#i would just have to commit for one academic year which would be perfect

[bluesidedown]

....

[daizymax]

a fanciful affair | hjs (m)

summary: your sister is getting married, and you are the maid of honor in the wedding party. to your surprise, the only other person in the wedding party is a previous fling whom you would have rather never encountered again, so maybe it's the “love in the air” that makes you agree to round two.

pairing: jisung x fem reader

genre: some angst, smut

word count: 8.9k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; alcohol consumption; mentions of sibling favoritism; mentions of societal/parental pressures; some heteronormativity; the wedding takes place in a church but there aren’t any heavy religious elements; pessimistic views towards marriage; jisung and the reader have poor communication at first but eventually they start to get on the right track; graphic sexual content; mentions of (past) casual & drunken sex; some dirty talk; a little bit of foot play; vaginal fingering; oral sex; semi-public sex

author’s note: reuploaded from my old blog and rewritten for stray kids bc i wanted to. i hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

“I’m on my way right now.”

That part is essentially true. 

“Yeah, I’m in the car.” 

That part is a downright lie. 

“Yes! Stop worrying so much. It's just the rehearsal, isn’t it?”

It takes two heartbeats for you to realize your mistake, at which point your heart practically stops. You close your eyes curse your loose lips. You hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud — it just slipped. 

Detonation imminent in three... two... one... 

“Just the rehearsal?!” Jihye screeches. “Are you kidding me right now? I mean, yeah, I guess it's just the rehearsal. …For my goddamn wedding! It’s only the practice for the most important event of my life. It needs to be perfect, and my Maid of Honor is probably still at home, probably not even dressed yet, telling me it's just the rehearsal. So typical of you, Y/N. Oh, and for the record, Mom and Dad aren't happy about you not being here yet, either.” 

You reopen your eyes just to roll them, then return to fishing your car keys out of your bag. 

They may not be happy, but it's not like your parents can be surprised by your tardiness. It’s their younger daughter — the perfect student, the perfect athlete, the perfect musician — who is the stable, reliable one. 

Sure, you know for a fact that your mother and father love you. They’d do anything for you, give you anything and everything they can. But you’re also well aware that Jihye’s compliant, placating nature takes a lot less of a toll on them. Your parents must be beyond grateful for her. Their nerves are frayed and frazzled from suffering through your rambunctious “phase” that still hasn’t passed. 

Your teenage years can be summed up in a series of jaundiced words, whiny protests, and indignant groans from your side of the ring, and stern lectures tapering off to exhausted sighs from your parents’ end. Whenever your attitude became too much, your mother and father would turn their attention to Jihye. She would present them with yet another trophy or academic achievement to soothe their souls and assure them that they were capable of raising a “successful” human being in the eyes of society. 

These days, you are keeping your trend alive and well by refusing to conform to your parents’ expectations of settling down in a monogamous heterosexual relationship for the purpose of “stability” and starting a family of your own. And, just like always, your parents have turned to Jihye for comfort. They are spending a fortune on your baby sister’s wedding, a clear display that they favor the direction her life is going. 

But Jihye — like most everyone else in the world — deserves happiness, of course, so why not try to make this special day as perfect as possible for her? If she wants to get married, she is certainly entitled to her dream wedding. 

Just shy of four months ago, in a show of sibling camaraderie and familial commitment you knew would please your parents, you had promised to be nothing but supportive of all of your sister’s wedding plans, from the humblest of requests to the most exorbitant demands. Your stamina had kept up fairly well, but you are gradually losing steam as the end draws nearer. 

Only a little over twenty-four more hours to go, you remind yourself with dull cheer. 

Though, if you’re being completely honest, you aren’t even sure that Jihye getting married is such a good idea. At least not so soon, anyway. 

She and her boyfriend (fiancé now, of course) had only been dating for eight months when he proposed. Surely that was not a long enough period of time to truly get to know another person, and you blatantly told her as much. But Jihye was over the moon and she couldn’t — wouldn’t — hear of it. She swore up and down that she knew in her bones Chris is definitely the one, which took you aback. Your sister was never one to be overly romantic. Jihye always, always keeps a calm, disciplined, pragmatic head on her shoulders. So even while you are quite skeptical of her declaration of having found her so-called soul mate, you also trust her judgment. She is the smartest person you know, after all. 

Besides, you can’t deny that by the rigid standards of society which your parents hold in such high esteem, Chris is everything a husband “should” be. He is charming, handsome, clever, funny, financially stable, and the epitome of etiquette. And, above all, he seems to make Jihye genuinely happy. He hasn’t changed her, but he does get your uptight, austere little sister to giggle and joke and relax and adore life. You have to admit you’d be hard-pressed to find a better partner for her to spend the rest of her life with. 

But do they have to be so hasty about it? And do they have to get married on their one-year-anniversary? It makes you want to gag. 

Presently, you collect yourself and say, “I know, honey, I'm sorry. Still trying to get my shit together and act like I’m the older sister here.” 

Jihye sighs quietly on the other end of the line. When she speaks again, her voice is much calmer and softer. “I didn’t mean it like—” 

“Yeah, I know,” you say. “I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? And for the record, I am dressed.” 

She giggles, and you know you’re on your way to being forgiven. “Okay. Drive safely, Y/N. See you soon.” 

---

Everyone who arrived at the church on time gives you peculiar looks when you join them inside seventeen minutes later. 

It takes a moment for you to realize it is because they all dressed up for the rehearsal while you are still clad in a pair of ripped, black denim shorts and a white tank top with the name of your favorite band advertised across your chest. Evidently the universe decided you just needed something else to mentally kick yourself over today. You only hope that Jihye and your parents will be too absorbed in other, more crucial details to waste energy scolding you. 

No such luck. 

In a flash, your mother is on you like a vulture to carrion. 

“I thought we told you this would be semi-formal!” she whisper-hisses in your ear as she hugs you. 

“Hi Mom,” you say with an unapologetic smirk. “Hi Dad.” 

“Hi pumpkin, glad you could make it,” says your father. He leans down and pecks the air near your temple. 

“Oh look, hon!” your mother exclaims to your father. Something behind you has caught her attention. “That must be Chris’s sister and her two kids. When did they get here? Let’s go say hello...” 

As quickly as that, your mother ushers your father away to leave you standing alone, but only for a second. 

“There you are!” 

Oh no, it’s the Bridezilla! you panic playfully, turning towards the sound. Jihye waves excitedly and hurries towards you with quick and dainty stiletto’d steps. Her fiancé follows her at a much more leisurely pace, hands in his pockets. 

Chris catches your gaze and smiles. Then he glances at the back of Jihye’s head, gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, and looks to you again with raised eyebrows as if to fondly say, Yeah, she’s been a little much today, but we love her.

You grin back at him from over your sister’s shoulder as she slams her frame into yours and wraps her arms around your neck affectionately. The scent of her signature shampoo makes you think of home.  

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you say. “I'm the worst.” 

“You are not, don’t say that. It’s fine, Y/N.” She might be reassuring herself more than you, but you’ll take it. 

Jihye pulls back and squeezes your bare biceps. Her eyes sweep over your outfit in the same judging manner as your mother’s did, but she manages to hold her tongue. She’s trying to keep it together for the rest of the day. 

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” she says instead, smiling warmly. “This should all be really simple. The minister already talked me, Chris, Mom, and Dad through most of it. We just need to ‘act it out.’ If we can just find your partner now, I think we’ll be ready to get started...” 

By “partner” you know she means whoever Chris elected as his Best Man, whom you have never met before. His and Jihye’s relationship has been such a whirlwind that you’ve never gotten the chance. 

It will just be you and the Best Man in the wedding party, which is one decision of Jihye’s for which you are admittedly thankful. Large wedding parties are typically too ostentatious in your opinion. Though you can’t help but wonder if there would have been more people involved if your sister had only given herself more time to plan. 

Jihye peers around with sharp eyes. “Darling, have you seen Jisung?” 

Chris also makes a cursory inspection around the place at her request. 

“Hmm... Well, I don’t- Ah, here he comes now, sweetheart,” he says with a gesture of his hand somewhere to your left and Jihye’s right. You look to where he is indicating and see a man making his way towards the three of you from between the pews. 

The immediate thought that registers in your mind is that he is extremely good-looking. Thick dark hair parted slightly off-center, eyes the color of bitter coffee, wide shoulders. The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows, granting a nice view of veined and sinewy forearms. He isn’t especially tall, but his legs are a bit long for his body proportions. His smile is wide but a little nervous for some reason…

… Oh no ...

You’ve seen him somewhere before. 

You’ve spoken with him before. 

You’ve slept with him before. 

And he was one of the worst one-night-stands you have ever had. 

It was something around six months ago when you had gone out with a group of friends to one of the city’s hottest night clubs. It was a scene you felt like you were starting to outgrow, to be honest, but your mission success rate had always been one-hundred-percent, and you were in the mood to score that night. The mission was simple: get laid. 

It was always easy to find someone to take home or leave with for the night, sometimes scarily so. It was nothing a form-flattering dress, sexy heels, and a boat load of confidence had ever failed to accomplish, in your experience. 

It was two shots and half a cocktail into the night when you spotted his friends dragging him to the dance floor. He was laughing, that much was clear. You think you may have even heard the sound of it over the chatter and thumping music. Maybe that was why you continued to watch him. 

He was awkward getting started, likely embarrassed, but he was good when he finally let himself go and really dance. His friends were objectively better — their moves were sharper, cleaner — but it was he who held your attention. Even from a distance, you could see his bangs were damp from his exertions and the heat of the suffocating crowd. His face was dewy and glowing. Even while dancing, he didn’t stop laughing and talking with his friends. 

“He’s cute,” said one of your girlfriends. “And he looks like he’s having a good time.” 

You didn’t need to follow her line of sight to know who she was talking about — you’d already been staring at him for minutes. 

It was when you had finally lowered your eyes to the dregs at the bottom of your glass when your friend had leaned in closer and said, “He's looking at you!” 

You remember snapping your eyes up to find she was right. The music had changed, and the man didn’t look awkward at all as he stared right back at you. He must have caught you staring. 

The events between then and when you entered his apartment were a thrilling mix of drinking, laughter, and shameless flirting. Some memories have been blurred by the shots you consumed, but others you remember vividly. His touch on the small of your back when he ushered you out the door. The heavy cloud of stale smoke in the Uber to his place. The exact angle of the tent in his pants while taking the elevator up to his apartment. 

If only the X-rated scenes that transpired after tumbling into his bed were as worthy of such detailed remembrance. 

He had been a messy kisser, but that was something easily excused by the healthy stream of alcohol muddying his veins. Unfortunately, it did not help his head skills as you’d hoped it would. His fervent desire to go down on you had initially turned you on greatly, but you soon grew frustrated at the sloppy way his tongue lapped at your folds — never in the right spots, and never with the right consistency. Several times you had climbed close to your climax, only to never quite crest. 

Frustrated, you opted for urging him to just fuck you already with the prayer that having him inside of you would be better. And it was better... until he came within five minutes of entering you, pulled out, then slumped to the side. 

Unfortunately, he was not the first man you had hooked up with to finish so quickly and leave you unsatisfied, but he was the first one to fall dead asleep within seconds afterward. He didn't even bother to remove the soiled condom from his softening dick first. You also left it right where it was and fled his place as quickly as possible, feeling an odd sense of petty payback while thinking of the gross mess he would have to deal with in the morning. 

On your way home, you sulked over the disappointing night that you thought held so much potential. There had been such chemistry between the two of you at first, after all. Sadly, he ended up just being some hot guy you enjoyed flirting with for a couple hours and a pitiful story you could tell your friends about later. 

You never expected to see or hear from him again, yet here he is. What a small, funny world. 

Except you are far from laughing. 

Your heart kicks into overdrive with worry and fear over the impending awkward situation, but you do your best not to let it show on your face. In fact, you resolve not to mention your previous acquaintance with Jisung at all. Definitely not in front of your sister and her fiancé at their wedding rehearsal. 

You manage to get your heart rate down to what you estimate to be a smooth one-hundred-ten beats per minute by the time Jisung the Terrible Lay is standing directly in front of you. 

“Hi,” he says, still smiling. “I'm Jisung. You must be Jihye’s Maid of Honor?” 

Oh, so he’s also going to play dumb. Good. 

You nod and introduce yourself (again) while giving his outstretched hand the briefest of shakes. 

“So, how do you know Chris?” You mentally applaud yourself for the calm steadiness of your voice. 

“Best friends since middle school,” is Jisung’s simple answer. 

“I wish you two could have met ahead of time,” Jihye chimes in apologetically. “It would have been nice if you had gotten to know each other at least a little bit before the wedding. I should have made the time for all of us to go out to lunch or something, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s no big deal,” says Jisung. His smiling eyes do not leave yours. “I mean, it’s not like we’re the ones getting married.” 

He has the nerve to punctuate his stupid jest with a wink. You pretend to be flustered by forcing out a giggle in harmony with Jihye’s. 

Your sister glances back and forth between you and Jisung for a moment, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she took a stab at playing matchmaker at some point today to hook the two of you up. 

Already beat you to it, you brood silently. 

“Shall we get this show on the road, then?” Chris asks. 

“Please,” agrees Jihye. She waves to the minister to signal she is ready, and he nods. 

The minister takes his place near the alter and requests that everyone else congregate at the other end of the chapel. Jisung sidles up next to you at a proximity that is a bit too close to just be friendly, but you refuse to acknowledge him by even moving away. 

It’s funny how senses work — a whiff of his cologne takes you straight back to that night. Your memory flashes you a vision of you leaning against his arm on wobbly legs, and you suddenly remember the feeling of his warm, slightly callused hands cupping your elbows to steady you. You swear you can even remember the sound of his amused laughter at your inelegant state, and the taste of his beer breath in the air. 

You force yourself out of your reverie before you become lost in it. 

“It’ll be very simple, everyone,” assures the minister, echoing Jihye’s earlier words. “I think everyone has already been made aware of the seating arrangements, so let’s just get straight into the processional order, and then do a rundown of what the ceremony itself will entail...” 

As more instructions are given, Jisung leans into you and murmurs under his breath, “You look nice today.” 

A laugh almost escapes you at his unexpected comment. He utters it with the perfect ratio of humor and sincerity. 

You manage to play off the smile on your lips by flashing it towards the woman your mother said to be Chris’s sister when you suddenly catch her eye. 

“Uh, thanks,” you say to Jisung in an equally hushed tone. 

“I mean it,” he insists. “You look every bit as pretty as when I saw you in the club.” 

You ignore his compliment and try to move your lips as little as possible as you say, “Can we please not talk about that here?” 

Jisung lets out a soft snort of laughter. “Sure, no problem.” 

He leaves your side when his turn comes to practice standing behind Chris near the alter, and you follow immediately after to take your place on the opposite side, all too aware of his eyes on you for the remainder of the rehearsal. 

---

His eyes are still on you when you take a seat directly across from him at the dinner table. 

Jihye, in her mildly Bridezilla-esque way, opted to forgo the big, customary rehearsal dinner with the families in favor of a more intimate meal with just her fiancé, her fiancé’s Best Man, and her Maid of Honor. Your parents were more than a little offended about not being included, and perhaps Chris’s were, too, but who were they to deny a bride’s request on the eve of her wedding day? What they don’t realize is that this is the cordial outing Jihye wished she’d planned for just the four of you months ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes when she suggested this arrangement back at the chapel, but you weren’t at liberty to reject her wishes any more than your parents were. 

“Ah, I’m so glad we’re doing this now!” Jihye says buoyantly. She even bounces a little in her seat to show how physically overcome with joy she is. She beams back and forth between you, Jisung, Chris, and back to you again. Sometimes you still see your kid sister in her. 

“Absolutely,” Chris agrees at once. 

“Yeah, this is... lovely,” you decide unenthusiastically. You swivel your eyes back to your menu when your sister shoots you a scolding look that says: Be nice. 

“So, have you guys been here before?” Jisung asks the betrothed couple conversationally, waving a hand through the air to show he is talking about the restaurant. 

“We came here on our first date, actually,” Jihye answers in a chipper tone. She scrunches her nose at Chris in a cutesy way and proceeds to tell the table all about the memory. 

In the spirit of neatly categorizing him back into place amongst your other lousy one-night stands and nothing more, you try not to grant Jisung too much of your attention when you fall into the conversation. It proves to be quite difficult, however. Listening to and observing him in this casual, non-sexually-charged scenario is intriguing. It also brings to mind a thought that had not occurred to you before: Jisung could make a wonderful boyfriend. 

You had been so wrapped up in your mission of merely hooking up that night months ago that you never stopped to think about whether or not the person you went home with could be more than a one-night-stand, or could even be dating material. 

But Jisung is. 

He’s witty but not arrogant. Funny but not obnoxious. Charming but not cheesy. Gorgeous but not conceited. His smile is distracting and compelling. His stories are interesting and comical. His laughter is merry and infectious. 

No wonder he’s best friends with perfect-fucking-Chris. But there has to be something wrong with him... 

And then you remember there is, in fact, a catch: his bedroom manner. 

That thought makes you snort out loud into your drink, and you sweep away the romantic notions clouding your mind. 

Some time between dinner and dessert, a local band begins to play music near the dance floor, and Chris whisks a giggling Jihye away from the table. As soon as they are gone, you contemplate making up an excuse to slip out, but Jisung is already speaking to you. 

“Good, we’re alone now,” he says. 

“Good? How so?” The question spoken with a different tone could sound cute and flirty, but the flat disinterest in your mumbled words is moody and a bit harsh even to your own ears. It doesn’t appear to dampen Jisung’s sunny demeanor, though. 

He simply grins and says, “Because now we can talk to each other.” 

You shrug your shoulders. “We’ve been talking.” 

“Don’t play coy with me, pretty lady,” he says. “You know what I mean. We can talk about the night we met, and why we haven’t met up since.” 

You groan and cross your arms over your chest as you lean back in your chair. “I’d really rather not.” 

Is he really that clueless? If he truly has no idea what went wrong that night, it is not worth your time explaining it to him. But god damn him for being so handsome and likable otherwise... 

“Okay...” Jisung says slowly. “If you don’t want to talk, then how about a dance?” 

“What, here? Now? I don't think so.” 

“What if I put it this way: we can sit here and talk like adults, or we can dance and I won’t say a word. What do you think?” 

The silent dance is definitely the lesser of two evils in your mind, but you are afraid of what other nostalgic feelings could be dredged up while in that intimate situation. Your only real option is to elude the decision he wants you to make. 

“You can’t make me do either,” you say. 

Jisung’s grin widens. “Is that a challenge? What if I picked you up and carried you to the dance floor?” 

You allow yourself a laugh at his joke. “Do you think that would be cute or something? I think everyone else in this restaurant would throw your ass out for trying, especially if I was kicking and screaming the whole way.” 

“You wouldn’t dare cause a scene like that, would you?” 

“You wouldn't cause a scene like that, would you?” you throw back at him. 

“I just might.” 

“Do it, then. I dare you.” 

The pair of you sit there smirking across the table at each other in a weird sort of stand-off, waiting for the other to make a move. He caves first by breaking the silence. 

“Dance with me,” Jisung implores in a soft, honeyed tone. His eyes twinkle brightly. He looks wholly unafraid of being rejected. 

God, he really is clueless, isn’t he? 

“No, thank you,” you answer shortly, stubbornness getting the better of you. 

“Would you dance with me if I was the last man on Earth?” 

His follow-up question comes as a surprise. He must be determined to get some sort of positive answer from you tonight. 

The best you can do is laugh away the silly question and wish him a good night. When you get up to leave, Jisung offers to at least walk you to your car, and after a moment of hesitation, you agree. 

