#in other words they have mixed feelings regarding their college years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

builder051 · 1 year ago

Text

No black cats allowed

(Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise)

This is the We fit like an Enfit ‘verse (tube ‘verse)—HOWEVER, it is completely removed from the currently published timeline. I always mean to fill in the cracks, but I never get to it, so here’s what you should know. The story runs like this: Steve and Bucky were high school sweethearts, then Bucky went overseas with the Army, had terrible experiences, got hurt, and got shipped back home. He tried getting back with Steve when he first made it stateside, but things were a little rocky, and eventually they broke up. It’s then, post-break up, that Steve starts having his own health problems and winds up getting tubed. He tries relying on coworkers to help him, but his issues continue, and he desperately needs a caretaker, or at least someone who can spend time with him and drive him to appointments. He reaches out to Bucky again, and after a little getting used to each other again, they move in together (and with Bucky’s cat), and they’re back to their previous relationship situation.

This story takes place in the “right back home” period, when Bucky has returned from Iraq and is still dating Steve. It’ll make sense as a stand-alone story, but placing it in context might be tricky.

This fic has a lot of stuff regarding war, mental health, PTSD, panic, therapy, hospitals, gore al la blood and vomit, some truly disgusting food talk, superstition, a nod to the existence of sex. It’s the usual mixed bag; there’s a huge amount of backstory, then story, then a tiny wrap-up with an open ending.

_____________________________

He probably shouldn’t have stacked the appointments. Looking back through the lense of hindsight, that’s exactly when things went wrong. It lies some three weeks previously, when he’d taken the return call from scheduling and neglected to note the dates and times in his planner. Bucky should’ve known the system would bite him in the ass. Again.

As much as Bucky hates to admit it, he’s probably the one responsible for the ass-biting. He shouldn’t take calls during his lunch hour. He tries, since that’s the only time he can slip outside the echoing warehouse. The stacks of cardboard and wood pallets do nothing to absorb the noise of crashing boxes and the temperamental swamp cooler. Signal’s always shitty, too, even on the outdoor loading deck. The building’s sad excuse for WiFi lies beyond possibility for the connection necessary for web calls. Regardless of means, the voice on the other end is crunchy and segmented. Bucky’s lucky to hear every third word or so. There’s just enough static to blur words out of meaning. Bucky isn’t quick enough to pack potential consonant blends into their respective gaps, and that’s his fault. His lapse in speech therapy practice. It’s his anxiety getting in the way of fulfilling every carefully noted point on his daily schedule.

Bucky didn’t used to have anxiety. Sure, he’d grown up with all the ups and downs of adolescence. He doesn’t like to think about the shameful day he’d ditched two final exams and barricaded himself in a janitor’s closet, puking up the previous night’s samplings of whiskey, edibles, and potato chips. But that happened to everyone, right? Through the rest of his time spent in secondary school, community college, basic training, Bucky remembers others laughing through self deprecating stories of the same.

It was just a universal thing, he’d thought. It had to be. Stress, probably. He’d had a lot going on during his seventeenth and eighteenth years. Football had him in two grueling practices a day, and the gods of senior year must’ve found his list of trespasses. Whether they were punishing him for his academic faults or general life choices, Bucky knew not. He had a feeling it was both; and he’s still sent reeling from time to time when a bad memory strikes. He leaves the room if anybody pops a bag of anything sour cream and onion.

Bucky had wanted to rush to the nearest exit when his VA appointed counselor gifted him the distastefully pink and quote-filled planner book. The dumpster out back would be a good place to stash it. Then he could hide out with an angry cigarette or two until he was calm enough to drive home. Therapy wasn’t for him, he’d decided, all in the same flustered moment. He’d just stop coming to his regularly scheduled appointments.

Halfway to the nearest gas station, though, Bucky had remembered his driver’s license was over a year out of date. The only valid ID on him was his base pass. It sometimes invited awkward conversations where people thanked him for his service. Truth be told, he’d rather have his arm back than any 20% discount. And the more he’d thought about it, the more he was sure that smoking tobacco would be a bad idea. It would probably have him honking up his breakfast before he could even inhale. He’d been forced to quit cold turkey somewhere in the Afghan desert. Taliban guards hadn’t been generous with their stashes of candy and drugs and diet soda. The same had been true for the nurses in any hospital he’s visited since. He should stick with weed. Edibles could certainly be obtained online these days.

That brought up the question of his ID again, though. Would some text bot in central Colorado rat on him for buying gum drops laced with delta 9? It would have to, if there was a subpoena. That’s stupid, Bucky told himself. It didn’t help much. When he arrived at his apartment, he was just keyed up enough to have the shakes and visual sparks that so often heralded migraines and bad memories. Once he shut the front door, Bucky grabbed an oxytocin from the bathroom cabinet and collapsed onto his bed. His jeans and boots didn’t matter. With any luck, he’d soon be having solely out-of-body experiences.

Bucky gets four hours of relief, no matter what he tries. Chemically negotiated sleep, alcohol-induced giddiness, a couple of chess games with Steve— his outlets, healthy and non, never bring him completely down. He’s never felt satisfied, never fully charged. His year in the desert stole more than just his body and mind; Bucky feels eternally depleted, like he can’t breathe in enough oxygen or drink enough water, despite his esophagus and lungs taking only minimal damage. The blisters from caustic smoke inhalation were completely healed, medical staff in Kandahar had informed him. Apparently mouths and throats and other wet, mucousy areas of the body have superior healing powers. None of it has convinced him to make an appointment with an ENT, an allergist, or a dentist, but Bucky makes a concerted effort not to discount the experts. At least not too much.

Bucky usually catches himself before he does anything too rash. Sometimes his excuses aren’t great, such as the time he used a hammer to smash open a jar of tomato sauce after an hour of fruitless one-handed twisting. The wrist ache and stubborn desire to put a cooked dinner on the table pushed him a little far, he’ll admit. But as far as he knows, Steve is still oblivious to the fact that he’d eaten pasta that was carefully strained to remove bits of shattered glass.

Bucky’s dissected the entire experience with his counselor over multiple sessions, and they’ve pretty much organized his breakdowns into different categorical reactions preceded by similar warning signs. Those urges to run, hide, throw rocks at the pigeons on his balcony— they should cue him to do something grounding. Looking at his planner would be an optimal choice. Breathing deeply and focusing on the pastel watercolors that border each page’s scheduling block. That might encourage him to reap more benefits of the fat spiral-bound book. If he wanted, Bucky could schedule his life from 6AM to midnight every day of every month of every year. Apparently the planner comes from a curated luxury brand, and a trip to its website could enable him to order complementary stickers and expander pages. The counselor cheerfully joked that he could go broke, the array of pastel and neon and vegan leather office supplies were so tempting. Bucky supposes it’s a success, then, that he’s never pulled up the site, let alone sit and browse with his wallet open.

Bucky likes planning his days more organically. He wakes up a solid four hours before he leaves for work, so there’s plenty of time to dress and shovel down some breakfast and call Steve’s office phone and plant an endearing message in voice mail box. They don’t live together anymore, technically, but their pair bond hasn’t completely disappeared. Bucky would lose his subsidized apartment if he put his name on a lease somewhere else. The rule runs the other way too, preventing anyone but Bucky’s solitary disabled veteran of a self occupied the blank-walled studio. It doesn’t keep them from meeting up from time to time. The times do seem to be falling a little less frequently as time stretches on, but thinks he knows why.

It’s Bucky’s fault, again. This time for falling into the greedy trap of bonus pay for work hours outside his regular shifts. He doesn’t want to buy anything with the extra cash, but the rotating schedule does give him something to jot down in his planner. Maybe he’ll get some outrageous stickers after all. Something loud and especially obnoxious, like glittery rainbows. He’d use them to mark special occasions. A dinner date with Steve, perhaps. At one of those nice-but-not-fancy places, like the diner that lights up the end of the block with its 24-hour incandescent window lights and perpetually flashing ‘fresh coffee’ sign. That could easily pin them down together for the four-hour stretch between the end of work and the beginning of Jack Hanna’s Wild Countdown at 11pm. Bucky has begun to recognize the reruns of the reruns, but he’s not in it for the fun facts. It’s the camaraderie he likes. His friend Jack keeping him from other, less savory companions like Jack and Coke.

The VA’s phone tree and call waiting systems haven't changed in the five years Bucky’s been subjected to them. The whole communication setup seems stuck in Windows 98. Bucky’s seen the telltale screensaver bouncing around on his rehabilitation doctor’s desktop. He’s fairly sure the hospital could afford to upgrade, though the staff probably hadn’t realized that patients glimpsing a monitor here and there could trigger memories of young recruits sitting in a sweltering tent and logging into the heavily filtered .gov email system on an ancient Macintosh. Sometimes a loved one sent a sweet message and a picture of a cat, which was always appreciated, even though the hard coded regulations reset the text to all caps interspersed with phrases like ‘censored’ and ‘jpeg not displayed.’ Just as often, though, a buddy with a satellite connection would dash off a succinct report of lives recently lost in the latest (redacted) mission. Harsh as they were, Bucky appreciated those notes just as much. His higher-ups rarely passed down accurate weather reports, let alone information about their brothers in other companies. Demoralizing content was cut more and more as the conflict in the desert stretched on. They said it would detract from the bravery of the young, impressionable troops. Bucky laughs now to keep himself from grinding his teeth. The policy won’t fall out of fashion any time soon, no matter where the army continues to send him.

If Bucky uses his morning free time to call any of the hospital’s departments, the nurse at the desk invariably tells him that they’ll take a note and pass it onto the next in the chain of command. An MA, an intern, some kid doing work study to earn his mess hall rations… As responsible as any of them may be, the note never makes it further than the trash can behind the reception desk. That’s what Bucky assumes, since he hasn’t received any communication back.

The same is true for his evenings; Bucky gets off work around 4:00 most days, and he’s lucky to be put on hold while the desk person searches down for someone with authority. The system shuts down promptly at 5:00, and the tinny classical medley of the hold music dies and gives him a dial tone instead. Some days Bucky steels himself and leaves his name and predicament with the voicemail, trying hard not to sound too angry or annoyed. He’s pondered on the idea of letting his emotions seep into his speech along with some heavy sighs, but he doesn’t want to risk it. The last thing he needs is for his counselor to find out and refer him to anger management.

What he’d needed, badly, was a follow up with audiology. The kind practitioner in plainclothes carefully helped him through the process of a complete ear health and hearing examination. The tiny booth for the beep and button test had given him pause, but, as with everything else so far, he’d survived. After the audiologist collected her data, she’d tried to interest him in filling out the form for his hearing aid order. The diagnosis of partial deafness had come as no surprise, but Bucky had declined to participate. “Whatever brand, whatever color. I don’t care,” he’d told her. Stress had been mounting, and the audiologist had let him escape the office with a fleeting, “See you later. We’ll call when you can come pick them up.”

The call had come, much to Bucky’s surprise. He’d felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket as he was pushing a refrigerator box across the warehouse. A quick glance at the screen had shown an unknown number with a local prefix, and he’d figured he should pick up. Maybe it was the front desk at Steve’s office. The community college puzzling over his student loan and GI bill. The local police, perhaps, trying to cite him for abuse of pigeons.

Surprisingly, though, it was the VA. “Hold on, hold on, I have to get somewhere I can hear you,” he’d barked over the rest of the caller’s sentence. Bucky had quickly ducked into the windowless closet they used as a break room before saying, “Ok, go.”

The quality of the call had been especially terrible. “Hearing aids”, Bucky was able to decipher. Then, “Schedule pickup.”

“In the morning,” he’d replied. “I work weird hours.”

“The thirteenth?” The caller had offered.

“What, like, tomorrow?”

“Next month.”

Bucky’d pushed his hair back off his forehead, wondering if he could pin down his work times that far in advance. “I’ll try to make it work.” That was the best he could offer.

“And PT?”

“What was that now?”

“Physical therapy,” the caller had clarified.

Bucky could’ve sworn he’d already graduated from the program. He’d been relieved when he’d stopped going. The humiliation of pedaling an arm bike with only one arm regularly took a chunk of his self esteem.

“No-show last session,” Bucky had managed to understand. “Reschedule.”

“Um…” He could’ve explained his understanding of the situation, but he’d already been eager to get off the phone. If anything, he could pretend to go to PT and really just use it as an opportunity to tell his therapist face-to-face that he was quitting. “Sure,” Bucky had sighed. The rush of air had reverberated through the call and caught him back like a waterpik to his eardrum. Hard of hearing, he was. Not hard of feeling. “Ugh, sorry.”

The caller had paid it no mind. “Nine o’clock for audiology and 9:30 for PT?’”

“Sure.” Now Bucky was cringing at the sound of his own voice. “Thanks.” Then he’d hung up, not waiting to hear a goodbye.

He’d meant to jot the appointments down in his planner. He’d amused himself with the thought that the thing might finally serve a helpful purpose. Bucky’s good mood had carried on through the afternoon. He was even inspired to pick up a box of donuts and drive over to Steve’s office, where he’d sat on the hood of Steve’s car and helped himself to a chocolate glazed. Steve had come out the door shouting at Bucky for defacing his vehicle. But then he’d eaten a sugar dusted lemon creme and inticed Bucky to lick the sweet powder from his fingers. The trip back to Steve’s place was a given. It wasn't the first time he’d given Bucky a lift to pick up his car in the morning.

The next few weeks had passed uneventfully. It was back to the mundane work/rest/tv cycle that drove Bucky’s life. He and Steve were a little tense again. He was living on cereal again. Bucky figured he’d work it out with his counselor at the next appointment. Until then, he’d cope. He hadn’t counted, but he knew there weren’t that many days left in the week.

Friday dawns grey and cloudy. Bucky’s scheduled to work a swing shift, so he doesn’t have to leave his apartment until the afternoon. He gathers the box of cornflakes and the milk carton, then sits at the kitchen table in his bathrobe. He intends to let his cereal marinate for a moment while he browses social media, but he doesn’t get that far. Bucky feels a jolt in his gut as squints at the expiration date stamped on the side of the milk. The thirteenth. Today, he realizes. Friday the fucking thirteenth. He should just go back to bed now.

But no, he has work later, and he rarely sleeps during daylight hours without the help of some chemical or other. Getting high would be nice, though. He could call in sick. The thought of the dishonesty hardens into a lump in Bucky’s stomach, though. On the other hand, he does feel a little sick. He doesn’t particularly want to slog his balding car tires through slick streets and mud puddles. No, he can’t do that. He’d run the risk of becoming the butt of somebody’s joke about being scarce on the unlucky day. Anxiety pits itself against anxiety, and the discomfort moves upward into Bucky’s chest.

Something else isn’t right. Bucky stands and grabs his planner from the top of a stack of phone books in the kitchen corner. The poorly bound yellow and white pages usually serve the purpose of sound damper when he has to resort to a screwdriver or hammer to bust open packaging. Otherwise, they’re a convenient shelf for stuff he likes to keep handy, which is really just a flimsy excuse for not tidying up.

Bucky flips the leaves of the planner. He’d left it open to some date last week, and, though he hasn’t written anything in the schedule blocks, he’s starting to feel positive that he’s missed something important.

Important. Bucky whispers the word under his breath until it slurs into something unintelligible. Appointment, Bucky realizes as he lands on the page for today. “Don’t let the rain spoil the sunshine” the inscription reads. It’s in a curly novelty font, and Bucky can swear he feels the eye strain crystallizing into a headache. Friday the fucking thirteenth indeed.

Bucky can’t remember the time he’s scheduled to arrive at the VA, so he books it, just in case. If he’s late, someone will cancel the appointments. Usually some front desk person, a scheduler or a receptionist, who seems to lavish in other people’s distress. If he’s early, well, he’ll sit and suffer in the waiting area, listening to the front desk person ruin other people’s day.

Bucky leaves his pajama top and hustles into jeans, then grabs his wallet and phone. He stuffs his feet into some clogs. Even slip-ons that require a manual heel adjustment are too much for him today. He’s almost out the door when he spots the milk and dry cereal still sitting on the kitchen table. Bucky falters in an anxious pause, then decides it’s not worth the effort to put them away. The milk is scheduled to expire today anyway.

Bucky pauses again outside the front door when he remembers that he needs keys. They live on a hook next to the door, so he only needs to open it as wide as his arm. He scrabbles at the wall with his fingernails, and the keys fall on the floor. “Fuck,” Bucky mumbles as he bends to retrieve them. The change in position kicks up a wave of vertigo, and he has to lean on the wall for a moment to stop his visual field from spinning.

Now flustered, Bucky races across the parking lot and jumps into his car. He backs up without turning his head, hoping Friday the thirteenth doesn’t bless him with a dent in his bumper. Luck wins, and he speeds toward the main road. He breathes deeply before turning at the stop sign. Getting out of his parking space must’ve been a false positive. He steels himself for whatever terror the hospital has for him today.

When he slides into the hospital lot, Bucky knows he’s pulled in crooked. He cracks the door, and once he sees that his tires are only a centimeter or so across the line, he calls it good enough. He slams the door, but when he goes to lock it, he realizes he’s left the keys in the ignition. Bucky begs the car not to auto lock, but it does anyway. The beep is barely within his range of hearing, but the high, tinny sound makes him squeeze his eyes shut. He has his phone on his body, so he can at least call roadside assistance when it’s time to leave.

“Fuck.” Bucky curses himself again before starting to hold his breath in preparation for the VA’s revolving door. If he’ll ever get stuck in it, it will be today. The door grinds and scrapes over waterproof carpet, but Bucky manages to shove it into working order. It spits him out in the middle of the overly lit entrance hall. Blast fluorescent lightbulbs. Bucky’s head gives a good throb, and he remembers to exhale. His heart’s going a mile a minute. He needs to calm down before some staff member sees him and decides to give him a piss test to make sure he isn’t misusing his amphetamines.

Lo and behold, a woman in scrubs crosses the hall right in front of him. She has her head down and her thumbs moving madly as she types on her phone. She pays him no mind, and Bucky’s glad for it. He hopes she doesn’t run into something, it being Friday the thirteenth and all. After a glance in both directions, Bucky heads to the audiology clinic. With the lights above reflecting in shiny puddles across the floor, he hopes he doesn’t run into something either.

When Bucky reaches the front desk, the elderly man behind the counter glares. “You’re a few minutes late,” he announces.

“Sorry,” Bucky gasps. He swallows and tries to get his diaphragm and lungs back into alignment. “I’m sorry. Uh, traffic, you know…”

The man nods. He knows. He probably thinks he knows everything. He might be a retired general or something; Bucky’s only seen this degree of hatred coming from the eyes of a higher ranking officer who’s dead set on stomping anthills.

“You’re late,” the man repeats. “I’ll have to call your practitioner.”

Bucky averts his eyes as the man picks up a landline and peruses the list of extensions on an index card taped to the side of a computer monitor.

“I can just go,” Bucky offers. Better to leave on his own volition rather than take the demerit and perseverate on it on the drive back to his apartment. No, rather when he loiters back in the parking lot waiting on a tow truck.

“It’s fine.” The doctor in plainclothes appears in the doorway adjacent to the reception desk. Today she wears a t-shirt bearing a stylized painting of a cochlear implant. “You’re picking up, right?” She glances at the back of the desk man’s head. “Appointments like that don’t take much time. You’re good to come back.”

Bucky’s relieved to avoid the tense session of waiting room sitting; he steps quickly through the door the audiologist holds open for him. Her office is the first door down the hall. Blessedly it’s carpeted, and the chairs for patients have real cushions on their seats. Bucky starts to sit, but the audiologist stops him.

“Here.” She grabs a small box off her desk and hands it over. “Just pop them in.”

Bucky takes it and does as he’s told. The box hinges open, and there are the aids. His aids, now. The part that sits behind his ear is metallic grey with a few bright, silver, and overly technical looking buttons. Dark red tubes secure to the slim side of the aids to navy blue molds, which Bucky assumes are custom cut and fabricated from the uncomfortable gel impressions he’d suffered through at his first appointment.

“Alright…” Bucky takes one and pushes the earmold deeply in his left canal. The soft silicone squishes slightly, but maintains its shape. It feels as if he’s shoving a bouncy ball into his ear. Once the aid is positioned, it completely blocks his sense of hearing. He’s reminded uncomfortably of the compressed foam earplugs he’d worn when he was training on the firing range. “Is it supposed to be quiet?” Bucky asks. He points at his ear, and, unable to hear his own voice, hopes he isn’t shouting.

“I’ll turn them on and tweak the programming once you have both in.” The audiologist speaks at what Bucky assumes is a regular volume, but she moves her lips in an exaggerated fashion. God, will he be happy to get rid of that problem. He isn’t good at lip reading. He can if he has to, but just looking someone in the face spikes his anxiety.

Bucky puts in the other aid. He’s disconcerted by the further silence, even though he’d known it was coming. He gives the audiologist a thumbs up. He’s willing to do anything to speed up the process.

The audiologist returns the gesture, then turns to her computer and clicks through multiple drop down menus. The aids suddenly spring to life, making Bucky cringe. The change from silence to sound is more abrupt than he’d expected. It’s as if he’s in the middle of the ocean, but without crashing waves to see and feel to ground him in the experience. Bucky wonders if the walls are moving, the painted cinderblocks rumbling against each other as the room closes in from all sides. The discomfort of his headache moves down to his sinuses and his jawline. No, not now. The last thing he needs is creeping nausea.

“How do they sound?” The audiologist’s voice rings out loud and clear.

Bucky can’t quite reason whether the aids are doing their job or if she’s still just speaking loudly. “Um.” Bucky swallows. “I hear you.”

“Good.” The audiologist moves her mouse and clicks a few more buttons, then presses a few keys.

Bucky hears the sound of her typing. Is it normal for typing to make such a clatter? The whole computer setup is as ancient as anything else in the hospital with a towering processor and large cube-shaped monitor. Old keyboards make a lot of noise, Bucky knows. And the audiologist has long fingernails.

She looks up at him, eyes full of pleasurable excitement. “How do they sound?”

“How am I supposed to know?” The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he realizes he’s probably sounding rude. “I mean,” he tries to backtrack. “I think they’re ok?��

The audiologist nods, unperturbed. “Both sides sounding the same?

“Um.” Bucky tries focusing his attention to only hid sense of hearing. It’s a difficult feat, though. Nausea flares again, and his head gives an almighty throb. “I…yeah? I guess?”

“It’s challenging at first.”

Bucky wishes the audiologist had led with that. It gives him a granule of comfort, though his discomfort stays at the same level.

“The volume buttons are there.” She turns her head and points midway down her ear. “Definitely play with that. And if something feels off with the sound or the fit of the ear molds, just swing by. I do walk-ins.”

Bucky forces a smile. He knows he won’t visit again. He doesn’t want to know what the desk sergeant would say if he came into the clinic unscheduled.

“Yeah, ok.” Bucky nods, then regrets it. He becomes all the more aware of the tension in the back of his neck.

“Alright.” The audiologist stands and walks toward the door.

Bucky follows, highly aware of his clogs scraping the aged fuzzy carpet. “Bye,” Bucky says as he steps over the threshold into the hallway.

“Yeah, see you. Come in any time.”

Bucky makes no response. He hears her voice; the words come in clearly and sound clipped with precision, even though he’s already turned his back. It’s definitely an improvement, but he’s anticipating a learning curve.

With this potentially difficult done with, Bucky should feel encouraged. He’s done a thing; it was successful. His counselor and DBT workbook would want him to evaluate, then non-judgementally file it for safekeeping. He did something hard. Therefore, the next hard thing should be easier. He can’t quite feel the vibe, though. It might be the headache spreading its domination over more and more territory in his brain. He imagines double-masted ships bumping into the coastlines of North America and Africa, then spitting out little red-coated troops to run inland and raise the British flag. It could just as easily be a C-130 dropping off a fleet of Army-colored Jeeps in the desert, Bucky and his buddies lined up to sprint into the cargo bay and jump in the drivers’ seats to back them down the incline.

Great, that’s just great. Bucky grits his teeth. The stupid war that cost him his stupid arm and grounded him out of a career. And now he’s meant to live out the rest of his stupid life, full of stupid appointments and therapy, which keep jumping onto the stupid calendar whether he wants them or not. The sound of moving air in his ears is replaced with a cringe-worthy grind. Bucky stops in the middle of the hallway and looks around before realizing it’s his own clenching jaw. He brings his hand up to massage his mastoids. The pressure in his head and face rearranges itself again. Maybe he could just go home and leave a message with PT. He’d apologize for the last minute cancellation and say he got sick. It wouldn’t even be that much of a lie. Doubt raises its voice in dissent, though. Someone would probably recognize his car… For which he’ll have to call roadside before he can go anywhere.

For a moment, Bucky entertains calling Steve. He hates to look weak and dependent. He hates asking for things. Steve’s boyfriend had gone to Iraq, and this idiot with long hair and one arm came back. Bucky wants to slide back into place as the protective one, not the one needing protection. He can’t make up for the deficit with boxes of donuts, at least not all the time. Bothering Steve during work, for which he’s savagely underpaid and actually seems to enjoy… Bucky slogs on toward the therapy office. He’ll be a lone wolf today. Hopefully his position as the lame one far behind the pack won’t get him eaten by a polar bear or something. The PTs and their wall posters of bisected humans made of red muscle would be bad enough. They probably knew very well how to butcher him and roast his meat on a spit.

Bucky searches in his head for a thought that isn’t nauseating. His stomach feels knotted and lifted into his rib cage. Had he eaten this morning? Had coffee? Bucky doesn’t remember, nor can he figure which situation is worse.

The moment he reaches the waiting area in front of PT, the woman behind the desk tells him to go ahead into the exercise room. Bucky nods. Ordinarily he’d feel a little wary of the familiarity; he doesn’t care for situations when someone he barely knows has all his information. Some days he can’t recite his own social security number. On a day like Friday the thirteenth, he hopes he doesn’t have to sign any forms. He isn’t sure he’d be able to spell or even remember his full name.

Those thoughts disperse immediately when he walks through the door to the exercise room. He’s used to it smelling like rubber gloves and past its prime gym equipment. Today, though, the scent of potato chips is overwhelming. Just plain, salted, greasy chips. Bucky tells himself he actually likes regular chips. It’s kitschy flavors and toppings that set him off. He has to try willing away his disgust. It has to be the headache. Bucky likes food, at least better than the reflux of tube feeding formula. Even military hospital food outweighed the NG. Other people eat. He isn’t offended. He just doesn’t feel well. It’s completely his own problem.

Bucky looks around from the threshold of the exercise room, expecting to see his usual therapist. Natasha is unmistakable with her high red ponytail and chiseled musculature. She makes black scrubs look high fashion. Bucky hasn’t dated a girl since 8th grade, but he’s open minded. About friendships and things. He’s a little jealous of Natasha, when he gets down to it. Had he not been injured, he too might’ve maintained his shape and strength and social life. She’s alluring, but also intimidating. It seems as if every time Bucky comes in, he’s forced to remember how different things could’ve been. She’s successful and he isn’t, and that’s the way things will stay. He’s very set on his decision to quit. Then he might improve at talk therapy with the removal of Natasha as a trigger.

There seems to be no Natasha today, though. Two male therapists sit facing each other, one sitting on a desk and the other perched backward on the seat of a stationary bike. The one on the desk has the crinkling, yellow bag of Lay’s.

“Hey, sorry.” The man on the desk chews and swallows quickly before crunching the bag into a ball and shooting it into a trash bin. “My kids have me hooked on snack time.”

