immediately.

And this let Mineta play his part, and remind AFO of Yoichi.

"A putrid, festering Quirk Factor."

That sounds like Yoichi, AFO.

".. such garbage."

Hey hey hey, what did Yoichi throw at him when they were kids?

A discarded can. Garbage.

This chapter (385) where AFO listens to Mineta is literally called [A Youthful Urge].

Mineta told AFO to take his Pop-Off (hurt him) instead. But last time, AFO hurt Yoichi by kicking him; this time, AFO not only listened to Mineta to not hurt Tokoyami, but didn't touch Mineta at all.

Even though this time, Mineta [Yoichi] offered to take that place of suffering.

Yoichi didn't do that back then. AFO just turned on little Yoichi anyway.

Yoichi through his whole existence is literally [the braying howls of the weak]. AFO acknowledges he's weak and idealistic, yet he still loves him.

Side note about this panel, I think it's interesting that in this vision, this was the first time we saw Yoichi's eyes: when he was being defiant, despite being pushed down by someone much stronger than him.

Really characteristic of him, honestly. Yoichi's soft-spoken and frail, but it's always reiterated that Yoichi had a powerful will against his stronger big brother.

Mineta at this moment reminded him too much of Yoichi, because the two scenes are near-identical to each other. Parallels, really.

Reiterating something from OP's post that I reblogged this from;

"The reminder of his brother made him uncomfortable, so he hurried away."

AFO didn't want to hurt Yoichi again.

[saturnniidae]

Often think about how it's kinda funny the way AFO tried to twist Tomuras skin condition into the itch being his inate need to destroy or whatever when he's had it since before Decay like. Dude it's just stress. Or autism. Probably both.

[misiahasahardname]

shout out to george beard and harold hutchins for making me feel like a normal person as a kid

[greatgoddyke]

work place pissing me the fuck offfffff

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

First Sentence Game

I promised you I'd do this, @sisterofficerlucychen. It's only been 10 days, which is kind of a record for me.

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagging (hopefully I'm not misremembering that any of you write fic) @chenlucys, @violetsandmagpies, @daisyejones, @whitesunlars, and @electricbluebutterflies.

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Bearing the Unbearable Weight (The Rookie):

In the days immediately after the break-up (the collapse of her world) Lucy logs a record number of hours at the LAPD shooting range.

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Nothing More Than His Wife (The Rookie):

The new Mrs. Tim Bradford is haunted by a ghost. It follows her everywhere, popping up in the most random spots. The ghost is at the nearby Korean food truck, in her husband’s car, hanging out in the park they had a picnic at. The ghost is not a particularly malicious one, but Mrs. Bradford can’t help but feel like she’ll never measure up against it, against the specter of Lucy Chen. 

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i used to know my place was the spot next to you (now I'm searching the room for an empty seat) (The Rookie):

The hardest part of Lucy’s day is going to bed. Two weeks earlier, before the breakup, when going to bed meant making funny faces at Tim as they brushed their teeth together and slow kisses and cuddling, it had been the highlight of most days. She had looked forward to bed. Now she brushes her teeth alone and crawls into a bed that is just hers. Or almost just hers. 

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How I Show I Love You (The Rookie):

Tim doesn’t know the last time he spent time doing something solely because he enjoyed it (other than watching a couple hours of football each week). Never mind doing something fun with another person. And certainly never with a rookie who hadn’t even passed their one-year mark. But he also hasn’t trained someone like Chen before. 

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i get along without you some nights (Prodigal Son):

The Christmas tree was already up when Martin was… (Jessica was still trying to find the polite term for it, trying different ones on) taken away. Normally Jessica insisted on no hints of Christmas in the home until the Thanksgiving dinner had been cleared from the table, but Malcolm had campaigned valiantly to put it up early. As per usual, Ainsley had joined in, asking Jessica to make an exception to her rule and then Martin had given Jessica that look, the one that had been crumbling her resolve since the day they met. 

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Cotard's Delusion (or the Process of Being Resurrected) (The Rookie):

I am dead. It’s the only thought ringing in Lucy’s mind as she closes her eyes, leans her head forward, finding no place to rest in the barrel Caleb has determined will be her last resting place.

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Dirtying the Slates (The Rookie):

So, Bishop and Lopez, or mostly Lopez, rig the roundup so Tim wins. Interesting , Lucy thought. She twirled her ring on her finger for half a moment, considering if it was her place to comment or not, before throwing caution to the wind and interjecting. “Wait, uh, are you guys trying to rig it so that Tim wins?” (Rule one of getting information in an interrogation: start with a question you already know the answer to.)

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Wrapped Around Your Finger (Like a Ring) (The Rookie):

Chen would not stop messing with her ring and Tim was a matter of seconds from using his TO Voice to go and confiscate it. Even winning the round-up (again) hadn’t put him in a good enough mood that the reflection from the light of the food trucks bouncing off the opal ring wouldn’t annoy him. Chen clearly was not aware that her rhythmic movements meant he was hit in the eye by a reflected ray of light every four seconds. 

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In Search of Air (The Rookie):

During her sophomore year of college, Lucy had had to memorize all of the symptoms of a panic attack as listed in the DSM-V. Technically the assignment was just to learn four or five of the 13 listed in the manual, but Lucy, ever the perfectionist, had been determined to memorize them all, to always be just that much better at psychology than the people around her. So, when she found herself once again locking herself in one of Mid-Wilshire precinct’s utility closets, it was that list of 13 symptoms she thought back on. 

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Through a Glass Darkly (Prodigal Son):

Malcolm Whitly's favorite color has always been red. It’s warm and bright and passionate, just like him. It’s the first color you notice in any crowd. It calls out to you and then pulls you headfirst into its world. His father had a red sweater when Malcolm was about 10. It was the softest thing Malcolm had ever felt. Martin said he had had to throw it out one night after spilling tea on it, but Malcolm had always loved that sweater. He still does. He has spent the intervening years searching for one that was similar so he could buy one for himself. He has loved the color for almost three decades now with absolutely no sign of his opinion changing any time in the near future. Red reminds Malcolm of his father and he loves his father. 

Malcolm Bright's favorite color has been blue most of his life. It’s calming and stable and peaceful, all the things he strives to be. It’s a color that can fade into the background when needed but also draw your eye if you’re looking for it. It’s always there to be beside you when you need it. 

[warningstandbygo]

The great thing about being an Adult is that if you randomly get Extremely Overwhelmed by Existence, no one can stop you from going into your closet in your bedroom with your laptop, changing into a onesie, and sitting in the dark quiet enclosed space all by yourself (even though you're the only one here because your spouse isn't home from work yet).