You both say hasty goodbyes to Jihye and Chris on your way out. Jihye pouts a little at your abrupt departure, but she doesn’t complain, and you know it is because she is pleased to see you walking out with Jisung. Everything looks to be going according to plan in her brilliant match-making mind. 

When you and Jisung reach your car in the parking lot, you turn to tell him goodbye once again. 

“You were really awful in bed,” you find yourself blurting, apparently unable to keep the words bottled a single second longer. 

Jisung at least has the decency to flinch at your blunt assessment. The wrinkle of his face is noticeable before he turns his head away and takes a step back from you. You wait for him to retort, but he stays silent. 

Unbelievable, you think. He’s not even going to defend himself. 

Just as you turn to leave, his fingers close around your wrist. True to the nature of electricity, a spark jolts through you nearly instantaneously. His hold is delicate but it feels as though you are being branded. You whip your head around to regard him curiously. 

“Sorry,” he says, letting go of your wrist as quickly as he grabbed it. “Just— please wait. Let me say something. Please.” He emphasizes the pleasantry as if it means all the difference. He takes a deep breath; it goes in shaky and comes out resigned. “I know I was terrible. I could make excuses about being drunk and about you being so fucking pretty that I couldn’t help myself from coming so quickly. Both of which are true, for the record, but they’re shitty excuses and you deserve better because from what I can tell, you’re a pretty great woman. All I can say is that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Y/N, you don’t even know how sorry I am. And I know you don’t owe me anything, but I would love to have a chance for us to start over.” 

At the end of his little speech, he reaches out for your wrist again and gives your hand a little squeeze. It is a soft gesture and over in a flash, but a warm tingle still ripples through your body and doesn’t fade. 

You can still feel it on the drive home... in the shower... when you climb into bed. 

You can still see his smile reflected in your windshield... against the tiles in your bathroom... in the blackness of your room. 

You can still hear his laughter in the lonely car ride... over the drumming of the water in the tub... over the serenade of crickets outside your window. 

And you can’t understand why it matters to you so much that he was terrible in bed that one single time. 

---

The ceremony went off without a hitch. 

The decorated chapel — stuffed with flowers, wreaths, streamers, candles, bows, as well as people donned in silk, lace, velvet, perfume, diamonds, gold and pearls — was a vision worthy of any bridal magazine showcasing the “ideal” wedding. Beyond the floor-length glass windows, the sky was dyed like cotton candy from the fading sunlight. A violinist stood to one side and played light, dreamy tones before and during the processional, then the classic Wedding March for the bride’s entrance. 

Jihye played the part of the radiant bride beautifully. Seeing your little sister’s eyes coated in glassy tears as she walked down the aisle on your father’s arm, then hearing the tremble in her normally steady and authoritative voice as she vowed her devotion to another person (all while wearing a several-thousand-dollar dress meant for this one single occasion) was almost enough to make you cry, too. 

Several times during the vows, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking across the aisle just to see the beautiful smile on Jisung’s face. It had been there since he met you at the other end of the aisle and presented you with a beautiful, white orchid corsage to match the boutonniere pinned to his lapel. When he slipped it onto your wrist, the touch of his slender fingers started to rekindle the spark the two of you had had months ago. 

“You look beautiful,” Jisung had whispered in your ear. “You are beautiful.” 

The same could have been said of him in his dapper black tuxedo and bow tie, but you could not locate your voice to tell him as much. 

The nervous flutter of your heart was made visibly apparent in the way your fingers trembled when he lifted them to kiss the back of your hand, but Jisung couldn’t take notice because his gaze was fixed on your face, and yours was fixed on his in return. The pools of his eyes were so easy to drown in. 

In that moment, immersed in the whimsical atmosphere all around you, you were prepared to give him the answer you couldn’t give him last night when he proposed to starting over. You were ready to tell him you had been foolish for not giving him a second thought all these months, and you would appreciate a do-over very much. 

But then Jihye was hissing from somewhere off to the side for Jisung to get moving, and you lost the chance to speak your wishes. Something about the small bounce in Jisung’s gait down the aisle told you he already knew what you had wanted to say, however. 

Now, here at the reception, it is time to forget about such sappy things and get drunk. 

If only the waiter with the tray of champagne would circle back around so you don’t have to go chasing after him and start up some “alcoholic spinster” rumors for your family to enjoy at your expense. 

“Hi!” Jisung appears at your side like a miracle, bearing a knowing grin and two flutes of the same champagne you were just ogling. “You looked like you needed a drink,” he says, letting you lift one from between his fingers. 

Your lips are already around the edge of the glass. “Was it that obvious?” 

“A little, but hey, who cares? It’s a party.” He pauses for a sip of his own drink, then says, “I liked your Maid of Honor speech, by the way. The story about your little car surfing adventure was hilarious.” 

“Oh, thanks,” you giggle. “I’m afraid my parents didn’t find it quite as funny.” 

“Well, no, but they wouldn’t, would they?” Jisung laughs. “But they did like the part when you said that Jihye getting married is far braver than all your teenage stunts combined.” 

You hum in agreement. “Hm. Yeah. Luckily, they don’t seem to know the difference between bravery and stupidity.” 

Jisung’s grin tilts lopsidedly at your comment. “Not a big, uh, proponent of the whole marriage thing, I take it?” 

“Nah,” you dismiss at once. “There are billions and billions of people in this world, and folks want to tie themselves to just one with a sheet of paper recognized by the government? To some person they met in a teeny tiny corner of the world without ever having stepped outside of the thirty mile radius they’ve lived in for their entire life?” The bubbly alcohol in your glass sloshes haphazardly as your hands become animated, but you pay it no mind. “And so many marriages just end in divorce anyway, so then people have to go through that whole fuckery. Lose half their money, half their shit. And the things they do get to keep, they have to look at and get a big fat reminder of how they picked it out with their ex-spouse during a time when they thought they were in love. They probably went to the store that day hand-in-hand and had no idea things were going to totally implode spectacularly—” 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Jisung interrupts, laughing loudly. “How drunk are you right now? Maybe I should take that back...” 

“I'm not drunk!” you say hotly and a bit too loudly, jerking your glass away even though he isn’t actually reaching for it. A few nearby heads turn in your direction, so you lower your voice and grit, “I’m not drunk.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” The expression on his face does not look particularly sorry. “Can I ask you something else without you going off on a rant?” 

You deflate with a sigh, calming yourself before saying, “Sure, what is it?” 

“Dance with me?” 

You force the corners of your mouth down a bit to prevent your smile from growing too wide at the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. 

“Sure.” 

He does take your drink now, setting it aside with his before taking your hand next. 

If people are watching the two of you when you step onto the dance floor together, you are oblivious. The only thing you can focus on is the warmth of Jisung’s other hand radiating through your dress from its place on the small of your back when he pulls you in close, and the solid plane of his chest heating you from the front. You absently wonder if he can feel your heart racing. You think maybe you can feel his. 

“I haven’t looked around in a minute,” Jisung says quietly when you both settle into the soft rhythm of the music and begin gently rotating. “But am I suddenly the last man on Earth?” 

An ungraceful bark of laughter pops out of your mouth. Too late, you cover your lips with your fingers, but Jisung does not accept the movement of your hand. He reaches and brings it back to his shoulder, then gives it a few pats as if to embed it firmly into place. 

“You’re not the last man on Earth,” you admit without looking at him. 

“So you want to dance with me?” he presses, playfully ducking his face into your view to force your eyes on him. 

You exhale a softer laugh. “I do.” 

“Funny. Your sister said those exact same words a little while ago.” 

“So did your best friend.” 

Jisung curls his lips down and protrudes his chin thoughtfully. “I guess that makes them both stupid.” 

“Or brave,” you argue matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah. Or brave.” 

A few silent twirls go by before he speaks up again. 

“I have another question,” he begins slowly, then goes quiet for long enough that you eventually look at him questioningly. The resident smile is gone from his face because his lips are pressed together rather seriously. 

“What’s your question, Jisung?” 

He parts his tight lips and whispers, “If I were to kiss you right now, would you consider it brave or stupid of me?” 

If he could not adequately feel your heartbeat a moment ago, he certainly should be able to now. 

You take a moment to consider your words. “Neither,” you finally decide. “I’d consider it cliché.” 

“Ah. Well, what do you think about cliché, then?” 

You swallow hard. “I think I can handle it.” 

To put that statement to the test, Jisung suddenly dips you backwards, and you squeak in surprise. He keeps his eyes locked on yours while waiting to see if you will protest. After a long enough moment of receiving no resistance, he leans in after you and matches his grinning lips to yours. 

Several whistles and cat calls ring out all around you. The supportive sounds encourage Jisung to lift you back upright and continue the kiss ardently, which you reciprocate in full. Instead of simply enjoying it, your brain chooses to analyze the kiss and how much it differs from the last time you did this with him — in a good way. Either he has been practicing or alcohol completely abolishes all sense of his coordination. 

With that thought, you start to laugh until you are unable to maintain contact with his lips. Jisung celebrates your laughter by beaming and squeezing you tightly. 

The audience of people crowded around begins to applaud at the endearing display. Even the bride and groom — the people who should be the sole center of attention all night — are standing on the sidelines clapping their approval. It’s as if none of them have ever witnessed two people kissing before. 

Then you see the unmistakably hopeful look on your parents’ faces, and it dawns on you that they are excited by the prospect of you entering an actual relationship with someone. You know how their minds work. No doubt they are already going so far as marrying you off to Jisung despite the fact that he is essentially a stranger to them — and to you. 

Those bothersome thoughts threaten to spoil your cheerful mood, but Jisung reels you back in by pecking your mouth chastely. It feels like the punctuation to an unspoken agreement to a new start. 

You gift him with a flattered smile and allow him to lead you back into another dance, and everyone else resumes their own business. 

The fast pace of the next song immediately reminds you of the infamous night that has been on your mind ever since Jisung reappeared in your life yesterday. The way his eyes are following the motion of your hips tells you that he is remembering, too. With just a few well-timed shakes and some not-so-accidental brushes, things quickly alter from sweet and charming to hot and tense. 

Jisung brings his lips to the edge of your cheek and whispers towards your earlobe, “You’re giving me some dangerous thoughts right now, baby.” 

Boldly, you entreat, “Tell me.” 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’m thinking about asking if you want to get out of here, but I don’t think I should.” 

The scent of his cologne tinged with just a hint of sweat is positively intoxicating. The tips of his fingers grazing along your hips makes you lightheaded in the best possible way. 

“Why not?” you ask. 

“Well, you see, the last time I left with you like that, I screwed up and didn’t see you for six months,” he tells you. The smile on his face is a bit forlorn. “I don’t want to make the mistake of sleeping with you too soon again. I want this new start to be perfect.” 

His words are wise. You put your hormones on pause for a moment and envision yourself going on sweet dates with him in all the usual places — to the beach, to an amusement park, to his favorite café — before one night the two of you finally make love to each other in a perfectly romantic setting. 

As darling as all of that would be, you have no patience for it now. There will be plenty of time for those fanciful scenarios later. Or at least, that’s what you’re planning on. 

“The problem wasn’t us sleeping together too soon,” you explain. “The problem was that you were bad.” You pinch his earlobe to let him know you mean what you say, but in a playful manner. 

Jisung snorts and shakes his head away from your fingers. He seems unwilling to say more on the matter, so you have to continue and make your desires known. 

“Jisung, I’ve been waiting for months to get laid at this reception, and you’re the only one here I’m interested in following through with now,” you level seriously. “Besides, if we’re starting over, I need to know that the first time was a fluke.” 

“It was a fluke,” he insists. 

You press your lips to the shell of his ear. “So prove it.” 

When you pull back, there is still a somewhat hesitant expression on Jisung’s face, but the desire in his eyes is growing; the brown that used to be there is being swallowed by black lust. His gentlemanly resolve is crumbling. 

“Can the Best Man and the Maid of Honor even leave the reception?” he worries, still clinging to his better judgment. 

Good question. Honestly, you have no idea what the standard protocol is for the wedding party’s attendance after the ceremony is finished and the obligatory speeches have already been made at the reception. 

You contemplate just going to Jihye and telling her outright that you and Jisung are leaving. Certainly she has no further need for you to be here. But then again, there is probably something more you are supposed to be doing for her. Helping with the gifts or cleaning up the mess afterward, perhaps. But didn’t she hire a crew for that? You can’t remember. In any case, you can hear her incredulous tone now, scolding you for wanting to duck out early on her big night just to hook up with Jisung — even though she wants you two to become a thing. 

You gaze around and spot your sister sitting beside her new husband at their specially reserved table, feeding him a bite from her fork and laughing. She seems distracted enough for the moment. 

“We don’t have to leave. We just have to be quick,” you say, taking Jisung’s hand and tugging determinedly. “Come on.” 

You half expect him to remain rooted in place and hiss another anxious remark at you, but he comes along willingly. The things you assume of him never go as expected; you should probably stop assuming things altogether. 

Without stopping to survey the curious looks that you know are being shot in your direction — because it is clear that you are moving with a purpose and Jisung is along for the ride — you lead Jisung straight to a side room containing the gifts you were just wondering about and shut the door behind you. Not a second is spared before you grab the flaps of Jisung’s tuxedo jacket to pull him in for a more heated kiss. 

“This is crazy,” he laughs after you release his lips again with a wet suction noise. 

It is crazy, but it is also too thrilling to stop. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be my sister’s wedding reception if I didn’t try to cause some sort of scandal,” you joke off-handedly. 

“You mean your speech wasn’t inappropriate enou- hnghh, holy shit.” Jisung’s laughter dries up when he witnesses you sliding your panties off from beneath your dress. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps. 

With a smirk, you say, “Come on, we have to be quick, remember?”  

Your fingers work quickly at unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Your hand slides past the band of his underwear to find him not very hard, but not completely soft, either. His breath hitches at your touch. 

“Ffffuck,” Jisung breathes. “You really want it, don’t you?” 

You grin wickedly. “Mhm. Really want to be fucked the way I should have been months ago.” 

You give his cock a squeeze, earning a full moan from him. You rub him up and down as best as you can from the angle permitted by the confines of his clothing. His cock stiffens rapidly and a lustful sigh overflows from his mouth. 

With a few quick shifts and yanks, you guide his erection out of his pants and boxers and drop to your knees in front of it. You don’t remember it being quite this thick, but you’re pleased. It looks so delicious. The head is ruby red, and the vein curving around the smooth underside looks fit to burst. 

Jisung gasps at the first kittenish lick you draw on the slit of his cock. One of his hands comes down to hold the side of your face. You peer up at him through your lashes and smile as you press the head of his cock against the tip of your tongue. He groans lowly in his chest at the sight. 

“We don’t have much time,” he tells you as though you haven’t already told him as much. His voice is already getting husky. “So we’d better make the most of it.” 

Unexpectedly, he curls his hands around your arms and pulls you back up to your feet. The action utterly confuses you. No man you have ever been with has ever stopped a blowjob before it has even started, and there is no way he could have misinterpreted your intentions. Is he afraid of coming too soon again? That’s certainly a likely possibility. 

Before you can question him, Jisung takes the back of your head and brings you in so he can slant his mouth over yours. The force with which he crashes into you is enough to bruise your delicate lips, but oddly enough, you don’t mind. The sincere passion he is pouring into the kiss is burning you from the inside out. He moves to assault your neck next, freeing you to speak. 

“Jisung, what—” You clear the rasp in your voice and start again. “Why did you stop me? I wanted to—” 

He interrupts you with a moan that rattles against your collarbone. “I know, baby. As much as I would love to have your lips around my dick, the point of this is to make you feel good right now. We can worry about me later.” 

He breaks away from your skin to glance around the room. There isn’t exactly a four-poster bed in the vicinity, so he decides the best option is to sit you down in a small chair. Either that or the gift table, but that feels like it would be a bit too disrespectful to Jihye and Chris. 

Jisung kneels in front of you and removes your heels carefully as you take a seat. His thumbs rub gentle circles into your smooth skin as he shuffles closer to you on his knees and leans in to peck your lips twice. His touch is sweet and relaxing, letting you know without words that he is going to take good care of you. The anticipation is nearly overwhelming. 

Soon, Jisung’s fingers trail upwards, following the muscled lines of your calves under the skirt of your dress. You swiftly drag the expensive fabric up over your thighs to give him unfettered access. He grins at you then looks down at the view you have so generously granted him. His hands creep higher and higher on your legs until he is tantalizingly close to where you need him most. 

“Jisung, we can’t take too long,” you remind him impatiently. The whine in your tone is apparent, but you don’t care. 

“I know, baby,” he says again. One of his index fingers skims just over the lips of your pussy. “Indulge me for just a minute, please.” 

He distracts you with another kiss, and you meet his probing tongue with a whimper of need. Since using words isn’t an option at the moment, you try to convey in other ways how much you need him right now. You pull on his arms and at his hair. Your feet glide along his legs and he opens them wider. When your toes bump against his cock still standing out from his pants, he groans loudly against your mouth, and you can tell it is not out of pain. He likes it. Emboldened by his reaction, you press the ball of your foot directly against his cockhead with a bit more pressure. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” he pants against your chin. “I bet you’re good with your feet.” 

Honestly, you have never tried serious foot play, but he sounds turned on enough to make you want to try. 

“Maybe you’ll find out,” you tease with a giggle. “Right now I want you to prove you’re good with your fingers.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

He finally pushes a thick finger between your folds and curls it, beckoning a gasp into your lungs. Your hips automatically jerk forward to seek more friction. Jisung obliges your body language and buries a second finger deep inside your walls alongside the first. 

“Shit. Your pussy is even tighter than I remember.” 

“Have you thought about my pussy a lot these past six months?” 

“Absolutely,” Jisung admits freely, and you have no reply for his honesty because you were not expecting it. 

He draws his fingers out to just the tips, then plunges them back inside without delay. He repeats the motion again and again, gradually increasing the pace. The sounds coming from your core are sticky and obscene. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your head falls back as well. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you urge breathlessly. “Touch my clit, too, please. I need more.” 

Jisung lets out a hungry moan. Instead of using his thumb like you figured he would, he bends forward to brush his tongue against your swollen bud. Your thighs twitch reflexively at the sudden contact on your most sensitive area, ready to either snap against his head to stop him or fall away even further to invite him in. They decide on the latter. 

A whimper squeezes out of you, along with a string of barely coherent encouragements. 

“Oh God, J-Jisung. Yes, yes, y-yes! Like that. Don’t stop. F-Fingers a little s-slower. Tongue faster. Please. Oh f-fuck, yes!” 

He redistributes his weight on his knees to get comfortable between your legs, then hastens to follow your commands. His tongue sharpens and digs relentlessly into your clit. The points of his fingers graze against your g-spot with each deliberate stroke, and that’s when you twist your fingers in his hair. 

“God d-damn it, Jisung,” you moan. Your body starts to writhe uncontrollably, trying to ride his face to your finish. 

“Yes, baby,” he coos sweetly, face still planted firmly against you. The vibrations of his voice tickle your clit gloriously, and you can feel his grin against your hot skin. “You taste like fucking heaven. Is this good? Does it feel good?” 

“Yes, fuck, oh, fuck, k-keep going.” 

He hums and continues with renewed vigor. 

Every time his fingers drag backwards from your pussy, you suck them right back in with a tight squeeze. His lips wrap around your clit and his tongue slips under the hood. The ministrations on your raw bundle of nerves drive you straight to the edge of madness. 

Your fingers curl against Jisung’s warm scalp. Your toes curl against the cold tile floor. Your back stiffens to keep your center firmly locked against Jisung’s face. Your breath hangs suspended in your chest for a long moment... 

...then suddenly you’re exhaling it with an expletive cry of satisfaction when you tumble over that blissful edge. Spasms wrack through your body repeatedly as it struggles to harbor the intense pleasure crashing over you. 