“Hm.” Bucky inclines his head and makes a sound of acknowledgment, trying not to react to the angry sound of the chip bag hitting the rim of the bin.

“Yeah, well.” The man on the bike stands up in one fluid motion. “Client’s here. Gotta pretend to go back to work.”

“M, yeah, I guess.” The one on the desk wipes his hands on his knees, chip crumbs and grease prints now adhering to his pants. He hefts a file folder. “Data entry. Super fun.”

The man now off the bike gives Bucky a wave. “I know you belong to Nat,” he says. “But they’ve got her running a training in Baltimore today.” He pauses a second, then asks, “I’m Sam. You mind working with me?”

“Um,” Bucky wavers. “I was, er, going to turn in my papers?” He’s met with silence, so Bucky goes on. “Like, telling you all I don’t want any more appointments?”

“Oh, sure.” Sam nods. “Yeah, we don’t have to reschedule you. I think you’re on the list of recurring clients.” Then he addresses the man at the desk. “Hey, Clint, while you’re entering data, can you put his name on call-to-schedule?” Sam looks to Bucky. “It’s James, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. There’s no need to explain how he goes by his middle name, but also not really.

“Sure…” Clint squints at his monitor and scrolls slowly. “Yep, there you are. And done.”

“Thanks.” Bucky shuffles his feet. He wants to turn and run, but adding any kind of bounce to his gait will surely stir up his gut in the worst of ways. Maybe he can inch backward first to initiate a smoother exit.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Sam offers. “Legs or abs or soft tissue?”

“Uh.” Bucky feels called out. He still has every right to leave, but now there’s pressure. He hates not delivering. He hates giving up a challenge, knowing it contributes to his air of disability. Statistically, a lot of vets get caught up in PTSD and alcohol and drugs and wind up hibernating until they’re arrested or dead. Shirking commitments is a primary sign, and with Bucky’s awareness of his want to ingest substances and get horizontal… He has to remind himself that even trained therapists can’t read his thoughts. “I don’t know…” Maybe he should offer an excuse? “I really have a headache and I have to call to get my car towed…” he trails off, feeling much more lame than he had when he’d started.

“You’ve done soft tissue work with Natasha, right?” Sam points to the door of one of the small private rooms coming off the main. Bucky knows there are massage tables and rolling stools inside. He has done soft tissue work with Natasha, and it has alleviated his back and neck aches before. It’s overly personal, though, and awkward. Bucky’s never sure if he’s supposed to keep his eyes open or closed.

Honesty takes control, and Bucky answers with “Yeah, I have.”

“Might bring down the headache. I’m no magician, but I do know pressure points.” Sam grins at him. “I went through all this when I came back, too. PT saved my basketball game.”

Bucky knows he’s being kind, but he can’t help thinking of his unbalanced body trying to dribble and shoot lay-ups. He’d look worse than the last kid in gym class.

“Or you can just lie down for a while.” Sam laughs. “I don’t disclose what happens in there. HIPPA, and all that.”

And there, without even trying, they’ve formed such a close friendship that now they’re in the territory of dirty jokes. It’s stranger intrusion, one thousand percent, and even though it makes the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up, he no longer has the choice to leave. Bucky wonders if this guy’s a master of manipulation, whether he knows he’s contorting the inner threads of Bucky’s brain and removing all traces of his own volition.

“Um, I guess.” Bucky’s voice is so loud in his own ears that it makes his head throb. Once the pain has reverberated to his stomach and back, he continues, “I guess we can try.”

“Cool.” Sam reaches for a clipboard and pen, but stops before picking them up. “No notes today, right? It’s your sunset session.”

“Right.” Maybe lying down would do Bucky some good. The sickness that’s been building in him is edging toward physical sensation. It’s no longer confined to his mentality, and any hope of thinking it away is far gone. Bucky walks toward the private room. He’d better not look as terrible as he feels. He doesn’t think he can take any comments of sympathy.

“Face up, ok?” Sam closes the door behind them and plants on a stool.

Bucky obliges and sits on the edge of the massage table. One of his shoes falls off as he’s lifting up his legs. He jumps at the sound of the clunk and quickly apologizes. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s cool. Probably more comfortable to take them off.” The wheels on the bottom of the stool squeak slightly. Bucky both hears and feels Sam coming closer. His spine tingles and an ache starts up between his shoulder blades. There’s nothing like anxiety throwing spears at his body. Wholistic approach to medicine aside, Bucky swears his brain and body are egging each other on.

Once Bucky’s flat on his back, he combs his fingers through his bangs to keep the hair from sticking to clammy sweat. Sam will probably be grossed out before even touching him. He’s infinitesimally glad to see the therapist putting on exam gloves.

“Alright.” The stool squeaks again, and Bucky feels Sam slide his fingers beneath the arch of his neck. “We’ll start right here at the top of the spine.”

Two thumbs plant on either side, just below Bucky’s occipital lobe. The pressure brings with it a feeling of pain that’s just short of pleasure. If he didn’t have vertigo, Bucky might’ve thanked Sam for spotting a problematic area on his first go.

“Ok. And here…” Sam’s fingers rest lightly on the jaw muscles stretching under his chin and down his neck. He adds force to the pressure points behind Bucky’s head. His touch is light, and his fingertips stay still and professional. Natasha’s work on his tense muscles had been just fine. Maybe Sam had more advanced training? Or was he pushing a fallacious invitation of intimacy that comes when people mistake shared backgrounds for real empathy. The first and last time Bucky had tried attending a support group, someone who’d last fought in Vietnam had tried to give him a hug.

Sam slides his touch outward toward Bucky’s ears, and a horrific scraping noise resounds in the hearing aids, which seem to have barely escaped disturbance. “Turn your head to the side.”

Sam hasn’t stated a direction, so Bucky falters, and the weight of his head wavers to the right before he commits to turning left. Vertigo swells over all other sensation, and Bucky holds his eyes wide open, looking for a substitute horizon. There are subtle lines between the painted white painted cinder blocks of the wall. Bucky tries to choose one to lock his vision upon. He daren’t blink. The overhead light sears into his peripheral vision, though, and dark and light spots start to gather on both sides.

“Alright.” Sam puts his palm against Bucky’s jawline and directs his fingers to the tight muscle running lengthwise from his ear to his shoulder. “You comfortable?”

“Um.” Bucky can only stutter before he has to gulp down something horrible and sour. His thoughts run frantically. He hadn’t consumed the spoiled milk this morning; he remembers that for sure. It was probably treating his tiny apartment to dank odor of curdling dairy. The first day of his deployment, Bucky had learned not to leave a cup of yogurt outside in the sun. He’d opened it when he sat down at the outdoor table, then obviously misjudged how long it would take him to finish the rest of his meal. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before it had developed a thick skin and gave off a smell of sweet rot.

“James?” Sam lifts his hand. The imprints of where his fingers had been develop a sensation of negative pressure. Bucky can’t remember which line he’d chosen on the wall. He blinks, and he’s disoriented even more. Bucky’s stomach races upward ahead of his heartbeat and turns liquid somewhere inside his esophagus.

“You ok?”

“I—actually—uh—“ Bucky’s entire body trembles, and it seems gravity has loosened its hold on him. He can barely feel the floor under his stocking feet when he pushes himself up on his arm and turns. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Sure, man.” Sam pulls his stool backward with the shove of one sneaker, then turns back to Bucky and proffers a small trash bin. “Here.”

Bucky holds down a retch long enough to get the bottom of the bin between his knees. The next heave is huge and convulsive. Bucky instinctively breathes in, then chokes when the air hits liquid resistance in his mouth and nose. He coughs hard to clear his airway. His vision swims and brings on another wave of sickness. Bucky doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward until his sternum aches from pressing against the bin’s hard metal rim.

It’s all Sam’s work keeping him stable, Bucky realizes. His mind would fall into weakness and stupidity if his body wasn’t already robbing every bit of his attention. It’s just his luck, just his Friday the thirteenth, pushing him into such a compromising position. What had he been doing, thinking about spoiled milk? Bucky’s mental image quickly replaces the milk with a rumpled chip bag. He’s never eating a potato again, whether it’s a chip or a fry or a baked potato with sour cream and chives…

“Ugh.” Bucky hacks again, feeling ropes of mucous and saliva sticking to his lip. He squeezes his eyes shut, and unintended tears roll down his face. They get caught in the scruff of his beard before passing his cheeks. Bucky wonders how soiled his mustache will be. And the hair on his chin. But those are small potatoes compared to his rushing thoughts of food. Fuck potatoes. Fuck cereal. Fuck donuts and starches and sugar.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam’s voice is uncomfortably close. Bucky assumes Sam’s leaning forward too, trying to bump their heads together or something. When he peels his eyes open, though, Sam’s still at a reasonable distance. His hands and knees hold the bin while his back remains straight and tall.

“I’m—fuck.” Bile runs down his tongue, and Bucky’s unsure whether he wants to spit or swallow. He tries the swallow, but his epiglottis refuses to close, and he winds up letting more liquid sick flow into the bin. “Sorry,” Bucky gasps. He wants to rake his hair back again, but he’s afraid he’ll fall over if he doesn’t keep his hand grounded on the massage table beside his hip.

“Hey, no big.” Bucky isn’t sure how Sam’s able to maintain such composure. Maybe he has kids? A loved one with cancer? Steve takes good care of Bucky when he’s exceptionally down, but there’s always a nervous jumpiness weighing in on the situation. It’s just Steve, Bucky thinks, who has a nervous jumpiness about everything. He stresses over other people’s stress, constantly puttering and hovering. It’s probably why he still looks like a skinny teenager; he burns so many calories with his perpetual motion.

“It’s ok,” Sam says. “Humans are messy sometimes.” He must’ve absorbed the entire DBT book, Bucky decides. Wise and observant and unemotional. He could be one of those kids unnaturally excited for Anatomy and Physiology Lab. Blood and guts might turn him on. He could be a CSI on the side. Or maybe a serial killer.

“I’m—god, I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes again. He lifts his head an inch and catches a glimpse of Sam’s face, trying to reset his flighty sense of judgement. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, Bucky says inside his head. Calm. Observe. Bucky shakes his head a little from side to side, but the world shifts on him again, and he wraps his arm around his abdomen. It does nothing to help steady him; his organs are still shoved up in his chest.

Bucky dry heaves. A rancid tasting belch pops in the back of his throat, but it brings nothing up with it. Good, maybe? He’s done? Bucky’s sure he’s empty now, at least.

“No, you’re good.” Sam pauses a moment. “I mean, I can’t imagine you feel good, but don’t rush. Try not to stress. It’ll make you tense up. Then you’ll have to come back to visit PT.”

Bucky’s never stepping foot in this office again. Not into the VA at all, if he can help it. He can push his meetings with his counselor back to Telehealth. He’ll figure out his hearing aids by himself. There has to be a website or something.

Now that he’s thinking about them, Bucky recognizes the swirling water sound coming in. It’s amplified enough to shake his eardrums. Bucky presses the balls of his feet into the floor and lets his arm free to pull the aids out of his ears. They make a high-pitched squeal as he holds them together in his palm, but Bucky depresses the off button on one, then the other. Bucky enjoys the blessed silence, but then Sam says something again, and Bucky’s right back with his original deficit.

“Those new?” Sam nods toward the aids in Bucky’s hand.

“These?” Bucky checks. “Yeah. This morning, actually.” He swallows a couple of times, hoping to kick the chafing and hoarseness out of his throat.

“Ah.” Sam gives a half smile. “I wouldn’t advise ophthalmology right after breakfast, either. Or load up on Zofran. You got a script for that?”

“One of the boxes on the bathroom counter, I think.” Bucky thinks he has a pack of the foil-coated pills. Or was that Xanax? No, Xanax comes in a regular prescription bottle. Either way, Bucky should probably carry both on his person at all times. He’s turning into a stereotypical civilian. Though jeans and shirts are severely lacking in pockets when compared to Army duds.

“If I had any, I’d give you a hit.” Sam’s smile turns mysterious. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. No secret chat with someone at the pharmacy counter.”

“Naw, I’m good.” Bucky waits a tick, then says, “You’re not going to tell on me for this, are you?” He glances into the bin, then lifts his gaze quickly. “I don’t want to be called in for a flu test or anything.”

“No worries.” Sam looks toward the bin as well. “Done with this?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. “Definitely done.”

“How’s the headache?” Sam asks before setting the bin on the floor out of Bucky’s line of sight.

Bucky wonders if Sam’s reading his mind again. But Bucky had fed him that intel, he remembers. And he’d spilled the beans about his car. He really couldn’t be caught any worse. “Eh.” Bucky shrugs. “It’s a pretty constant thing. On and off, I mean.” Everyone who’s read his chart notes knows everything about his TBI and its physical symptoms it causes. Most of the world could probably guess, too. The scar along his hairline is as good as poof. The crabby looking guy with a battle mark— his look is enough to turn people away.

Sam remains quietly engaged. He really could be a sociopath. No, Sam’s probably the normal person. Bucky might be the sociopath. He hasn’t really come to terms with the man who came home from the desert, despite Bucky’s inability to retain the identity he had before shipping out.

Normal people ask questions back when chatting with others, Bucky remembers. He should do that. “You, uh, you said you’d served?” Bucky thinks he remembers that too.

“Yeah. Air Force. Two tours,” Sam says with little emotion. “I thought being a PJ was all about jumping out of airplanes.” He averts his eyes momentarily before looking Bucky in the face again. “But it’s way more putting in IVs in the back of an H-60. Talk about turbulence. Had to grow an iron stomach for that.”

So that’s where he gets it. He got to load the wounded and dying into the bright yellow cage lift. Bucky hadn’t been conscious through his own medevac, so he has no triggers regarding bungee cords and helicopters, thank god. He wonders how Sam had managed to make it back stateside, but Bucky knows he isn’t allowed to ask. Bucky tries looking at things from Sam’s end, dredging through red blood and orange sand, looking for skin sticking out of singed uniforms. He probably hates Army green now. And maybe bright yellow bags of chips.

Bucky’s pondering has allowed the conversation to trail off again. Another fail on his part.

Sam seems not to mind, though, and as soon as Bucky’s mentally checked in again, he asks, “You ever been in a helicopter? In the seat, I mean?”

“Uh…” Bucky struggles to recall. “I think we did an aerial tour of the map once before I got assigned to a camp.” The memory comes back as he verbalises it. “I had the jump seat, and they didn’t give me any headphones. I think I looked at a bunch of piles of sand.”

“I wish I’d had a pleasure tour,” Sam replies. “I usually didn’t know where we were going until we were ready to repel. I guess it didn’t matter so much. Helped keep us focused, maybe? I honestly couldn’t point to all the places I’ve been if you gave me a map. I was just along for the ride, you know?”

“Every ride in a tank is just as long and bumpy,” Bucky tells him. “And hoping I didn’t draw the short straw and have to sit backwards.”

“Oh, yeah. Flight school, it’s a big thing.” Sam laughs. “Tank school, though? Drivers’ ed?”

“I never went.” Bucky puts up his hand to mark his innocence. “I can only speak for myself, though.”

“I feel you.” Sam takes the pause to switch subjects. “You said your car wasn’t working, right? Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, well.” Bucky bites his lip. “I locked the keys inside,” he admits. “It’s Friday the thirteenth. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Friday the thirteenth,” Sam repeats. “I actually had no idea. You’ve had a day, though, man. And it’s only…” He glances at his watch. “9:37 in the morning.”

“I better call the insurance. Can I come back in here if it’s raining?”

“Sure. Or we can walk together across the parking lot. I have an umbrella. And leather seats.” Sam rises to his feet.

“I should just bite it.” Bucky picks up his hearing aids and stands as well. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and slips the aids inside. “I mean, I should call someone. My boyfriend has a car…” As soon as he says it, Bucky knows he’s slipped. He’s stuck in non action again. It won’t be a big deal unless he makes it a big deal, and then there will be full-on tension.

“Can he come get you?” Sam asks, nonplussed.

“He works for a travel blog, actually,” Bucky says, hoping he isn’t disgracing Steve by talking about him and his work. “They’re in this old newspaper office. It’s kind of a cool place.”

“Sounds neat. Old places are nice. Unless they’re here,” Sam says with a laugh. “I’ll probably be old and grey before they give this place a facelift.”

“Oh, I agree.” Bucky laughs too, then averts his attention back to his phone.

“You still have more than twenty minutes of appointment time,” Sam says. “And I have a break before I’ll be needed here again. You sure you couldn’t use a lift? I don’t want you getting tripped up over a sidewalk crack and fall into a mirror or anything. Step in front of a black cat, probably get all hissed and scratched at.”

“I’ve been thinking of getting a cat,”Bucky says, somewhat seriously. Then, “It really won’t be a bother? I’d hate to give you and your car any of my bad luck.”

“Seriously,” Sam assures. “I’ve got to go do a weather check. Take out the trash, all that stuff.” He’s already bending to remove the trash bag from the bin. As he speaks.

“Oh, I can—“ Bucky starts.

“No, I’m good.” Sam twists the top of the bag and ties it off. The bag is a frosted clear color, so its contents are not immediately apparent. It has a liquid sag visually, though. Bucky feels an edge of sick guilt, so he engages in putting his phone into his pocket. It bunches up on top of his hearing aids, but he’s determined not to be caught picking at his ass and losing his last shred of dignity.

Bucky and Sam exit the private PT room side by side. “Here, we’ll go out the back door,” Sam says, pointing.

“You bringing back Starbucks?” Clint, still at his computer, raises his eyebrows.

“No,” Sam says blankly.

“Where you going, then?”

“Going to take out the trash and take this brother for a drive.” Everything Sam says is plain and glib, and his tone could’nt be mistaken for anything but the honest truth.

“Can you take my trash out?” Clint points to the bin behind the desk, which is overflowing with wadded balls of paper.

“No,” Sam tells him again.

“Come on.”

“I’m not catching the blame for putting sensitive material in the dumpster.”

“It’s not sensitive. It’s trash,” Clint tries to explain.

“I don’t make the rules.” Sam waves him off. “Check your calendar, though, I think you’re scheduled to have a bad day.”

“What?” Clint shoves a pile of folders to the side so he can scrutinize the desk blotter. He squints and looks closer, and the top folder slides onto the floor, absenting itself of all the paper within. “Fuck. Really?” Clint gives the mess a dirty look. “You really should pick me up a Starbucks.”

“It’s probably raining and the drive through’s closed.” Bucky laughs as Sam blatantly bull shits.

“Huh?” Clint seems to know he’s been insulted, but can’t see exactly where. “You haven’t done a weather check.”

“I’ll text you,” Sam offers. He turns the knob of the exit door and ushers Bucky to follow. “There’s an emoji for that, right? Happy cat for sun and crying cat for rain?”

“Yeah, text me.” Clint gives Sam a final unsure glance before returning to his calendar.”

“Roger,” Sam says as he steps out the door. As soon as Bucky is out as well, he says, “The dumpster’s just behind this wall, and my car is there.” He points to a shiny red BMW. A fine layer of miniature raindrops coat the hood and windshield. The air itself feels cold, yet muggy. Bucky feels slightly choked, and he’s glad he’s already emptied his stomach. With the weather and the remaining headache, it’d just be his luck to ruin some new friend’s upholstery.

Sam clicks the remote to unlock his car. Bucky doesn’t hear the beep, but the solid click of the two front doors alerts do the job to alert him that it’s time to open the passenger door. There are indeed leather seats. And it still smells like new car.

“One second.” Sam picks up his pace and disappears behind the edge of a grey and weather stained wall. There’s a moment of silence, but them Bucky hears Sam’s voice again, shouting, “Oh, shit, man, you’ve got to come see this.”

Bucky shuts the car door, wondering if he should be concerned. He follows Sam’s route around the wall, then laughs at what he sees. Two green dumpsters sit side by side, accumulated rain dripping down to the pavement. Sam must’ve already thrown the trash, and he’s pointing at an old wooden ladder leaned against the face of the far dumpster. Its bottom step is busted, missing a good amount of wood between the jagged ends.

“I’m not touching that,” Sam cackles.

“I can see why they left it,” Bucky offers, pushing down his own mirth. “You’d have to hold it over your head to toss it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be leaving that right there.” Sam walks toward Bucky, and they return to his parking space. “I’ll make Clint take his trash out later. I wonder, is there a ladder emoji?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky opens the front passenger door again. “But which cat are you going to use for cloudy as fuck?”

“I don’t know that either.” Sam slams his door and puts his key into the ignition. “Maybe somewhere there’s a black cat? Past the smiley faces and in the animal section?”

“That makes good sense.” Bucky takes his phone from his pocket again. He recalls his aids being in the pocket as well, and he takes the opportunity to get ahold of them before he winds up throwing them into the washing machine. The car is quiet, so Bucky cautiously turns them on and snugs the earmolds into his ears.

“Testing the waters again?” Sam asks, glancing Bucky’s way.

“Yeah.” Bucky ruminates on the sound of his own voice for a second. “No harsh lights. And your engine runs really quiet.”

“I really hope they run better for you.” Sam comes to a smooth stop and turns out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, I hear a difference already. Bucky catches his phone as it’s about to slide off his knee. “I would look up an emoji for you,” he offers, “But I don’t want to risk any consequences.”

“I trust your judgement.” Sam laughs and slowly brings the car up to speed.

“I—“ Bucky goes to say something else, but his breath catches in his throat. There’s something in the road several feet in front of them. It looks to be moving across the lane. “There’s a—“ Bucky hopes it’s not a cat.

“It’s a plastic bag,” Sam assures him. The object moves again and turns in a 180 as it enters the next lane. The huge, red Target logo stands out boldly on the other side.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, relieved. “Those damn sneaky plastic bags…”

They stop at a light, and Sam says, “Just tell me where to turn.”

Bucky realizes he hasn’t given him a hit of a direction. He supposes he’d thought Sam already knew, with the ease of their bond and all.

“It’s up a little ways. On Sandersville.” Bucky pronounces the street name a little awkwardly. He finds it displeasing, since it doesn’t lead to a village or a sand pit.

“Oh, yeah, I know what’s around there. I’ve had a few buddies who’ve lived in the buildings.” Sam nods. “I’ll get you home nice and safe. And, here—“ Sam pops the center console and pulls out a business card. “It’s probably too formal, but it’s got my number. The work line and my cell.” He points out the bottom line as he hands the card to Bucky.

“Thanks,” Bucky replies. “I’ll text you when I’m all settled? Then you’ll have my number, too.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Sam offers him a smile. “Call me if you get on the wrong side of any more plastic bags.”

“Steve works till six, so I guess I do have a lot of bad day left.” Bucky recalls his former plan to get toasted and lie on the couch. It still appeals, but maybe he’ll do something a little productive first. He’ll download a user guide for his hearing aids. Maybe see what the cable channels play Jack Hanna during the daytime. And he’ll call for his car, when he’s up for it.

“You take it easy, now.” Sam looks at him again. “It’s good to get to know you, James.”

“I, um. I go by Bucky,” Bucky says, embarrassed. It’s a perfectly natural thing to tell a new friend, he reminds himself. Sam hasn’t had a reason to call him by his name yet, anyway. “It’s short for my middle name,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.

“Well, good to know you then, Bucky,” Sam replies without missing a beat. “Let me know when you’re all good. What do you think, the grinning cat with its eyes closed? To sound the all-clear?”

“Perfect.” It may be the worst possible day, but now that Bucky’s sealed the deal with a new friend and a secret handshake. “I’ll have to explain the cat thing to Steve, though. I don’t want him getting jealous or anything. I don’t think he’s a great fan of cats.”

“No worries,” Sam says. “Maybe you can introduce us later. Something casual, you know. Like at Starbucks. I do like coffee, and we don’t have to talk about cats.”

“We like our coffee, too,” Bucky laughs. “It would be fun to meet up later. On a nicer, luckier day.”

“Sure.” Sam reaches the light for Sandersville. “That is such an odd name for a street, especially for one all full of vets’ houses. Did they call it Sand Ville when you were over there?”

“Yup,” Bucky says. “My thoughts exactly.”

Sam brings the car to a halt when they reach the edge of the first building. “This you?” He asks.

“Yeah, right there.” Bucky points to his front door. He undoes his seatbelt and tells Sam, “Bye.”

“Yeah, text me.” Sam waves as Bucky steps out onto the curb. “I still have my med kit and my EMT license, if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Back at you, man.” Sam waves again and does a U-turn in the street and heads off it the other direction.

It’s still cold and wet, but the rain seems to have stopped, at least long enough for Bucky to get back to his apartment. He stops dead at his front stoop, though. His keys are back in the car. At the VA.

“God fucking dammit.” He’ll call Steve. The upturn of the day has collapsed in on itself. He listens to the low sound of the wind for a moment. Everything sounds more balanced now. The hospital must just produce its own woeful environment. Bucky tries to reign his breath and focus on the principles of his DBT. He feels the weight of his phone in his hand. It’s hard and smooth, until he passes his thumb over the edge of the business card, which is a slightly different quality of hard and smooth. Bucky decides he can buy himself a few more minutes to think while he sends a text. He awakens his phone and dials Sam’s cell number into the top of a new message.

Hi, it’s Bucky, he types. No emojis. He presses send.

Barely a second later, the same number sends him a reply. Hi Bucky. Another second, and there’s a third message.

Are you locked out? Occurred to me when I got back to the corner.

Bucky feels his face flush with embarrassment. He backspaces through a few quivers typos before he manages to send back his undignified yes.

Bucky still has his eyes on his screen as it populates with another text.

Turning around.

Thank you.

Bucky’s day has reached uncertainty yet again. He feels like he has better odds now, though. If nothing else, he’ll live it out with his friend.

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dinoraur24 · 1 year ago

Text

Love in War Chapter 2: Worries and Excitement ------------------------------------------------ Duty After School Fanfic

Wang Tae Man x Fem!OC

Summary:

The Sunshine of 3-2 didn't expect her senior year to end up in the military during an alien apocalypse…

Hwang Ha-Yun was born to have a bright personality. Her name means sun after all. Everyone calls her the 'Sunshine of 3-2'. Mostly everyone gets along with her until she reaches her boiling point where her temper could be as hot as the sun.

Wang Tae Man, the class clown of 3-2, has been her partner in crime since the fateful day she moved next door. They've been inseparable ever since.

With an alien apocalypse added into the mix and traumas resurfaced, what will happen to their relationship? And will they be able to survive? TW: swearing, fighting [2952 words] [Other Chapters]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Us?!”

“Yah, do you think we’d use guns like in CSGO?”

“We’re going to die.”

“Shibal shibal shibal.”

Class 3-2 didn’t expect their last year of high school would be military training. Well, that’s an interesting way to go out with a blast. Literally (hopefully not). Ha-Yun quietly took out her favorite chocolate from her bag.

“Why’d they do this to us?” asked Ha-Yun as she took a bite.

“There must be a catch.”

She turned to Young Shin who was researching on his laptop. “It’s real,” he announced.

“It’s no April Fools Joke, I guess,” said Tae Man, frowning.

Ha-Yun laughed and hit him playfully with the chocolate. “It’s October, Dummy.”

“Oh yeah.”

Hee-Rak clapped his hands gleefully. “This means we’re not going to learn!”

Ha-Yun rolled her eyes at that exclamation. If they’re not canceling the CSATs, they’ll never hinder their education. She had to applaud his optimism, though. Usually, Hee-Rak is the pessimist of the class.

After offering some chocolate to Tae Man, her attention was caught yet again by the TV. “Regarding third-grade high school students only, there will be military training and existing education at the same time.”

Il-Ha slapped Hee-Rak’s arm which made him yelp in pain. “You jinxed it, asshole.”

The Minister continued, “As such, the government decided to reward students, who agreed to military training, with extra credit for college admissions.”

“What in the bribery is this?” said Ha-Yun. The government seemed to be really desperate if they were offering free credit just for that. Something was terribly wrong.

Ms. Park turned off the TV. The grim expression was still plastered on her face. Ha-Yun understood how worried she might’ve been. If they’re going through military training, they’ll probably get drafted. Ha-Yun ate more chocolate.

“Military training and classes at the same time?” asked Yoo-Jung.

“What’s military training and what’s extra credit for?” asked Soon-Yi. Ha-Yun looked at her blankly. The name explained itself.

“Does this mean we have to take CSAT no matter what?” exclaimed Soyoon.

“It just means we’re doomed!” screamed Joonhee.

Ha-Yun nodded sadly. Doomed indeed. She spoke up, “Maybe they’d make the questions easier since we’d be very busy.”

Soyoon turned to her. “Sunshine, we love your optimism. But as if they’d ever do that.”

The optimistic girl just shrugged. There goes another bite of her chocolate. She could feel Tae Man playing with her hair behind her.

“Silence!”

Ha-Yun was surprised at how quickly everyone went quiet just after one shout. This did not happen often.

Ms. Park continued, “Just as he said, it means you’ll be doing both military training and school classes at the same time. The government said third-grade high school students are only enlistment candidates, so let’s not worry too much.”

“There’s still a chance we’d be drafted…” thought Ha-Yun. She may be an optimist on the outside. But that’s just to make people not worry. Inside, she was the biggest worrier ever. She obviously didn’t want to see her own classmates potentially sacrifice themselves.

Ms. Park asked the Banjang to hand out some forms. Ha-Yun’s eyes widened at the huge amount of text about the terms and conditions of the training. It was getting too real.

“They’re military training agreements,” said Ms. Park. “Take them home and show your parents.”

“Miss!” Joonhee raised her hand. A horrified look on her face. “Are we going to stay together?!”

Ha-Yun smiled brightly. “It’d be like a giant slumber party!”

The boy behind her squeezed her shoulder in agreement. “She’s right.” He then looked to their teacher and asked, “What happens to people who don’t consent?”

“It’s not certain, but you’ll most likely be taking remote classes.”

Ha-Yun frowned. She didn’t like remote classes. Her brain can’t pay attention if she wasn’t in the environment where the person is actually teaching.

“How much credit do we get?” asked the first-ranked student. “Are there different amounts of extra credit you can get?”

“More details will be released later. I’ll share it with you as soon as the Department of Education’s policy comes out. What’s certain is that extra credit is only given to those who took the training. Make sure to get them signed if you’ll participate.”

“Miss, what about the acting and film majors?” asked Hana.

Soyeon raised her hand. “Does that mean we’re going to war?”

“Miss, how about people who aren’t going to college?”

“Miss, how long is the training?”

“What if we drop out in the middle?”

“Where will the training take place?”

The students bombarded the poor teacher with question after question.

“We’re safe right, miss?” asked Ha-Yun.

The homeroom teacher straightened her spine. “I’m sure you’re all surprised and startled.” Her mouth forced on a smile. “It’s the same for me. However, uh, let’s not worry. You just continue your studies and keep doing what you were doing as you train. We can’t forget the years of effort you put in to go to a good college. All right?”

Nobody responded. The class that was known to be the most chaotic was completely silent.

“Pay attention to your classes today!” And with that, the homeroom teacher made her leave.

"Huh? Ms. Park!"

"You can't be leaving like this!"

"You need to answer our questions."

"MS. PARK!"

She shut the door behind her.

"Are you going to go?" asked Tae Man to Ha-Yun. She weighed her options. She knew she'd only go if both Tae Man and Soo-Chul were eager to attend. And that was a 100% confirmation they would. But that didn't stop her from worrying. That's a problem for home later.

"I don't know yet," she simply answered; smiling slightly at him to hide her worry. Her chocolate bar was already fully eaten.

Tae Man patted her head. "There's nothing to worry about, Ha-Yunie." He pulled out her favorite chocolate from his pocket and gave it to her. An emergency bar was always in his pocket just in case.

The two's attention got caught by Deok-Joong's screaming of a war that he assumed was happening right now. That was one of Ha-Yun's suspicions but she didn't want to voice it out. She followed her best friend who went to join in their conversation.

"Yah, but why does it have to be the third grade? What about the first and second years?" asked Deok-Joong.

"I know," said Kimchi. "Shouldn't we be exempt since we're taking the CSAT?"

"That's right! Honestly-"

Tae Man sneakily rests his arm on Deok-Joong as if he was a part of their conversation the whole time. His face was pulled into an expression Ha-Yun knew so well. He was going to spout out some nonsense. She stood beside Kimchi with her arms folded; ready to listen to what he was about to say.

"College admission is everything for the third year. If extra credit on CSAT is promised, how hard would we work? That's why they picked the third graders."

"Tae Man, this is the first time I'm convinced by your words."

Ha-Yun was shocked and clapped her hands proudly. "Wah, I knew there was a brain inside there after all."

With a boosted ego and swagger, Tae Man fist-bumped the two of them. This made Ha-Yun giggle which earned a small smile from Tae Man as he looked at her.

Deok-Joong still had a serious expression on. "A sudden war wouldn't break out, would it?"

"Against who?" asked Tae Man.

"Against them." Deok-Joong pointed to the things outside.

Tae Man stood up. "Come on. It's embarrassing to fight balloons."

"Deok-Joong's not wrong," said Ha-Yun. Tae Man looked at her quizzically. "Little Miss Sunshine, that's a lot coming from you."

She took a bite of her chocolate. "They're asking us to train. It must be something severe."

"The likeliness of us being drafted would probably not be high. We're just reserves," said Young Shin who barged in their conversation as well.

Tae Man immediately hugged Ha-Yun. "It's ok, my Sunny. I'll protect you if there is a war."

Ha-Yun could feel her face heating up. She assumed it was probably because Tae Man is a walking body heater.

"Yah, Wang Tae Man! Get your hands off my sister!" yelled Soo-Chul, coming towards them. In an attempt to annoy him more, the two hugged each other tighter. Soo-Chul pried them away from each other but not before Tae Man snuck in a kiss on her cheek to rile him up. Ha-Yun stood there frozen while her brother chased her best friend.

Kimchi smirked. “Yah, Hwang Ha-Yun. Are you ok?”

“Huh?”

“Off to Love Island are you?”

“Ohhhhhhh.” Deok-Joong finally had entertainment.

“Shut it, Kimchi. We’re strictly platonic and I’m not the one who keeps staring at someone.” She turned her back and walked toward Soo-Chul who was hitting Tae Man; leaving Deok-Joong to attack Kimchi with questions.

Ha-Yun pried her brother off Tae Man. “Soo-Chul-ah, we don’t condone violence in this class.”

Ironically, Young Hoon just head-butted Il-Ha right after she said that. The whole class immediately backed themselves up to the walls. Tae Man and Soo-Chul shielded Ha-Yun at her front. The poor girl had to tiptoe over their shoulders to see what was happening.

The brawl was getting more and more intense. Il-ha literally threw Young Hoon straight into a desk. Oh, there goes Tae Man’s neck pillow. And wow, a flying chair.

“Can’t you guys stop them?” Ha-Yun asked.

The two boys looked at her. “Us?”

“Yeah, you two are men, right?”

With Jang Soo taking the first action, the other guys went to stop them, including Tae Man; though reluctantly. Soo-Chul stayed to guard the girls from getting close to the action. It literally took 7 of the guys to separate the two.

“Why the fuck are those two always fighting?” exclaimed Soyoon.

“It’s funny. The first rank vs the last rank,” said Ha-Yun. If this was any other day, she would’ve stepped in and helped with their injuries. But they were adding on more tension to an already stressful day for no reason.

Il-Ha and Young Hoon managed to escape the grasp of the boys. They stood on opposite sides of the class, staring intensely into each other. Ha-Yun had hoped for the tension to dissipate but it never came when Young Hoon sparked another insult.

“What, you fucking asshole?”

Il-Ha was so close to charging at him when Deok-Joong opened a window. “Oh, it’s the military.”

“They’re here already?” asked Ha-Yun as she looked out the window. She saw a couple of soldiers coming out of the truck and lining up in front of someone who seemed to be the commander. Her eyes weren’t sharp enough to process their faces. She did see a medic truck, though. That was something to look forward to.

“Do you think they’d treat us nicely?” she asked Nara.

“Probably not,” said Nara. Knowing her friend, she was probably excited to shoot a gun. Her grandfather was in the military so she was already taught basic training and shooting while she grew up. She hadn’t been able to practice her shooting since she moved to England.

“I hope one of them is cute.”

The two girls looked at Soyeon with blank stares. “What? Something has to get me through the training if my parents force me to go.”

That made all three girls burst into laughter. Their attention was then caught by their Literature teacher coming in. Everyone hurriedly sat in their seats. Classes finally started.

“Military training?” asked Ha-Yun’s dad at the dinner table.

“Yeah,” said Soo-Chul. “For four months. We will get extra credit for CSATs if we go.”

“Yah, as if the extra credit is the main reason you want to go.” Ha-Yun rolled her eyes knowing her brother just wanted to do the ‘cool military stuff’. She had to hear him and Tae Man fanboy giggle over their hopes for the training the whole walk home.

Soo-Chul sent her a glare and went back to smile with pleading eyes at their dad. “So, can we go, appa?”

Hwang Dal ate his last spoon of rice. “Hmm,” he said while thinking. “What do you think, yeobo?”

Soo-Chul’s mum took a glance at Ha-Yun with slight worry. She cared for the girl like her own daughter. They were very close.

Ha-Yun noticed her look and gave a small smile and nodded. The mum turned back to the dad. “As long as they stay safe.”

“Then, it’s settled. Bring me your papers, I’ll sign them.”

Soo-Chul jumped out of his seat and went to hug his parents. “Thank you, appa eomma!” He skipped happily to his room, immediately calling up Wutaek.

His mum sighed at her son. “Aigoo, what do I do with him?” She stared sternly at Ha-Yun. “Ha-Yun-ah, helped me with the dishes, please.”

“Ok, eomma.”

As they were finally alone in the kitchen, her mum says, “Do you really want to go? I know you’re only saying yes because of the boys.” She knew how close her daughter is with her son and the boy next door. Tae Man practically lived in their house too because his parents are always coming home late.

“It’s ok, eomma. I saw a medic truck just now. I think I can get some experience with the first aid lessons.”

“Aigoo, my little nurse. Make sure to take care of yourself, yeah? Pack a lot of chocolate.”

The daughter simply nodded. She took a box of chocolate from the fridge. Hopefully, it won’t melt at school. “Of course, eomma.”

After leaving her form outside for her dad to sign, she retreated into her room. Her phone was buzzing up with messages from the class group. The girl got comfortable on her bed as she opened up the chat. She read the extra information about the training Ms. Park sent. Apparently, the soldiers can randomly give out points and even take them away based on our acts. She opened the group chat with no teacher that was getting spammed in. She took one look at the complaints and immediately closed her phone.

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her window. She adjusted her glasses as she looked up. The smiling face of Wang Tae Man brought a smile to her face. The boy gestured for her to get out. Ha-Yun climbed out of her window and joined him at their treehouse. It was kind of cold because of the autumn weather so Tae Man draped a blanket around the shivering Ha-Yun. She smiled at him in appreciation.

The two got comfortable then Ha-Yun asked him, "Have your parents signed it?"

"They're not home yet, so I left it on the fridge. They'd see it."

Ha-Yun understood how hard her best friend's home life was. He loved his parents, yes, but they were barely home. Leaving him to spend most of his time with the people next door. He was practically already family at that point.

"Aren't you scared?" she asked in a small voice. Tae Man was probably the only person she was brave enough to share her worries with. He managed to get her through tough times. And vice versa. They need each other.

"Come on, Sunny. It's just training."

"What if we get drafted?"

"Then, like I said earlier, I'd protect you. Of course, your brother will too. Actually, every guy in our class-"

"Then who will protect you? I don't think I have it in me."

That reveal silenced the boy. He held her face so she'd look at him. "You have saved me hundred times before. You are literally my Superman." He started flowing her blanket as if it was a cape. His words and gesture finally made her laugh.

The window from her room suddenly was opened and out came Soo-Chul. He promptly sat in between the two and said, "What'd I miss?"

"We were talking about tomorrow," said Ha-Yun, not wanting to admit her worries anymore. She didn't want to spoil her brother's excitement. "Y'know, how excited we are..."

“I CAN’T WAIT FOR TOMORROW!!” burst out Soo-Chul. He was training for the police academy. Military training couldn’t be that different.

Ha-Yun and Tae Man listened to his giddy rant about what he hoped for the training. “Oh! We will shoot guns!! Isn’t that exciting?! Wutaek and I were screaming at each other-“

“Yah, Do Soo-Chul. What happened to your cool guy facade?” teased Tae Man.

The said boy cleared his throat. “I mean, military training. Cool.”

The other two laughed at his change of behavior. Soo-Chul glared at them. “Shut it, guys. I’m gonna go finish packing.”

“Oh, I forgot,” said Ha-Yun. “I haven’t started.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, Sunny. I can’t believe you forgot such an important thing,” said Tae Man.

“Shut it, Dummy. You go pack your toothbrush and toothpaste.”

“Ah, I already packed a good substitute for that.”

Before shutting her window, she shouted out, “It better not be that gum!”

Ha-Yun noticed Nara and Soyeon texting in their group chat about video calling while packing. She decided to join them. “Whatever that could keep me focused,” she thought. She went to her desk and opened her laptop to join the call.

“Hi, Ha-Yunie!!” Soyeon and Nara waved at her. She saw Soyeon’s room in a giant mess while Nara was chilling and reading a comic.

“Hi, guys! How much have you packed?”

“I’m trying to find my favorite lipgloss while Miss Packed Right After School here is relaxing.”

“Hey, I knew my parents would immediately agree.”

Ha-Yun laughed. “It’s ok, Soyeon. I haven’t even started.” She went to her closet and took out her pink suitcase and laid it out on the floor.

It’s going to be a long night.

#duty after school #wang tae man #wang tae man x reader #moon sang min

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yumester · 3 months ago

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OC rambling under the cut because I am having a moment

So I have an OC, let's say his name is Kasper; short for Kas. Kas is like going through the worst Tuesday of his life. In actuality, its been six years in the making and the world is ending—typical alien takeover, post apocalyptic/brutal dystopia Armageddon (some part Half Life and interlining Heavenly Delusion, mixed with Fallout NV in a drug laced worldbuilding cocktail). A bunch of stuff happens to him yada yada (i.e. mind taken over, body modified against his will, nightmares/hallucinations on a constant bases, loses every ounce of his previous life; family, friends, future desires, etc.). And, suffice to say, Kasper was about to live the rest of his life as a unyielding drone to some entity beyond his understanding.

That is until he meets professor Lise Blackwood while patrolling. Lise is another character of mine, originally a RP self-insert style scientist but unlike Kasper, I actually did a few stuff with her here and there.

Anyway, Lise and Kasper have history together, Lise was a tutor for Kasper in her college years—forming a close relationship of sorts. They reunite; Kasper technically chasing after her into a desecrated building while she fails to hide from him, only to be reassured when he does something that sparks recognition that its him. Funny thing is though, Kasper can't talk. Couldn't for years from the modifications (he's like one of the Combine Soldiers in that regard, junk rammed through his throat and body absolutely wiped clean). There is one thing Kasper keenly knows what to do for this. It's sign language.

Back in school, one of the things Lise taught Kasper was sign language. To be honest, Kas thought nothing of it at the time. He was technically forced to learn it. But he liked Lise's odd teaching so it kind of worked out.

Anyway, Lise takes in Kasper. Not necessarily like some dumb adoption or other found family nonsense. Kas is like in his late twenties, was literally in college when shit hit the fan, while Lise is in her late thirties/early forties. Taking in Kas is a process in and of itself. For one, she's literally commandeering the enemy, Kas technically is still viewed as a tool for the outsiders. Two, she has no idea if its actually Kas because he's tailored head to toe with padded armor and no voice to speak but she just hopes in a way it truly is him. Three, she has to talk to the current group she's with about it; technically just her, her old buddy from work, some robot she found in a parking lot, and lab rat of sort. A small group nonetheless. Last task isn't hard to do but the walking tin can of a robot despises her for it. Though, to be honest, he's always hated her (if I go into details about their dynamic this would be like 1k words later but lets just say they were siblings in a previous life <3).

Okay with that out of the way, I wanna say this; imagine feeling so out of place in a world you hardly recognize. What do you do?

To Lise, it's simple. Learn everything you can and adapt.

To Kasper, it's a hard and yet, to him it should feel easy. He wishes it was. He wants attainment. Whatever that might be, he doesn't know. For now he just kinda wanders the line of being there and not being there. Lise is like an anchor to him, a sad anchor but a good one nonetheless.

Thinking back to that post I reblogged talking about certain dynamics. Lise and Kas are like "I'd destroy the world to protect you" but in like a child, grown in harsh, cold environment trying to protect its mother type beat. Whereas Lise is like "I hate everyone but I love you more than anything" core. She literally does not care for people or things or anything, she is very cold at times not even gonna lie. Kas is like one of the, if not, only people she treats in high regard and yet, Kas would probably destroy any ounce of himself for her.

Funnily enough, both have the mindset of "I hate everyone in this room except you" but in like very different fonts.

TLDR; Boy who loses everything finds comfort in someone he lost and can and will absolutely do anything for them even if that means losing himself even more, even if that means betraying his former teacher.

#yume yelling #okay time to get back to more productive matters

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eloisamariemonaresduron · 7 months ago

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Final Term 1st Blog: Beyond the Pitch

MIDTERM PITCH.

On Valentine's Day, while others celebrated with flowers and chocolates with their love ones, our section in 'The Entrepreneurial Mind' class was preparing for our midterm pitching session. Despite the romantic atmosphere around us, we were completely focused on the upcoming challenge as we were gearing up for our midterm pitching session.

This is us —preparing, rehearsing, and finalizing everything— hours before the pitching schedule. We were actually assigned to pitch first, which is why we're preparing not only our papers and tools for the session but, most importantly, our mental state.

Now, here comes the moment of truth—pitching time. Well, I wasn't actually the pitcher in our group, but that didn’t spare me the nerves. As we stood together at the front of the room, I could feel the tension amongst us. The room was packed with our group and the panelist together with our instructor, the stakes were high, and every pair of eyes seemed to scrutinize our every move and word.

Even though the environment was high-pressure, we all shared a sense of camaraderie and a strong desire to succeed. It was strange to spend Valentine’s Day battling for grades instead of indulging in its festivities, but in that moment, our priorities were clear—we needed to nail this pitch. The session ended with a round of applause, a mix of relief and pride washing over us. As we finish the pitching and defended our product, it was evident that regardless of the outcome, we had supported each other and delivered our best under pressure. It was certainly a Valentine’s Day to remember, not for romantic reasons, but for the unforgettable experience, uniting to support our shared goals.

INTERVIEW.

—Before the interview. Our meeting at the Pateran in College Park centered around several important topics. Firstly, we set a Timeline of Activities; secondly, we planned on our collection procedures, thirdly, we crafted our interview questions; lastly, defining the scope of the Final Product. With our agenda mapped out, we headed off to conduct interviews.

—During the interview. Our interview initiative progressed seamlessly as we divided and conquered, promptly identifying our interviewees, comprising first-year students and one individual outside the main gate. On my part, I have quickly build a good rapport with my interviewee so I did not have difficulties communicating and interviewing her even though she's somehow camera-shy. I must conform that this is actually our smoothest and fastest interview so far.

INTERVIEW RESULTS.

In our efforts to rebrand EverLeaf comprehensively, we engaged in interviews with 10 students, focusing on: 1) Marketability/Availability, 2) Pricing Considerations, and 3) Suggestions for Improvement.

Marketability/Availability Regarding the query of whether they would purchase our product upon its market launch, responses from the 10 interviewees varied. Forty percent stated that their decision would depend on both the price and quality. They voiced reservations about the product's value proposition and our ability to deliver on quality benchmarks. Nevertheless, they indicated that they would be willing to buy if the price justified the perceived quality. Conversely, 30 percent responded positively, while 20 percent expressed potential interest, and another 20 percent cited the seasonal aspect of their purchasing decisions.

Pricing Consideration As for the second question, "What are the justifiable prices for the following sizes of paper?"

The following are the results:

Improvements.

As for the question "What are the aspects that need to be leveled up by the innovators to be able to compete in the market?" The following are the results:

Uniqueness - 2

Product quality & price - 4

Sustainability & Durability - 1

Packaging & marketing strategies - 3

Special Question.

During our Midterm Pitching presentation, a critical question was raised by the panels: "Won't you deplete the leaves from trees if your scope increases, and do you have investors?" As a follow-up, we presented this question to our interviewees as a bonus query, receiving a unanimous "NO" in response. They highlighted the potential of our approach to bolster environmental conservation efforts, as it removes the need to harvest trees and endure prolonged regeneration periods to produce paper.

REFLECTION.

Encapsulating, it appears we're drawing close to the culmination of our entrepreneurial journey, heralding a new phase of learning. This subject has propelled me towards new heights of growth and insight, particularly within corporate and business contexts. With the invaluable support and mentorship of our instructor, I've bolstered my leadership, communication, and business proficiency, sparking a keen interest in pursuing entrepreneurship down the road.

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xistential-thought · 2 years ago

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BIPOC artists, writers, philosophers, and leaders to look up to for inspiration.

In recent years, I have been exposed to many influential artists, writers, philosophers, and leaders who are NOT cis-white straight men.

This is a list of people who I find inspiration from that are people of color. Many of the people I have included are also Queer (but not all) and the intersessions of their identities are at the forefront of their work. This is a continuous post and will be added as time permits. If anyone would like to add to this list feel free to send me a message and I can add them <3

Music/ Lyricists

Kendrick Lamar (B: Compton CA, 17 June 1987 – ): He is a rapper, poet, and songwriter. His works are reflections of life as a Black man growing up in LA and the social pressures that surround his community and identity. He is regarded as one of the most influential artists of our generation. His latest album

SZA (B: St. Louis MO, 8 November 1989-): SZA (Aka Solána Imani Rowe) is a black fem American singer and songwrtier. Her lyrics depict the soft and sometimes disheartening parts of love. As of 2/28/2023, her 2022 album SOS has been No. 1 on the Billboards 200 list for the last 10 weeks.

Kehlani

Artists

Mike "Dream" Francisco (B: ?- D: Oakland CA, 17 Feb. 2000) Dream was a Filipino American aerosol artist from the East Bay. He was one of the founders of a group of artists known as the TDK collective. His aerosol art was a reflection of the political and social movements of the 80s and 90s in the East Bay. His writing and calligraphy style was influenced by Hip-Hop books he would read. There are still preserved pieces of his work in East Oakland, Encinal High School in Alameda, and in part of the city ( San Fransisco). In honor of Dream's work, the city of Oakland created Dream day which is a celebration on Feb. 17th of each year.

Poets/ Writers

James Baldwin (B: Harlem NY, 2 August 1942 – D: Saint Paul de Vence France, 22 August 1987): He was an influential author and writer during the civil rights era. He worked side by side with leader with MLK, Malcomb X, Bobby Seale, and many other. He was a gay man who wrote critical pieces on America's treatment of its citizens.

Gloria Anzaldúa (B: Harlingen TX, 26 September 1942 – D: Santa Cruz CA, 15 May 2004): She was a queer Chicana woman who taught at UC Santa Cruz. She was a distinguished feminist poet and writer. Her most famous book, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (1987), talks about the intersections of being a queer first-generation Mexican-American woman in America. She officially coined the word Mestiza which historically was a word that most Latine folk previously used to describe their mixed ancestry, despite the creation of the word being used by Spanish colonialists. She taught generations of Latine and Chicano/a/e/x folks about the importance of reinventing identities and how to take back those identities to empower one another.

Ibram X. Kendi (B: Jamaica NY, New York 1982 –): Kendi wrote the book "How to Be an Antiracist" in 2019. He is a researcher and professor at Boston University.

Community Leaders

Huey P Newton (B: Monroe CA, 19 June 1942 – D: Oakland CA, 22 August 1989): He was the Co-founder of the Black Panther Party with Bobby Seale. Newton was an African American Political Revolutionary who helped create mutual aid and community support from within the Black Panters. He was assassinated in 1989 and is buried at the East Oakland cemetery next to the former private women's institution "Mills College".

Bobby Seale (B: Liberty TX, 22 Oct. 1936– ): He was the Co-founder of the Black Panther Party. Mr. Seale is an African American Political Revolutionary who created the party's 10-point program and helped to create massive reform within California and nationally with grass-roots community activism. He is also an engineer, a professor at Merrit college in Oakland, and still an active community activist.

#empowerment #bipoc community

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kulay-ng-banaag · 2 years ago

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☆ LOST & FOUND ☆: What A Concept!

CW: war, blood, death, sharp objects

I revised the comic art. Fixed anatomy here and there, adjusted lighting, BACKGROUNDS!

Working on this comic series will be slowed down significantly. The results of Halalan 2022 was crushing, to say the least. That and college.

I disliked having to look back at the stuff I made, even if it was for good intentions. One hot year since first posting the comic, I allowed myself to truly peruse this comic again. Not only did it resonate still, but it also resonated so much stronger now too. Who would have thought I needed to remind myself too?

I was, and up to now, in disbelief that I could pull off an insanely ambitious project, for a hobbyist of my skill level, in such an unrealistically short amount of time (never again!!!). Ironically, it was after I drilled myself into making the comic that my art style got cleaner and more consistent (I wasn't when it came to characters' faces because I was still figuring out how exactly I want to draw them).

Only the writing was left unchanged. I would crawl into a ball of shyness still about the comic, but nonetheless, I remained very proud of it. I also made a few corrections regarding historic information here and there, as well as dug up as many primary sources as I could access. What amazed me was that there was still no need to make any changes to the story.

At the end of it all, I had no regrets about following my instincts to let this comic happen. Not only did I learn a great deal about the process but I also grew to love it. The only thing stressful about it was the fact that I had to juggle this literal passion project with other commitments. If I had less of the latter, you would see me grind through my art.

☼ ☼ ☼

First off, I hoped that the cover illustration did not give off the impression of a 1Px2P self-cest doujin (I don't go there lmao). I was aiming to show the polarities in Piri’s character, the “blue vs. red” side if you would. The title font I used was Kawit.

I initially wanted to use the blue uniform for that spicy color contrast when it got stained in blood. I chose the khaki shade instead for insurrection!Piri because the lighter shade looked better in juxtaposition with his canon (present-day) sailor uniform.

I realized too late that the cape colors, in trying to create the illusion of the PH flag, did not follow the correct vertical orientation. I did not want to alter the entire drawing anymore so I left it that way. It appears in the correct orientation if you flip the image around, though! HA!!

☼ ☼ ☼

Piri took the bus because god forbid I had to draw him driving solo through Manila traffic. No thank you.

Piri could drive but he did not own a car. No matter how bad it got, he was content with opting for public transportation. He was partial to walking on his own two feet (in more ways than one).

Piri was very clearly tired, a far cry from his canon bubbly persona. Understandably so when he took an early bus trip. Yet even after hitting up a chat with friends, he was clearly worn down emotionally too.

I set these panels in violet, the color produced when you mixed blue and red. To be specific, I was aiming for the blue-violet end.