Somewhere in your electrified mind, you are aware of Jisung’s other hand on one of your hips, trying to pin you back down to the chair. You let go of him and move back quickly when you realize you must be suffocating him, and his fingers slip from you in the process with one last parting squelch. When you look down at him, you can clearly see the glisten of your juices slathered over his nose and chin and mouth. 

His grinning mouth. 

“I think you enjoyed that, baby,” he comments proudly, “considering I just about drowned just now.” 

You huff out a laugh and shake your fuzzy head. “Fucking hell, Jisung. Why the fuck couldn’t you have been that good the first time?” 

“I wish I could have been. Then I would’ve been doing this with you this whole time.” 

“Oh, you think so? You think we would’ve stayed together up to now?” You grin at him and push your toes against his shoulder playfully. 

He doesn’t answer you right away. First, he takes your foot and brings it up to his sticky lips to kiss the pads of your toes gently, one by one. Your smile falters when your mouth droops open at the strangely erotic sight, but his smile only widens. 

“Yeah, that’s what I think, pretty lady.” 

His presumptuous yet sweet admission leaves you speechless. All you can do is tug him towards you to kiss him with newfound admiration, heedless of the mess still glued to his lips. Truthfully, you relish the taste of yourself on him; you think of it as proof of the capabilities you thought he lacked, and you have never been happier to stand corrected. 

Jisung is the one to break away first, still smiling. “Can I have one more dance before I take you out of here to make you come some more? Preferably on my dick this time?” 

The bizarre combination of endearing and lewd words makes you laugh heartily. What a surprising man he has turned out to be. 

“Absolutely.” 

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2023 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[enchantedflameandflower]

Can you talk about your thoughts on Billy and Becca's relationship? From what I've read from your comments and notes, you're not a big fan of them together and it's rare to find others besides myself in the Boys fandom willing to be critical of this ship and especially Becca herself in regards to how it turned out.

Yeah I can certainly try! I don’t speak on it a lot I don’t think because I’m not about to argue with someone I don’t even know and I’m not going to put down someone’s ship. I wouldn’t say I’m not a fan of them together, I love how Billy loved her and he did - I would say I’m not a fan of the way people put her or their relationship on a pedestal just like she said not to and they were clearly toxic for each other.

My feelings have a lot of different aspects - one I think she’s just badly written, I mean she’s totally fridged and there’s no basis in my opinion for her to be amazingly perfect? (Not that any woman has to!) So I don’t get why people think that. Two - my feelings while I’m watching emotionally are kind of different from my more academic opinions and are also different from Addison’s feelings on it - which in my head I’ve really gotten into so I can write my story authentically.

I will say additionally I have a degree in psychology and I’ve been in a happy successful relationship for 27 years (so far) from 16-43 so I know a little bit about what it takes. The things we have been through together and come out still completely committed and fully loving each other…

Emotionally, she annoys me and that’s just me. They’re trying to make her look like some amazing mother but the first chance she gets she’s spouting how she just ‘acts’ like ‘Carol fucking Brady’ like what? How is that in any way being a good mom. And I hugely disagree with her over sheltering. And she just wishes she was doing nothing on the couch smoking weed and eating Cheetos like huh? That’s the first thing she wants to say to Billy after 10 years? The way she acts about it rings so weird to me. Now BELIEVE ME I absolutely do those things too and enjoy it when my child is good for the night but I would never say it like that or think like that nor would that ever be my first conversation with my husband after hiding from him for a decade.

Billy was shown often (except for one weird one off line) to be there for her and love her but her whole attitude and the ease with which she left him leads me feel she was in it for a good time and not much else. The conversation about the spice girls concert is ridiculous. I can’t even fathom making my husband do something like that that he’s not into. We absolutely both have things we like to do together and then we have our own things too. Why would she force him to go to something he hates like that? Especially when she has her sister to enjoy it with. I don’t get it at all and it’s not how a relationship works.

In the fourth season the Becca hallucination tells Butcher that he shouldn’t betray Hughie even to save Ryan, there would be another way. And that’s what should’ve happened after she was r*ped. She left Billy because he would’ve gone on a rampage if she told him?? She thinks he wouldn’t if she disappeared? (He did.) How does that make sense. There’s always another way. Just like she says. I cannot even for a second imagine doing what she did to my husband. And yes I understand Billy has major problems but he was never shown to be beyond love and support. I don’t think she supported him as a partner at all. She was there because he was hot, sexy, he worshipped her and he took care of her. How did she take care of him, ever? I have a lot of Billy in me on the inside and I’ve said some very choice things in private messages but I won’t say them here haha <3

Now Addison is a better person than me, though of course she doesn’t know any of those examples, but she loves Billy unconditionally even though it’s going to be really really hard but her view of Becca is through Billy’s eyes so she really respects and protects that vision for Billy in a way and I kind of like exploring that too :) Latest chapter out here 🖤

hope that kind of makes sense, and thank you for your ask. just my thoughts and all ships should be happily whatever the shipper wants them to be because a ship can be anything

[presleyhearted]

Kismet, Kismet✨🤍| Part 1

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, profanity. genre: fluff, angst, (future smut)

author's note : hi! this was originally a one-shot in my mind, but when I started writing I realized the story is longer than that. So, a full-length fic. I noticed the lack of Asian-centred characters in the fandom, so here we go. I have so much planned for this, already daydreaming about future scenes. Each part will have warnings, so please refer to those before reading. This series will contain 18+ and mature themes, even if this part one does not. So, please be wary of that if you are a minor, do not interact. enjoy reading! - Rose 💋

Las Vegas, 1972

She shouldn't be here tonight.

The piles upon piles of paper that occupied back at her dorm room would agree. A rather stark contrast to the blinding lights, numerous glamoured clothing, and excited chatter that filled the spacious room she was currently in. Two different ways one could spend their Thursday night. Not even the carefree reputation of a weekend could ease the guilt of temporarily abandoning academic commitments.

My goodness, it's Thursday night Angel thought to herself, as she couldn't help but fiddle with her fingers, trying and failing desperately to relax in the seat. An action that does not go unnoticed by Felicity, her carefree roommate.

"Are you on your period?" Felicity asked her, nonchalantly. Thankfully, she says this in a quieter voice. Angel knows that there is no embarrassment in the natural cycle of womanhood. But it is still a topic that can only be discussed in hushed whispers between women.

Angel shook her head, "No. Why?"

"It's just, you keep fidgeting in your seat." Felicity pointed out.

"I can't help thinking about that paper for-"

Felicity quickly shushed her and took hold of her arms, "Oh my god, Angel. No. No talk about assignments, essays, or professors. We are sat front row about to see thee Elvis Presley in front of our very eyes!" She said, in a matter-of-fact, way and gesturing her hands dramatically to the stage.

"I know, but-"

"No buts! Our boring life as college students can wait, but this is once in a blue moon." Felicity persisted, her voice drifting off into a dreamy sigh.

Although, Angel instinctively was about to reply back something along the lines of academic responsibility needing to triumph seeing a star's live performance - her roommate's words processed longer in her mind. Felicity tends to be bolder and acts quickly without thinking most of the time. A habit that doesn't exactly align with safety, but does very much so with trouble. Angel was quite the opposite and is the one who persistently cautions her roommate's spontaneous pursuits.

But Angel does know that spontaneity can result in good things. She can act at least recognize that. Which is why, she held back her tongue before replying to Felicity, because well - this is one of those good things.

Very good things. Angel's thoughts echoed.

A reminder more so. A reminder of the time when she first heard him sing and see him perform. Just one year before her senior year of high school, she stumbled upon his performance on the television screen in her parents' living room. The '68 comeback special. His all-black leather outfit, tanned skin, jet-black hair, and not to mention the crooked grin that he so consistently displayed to his audience. His voice - a beautiful, rich, and deep timbre that captured anyone who listened. Angel did. Certainly. Not to mention the way he moved on stage - he was practically swimming with charisma and sexual appeal.

But of course, her eyes were only captivated by his performance for a short while before her mother waltzed in and abruptly turned the television set off. Hands-on her hips, a deep set frown on her lips, as she looked at her teenage daughter in bewilderment. A type of bewilderment that made whatever magical word Angel was so captured in - burst and disappear. Her mother wasted no time in questioning her, heck, Angel could still remember the words to this very day: 'What on earth do you think you are doing watching such vulgar movements? You are poisoning your mind!' Her mother's words half English, and half in Korean.

In which, Angel remembers replying back, in defense 'But Eomma (Mom) it's only dancing!' A reply that ended up with a lecture from her mother about the dangers of viewing such a performance. The dangers of Elvis Presley, and how he corrupts their generation to pursue wrongful actions. Angel could not simply understand the issue in the matter, but she knew better than to say more.

So, that was that. Her father caught the news from her mother, which turned into another discussion. But despite all of that, Angel desperately, found herself wishing to hear his voice again. There was something naturally comforting, and something true when he sang. So she bought his records, in secret, and played them whenever her parents were not in the house.

But thinking back to that day that she first saw his performance, as she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling - there was one word that jumped from the confines of Angel's mind.

Daring.

Elvis Presley was absolutely daring.

Angel found herself shaking her head, and a smile pulling on her lips at the memory of her past self. And so, although college is important, she knew Felicity had a point. It would be foolish to brush past an opportunity to see him perform live. To satisfy the part of her that became a fan on that day years ago. After all, college is every day, but Elvis Presley? it would only be once. She will see him perform once, and go home, and she knows that her future self would be glad that she created such a memory. A memory that she will surely cherish forever.

So, without that in mind, she looks to Felicity, "Okay. You do have a point."

Felicity claps excitedly and smiles in triumph, "Oh, this will change our lives forever. I just know."

The showroom was quickly filled with hundreds upon hundreds of excited audience members. It ranged from regular, avid fans to top A-list actors and actresses occupying the seats of the spacious area. Angel couldn't help but sneak a glance at the clock that was just to the right wall. ten minutes. Elvis Presley will be out on stage in just ten minutes.

The actual realisation finally hit her. Earlier all that occupied her mind were her worries between the battle of having fun, or turning back and burying her nose in the papers at her desk. But now, now that she has accepted that it did not hurt to let this opportunity happen, the wave of what will actually happen any moment now gripped her mind.

Elvis Presley will perform and he will be right in front of me. Her heartbeat couldn't help but quicken at the thought of it - the pure excitement and rush, hitting her all at once.

Being overwhelmed by listening to his records was one thing. But seeing him right in front of her? In, what, she glanced at the time - eight minutes - overwhelmed wouldn't even begin to describe what she would feel. Felicity chatted away with her prediction on what songs he would play and apparent rumours about potential medleys. But Angel was drowning out the words, not quite hearing it, her excitement was filling up her body quicker and quicker. Shit.

She needed a drink, and she needed one fast. Luckily, servers were plentiful, walking around with circular trays as they placed various beverages and food onto tables. She managed to get a glass of water, muttered a thanks, and drank it. Felt the cool liquid against her tongue. Better. She's calmer now.

But heard her stomach rumbling, her cheeks hot in embarrassment. Right. She didn't eat before they left the dorms, because well, her cheerful red-headed roommate thought it was the best to surprise her with tickets at the last minute. Angel simply didn't have time to process everything, before she found herself walking into the infamous International Hotel.

"- I still think Gregory Peck is leagues better than Cary Grant," Felicity said, drifting the conversation to some Hollywood actors who were rumored to be attending tonight.

Now that her body is much more relaxed, Angel felt good that she was able to properly engage in a conversation with her roommate. But yes. she was still hungry.

Angel shrugged, "Both are good. But I can't say that I've seen all the pictures that Cary Grant was in, so I couldn't make a fair judgment." She replied, every assessor and the analytical tendency jumping out of her, all second nature.

Felicity simply shook her head, "Very well, then, Attorney Song." She teased, as she smirked.

Angel laughed, "Oh, shut it."

At the corner of her eye, she saw a server that was about to pass their table. Angel quickly planned that she would stand up, which she did, and turn around and browse the food options that the server held. The turning around and standing did certainly go to plan, however, the latter most certainly did not.

In fact, what did end up happening is the abrupt movement from Angel caused the glass of beverage on the tray to lose balance and slam right into her. Spilling her dress. The server's eyes widened, as he profusely apologized, Angel was quick to tell him that it was not his fault and most certainly hers due to her clumsiness. Felicity gasped and handed Angel the few paper towels that were on their table, but despite this, the stain was still very noticeable.

"Oh, great," Angel groaned.

Then she remembered. She remembered how she always brought spare clothes with her in case of anything. A situation precisely like this. With that, she bids Felicity a temporary goodbye, in which the redhead reminds her to hurry as the show is about to start.

five minutes. The clock read as she ran past it, through the doors, and into the hallway of the first floor of the hotel.

Angel sighed in relief at the sight of the female restrooms and was about to push the door open when she noticed a sign - 'out of order, please use the next available restroom. we are sorry for the inconvenience.' Shit.

"Hi, excuse me," She said at the receptionist sat behind the desk.

The lady nodded for her to continue, "Yes, Ma'am. How can I help?"

"I saw the restroom is out of service. Are there other restrooms located on this floor?"

The lady sighed, "There are no other restrooms on this floor, Ma'am. The next one is located on the third floor."

Third floor. She glanced at the clock - three minutes.

Shit. There is no way that she will make it, well at least not to see Elvis' first walk onto the stage.

She nodded, "Alright, thank you for your help."

Angel then makes a run for it to the elevators. She pressed a button and well, it is definitely taking its time, as she found herself tapping her feet impatiently on the carpeted flooring.

She surveys her surroundings, there is the option of taking the stairs, but that will just make her sweaty. An image that Angel definitely does not want to add to the already spilled drink on her dress. She bites her lip anxiously and stops her eyes at a door in a corner. There is no room number, only the sign saying 'supply closet.'

Aha, perfect.

She quickly looks around, making sure that no one is around to see her. Once she is satisfied that the coast is clear, Angel quickly runs to the supply closet, swings the door open and locks the door. She breathes out a sigh of relief and mutters to herself, "Thank the Lord."

She mentally thanks her past self for choosing a dress that was easy to remove, as she begins to pull down the sleeves of her dress, and pull down the top part.

The supply closet was exactly what is sounded like - towels and various cleaning supplies filled four shelves. The space was tiny, but that didn't matter, just enough space for one person to quickly change into clean clothes and make a swift exit. A good plan before any member of the cleaning staff encounters her.

Because yes, this is most definitely not a changing room.

But then again, nothing is quite going to plan this evening. So, well, it should not be a surprise for Angel to discover that yet another part of her plans has been thrown out of the window.

A clearing of a throat made her jump, Angel's eyes widened as she quickly grabbed onto the top of her dress to cover herself, and pulled her sleeves back up. She turned around, "What th-"

Her words get caught in her throat, she spun around expecting a complete stranger and was ready to hit them with her bag. But she paused her movements, for it was not a stranger that was before her. Yes, she did not know him personally, but my goodness she knew him in a way. Tanned skin, effortlessly cool black hair, fancy jumpsuit adorned with glittering stones, and the few rings that occupied his fingers.

Elvis Presley.

He was sat down with his back against the wall.

His azure blue eyes held contact with her brown ones, with both of his hands up as if in surrender. He vigorously shook his head, "I-I-I. . .honey, I swear to ya. I-I wasn't," He stammered. A bright bloom in his cheeks.

She immediately knew what he was trying to say, albeit a stuttering explanation from him.

"I didn't look at nothin', " Elvis ran a hand through his hair, seemingly stressed out about the situation.

Angel raised an eyebrow and Elvis nodded.

She then most certainly realized that he was waiting for her to say something. Anything.

Angel took a deep breath and tried to find the words herself, "You. . how. . . but it's just. . . fuck." She ended up cursing under her breath, completely mentally kicking herself for not being able to articulate one simple sentence.

cute. Elvis thought.

Elvis felt himself smile but fortunately controlled himself enough not to continue to do so. Thinking to himself that a smile won't help her right now.

Angel held her head in her hands, muttered a few words to herself that Elvis realized must be in a different language, and then looked back at him.

"Okay. I- uhm, I believe you. It's just. . . what is actually happening?" Angel asked, seemingly been able to calm down her racing heartbeat but her brain not yet fully comprehending the situation.

The complete impossibility of it.

Elvis nodded and gestured to the floor, "Why don't ya sit down, honey. I'll tell ya."

There. That southern drawl, a tone that sent a shiver down her spine. But she was quick to snap herself out of it.

"I uhm, I need to change." She gestured to the spill on her dress.

" I won't look. " Elvis held his hands up in defense and immediately turned around to face the wall. Angel bit her lip a little apprehensively, but then thought to herself that there is quite literally no other way around this. So, she turned around and began to change. The space in the closet was not very generous, if Angel were to step backward just a step - the back of her legs would surely be hitting Elvis' head.

Angel tried to calm her breathing.

I am getting changed when Elvis Presley is right behind me. What in the world.

She changed into a regular mod dress and turned back around. Just in time to see that there was a clock on the wall, right above where Elvis sat. The countdown is over. It was done approximately ten minutes ago, but there were two things that Angel was certain of;

One; the countdown for Elvis to appear on stage has long been finished.

Two; Although the countdown was over, the one that it was for was not present on stage and instead he was - right here. Sat down, turned around, in a cleaning supply closet and Angel is about to find out why.

[beardedmrbean]

Seeing a lot of my friends posting Instagram Infographics about the Israel-Palestine conflict, which is to be expected, but today, I saw a tonne of them reposting the exact same one which included the incredible statement that “so many people including progressives and leftist are learning meaningfully about Palestine for the first time” and I just

What happened before? There wasn’t any information then? There wasn’t any conflict before? It’s just infuriating seeing people treat this like a football team, where you support a side and just post picture after picture, statement after statement, without needing to worry about anything that happens in the region bc it likely wouldn’t have affected you.

Back when they had that whole dust up over evicting squatters from a home someone bought before WW1 a couple years back I expected more people to look into this stuff, suppose the fact that even if the place were still under the ownership of the Ottoman Empire the people would have been evicted shifted things.

One of my favs is the "map" everyone pulls out, which on the surface looks bad until you start looking at the dates where everything changes and realize that most if not all of the increases in the land size for the current state of Israel happened because one of their neighbors with the aid of the palestenians decided to try and invade and while I'm not a history major or anything I'm fairly sure that that's how borders happen, there's a war and territory is sometimes included in the spoils of war.

Right or wrong is irrelevant, it's just how it is, or at least always has been, look at Tibet it's recognized as part of china. They annexed it had a little war and won so now it's part of china.

Was Russia always as big as it is or were there expansionist wars?

Whole apartheid thing is weird too, place has equal rights for all citizens, resident aliens don't do so bad either, not equal responsibility though in a similar vein to men in the US only Jewish residents are required to serve a mandatory term in the military, I think, Arabs are exempt I know that much.

It's all insane, and I hate it, wish people would be honest. Israel is far from perfect but seriously some of the complaints,

with current news and accusations, let's remember this gem which was buried oddly never had to dig for this one before time to bookmark I guess.

This part is new information to me, doesn't make the whole thing any less batshit other than someone that hates Jews quoting Jewish research, I'd the nut bag must be getting the Eduard Bloch treatment, but Bloch wasn't an academic he was a healer, also Bloch wasn't an idiot.

Wild.

let's end with this one check the date

oh look down at the bottom is it a ray of hope

I'm good with legitimate fair criticism of people and countries and faiths and traditions and all that stuff.

Key word is fair

Fucking amnesty international can go and inspect and tell Ukraine that using schools to house munitions or soldiers or stage operations from is bad because it makes them a legitimate military target.