When I decided to make a comic about a nation’s flag, I never figured that I would mean that in more ways than one. I swear my choices of color palettes for scenes were pure serendipity!

Ask any Filipino what the blue side of our flag means and chances are peace will be the first word we'll tell you.

Piri wanted to tune himself out from the rest of the world. He wanted to spend just one day getting some “peace and quiet” for himself. He was very good at keeping up a face. For peace’s sake, he had to; but even in those quiet moments, one did not always truly feel “at peace.” Piri was still bracing himself for how he would be spending the rest of the day and it left him a bundle of mixed emotions.

At least he seemed convincingly cheerful enough to his peers.

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At last, Piri was free of the long bus journey out of the metro. He deserved to chill before diving into the moment of angst!

The street snack he had was kwek-kwek.

(For shit and giggles, let me share this innuendo of a song.)

Featured Locations (L to R)

Kennon Road (there was a view spot for picture-taking)

Session Road (a shopping district; I used a photo of the night market situated there)

Burnham Park (it had a lake where visitors could go boating)

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I initially wanted to write the text message in Tagalog but I was wary that it might be too harsh, even if the harshness was the point (it sounded a lot harsher in Tagalog, believe me).

It looked like it was a day of harsh noon sunlight. The scorching heat of the sun was always a nuisance even for those born and bred in this humid, tropical archipelago. It definitely got to Piri.

It was definitely the type of day where one would rather be hidden away from the burning sunlight, lest it shone on something one would rather keep to themselves.

I did not mind Himaruya using funky “unnatural” eye colors for the SEAsians (even though that was usually on drawing funky art with funky palettes) since flipping on canon was a free choice. Alas, I could not resist going off my own way too.

You know how dark brown eyes can sometimes appear golden (technically amber) when facing bright sunlight? Funny how that color sure revealed itself in a bad time. Funny also that gold was the color of the sun in the PH flag. I’m telling you all, Piri had a sunny disposition in more ways than one.

(Y’alls really thought I’d stop at the blue and red?)

☼ ☼ ☼

Now we could see the reason Piri went to Baguio for his birthday.

The location was a real museum that housed some of our earliest flags for public viewing! The name of the place?... The Aguinaldo Museum.

Oh to not live under someone else’s shadow.

I owed all Filipinos that read my comic my sincerest apologies for this part. This museum was different from the Aguinaldo Shrine in Cavite. It was specially built because the colder temperatures of Baguio made for an ideal environment for textile preservation.

Had it not been for the pandemic, I would have made a spontaneous trip to confirm the interior layout for myself. Instead, I relied on photographs and videos from bloggers who made their own visits. What I c ould vouch for certain was that the flag has to be kept in a dark room because old textiles faded from the sun's UV rays. I suppose they were aiming for a more serious mood with the choice of room lighting color.

It was definitely violet again. Red-violet this time.

Ask any Filipino what the red side of our flag means and, chances were, war was the first word we answered, but I wanted to go for a more neutral term: Conflict.

One could only imagine the inner conflicts Piri was going through at that moment, especially when he knew the truth.

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(I am not yet a legit historian and the pandemic severely limited how much more I could gather as someone who also likes to read history for leisure so I had to completely rely on what I could find online only.)

Long story short for my non-Filo followers, plenty of us Filipinos (if not most) considered Aguinaldo a very problematic figure in our history. It would not be the full picture, but the research I picked up for the comic would help give the gist as to why.

First off, my reasons for covering up the faces of the cameos of historical figures were:

I wanted to avoid drawing Aguinaldo’s face. By extension I had to apply the same trick for the others to avoid bias.

I got lazy to draw so many faces.

It was a storytelling trick of sorts by diverting the reader’s attention to Piri instead; “Hey, look away from these guys and go back to the real star of the story that’s also in the same panel!”

This was Piri’s story after all. This was his story.

The featured precolonial flag was allegedly the pennant of the Tondo polity*. Allegedly because I could not trace back primary sources to back it up.

*The term used was “bayan” and it was more leniently used to refer to any of the independent states that co-existed during the precolonial era (haha, “independent”). Think of how multiple German states existed pre-unification. No, there were no monarchies (in the strictest sense) in precolonial Philippines, so technically Tondo, Maynila, etc. were not “kingdoms.” Additionally, precolonial Philippines in my own lore also did not go by the name “Tondo.” He does have a tito Tondo.

I decided to feature that flag anyway because, even if it might not necessarily be true, there must be a reason Piri has that particular memory (*coughs* Andres Bonifacio was a Tondo boy).

In the flashback sequence, the first flag seen was the version of the Katipunan flag first shown at the 1897 Naic Assembly.

This was not the first flag of the Katipunan. I depicted a later version because the first one constituted the organization's acronym in white on a red background. The complete name of the organization was: Ang Kataas-taasan, Kagalang-galangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan (The Supreme and Venerable Association of the Children of the Nation).

I can assure you all that the Katipunan was NOT the same organization nor had any connections whatsoever with a certain white supremacist group.

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The guy with (baby Katipunero!) Piri was Feliciano Jocson. Some claimed he was inspired to draft up a design after seeing the flag of Cuba in the newspaper (that’s right, folks. Cuba/Piri valid!). Sadly, there was no info on the precise drafts that Jocson had, but one could clearly see how the del Pilar flag took cues from that of Cuba. It was called such because Gregorio del Pilar (aka Goyo) made one for himself as a treat for his rank promotion.

“Wait, so how did it go from Jocson to del Pilar?” Alas, I wish I knew because there was frustratingly little information to be found on Jocson, even though he was supposed to be one of the Katipunan’s leading members. He was big enough of a deal that he was bound to strike a chord when he protested the Pact of Biak-na-Bato was only agreed upon amongst Aguinaldo’s inner circle.

It did not help that Jocson simply went off the radar when del Pilar was sent to arrest him.

Del Pilar was loyal to Aguinaldo.

ADDENDUM (01/26/23)

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While exiled in Hong Kong, Aguinaldo approached Marcela Agoncillo to create the flag closest to the version we would know today.

Aside from the fact that I wanted Piri to be present for the making of the flag, he had his reasons for joining Aguinaldo in Hong Kong, which I ought to elaborate on in a future comic.

Piri went fabric shopping with Lorenza, Agoncillo’s eldest daughter. Also, did you know about how Filipinos pointed with their lips? That was what he was doing. 😗👉

The flag was first flown at the port in Cavite, just shortly before the Battle of Alapan (May 28, 1898). Then it was flown again on the declaration of Independence in Kawit, on 612 1898.

Look at how happy Piri was now that he got a flag of HIS OWN.

Did he get to own it though?

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It was a fairly big deal when there were testimonies that Jocson was the real brain behind the (early) design. Although Aguinaldo never claimed that he designed the flag, his contemporaries had the tendency to give him the credit for it, if only because he was the one who made the pitch to Agoncillo.

However, that only partly explained why anyone would put the original flag under the custody of a space dedicated to Aguinaldo. 2 flags contested for the title of being the true original: the Aguinaldo-Suntay flag, and the Agoncillo flag.

(L: top - Aguinaldo-Suntay, bottom - Agoncillo; R: Agoncillo, closeup)

The Aguinaldo-Suntay flag had additional embroidery between the stripes. The Agoncillo flag had faces drawn on both the sun and the stars, and these were also aligned to the flag vertically.

“But wouldn’t the real og flag be the one named Agoncillo? Why do we have to acknowledge the other one?” That was because:

It was still one of our flags.

The thing was that Aguinaldo himself was the one who reported that the PH flag went missing. Twice.

I had to preserve my joke from the original Twitter thread.

In 1919, he said it got lost within the Caraballo mountain range in Nueva Vizcaya. Then in 1925, he wrote to an officer that it got lost along Tayug (Pangasinan). In both instances, he mentioned that the losses occurred during his retreat from the Americans.

The Philippine-American War was from 1899-1902.

Now that made it easier to trace back events! I included a map reference of troop movements as well as one I redrew myself in Google Maps to show where the Caraballo Mountains were.

It would seem that Aguinaldo never went anywhere near that portion of the region…

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After the war, one of Marcela’s daughters stepped forward to claim that Aguinaldo actually had the flag safely stored away in a vault. The flag was conveniently brought out for display at the museum. Additionally, the current extant copy of the Agoncillo flag might only be a replica of the “true original,” if only because its threads were found to be cotton and contradicted statements that the original flag was made of silk.

To add to the confusion, one of Aguinaldo’s own descendants claimed that the flag loss was a red herring from Aguinaldo himself. However, a flag (if not the flag) was returned to Aguinaldo circa 1930. Since then, he never let it out of his sight, to the point that he would sleep next to it. When he passed away, his daughter found the flag under his deathbed.

Personally, I believe that Aguinaldo took after del Pilar and made his own banner as well, but even I could not find information on when the Aguinaldo-Suntay flag was made. In my frustrations to piece it all together, I came up with that banger line on conflicting narratives.

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Well wasn’t that a heck of a ride through memory lane? Sadly, it was time for Piri to go home (but wasn’t he already?), but not without buying the promised barrel man!

He left by sunset because it was prettier to draw and it made the “keeping things in the dark” line slap harder. A play on finding closure, in finding peace in all that red.

Remember what the red stood for?

Oops, another flashback!

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Aguinaldo wanted to transfer his base from Tarlac to Bayombong. He sent some troops, alongside a substantial portion of their equipment and supplies, ahead of him to clear the path. Tayug just happened to be along the way.

The 2nd Division scouts of the American army successfully intercepted the message. Spanish prisoners assured their American liberators that its writing was true. Gen. Henry Ware Lawton was determined to mobilize their troops as quickly as possible, in spite of the serious deficit in supplies.

(William H. Young was under Lawton's command.)

The American side had reasons to be hesitant about the plan that was put forth. They refused to believe that Aguinaldo would give up the railroad, which was used to mobilize his supplies as well as the PH Republic's treasury. It was akin to Aguinaldo abandoning his own resources. The top priority was to capture Aguinaldo because even the American troops themselves could not afford to waste any more of their already diminished resources.

Before I continue, let's grab the troop movement map again and take another look at the purple and red lines.

Notice how there were two places named Bayombong (red line, crossing Tayug) and Bayambang (purple line, with a railroad path).

Notice how Aguinaldo's route initially followed the same as Lawton's, but diverged. It was easy to assume that the change of course was to avoid the Americans at all cost, yet they themselves had a hard time tracking him. Why?

[ This next part is my personal and non-professionally backed opinion. Believe me, I wish I had the academic credentials and the freedom to dig for evidence of the PH troops' war plans from their side. ]

Perhaps that tiny linguistic difference was an intentional red herring. The O and A in Filipino can actually be tricky to discern, depending on your enunciation. My reference did not specify either if the intercepted message was a written or a verbal account (and if the latter, it was extracted from the captured individuals). Hence, the possible mix-up between Bayombong and Bayambang. Perhaps the Americans were wrong to assume that Aguinaldo was unwilling to travel without his supply line, which would also be a serious risk on his part. It meant he was willing to buy time for himself at the cost of his own resources, both material and human. Piri would have thought of it as an outrageous plan as well. And that was why he chose to chaperone his countrymen over his general. Who was going to protect them?

In the end it was a risk that paid off for the Americans.

(Col. Henry Walton Wessels was under Lawton’s command).

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It was noteworthy that Aguinaldo stated the flag got lost somewhere in Tayug, but not necessarily in Tayug.

I imagined it might have been with someone already in transit out of Tayug. Someone who was busy leading his fellow soldiers. Someone who was determined to see his people outlast the war.

I definitely owed every reader an apology if they were still rattled by this section of the comic. It was a huge risk to let this (partly) be a war story, all the more through the lens of Hetalia. I am not ignorant of the shit people in this fandom were (and are) capable of.

However, I have since learned that it is one thing to be an ally for social justice, and it is a whole ‘nother nuisance when one must always feel the need to intervene for others for the sake of honoring their idea of peace and justice.

Now if that ain’t the Philippine-American War in a nutshell.

(Just a nutshell. Someday I’ll come back around to include HWS America’s perspective. I condemn US imperialism as much as I condemn misinformation arising from avoidance of the US’ prominent role in PH history.)

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At the end of the day, this was still a story about the flag, about the road to independence. As shitty as Aguinaldo and the war crimes of the Americans were, they all played a part in what independence meant for Piri.

What right do we have to dictate his story for him?

I would admit this section was where the fiction came in. I did not find specifics on the number of lives lost on both sides (with the Tayug takeover at least). In fairness, it was not like any of us would know. We were not there for whatever happened that day.

I was aware that war/armed conflict was a very sensitive topic and even I was not too keen on defaulting to the peace/war meanings for the stripes on the PH flag. Thankfully there is one more analogy for the red side that I wanted to raise: Blood.

I knew terms such as “patriotism” and “valor” were used, but they were often in a phrasing along the lines of “being unafraid to defend one’s homeland up to the last drop of blood.” As honorable as it was, it did not change the fact that it’s a double-edged sword (heh), especially for Piri.

The Tayug takeover was in November 1899. Antonio Luna was assassinated in June that same year. One of the most memorable characters in Philippine history, in Piri’s story, gone.

By then, Piri was at breaking point.

Morale tanked and the losses just kept climbing. Almost immediately after, Aguinaldo switched to guerrilla warfare. A last-resort tactic that was only utilized when the troops were toeing the breaking point. When people were desperate to win, so desperate that nothing would stop them, no matter the risks.

Look at all that bloodshed. Who would have thought that someone who always seemed to look at the bright side of things could also retain a vicious side?

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Forever grateful that I dug deep enough to confirm that this fight happened in the afternoon. Look at Piri eyes burning brightly like the golden sun, burning in righteous fury.

Bayang magiliw po talaga.

The title of the national anthem was Lupang Hinirang. I just cited the opening line.

Furthermore, the official translation was “land of the morning,” but the literal translation of magiliw was “tender/affectionate/friendly.” It was an apt description for when one saw the morning sun rising over the horizon, but sunlight was also not always gentle. Soaking in too much of it could harm you.

Oof, now that was a roast.

FIRE MAY BE THE GIVER OF LIFE BUT IT COULD ALSO DESTROY!

BEWARE OF FLYING TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN LEST YOU BURNED YOURSELF OUT!

Okay that’s enough sun symbolism.

The blood splatters were exaggerated. I let it be that way.

We were still seeing things from Piri’s perspective. You would not see clearly when you were in a frenzied rage. It did not help that seeing all the blood just enabled it too. He surely bottled up his bloodlust for far too long…

(Am I a freak for playing with this sort of character complexity. Yeah. Bluntly, I'm too desensitized when it came to emotional extremities. I learned to live with it. The same could be said for these nation trashbags--I mean, personifications.)

☼ ☼ ☼ Letting Piri go into sword-slashing mode was a personal artistic choice.

I was always finding accounts of how the Americans had the superior guns while the Filipinos had the superior knives. Bolo knives, specifically.

Admittedly the only films I had seen that depicted this period were Heneral Luna (2015) and Goyo (2018), but in both films, even if characters had swords on their person, not once did any of them show our prowess with the blade. Not once. By my artistic hand, I elected to feed myself.

I knew jackshit about how firearms work but I highly doubted that anyone could aim right with a rifle when they just lost an eye. Besides, if Piri’s got a sword on him and he still got the moves, rusty as they may be compared to ~300 years ago, what was stopping him?

“But they used BOLO KNIVES, not SWORDS.” Well clearly Piri’s got his own sword!

Because he’s the anime protagonist. I’m kidding. Don’t worry. It would not be the last appearance of that particular blade.

Story for another day.

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Don’t you just hate it when you jolted awake from your ride coming to a sudden halt, because your bus driver had no manners at the wheel?

The one blessing to that was that Piri snapped out of a nightmare. A war flashback, if you will.

Piri decided he had enough of the bus and rode a jeep instead. I wanted to respect the repeating flag symbolism throughout the story with the choice of background music playing.

Piri then got off to buy some birthday mamon, like the frugal bakla he was (mamon was also a euphemism for gay men).

Commuting in the PH was not “one-way.” More often than not, people had to take more than one mode of transportation. Sometimes, that mode of transportation was a trike ride that happened to be loaded with neon lights and played music on full blast. It was not all terrible, but it could be overwhelming at times.

Finally, our boy was home sweet home (always has been).

Incorporating tarsier anatomy into my art style had since worked out beautifully. I wanted to draw Pien with the same cheeky little gremlin energy as this scientific illustration.

Most photos show them at rest, but look at this little fella ready to square up!

I wished I showed more of the next room but the details were not necessary to this particular story. I would confirm it was a storage room. My own homage to the iconic storage chapter/episode (Ang Paglilinis ng Bodega AHAHAHAKLSGJHLDKSHASKSKSKSKSKSKS).

Look at all that blue in the room! What was Piri going through this time?

The blue side of the flag stood for peace, but what else came to mind when thinking of what the color represented? What were the odds that sadness was one of those other meanings?

HWS PHILIPPINES?!?!!! A MAN CANONICALLY BRIGHT AND CHEERFUL AND ENTHUSIASTIC AND ALWAYS SO FULL OF ENERGY AND LIFE AND OPTIMISM??????? SAD?!?!?!?!?!?!! DEPRESSED?!?!?!?!!!!!!

Yeah, like any human being would, and yet he was also not like any human being.

It was not just any kind of sadness too. It was melancholy from having to face the truth once more. The truth that, even after all these centuries, Piri still did not know what kind of person he should be.

Man, do I love making these dirt children go into a major identity crisis. The comic was the perfect opportunity to do exactly that. I mean, come on! The flag! The very object that represented these nations! What represented them! What defined them!

Y’all really thought I wanted to draw insurrection!Piri for the sake of depicting him going absolutely feral? Nah, that was totally one of the reasons, just not the only reason.

I held no hate for canon Piri’s personality at all because it was still so relatable as a Filipino! Yet here be a Filipino Hetalia fan clowning around by providing a more polarizing side of Piri. So unfamiliar. So divergent from his canon, true personality (or what you know to be true). It was almost as if he lost his mind at that moment.

But that was still Piri, right? Of course!

It just so happened that what happened, happened. People underwent certain emotions more intensely in certain situations. Welcome to the human condition.

Although he was not exactly human either.

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This was also me acknowledging two things: How Filipinos were known for our resilience in the face of adversity, and how even that unyielding resilience could backfire.

Even that resilience nearly killed Piri himself. He nearly burned himself out. He nearly lost himself in the process.

But how could we even gauge that? Just how much did we know about Piri? As a person? Exactly what kind of person was Piri supposed to be? What happened when we took away all the things that maked Piri "the Philippines"? Who are we left with?

"Hold up! Shouldn’t we just leave that decision up to Piri himself?" But you know how we say it was the people that made up a nation?

How ironic it was to always let other people make decisions for you. It makes you think if Piri truly “won" his independence.

If reading all those conflicting narratives made you feel frustrated, imagine how it was for Piri. How tiring it must be to have your narrative stolen, lost, and forgotten, over and over again.

For all the inquiries on his history, why hadn’t anyone asked for his story?

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Now you know how this became a 612 story. A story about independence. A story about the PH flag. How flags are born as a symbol of independence.

Let’s go check back in on the very person for whom that flag stood for.

Another flashback! Look at that sunrise! Or maybe not, Piri sure was not in the mood.

There was the red again. A nicer kind, too. And so was the warrior side of Piri you’ve all been formally introduced to, except you were seeing a warrior that was clearly exhausted and weary.

I won’t lie, letting the flag be returned like that felt too easy of a plot move, but I figured I would rather uphold the mystery.

It begged the question: Why would he just withhold the truth like that? Why didn’t he ever speak up? Why would he make that choice.

...Because he can. Let him.

Why not? That was what he had been fighting for all these years, right? To be his own person?

So what if you just saw how ruthless he could be? It was still Piri. It was not like the rest of him would completely go away as well. Besides, what choice did he have at that time?

It’s agonizing how, for all the times people invoked his name in their actions, Piri never seemed to be allowed to do things for himself. Maybe that was why he would rather keep quiet about the truth. How, all these years, he had been keeping what was rightfully his.

Because the bigger truth was that he still did not know what it means to be independent. He still did not know what it meant to be his own person. He still did not know what kind of person he should be, or wanted to be.

Bayan o sarili? Eh paano na ba kung ikaw mismo ang bayan?

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Was the flag really just returned to him like that? Who knows? You sure don’t.

Even Piri was surprised at how that happened, but who cared how it happened? At least it was returned.

It’s funny how things you lost would find their way back to you when you stopped looking for them.

I scrapped this to save on page count, but I wanted to show Agoncillo rushing to the McCulloch ship (that Aguinaldo boarded on the trip back to Cavite) the flag in time. It was sewn within 5 days, with little sleep on her end, but she was successful in personally handing over the flag to Aguinaldo.

I’m flipping on that fact and changing it to Piri. IT’S HIS FLAG AFTER ALL!

The dialogue I had in mind was Piri asking Agoncillo what the rush was for and she responded that she had just finished the flag.

You would then see the joy in Piri’s eyes but then he realized that Agoncillo pushed herself in finishing it as soon as possible. He would tell her that there was no need to, but she reassured him that she would be alright. It was all for him.

Once again, I dissed on the actual orientation of the flag, but damn did I go hardcore with the imagery!

THE SUN SHINING BEHIND CENTER PIRI! PIRI BASKING IN THE WARMTH OF A NEW DAY DAWNING FOR THE RED! PIRI MAKING PEACE WITH THE UNCERTAINTY FOR THE BLUE!

"Uncertainty?"

This was still a story about the flag, and who it represented. I will always love and cherish canon Piri unconditionally, but I swear there was so much more to his character. It helped when you knew too well that our flag had a red side too. Thinking about it now, it was weird how Filipinos' automatic first response in describing what the red represents was war.

Thank god Pixiv has an R-18G option. This was not something minors would grasp immediately, but man my people had been through a lot.

By the time our flag (in the form we know today) came to be, we literally just got out of one war only to get dragged into another. It made you think how much of a formative period that had been for Piri.

Almost as if he was in a much bigger war with himself.

“WITH HIMSELF?!”

This was also a story about independence. Our fight for independence. Piri’s fight for independence. His independence. But what did that even mean when he could not even figure out what kind of person he wanted to be?

It grew worse because if you thought jumping from one war to another in roughly half a year was bad enough, so much simultaneous in-fighting happened. It showed in how our own flag came to be, and that was just a fragment of that in-fighting. PH history was littered with inner conflicts.

Imagine how all that affected Piri.

Imagine just how tired and frustrated and progressively angry he must have been in having to deal with his own people throwing fire at each other over and over again due to all of the conflicts of interest in how best to win their independence. His independence. Imagine how much harder it got for Piri to keep to himself. How much it hurt to never openly admit his feelings. How he hated that he could never decide for himself to do. How he could not do whatever he wanted. How he never knew know what it felt like to be independent. Be his own person. Be a person. Maybe that’s one more reason why he snapped so hard in that fight.

And why shouldn’t he fight back? Didn’t he have every right to fight back? To stand up for himself? To take back what was rightfully his? His right to self-sovereignty that was stolen from him?

“BUT WHAT HE DID WAS WRONG!”

(I pull a reverse Uno card.) So now YOU get to decide for him too? YOU get to decide how Piri should have acted? YOU get to decide what kind of person Piri should be because all you know is his good-vibes-only side?

(Did I just go meta as an author? Yes I did. I clowned you all.)

☼ ☼ ☼

Our flag had two stripes, after all. Both with their own meanings.

What did they mean for Piri? What did he know about the kind of person he was supposed to be? Or wanted to be?

It sounded like he did not have the answer to that question, even up to now. All the more when he lived his life letting others make the decisions for him. He had seen all the stupid shit his own people were (and are) capable of. He was not ignorant.

Yet, even with all the shitty people, there were still the good ones too. Piri would remember them all. Even if their names faded out of the history books, or were excluded. Maybe all Piri needed was a gentle reminder to himself. That he did not have to go through it all alone. That it was normal to feel uncertain about yourself. That even if life was full of uncertainties, there were some things that were a certain keeper. Like the people that got you to where you were now. Like your own chaotic circle of friends that sure know how to brighten your day. Your found family. The bonds that were thicker than blood. Maybe he just needed to remind himself that hope was not lost.

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Be glad I preferred happy endings.

I was aware that if we started the count at 1898, Piri would be 123 years old. To me, Piri was technically much older. He had been, physically, a young adult for a really long time.

Would Piri do a live video in that kind of lighting setup? Absolutely. It was all about the aesthetic. How else could I pull off that banger fade-out too?

The gold was back too. Safe to say he still got that fire in him. Quite the heartwarming reminder.

The best birthday treat.

☼ ☼ ☼

Image Credits

Biomedical Ephemera (Tumblr), boyingski (Blogspot), Emilio Aguinaldo Museum (Facebook), Friend Cheap Menu, National Historical Commission of the Philippines, Philippine Cultural Education, Presidential Museum & Library (Malacañang), Tempo PH, watawat(dot)net - BROKEN SITE, Wikipedia, Yahoo! News (article by Norman Sison, VERA Files), ZEN Rooms

Sources

(The links for the Presidential Museum & Library are broken, but the uniform infographic has been preserved on archive.org)

Agbayani, Eugemio, III. “The Original Philippine Flag, according to Miss Marcela Agoncillo.” National Historical Commission of the Philippines. June 6, 2017. https://nhcp.gov.ph/original-philippine-flag-according-miss-marcela-agoncillo/. Alvarez, Amorico M., and Nicolas G. Ricafrente. “The First Unfurling of the Philippine National Flag.” Philippine Center for Masonic Studies. Accessed March 01, 2022. http://www.philippinemasonry.org/first-unfurling-of-the-philippine-flag.html. Arevalo, Carminda R. “The Philippine Flag: Symbol of our Sovereignty and Solidarity.” National Historical Commission of the Philippines. September 6, 2012. https://nhcp.gov.ph/the-philippine-flag-symbol-of-our-sovereignty-and-solidarity/. Cabreza, Vicente. “In Baguio museum, flags celebrate victories,” Philippine Daily Inquirer, June 12, 2015. https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/697868/in-baguio-museum-flags-celebrate-victories. “A Graphic Timeline of the Philippine-American War (Part Three).” Presidential Museum and Library. Accessed May 29, 2022. http://malacanang.gov.ph/8298-a-graphic-timeline-of-the-philippine-american-war-part-three/. “Infographic: Army of the First Philippine Republic.” Presidential Museum and Library. Accessed May 29, 2022. http://malacanang.gov.ph/76540-infographic-army-of-the-first-philippine-republic/. Linn, Brian McAllister. The Philippine American War, 1899-1902. Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 2000. Mallari, Perry Gil S. “The Bolomen of the Revolution,” The Manila Times, June 14, 2014. https://www.manilatimes.net/2014/06/14/sports/the-bolomen-of-the-revolution/104227. Meder, William A. “Civilizing 'Em with a Krag : the Story of a Company of U.S. Volunteers in the Philippine Insurrection,” 1978. https://archive.org/details/civilizingemwith00mede. Melendez, Christian Bernard A. “Kalayaan Over Karangyaan - Pursuing Independence in Exchange for Personal Wealth.” National Historical Commission of the Philippines. June 8, 2021. https://nhcp.gov.ph/kalayaan-over-karangyaan-pursuing-independence-in-exchange-for-personal-wealth/. National Historical Commission of the Philippines. Twitter Post. June 9, 2020, 6:00 PM. https://twitter.com/nhcpofficial/status/1270294568504717312?s=21. Ocampo, Ambeth R. “Original or not, it’s still flag of our fathers,” Philippine Daily Inquirer, June 12, 2011. https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/14136/original-or-not-it%E2%80%99s-still-flag-of-our-fathers. Project Vinta. 2020. “On June 9, 1868, patriot and pharmacist Feliciano Jocson was born in Quiapo Manila.” Facebook. June 9, 2020. https://www.facebook.com/pvinta/posts/2687612368152686. “Rout of the Filipinos: American Troops Scatter the Rebels in All Directions.” The Evening Times, November 13, 1899. https://www.gastearsivi.com/gazete/evening_times_dc/1899-11-13/1. Sexton, William Thaddeus. Soldiers in the Sun: An Adventure in Imperialism. The Military Service Publishers Company: 1939. https://archive.org/details/soldiersinthesun000472mbp. Sison, Norman. “An unflagging symbol of nationhood.” Yahoo! News, June 21, 2014. https://ph.news.yahoo.com/blogs/the-inbox/unflagging-symbol-nationhood-232426481.html. United States Philippines Division War Department. Report of E. S. Otis, U. S. Volunteers, on Military Operations and Civil Affairs in the Philippine Islands 1899. (1899). https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=K08tAAAAIAAJ. —. Annual Reports of the War Department: Volume 1, Part 1. U.S. Government Printing Office: 1899. https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=hTcaAAAAMAAJ.