One for brits now, cuz cuntbin

If the accusations of white phosphorous are found to be true, I hope the people involve are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, if a civilian in intentionally murdered I hope the person responsible is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, if a rape is committed I hope the rapist is not only prosecuted but also castrated, if any one causes a noncombatant to be killed through their own actions I hope they are prosecuted, if any war crimes are committed I hope the perpetrators are held fully responsible.

You will notice I did not indicate a side on this, that's because if something is bad when one side does it, it is just as bad when the other does it.

But ya it's fairly obvious people haven't been paying attention and a lot of them are just picking a side now without any background perspective, there's legitimate gripes against Israel, they don't justify what happened though.

war crimes don't justify war crimes, I hope all of the guilty are punished

[swanseats]

Pasture (City Centre, Cardiff)

I recently had my 24th birthday, and this coinciding with the end of my first academic year in Swansea felt like a perfect opportunity for a big celebration (and a bit of a splurge). On the highest of recommendations from one of my friends, I decided that a trip to the restaurant Pasture in Cardiff would be a fun outing for myself and the sizable friend group that accompanied me.

Simply put, this place specialises in meat - and lots of it. On making our way to the table, the board of weights caught our eye:

This was for the designated "house cuts" meal, which served a sizable quantity of steak meant for sharing. Although I was tempted by the sheer audacity of ordering the châteaubriand (their finest cut, at a lofty price), I realised that my stomach might not be able to keep up with my appetite and compromised with the fillet (about £32):

Paired with the lighter brown butter bearnaise sauce, the steak was excellent. Although a tad undercooked relative to my personal expectations, it was quite lean and hearty. I felt that the price point was reasonable for the quality of cut.

To accompany this, I ordered the sourdough bread and raw butter (about £4) and the truffle chips with shaved parmesan (about £6). The butter with the former item was superb, with rich and salty notes that I wouldn't have expected normally from butter. However, I noted from the menu that this was farm butter and lacked the usual preservatives and additional ingredients that dull the flavour. I really appreciate the restaurant's commitment to supporting local food and drink purveyors, and this unexpected treat really emphasized that ethos. The chips were great as well, with the truffle oil really elevating the side. A nice accompaniment to the steak.

(An aside not pictured: the virgin coconut and pineapple mocktail [£7] I had upon arrival. Fairly small, but with a curious floral flavour. A refreshing first drink.)

For dessert, the chocolate dome (£9) was the clear favourite among our group. Although the spectacle of watching the chocolate shell melt via heated caramel sauce was part of the fun, the melted dish that remained was quite varied and nice. The bowl consisted of vanilla ice cream, the aforementioned caramel, a hardened chocolate shell, and hazelnut marshmallows hidden under the shell. It was good fun mixing these ingredients together, and each spoonful was tasty and moreish.

We had a fantastic time here. The meal itself was excellent, and the atmosphere of the restaurant was relaxing. It might not be sensible as a place one would visit on the regular at the price point, but it's perfect for a special occasion. (Note that the "house cut" portions of steak and sides easily scale to the triple-digits in price, and plenty of the fine spirits they had on the menu also go for hundreds of pounds.)

The important part of this trip was getting to have a nice time out with my friends, and the great meal just made it that much more memorable.

total: about £60

grade: 8/10

8-10 High St, Cardiff CF10 1AW

open 7 days a week, see restaurant for more details

[newyorkprelawland-blog]

Unlocking Second Chances: Addressing the Challenges of Ex-Offender Re-Entry

By Amy Zhang, New York University Class of 2024

November 2, 2023

Re-entry itself is a process, but the issue that’s associated with it, especially in the United States, has to do with mass incarceration, which I’ll talk about later. But as we all know, after an offender is released from prison, their criminal record stays with them. This criminal record is a problem because it prevents all kinds of people from certain fundamentals such as jobs, housing, and educational opportunities.

Nevertheless, the general thought that individuals with criminal histories tend to work less efficiently than those who spent years in the workforce is reasonable. However, it acknowledged that nowadays people change jobs constantly: one could become a brilliant businessman with a former career as an English teacher in high school -- the famous story of Ma Yun, one of the most successful entrepreneurs in China -- in truth, this kind of drastic shift in career has proven to be quite common in the current society. People can enter a career without knowing anything about it and they can survive in the industry. A similar concept applies to incarcerated individuals who thrill for a job opportunity as well. Thus, we have to admit the common ground that one’s capacity to work is not limited just because he or she has spent several years in prison. In this case, as they can still work and learn to master a skill, what reasons do we have to prevent them from relishing the equal opportunity of employment?

In fact, when you put it into a deeper thought, does a completely innocent person really exist? Have you ever stolen something in childhood? Have you lied before? Have you ever simulated your parents’ signature to sign the school academic performance report? I would not dare to say that I’m 100% innocent. We all have done something bad. What varies is the degree of the severity of the things we committed.

While talking about violations or misdemeanors, frankly speaking, it is more of a matter of getting caught or not. At the first hand, it is essential to know about the flaws in the U.S. criminal justice system. For small cases such as theft, there is probably not going to be an investigation since the cost of all that labor is considered unworthwhile. Instead of insisting on your innocence and finally pulling justice to your side, which is the classic plot that TV shows like to play around, what will be more likely to happen in reality is that you, exhausted already by the waiting time, accept the prosecutor’s deal and plead guilty. In this way, you might only need to sit in jail for ten days, much shorter in comparison to the time you would have spent in jail if you were innocent, and the only expense is a convicted record of theft. It is definitely frustrating that the system is never perfect, but as soon as we understand this is what will happen in the real world, we should change our bias toward those with a convicted record. In small cases, sometimes a record means nothing more than bad luck and does not necessarily prove that the person is dangerous. One word or one vague testimony can ruin another person’s life and it happens. One way to prevent these horrible things from happening is to offer those with records equal opportunity in the process of finding a job.

Then, when the behavior gets worse enough to reach the level of crime, we have stepped one stair further reaching the stage of felony such as manslaughter. Those are people who have spent even twenty-ish years in jail and have committed really severe crimes. Should they be given opportunities as well? Too often we talked about how virtuous it is while willing to offer someone a second chance. Those people, though might have done something wrong before or might never have done the crime they were convicted of, deserve a second chance because after being released and going back to society they are part of our community. Their punishment has been done in the prison and now they are coming out of jail like a clean slate. Why can’t they get a chance to restart their life given the condition that part of their life span has been wasted in prison?

As a general knowledge, voting is an accessible right to all citizens of the United States, regardless of their color, race, or gender. The Florida mayor passed a bill that allowed felons to vote, so long as they paid a type of fee to the court.[1] Of course, many argue that this goes against the 24th Amendment, which prohibits Congress and the states from enforcing poll taxes. Though this doesn’t necessarily tie in with re-entry, it gives felons more opportunities while imprisoned, paving a wider path for them when released.

As earlier mentioned, housing becomes another issue for the formerly incarcerated, as the screening system of the United States greatly looks down upon past felons. One bill, revealed on July 10, is being worked on to lift some restrictions on federal housing for ex-offenders.[2] Under current law, ex-offenders can be rejected if they are convinced of a crime, no matter how minor. What the new bill proposes is a ban on denying an ex-offender housing based on one past incident related to crime, and instead having a full evaluation by the authorities. It would also remove a policy that allows an entire household to be evicted as a result of the criminal record held by one resident/guest.

Ex-convicts’ Rights

The formerly incarcerated may be returned to their freedom, but it may take years to fully reclaim their life. A handful of issues that former offenders face is that “they are not allowed to vote, have little access to education, face scant job opportunities, and are ineligible for public benefits, public housing and student loans”, as explained by The Leadership Conference on Civil & Human Rights organization (The Leadership Conference on Civil & Human Rights[3]). Is this considered freedom? Is it fair? Said issues and factors also contribute to high percentages of re-arrest, and re-incarceration. If they can’t start a life, what’s preventing them from repeatedly breaking the law to try and cheat their way into one?

Former offenders, no matter what crimes they’ve committed, remain human, and should still be given the opportunity to fully live and experience life, having already faced their sentences in jail. Said opportunity, amongst job/educational benefits, additionally includes not being discriminated against in the workplace.

In the United States, only 12% of companies hire former offenders, which increases the rate of unemployment as approximately 70 million Americans have a criminal record.[4] If the formerly incarcerated eventually do find a job, they typically receive 11% less money than someone without a criminal record. The monetary discrimination against formerly incarcerated people, relating to their lost earnings, ranges from 10-40%.5 The aforementioned statistics alone have been calculated without the discrimination of race or gender, which, when added to the factors, would drastically tip the scale towards a more detrimental financial end.

To reiterate, the formerly incarcerated are still human, and though they have made mistakes, they should be treated equally amongst others. They should be allowed to enter society, not just with a chance at work, but a chance to rebuild themselves with self-respect.

Effect on Economics

Though there are many negative effects of having unemployed people in society, it mostly affects the economic state of the country. We are perpetuating ourselves in not being productive. Formerly convicted people, who have been freed, usually do not get an opportunity to work; this causes these people to be unemployed. They are considered a “burden” to society because they depend on the government.

People who work lose income. The government loses production. At this rate, this would bring poverty, therefore, affecting the population. This leads to higher payments from both the federal and state governments. This is all for alimentary assistance and Medicaid. This leads to them collecting a different amount of income tax. Therefore, they are forced to borrow money. By judging 100% of the population of ex-convicts by stigma, we take away the opportunity to have people with talents that can be positive for society. People that can be influential in a positive way, and actually help the economic state of the country. By contracting these people into workplaces, not only do the unemployment rates go down, and homelessness goes down.

______________________________________________________________

[1] https://www.cbsnews.com/news/amendment-4-florida-felony-voting-rights-60-minutes-2020-09-27/

[2]https://www.hud.gov/sites/dfiles/FHEO/documents/Implementation%20of%20OGC%20Guidance%20on%20Application%20of%20FHA%20Standards%20to%20the%20Use%20of%20Criminal%20Records%20-%20June%2010%202022.pdf

[3] https://civilrights.org/

[4] https://www.livingwage-sf.org/mass-incarceration/discrimination-against-formerly-incarcerated-people/

[hausofmamadas]

UUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMOKAYYYYYYYYYYYYSDIFUOPS????:””””(_(&(&ER(&(&*WYE_)* so i need you to write 800 thousand more words of this pls????????? Like yesterday? Like last year? Like before i was born even????? Bc this perfect in every which way except for how short it is, i’m gonna need at least another 2.5 on my desk by monday bc i canott be blueballed like this SKSKSKKSJ oh also London Grammar? Subliiiiiiime fic inspo, i’m saluting you my brother in christ bc i love them and tbh makes sense the direction you went with the fic given that was the soundtrack aksksjd 

═

You can’t mean it, you simply can’t. Gentle, soft, stubborn you.

First off can we just join hands in a circle of kumbayah rejoice and friendship bc the way you're supplying the gorlies with the James Valdez content we all deserve but that has been severely lacking. Like after our group has blasted all these narcos/narcos mexico fics out there, I'd say QotS is due for the same kinda renaissance i also say this knowing that i have way too many wips in too many diff mediums to commit to spearheading said renaissance ksjfksjf but anyway, just had to share that with the class bc you're litearlly doing the lordt's work and particularly with his internal back and forth that he’s doing here. Like there’s something about the cadence of that “gentle, soft, stubborn” that’s …. sooooo? emphatically???? and undeniably ?????? James? Like the clarity with which I can summon the literal sound of his voice by just reading that and it feels so authentic to what I’d imagine his inner dialogue to be, not to mention it’s just a straight fuckin bars too, I mean just real and true prose out the gate 

James doesn’t recognize you, he realizes, whoever this is, whoever you are now, he has never met.

I’ve said it before a thousand times and i will never stop saying it until the day I die bc yes, all my dfs are actually just that talented😌💅💅 but you have James nailed down so well, it’s like innate, it’s immediate, it's muscle memory, you don’t have to think about it, it comes so naturally, and I believe we have hitherto been referring to as the This Man Is In Your Bones -> refer to this post for a more academic description and exploration of said phenomena

This is fucking sick. You are pressing on the gash on his cheek, your knee digging into his chest cavity. Think, think, think.

GODDSKDFJLSKJAI IM KICKING MY FEET, WHY AM I KICKING MY FEET AT THE PHYSICAL ABUSE OF THIS MAN AT THE HANDS OF HIS PRESUMABLE LOVER SKDFSKJFK like the fact that i’m relishing his, not even just his emotional pain, but physical pain must be one of the most categorically not! hingéd responses i’ve ever had to a fic skjsk and i’m trying to figure out why and i realized  there’s just something so princess about james that i really like to see being stripped from him and i think that’s what i’m really finding so appealing here. Like nothing was more delicious watching QotS than his professional jealousy bc Teresa was better than him at pretty much everything without really having to work super hard at it cuz she’s just whip smart and super resourceful like that. And that’s not to say James isn’t competent himself. On the contrary, he’s super competent himself and i think that’s actually why it’s fun to watch him be rendered completely powerless like this skjsk. Also your internal monologue writing is always on-point, i never expect anything less but you particularly have such a gift for it you best believe i be taking notes, furious, furious notes

He knows he has to be hallucinating, that his mind must be playing tricks, that even your perfume seems different, your eyes a different shade than he remembers. James ignores the thumping in his head and focuses, who are you working for? Who would gain from having you infiltrate his team? His bed?

GAAAAAAASLDKJFSLKAJ;SDHFA;JKS THIS IS SO GOOD, LIKE I CANNOT IMPRESS UPON YOU HOW LEGITIMATELY MAD I AM, LIKE I’M UP IN YOUR FACE AT THE CASH REGISTER WITH MY KAREN-ASS HAIRCUT DEMANDING TO SPEAK TO A MANAGER PLS BC WHY ISN’T THIS FIC 80 PARTS LONG. Like it’s so inspired, im obsessed with the choice to go full-on evil with Reader here, they’re literally torturing him not me once again questioning my own sanity that i’m like jumping up in from the bleachers adn screaming and clapping my hands skskks with such demented, sick glee at how bad they are SKKSKS and like i cannot remember another fic wherein the Reader is so unabashedly vile and depraved. Liek i’m not saying that never happens but you’ve leannneddd tf into it, such a bold and inspired choice and once again, i’m shaking my fist at the sky like a down-on-his-luck old Boomer man that this isn’t the length of a russian novel bc i would 100000% read tf outta it if it was

You tut, patting the side of his face with the cold metal. ‘’ Now you’re thinking too hard, James. ‘’

SKFJSKSK i’m loving this too much, i’m positively thriving sksksk bc something about this is so petty and you know it would get under James’ skin bc he prides himself on his brainsmarts and he likes to get a pat on the head and his afternoon snack and show you the gold star he got on his report card and be told he’s a good boy and this is decidedly the opposite of that skjskj

He spits, watching as red colours your face and shirt.

I have nothing of value to add here except that this one-liner is a fucking banger and like i’m feeling very how dare you but also on my life thank you, but also never speak to me again, but also eres la mas lista, inventiva, talentosita que yo he conocido en toda mi pinshe vida y voy a asesinarte por tu genialidad y robarla como si fuera mia eeerr uh, wait what, did i say that out loud

‘’ You want to play dirty, huh? ‘’ You hiss. ‘’ If you wanted the answer you could just have asked for it. ‘’

Me trying to figure out the answer:

even as im simultaneously pointing and laughing at James in my head like a middle school bully for not being able to figure it out either skdfjsk 

He still can’t figure it out. Not when he thought you two had something. Not love, of course, but something nice, something warm. Worth coming back in one piece every night just to share his bed with you.

UGHHHHFSKLDJFLSKASKFJALSJ;GODODODOSODKFJ adn this is precisely why this needs to be 4000x longer bc i need to see the con play out, i need to know how we got here, i need to see how this shit all feel into place in this way bc like the gut punch that this feels like and it’s only 600+ words, like it’s actually a bonkers the amount of investment that you’ve managed to solicit from me as a reader in such a short amount of time read: talent and bc apparently i enjoy being in a constant state of general emotional distress i can only imagine seeing the unfolding of events would make that gut punch feel like a 900lb ~410kg for the non-metrically challenged sledgehammer to your spleen AND I NEED THAT SPLEEN THWACKED GOTDAMMIT SKFSJ 

‘’ She will not have my head, James, because she is the one who asked me to do this to you. ‘’

OHHHHA;SDLKFJA;SLKJFA;OWEIHJF[W9QIH3R= 0129U=Q029RUW[-AQ9WIJF9WHATTTHE FUCKKKKKKK OHKAY THAT’S IT, I’M DONE PLAYING NICE,I WILL LITERALLY HOLD YOU HERE AT GUNPOINT WITH THE HELP OF MY BESTEST GOOD DF, THE DUOLINGO OWL

UNTIL YOU FINISH THE MANUSCRIPT TO THIS NOVEL BC THAT WAS THE FUCKING TWIST TO END ALL TWISTS THAT I SUPER DID NOT SEEEE????????? COMING?????????????? ARE YOU FUCKING FORREAL RN?????????

Kind of man

James Valdez x gn!reader, (nothing too graphic, beating up, the usual for the show, reader is a meany) 485 words

a/n : a ficlet based on : '' Hurt his feelingsssssss, literally just think of a way to hurt his feelings imo, like truly have that be the goal and everything will fall into place. '' by @ashlingnarcos, and it did 🙏🏻

Shoutout to Kind of man by London Grammar for sponsoring this ficlet

‘’ You’ve been nothing but expendable the whole time. ‘’

‘’ You don’t mean that. ‘’

‘’ Oh but I do, James, and this is just a taste of what is yet to come. ‘’

He can feel the blood drip off his chin, staining his shirt. You can’t mean it, you simply can’t. Gentle, soft, stubborn you. But here you are, standing above him, your gun pressed against his cheek as he tries to swallow the bile that piles up in his mouth.

‘’ Carmila will have your head. ‘’ Is all he finds to say, to try and bring power back to this conversation. ‘’ The second she finds out you’re with Jimenez, you’re screwed. ‘’

He watches as your eyes twitch, a dark glint behind them, the corner of your lips pulling up in a small smile, pitiful. James doesn’t recognize you, he realizes, whoever this is, whoever you are now, he has never met.

‘’ Oh baby boy, ‘’ He hates how his heart seizes to your cooing. ‘’ Think harder, hmm? I know you can figure it out. ‘’

This is fucking sick. You are pressing on the gash on his cheek, your knee digging into his chest cavity. Think, think, think. He knows he has to be hallucinating, that his mind must be playing tricks, that even your perfume seems different, your eyes a different shade than he remembers. James ignores the thumping in his head and focuses, who are you working for? Who would gain from having you infiltrate his team? His bed?

You tut, patting the side of his face with the cold metal.

‘’ Now you’re thinking too hard, James. ‘’

He spits, watching as red colours your face and shirt. Your eyes are closed, mouth open, repulsed. He feels your hand tighten around his collar.

‘’ That is fucking disgusting. ‘’

You wipe most of it off your face with the back of your sleeve. The deep burgundy smudge on your cheek brings out the anger in your eyes. Your tongue passes over your lips as you ponder.

‘’ You want to play dirty, huh? ‘’ You hiss. ‘’ If you wanted the answer you could just have asked for it. ‘’

He still can’t figure it out. Not when he thought you two had something. Not love, of course, but something nice, something warm. Worth coming back in one piece every night just to share his bed with you. Think, think, think. You manhandle him again, shoving him further into the wall.

‘’ Carmila, ‘’ you begin, ‘’ will not have my head, James, and you know why? ‘’

Who are you, he thinks, how can someone hide themselves like this for so long? You sigh before you continue as if it was the most obvious thing on earth, that you couldn’t possibly believe he still hasn’t figured it out.