#historical hetalia #hws philippines #war cw #blood cw #death cw #sharp objects cw #footnotes: LOST AND FOUND #arc: revolution #arc: contemporary #long post

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cupofteaguk · 4 years ago

Text

switching my positions

summary: Fresh out of college, Min Yoongi makes a name for himself amongst his online fanbase as an artist who writes about the ins and outs of falling in love. But when he is signed to a record label, his producer insists that he reveal a public romantic relationship to weed off any potential scandals or dangerous assumptions about the source of his love songs. So who else should Yoongi turn to, but you: his manager—but more than that, his best friend and secret crush.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: solo artist!yoongi, manager!y/n, fake dating au, friends to lovers au | fluff/angst

warnings: yoongi starts off as a musician on youtube but it’s not really highlighted for most of the story, kim seokjin is a Hot Music Executive who’ll take good care of his favorite boy, jungkook gets promoted from a cameraman to a bodyguard and i love to see it <3, nayeon + hoseok cameo as radio show hosts BECAUSE THIS STORY HAS SO MANY CHARACTERS I’M SORRY, IU shows up as a ~superstar~ because i love her so much, it’s a slow burn fic what can i say, mutual pining, actually an idiots to lovers plot tbh ????, recreational alcohol consumption, POV switches occasionally but i try to make it as obvious as possible as to what is going on, mentions of insecurity, there’s angst BUT IT’S A HAPPY ENDING !!!

word count: 40.1k

a/n: big big thank you to @gukyi for being my fic consultant for this story! she encouraged me and believed in this story more than I ever could (and contributed like 50% of the foundation that made this fic into what it is), and also reminded me that yes this is a fic so no it doesn’t require one hundred percent accuracy to the music industry despite every discord message i sent her falling somewhere along the lines of “how realistic is this scenario…” she was a very big support for this fic, and this story wouldn’t have existed without her!!

and regarding the word count… my hand slipped. I’ve clowned this fic a lot over the past month but I am really happy that this is done and so so excited for you all to read it. Pls enjoy!!!!!!! Xx

CHAPTER 1: THE DISCOVERY

You’re late.

Yoongi lets you know that much as you have to shove your way through a rather large crowd of people to reach him. When he turns away from his keyboard to glance down at you, your chest is heaving and your knees are bent in order for your hands to rest upon your thighs. There’s a plastic bag curled on your arm, the hard plastic of CD cases reflecting off the street lamps.

“Sorry, sorry!” You breathe out, giving yourself a few more seconds to catch your breath. Nothing more, nothing less, because there is a crowd of people around you, currently staring you down, counting down the seconds until the clock struck 8:00—but many people wondering just who were you to shove your way towards the front. “The printer wasn’t working, and do you realize how difficult it is to get your stupid picture into these cases?”

Yoongi scoffs, walking towards you and holding both his hands out. “Don’t call them stupid, you took the picture,” He hisses, taking the plastic bag from you and rummaging through the many CDs you had to make for him last minute. After ensuring that everything he had asked for is in this very bag, he softens up. “But thanks for getting these done for me.”

You finally are able to straighten up into a full standing position. “Not my fault you underestimated how many of your wonderful fans were going to show up.”

Yoongi reaches over and presses his index finger straight into your forehead for that comment. The force knocks you back a few steps, and Yoongi takes your few seconds of distractions to pull a phone out of his pocket. “Just go off to the side, dummy, my show starts soon.”

“Fine, fine,” You tease back, easy smile, but your hand goes up to take the phone from him. “Break a leg, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi gives you a playful glare but he turns away from you to line up his CDs along the now-table next to his set. As soon as he starts placing CDs atop the surface, a small line of people step from the crowd—pointing to the CDs and holding out a stack of cash. Yoongi nods, takes the money, and hands over the CD. This happens a few more times before the line of people have died down. Yoongi looks over at the significantly less amount of cases at his table, and looks over at you, where he flashes a thumbs up.

As Yoongi steps up to his keyboard and microphone, the crowd around him starts to cheer. The claps echo through the gathering of people, enough to draw the attention of passersby who crane their heads to see who has attracted so many listeners.

Yoongi’s fingers curl around the microphone. “Hey guys, thank you all for coming out today.”

The crowd claps back in acknowledgement, a few of them giving their own shy nods and waves towards Yoongi—gestures that the boy responds with his own nods and gummy smiles.

His attention returns back to the next set of words he’ll speak into the microphone. “I got a couple covers and original songs for tonight, all requested by you guys—so let’s have some fun today.” His voice is deep, raspy and gentle, croaks slightly along the edges, but a perfect reflection of the soothing nature he brings to his audience.

And you are attune to every single second of it. Of course you are. You blend into the crowd but really your responsibilities for Yoongi lie far beyond just packaging CDs for him and dashing through hoards of people at the last fucking second to make your delivery. You further prove this further by logging into his phone and clicking into the first background music he’s produced for today’s show. Using the music as a guide, Yoongi starts to sing. His fingers dance across the keyboard to bring an extra sound to his performance—to give it that extra live element that his fans love.

You know that Yoongi has added these additional things over the months because he adores his fanbase and would likely do anything and everything he could to give them the best experience he could offer. After all, they’ve propelled him to this very spot—his own little corner of the bustling city streets amongst all the bars, shops, universities, street food stalls, and cafes.

As the music continues from one song to the next, and Yoongi shifts his focus from singing to rapping to the in betweens, you see his passion. You hear it in his voice, in the way his lines string together where it seems like the boy doesn’t require oxygen anymore. Months of these live shows, even longer years to get here—and the people around him only continue to watch him in awe. Just like he’s done since the beginning.

Min Yoongi started off his music career on Youtube, where he uploaded music covers with his own special beat thrown into the mix. Yoongi enjoyed music arrangement (still does), and used his videos as an opportunity to explore that hobby and share it with people who could also enjoy it. And enjoy it people did, as viewers started pouring in and his fanbase grew in the form of positive comments and increasing subscribers. From some videos, Yoongi had always teased the idea of original songs he had written in various notebooks that expressed the wide range of his emotions—overall all the trials and tribulations of growing up: the notion of love in all its forms. Normally, there was always a fear of an audience losing interest at the prospect of original songs, especially coming from someone who previously arranged already popular #1 hits.

But that never happened with Min Yoongi. His songwriting abilities became part of his brand—became his entire brand. Yoongi always wrote out love to be more than sappy pop songs or tragic heartbreak. He established himself as someone who seemed to speak from the mind of every single person he came into contact with. At least, that’s what his comment section claims.

In the beginning of his Youtube career, you found Yoongi’s online persona unusual and amusing to say the least, but it was always clouded with an air of sweetness and sensibility. After all, you had known him about a year before Youtube was even an option for him to pursue. The pair of you met in a general ed college class—big lecture halls and voices getting lost in the background as the professors’ voice boomed through speaker systems. Yoongi had asked to borrow a pencil, and the pair of you spent the rest of the class making side-handed comments about the lecture material. You sat next to each other for the rest of the semester and have been friends ever since.

So it’s not like Yoongi’s core characteristics have ever been anything other than caring, thoughtful, or loyal—he’s just never been outwardly expressive about those emotions. But Youtube changed everything: it’s made him a more vocal person, more open about his feelings as well as his need to share those feelings with the world.

The world responded positively—wrote in the comments that they would love to hear some of his original songs, that he had already provided just a small taste of his talent and left them an insatiable desire for more.

As soon as you and Yoongi graduated, his commitment to Youtube increased tenfold. With the previous obligations of assignments, papers, and research internships out of the way, it left more time for writing, for filming, for editing, for sharing. As his work levels increased, so did his subscribers. And so did the attention.

You’ll never forget the day his followers suggested live street performances in one of Yoongi’s neighboring cities—a city street more specifically that was famous for taking in street performances of all origins and talents, a place for him to show off his freestyling on a keyboard and finally meet his fans firsthand. The idea caught on so quickly and vividly that Yoongi was immediately attracted to the idea. He held his first performance just a few months ago, as a thank you present for reaching one million subscribers. If you had trouble materializing Yoongi’s musical success before, the first live performance and meet and greet Yoongi hosted did well to eradicate all those thoughts.

Hundreds of people showed up—standing alongside the shops, restaurants, food vendors, and cafes that already lined the streets, everyone intersecting to meet the artist who made them feel heard.

You still remember that day very vividly. Yoongi had been so nervous that day, had worked so hard to put together the perfect set for his fans. Obviously, though, he had nothing to worry about. Soon, one show turned into two, and just like the request for live performances and meet and greets, the question of monetary compensation became a topic of discussion amongst Yoongi’s fans. That’s where the question of albums came into play: a singular place for Yoongi to put his covers and original place—and charge money for it as well!

As per the request, eventually you and Yoongi decided that exclusive covers and original songs would be part of his album as a way to open up different modes of access rather than take away an individual’s general (free of charge) chance to view Yoongi’s content and just simply support without having to spend money. The introduction of his albums has been a very recent development, something added into Yoongi’s live performances after the tenth show and usually always sold out by the end of any aforementioned show. From what you’ve been able to see as of now, the albums have been a good addition.

In terms of Yoongi’s current career, you acknowledge that it has always been you and Yoongi—him staying up late for last minute song-writing sessions or recording or arranging a specific set of chords he had been holding off for weeks, or you arranging the time and date of his live shows and fulfilling requests to put songs on CDs and figure out how to market those in an era of streaming services. And if there’s anyone who knows that he has what it takes to get big—it’s you. After all, you would do anything for him. As you would have done from the moment you met him.

An hour later—after twenty songs and a swaying crowd around him singing along—the last song fades out and Yoongi pulls back from the microphone to catch his breath. Everyone else around him seems to hold onto their own, before Yoongi pulls himself back towards the mic to utter his last words for the night: “Thanks for coming out you guys. I really, really appreciate it.”

In the midst of the claps and cheers, Yoongi smiles towards the audience, turns around to address the circle of crowd that has formed around him.

As some of the crowd begins to disperse and some begin to linger for a potential meet and greet, Yoongi hastily remembers to return back to his mic for one last word to his audience. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!”

You smile to yourself as members of the crowd acknowledge his thanks with thanks of their own. As you watch Yoongi start disassembling his equipment for the night, you simply stand where you’ve stood for the past hour, allowing the crowd to simmer past you towards their next destination for the time. You pocket Yoongi’s phone into your coat, waiting for a few minutes, before you slip around towards the front of the crowd. There, a boy stands in front of a tripod, and his fingers dance around to unclip his camera from the standee.

“You get the whole thing, Jungkook?” You ask with the tilt of your head.

Jungkook whirls towards you, bright eyes full of excitement as he holds the camera with both his hands now. He utters your name. “Oh shit, yeah I did. We’ll get to see how Yoongi’s mic set up works.” He taps to the cord that connects the mic on Yoongi’s clothes and on his piano into the camera.

You perk up at the sight of new technology. “Oooh, going fancy with us, I see JK. Very future.”

Jungkook’s grin widens, as it always does when talking about cameras and filmography. “Yes. Future…” He stretches out the word with the exact dips, curls, and croaks the way Squidward does in that one Spongebob episode, which makes you laugh. Jungkook clicks through the video of Yoongi’s set that he’s just recorded, before he clicks the screen off and lowers the camera. “It’ll probably be better if I wait until we get back to look through the footage. I’m sure Yoongi is anxious to get back too…” He looks up towards where Yoongi is supposed to be standing a few feet away, but the younger boy trails off. “Hey, look over there.” He jerks his chin towards Yoongi. “Some guy is talking to him. Do you know him?”

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion—none of your college friends had texted saying they were going to come by and listen in on Yoongi’s set—you crane your own neck towards the direction Jungkook is gesturing to. Up ahead, Yoongi is indeed talking to some guy that you don’t recognize so of course it would peak your curiosity.

It’s a feeling that increases tenfold when Yoongi looks up, seems to find you from his search, and points across the space right at you. There’s even something in his eyes that beg you to walk over to him. This makes your frown deepen, because what the hell is this about?

Min Yoongi doesn’t allow for too much vocal expression that doesn’t involve the assistance of a keyboard or a music arrangement, but he speaks into the microphone without thinking. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!” His smile widens as the crowd responds with the claps and cheers of their own—all responding to him and communicating with him. This is it, this is what makes coming out to do these shows all worth it. Obviously there’s a thrill he gets from being in front of a camera and another thrill from uploading a video that people can access from all over the world. But to see the faces of the people who have left positive comments underneath those aforementioned videos… now that’s a completely different kind of feeling he didn’t think he would enjoy so much.

So Yoongi steps away from the mic to put away his equipment for the day. He only gets so far as to open the case for his microphone and mic holder before he’s hearing his name behind him. Turning around, he is faced with a few unfamiliar and a few familiar fans that are asking him for pictures and a short conversation. He indulges them, of course he does, and he signs a few albums while he’s at it.

It’s like you always teased him about: he really is a softie for his fans.

The fan interactions only last for a few minutes, before another voice comes in—it’s a deeper voice and radiates so much confidence and presence that it actually halts the next fan from trying to finish a conversation with Yoongi. All gazes turn towards the source of the voice: it’s a tall man with broad shoulders, pointy boots and a long coat that drapes down, hands stuffed into the pocket of that very coat. He looks like a model.

The man gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but I need to request a chat with Mr. Min and am in a bit of a hurry. Do you mind if I cut in for a moment?”

The fan gives a weak smile. “N-No problem.”

Yoongi gives his own small smile. “Sorry about that. Oh, here.” He quickly makes a grab for the CD in her hesitant hands, signing his name across the sleek surface. “Thanks for coming by. Have a good rest of the night.”

Her smile brightens. “Thank you so much!” With a quick little bow, she runs off towards her friends.

This leaves Yoongi alone with the stranger. “What can I help you with?”

The stranger extends his arm. “Mr. Min, I’m Kim Seokjin. I’m a music executive. Nice to meet you.”

Music executive. These two words pique Yoongi’s interest. Just enough. “Wow, uh, nice to meet you sir.” Yoongi can’t help but lower his head slightly in a small bow as he returns Kim Seokjin’s handshake.

Seokjin waves him off. “Oh, no need to be so formal Mr. Min. I just thought that I should finally come by to introduce myself. I’ve been following your Youtube channel for awhile and think that you’re extremely talented, very capable to be a recording artist, in fact.”

Yoongi blinks in surprise, completely taken aback by the direction of this conversation. When he came out for his show today, having a conversation with a whole ass music executive hadn’t been on the list of things he was expecting. Of course, it was always a dream of his to be a recording artist. But he thought something like that would always just remain a dream. “T-Thank you.”

Seokjin continues. “Honestly, this is the third live performance of yours that I attended. Artists like you who radiate lots of passion and dedication both through the screen and on a stage are pretty rare. But your confidence and presence is quite admirable.”

At that, Yoongi can’t help but laugh a little. He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t call this a stage, Mr. Kim, it’s just a small street corner.”

Seokjin laughs. “Fair enough—but you treat this little street corner like a stage and I find that cool. It appears that that’s what a lot of your fans think as well.” He pauses. “Mr. Min,” He starts up again after a moment. “Have you ever considered becoming a recording artist? Signing with a music label, releasing music and being able to reach millions of people? Having concerts in venues all over the world?”

At the question, Yoongi utters a scoff of disbelief. “I have,” He acknowledges after a few minutes. “Having this youtube channel and these street performances is amazing…”

“Of course,” Seokjin replies with a nod.

“But sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to do more than that. So, to answer your question, I have thought about it before. Many times, in fact.”

Seokjin nods again. “What if I told you that I was interested in signing you, Mr. Min?”

Yoongi stares at that, stares and stares with unblinking eyes, one hundred percent of his attention on the man standing in front of him—waiting for the signs, waiting to see the laugh or the glint that gives away his prankster tendencies. But none of those things come. Seokjin just stares right back, challenging him to question him and agree to his claim.

But Yoongi is younger, more naive, so of course he falls for it. “Why would you want to sign me?”

Seokjin grins. “Mr. Min, I like to think I’m pretty good at spotting talented people who have a fully fledged career ahead of them—which is something my gut is telling me that you can do. And don’t worry, it’s not just the gut feeling I have. Like I mentioned, I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few months and I’ve seen the numbers and the turn out. You clearly have what it takes to bring fans in, keep them, and create events that’ll drive their attention—and I want to help you make an opportunity out of that.”

Yoongi hears the words of the older man, he really does, but he still cannot help the feeling of his head spinning at all the positive things Kim Seokjin says to him. Not only that he believes Yoongi has what it takes to make it, but that Yoongi has the concrete numbers to back that up. He is offering Yoongi an opportunity—an opportunity that seemed much too big for his youtube channel to birth, an opportunity that he had always just written off as nothing more than a dream. Yet for Seokjin to say that it could be more than that? And for all of this to happen on a normal performance night?

Was Yoongi about to faint right now or what.

Seokjin takes in Yoongi’s stunned silence and smiles. “I understand that this could be a lot to take in. No worries. I have a card for you to take—so call me when you make up your mind, alright?” He rummages into the pocket of his coat before producing a business card. The name KSJ RECORDS is printed on the surface, shiny lettering in sleek font.

Yoongi takes it wordlessly.

“By the way, do you have a manager?” Seokjin asks. “You can have them reach out to me if that’ll make it easier.”

Yoongi stays quiet for a moment. He doesn’t have a manager; he never really saw the need for one if his schedule was as simple as it was. After all, it was more than enough for him to handle with you—!

His mind explodes, as if someone had just plugged it into an outlet. His gaze flickers to you, where he sees you now standing just a few feet away next to Jungkook. You’re already staring back at him, but your head tilts slightly as if you could read his internal struggle. Before Yoongi can even figure why he’s looking at you, his body seems to act on its own. His arm raises, finger pointing straight at you. “She’s over there.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, seeming to read something in his gaze that even Yoongi couldn’t figure out. Still, you walk over to them. “What’s going on?”

Seokjin acts first, turning towards you and giving you a nod in greeting. “Hi there, I’m Kim Seokjin. Yoongi says you’re his manager, is that correct?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question because you definitely were not Yoongi’s manager. He knows that you know this. You give Yoongi another look, and his eyes widen at you, poorly attempting to transmit a singular message: please.

You understand immediately, of course you do (you’re his best friend), as you turn back to look at Seokjin. “I am, it’s nice to meet you.”

The pair of you shake hands. “I was just telling Mr. Min over there that I was interested in signing him to my company. I’m a music executive for KSJ records, and think that he would make a great addition to the team.”

It takes you a second to process the news, but you do so quicker and much more graceful than Yoongi could ever hope to do. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” You turn to look at him, bright-eyed. “Yoongi, that’s amazing!”

“He hasn’t made a decision yet,” Seokjin continues to explain. “I don’t blame him, it’s a lot to process. I just told him that he could have you call me once he made up his mind. Then, contracts could be drawn up.” He pauses for a moment, then seems to scramble on something when you don’t say anything immediately. “Of course, you would remain his manager. I’m sure that he’s gotten as far as he has with your help. I would want you part of Mr. Min’s team regardless.” Seokjin composes himself quickly afterwards. “Like I said, take some time to come to a decision and let me know. Let me give you my card as well.” He mirrors his previous movement at Yoongi towards you now until you have his business card between your fingers.

“W-Well,” You start, lowering the card and offering up your hand. “Thank you so much for coming by, Mr. Kim. We’ll be sure to send you a response soon.”

Seokjin takes your hand carefully, giving it a firm shake. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He turns to Yoongi. “And I hope we’ll be able to work together, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi blinks, but he snaps himself out long enough to return Seokjin’s handshake. “Y-Yes…” He replies, still feeling completely starstruck by what the fuck this encounter had just been. “T-Thank you for stopping by…” He trails off. He stays quiet as he watches Seokjin give one last departing word before he’s turning around and making his way down the street of the city.

When he regains some of his attention back, he turns to find that you’re already staring at him with an unreadable expression across your face. “Let’s head back,” You say at least, holding up the business card. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“No way,” Jungkook utters, completely shocked as he practically throws himself onto the couch in the living room. His camera equipment has been set down near the door, too much exhaustion present in its owner for the trudge back into his room. “You got casted today? That’s incredible, hyung!”

“I-I didn’t even realize what was going on,” Yoongi grumbles back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I still wonder if that moment even happened or if I conjured it up in a strange fever dream.”

You raise your hand slightly. “I was there. Can confirm that it was real.” You dig the business card out of your pocket and stare down at it.

Jungkook hikes himself deeper into the couch as he turns on his phone to start scrolling. “I gotta know who this guy is. Kim Seokjin you said? Of KSJ records?”

“Yeah, KSJ records,” Yoongi replies, looking down at his own business card. “He seemed pretty legit.”

A whistle from Jungkook confirms that. “Yeah, he’s definitely real. And look at that!” Jungkook turns the phone over to expose the photographs of Seokjin. “Used to be a singer as well. I bet he knows a lot about the industry.”

Yoongi nods. “He did seem nice.”

“So, does that mean you’re planning to meet up with him? Get signed and all that jazz?”

“All that jazz?” Yoongi echoes, but he shakes his head before he could go off on that tangent. “But honestly? Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I really do love youtube and do want to continue that, but I just feel like there’s more for me to explore with the right connections.”

Jungkook grins. “Wow, I can’t believe my roommate is gonna be famous.” He says the last word with a bite of curl in his tone, flashing a teasing smile when Yoongi merely glares in embarrassment. Jungkook’s eyes flicker further back towards where you are standing in the apartment, calling your name to get your attention. “What do you think of the idea, Miss. Manager?”

You perk up at that. “Before I get into my answer—when did I suddenly become your manager? I don’t remember us ever having that conversation.” You’re situated in the kitchen, drumming one hand on the counter and using the other hand to stir some last night boxed mac and cheese.

Yoongi coughs at your observation, sinking himself further down into the couch. “I didn’t want Seokjin to think I was an idiot or something for not having a manager. But when I do officially make up my mind…” He angles his head to stare over at you. “You’ll do it for me, right? You’ll actually be my manager?”

You frown, hesitant. “You’re serious about asking me? I don’t know anything about being a manager though.”

Yoongi almost pouts at that, sitting up so he can whirl around completely on the couch to face you. “But you know me and my music career almost better than anyone! And you graduated with a business degree, what do you mean you don’t know anything about being a manager?”

You flush hotly at that. “It was just a general business degree, Yoongi, it seems like what you need to make it big is a legit artist manager! Someone who will actually know how to schedule your tour dates or keep up with your public image and know exactly how to market you to the general public. You really want me doing that for you?”

Yoongi gaps at that. “Okay, but who’s the one who literally schedules my street performances and helps me with editing my videos?”

“Jungkook does some of the editing too,” You grumble underneath your breath.

“Yah! Stop selling yourself short!” Yoongi interjects, pointing at you accusingly. He does, however, lower his finger long enough to turn and address his roommate. “Not that you don’t help out with any of the editing, Jungkook…”

Jungkook waves him off. “I know where my talents lie.”

Yoongi turns back to you. “Besides, Seokjin acknowledged that you and I basically come as a packaged deal. He saw that you were working just as hard to get me my gigs.”

You give him a one-shouldered shrug, the hesitation still laced in your tone. “I don’t know Yoongi. I just don’t want to fuck up and jeopardize your shot.”

Yoongi’s attention is one hundred percent focused on you now, so much so that he has made his way into the kitchen and has come so close that he can switch off the stove that held the macaroni and cheese. “Hey, listen, the only reason I’ve even been given a shot was thanks to you. You work just as hard as me to keep my channel up and running—and you already have another job on the side, so you don’t have to do anything for me. But you do.” He plants both his hands on your shoulders and twists you around. “Would you be my manager? Please? I seriously don’t trust anyone else enough to do this for me.”

You sigh, staring down Yoongi as tensely as he’s staring you down. He sees the flicker of continuing hesitation in your eyes, and responds with just tightening his grip on your shoulders—trying to convey as much pleading as he could to you. Honestly, if you rejected his request, he knows that he wouldn’t be able to do this without you.

So when you seem to realize that he won’t give up, you sigh and look down for a moment. “Damn that I can never say no to you, Min Yoongi.”

Hearing those words of confirmation, Yoongi’s gaze hyper focuses on you. Even when you look back over at him, you don’t look away and that merely confirms the unspoken question of your participation.

When he realizes that you aren’t going to outright reject him, and that you’re actually on board for him, Yoongi’s face lights up as he immediately envelops you into a hug. “Thank you! Thank you—wow, that means a lot to me.”

You suck in a breath at his words, tensing slightly at his words, but you eventually learn to relax long enough to pat him slowly on the back to return his hug. “Don’t thank me yet,” You grumble into his shoulder. “We haven’t even had a meeting. I may not be able to negotiate as well as you think I can.”

Yoongi shakes his head at that, tightening his hold on you. From his close proximity to you, he doesn’t notice the way your breath seems to shake and your heart seems to quicken. “It doesn’t matter,” He reassures, finally backing off. “I don’t care if you don’t know how to do all those fancy manager things. Like I said, you’re the only one I could trust to do this.”

You stare at Yoongi for a few more seconds before you sigh in defeat, knowing that you’ve just put all your thoughts and feelings on the table for him to react to. “Alright then,” You say, placing one of your hands across your chest and onto your shoulder—atop his hand still lingering. “I’ll make the call tomorrow then.”

Yoongi nods. “Thank you.”

There’s a brief silence that covers the pair of you, before a voice rings from the living room. “Do you mind bringing the mac and cheese over here?”

CHAPTER 2: THE REQUEST

One year later, and you learn that the crowds from Yoongi’s street performances are nothing in comparison to this. This—overwhelming and unmatched in all degrees, the screams and the cries and the shoves, all of it echoes around you just as it has for the past few months. Surprisingly, you’ve always been okay with being a little more firm if the situation called for such and today is absolutely no exception.

“Off,” You say gently, tapping an outstretched hand trying to get past you and grab at the person behind you.

The girl you’ve intercepted jerks her hand back as if you’ve burned her, her eyes wide and vaguely hurt as if you’ve singled her out specifically from this crowd. Rather, it’s more along the lines of keeping your client safe and trying to avoid the incident from last week. You block the memory out for the time being.