‘’ She will not have my head, James, because she is the one who asked me to do this to you. ‘’

[wiumgtmktg]

Why I Chose Western

Sam Cook

Hello my name is Sam Cook. I am a junior here at Western and today I will be touching on the reasons I personally chose Western for college. For the following reasons that will be discussed later in this post, I chose western because of location and distance from my home, athletics, safety, major and minor options, class size, cost and fees, academic support, and future internship opportunities.

​To start, one of the biggest reasons that I chose Western Illinois University is because of its distance to my hometown. My hometown is Neosho, Missouri, which is about a six-hour drive from Western. For me, this is the perfect distance away from home. It is just close enough to where I can take a day trip back if need be but far enough away from home to where I do not get any surprise visits from my parents. Western being close to home also makes it very easy and convenient for my parents to come watch me play football, which will lead into my next reason that I chose Western.

​The second biggest reason that I chose Western Illinois University is because of its prestigious athletics programs. I was offered a spot on Western’s football team my senior year of high school. With Western being my only division one offer to play at the next level, while I still considered my options and researched Western Illinois first, this school was my obvious choice. When I received an offer to play football here at Western, shortly after I started looking into Western football programs to find that not only has Western sent 46 former players to the NFL but also plays in the Missouri Valley Conference, which is one of the most competitive conferences in college football. Taking these things into consideration I committed to Western in January of 2020. Now with Western being somewhat far away from home, my parents were very concerned for my safety while being away at college.

​A major reason I chose Western was for my parent’s peace of mind. As stated previously, my parents were very worried about my safety while off at college. But luckily Western Illinois is a safe place to go to school. Per neighborhood scout.com Macomb’s crime rate is 308.9 per 100,000 residents, which is below the national average. On Top of that Western has an on campus, 24-hour police force just for Western students alone, this was explained to my parents and I on my visit to Western. With Macomb’s crime rate being relatively low, and with on-campus safety nets, my parents deemed Western safe enough for me to attend.

​The next reason I chose Western was for my major. I am a business analytics major, and I have known I have wanted to do something in this field since high school. Western was the perfect fit for me because according to collegexpress.com Western Illinois is not only an accredited business school, but in the top five percent of all business schools in the country. Making a long-term decision about my future was one of the main aspects of college that I truly considered. With Western Illinois University having such a prestigious business school, it was clear to me that my diploma here would be valuable and help me attain a job after graduation.

Now for me, one important aspect of the classroom environment is having a personal connection with each of my professors, so I can better understand the topic. At larger universities this is not possible with giant lecture halls. I knew this is not something that I wanted out of my college experience because I truly value my college education. On my visit to Western Illinois, I was very pleased to see smaller classrooms in which I can have a deeper learning experience. When I asked my tour guides, they told me that on average they had about 20-30 peers in each class, which was very similar to my high school class sizes, so I knew I would get a good learning experience.

​Now paying for college is something that every college student worries about when starting off. Western Illinois University’s sticker price is $13,699 per year. This concerned me at first, as it was still cheaper than most schools, this was still very expensive. But while on Western’s online tuition generator, I found that tuition was actually very affordable. Western also offers a number of academic scholarships based on grades, location, and other variables. Western Illinois ended up being the most financially smart decision for me to go to college as they also offer in-state tuition to out-of-state students.

​What really impressed me on my visit to Western was the amount of academic support given to students. Seeing things like Western’s writing center which would help me with all my writing assignments if need be, along with tutors available for about every class offered at Western. As well as tutoring offers through the athletic programs here on campus, I knew I would have help if needed.

​The last reason I chose Western is because of internship opportunities to help me get into the job field I wanted. Western Illinois has many connections to great internship opportunities in Chicago and will also help with the application process. I was told by one of my tour guides on my visit that you walked through even the smallest steps, like how to correctly set up a Handshake account at Western. This reason alone had a very big impact on my college decision.

​To conclude, for various reasons I chose Western Illinois University to be my college: location and distance from my home, athletics, safety, major and minor options, class size, cost and fees, academic support, and future internship opportunities. For these eight reasons I made the best decision of my life enrolling at Western Illinois University!

References

Macomb crime rates. Niche. (n.d.). Retrieved December 3, 2022, from https://www.niche.com/places-to-live/macomb-mcdonough-il/crime-safety/

Western Illinois players/alumni. Pro. (n.d.). Retrieved December 3, 2022, from https://www.pro-football-reference.com/schools/westillinois/index.htm

Western Illinois University. CollegeXpress. (n.d.). Retrieved December 3, 2022, from https://www.collegexpress.com/college/profile/2017363/#:~:text=Western%20Illinois%20University's%20Business%20and,of%20Business%20(AACSB%20International).

Western Illinois University. Tuition and Costs - Western Illinois University. (n.d.). Retrieved December 3, 2022, from http://www.wiu.edu/business_services/tuition/

[the---hermit]

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

This book doesn't really need an introuction, not in these past few years, and certainly not here on tumblr, where dark academia as a whole was firstly created. I've had people telling me to read this book for ages, and I finally gave in. There's so much to say that I will probably miss on something.

Firstly the plot, if you have been living under a rock and have not been bombarded with informations on this novel. It's the og dark academia novel, we follow Richard as he is accepted into an élite Greek class in university that gives off low key cult vibes. We know from the first page that one of the people in the group of students will be murdered, and half of the novel follows the events before the murder, while the other half follows the events after. This book although in the past few years has been mostly prased for the aesthetic is a huge critique to elitism, and classism in academia.

As I said there is a lot to ba said, I'll start with the writing, which is clearly one of the reasons this book is so popular. The writing is beautiful, Donna Tartt paints beautiful scenes with her words, and it's gorgeous. One thing I wasn't a fan of is how slow the book was. Especially the second half felt painfully slow. What I found with this book is that it was surely hard to put down when I was reading it, because it's really captivating, but it was also hard to pick up sometimes, because of this slowness. This of course is really a matter of personal taste, but it had to be said. A bit more on the contents of the book, as I mentioned briefly in one of my daily posts I personally really liked how the author picked the study of classic languages to set the elitism the book critiques. Here's why. I have no idea how much you know about high school in Italy, but after middle school, so when we are about 13 years old we have to decide what we are doing next, and it means picking a specialization. There's a base of subjects everyone has and then whatever high school you pick will have specific subjects. I personally studied languages, but the school I went in was huge and had four different types of high schools in it, one of these was the classics one, so people studying Latin and ancient Greek. The elitism was a real thing, both from the students part and the teachers, there was this general idea that if you studied the classics, you were smarter, and generally better. Classics classes had the best professors of the whole institute, and they were generally picked as the perfect example. Anytime a teacher had to make a remark they would compare us to those who studied classics, even if they themselves did not teach in those classes. No offense if you studied in a classico, the majority of my friends actually did, and they too agree with me on this point. The fact that this book specifically picked those subjects to be the frame of the critique felt perfect to me for this personal reason, it felt plausable and quite creepy in a lot of senses. The group of students Richard gets into is very peculiar and closed off, it immediatly gives cult vibes if I am honest with you, and the professor who follows them is the center of all of this. These kids litteraly worship him like a God, and the references are very clear. It's incredibly scary if you think about it, because already in a normal academic scenario a professor has that much power to impress and manipulate their students, and here it's just exagerated a bit. Although at the beginning I wasn't super conviced on the second half of the book, at the end it was very interesting to see how the murder that they commit influences each character differently. What I'd like to say is that you do not need a classics background to understand this book, although there's some references both to the actual languages and to mythology/history. I felt like this book wasn't perfect, at least for me, but it's so layered it's worth talking about a lot. I'd definitely recommed giving it a try especially to focus on the many things the author critiques.

I read this for the studyblr w/ knives autumn reading challenge for the murder mystery prompt. I know the book doesn't fit the chategory perfectly, but there's a murder, and it's mysterious so that's good enough for me.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.���

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Recently I've become attached to the idea of Kunikida being a semi-delinquent as a teenager.

The main thing is his hair. He's all about ideals and perfection, surely he knows that most men don't have long hair, certainly not that long. if he's going for ideal and his ideal woman wouldn't it make more sense for him to have a shorter haircut? 

Also just because he's a formal, clean-cut person who cares not only for his appearance but also for his schedule. It takes a lot of time to keep up long hair, time that could be spent working, so it's kind of an odd choice for that reason as well.

I headcanon that he had it longer during his teenage years because he was kind of a rebellious kid and didn't want to cut his hair short after he committed to being so formal so he could be reminded never to be rebellious again.

He turned to delinquency because of his ability. Before he was under the influence of All Men Are Equal, he couldn't write for school because anything he wrote would become real. He resented the world for dooming him with this gift that prevented him from putting his thoughts and feeling down in paper.

He needed someone else he could dictate to to actual do the physical writing of his paper essays for him, but since he was considred one of the smart kids he knew that most students he asked would try and copy his work so he had to ask the kids that didn't care about grades, the school delinquents. Kids who had, for whatever reason, given up on school either because of bullying or academic struggles. Different from the bullies, they were the sort of looser kids. They agreed to help Kunikida do all the writing for school and he eventually became a sort of leader for them.

They started to fight back agaisnt the system secretly. Kunikida has always had his ideals (and his care for his schedule, which his friends teased him constantly for) but he used to use violence and crime to implement them, like beating up the school bullies (he's canonically a very skilled martial artist) or breaking into the school offices to change their exam answers to the wrong ones so they failed (if they weren't already failing).

He was part of a group of youth street vigilantes and they had a few scuffles with the sheep, most of which Kunikida stayed out of. When the sheep were taken out the group wanted to fill the power vacuum and that's when Kunikida left to pursue a solo path. That's one of the reasons he gre up so fast and is so mature at the young age of 22.

Then he encountered Natsume (who to him was just an old man on the street) who told him that he could make more change without being a criminal, being rational he knew Natsume was right and decided to use policy and peace to shape the world not just physical means because he could make more of a difference that way.

He decided to become a maths teacher because it's a profession taht values discipline.

Later he met Katai, and they worked together for a bit then after he was fired from his teaching job, he met Fukuzawa and joined the agency and he and Katai drifted apart. He missed Katai so he brought him to join the agency but then the whole locked in the agency for a month thing happened and Katai left.

He still has many of his piercings from his teenage years because despite his very careful cleaning of them they got a bit infected and healed over as scar tissue so they basically can't heal over (this happened to me), but you can't see them unless you pay close attention.

Katai convinced him to keep one, just for fun memories, he said he didn’t want to but he secretly enjoyed the fun he’d had as a kid, so he keeps his navel piercing because it can’t be seen unless he chooses to show it.

Anyway, that’s just my thoughts on ex-delinquent Kunikida. Have a good day.

Random Kunikida Thought

What if before he was under the influence of All Men Are Equal anything Kunikida wrote appeared in real life.

So if he wrote something on a large piece of paper then he could summon large objects or if the size was unspecified, (like a ball can be any size) it would be the dimensions of the paper or surface he wrote on, say like a chalkboard. 

Imagine baby Kuni learning how to write and stuff just keeps materialising out of nowhere and using his ability so much is draining him alot. It took him longer than average to learn to write because of this. 

His parents were panicking TM. Kunikida was put in homeschool after an incident where he materialised a bird and it started attacking the teacher who had struck it with a broom and ended up killing it, and this freaked his classmates out. 

From then on he always had to be very careful about the kanji he used and not to materialise a cat instead of a bat. (I don't know Japanese so I don't know which words can be easily confused with each other) 

Then they figured out that if he misspelt something it wouldn't materialise so he was just having to misspell something by one letter or leave out characters if he couldn't risk changing the spelling.

Then as he got older he got a computer and it was the best day of life because he could now type out all his notes and join regular school.

That's why he became a maths teacher because he could write equations and numbers anywhere and they wouldn't materialise anything.

(Imagine during this time he has a fricking google doc of his ideals, in Times New Roman, 12 point font)

When he needed to leave notes about Homework or Upcoming tests he'd print out a paper with the words and tape it to the door, or he'd type the words and project them onto the chalk board with the projector.

But you know how teachers always have those big posters. You can't just type them out because there aren't many printers big enough for that size paper. One time Kunikida was making one of those about squaring and cubing things and several cubes the size of the giant poster paper appeared and he couldn't get them out of the door because they were just barely too wide too fit through the door so he was stuck using an ax from the janitor's closet to cut them up. 

And by this time Kunikida was PISSED at his ability so he was taking it OUT on these blocks and decimating them! The kids who were serving lunchtime detention in his class (for not tucking in their shirts) were really scared. The principal walked in to see what the noise was about and then fired him.

Fukuzawa heard about this and scooped him up into the ADA.

[thegingeralien]

Thought I might share my “doing homework with adhd” tips in case the might help even just one person (because that would make me feel happy).

Who am I to be giving you advice? Good point! I am still terrible at studying and I’m 26 and at University for the millionth time. But I have studied A LOT in my 22 years of schooling with varying degrees of success.

I see a lot of people, especially teenagers or first year university/college students, with ADHD asking for tips on how to study. But if you do a google search most of the websites and advice that comes up can be extremely ableist. So I hope I can help someone!

TIPS TO HELP YOU STUDY WHEN YOU HAVE AN ADHD GREMLIN BRAIN!:

1. Chewing gum!

- This might come across as a weird one, but it has actually really helped me. I use it as a form of stimming to help keep me focused and concentrating. Other forms of stimming can potentially end up being more of a distraction when you actually need to be reading or writing - but they can help if you just need to be listening. Try not to get a bubble gum or fun flavoured one though - as they can end up making your mouth feel dry, lose flavour quickly, and just give your brain way too many sensory things to become distracted with.

2. Buying colour coded stationary!

- New stationary can make me really excited to start studying, but that excitement never lasts long and the act of buying stationary can sometimes become it’s own hobby. That’s not what we are going for here. I really recommend, especially if you are a visual learner like me, to buy colour coded stationary. This means removable page markers, different coloured post it notes, highlighters, sometimes even pens. This way if your mind jumps from one topic to the other, it doesn’t matter. Go with the flow. Forcing your ADHD gremlin brain to focus can be extremely counter intuitive. So pick a colour for each topic, and stick to that system to find organisation among your own chaos!

3. Buy a really cheap, boring year diary with hardly any writing inside.

- Not sure if your school/university has their own diary but they can be perfect for what I am on about. Generally you can find them for really cheap, soft cover, no writing or designs within the dates. Just dates, days, weeks and lines where you can write your homework. This helped me a lot in High School. I wish I had kept doing it in University, but I am good with giving advice, and not so much with taking it. I used to decorate the outside of it however I wanted. Some years I would redecorate the same diary every semester. In the public holidays or holiday days I would colour those lines in with different highlighters to make it look like a rainbow. But every assignment due date, homework, draft, rewrite, form I had to bring back, library book due date, school activity days, ANYTHING to do with school I would write in there with reminds and check lists. Important due dates would be highlighted, general homework and daily to do lists t(o help me not leave my assignments to the last minute) would have a tick box beside them (because ticking tick boxes is free dopamine). Try to not put birthdays or fun things in it. This is a small way to stay on track so it helps you actually stay on track with the big things when you’re home.

4. Big whiteboards stuck on the wall where you can’t avoid it.

- This is not something I had in school, but I so wish I did. I have been using this recently to keep on top of house work (as maintaining your own house is tiring) and my small business or other things I really can’t avoid. If I physically write it down (not just in my phone) it psychologically does help you commit it to memory. Again, physically putting a line through a task you just completed is a hecking great rush of dopamine. But the biggest reason I love my white board, I can’t ignore it. It is stuck to the wall and is never out of sight, out of mind. I can’t put my phone or diary down and then refuse to look at it until I’m past the due date. Again, I’m not a perfect person, there are days where I don’t do anything I have written on the white board. But the great thing is, I don’t have to continuously feel like I failure, as I can wipe it all off the next morning or week and start fresh. I also put important things I have to remember that I’m doing during the week so I don’t forget them.

5. Icky Medication.

- I know not everyone wants to be on medication, and I understand. I am not forcing you to. No matter what your opinions are, you lovely gremlin who is still reading this post, regarding medication, you are valid and I respect you. My personal experience with medication has not been the best. I have been misdiagnosed for a severe chunk of my academic life which has seen me trying to focus and maintain school work under some even worse states then I am unmedicated! However, since receiving my diagnosis and finding the right ADHD medication for me, I have the ability to get so much work done without having to unnecessarily struggle. It’s unfortunately not magic, it will not turn me into a robot that makes me do work and turn out incredible, noble peace prize winning assignments (as much as I wish that were possible). I still have the ability to be a lump, doom scrolling through tumblr, forgetting to eat, and ignoring responsibilities. But it really helps me when I sit down and start that thing that isn’t fun. Yesterday it helped me hyperfocus on cleaning my office which was a terrifying room to be in. So it’s pretty close to magic in my opinion!

6. Accessing Disability Support at your place of learning.

- Not all of you taking the time to read this will have either a) an offical diagnosis or b) a good disability support available to you wherever you are completing your studies. And that is okay. This dot point just won’t be for you right now. But keep it in mind for a time when it might apply to you, as it’s something I never thought I would need, but will never take for granted ever again.

- If you have an offical diagnosis and Disability Support, make an appointment with the disability support adviser. DO IT NOW! Get your psychiatrist to write a diagnosis letter outlining that you have <enter superpower that makes you hilarious here> and that you are receiving <enter x,y,z treatment here> and that you would benefit from receiving <enter what you have always wished you had on the days you can’t make your ADHD gremlin brain do the thing here>. Now these benefits can be, but not limit to: automatic extensions on ALL assignments, extra time on exams, extra breaks to walk around while taking exams, special consideration when marking assignments, my university allows me to take exams in a separate room with only the other students in my subject who also have disability support (occasionally I have taken an exam alone with only a tutor present) so I don’t get distracted, permission to take fidget items into class or exam (I have the option to wear headphones, as long as I can display that they are not connected to anything). Maybe you can come up with some great ones for you with your disability advisor or your psychiatrist.

- The disability advisor will often go through your course outline with you at the start of each semester or year. This is annoying and a great time for disassociating, but can be useful in hindsight because you are made aware of everything that will come up during your class so you are not surprised. Because lets be honest, it is unlikely you are going to look at the course calendar too often.

- Side Note: I make an appointment every semester with my disability support officer for my area of study to make sure I have my special considerations for the year. Now I may go through the whole year without ever using my considerations. However, the fact that I know they are there takes an insane amount of pressure off of myself. If I’m having an insanely screwy loony tune mental health moment, I can email my coordinator my disability plan and say I need an extension due to personal reasons, and WHOOP, there it izzzzz.

7. Dedicated one thing or a few things that have nothing to do with food/alcohol/other substances to reward yourself with for doing the thing!

- This may not work for everyone. It doesn’t always work for me. I used to reward myself with food, but that only reinforced my stimming with overeating and my already bad relationship with food. And I feel as though that would be the same with any other substance that can be linked with addiction. (Addiction is a tough word, cause what aren’t I addicted to, I have ADHD, but hopefully you get what I mean!).

-Now, boring try and not choose this aside, lets think of somethings that work really well as rewards!

- My partner likes to come give me a kiss and a hug when ever they have written and reread a paragraph, you might buy a book when you get a really good mark, you might want to go make a cup of tea and watch an episode of your hyperfixation after studying for <enter a good period of time here>, you might allow yourself to partake in an activity you usually do while procrastinating (but at least this time you know you aren’t putting something off), talk to someone who you know will tell you they are proud of you as they understand the mental struggle you go through to concentrate (if you can’t think of anyone, it is 110% okay if that person are the amazing people on tumblr or the adhd tumblr chats. We will freaking pop a bottle of champagne for you cause we get it!).