You feel a hot breath at your ear. “If you make my fans cry, I swear—!”

“Try to be less desirable then,” You bite back over your shoulder, holding up your hand when another fan tries to shove a sharpie past you. “Sorry, but we’re in a bit of a rush,” You say to the boy. “Come to the next concert—we’ll have a meet and greet then too.”

The boy deflates, but that expression only lasts for a second before he seems to brighten slightly at whatever has just occurred behind you. Stealing a glance, you realize it’s because Min Yoongi has just thrown him an apologetic wink.

The car appears in view a lot quicker than you had been anticipating, which is good as you muster all your energy to pull the handle that opens the car door. You step off to the side, further cutting off the fans who are trying to keep Yoongi from entering the vehicle. Soon enough, a taller and more dominating figure appears next to you as Yoongi manages to slide his way into the back seat. You and Jungkook exchange a nod—you had been in the front of Yoongi’s protection squad and he had been in the back, and the arrangement continues to work wonders. As long as Yoongi doesn’t lose a whole sleeve (like last time) then you would consider this departure a success.

Jungkook tilts his head towards the still opened car door, allowing you to enter the car yourself. As soon as you’re settled, Jungkook leans forward to join you. He slides his way into the seat all the way in the back of the car. Closing the door behind him, you signal Taehyung to take off with a nod into the rearview mirror.

The screams and calls of Yoongi’s name are loud, and pass through the metal structure of the car as if it is nothing. But you know that the boy doesn’t mind, and that he lives and breathes moments like these as he has for the past few months.

It’s crazy to think how much a year could change, after you and Yoongi decided to meet up with Seokjin to discuss how Yoongi was going to be signed under KSJ records. Seokjin had talked about the big plans he had in pushing Yoongi towards the spotlight—and goals like an album, a concert, and meet-and-greets around the country had been promised for Yoongi’s first year.

And of course, Yoongi was completely enchanted by the promises. Just one final ‘of course’ confirmation to have you as his manager, and Yoongi was signing on the dotted line. Truth be told, you didn’t know what KSJ records would have in store for Yoongi—how long that glimmer of passion would remain in the boy’s eyes.

A year later, and you acknowledge that you might have underestimated Kim Seokjin. As a former performer, he knew all the ins and outs of the music industry and his well established connections as well as his good ear for good music meant that Yoongi was allowing his music to get the treatment it deserved. Pair that with Yoongi’s growing popularity on Youtube, and it all equates to an EP that debuts with tens of thousands of copies sold within the first week. The EP itself hadn’t been much—just six songs that contained a mix of old songs and new songs, but all written by Yoongi. His previous (although small) experience with producing and arrangement allowed him constant access into the various studios at KSJ records, where he learned from all the other producers on how to make good music.

The hands-on, personal touch Seokjin allowed Yoongi to deliver in his music had been a good call and a large contributor to the success of the EP. You recall fans praising the album and talking about how it matched Yoongi’s youtube aesthetic perfectly, but just with the higher quality element that top notch equipment could bring to music.

In a way, the current atmosphere of concerts and meet-and-greets is just a way to celebrate the success of Yoongi’s music career launching off into the stratosphere.

“Hey.” There’s a gentle tap against your head, and you jump before turning to face Yoongi in the seat next to you. “You good?”

You blink, bringing your finger up to brush the hair out of your face. “Yeah, just spaced out.”

“Cool. I thought you might have fallen asleep.”

“If anyone should have fallen asleep by now, it’s you,” You point out. “I think that today’s meet-and-greet was the largest one you’ve had so far.”

“Don’t worry,” Yoongi says. “I have every intention of following asleep as soon as I fall into bed. Plus, don’t let me hold a pen for the next week—I think my wrist almost fell off.”

You laugh, angling yourself so you can face him. “But you love it, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s gaze softens as he lets your question sink in. “Course I do. I never realized how cool it would be to have an audience sing my lyrics back to you. More than that, it was all lyrics I used to write in the apartment, or in between lectures back at college, or late into the night on my phone… back when the idea of all this was just a dream.” He pivots his body towards you, eyes bright as the passion for his current place in life seems to have gotten him hyped up again. “You know, during the meet and greet, this girl came up to me all confidently and told me that my album got her through a tough time. I think that’s when it really hit me that this was all happening.”

The corner of your lips quirk up into a smile. “Oh yeah, I actually do remember you writing those songs and you showing me the lyrics. You speak from the heart, and your fans understand that. Helps that you’re pretty cute too. Anyone with eyes could see that.” As soon as those words escape your lips, you almost want to chide yourself and immediately throw yourself out of the car. Why would you say something like that—why would you openly admit to Yoongi’s cuteness? Your face grows warm at the realization, leaving you to hope that Yoongi won’t notice your flustered state.

Yoongi doesn’t notice. He’s too busy gawking at your observation, too busy tearing his gaze away from you to stare firmly out of the car window.

Jungkook simply shifts his gaze between the two of you.

In the midst of the silence, you fish out your phone and start scrolling through your social media pages. Due to the third party cookie ads that follow you around, you immediately notice news of Yoongi’s concert of the day has started hitting various news sites—most articles praising Yoongi on his song selections and live adaptations of his music to suit the concert style more. Reading these articles leave you unable to stop the grin, because Yoongi deserves this so fucking much that you could have sworn your heart sings a little as you continue reading.

It’s a moment that lasts for only a couple of seconds, as recommended articles start coming up that do well in setting up the gray cloud. With the increased amount of attention that comes from being a newly top rated best selling album artist, so does the intrusion into personal life that follows—the dark side of the media, the side that just loves to stick its nose in places it does not belong. It’s something that you had been seeing since Yoongi’s youtube account hit five hundred thousand, but at the time these kinds of questions were more dark shadows or curious inquiries taken in the form of casual comments.

Now, those questions have become much more normalized, as a common curiosity seems to have taken form from all these drama articles: was Min Yoongi dating anyone? And even better: who is Min Yoongi writing all his love songs for?

As if love was limited to romantic relationships, and wasn’t a feeling one could recreate from other love songs or romantic comedies. Or just the feelings of growing up.

“We’re here!” Taehyung calls from the front seat, as you jump up from your train of thought. Refocusing on your surroundings, you realize that you’ve made it into the parking lot of the hotel.

You sigh, regathering your belongings that have moved around during the drive. “Thanks, Taehyung.”

“Hey.” Taehyung utters for you to come closer to him as soon as the pair of you step out of the car. He jerks toward Yoongi, who is exiting from his side of the car before quickly side-stepping to let Jungkook come out as well. “Was that flirting back there?”

You protest hotly at once, your hand raising up and wave side-to-side frantically in complete denial. “N-No, it wasn’t—!”

“Okay, good,” Taehyung interrupts, leaning back to stuff his hands into his pants pockets. “Because if that was the case I think we would have had to re-evaluate your definition of flirting—!”

“Will you stop?” You squeak.

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi asks, having rounded around the car to stare over at you and Taehyung.

You whirl around quickly, tightening up your expression once more to make sure that any remnants of your conversation with Taehyung would be undetected. “Yep!” You say immediately. “Everything is fine. Let’s get going, yeah?” You allow Jungkook to lead the four of you out of the parking lot and into the elevator that’ll take you to the main floor of the hotel room. Yoongi has to slip on a pair of glasses and a baseball cap, just on the off chance that a fan might be staying in the same room—it happened a few stops ago—before the four of you are making your way through the lobby. The four of you have reserved four separate rooms for your overnight stay in the city, rooms that you have already checked into earlier that day, so it feels nice to just make your way to the elevator and select the correct floor.

Taehyung decides to check in first for the night, waving you all off and congratulating Yoongi on another well done performance. Jungkook lingers around as you make your way to Yoongi’s room next.

“Thanks for walking me,” Yoongi says, sliding the key card into the slot and pulling out when he hears the beep of confirmation on his door.

Jungkook flashes him a thumbs up. “Good show today. Now get some rest.”

Yoongi nods, just about to close the door when you make a sudden noise from the back of your throat. “OH!” You call out suddenly, startling both boys as you reach your arm out suddenly to prevent Yoongi from closing the door. He had been so close too. “Sorry, I just realized. Seokjin sent me an email of some deadlines he wanted me to go over with you. Your sleep is gonna have to be put on hold.”

Yoongi grumbles something under his breath.

You turn to look at Jungkook. “We’ll be fine, Jungkook, go rest up—you deserve it.”

Jungkook nods, grinning at Yoongi. “See you guys around.”

“No fair…” Yoongi pouts as he watches Jungkook stroll down the hall to reach his hotel room. “Why do they get to rest and I don’t? I’m so tired…”

“Well, this is the price of fame,” You retort with the shrug of your shoulders. “You have your face the paparazzi want to see, and the name that sells the albums. Naturally, it means you just have to put in more work than everyone else.”

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, still pouting but less so as he opens the door once more for the both of you to enter. “When you put it that way…”

You giggle behind him. “For the fans, Min Yoongi.”

You immediately task yourself with throwing yourself atop his bed, surprisingly put together despite the fact that you had checked everyone in earlier that day. You would have assumed he would have taken a nap. But the bed doesn’t look slept in at all.

Yoongi notices your observation immediately. “I was too nervous to fall asleep earlier today,” He provides, taking a seat on the couch on the other side of the room. “So what was it that Seokjin needed you to go over with me?”

“It’s short, I promise,” You reassure, pulling out the iPhone from your pocket. As soon as you unlock the device, you’re faced with the articles you had previously been looking up—the ones about Yoongi’s dating life. Without meaning to, you sigh heavily at the sight.

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

You jerk up. “Oh, no, nothing sorry. I just…” You hold the phone up for Yoongi to see. “These articles about you and your dating life—it’s getting worse.”

“Oh.” Yoongi’s fingers fiddle with each other. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few of those floating around too. Honestly, for someone who writes a lot of songs about love, these curiosities don’t really surprise me. I wish that they wouldn’t be so intrusive.”

“Unfortunately, people always think it’s their right to know who these love songs are for.” You spare him a quick glance, only to realize that he’s already staring at you. Hastily, you look back down. “If the songs are even for anyone, that is.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “Right.”

“Anyways…” You exit your internet app, tapping through until Seokjin’s email comes up. “Seokjin just wants to know your progress on the new songs. He’s trying to gauge your progress so he can see whether or not to arrange studio time for you to start recording.”

The new songs—it’s a reference to Seokjin’s next plan for Yoongi’s career. With the launch of the EP and the current success that it has been harboring, it makes sense that the next step would be to launch a full-length album. Technically it could be called a repackage, since the album would most likely feature a few songs from the EP and cover the rest of the spots with new music.

But aforementioned new music takes time to write, not that Yoongi ever had a problem with writing music. That has always been second nature for him—and was something he could do anywhere so long as he had a functioning, conscious mind. It was all just a matter of whether or not he could create the required number of actual songs within the scheduled deadline. With those higher expectations, time definitely plays the biggest issue and it makes sense if Yoongi couldn’t write proper songs given the current circumstances.

Nonetheless, Yoongi nods at the question. “I actually have rough drafts of most of the songs, if that was okay with Seokjin. We could probably schedule some meetings to polish up the writing, since a lot of them are still in the beginning stage.”

You blink at his answer, surprised by his response. You had been expecting one, or maybe two songs to be written out but to have all eight songs written out? “W-Wow…” You utter. “You wrote so many songs so quickly.”

Yoongi shrugs, but he does look a little prideful at your words. You don’t notice his lingering gaze. “I have a lot to reflect on, what can I say.”

“I-I mean,” You stammer, not really hearing his response. “I could schedule the meeting with Seokjin, but if he knows that you have everything basically done, he’ll probably be okay with giving you a little more time to polish up your work yourself.”

Yoongi ponders this, but he shakes his head. “No, go ahead and schedule the meeting. It’s actually nice having extra hands in the music.”

You nod. “Alright then, I’ll go and do that. I think I should also just go over tomorrow’s schedule with you.” Quickly, you relay the time details of what tomorrow’s day will look like since you’re flying out for another show the next morning. You give him some details about the stage, how many people are going, and how many people he will be meeting afterwards. It’s a standard review conversation, one of the many that you’ve had with Yoongi over the year. “And… that should be it,” You wrap up as soon as you’ve reviewed the day. Looking over the schedule once more, you cannot help but sigh once more.

“What is it this time?” Yoongi asks from the side.

“Oh, no nothing!” You reassure with a promising smile. “Just another busy day.”

Yoongi gives you a grin, but you can see the exhaustion clinging to the corner of his eyes. “There’s only a few more stops left of the concert—what happened to you being positive rock?”

At that, you laugh nervously. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.” You clench a fist in front of him and pump it up to showcase a display of energy. “Another day of excitement and one more day towards fulfilling your dreams!” You lower your fist and give him a slightly dryer look. “How was that?”

“I could have done without the look at the end, but it’ll do, I guess.” Yoongi stands up from his place on the couch and throws himself atop his bed. His head ends up near you, his back on the mattress, and his feet dangling off the side. “There’s only a few stops left of the tour, and for some people this is their first time seeing me live. And for other people, maybe they saw me back when I would perform on the streets, so in that case it’s their first time seeing me perform on a stage and everything!” He lifts one of his hands up into his field of view. “Either way, I just want to do the best I can for the people that take time out to come see me and support me. Because I owe them everything—I owe them more than what I can give them.”

You don’t say anything to that. What could you say, anyways? Instead, you reach over and run your fingers through his hair. After a second, you retract your hand. You shouldn’t let yourself linger for too long anyways. “It’s late,” You say, a tone of finality in your voice. “I should head to my room. I’ll make sure to let Seokjin know your update.” You slide off the bed into a standing position. “You should get some rest.” You turn to him. “You may not think you can pay back your fans, but you probably help them out every single day. The same way they help you out too.”

Yoongi tilts his head back to see you. Upside down, but still look at you nonetheless. He grins. “There’s that positive energy I was looking for. Thanks.”

You laugh, already making your way towards his hotel room door. “Thank me by giving me another kickass performance tomorrow. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”

The following weeks of concert tours pass by without a hitch. To Yoongi, any event now that doesn’t end up with a torn sleeve and nail scratches up and down his arm is a success. And you haven’t freaked out for the remaining dates as you had when security had been at its worst—so he’d consider that the icing on top of the cake. Although he’s glad to finally be be home and be anchored to his own bed and be in his own space for the first time in months, he knows that his first concert experience to celebrate his first EP had truly been a memorable undertaking.

And it had been more successful than anyone at KSJ records could have predicted. At least, that’s what Seokjin tells him when Yoongi arrives at the studio the following day to start going through the process of polishing up his song lyrics.

“It seems that you really enjoyed yourself throughout the tour,” Seokjin remarks as Yoongi steps into the former’s office. Seokjin is scrolling through some articles on his laptop. He closes it as Yoongi takes a seat and regards the younger boy with a look of curiosity and wonder. “How was it?”

Yoongi brightens. “So much fun. I didn’t realize how cool it would feel to have audience members sing song lyrics right back at me, but that was probably my favorite moment.”

“Ah, of course, first time for everything as they always say.” Seokjin folds his fingers atop one another. “And how was your team?” He says your name, given that you are Yoongi’s manager. “Along with Jungkook and Taehyung? I wish I could have given you more people, but we didn’t know how crazy moving you around was going to be.”

Yoongi nods. “I mean… it was fine. Jungkook was really good.” He can’t help but think that Jungkook should have been good—after all, Yoongi is the reason why Jungkook has been getting safe with job security recently. “And Taehyung too. I think having the small team was good because we ended up all getting really connected and had this whole system in place after a few stops.”

“I heard a fan tore your sleeve,” Seokjin points out, looking mildly concerned. “How did that go?”

“Oh, it was just a one time thing,” Yoongi tries to brush off with the wave of his hand. He thinks of you, because of course he does. He mentions you. “She would tap the fans who were getting too close. It was reassuring, honestly.”

“That’s good to hear,” Seokjin says. “And I’ve heard that you’ve been making a lot of headway with the upcoming album. So we’re definitely gonna set some time for us to go through the lyrics and structure what you’ve come up with already. But I did want to go over something with you first—the main reason I called you in, actually.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Okay, what’s up?”

Seokjin re-opens his laptop, and clicks through a few links before he’s pivoting the laptop in a 180 degree motion so Yoongi can see the screen. At once, he’s faced with several articles, all centering around the topic that has been haunting him since the beginning of his concert journey. He gets a flashback to one of the nights you came into his hotel room to discuss scheduling, and how you had mentioned this particular topic showing up more and more.

Yoongi had known it was becoming a problem. He just didn’t think it was something that required urgent discussion.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, your growing popularity means that people are developing a growing interest in your relationship. Since you are labeled specifically as a song-writer who writes songs about growing up, struggles, and love, this only heightens people’s curiosity.”

Yoongi allows Seokjin to continue talking, as he moves forward in his chair to actually scroll through one of the articles Seokjin has pulled up. It’s entitled: UP AND COMING SINGER SONGWRITER MIN YOONGI IS DEFINITELY IN A RELATIONSHIP, BUT WITH WHO? As he scrolls down, there’s several people that are listed as potential girlfriends to Yoongi’s partnership—some people he does not know at all, some people he has only seen once.

You’re on the list too, and Yoongi’s eyes widen when he identifies your picture amongst the lot. He zeroes in on the description underneath the simple title: Yoongi’s manager? Although most manager and artist relationships are platonic, we can’t leave this one out! Fans have tracked down Min Yoongi’s current manager as an old assistant from Min Yoongi’s youtube days, so there’s definitely some history between them!

“This article has been blowing up. You may or may not know, but people making assumptions about your relationship status could be dangerous. Since you write songs about relationships, it leaves a lot of room for error and scandals, especially if news sites decide to publish something or someone else with bad intentions try to claim you wrote a song about them. Or something else of the sort.”

Yoongi nods slowly at that, not entirely understanding what direction Seokjin is going with his build up. It makes sense though. Leaving Yoongi out in the open like this could be dangerous for his career. “S-So, what ideas do you have to combat that?”

“I’ve been thinking about this in the recent weeks you’ve been on tour,” Seokjin says quietly, pressing his hands together. “I think that we should push your relationship status into the public—get you a girlfriend to maintain your ‘pure romantic heart’ reputation so it looks like you’re writing love songs solely for your girlfriend.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in. “Aaaaah,” Yoongi finally says, but his voice sounds far away all of a sudden, the further time seems to creep on. Sure, he’s seen this concept of surface relationships between in film and television—and the idea of it makes some sense. For someone whose best songs were related to moments of being in love, surely most people would suspect that the inspiration for those songs had to come from somewhere. If Yoongi came out to admit his lack of relationship experience, would people approve of that? Or would they think he was lying?

In that regard then, it makes sense that Seokjin would come up with the idea. But faking a relationship for the sake of faking a relationship has never been something Yoongi thought he would ever have to go through.

Mainly because first of all—who would play Yoongi’s girlfriend?

Now, Yoongi isn’t the worst actor in the world. But he can be stiff at times, and if Seokjin wants to push a relationship status into the public eye then Yoongi imagines that this girlfriend would be someone Yoongi felt the most natural around. Someone he wouldn’t mind pretending to be in a relationship with.

Would Yoongi even get a say in the matter? Or would Yoongi’s approval be the only requirement before Seokjin went off to find a girlfriend for Yoongi himself?

“D-Did you have someone in mind?” Yoongi finds himself asking instead.

Seokjin hums, tapping his chin with his finger. “Not at the moment. I just wanted to bring it up with you in case you had an idea for someone.” Mindlessly, he reaches to take back the laptop and flip it back towards him. This exposes him to the article Yoongi had been previously scrolling through—one where pictures of you are plastered over the current screen.

At the sight, Seokjin wavers slightly, staring down your pictures and furrowing his eyebrows. Yoongi looks over, noticing immediately that the laptop (and the pictures of you from that article) is no longer right in front of him but rather in front of Seokjin instead. When he glances over at Seokjin, he finds the older man lost in thought, running the side of his finger across his lip. Back and forth, clearly pondering something.

“Yes…” Seokjin says after a moment. “That could work, actually.” He looks across the desk at Yoongi. “Good idea, Yoongi. I think originally, I would have said no, but these pictures and this description actually makes a valid point.”

Yoongi blinks, not really connecting the dots right away. “Uh, sorry, Seokjin, but I’m not really following…”

Seokjin makes a noise, gesturing to his laptop screen that he has just gotten back from Yoongi. “You were suggesting Y/N as your fake girlfriend, weren’t you? I’m assuming that’s why you stopped on these pictures. My initial thought was that it probably wouldn’t work, but actually considering your history with each other it seems like this could be the most likely case scenario.”

It takes another second for the information to fully process. You. His fake girlfriend. Seokjin misunderstanding that unintentionally stopping on your pictures meant that Yoongi was trying to convey some sort of message.

You—playing the role of his fake girlfriend, the ‘supposed’ inspiration for all his music. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ironic.

It would be funny if you didn’t inspire all of his music—but you do. And Yoongi isn’t laughing.

He should say something. He knows that it would make sense, as Seokjin is claiming, but it would also potentially inch him towards a can of worms he has been so sure would never see the sunlight. More than that, having you as his fake girlfriend would bring him the closest he has ever been to feeling hopeful.

He really should say something.

But for some reason, the words don’t come out. He just lets Seokjin believe his ingenious plan. “Yes, yes!” Seokjin continues after the many moments of silence that lapse between the two of you. “This could work actually. You guys have known each other for years, and older fans of yours from the youtube days would definitely recognize Y/N. That way, the announcement of your relationship wouldn’t seem entirely out of line, especially if we say that you guys have been dating for years. It also makes sense that we could say you becoming Yoongi’s ‘manager’ was always part of a cover up—after all, that’s what they did in that movie That Thing You Do…”

The more Seokjin drones on and on about his plan, and how exactly he intends to work up to it, the more nervous Yoongi gets. Was Seokjin actually planning on doing this—enlist you as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend and drag you along to participate in this facade? Yoongi is mildly shocked. He should have known Seokjin would follow through on the question, but he had just assumed that today was just the idea phase and that plans to arrange this fake relationship would take weeks.

But if there’s anything Yoongi knows about Seokjin, it’s that the man knows how to get something done. Quickly, too. In Seokjin’s word, it’s a natural occurrence for a simple idea phase to morph into actual concrete plans within the time span of a day. Yoongi should have planned this out better—but then again, he didn’t think that him accidentally stopping on a picture of you from a fucking drama article would serve as the catalyst for Seokjin’s ideas.

Yoongi straightens up onto his feet. “Why don’t I talk to Y/N first about this?” He asks. “The idea may seem good on paper, but if she’s uncomfortable then it’s a no go.”

Seokjin studies Yoongi carefully, before the former relents. “Okay, fair enough. Let me know what happens.”

As soon as the pair of them exchange the last nods, Yoongi is dashing out of Seokjin’s office with one clear objective in mind: to talk to you.

Luckily, you aren’t too far away. You’re in your office, typing up something on your laptop and your eyes scanning through what he can only assume are emails. It’s eyes that widen when Yoongi practically storms into your space, shutting the door behind him.

You straighten up. “Yoongi, you alright? You look like you just ran a marathon.”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize that his chest is heaving until you point that out. He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t run a marathon though.”

Your eyebrows furrow, but the corner of your lips turn up in mild curiosity. “Okay. What’s up?”

Yoongi presses his lips together. Even with the many feet of space between the two of you—he can make out the glimmer in your eyes from the sunlight pouring through the window, he can see the shadow of your eyelashes and the line where your collarbone dips below your blouse. Fuck, he’s in deep. There’s no way he could ask you something so monumental to the downfall of his sanity. But he knows that it’s too late to just walk away. Partly because he’s already in your office and partly because the idea has already been planted into Seokjin’s head. And if Yoongi didn’t speak up, then Seokjin was going to.

So Yoongi opens his mouth. “I may or may not have gotten you into a situation,” He starts up.

You snort, of course not taking him seriously. “That might just be the summary of our relationship.”

“No, I don’t think you understand…” Yoongi pleads, stepping deeper into the office.

You frown at his behavior, closing your laptop this time to address him completely. “Okay, what’s up, really? You’re kind of scaring me…”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not… scary or anything…” He trails off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Let me be the judge of that.”

So Yoongi shoves his hands deep into his coat pocket, and slides next to your desk, leaning against the surface as he starts his story. He covers everything: from Seokjin bringing up the drama articles about his relationship status, how he had scrolled through and saw your name, how Seokjin had misinterpreted that as a sign, and worse of all, how Seokjin thought it would be a good idea for you to play as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend.

To say you’re appalled would be an understatement. You’re staring up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Are you serious?” You ask. “B-But I’m your manager!” You scoff at yourself. “No, more than that—I’m your friend, Yoongi. Seokjin must be on something. He has to be. What did you guys decide on? Please tell me that you said no.”

“W-Well, there was no agreement or disagreement,” Yoongi argues weakly. “I walked out before Seokjin could make up his mind.” He pauses for a moment, something sinking in. “Wait a minute,” He brings up, a slightly teasing smile across his face. “Do you really find the idea of dating me that gross?”

You make a noise in the back of your throat at his accusation, and you immediately begin to scramble. “I-I mean,” You start, the flush present in your throat as you start speaking very quickly at once. Both your hands go up in a defensive position. “It’s not that I don’t find you gross… because I don’t! You’re a very attractive person—it’s just that—we’re friends and—stop looking at me like that!” You stand up, slamming your palms onto the table when you realize that he’s just flashing you a shit-eating grin.

He has half the mind to be mildly disheartened that you are so against the idea of dating him. But then again, he’d probably say no to fake dating you if he was being forced into a situation like this. He’d definitely say no.

Okay, he’d probably say no.

“Well, I told Seokjin that if you were uncomfortable with the idea, then it’d be a no go and he seemed to respect the idea.”

Still standing, you sigh and press your face into the palm of your hand. Your fingers brush through your hair. “Okay, let’s step back for a moment.” You remove your hands from your face. “If I were to say yes, what exactly would that entail?”

Yoongi manages a weak one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not sure exactly. Seokjin would probably have a better idea of that. I imagine KSJ records would release a statement about our relationship, and we would be scheduled to go to variety shows or press interviews together. We’d probably have to go out to restaurants together too. Hold hands…” The thought of holding your hand dries up his throat a little, but he passes it off well by faking a cough. “That sort of stuff.”

You glare at him. “And what about your fans? You’re trying to preserve this ‘pure romantic heart’ image, but I’m sure there’s a lot of fans that like to believe the songs could be about them.”

He shrugs. “That—I’m not too sure about. I imagine Seokjin prefers the idea of my fans believing that my heart only belongs to one person rather than them believing that I’ll just write a love song for anyone.”

You nod. “That’s valid, I guess.”

Yoongi stares at you from the smaller space of distance between the two of you. “Again, you don’t have to say yes. Frankly, I think it’s a batshit crazy idea.”

“It’s not… completely out of line.” After a moment, you sigh. “I can actually understand why Seokjin would get the idea of trying to set you up like this. The news articles will probably get worse. And since your songs market themselves on being personal, people want to know who the songs are about. If Seokjin gave the public a face, then there’d be no room for assumptions and even less room for scandals to come about.” You give him a look. “Sadly, if you were to stay single, there’s only so much I could do as your manager to control that bad press.”

Yoongi raises both his eyebrows up. “Does that mean you’re saying yes—?”

“I’m not… saying anything yet.” You plop yourself back down into your seat. “I’m not saying yes. But I’m not saying no either.” You sink further into your seat. “Hopefully Seokjin will change his mind before I have to make up mine?”

That’s an unlikely case. But Yoongi doesn’t argue with you, and you don’t wait for him to. He simply nods one more time before leaving your office.

You would be lying if you said you never thought about dating Yoongi. Of course you have. You’re sure that you’ve had a crush on the boy within the first week of your introductions. This crush explains so many of your past actions—your support for his Youtube channel, your fulfillment as his manager, and now this pull towards agreeing to become his fake girlfriend. And you hate yourself for the every second you consider it a good idea.

Because it’s not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. More than that, it’s an unfair idea. Agreeing to fake date someone you actually want to date seems like too cruel a hand to be dealt. Considering your more-often-than-not fragile state, setting yourself up with Yoongi in this way already seems doomed to fail. It would be unfair to Yoongi, because agreeing to this would deprive him of an actual relationship he could be happy in. But it would be more unfair to you, because losing control would mean losing your best friend.

So you don’t give Yoongi a positive confirmation. But you don’t give him a negative one either. See, you don’t have the heart to just outwardly reject him, because you know that he needs you to help him with this. You know that he understands the situation he’s been put in, and that getting a fake girlfriend seems to be the best case scenario. You know that it wouldn’t make sense with any other girl—it had to be you. Saying no straight to face is something that you don’t have the heart to do.

Rather than give a yes or no answer, you opt for the second best option: hold off and avoid indulging too deeply.

It’s a strategy that works for a grand total of one day.

The following day post Yoongi’s conversation, you show up to work with information that Yoongi is going to start recording songs for his new album. His first full-length album, at that—something he has been working hard for since the beginning. Every second of free time available to him during the tour, during off-days had been dedicated to writing the music necessary to fill the album. You know how hard he’s been working—you’ve watched throughout the duration of his tour, and spoke to him for many nights about the progression of this album.

You just didn’t think that the recording part would be coming around so soon.

This is a thought you reflect to Seokjin when you enter the recording studio. Yoongi is already behind the glass, and his voice is amplified in the studio, where they appear to be discussing the arrangement for how a song is going to go. This leaves you vaguely surprised—if Yoongi is in the booth already, it means that there must have been some ground covered on how the arrangement was supposed to go. Just how long has Yoongi been in the studio before you showed up?

“Ah, good morning,” Seokjin greets from the back of the studio, seated on the couch and his arms resting along the back. “Don’t get mad, but Yoongi worked through the night again.”

Your lips part into a gape as your eyes widen in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking,” You return.

Seokjin merely laughs in return. “I wish I was! When I left, he was going at it with Namjoon and when I came back this morning they were still going at it. But, you know, who am I to rain in on a breakthrough moment?”

You relent your control of the situation slightly (only slightly) at Seokjin’s rhetorical question. Namjoon is one of Seokjin’s top producers and arrangers—very gifted in songwriting and how to make a good song. From the year that you and Yoongi have been a part of KSJ records, Yoongi and Namjoon have gotten along great and their close relationship has been the reason for many late nights. The pair of them were always caught in the drift of making sleepless but record-selling hits.

Like Seokjin said, who are you to interrupt art in progress?

Although you have a sudden flurry of desires and objectives (mainly to reprimand Yoongi for being so careless with a slap or a hit where you could put him to sleep yourself), you bite it down long enough to shed your jacket and rest it on the armrest of the couch. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it go this time.”

Seokjin chuckles at that, removing his gaze from you and sliding it across the studio back into the booth where Yoongi is still in the midst of discussing something with Namjoon. Something about how the arrangement isn’t as smooth or on beat as they had originally intended. “You’re a good manager,” He says at last. “I can tell that you really do care about him and will definitely give him a peace of your mind once he’s done with today’s session. And what’s more…” He laughs. “He’ll actually let you walk all over him. You’d be surprised how often I see managers in it just for the money, where they don’t have their artist’s best interest in mind. You’re definitely not like that.”

You slide into the vacant seat next to Seokjin. “If I don’t keep an eye on him, I know that no one else will. It’s nothing against other people, but no one else in his life is as involved in his career as I am. But I’m his friend first, and his manager second.”

The pair of you are quiet for a moment, as you watch Namjoon fiddle with some of the switches on the music panel. They seem to come to an agreement on the newly modified beat, because it starts playing through the speakers in the booth. Yoongi presses his hands against the headphones he’s wearing, and starts to relay the lyrics into the microphone. It starts off slow—Yoongi has his phone in his hands to read the lyrics, to double check the flow and the tempo. After a few lines, he stops. “Ah—let’s reword this line. I do like the change we made to the music, so let’s change the lyrics to match.” His voice is amplified through the studio.

Namjoon presses a button on the music panel, allowing him to communicate with Yoongi. “Sure. Want to head in and make the changes?”

Yoongi ponders this for a moment, but shakes his head. “Give me a second. Maybe if I listen to the song again, I can feel what I vibe with.”

“Sounds good.” Namjoon releases his hold on the button, and turns around in his chair to face you and Seokjin. The sight of you makes his eyes widen, as Namjoon coughs back a choke. “O-Oh, Y/N, you’re here—!”

His words make you narrow your eyes as you point a finger at him. “YAH! Which one of you was it that contributed to your all-nighter?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Namjoon protests, raising both of his hands up in defense. “We were both in the groove!”

You lower your finger with a sigh. “You’re lucky that you’re in the middle of helping Yoongi achieve his dreams. Otherwise I’d kick both of your asses.”

Namjoon seems to realize that you’re not messing around, because he emits a nervous laugh. “I promise we’ll be a little more careful next time…”

“Oh, Namjoon, I rewrote some of the lines!” Yoongi calls from inside the booth.

Namjoon whirls around in his chair again to press the button. “Sounds good, let’s do it.”

As the music starts up again, Seokjin decides to speak up once more. “Yoongi told me that he talked to you about the little fake dating plan I had.”

The mention of it, as well as your previous internal insistence of not talking or thinking about that, makes you stiffen. “He might have mentioned something like that.”

When you turn to look at Seokjin, he has an unreadable look glinting in his eyes. “Since you were talking about achieving Yoongi’s dreams and all…” He trails off. “I wanted to apologize for bringing that idea onto you so quickly. I didn’t really consider how you’d feel about the arrangement. I just wanted to try and do what I thought was best for Yoongi.”

You sigh. “I know why you thought of the idea. And I totally agree with you—I think that if he wants to carry on, this is the least costly next step that should be taken. I just… I don’t know if I’m the best fit for it.”

Seokjin nods. “I respect your decision. After all, Yoongi told me that if you were uncomfortable with it, then it’d be an immediate no go.”

The corner of your lips turns up upon hearing Yoongi’s thought process. Even though you’ve already heard the words from the man himself—it’s nice to hear that assurance from his boss. Knowing that Yoongi puts your thoughts and feelings on the forefront of his mind is a nice feeling. A misleading feeling if you let yourself think too deeply into it. But a nice feeling, nonetheless.

You decide not to comment immediately on Seokjin’s apology; rather, you tune into what exactly Yoongi is singing about in the song. It’s got a softer beat to it—an opening song to the album, perhaps? It’s much more whimsy compared to his hard-hitting personal rants that touch on the frustration of miscommunication, of not saying something when he should have said something.

Instead, this is a song about distance—about missing someone due to distance and the longing of returning home because of the normality it brought. About how even closeness sometimes isn’t enough to fill the gap of desire in his heart. It takes on a beat you’ve never heard before, and a feeling of missing something that isn’t even tangible for you as a listener. Nevertheless, his words, his raspiness, and the hard lines hidden within the otherwise soft tone of the song work hard to poke at your edges and your weak spots. The parts of you that have always been willing to cave for Yoongi, the part of you that has never hesitated to do what needed to be done if it benefited Yoongi.

You were his manager, so you always want what’s best for him. But you’re also a friend who has been in love with him for years, so you will do whatever it takes to get him there.

You hope you don’t regret this.

“Actually,” You admit quietly, but it’s loud enough to perk Seokjin’s attention. “I’ll do it.”

Seokjin blinks, clearly trying to process your words right off the bat. “You’ll…” He trails off.

You look away. You have a feeling that if Seokjin looks at you for too long, he’ll see your emotions spill out across the entire fucking studio. “Do the fake dating idea.”

Seokjin fumbles a little. “H-Hold on a second—are you sure? Seriously, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. Since you’re the one least adjusted to being in the spotlight, a lot of this pressure is going to fall onto you. I don’t want you to say yes and then regret it later on… so maybe you should think a little more about this…”

You steel yourself. It feels a little bit like holding your breath. Finally, you spare Seokjin a look. “I won’t regret it,” You say. “You and I both said that Yoongi needs me to keep going at this pace—I was going to get roped in eventually, so I think it’ll just be easier if I agree now rather than drag this thing around for a couple of months. Besides…” You try to relax a little in your seat, but it’s hard to tell if you’re being convincing or not. “It’s nothing too serious right? You just want us to go out together, hold hands occasionally, speak highly of each other… We already do half of those things but it’ll just be emphasized now. No big deal.”

Seokjin is wearing that unreadable look in his eyes again, like he knows something that you don’t even know yourself. “You’re right,” He settles with after a long pause. “It’s nothing too serious. You’ll probably have people also digging into your space though, but we’ll make all the necessary arrangements before any sort of announcement.”

“If that’s the case,” You reply. “Then I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Besides.” You try for a smile. “It’s all just fake anyways, right? As long as the ones who really matter know that, then I don’t really see the harm in it.”

Seokjin only continues to stare at you, before he relents. You know just as well as he does that your decision is one of an adult, and that if you really had a problem with something you would vote your opinion without hesitation. No matter if he can somehow read the thoughts in your head.

At last, he nods. “We might need you to sign another NDA but…” He extends an arm out towards you. “Welcome abroad, Min Yoongi’s girlfriend.”

You laugh a little, hollow but still present, as you reach over to take his head. “We’ll start having problems if that nickname becomes a regular thing.”

Seokjin laughs a little louder, a complete opposite of his more quiet and observant side displayed just a few seconds ago. “Don’t worry—just for formalities. HEY, Namjoon, let me talk to Yoongi for a second.” He practically throws himself off of the couch and towards the music panel where Namjoon and Yoongi are still mid-discussion about another aspect of music you do not understand. Namjoon relents, pushing himself and his chair off to the side as Seokjin comes up to press the button on the panel that allows for discussion between the booth and the studio. “Hey, Min Yoongi, there’s been some discussions behind the scenes. Say hello to your new girlfriend!”

There’s a brief silence in the studio, and Yoongi’s eyes immediately bug out of his head like this is the last thing he expected to hear on this very casual Wednesday morning. Knowing the agenda for the day, it probably has been. “What?” Yoongi says after a long moment, his voice amplified by the speakers in the studio.

Seokjin turns towards you, jerking his head at the booth, and you get up with a sigh. You approach the music panel where Seokjin and Namjoon are currently situated—and aren’t sure how to feel when you see the way Yoongi’s eyes widen at the sight of you through the window.

Still, you cannot help your own weak smile as you lean in towards the microphone. “Hi honey,” You say.

Yoongi continues to stare at you, before his lips part and his face takes on a very unusual shade of red. “HUH?”

CHAPTER 3: THE ANNOUNCEMENT

KSJ records releases a statement within the next following days, and it gains momentum like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

HELLO, WE ARE KSJ RECORDS.

Recently, we acknowledge that many fans have developed a curiosity about the relationship status of our newest artist Min Yoongi. The release of his latest EP and the undertaking of his concert has left many questions regarding who he writes his songs for—and many of the different assumptions made by people around the world could leave very dangerous and lasting impressions on people that our artist sees as platonic. We want to respond properly and say the truth.

Min Yoongi has been in a relationship with his current manager, Y/N, for the past three years. When Min Yoongi was first signed to KSJ Records, they were already in a relationship and Y/N was assigned the task as Yoongi’s manager given her experience working alongside him during his Youtube career. They have good feelings about each other, and have agreed to make this information public to avoid future misunderstandings. KSJ Records and Yoongi hope that you all will support their relationship as they continue to navigate through Yoongi’s growing career together.

You cannot help but laugh a little at the statement, which is flying so close to the truth that it might as well have been your reality. And in a way, it is. You’ve already prepared, molded your online presence just barely to meet these new expectations to the new facade you have to put up.

And it’s not like the announcement actually changes anything in your daily life. In the days leading up to the post, you had decided to delete your Twitter account (you weren’t making much use of that platform anyways—what, with all the thirst accounts for Yoongi that you were stumbling upon due to internet cookies and the algorithm), and archive a fair number of your Instagram photos on an account that was already set to private. For someone who didn’t live and breathe social media, it wasn’t too hard to rid of that element in your life.

One thing you hadn’t really accounted for, however, were the news stories that wrote about you in the hours following the press release. Several of them were base-level lists about your childhood and how your relationship with Yoongi could have festered—most of which were correct given that older fans of Yoongi knew what university he attended and how you were also a student there. But that information is generally public, and it’s not like you attend the university anymore.

Other than that, there are a few comments on your looks, a few assumptions on your personality. But surprising, there’s nothing too severe. At least, from the surface-level information you can collect from just doing a basic google search. Social media would probably be a more difficult battle, one that you would need nerves of steel and a hardened heart in order to navigate, but like mentioned: professionally managing your own personal social media isn’t exactly your forte.

Over the next week, you follow Seokjin’s advice to lay low and let the news of your relationship with Yoongi continue to spread through the ranks. You spend that time in your apartment, answering a few messages from friends and family but doing what you could to keep the information as limited as possible. You assume that too many people knowing, regardless of how close or trustworthy they were, sort of went against the NDA you had to sign. And you’re not sure how your friends would react if they found out you were only dating Yoongi for a cover-up. Especially since some of them actually are fully aware of your feelings for him.

Regardless, you carry on. Yoongi sends you some screenshots he takes of supportive messages from his fans wishing the both of you the best in your relationship, and he also sends you some memes about your relationship that make you laugh. His fans have a good sense of humor, what could you say.

However, a week is the most you allow yourself to hide away within the comfort (and boring nature) of your apartment before you’re already texting Seokjin with news that you were showing up to the studio.

Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t question this. He calls you. “I was just about to ask if you were going to come over anyways!” He says in a rather upbeat nature. “So it’s good to hear that we’re both on the same page.”

So you step out of your apartment, dressed up in your usual work uniform and feeling much more put-together than you had been for the week you were ordered to remain quiet and lowkey. There’s something exciting about stepping out after being unable to do so for an extended period of time—and it shows in the little bounce that occurs with every step that you take down the sidewalk. Since you usually take the subway to work, you decide to dawn a bucket hat with a face mask tucked over your nose and mouth to blend in just enough but not so much so that your strange fashion choices could draw attention.

It doesn’t, and you enjoy the rocking of the subway racing down the tracks as you peer out of the window quietly. KSJ Records is just a few stops away from your apartment, so you waste no time standing out and stepping out as soon as the doors of the subway open at the right stop. You bound up the stairs, through the familiar pathways you’ve always taken to get to work, and after a few blocks, you arrive at the building of KSJ Records.

As you shoulder open the door, you greet the secretary behind the table, who smiles back at you. “Oh, good morning!” She greets cheerfully. “Seokjin is waiting for you in his office. I believe Yoongi is already with him.”

You nod. “Sounds good, thank you so much!” You bound deeper in, navigating through the different hallways until you arrive at Seokjin’s office. True to the word from the front desk, Yoongi is already there. He looks surprisingly meek for someone who has been trending on Twitter for a few days, but you suppose that he’s still trying to adjust to the fact that Seokjin’s plan is already in motion. After all, he didn’t even get the final say before Seokjin started taking the situation into his own hands. The last he had heard of it was your apparent agreement before Seokjin drew up a company statement for him to approve.

A part of you feels guilty—but Yoongi had been the one to ask you first! Perhaps he’s still in that normal state of uncertainty. After all, you feel like that as well.

“Good morning guys,” You greet as soon as you register who exactly is in Seokjin’s office. You close the door behind you as both boys turn to acknowledge you.

Seokjin grins. “Hi, thanks for coming in.”

You wave him off. “You gave me the week off. I was starting to get a little restless.” You take a seat in the other vacant chair, in front of Seokjin and besides Yoongi. “What’s up, Yoongi?”

Yoongi is already looking at you when you turn to greet him, but as soon as you ask your question, the corner of his lips quirk up into a vaguely uneasy and nervous smile. “H-Hi honey.”

You freeze at that, immediately furrowing your eyebrows as you produce your own nervous smile. “Hi?” You return. “What the fuck are you on?”

Seokjin interrupts before Yoongi can get an answer in. “Stop, stop, you’re way too stiff, Yoongi!”

“Well, I’m trying!” Yoongi spits, before looking back at you with an utterance of your name. “Sorry, Seokjin wanted me to try treating you the same way I would treat a girlfriend. Apparently I didn’t do too hot.”

“Not apparently, you just didn’t do hot at all,” Seokjin retorts back, flashing you an apologetic smile. “We were trying out a few moves easier to see how well you guys can adjust from having your normal manager slash artist relationship to displaying a long term, healthy and happy romantic relationship. It’s one thing to say that you guys are dating, but you guys do need to have something of an act ready.”

You fold your fingers over each other, your mind on a dissociation for the briefest of seconds as the realization sinks its teeth just a little deeper. Holding hands and saying cute shit to each other had been easy to talk about in passing dialogue to Seokjin—but actually having to do it is a hurdle you hadn’t considered to the fullest.

“I mean…” You speak up after a moment. “What if we’re just one of those couples that aren’t handsey with each other? Or don’t need that lovey dovey look in each other’s eyes to prove that we’re in a relationship?”

Seokjin ponders this for a second. “True. But if we’re starting this, there needs to be a full level commitment on the act. If people start questioning the legitimacy of your relationship, that would be an even worse scandal than just letting people make assumptions about Yoongi’s relationship status in general! We definitely, at least, need to develop a basic level of your relationship, and then you guys can work around your own varying levels of comfort. This is something that we need to get rolling as soon as possible, because you.” He points at Yoongi. “Are booked in the next few days to do some radio interviews. And you.” He points at you. “Are going to go with him, as his girlfriend.”

Even though you had known the label was coming, you can’t stop from feeling hot all over at how you were now technically Yoongi’s girlfriend.

“So,” Seokjin continues. “How about I give you a base level of what I’m looking for. And we can do a few practice runs to make sure you guys are comfortable enough with these expectations?”

Yoongi nods, leaving you little option but to do the same. But the thought from the recording booth bubbles up again: you hope you won’t regret this.

A few days later and you don’t think you’ll regret the outcome of this situation. But you’ll definitely get a little sick on the way.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” You say in the car. You’re sitting in the back, next to Yoongi, staring straight ahead at the passenger seat before you. “And stay all in one piece,” You add as an afterthought.

Yoongi glances over at you, looking nervous enough to admit a pout. “At least you don’t have to say anything—I’m the one doing all the talking…”

You huff out a breath. This is true. You’re just here to play the supportive girlfriend, the agreeable partner who’ll publicly accompany Yoongi to a public event since a public announcement. Seokjin says that doing this with the lense of a romantic relationship makes you seem friendly, open, and supportive of the relationship. You’re not too sure how public perception is shaped, but you understand where Seokjin is coming from. Tagging along to an event as a girlfriend instead of a manager makes you and Yoongi seem free. Like you have nothing to hide.

Only in reality, it’s the complete opposite. With everything coming out to the surface, you have everything to hide.

It only takes a few more minutes of driving before you arrive at the radio station. The instructions for today’s assignment have been easy: get out of the car, and walk the many steps needed to reach the entrance of the station. The empty step ahead is surrounded by paparazzi and fans, all screaming and shouting—trying to get their fill of Yoongi.

You sigh. You could do this. You and Yoongi have been practicing for the past few days. Albeit, ‘practicing’ just mainly consisted of the pair of you walking down a hallway close together. It was more lackluster than anything else, and you don’t think it was entirely productive use of time. Seokjin seemed to think that the pair of you needed to work on a closer level of proximity. But you know the truth about your feelings, and know that the complications will come from just being too close to him.

Yoongi unbuckles his seatbelt and is already moving to tug at the handle that’ll open his side of the car door, immediately exposing him to the walkway along with the flashing cameras and loud screams. Before he can pull all the way, however, he stops short. You’re about to ask what the problem is, before he angles towards you and flashes you that grin he has when he’s thinking of ideas you wouldn’t approve of. “I have an idea,” He breathes out, quickly reaching over to grab your hand.

You stiffen at the contact, trying to ignore the flash of your heart speeding up in your chest. You and Yoongi hadn’t agreed on this—if you had, maybe you would have been a little more prepared for the situation! Oh god.

On instinct, you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” You hiss.

Yoongi gives you a dry look, reaching over to grab your hand again. “Calm down,” He argues back, lacing your fingers together for extra measure, like that’s gonna be the thing to help you calm the fuck down. “This’ll help sell it, okay? Just trust me.”

Leaving little room for arguments, he squeezes your hand briefly before loosening it enough. He pulls the car door handle, pushing it outwards, and stepping out into the wild. People notice his appearance immediately, because the screams grow louder as Yoongi uses his unoccupied hand to wave and bow towards those who have come out to see him.

You trail behind rather helplessly; the hand connected to Yoongi pulling you out of the car. Yoongi stays near the door, staring down at you with a rather watchful gaze that only leaves you feeling hotter than before. Still, you don’t speak of it as Yoongi steps back just enough for you to step out of the car. “You okay?” He asks.

You nod, readjusting yourself with one hand before Yoongi starts to pull you alongside him to walk the distance towards the radio station entrance. Although you want to engage slightly with the crowd, your nerves keep you mainly at bay, forcing you to angle your head downwards just enough to avoid any serious eye contact. Yoongi keeps his gaze ahead, walking a rather brisk pace towards the radio studio—where security leads the way in opening the door for the pair of you. Whether he’s walking fast because he doesn’t want to keep up the charade of holding your hand for so long… or because he can feel how sweaty your palm is getting. You don’t know.

It’s only a few more steps before you and Yoongi are entering the building for the radio show, where Jungkook is lingering near the entrance. He’s on his phone, probably having just made a call with Seokjin about your arrival, before he spots the two of you entering. “Hey guys, how was it?”

Yoongi nods. “A little loud, but I think it went alright.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to your intertwined hands. “Wow, you guys are committed,” He comments.

You seem to remember that your soul has returned to the body that is still currently holding hands with Min Yoongi. Alarmingly, you take your hand back. “Y-Yeah, Yoongi thought it would be a good show for the people outside! No biggie—just a simple hand holding technique, people do that all the time!” You realize that you’re rambling.

Yoongi, oblivious as always, raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” You manage. “Why do you ask?”

Yoongi is about to answer, before an intern shyly approaches the three of you with an iPad in hand.

“Are you all under Mr. Min’s team?” She asks, fishing out some badges when you nod in confirmation. “Okay, so make sure to take these so everyone knows who you are. Mr. Min? I can lead you to the studio you’ll be interviewing in, if you’ll follow me—did you need me to grab a soda for you?” She begins listing a series of questions about his well-being, leaving you and Jungkook behind in the hallway with your newly acquired badges in hand.

Jungkook, observant as always, gives you a look. “What was that all about?”

“Huh? I-It was nothing…” You trail off looping the badge around your neck, meeting Jungkook’s eyes and realizing that he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. The same kind of grin that Taehyung gives you when you’re standing too close to Yoongi. Your eyes flare. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”

Jungkook laughs. “Calm down, calm down, Taehyung and I gossip a lot on the side—hey, what the fuck, don’t hit me—we’re in a public place!”

You relent your aggression, but only slightly. You lower your arms as well. “Just—don’t tell Yoongi.”

Jungkook levels with you a dry look. “Do you think I have a death wish? C’mon, let’s head over.”

With a hesitant sigh, you relent and let Jungkook lead you down the halls of this studio, until the pair of you find a door with Yoongi’s name written on the white board. There’s a darkened LIVE light panel above the frame, indicating that Yoongi’s radio interview hasn’t started yet. There’s some people lingering about, who nod and open the door for you when you present your TALENT badge at them. The inside of a radio booth is similar to the recording booths Yoongi has found a home in as of late. There’s people in this current room, headphones on and monitoring what’s happening before them while being surrounded with sound panels and laptop screens. On the other side of the glass is Yoongi, and the main hosts of the radio station, Jung Hoseok and Im Nayeon.

From your side, you can hear their conversation amplified through speakers in the studio. They’re all currently joking around about external matters—it makes sense too. Yoongi has been on this particular radio show a handful of times.

“Okay, okay, you guys,” Hoseok speaks after a few more minutes of playful banter. “Today, we have a very special guest with us today. He’s fresh off the tour of his first and most recent EP, we have Min Yoongi in the studio! Yay!” He claps. Nayeon follows suit.

Yoongi stops his clapping sooner to speak into the microphone in front of him. “Thanks for having me back.”

“Thank you for deciding to hang out with us for the afternoon,” Nayeon says. “Especially since you’re a big hot shot now.”

Yoongi laughs. “I wouldn’t say that… I just finished my first tour, Nayeon, no big deal.”

“‘No big deal’,” Nayeon quotes him. “As if your EP didn’t chart into a top 50 list or anything like that.”

The conversation trails like this for a little bit. Yoongi is scheduled to spend thirty minutes doing a segment, which is meant to be uploaded onto Youtube later, so it gives the three of them a lot of legroom to play around and play off of each other. The purpose of the interview is to discuss the tour, the progress of the album, and (if anyone dared venture there) the status of his relationship—!

“Well, moving on from the album—which I’m sure is going to be a huge success, by the way,” Nayeon continues on, bringing you back from the daydream that you’ve slipped into. “Seriously, it’s a very highly anticipated release.”

Yoongi manages a nervous smile. “I’ll make sure not to let anyone down.”

Nayeon nods. “I think it’s a good time to ask about a recent development that has occurred with you as of late.”

“And, that is the announcement of your relationship,” Nayeon carries on. She glances at Yoongi from across the table. “We’re allowed to ask you questions about it, right?”

Yoongi nods, choosing his words very carefully. “I’m all ears for your questions, Nayeon.”

Nayeon brightens at that. “I just think that a lot of people want to know: how are you guys doing since the announcement?”

He takes in a breath. To the general public, it’ll probably look as if he’s steeling himself to finally come clean about a relationship he’s been hiding for three years. But to you, you know it’s because he’s just trying to figure out what exactly to say.

“We’ve been doing well,” He says with a nod of assurance. “It was a little stressful at first, and it still is because of how recent the news is, but I am glad we decided to make this call. Y/N has been with me since the beginning and has supported me and has been the inspiration for a lot of my music—and I’m at a point in my life where I want my fans to know that rather than drag them along and just make them assume these parts of my life.”

“That’s so sweet,” Nayeon gushes. “So Y/N wasn’t always just your manager, even back in your Youtube days?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Actually, she was my girlfriend before I decided to upload song covers.”

Nayeon swoons a little. “Can you tell us the story of how we met? You can be brief, of course.”

Yoongi laughs. “We shared a class together in college, and she was probably the funniest person I had ever met—of course, we were friends for about a year before we started dating. But Y/N was always very supportive about me pursuing music, even when it was just a hobby. When I did start my Youtube channel, she stayed up to help with editing and just letting me know how some lyrics I had written would sound. She was a business major in college, so it felt right to let her have the reins on scheduling my appearances—and now she’s my manager. Besides just being my girlfriend, we work together really well.”