- Try and make what ever you choose be something in a different room or away from your working space. Getting out can really calm you down.

8. Don’t be afraid to ask for assistance.

- This is true for anything, but I don’t mean just asking your teacher to give you extra help understanding the task and marking rubric. Many people online, tutors, librarians at your school, past or present students offer assistance rereading and making small edits (they won’t make it magical unfortunately) to your assignments. If you are like me and once you have written or completed the dreaded thing, you can not imagine or force your gremlin brain reread or edit the thing. So it can help to just delegate this to someone else, who hasn’t read it before, so they won’t disassociate or skim read it. They will often notice things you never would have even if you were neurotypical as that is just what happens when you have been working on something for so long.

9. Repetitive music.

- It generally helps if this has no lyrics. Lo-fi is amazing. Classical is alright too if it works for you, but both my partner and I agree that it can really assist you to keep up pace and focus when the beat is a high and repetitive (almost meditative) tempo.

10. Limit your screen space.

- This is a tip completely from my partner @dr-adhd who also has ADHD, is an avid PC gamer and is consistently in a battle with their gremlin brain to focus on completing their PhD. They have discovered that it really helps them to limit their screen space - simply put, work on one screen only. They have done more work more easily when they have their one screen on their laptop to focus on. Whereas their office has multiple screens so they could be playing runescape, watching YouTube, listening to lo-fi and doing work - which never worked (shocking right hahaha).

11. At the risk of sounding like a Mum... Put your phone and other electronics other than the assignment necessary one, away.

- I am a Mum, but to a fluffy puppy dog, so I hate to sound like my Mum when I was in high school, but she was right. Mobiles are the single easiest and biggest distraction in ADHD history. I often, even at coffee shops, have to turn my phone over so that I am not consistently looking at it every time the screen lights up to say the pizza place has sent me a coupon, or a carpet place that has been having a sale since I was born is... still having a sale, or a friend from school wants you to watch this TikTok. Even though you might not want to ignore your friends, because people pleasing, difficulting making/keeping friends and RSD are hecking real things, but they can all wait. Trust me, none of them are urgent. That TikTok will still be funny in an hour or two. And I’m probably completely right when I say that whomever just messaged you, never replies as quickly as you want them too. So I doubt they are going to think twice if you are MIA to finish your thing.

My partner or I might add to this later, but at the moment I already know that I probably wouldn’t read this wall of words if I was the one reading it, so if you are still with me, THANK YOU and I really hope I might have helped you. Sorry for the mound of words, but maybe you can reblog, screen shot, or save this and read a dot point at a time or refer to it when you need. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, I promise what ever it is, I’ve asked the same thing once in my life or something MUCH stupider.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Bad Timing (Levi x Reader) Part 5

Summary: How do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend? 

Work Count: 6.3K 

You were angry. Of course Levi had to go and stir the pot right before the holiday season. The time of year when he spent the most of his hours at your home. Even though he spent most of his time at your house throughout the whole year, this amount of time typically doubled through the months of October through December. The remaining weeks in October were the worst. You both expertly avoided one another, Petra and Levi continued to see each other exclusively. This turned out to be bittersweet for you, the pros were that Levi was busy trying to please Petra to spend too much time at your house. But also it stung to see him with her, even though you had no right to feel jealous.

The two weeks after your kiss, you spent holed up in your room, your phone set on do not disturb. After binging Gossip Girls and all of the classic Disney movies, you finally decided that instead of focusing on romance, you would devote yourself to school. Thankfully you weren't the only person that favored school over social gatherings, you found yourself spending countless hours in the school's musty library with Armin. He was so easy to get along with, down to earth, kind, and most importantly, he was too shy to ask you about anything too personal. Today was one of those days, it was nearing the end of November, the trees had shed their leaves, bearing the naked bark. And the weather was constantly changing. Some days it would snow, others it would pour rain, but that was just the midwest for you. Glancing up from the textbook that had held your attention for the past two hours, your were pleased to see a flurry of fat snowflakes spiraling downwards. The window had frost creeping up from the corners, thank God, maybe the weather would finally settle and allow the snow to stick for once. You could feel Armin staring at you, his eyes piercing the back of your skull. a feeling you had become familiar with. Turning back to face him, he averted his eyes, a comforting pink creeping onto his cheeks with the embarrassment of being caught.

"It's really coming down huh?" you tried to initiate some light small talk.

"Yeah! Hopefully it will stick." Armin responded, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips as he returned his attention back to his homework. You hummed, glancing back down at the yellowing pages of the old history textbook, a frown marring your features.

"What's wrong? Need some help?" Armin asked, standing up from his seat and coming to stand behind you.

"Oh, well I guess I'm just confused about this law." you pulled the response from your ass. Of course you understood Roe v. Wade, you just didn't want to tell Armin that you were ready to leave. He always made this face that reminded you of a puppy that just got drop kicked.

"Roe v. Wade huh? I can help you with that no problem!" his baby blue eyes lit up, he pulled the nearest chair up to the table, the legs loudly scratching against the rickety library floors.

"Great, thanks!" you tried to sound excited, and you tried even harder to focus on Armin's summary of Roe v. Wade.

"Easy right?" Armin chirped, his finger hovering over the paragraph that explained the law.

"You're right, I think that I just need a break. My brain feels fried." you moaned, folding your arms across the desk and burying your head in your arms.

"Likewise." Armin agreed, dragging his chair closer to yours not very subtly.

"Want to go grab a coffee?" you asked, barely lifting your head to glance at him.

"Sure." he beamed, his innocent face completely lighting up. Your library had a small coffee shop nestled in the back, the cafe was run by students who had free periods. Granted the coffee wasn't the best, but it still did the job. You thanked the girl behind the counter as she passed you your steaming cup of dark liquid. Armin was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waited for his order, you busied yourself with mixing in sugar and some creamer. Finally the barista gave Armin his latte and the two of you meandered back to your corner. You slowly began packing your things, hoping that Armin would get the hint and you would be able to escape the stuffy library. Armin noticed, you closed the book with a sigh and began stuffing pens and other writing utensils into your small pencil case.

"Ready to call it a day?" Armin asked his lips hovering over the steaming hot coffee.

"Yeah, I told Hange that I would be ready to leave by the time she finished with Science Olympiad." you sighed, gathering the assortment of books that you had pulled from the shelves getting up to return them to their rightful places.

"Oh gotcha, same time Thursday?" He asked hopefully, his light blue eyes meeting yours. You clicked your tongue and grimaced, shooting him an apologetic look.

"Ah I would but my mom has Thursday off so I was going to have dinner with her." you explained, watching Armin get that kicked puppy look, that look always had a way of making your heart hurt.

"Aw well have fun!" he waved you off, the sad look on his face replaced with a small forced smile.

"Thanks Armin, I'll see you in Chem tomorrow." you smiled sweetly at him as you turned to leave.

"Bye!" he waved goodbye to you as you pulled the large door open and slipped out. Sparing a glance at your watch you sighed, Hange should be done in the next 5 minutes. But knowing her she would take another 20 minutes to wrap up her Science Olympiad meeting. So you leisurely strolled down the empty stone corridor, your eyes trained on the large windows that lined the hallway and overlooked the courtyard. The library was on the second floor, which gave you a perfect view of the school grounds. The snow seemed to be falling faster now, the flakes were beginning to stick to the blades of grass, giving the lawn a patchy appearance. Hopefully Hange had remembered her snow scraper, surely the car would have a coating of frost on the windows by now. It would not be the first time that the two of you had to scrape ice from her windows using your credit cards or your school ids.

You turned your attention back to the stony corridor, you had almost reached the stairs. You began your descent, a hand loosely gliding down the cold stone banister. Your mind drifted to thoughts of what Erwin's plans were for this evening, did he plan to eat dinner with you? Or would he run off with Hange as he had been doing for the past week or so? You had noticed that the pair had been spending more time alone as of late, and you couldn't blame them. Erwin was already committed to Notre Dame, a prestigious school known for football and extraordinary academics. Hange had recently been accepted into Princeton, one of the eight ivy league schools, and she was ecstatic. This however means that they will attending schools in different states. You knew that they planned to continue dating despite the distance, personally you were a tad skeptical of long distance relationships, but you knew that they were both mature enough to continue seeing each other.

You paused on the landing between floors, the sound of laughter was echoing off the stoney walls.

"That was a dirty move Kirstein!" you recognized Eren's agitated voice, which was closely followed by the hearty laughter of Conny and Marco.

"Pay closer attention next time Jeager." Jean teased, a smile spread across your lips at the sound of your friends. Their presence motivated you to jog down the remaining stairs and turn the corner. Just at you poked your head around the corner your eyes landed on the group of boys walking towards you.

"Oi (Y/n)! Where's Armin?" Eren called out to you first and you waved.

"Still in the library." you jabbed your thumb back towards the stairs behind you.

"Classic." Conny sniggered as he adjusted his duffle bag on his shoulder. You pursed your lips as you took in their uniforms. They wore soccer jerseys and shorts, a matching set of forest green, the school crest, a pair of wings one blue and one white, rested above their left breast over their hearts.

"Indoor soccer?" you asked, nodding towards the ball tucked under Marco's arm. The boy nodded and tossed you the ball.

"Season just started." he stated proudly, you easily caught the ball and smiled at him. Marco was your age, but you didn't usually spend time with him outside of school. The two of you had grown close the year prior when you had been in the same gym class, but since then you hadn't spoken very much.

"How exciting." you murmured as you gripped the ball in your hands. The boys nodded and you tossed the ball back to Marco.

"What are you doing here so late?" Jean asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Studying for the Government test with Armin." you shrugged, tucking your hands in your pockets. Things had been tense in your friend group since you and Jean had began casually seeing one another. The two of you had gone out on a handful of dates over the past month, all of them enjoyable. But you knew you didn't want a full blown relationship, something you still needed to tell Jean.

"Ah gotcha. So will you be coming to Sasha's friendsgiving party this weekend?" Jean inquired, his eyes shined with a glint of hope.

"Oh, I almost forgot about that! Yeah I'll be there." you smiled, a rush of excitement running through you when you remembered the invitation you had received earlier this week.

"What are you bringing?" Conny butted in, licking his lips. You hummed thoughtfully, what would you bring?

"Maybe macaroni and cheese? Or a pie?" You thought aloud as you lifted a hand to cup your chin. Conny groaned and grabbed your shoulder.

"Pie, please for the love of God bring your pie." he begged, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You giggled at this eagerness, and nodded. Pies were easy enough to bake, and if that's what people wanted then you would be more than happy to deliver.

"Thank you thank you thank you-" Conny shook you as he thanked you profusely, Eren snarled and tugged the two of you apart, while Marco and Jean laughed.

"Knock it off baldy." he hissed as he tossed Conny back. You chuckled and waved your hands dismissively.

"I'd better go, Hange should be done soon." you sighed, your eyes straying to the nearest window, you gasped. The snow was coming down in thick swirls, the sun had dipped below the horizon, making it difficult to see much through the snow.

"Oh wow, that's a lot of snow!" Marco exclaimed as he turned to follow your gaze. Jean let out a low whistle, Conny squealed excitedly.

"Yeah I better get going." you called over your shoulder as you made a break for the west wing, which was where the senior parking lot was located. The halls were dark, you only crossed paths with one janitor who didn't even glance up at you. You paused at the door at the end of the hallway and squinted out into the blizzard. The parking lot was dark, a clear indicator that Hange had not arrived to warm up the car before you.

"Ah there you are, perfect timing!" Hange's booming voice startled you as it echoed through the empty hall.

"Oh Hange, thank God, please tell me you have your scraper." you fretted, Hange grimaced, giving you an apologetic smile.

"Yeah about that..." she muttered, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. You groaned and reached into your backpack for your wallet. You fished out your drivers license and your credit card and turned back to the snowy parking lot.

"Better get started then." you grumbled, Hange laughed anxiously and moved to open the door for the both of you.

"Right."

___

You flexed your raw fingers by the vents as they blasted hot air into the cabin of the car. Hange was rubbing her hands together furiously and blowing hot air on her own frigid fingers.

"For the love of God, just keep the scraper in the car year round." you moaned as you slid your id back into your wallet.

"Might be a good idea actually." Hange stuttered between the chattering of her teeth. You huffed, tucking your hands underneath your thighs in an attempt to regain the feeling in your hands. Hange shifted the gear to drive and slowly pulled the car out of the parking lot, the wipers squeaking against the glass as they swiped the relentless snow off of the windshield.

"So, what do you want for dinner kiddo?" she gushed, her coppery eyes glinting mischievously.

"I dunno, something hot." you jabbed back, shifting on your hands.

"Whole gangs going to be there!" Hange prodded, clearly attempting to get a reaction from you.

"Great, who's cooking?" you taunted, shooting her a smile to show that you meant well.

"Oh well I guess Nanaba could." Hange mused, pleased with your good natured jabs.

"Great I'm starving." you leaned back and closed your eyes. Hange chuckled and turned her eyes back to the dark road ahead.

The drive took longer than usual due to the heavy snowfall. The roads were slick with the fresh snow, which stuck stubbornly to the road due to the lack of traffic on the country roads. But you made it to your house without a hitch. Erwin's minivan was already covered in a layer of snow, and Levi's BMW was untouched, Mike and Nanaba had not yet arrived. Hange parked and the two of you quickly gathered your belongings and walked briskly to the front door. You kicked your feet on the mat before entering, the foyer already a bit wet due to snow being tracked in on shoes. You peeled off your shoes with Hange and carried your things upstairs, Hange following close behind. Hange slipped into Erwin's room while you dropped your bag in your own room. You hadn't seen your brother or his short friend yet which was odd, they usually hung out in the kitchen. You met Hange back in the hall, her glasses, which had fogged up when you had entered the house were perched atop of her auburn hair.

"Where are they?" you asked bluntly as you watched her scrub the spectacles with the hem of her sweater.

"Beats me, let's go make some soup or something." Hange shrugged, holding her glasses up to the light to inspect the lenses. So you jogged down the stairs and began pawing through the pantry through the abundance of canned goods. You frowned at the cream of mushroom soup and set it back into the pile before refocusing.

"Heyyy now we're talking!" Hange crooned, you turned to see her pulling out a frozen pizza from the depths of your freezer. You scoffed before turning back to the pantry, a frown settling on your features.

"How about tomato soup and grilled cheese?" you offered as you pulled out two cans of tomato soup and a loaf of bread. Hange shrugged and tossed the pizza back into the freezer, she then opened the fridge and pulled out an assortment of cheese. The two of you fell into your effortless rhythm Hange stirred the soup while you began to cook the sandwiches. Finally the front door banged open, Levi's combat boots squeaking as he walked into the house, he haphazardly kicked off the shoes and stalked into the kitchen and straight into the living room. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as you watched him walk through the house, his arms full with kindling. Erwin followed closely behind, his arms also full of firewood. So that's where the pair had been. Hange fawned over them, greeting Erwin by dusting off bits of bark from his coat before turning to pat Levi's head. Levi swatted her sticky hands off of his head and glared at her menacingly.

"Hands off four eyes." Levi hissed, he ducked expertly underneath her arm and fled to the kitchen where you were flipping a grilled cheese. Erwin and Hange began the chore of lighting the fire while you took on the task of cooking as per usual. Levi frowned at the sight of the damp foyer and turned on his heel to grab the mop. You smiled at the sight of him mopping the floor despite the fact that people were still on their way and it would only end up messy again. Sure enough, just as Levi tossed the dirty water out of the front door and tucked the mop back in the closet, Mike and Nanaba strutted in, arms full of assorted baked goods and board games.

"Hey everybody! Hope we didn't miss anything!" Nanaba trilled as she tracked more snow into the front room. Levi heaved a sigh as he turned to grab the mop, you chuckled and took the container of cookies from her arms so she could take off her jacket. Mike nodded at you as he strolled into the living room where Hange and Erwin were still fumbling to light the fire wood.

"No, we actually only just got home about thirty minutes ago." you assured the blonde as she joined you in the kitchen. She smiled as she watched Mike kneel down to join Erwin and Hange as they blew on the small embers.

"What games did you guys bring?" you attempted to make small talk as you turned back to the task at hand.

"Oh the usuals, Sequence, Candy Land, Clue, etcetera." she waved a hand dismissively as she turned to stir the soup.

"Sounds fun!" you exclaimed as you tossed another sandwich on the plate. Nanaba hummed in response as she smiled stupidly into the soup. You pursed your lips and cocked your head as you studied her.

"Not to be that person but...Have you picked a school yet?" you asked with a small chuckle. She nodded,

"Yeah actually, just picked two days ago!" she beamed, turning to face you once more.

"Wow really?"

"Yeah! I'm going to attend Michigan State University with Mike!" she gushed as she set the spoon off to the side with a clang.

"That's great! Michigan is beautiful, and that's an awesome school." you matched her excitement and dumped the final sandwich on the plate and switched the stove off.

"Thanks! We're super excited." her words were so sweet and filled with love it made you feel sick. You nodded and turned to grab plates and bowls for everyone. Nanaba and Mike had only started dating about a month prior, in fact they had admitted their affections to one another back in October at your house. In a way you envied their effortless relationship, despite only dating for a month they made a great pair.  You served yourself and moved to sit at the island in the kitchen. A cheer from the living room told you that the trio had finally ignited the fire, shortly after they piled into the kitchen and began to dish food onto their plates. Levi once again stuffed the mop and bucket back into the closet and feverishly washed his hands before serving himself. As he reached for a grilled cheese the sleeve of his hoodie scrunched up, revealing a new tattoo on his left wrist. Your jaw dropped momentarily, the sight of the fresh ink shocking you. In fact it was so fresh that the skin around the ink was still red and a bit swollen, glistening with the salve. He rounded the island and dropped into the stool to your left, and your eyes went straight to his wrist.

"Fresh ink?" you asked, propping your chin on the heel of your hand as you watched him bring the spoon to his mouth.  

"Yeah." he replied, not bothering to elaborate.

"Can I see?" you pressed, Levi shot you a glare as he bit into his sandwich but still lifted his hand for you to pull his sleeve up. You gingerly tugged his sleeve up and a tiny 'awe' escaped your lips. The drawing was extremely minimalistic, the delicate black ink contrasting beautifully with his pale skin tone. It was a small tea cup, with a chip in its rim. Levi scoffed and tugged his arm back.

"That's a good one Levi." you gushed as you turned back to your own meal.

"Thanks." he grumbled as he looked everywhere but your face.

"Where do you get them done?" you asked before taking a huge bite of your sandwich.

"WitchHammer." he grunted, his patience growing thin. All of these questions reminded him of a particular brunette. You hummed in response as you entertained the idea of getting a tattoo for your 16th birthday that was coming up in the next couple of months. You already had an appointment at the shop to get your forward helix pierced on your left ear. The others were getting rowdy on the other side of the island, too engrossed in their conversation to notice the side conversation Levi and you were engaging in.

"Did it hurt?" you quizzed feeling a bit playful. You had missed Levi's bluntness and his shitty sense of humor.

"I would be lying if I said no." he retorted, his sharp eyes catching yours for the first time in weeks. You chuckled and nodded as you chewed your food.

"You think that I would look good with a couple tattoos?" you giggled, smiling broadly at the raven haired boy. He clicked his tongue and turned to take you in, his eyes raking over your form. Finally his eyes settled on your hands, his brows pinched together in thought as he stared.

"Personally...I like minimalistic designs, you could probably pull off some finger tats or hand tats." he mused, you glanced at your hands, interesting. You held your hands up to the light to get a better look and began to think of some small designs that you might be interested in.

"Tattoos are a big commitment, don't just get some stupid shit." Levi lectured as he lifted his cup of tea to his lips, you frowned he was one to talk.

"I know." you decided that tonight wasn't the time to argue with him, especially since this was the first time spending time together in weeks. He nodded but kept a skeptical eye on you as you folded your hands onto your lap and turned to listen to the other conversation. You frowned when you realized they were just talking about prom, awkward. So you decided to clean up, the exhaustion of the long day seemed to hit you like a truck and all you could think about was your bed and all of the work that was due on Sunday. You washed up quickly and waved weakly before trudging up the stairs, thankfully the others didn't seem to care that you were calling it a night early. You changed into a pair of flannel pjs and an old ACDC shirt that had seen better days. You sank into your old desk chair and flicked on the small lamp, you rummaged through your back pack and pulled out your laptop and a notebook. Sparing a glance at the small alarm clock you groaned, it was already well past nine o'clock.

You decided to pick up from where you had left off with your Government notes. Your handwriting started off neat, the ink gliding flawlessly across the lined paper. But by the time you had finished the notes and moved on to your chemistry homework, your handwriting had become rocky at best. You frowned at the smudged ink, the green hue bleeding into the once white paper. With a sigh you reached for your white out and continued to write out the reaction. Once you were finished with Chem, you turned your attention to your research paper for English. As you typed you could feel your eyelids drooping, the words seemed to blur and bend across the computer screen. Closing your eyes for a moment wouldn't hurt would it? A defeated sigh breezed past your lips as you folded your arms across the desk and rested your forehead against your arms to block out the blinding light of your lamp. You yawned and rubbed your eyes in an attempt to wake yourself up, though this seemed to be unsuccessful. As you slipped into sleep, you recalled the last time you had fallen asleep at your desk and how fucked up your back felt the following week. But your exhaustion won and your head slumped against your desk, any pain you felt would be a problem for future you.

Meanwhile, downstairs the upperclassman were well into their third bottle of wine and their fifth round of Candy Land. Erwin flicked the spinner and moved his piece accordingly, Levi sat back and sipped the dry red wine, Mike had his hand thrown over Nanaba's shoulders casually. Hange was leaning her head heavily against Erwin's shoulder and Levi swore he had never felt like such a loser in his whole life. If you were down here at least he wouldn't be the only person down here that was single. Hange howled as Erwin pushed his piece past hers, always the sore looser. Nanaba giggled drunkenly as she choked on her glass of wine. Levi rolled his eyes, his friends were past tipsy now, but not quite drunk, and this was usually when Levi would leave. He hated dealing with drunk people, they were messy and loud, the mere thought of any of them vomiting made him cringe. He waited until the spinner came around to him before he excused himself.

"Count me out." he held up his hand to deny the spinner as Mike tried to hand it to him.

"Awe come on Levi! We can't let Erwin win for the fifth time in a row!" Mike begged as Levi stood up and picked up his glass of wine.

"No." Levi denied, his voice growing colder. The group collectively called for him to stay, their voices a bit unsteady due to the alcohol. Levi shrugged them off and carefully stepped over Hange, she snagged his ankle and held him in a vice grip.

"No, don't go Levi! Finish this game please!" she whimpered as she pressed her face into his calf. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the sudden contact, Erwin chuckled and pulled Hange back and pressed a kiss to her temple. Yeah it was definitely time for him to go to bed, besides he needed to put some vaseline on his fresh ink. He slid into the upstairs bathroom, the sound of his friends laughing fading into the background. Tugging up his sleeve his hissed at the feeling of the raw skin coming in contact with the cold air. He pawed through the drawers, pausing at the sight of your feminine hygiene products. He usually used the downstairs restroom since the guest room was in the basement. He slammed the drawer shut and moved onto the next one, a relieved sigh escaping his lips at the sight of the familiar jar of vaseline. He swiped the jelly onto his tiny tea cup tattoo and rolled his sleeve back down, the soothing jelly immediately calming the irritated skin.

On his way out of the bathroom he noticed the small sliver of light that shined through your cracked door. He glanced down at his wrist watch and frowned, it was one thirty in the morning, you had supposedly gone to bed hours ago. He glanced down the stairs, from the bathroom he could see the open floor layout of the living room, where all of his friends were still gathered. He steeled himself and padded up to your door, he lifted his hand and rapped the backs of his knuckles against the surface. He frowned when there was no response, he gently pushed the door open and tentatively stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the only light emitting from the small lamp on your desk. His eyes softened at the sight of you slumped onto your desk, but quickly hardened at the sight of drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. He sat his wine glass down as quietly as he could on your nightstand and raked his eyes around your cluttered room in search for a blanket. He spotted a quilt neatly folded on your window seat, he unfolded the blanket and draped it over your shoulders. Just as the blanket was settling on your shoulders and he was pulling his hands back, the door flew open. He jumped, spinning around only to be met with the sight of an unsteady Hange. The brunette's eyes widened at the sight of Levi's hand on the back of your seat.

"What..." her eyes narrowed and she pointed between the two of you.

"Is this?" she finished as she stepped into the room, her body swaying unsteadily. Good question, what was he doing in here?

"I came to shut off her light." Levi lied through his teeth, the truth was that he had wanted to spend more time in your presence.

"Lies." Hange hissed as she pointed accusingly at him.

"Tch, believe what you want four eyes." Levi grunted as he stalked across the room, meaning to make a quick get away before she drew too much attention to this fishy situation.

"Hey don't-" she lunged in an attempt to keep Levi from escaping, spilling her glass of wine onto the white carpet and onto Levi's crisp white hoodie. She caught herself on Levi, a drunk giggle bubbling past her lips as she clung to him. Levi staggered under her weight, his back hitting your wall with a dull thud. You grunted, slowly lifting your head from the desk you turned around to see Levi seething under Hange's weight as she pressed against him. Your eyes widened at the sight, Levi was trying to grab the glass from her hand to prevent further spillage, you were so distracted by the rare sight of Levi and Hange in such close proximity that you didn't notice the quilt falling off your shoulders. You blinked dumbly at the two of them as they grappled for the wine glass, Levi ultimately winning due to Hange's drunken state.

"Levi was peeping on you while you slept." Hange blurted, Levi slammed his hand over her mouth and snarled. You weren't surprised when Levis pulled his hand back with a small gasp, you could just make out the sheen of what you assumed was Hange's drool over his palm. The brunette cackled and staggered away from him and out of the room.

"I'm going to tell Erwin." she sang as she stumbled through the hall with her hand on the wall to guide her.

"Hange don't, it's okay really." you called after her, but your words fell on deaf ears as she rounded the stairs and disappeared.

"Damn it." Levi hissed, his eyes trained on the stain on the ground, he pulled the sweat shirt off of his skin, the alcohol sticking to his skin. You cleared your throat awkwardly as Levi pulled the sweatshirt off. You glanced at the stairs, no sign of Hange and Erwin yet, you could hear the sound of the group stumbling around the kitchen. Hopefully Hange had forgotten and favored grabbing another drink over causing trouble, so you stood up and crossed your room to quietly shut the door. Levi had his head against the wall, his eyes closed expecting an onslaught of accusations. Instead he was surprised to see you digging through your closet, pulling out one of your larger sweatshirts you tossed it to him. He caught the garment and eyed is suspiciously before tugging it over his head.

"Thanks." he mumbled, you waved him off and crossed your room to sit down on your bed.

"What's up?" you questioned, it was certainly out of character for him to be in your room. Levi shrugged and slowly crossed the room to drop down onto your bed next to you.

"Your light was on and I came in to shut it off." Levi replied nonchalantly, his eyes dull as he watched you slip under your covers. A chill ran up your spine, your room always got cold in the winter due to the large windows. After a moment of awkward silence you patted the space beside you, Levi quirked a brow at you but when you smiled at him he slid closer to you. He settled against the headboard with a sigh, you looked up at him, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. He turned and raised a brow skeptically at you, you giggled and turned to slip deeper under your covers. He scoffed but turned to face you, propping himself up on his elbow. From this close proximity you could smell the wine on his breath, you noticed that his  pupils were dilated, and his cheeks flushed.

"Thanks...I guess." you muttered as you watched him reach into his pockets and pull out his juul and take a hit. You frowned as he turned his head away from you to exhale, he sighed contentedly and turned to face you once more.

"You're going to get me in trouble." you scoffed as he attempted to offer you the juul.

"You only live once." he smirked as he dangled the device in your face. You gently pushed his hand away from your face, he shrugged and took another drag.

"Are you sleeping over?" you questioned, he simply nodded and pocketed his juul.

"It's like three in the morning." he scoffed rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, I guess..." you trailed off, the house had grown quiet, hopefully Hange had been dragged to bed by Erwin and had long forgotten about snitching on Levi. You weren't sure what Levi was still doing in your bed, you knew that he wouldn't force himself on you, but still he had never spend this much time alone with you since the time you had kissed. Just as you were about to ask him why he was still in your room, you heard the sound of the front door opening and then quickly closing. Your mother was home, you shoved Levi's shoulder and motioned for him to get out of your bed, a surge of panic rushing through you. Your mom would kill you if she saw Levi in your bed this late. Levi grunted and rolled off the bed, landing heavily on the ground with a thud. You winced and pointed at the door, Levi opened his mouth to say something but ultimately turned and stalked towards the door. When he opened the door, he was met with the tired face of your mother. Her eyes widened at the unexpected sight of Levi.

"Oh, Levi.." she managed to keep her voice even as she took in his appearance, his hair a bit mussed, cheeks pink and wearing your clothes.

"It's not what it looks like mom!" you scrambled out of bed and pushed Levi away from the doorway so that you could address your mother.

"Really..." she narrowed her eyes skeptically as her eyes roamed over your pajamas and messy hair. You grimaced but nodded, she glared at you and heaved a heavy sigh, turning her attention to Levi.

"So your uncle told me that you wouldn't be coming to Christmas this year?" she swiftly changed the subject. Levi blinked, shocked that she had chosen to ignore the suspicious state she had found the two of you in.

"Y-Yeah that's true, I finally saved enough to visit my old friends in France for the holidays." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Is that so?" she hummed, leaning against the door frame and tugging her light jacket closer to her body. Levi nodded and spared you a glance, you looked surprised, but not upset.

"Well that sounds amazing, you'll have to send us a postcard." she mused, Levi nodded and shifted awkwardly.

"Yes ma'm." he responded, your mother nodded pleased with his response.

"How long will you be gone for?" she probed.

"Until January 8th." Levi answered.

"That's a long time." you quipped, Levi glanced at you and nodded.

"How exciting." your mother's response was genuine, she stepped aside allowing him to pass.

"Yeah." he muttered as he slid past and made his way towards the stairs. Once he was out of sight your mother turned to you, her usually soft features pinching into a scowl.

"Explain." she snapped, pointing a finger at the sizable wine stain.

"Hange spilled it, I'll clean it in the morning." you sighed as you eyed the large purple spot.

"Alright, just make sure that it gets cleaned." your mother leaned forward and kissed your forehead. You smiled at her, it was unusual that you got to see her after her shift.

"How was work?" you asked as you eyed her scrubs, noting a mystery stain on her shirt.

"Messy." she sighed as she followed your gaze.

"Did you save lots of lives?" you giggled.

"Of course." your mother jabbed.

"Get some sleep (Y/n)." she hummed, her hand burying into your messy hair to ruffle it affectionately.

"Goodnight mom." you called after her as she descended the staircase, she waved her hand and you slowly shut the door.

[kaitycole]

Love One: the love that looks right

Summary: Ushijima has been your neighbor and best friend for most of your life, so it's no surprise that you two end up being each other's first relationship. But can a relationship that's label as perfect from the beginning, that's seen as being 'The One', can it last?

Parings: Ushijima x Reader

Word Count: 4916

Warnings: Fluff? Light angst.

Rating: 16+

A/N: This series is based on an article that talks about how in live, most of us experience three types of love. I’ll link the article in the series master post for anyone who wants to read it!

2000 – 6 years old

“Toshi! Toshi!” You ran down the steps in front of your house, skipping across the yard and into the neighboring yard, continuing to shout out of the young boy. You found him, watering can in hand, inspecting some plant whose name you can’t remember even though he’s told you several times.

A smirk appeared as you slowed your pace, creeping up behind him before you jumped onto his back, yelling his name a bit too loudly and too close to his ear. He gasped, water spilled everywhere as the can fell, and before he could balance his footing, you fell off his back, landing directly on his plant.

“Oops, sorry Toshi.” You took the hand that he offered, fixed your eyes on the tips of your shoes, tears pooled in your eyes. “It was an accident. Promise.”

He didn’t say anything, gentle hands tried to get the plant to stand, but the broken stem caused it to just fall back onto the soil. His face remained stoic and you couldn’t help but feel terrible, waiting for him to get mad at you. But he didn’t, he just stared at the broken plant, small hands tightly gripped the watering can handle.

He finally looked over at you, tears fell down your cheeks as you stood there, trembling.

He looked around until bright yellow and blue caught your eye, walking to the other side of the yard he picked up the volleyball, turning towards you. “Let’s play.”

A huge smile tugged at your lips before you eagerly agreed, running over towards him, this time just throwing your arms around him. Even though you do most of the talking and he’s usually just going along with one of your various demands, Wakatoshi always seemed to know how to make you feel better. After all, you had both promised to be best friends forever.

*                      * 2010– 16 years old

You let out a sigh, tugging at the purple tie around your neck before glancing out the window. For some reason that day just won’t end, each minute creeping by at a snail-pace, but the blur of green catches your eye. You watch at Ushijima walks through the courtyard, carrying some large box for a teacher who seems to be repeatedly thanking him and you can’t help but smile.

The Ushijimas have been in your life since before you were even born, both of your dads had attended Shiratorizawa Academy back in the day and never really lost contact, even when Utsui moved overseas. Unlike Ushijima, you have a younger brother who’s five years younger than you, but most days the two of you would be found together, usually with either him suggesting volleyball or him just dragging his feet to follow after whatever you wanted to do.

The bell finally rings, signaling the lunch break and you eagerly pack up your books before grabbing your bag and heading out to the courtyard. At first you were worried about school, wondering how you’d be able to fit in, but you ended up going to the same schools with Ushijima and even if you’d only get a small head nod, you still knew he was there. The downside was the amounts of classmates that would try to use you to get close to him, those confessing their crushes for him to you in hopes you’d spread it along with a good word. Not to mention the lack of confessions you’d receive due to the intimidating aura that surrounded Ushijima and the well-known fact you two were close.

“Y/N!” Your best friend, Ren, smiles as she waves you over to your usual table. Ren is one of the only girls who hadn’t tried to get you to talk them up to Ushijima, her sight is set on Yamagata Hayato.

“You okay? You look tired.” Tensei asks, sitting across from you, unscrewing the bottle of juice in his hand.

“The day just feels like it’s dragging for some reason.” You let out a small yawn, excusing yourself as you start to eat the lunch you packed.

“Are you—” Ren starts before she’s interrupted, a random second year coming up to your table.

“Hey, L/N-san,” she starts, “is Ushijima seeing anyone?”

You want to roll your eyes, to let out an agitated sigh and tell her to just leave, but you don’t because it’s not entirely her fault that you get asked this frequently. You couldn’t blame her, he was easy on the eyes, but it didn’t stop part of you from getting a tad bit jealous.

“He’s actually in a committed relationship with Mizuna.” Tensei says, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Or was it Misaka?” Ren teasingly add, watching the second year cross her arms as she storms off.

“You two are trouble.” You laugh, taking a bit of the sandwich you brought, “what are you gonna do when she figures out they are sporting brands?”

“I doubt it. She’ll probably spend the rest of the term trying to figure out which year and class they are in.”

You just shake your head, completely entertained by that idea, mentally noting to use that next time someone asked you about Ushijima’s relationship status. Ren and Tensei are talking about something, but your focus shifts to Ushijima as you see him and Tendou walking through the courtyard, missing the smirk that your two friends share.

“Y/N,” you snap your attention to Ren, “speaking of Ushijima, when are you two going to date?”

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of you, but when you try to breathe in, it’s an icy sensation like winter air. The topic has come up before, several times in fact, but why did this time feel different? You feel your cheeks heat up when Ushijima makes eye contact, he throws up a hand, the closest anyone gets to a wave from him.

“You guys would make a good couple.” Tensei adds, getting an encouraging nod from Ren.

“We’re just friends.” You wave them both off, hoping they’d let it go.

Ren shrugs, “I don’t know. He looks at you differently than everyone else.”

You feel your heart start to thump against your chest, the heat from your cheeks rising to your ears and all you can hear is your racing heart. Did he? Was there a chance that maybe he felt the same way you had? It didn’t take a genius to see that he’s handsome or that even if he’s not the brightest academically, he makes up for it with his athletics.

It never bothered you when you had to help him study, in fact you preferred it because the little crease he got between his eyebrows when he was determined to get something, it was one of your favorite sights. You just never bothered to voice those feelings, hoping that maybe it would help things hurt less when he started dating someone else.

** “Y/N~”

“Tendou!” You jump up from the spot you’ve been sitting outside the gym, wrapping the middle blocker into a hug.

“Have you been out here the whole time? It’s cold, Y/N!”

You give him a sheepish smile, “I forgot my jacket and was waiting for Toshi.”

Tendou shakes his head before tightening his hug around you, he’s warm and you try to soak up the heat. “Ushijima, give me your jacket.” “You have yours on, why do you need mine?” “Just hand it here.” Tendou leans his head backwards to see Ushijima, “please~”

Unfazed, the wing spiker slips out of his jacket, handing it over. Tendou takes it and drapes it over your shoulders, it practically swallows your smaller frame.

“Thanks,” you mumble, basking in the warmth the oversized jacket brings you, your nose burying into the collar as you take in Wakatoshi’s scent. Your eyes widen when you realize what you’re doing, the heat you felt at lunch covering your face again.

“Y/N?” The tall olive-brown haired boy calls out to you and you slowly peak around Tendou, who has a mischievous grin on his face.

“Hey there, Toshi!” You grip the strap of your bag a bit tighter.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, I’d have given you my jacket before practice.” There’s a flicker of concern in his eyes as he walks closer to you.

“I was fine, really.” You smile up at him before Tendou announces his departure leaving just the two of you. It’s not an uncommon situation, you grew up together but for some reason ever since lunch, just the topic of Ushijima leaves you a mess. Ren’s comment from lunch running through your mind repeatedly.

He looks at you differently than everyone else.

“Ren said we should date.” You tell him, laughing as you recall the conversation. The walk to your dorms is rather peaceful, the two of you exchanging highlights of your day, er well more of you talking about everything that happened while Ushijima listens.

“Okay.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s date then.” Ushijima says matter-of-factly, before he leaves you standing in front of your dorm, dazed and confused, as he heads towards his.

** Your eyes are closed, sleep still weighing them down as you sling your bag over your shoulder, opening the door of your room to head out. But you stop abruptly when you feel yourself run into something, or rather someone and looking up confirms it’s Toshi.

“Uh—” You’re at a loss for what to say, this wasn’t something that happened…ever. Sure, you’d both would sometimes hang out in each other’s rooms, but he never just showed up to yours first thing in the morning.

“Good morning, Y/N.” His voice is his usual even tone which confuses you even more because Ushijima didn’t do anything without a reason, everything had purpose.

“Toshi?” He raises an eyebrow at your question, “don’t take this the wrong way, but uhm, why are you here?”

“Tendou said people in relationships do things like walking to classes and such together. Should I not have come?”

For the first time in 10 years, Ushijima looks unsure and even a bit nervous which is new to you. He’s always put together on the court and at school that it’s almost refreshing to know this was as nerve-wracking for him as it is you.

“I like that you came.” You smile up to him, closing your door before you both begin walking down the hallway. The warmth his hand brings yours causes your heart to thump against your ribs, his larger hand embracing yours. “Tendou tell you about that too?” “No, I figured this out on my own.” He clears his throat, looking away from you but slow enough for you to catch the faint blush under his eyes.

** A month had passed since you and Toshi started dating before you had been able to go home and tell both sets of parents. You felt that a phone call would’ve sufficed, if you were honest, Toshi’s mom scared you a bit, but he persuaded you that in person was better.

The first half of the dinner is awkward, the atmosphere feels heavy around you as you engage in simple small talk about your studies and clubs, luckily for you Toshi had lots to say about volleyball and took over the conversation.

“Anything new in your lives?” Toshi’s mom gave you a look and you could’ve swore that she already knew.

“Actually, Y/N and I are dating.” Toshi’s tone is flat and even, throwing you off on how he just continues eating after dropping such a bomb. It wasn’t lost on you that his family still has traditional views and part of you wonders if you’re good enough to fill the spot at his side. A comforting hand is placed on your thigh, as if he’s read your mind and you smile to yourself.

“That’s wonderful news.” His mother smiles, turning to yours before they start discussing officially announcing the relationship (whatever that meant) and how it was about time the two of you got together. Listening to them going on and on about things made a lot of your worries fade away, it was a relief that they both were so onboard with the relationship.

*                      * 2011 – 17 years old

It’s been a year since you started dating Ushijima and it’s been a lot different that you thought it would be, not that you thought about it that much. And while things didn’t seem to change all that much, they changed completely. You weren’t just two friends walking to classes, but a couple. You weren’t just watching his matches like a childhood friend, but as a supportive partner.

When you had thought of dating, of being in a relationship, there was always the anticipation of getting to know your partner, but with Ushijima, you don’t get that. With Ushijima, it’s just seeing what you’re always known within a different light, but somehow that makes you feel like he’s ‘The One’ because how romantic is it to fall in love with the one who has been by your side for as long as you can remember? Even with the deep level of comfort you two share, your face still heats up when he reaches down to grab your hand, when he leans to kiss you goodnight and even when someone refers to him as your boyfriend.

*                      * “SHIIIIRATORIZAWA!!”

The beatings of drums and cheers of support fill the gymnasium, your voice getting hoarse from chanting as loudly as you can. For as long as you can remember, you attended Toshi’s volleyball games and somewhere during one of the games you found yourself truly loving the sport. Nothing really changed now that you were dating, other than the fact you seemed your swell up with even more pride when he hit spike or made a service ace and you were also seen sporting one of his spare athletic jackets with a simple purple shirt.

There was just something special about seeing the person you love doing something they’re so passionate about that make it impossible to not smile the whole time you’re watching them.

“You two are the cutest couple!”

“Oh, thank you.” Even after a year, you still weren’t used to people commenting on your relationship, mostly because no other relationship was talked about as much as yours.

“Talk about a perfect match!”

Another classmate seems to appear out of nowhere, adding the other comments, “I’m so jealous!”

You try to drown out their conversation, not wanting to hear about their surface deep comments, but you can’t. Standing up you look at the court one more time, Ushijima clearly in his element, a few points away from taking not just the set, but the match. Then, for the first time since you started attending his matches, you left the game early.

** “So, Y/N, when’s the wedding?” Ren jokes, getting a glare from Tensei who wants to get back to the focus of their gathering: studying for their upcoming math exam.

“What?” There’s a lot more panic in your voice that you intended and you can’t help but feel your face burn with embarrassment. You grab your math textbook, trying to hide your face before either of them sees, but of course they do.

“You and Toshi, are you planning to get married out of high school? Or waiting until after college?”

“Clearly Y/N wants to get back to studying. You remember, the whole reason we are here?” Tensei side eyes Ren before shaking his head. The two start to bicker back and forth, arguing about if breaks are really needed during studying or if they just cause unnecessary distractions that derail the whole point.

Your thoughts have you far from their debate and more so on what Ren asked. Marriage, it wasn’t like you didn’t think about it happening…eventually. But lately the whole concept, even the word alone has you on edge.

Back when you first started dating, you two were quick to share the news with your families and while you had a feeling they assumed this would happen eventually, they still seemed thrilled. Part of you could barely contain your happiness that your relationship had been accepted so quickly, knowing from movies and books you’ve read, not all relationships get family support. Another part of you was filled with a sinking feeling, a fear that eventually as your relationship grew and matured, the expectations from your families would increase, and they were doing just that.

Just a few weeks ago, you heard both of your mothers talking about it between themselves, seemingly making plans without any consideration of you or Toshi’s feelings. After that it left you wondering about your future and how your plans would fit into the heavy expectations the Ushijimas seemed to already have. Remembering the almost pitying laugh Toshi’s mother had given when you mentioned going to college and how she was quick to remind you that someone had to be the stay-at-home parent with children and Toshi couldn’t since he had a promising future in volleyball.

** “Happy birthday, Y/N!” Ren, Tensei and Tendou shout at you, crossing the courtyard to get closer to the table you were sitting at. Embarrassment crept across your skin, feeling like everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you, something you hated.

“Thanks.” You give them all a tight ‘please never do that again’ smile which just makes them laugh.

“Y/N.”

The voice causes you to quickly turn and you see Toshi standing there, a slightly obnoxiously large bouquet in his hand and you wish you hadn’t felt so embarrassed over your friends because now you definitely knew people were looking.

It had been a while since you and Toshi had gotten together for more than ten minutes, his schedule had gotten busier, you couldn’t remember when he was ever this busy before. You couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he remembered your birthday and gotten you something.

“Toshi!” You throw your arms around him, smiling even more when he tells you happy birthday, loud  enough for just you to hear.

Comments about how cute you two were, how great a relationship you had start to fill the courtyard and while you usually get sick of hearing it, it reminded you that you didn’t have much to complain about. Sure, Toshi’s schedule seemed to get busier every day, but he still carved time out for you and that’s what really mattered.

*                      * 2012 – 18 years old

You look up and towards the door when you hear the bell ring, hoping that it’s Toshi. The two of you agreed to meet up at a café before seeing a movie, he was running a bit late because he had a meeting with Coach Washijō. A deep sigh leaves you as you realize that it’s not Toshi and instead you are still alone.

DING!

Toshi: Coach Washijō wants me to meet with some alumni players. (12:31PM) Toshi: I can’t make it today. (12:32PM)

You should’ve seen it coming, honestly. He has always been a force in the volleyball circuit, but with graduation coming up and professional scouters about, he seems to be in even more demand. You are proud of him, proud of all he’s accomplished, but as his partner, you felt like you were just getting the short end of the stick most of the time.

** “I’m all yours today, I promise.” Toshi says, standing at your room door, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You can’t help but smile, you’re still upset about yesterday, but you know he’s trying and that the small amount of free time he actually gets, he spends with you. You step aside and let him in and he takes a seat in your desk chair, even after years of being friends and almost two years of dating, he refuses to just sit on your bed. He really could be a huge dork sometimes.

“Did you have something in mind?” You wrap your blanket back around you, originally planning to spend your free Sunday catching up on shows you missed.

“Anything you want to do, I owe you.”

A mischievous smirk crosses your face as you jump up, rushing into the bathroom. “Face masks!”

He nods, “whatever you want.”

** You look over at your calendar that’s hanging on the wall, today’s date is circled and you feel a little silly for being so upset. Today marks two years with Toshi, but for what felt like the hundredth time this month, you were in your room alone. He had sent flowers and a small gift, of course, he never missed sending something on anniversaries, birthdays or other holidays, but coming second to volleyball was getting old.

The part of you that is petty wants to think Coach Washijō is doing it on purpose, but what did you think would happen when dating one of the top 3 aces in Japan? Still, you just thought this time could be different. Then you were hit with an overwhelming feeling that this would be your life. At least your life if you ended up staying with Toshi. He would go pro, you knew that and with his family’s traditional ways, you’d end up staying at home with children your mothers had envisioned for you, not bothering to ask either of you what you wanted.

Waiting, that’s what their future held for you, just waiting for him to come home. And just like yesterday and today, every day would just feel the same.

Did you want that?

There was nothing wrong with those who wanted that life, but it wasn’t ever what you thought yours would be. You wanted to go to a good university, to join the career field you dreamed of and definitely saw traveling in that future.

What’s worse that the feeling of a bleak future is knowing if you told Toshi, he’d do anything he could to fix it. And what’s worse that that is the feeling that while you love him so much you could feel it deep in your bones, a future without him was more desirable that one with him.

How could a relationship that seemed so perfect to everyone around you, feel so wrong to those in it?

** “Mom?”

“Hmm?”

Finals were just around the corner and Toshi had thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to visit home, not to mention being at home meant less volleyball obligations and more time he could spend with you.

“I don’t think things are going to work out with Toshi.”

The room stilled, though you’re sure if it had been a movie scene, the glass vase in her hands would’ve shattered as it hit the ground.

Yesterday when you two got home, both your parents had been acting strange, so happy that it was like they were floating. It wasn’t until later in the night when you met up with Toshi for a walk that he told you his mother mentioned you two getting engaged, dropping not subtle hints of a post-graduation proposal.

The ground fell from beneath you, all the air in your lungs being sucked out, the only thing saving you was how Toshi told you that he didn’t agree with her plans. That you two should be the ones discussing it, not your parents and that his focus on volleyball blurred out things like proposals and weddings. Even with those words, you still knew how hard it would be for family-oriented Wakatoshi to go against his family; the thought of how different he would be if his dad had raised him crossed your mind.

“Whatever the problem is, I’m sure you can fix it.”

You snort, how cliché for her to blame you. “I just don’t know if our futures line up. We both want such different lives.’

She finally turns to face you, her jaw clenched, “nonsense, you two are perfect together.”

Perfect.

That word has long been on a list of words you hate, one you are tired of hearing, sick of being called that when you know it was far from true. By definition, it means having desirable qualities or characteristic, something that was as good as it could possibly. If you tried hard enough to see your relationship from an outsider’s perspective, maybe after you squint hard enough you could see it. Could understand why perfect was used, how great things looked. You had a boyfriend who would try to move the sun for you if you asked, one who did his best to be there for you and see every chance he got, on the surface level you really had nothing to complain about.

But on the inside, you were two ships passing in opposite directions. Maybe it was true that some relationships are just too good to be true, that some people are better as just friends, that some friendships can’t last when changed to a relationship.

** “Y/N~”

You look over to see Tendou practically skipping towards you, a smile on his face while he wrapped his arms around you from behind, leaning to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Tendou!”

“What’s wrong?” He lets go of, taking the empty seat beside you. You had been sitting on a bench, hoping some fresh air could clear your head. It was just a few days until graduation and the looming expectations of both families started weighing down more, plus Toshi was even more busy with volleyball since word got out that he had gotten a few offers already, so you didn’t have anyone to really talk to about it.

“Nothing. Just tired.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you know Tendou doesn’t believe you. He had an uncanny ability to pick up on things like that.

“Tell me, Y/N.”

That’s all it took for you to finally break, the mix of the gently words and his soft tone. He listened as you tell him about Toshi’s traditional family (most of which he already knows) and the over the top expectations both your families seem to have.

How a future together seems more like a nightmare than a dream come true but not because you don’t love him, maybe because you love him too much. Love him so much that you don’t want him pushed into some life just or being with you. And by the time you finish up by telling him how it’s been hurting you to hold everything in, not wanting to burden Toshi, you are in tears.

** “Can we talk, Y/N?”

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. Graduation had been a week ago and since coming home, your parents (namely mother) had been discussing wedding plans and wondering just when Toshi would pop the questions, so it’s no surprise when they light up when seeing it’s him at the door.

He takes your hand, gently squeezing when he feels you flinch, the notion instantly calming you. He motions for you to sit on a bench in the nearby park that you’ve been walking towards, but when he sighs, you start to worry.

“I spoke to Tendou a few days ago and he helped me understand a few things.” “Toshi, I—”

He holds up a hand, “please let me talk first.”

You nod, noting a small crack in his voice as he squats in front of you, taking your hands.

“My life has always been volleyball, it’s what I’m good at and I know that being a boyfriend isn’t something I’m good at. But even with that, you still carried our relationship even when you stopped being happy.” He keeps his eyes focused on your hands, leaving you to look at the top of his head. “Now It’s time for me to take the burden from you and I’m okay with being the bad guy if it means that you’ll smile like you used to. So, Y/N, will you break up with me?”

You burst into laughter and tear, knowing that he must’ve been given that words from Tendou and practiced them ‘because it didn’t sound like him. “Our parents are going to be disappointed.” He shrugs, “I’ll blame volleyball.”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks, the sleeve of your sweater gets a bit damp. “It hurts because I love you so much.”

He grabs your wrists, tugging you into his chest, the calming scent of his body wash soothes you. “I love you too.”

“Is it selfish to ask if we can still be friends?” You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, fresh tears pricking your eyes. How was it fair that two people who love each other so deeply, just weren’t meant to be? You didn’t have a breakup to compare this one too, but you didn’t think anything else could ever hurt this much.

“I believe someone declared we’d be friends forever. I might have been a bad boyfriend, but I think I’m a good friend.”

Smiling, you look at him, he wipes the tears away with his thumb, his hand cupping your cheek. “I don’t think you were a bad boyfriend, just a busy one.” “You were a perfect girlfriend.” He stands up, pulling you to your feet as well.

“I can still come to your games, right? Having an ex wouldn’t be too weird?” “No. I’ll always need my number one fan.”

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[bondsmagii]

omg you read we need to talk about kevin? what did you think? i went through a whole range of emotions, most of them bitter & negative, bc i saw too much of my mum & brother in eva & kevin, something i’m still working through. i started off hating eva bc i projected my resentment towards my mum onto her, but i found myself sympathising with her a bit more towards the end. it’s helped me sympathise a bit with my mum too. this book has probably had the most lasting effect on me than any other!

man, I love that book. I first read it years ago and liked it then, but I recently reread it and I loved it even more. it's such a brilliant book -- profoundly uncomfortable and incredibly bleak, but I think it asks so many important questions that, face it, most people are too scared to even acknowledge. it simultaneously asks the huge taboo of a question -- what if you regret having your child? what if a child is just born bad? -- and also combines it with that other big question: why do kids shoot up their schools? the nature vs nurture debate has been absolutely raging for years regarding children who commit violence at school; as someone with an academic interest in this particular crime, it's one I've banged my head up against multiple times. people seem to always be firmly in one camp: the parents are to blame, or the kid is just evil. nobody seems to consider the interaction between these two things, and how it's always ultimately a choice.

the book is a pretty intense read for me, as I'm sure you can relate. the difference is that while you can see your mother and brother in Eva and Kevin, I actually see myself and my mother in Eva and Kevin. I was an unwanted and a resented child. my parents did not want to have me. I was what my parents referred to as "a surprise", said in the same tone as you would describe a sudden house fire as a surprise, or bad news at work as a surprise. the major difference between my parents and Eva and Franklin was that they had me very young (they would have been 19 and barely 20 when they found out, and 20 and barely 21 when I was born) and this most certainly added to the resentment. my father was always away for work, often getting to go to some pretty interesting destinations; my mother wanted to be the kind of woman who wanted to be a stay-at-home mother, but she hated it. like Eva and Kevin, my mother and I were very, very alike in personality and what we did and did not want out of life, and we were engaged in some level of warfare for my entire childhood. while I wasn't quite on the level of Kevin in terms of blinding my siblings and whatnot, I was quite the terror as a child. by the time I reached my teenage years I was uncontrollable and my parents had given up trying. I could not be punished. I did not care. any punishment they did hand out, I was maliciously compliant to the point of infuriation. I'm sure my parents could argue that I was born evil, and indeed that's what they told the extended family. I admit I was not an easy child. however -- I was a child.

I did not ask to be born, and when my parents made the choice to have me and then resent my existence, that was on them. a child knows. a child can tell when he's not wanted, when he's an inconvenience. I knew it very well, from an early age. my parents' resentment of me resulted in them abusing me right up until I left home. I was like an unwanted pet, except they couldn't dump me off at a shelter. no, they never laid a finger on me physically, so they can claim they didn't abuse me -- but emotionally and psychologically they were abusive, and especially in my teenage years, they neglected me severely. (think along the lines of being left at home alone for extended periods with no food, no money, and no way to get supplies as we lived in rural Ireland and the closest supermarket was 30 minutes away. this was not something they did out of malice, but rather something they did because they did not consider me at all. they forgot my existence, most of the time, or they deemed me so inconsequential that making provisions for me was a task that could be forever put off.) understandably this made me hate them in return, and I took great pleasure in being a little shit. it was all I had. nature vs nurture, which is it? my parents weren't exactly nurturing, and they taught me very bad behaviour -- but at the same time from the moment I was born I had my mother's personality, predisposing me to being a little shit. even now, grown up and after many years of working on myself, I still find myself fighting the urge to be as cruel and as judgemental as she could be; likewise I see those positive qualities she had, that she could have shown more of if she had put the work in like I had. we went from being furious carbon copies of one another to an example of the best and the worst case scenario.

basically what it comes down to is choice. Kevin and I had a similar situation going on, but Kevin chose to try and find what he was looking for in mass murder, and I chose to try and find it by getting out of my house and never returning. I mentioned earlier that I have an academic interest in the kind of crime that Kevin committed; since the age of 17 I have been researching these things, and now have expertise in several specific incidents. I bring this up to illustrate that this crime was on my radar when I was around Kevin's age, when I was suffering from the same problems as he was. thousands of kids find themselves in this position, yet so relatively few commit the act. why? it's choice. nature, nurture -- it doesn't matter. there comes a point where you have to make the choice, and honestly? it's chaos theory, baby.

as well as researching this kind of thing I'm also an amateur meteorologist. I love weather. I love trying to work out what makes it tick. and weather is a good example of what I'm trying to say here. weather cannot be predicted. we can get decent ideas, but at the same time we never really know for sure and also weather acts differently every time. there are too many variables. it's the entirety of the earth's atmosphere we're talking about here. identical weather conditions can arise time and time again, and each time the weather is different. a sunny afternoon one day is a washout the next. this is because -- and I broadly sum it up here -- there are so many tiny variables that we cannot possibly predict how they will change the weather. and I mean it's tiny variables. I'm sure you've heard of the butterfly effect -- this comes from the idea that a butterfly somewhere on the coast of Africa can flap its wings, and this tiny reverberation can spread through the atmosphere, creating a bigger and bigger ripple, until a hurricane smashes into the Gulf of Mexico. tiny atmospheric changes all interacting in ways we cannot imagine. this is why some kids shoot up schools. it's easy to look at psychology broadly, but no two people are ever the same. siblings growing up in the exact same house are not the same. identical twins, genetically identical to their very DNA, are not the same. tiny, tiny events, microdoses of chemicals in the brain, exposures -- they all change us in subtle ways. two people -- Kevin and I -- can grow up with almost identical familial issues and outlooks, but Kevin shoots up his school and I study my ass off and get myself to university to escape my parents. why? I don't know. I don't know what tiny little things might influence me one way and another kid in the other. personality, brain chemistry, waking up that morning and having enough or not -- I don't know. it's chaos theory. the variables are too small to say. nature vs nurture are only two variables out of millions. it's an oversimplification.

so to go back to the book -- who do I blame? neither of them. it was a perfect storm. we could say Eva didn't help, but I know of plenty of kids with decent parents who still committed such a crime. we could say that Kevin was just born bad, but there are plenty of people with his resentful outlook on life who don't commit mass murder, or any harm against anyone whatsoever. it's like how every tornado comes from a supercell, but not every supercell will spawn a tornado -- that final genesis point is unknown to us. we just can't predict it. there are no easy answers. there is no simple formula. we just don't know, and that's what makes Kevin's story -- and its real-life counterparts -- so terrifying.