You huff out a breath, something you hadn’t even realized that you were holding. You didn’t think Yoongi lying straight through his teeth could cause you so much anxiety. As if there are people around this radio station to fact check everything leaving Yoongi’s mouth.

Nayeon hesitates for a moment. “Alright, I want to ask one more question.”

Yoongi gestures for her to continue.

“You write a lot about being in love and all these little moments of stability and that feeling of contentment—but what is your experience with love? How did you know that you were in love?”

Your lips part in shock at the question, having not expected it. After all, Seokjin didn’t quiz Yoongi on this answer. And to talk about love in such a personal manner—would Yoongi even have an answer for everyone?

Your gaze is trained on Yoongi, watching them through the glass separating you from him. It seems as if the entire room is silenced in anticipation. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze hot on your back, clearly trying to gauge your response—but you try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“It’s actually funny,” Yoongi speaks up after a moment. Your heart lurches, thinking that he’s going to divert from the question. But you should know him better. “I always thought love, when it came to romance, was supposed to be this big explosion of fireworks and what not—like in the movies. You see someone and there’s this feeling in your gut right away, you know, this whole concept of love at first sight. I used to think that was how I was going to fall in love. It was going to be dramatic, but everything I wanted right away, and I was going to be whisked off and everything would be sunshine and rainbows. I thought that I’d meet someone, and they’d be everything I wanted them to be right off the bat, and that I’d know right away they’d be the one.

But the truth is, through my relationship, I realized that it’s not like that. I didn’t know Y/N would be the one right away. It took a long time—because we liked each other, but that’s not the big explosion of fireworks I was promised. We liked each other, but it was never love at first sight. And truthfully, she wasn’t even everything I wanted right off the bat. I’ve realized that love is more about these adjustments you as people have to make to fit, and it happened so subtly with me that then I didn’t realize it was happening until I just woke up one day and knew.

I knew because one morning, I woke up in a fit—I had fallen asleep at my desk again trying to get through some of the music arrangement of this one video I was working on, or something like that. I was always working on music and editing—so I actually don’t remember. Anyways, I woke up and my head was resting on a pillow, and there was a blanket over my shoulder, which I didn’t remember fixing up the night before. I got out of the little makeshift studio I had in my apartment, and there was breakfast food from this cafe I really like around the corner at my table. It was a little cold, but Y/N had taped a little note on the bag with heating instructions and what not, just telling me to do my best—really nice and supportive things. I had assumed that she had gone back home, because she knew I was pulling another all-nighter for work. That’s what I thought, until I look into the living room and find her sleeping on my couch. More than that, her hands were still on her laptop, where she had been in the process of still editing one of my videos. She still had her headphones on and everything. We had been dating for a little less than a year at that point, so it wasn’t like this was a rare thing. It was a pretty normal thing for her to do—wrap me up in blankets and buy me breakfast food the following morning, even falling asleep on the couch was a weekly occurrence. But I just saw her sleeping on my couch and I felt this wave of warmth and contentment. Like I always knew that she’d be on my team. I think that was the moment I really knew what love was.”

It’s a long story, one that ends with a stunned silence—like no one had expected him to give out such a detailed answer and make it sound poetic at the same time. That’s the songwriter Min Yoongi for you, you supposed.

Quickly, both the studio and the booth give out a chorus of aw’s and ooh’s, gushing amongst one another over the charming nature of Yoongi’s story. But you are still trapped into submission, staring straight through the glass with millions of questions still going through your mind. The spike in your heart rate also points to the rush of adrenaline flowing through you. Because you know this story that he is telling. He’s not lying through his teeth. You remember this night. Or, one of the nights, at least. Like Yoongi had said, you giving out blankets and food like air was second nature in your friendship. So was you falling asleep on the couch.

Did those situations hold as much weight for him as they did for you? Or, was he just making up his feelings? After all, the key to lying was skirting as close to the truth as possible. That kind of situation may work for Yoongi, as the liar, but it wasn’t as comforting for you.

You watch the way Yoongi laughs at the gushing Nayeon does, the way he smiles brightly and continues to reinforce how important you are—and you recognize his facade better than anyone else. Of course he’s lying, and you reach their realization with a bit of downfall in your stomach. There’s no way he would be telling the truth, especially considering the situation the pair of you are now in where Yoongi’s career is dependent on his ability to tell a proper lie.

You allow yourself to sink a little deeper into the studio, near the back where the producers of the radio station can discuss amongst each other. This puts you with Jungkook, who has been watching the situation closely the entire time.

“Yoongi can be quite the actor,” Jungkook mumbles. He has this unreadable expression in his eyes, but you know that Jungkook knows that situation Yoongi is describing. It had been Jungkook’s apartment as well. He glances at you, but says nothing.

You continue to stare ahead. That pensive silence continues as Yoongi is released from the radio interview, and thanks Nayeon and Hoseok eagerly for their time and energy. Nayeon returns the gesture, waving to you through the glass when Yoongi points you out. You weakly return the action.

It isn’t until you get into the car, where the pair of you are safe from the wandering eyes and careful ears of the entire world, that one of you elects to speak up. “So, what did you think?” Yoongi asks.

By this point, you’ve recovered swiftly from your disappointment. You smile like it’s your only shield. “As your manager, I’m glad that you were able to make love so poetic—just on brand for you. As your fake girlfriend, I also really have to congratulate you for your storytelling. I even remember those nights too, so it was definitely a good memory to lie about.”

Yoongi flushes a little at your comment, looking pleased with himself for a moment. You smile at his expression, before turning to train your gaze out of the window. The gesture makes you miss the way the smile slips off his face, the way he glances over at you. A good memory to lie about—right.

Yoongi’s radio interview goes viral, and so does any hope you have in trying to forget the tale he had spun during it. Granted, you are happy that people bought his story. You just wish that it wouldn’t have muddled up all your thoughts and feelings along the way.

Naturally, Seokjin is excited about the good press and the fact that the pair of you completed your first assignment well enough. At least, that’s the display he’s presenting when you walk into his office two days after the radio interview. Yesterday was spent looking over social media to see the public’s reaction to Yoongi’s speech about love, and if you as his manager would need to do any damage control. Luckily, you do not. As his manager, it leaves you in good spirits.

But as someone who actually has a crush on Yoongi, it’s less so.

That dejection only furthers itself when you see how excited Seokjin looks, like he’s already plotting the next steps to his little project.

“Ah, Y/N!” Seokjin greets carefully. “Hi, hi, congratulations on your first successful outing with Yoongi! Per the reports I’ve been seeing over social media, you guys did a very good job.”

You sigh, placing four coffee orders onto the table and sliding into the seat in front of Seokjin’s desk. “I didn’t really do that much,” You admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Yoongi did all the talking. I just waved at Nayeon through the glass window.”

“Aaahh,” Seokjin hums, opening up his laptop and turning it around in order for you to see what is on his screen. “Seems like you did a little more than that.”

Your gaze flints down to the big, bold words across the screen: THE INSIDER REPORT ON MIN YOONGI’S RADIO INTERVIEW: Employees at the K-IM Radio Station detail their experience meeting Yoongi and his girlfriend following the announcement of their relationship.

That piques your interest, and you scoot forward in your chair slightly in order to reach out and see what Seokjin is talking about. It’s not a very lengthy article—there is a summary detailing Yoongi’s interview, of course referencing his grand speech about love—but that’s not what takes up the most space.

Your eyes continue to skim over, almost not even believing what you were reading. The intern that first greeted you and Yoongi is in here, talking about how the pair of you were holding hands “in such a loving way, and the way they looked at each other before I led him to the radio booth was so romantic!” (The intern’s words, not yours). There’s even some excerpts from the employees and producers inside the radio booth, the same room you had spent the interview in. Surprisingly, a lot of the accounts are not talking about what Yoongi said. It’s all about how you looked when Yoongi was telling his story.

“It was such a powerful speech, I couldn’t help but look over to Y/N to see her reaction, and she was staring back at Yoongi in such a way that I knew immediately that the genuine nature of their love was a two-way street.”

“... a definite softness in her gaze, like she was reliving that memory with him.”

And so on, and so on.

Your face feels a little warmer when your eyes as you push the laptop away, glancing up to see Seokjin’s staring at you. “See? You did good. The small gestures you do can go a long way—especially when you don’t notice you’re doing them.”

You close the laptop, as if that can physically distance yourself from the assurances of those who had been around you. “Right…” You manage weakly.

“Well,” Seokjin hums, already moving onto the next point of the conversation. If he senses something fishy in your response, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anyways, Yoongi is in the studio right now with Namjoon, so I just want a little update report on your relationship with Yoongi. As in, how is it going between the two of you?”

You ponder this for a moment, thinking about how he took your hand in the car, how he recounted such a personal story to explain the details of his love, the look he gave you when you congratulated his storytelling abilities—like he knew something that you did not.

At the same time, it was such a minor appearance that you didn’t get much of a feel about the romantic aspect of this fake relationship. This is why you sigh. “I’m not too sure. We had such a minor acting role together that it’s hard to say. I will say that right now it feels pretty much the same.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Seokjin approves with a nod. “So you don’t have a problem if I want to plan some informal hang-outs for you and Yoongi? Just as a way to keep your guys in the public eye enough times that fans don’t start doubting your relationship.”

You smile weakly. “Of course. That’s what I signed the NDA for.”

Seokjin laughs, finally waving you off. “Okay, sure. I’ll look into where I think your relationship will make the biggest impact and will update you and Yoongi when I’ve made my decisions.” Finally, he looks over the multiple cups of coffee you had brought over on your cardboard tray, and fishes out the one with his name on it. “This one for me?”

You lean over, flickering your gaze from the cup to his face. “Well, at the very least, I know you can read now.”

His relaxed expression morphs into a playful scowl. “Get out of here brat.”

Your laughter echoes through his office as you take your cardboard tray of three coffee cups and reemerge back into the hallway of the record studio. You walk the familiar path until you reach the door to the recording room—pulling open the door and letting yourself in. Inside the booth, Yoongi is rapping away into his microphone, as his low voice fills the tiny space of this studio. You place the tray down onto one of the tables, picking up your own before sliding over to take a seat on the couch.

As you continue listening to Yoongi wistfully hum about a desire to cross an emotional distance, about how he tells the truth because “it’s you, it’s always been you”—you cannot help your mind wandering into what Seokjin has in store for you over the course of the next few months.

CHAPTER 4: TURNING POINT

Yoongi’s first full length album is set to release in two months.

At least, that’s what KSJ records claims after uploading a quarterly report of Yoongi’s schedule. At first, you don’t think it’s a big deal for Yoongi’s label to post a tentative update about his music progress, but his fans are extremely observant and catch on immediately. It’s good to draw up the hype, you suppose.

Anyways, at the rate that Yoongi is working on the songs for the album, you won’t be surprised if he manages to follow the schedule down to a T. The boy lives and breathes music, and last time you checked the album would consist partly of songs from his EP and new songs—meaning that it cuts down Yoongi’s usual workload into half. Not that he minds, at any rate.

“Okay, Min Yoongi,” Seokjin starts up, standing at the head of the meeting room which only consists of three people. Normally, with meetings with the head of KSJ records himself, there’s a lot more people around to discuss schedule, promotions, and the likes. The fact that it’s just you and Yoongi tells you exactly what you’re doing here. “It’s been a few weeks since your radio interview, and I know that you’re doing well in your progress of the album—but I think it’ll do you well to take a break.”

Yoongi huffs. “It’s nice that you’re reminding me about this, but I’ll rest when the album is released.”

Seokjin snorts. “When did I say rest? I just meant take a break from your album work. Plus you need to get some vitamin C, or whatever shit you get from the sun.”

“It’s vitamin D,” You interject gently.

“Pish posh,” Seokjin waves away your interruption. “Anyways, like I was saying, there is a way for us to kill two birds with one stone. So that you.” He points to Yoongi. “Can get out of the studio for a few hours and you.” He points to you. “Can play into a relationship that’ll help us kill two birds with one stone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“Well,” Seokjin continues, leaning over his side of the table to get a few good at his laptop, where it appears that he has a few notes written down regarding the direction of this meeting. “In order to continue generating curiosity about Yoongi’s upcoming album and maintain the public’s constant queries about your relationship, I want you two to go on public outings. I have a few specific places I think would be good cornerstones to touch on, but I’m also willing to let the two of you figure out where you want to spend your time.” He glances up at the two of you. “That should be okay, right?”

You and Yoongi glance at each other. Come to think of it, the pair of you haven’t talked about nor reviewed the events at the radio station since it happened and the underlying questions you still have about his side of the story feels vaguely like a weight hanging over you both. But Yoongi smiles at you, and you think that you can continue to do what you’ve done for years: hide away your feelings.

“Yeah, that should be fine,” You speak up first, smiling back at Yoongi. You turn to Seokjin. “What did you have in mind?”

The question is how you find yourself in a car with Yoongi a few days later, your hands in your lap and your mind spinning with nerves. The radio interview had been one case, but a limited one at that—your role had been very minor and your interaction with Yoongi had only been seconds long. They had definitely been a lot smaller than this new role that Seokjin has assigned to you.

For today, Seokjin has directed the pair of you to the streets of Yoongi’s old stomping ground—the same shopping district with the same corner Yoongi spent all his nights performing in from a time period that seems so long enough. Not long enough, apparently, as Seokjin thinks it would be a nice nod to be ‘accidentally’ discovered walking along a place that holds so much memory.

“I just want you guys to walk around—be happy, but be close,” Seokjin had noted just a few hours prior to you and Yoongi’s departure. “Just look like the pair of you are on a date. Hold hands, smile at each other, all that jazz. Nothing too serious.”

Too bad it actually was kind of serious for you.

You and Yoongi make minor conversation, making some jokes here and there that do well in helping to ease your nerves. You don’t think Yoongi would take notice, but he can be strangely observant. Perhaps the way you keep bouncing one of your legs helps let him know that something is up.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You stop bouncing your leg. “It kind of feels like I’m about to perform, or something—it’s that same kind of rush.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, before he looks out his side of the window. “Well, technically speaking, you are about to perform. You know, with this whole relationship being an act and all.”

“Very true,” You say, nodding your head. “Do we need a game plan?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I thought that we’d just wing it. We held hands back at the radio station so, uh, I’m assuming that you’re still comfortable with doing that?”

“O-Oh yeah, of course!”

“Then, we can do that. And walk around. Improvise while we do so—just see how the day goes.”

You nod. “Okay, true, true. That sounds good.” You can’t help but give him a sneaky smile. “Look at you, Min Yoongi, you’ve become quite the performer. Improvisation used to be something you were never too good at.”

Yoongi flushes a little, smiling back at you. “Give me a little credit. You gotta have backups for your backups, especially in situations when your sound gives up on you in the middle of one of your sets.”

You laugh, because this reminds you about one of Yoongi’s first live sets along the very street the pair of you will be approaching shortly. His speakers had just given up, forcing Yoongi to go entirely acapella. In a way, that mistake ended up garnering him more fans who grew to respect his craft and talent for music and singing. But as they say, hindsight is 20 20.

You and Yoongi continue to laugh about that memory for a few minutes before Taehyung arrives along the outskirts of the shopping district, pulling up along the curb. The car is on the other side of this bustling area, just a few feet away from the pedestrian walkway that is littering with people going to and fro.

Taehyung turns around in his seat to give the pair of you a look. “Now kids, I want you to call me whenever you’re ready to get picked up.” He’s grinning around the words though

You glare at him. “Sure thing dad,” You bite back, already opening the car door to take your leave. Your feet land onto the concrete of the sidewalk as you pull yourself into a standing position. Yoongi joins you shortly after, standing close to you. “Bye,” You say, slamming the door into Taehyung’s face before he can get in one last snarky reply.

Yoongi looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh for Taehyung’s benefit. But it’s an act he can only hold together for so long, because he does start to laugh as soon as Taehyung and the company car turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

After a second, Yoongi turns to you and gestures towards the pedestrian walkway just a few feet ahead. “Shall we?”

You nod, taking the hand that he extends out to you. Just an act, you tell yourself, you allow him to lace your fingers together. Nevermind the fact that the weight on your hand feels entirely too reassuring and comforting for the current context.

Ignoring that feeling, you squeeze his hand and let him lead you towards the walkway, where you cross the street with no problem. Since Yoongi nor Seokjin had announced Yoongi’s presence at this plaza for the day, you can only hope that too much attention won’t be drawn to you.

It’s a thought that you are able to entertain for a few minutes. Yoongi may not have the star quality status of mainstream celebrities (yet), but he’s still someone who has been on the radio, has done a country-wide tour, and has a youtube following of a couple million people (four now, the last time you checked—subscriber counts tend to zip by after a person hits a million). That small list of accomplishments is more than enough to drag in a few wandering eyes. Okay, maybe a little more than a few.

You think that you’ve kind of developed a seventh sense to knowing when Yoongi was being recognized. It’s shown in the double-glances some people start shooting at him, at quick whispers behind closed hands, and craning necks over shoulders.

You’re okay with people knowing about Yoongi’s current location, but the memory of his tours and even the crowd problem that came up during his street performances flashback in your mind. You don’t think you want to deal with that situation right now—secretly preferring if people just observed from a distance.

Without thinking twice, you tighten your hold on Yoongi’s hand long enough to lead him into one of the stores along the sidewalk—an accessories booth with fake glasses, rings, earrings, the likes.

Yoongi watches you, a touch of amusement in his eyes like he knows what you’re thinking. Still, he asks. “What are you doing?”

You rummage through the wide selection of glasses, fully aware that one or two people have spotted the pair of you and are lingering near the entrance to catch a glance at what you two are doing. From the looks of it, no one is going to stir up a commotion. You still want to make sure.

“You stand out,” You explain vaguely, finding a pair of circle glasses in black-rims from the pile before turning around and more or less smashing the glasses against his face. It’s difficult to try and put glasses on another person, you miss his ears a few times and almost get him in the eye, but Yoongi strangely enough lets you manhandle him.

In the midst of your last few attempts you step forward and scoot even closer to him to try and get the glasses more properly situated on his face. Due to the proximity, Yoongi’s hands fly up from his side to avoid being pressed uncomfortably against his chest, choosing to rest at your waist. At first, you don’t feel the weight of his hands, you’re too focused on making sure the fake glasses you’ve selected can fit in place.

As soon as you’ve properly aligned the glasses to his face, you lower your hands from his face. The action makes you suddenly hyper aware of the current position you’ve put yourself in. It’s not very often that you get handsy with Yoongi, it’s a side of you that comes out when the pair of you are in a hurry, but hardly during candid moments like this.

Immediately, Yoongi’s hands feel like warm flames tickling your skin, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of his position, of his closeness. Your eyes flicker up, seeing his face with those glasses you’ve just shoved onto him sitting nicely at the bridge of his nose, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. The stare he’s giving you only heightens the gravitational pull you feel towards him.

You don’t know how long the pair of you are just standing in the middle of the store, staring at each other, until you feel the weight of a third party approaching the pair of you.

You practically shove yourself away from Yoongi, trying to make it seem as if you’re just stepping back to get an overall look at his face (Yoongi featuring glasses). Yoongi lets you go.

The third party is an employee of the accessories booth, smiling widely. “Sorry to interrupt,” She says, looking over at Yoongi. “Sir, I just want to say that those glasses look great on you. And just to let you know we’re having a sale on that collection so it’s a buy one get the other one half off so maybe you two can match if you’re up to it…”

You tune her out after a second, realizing that you can’t really keep up with what she’s saying considering the current firestorm that’s going on inside your head. Why couldn’t you have just asked Yoongi to put the glasses on himself? You curse yourself for letting your guard down—sometimes you try to do things of your own accord, and today you were paying the price.

When you don’t speak after a few seconds, Yoongi smiles at the employee. “Got it, thanks a lot.” He waits until the employee returns back to rearranging some earrings on a nearby shelf before turning back to you. “How does it look?”

He does look good, but you play it down by tilting your head and settling with a shrug. “Well, you’ve looked better—but this’ll have to do.”

Yoongi laughs, before he does something that catches you off guard. He steps closer to you. “So you think there are times when I do look good?”

You try not to look too bewildered at his gesture. You can tell that he does feel a little nervous about the fact he’s testing the waters so boldly without any practice, but it’s all part of the act. Just as Seokjin said: be happy, be close.

So you place a hand on his chest, pushing him slightly with your own little teasing smile. “I said better—that doesn’t always mean you were ever good to begin with.”

Yoongi makes a noise of protest, and without warning just swings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his side. “You’re breaking my heart everyday!”

“You must like the abuse, you’re still with me,” You bite back playfully without thought. For a split second, it doesn’t feel like you’re in a store with people who vaguely recognize Yoongi’s appearance—for a split second, it feels like just you and him, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

Upon Yoongi’s lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Good job, I think the group of girls outside caught our picture.”

That dreamy fantasy where it was just you and Yoongi and nothing else mattered came crashing down, squaring you right back into reality. It’s not a disappointing feeling per say—just a vague extra hammering of your heartbeat, a vague guilt that you let your mind let its guard down like that. “Right,” You say. “Uh…” You try to think, which proves to be a difficult thing to do with Yoongi’s weight pressed up against you and everything. You clap your hands together. “Okay, let’s grab a hat and then we’ll be on our way.”

You make sure to be a little less handsy when it comes to hat selections, but you knew there was only so far you could escape given the current context of the situation. Yoongi seems to know that, because he stays close to you as you’re both shifting through hats, and even when he pays for his hat and glasses combination before exiting the booth. The pair of you pass through the two girls that were lingering outside of the booth, where Yoongi gives them the smallest wave and hello before carrying on with the rest of the trip.

With the hat and glasses combination, it definitely draws less attention to Yoongi’s classic fluffy black hair and gummy smile—especially if you’re using what was going on in the beginning of your trip as a baseline. This means that you and Yoongi can carry on with the rest of your outing with feeling the obvious heavy weight of gazes on your shoulder.

With intertwined hands the pair of you first stop by one of the local cafes and sit right alongside the window to enjoy some pasta and soda combinations. You roll up the noodles onto your fork and clink utensils with Yoongi before slipping the noodles in your mouth—tomato sauce with flavor slipped into every side piece of noodle. It’s amazing, and you cannot help but gush so as you smile brightly around your fork.

You’re too busy stirring your fork around yet another string of pasta that you fail to see the softening look of the boy across the table from you. It’s a look that disappears by the time your gaze glints back up to resume the conversation. The pasta is considered a snack above all else, so it doesn’t take long for the pair of you to finish up your meal. Leaving a tip behind on the table, Yoongi walks over to you just as you’re straightening up from your chair. Silently, he offers his hand to you.

Knowing the routine by now, you take his hand, silently lacing your fingers together and letting him lead the way out of the cafe and back onto the sidewalk. The later afternoon shows itself in the steady increase of people, which is good because it makes you feel as if you can blend into the crowd either. There are still the occasional phones out, trailing after you and Yoongi as you walk along the sidewalk, but nothing that ever makes you feel as if you need to call Taehyung.

“Actually, this isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” You grumble to Yoongi quietly, a comment that he laughs at.

“I’m not that famous,” Yoongi jokingly teases you. “And my fans are just being respectful—give them a little credit.” His voice dies down shortly after, however, but it only takes you a few seconds to realize why.

The pair of you, in the midst of your simple ‘walk along the sidewalk’ plan, have arrived at a very familiar street corner. The sunset means that arriving performers who work best once the sun leaves are just beginning to set up their stage—laying out equipment, testing out sound systems, saying hello to some passersby who recognize the artists getting ready. You can read the signs of these interactions very easily. After all, it’s what Yoongi used to do a year ago, at this very spot too.

In front of you, a new performer, a singer, is setting up her own equipment—guitar in hand as she practices her strumming. You inch closer to Yoongi, your arms molded against each other. “Hey, hey,” You whisper at Yoongi. The boy leans over to better hear you. “She reminds me of you.”

Yoongi laughs. “What do you mean? How?”

You glance over at the girl again, not noticing the way Yoongi is still staring at you, quietly awaiting your answer. “You guys have the same drive,” You eventually note. “And the same determination. It’s easy to see in her, just as it’s always been like that for you…” You trail off, looking over to realize that he’s still looking at you.

“You noticed those things, huh?” Yoongi asks quietly.

His gaze is too enticing to look away from, pulling you in through a situation not unlike what had happened at the accessories shop earlier that afternoon. “I-I mean, of course I do…” Yoongi’s gaze feels like hot magnets that are just pulling the next words out of you. “I always notice with you.”

The world seems to quiet down at that, everything slowing down as you feel yourself mentally curse yourself out for those words. Why would you say it like that?

A million thoughts go through your head at once. You weren’t really lying or trying to play a part. You were being honest. You do always notice with Yoongi. And since he clearly only sees you as a friend that could participate in whatever scheme he can get himself into, then he would obviously hear your statement and think of it as nothing more than a friendly complement. Right? RIGHT?

Except, Yoongi is still just standing next to you, staring at you, not making any sort of comment whatsoever. He has that unreadable expression in his gaze, a look he always gives you when you let the cracks slip in your facade, but it’s something he never talks about, never explains to you—just like right now.

The silence grows tense, so tense that it begins to feel like weights on your shoulders, like a coil wrapping itself around your heart, because why isn’t he saying anything?

Yoongi hums, low and throaty and that coil around your heart drops into your stomach. “Is that so?” He inquires softly, continuing to gaze at you.

His gaze drops down to your lips, and that coil is replaced with butterflies all around you. It starts are a flutter in your stomach, in your heart, and your mind starts to race because what the fuck is happening?

Around you, the growing number of people means that someone accidentally bumps into you, driving you forward right into Yoongi’s chest. The pair of you stumble, effectively dissipating that cloud of tension that had threatened to curl through you. You cough, taking a small step away from Yoongi so that while the pair of you were still holding hands, that was the only thing connecting the pair of you.

You and Yoongi don’t have another run in like that for the remainder of the date, as that late afternoon sunset fades away into nighttime and you and Yoongi spend that time trying to enjoy each other’s presence whilst also not engaging in too much physical contact. Your fingers remain loosely intertwined but it never tightens as if the small air of space between your hands can hide away the nerves and tension you feel yourself trying to contain.

Even when Taehyung comes to pick the two of you up, and you no longer are under the obligation to hold hands, that air of space still feels heavy between the two of you.

The overwhelming positive response of your first official public date sends Seokjin through the moon, as well as provides him with a drive to arrange and send you and Yoongi out on more dates. All of which, fortunately for you, don’t come nearly as close to the level of tension experienced from the first date. Partly because you know your limits, and go into each planned date with a level of expectation for yourself as well as rules that you’ve internally programmed yourself to follow every time you and Yoongi step out of the car.

At the museum date, you make sure to keep your distance, using your intertwined hands with Yoongi as the only signal of your relationship. The pair of you joke around about the art pieces, whispering between each other about how many fans have taken pictures of the pair of you lingering about the museum, as well as relay information to each other about various rooms that you are interested in. But in a way, it definitely feels more like a typical friendly hang-out rather than a date.

The same idea can be applied to the next date Seokjin sends you on—a casual date at one of the local botanical gardens, each garden filled with a different culture to serve as the theme for its layout and plant growth. Some gardens have little cafe booths and grassy fields to buy some snacks before sitting down to enjoy the sunlight, which is an idea that Yoongi suggests that the two of you do. He points to one of the ice cream shops along the outskirts of a garden, and claims a seat on one of the benches so the two of you can enjoy your treat. The current summertime weather emits a warmer heat and breeze that curls lightly through the air throughout the day, making for a perfectly comfortable season to wear a sundress. It’s also the kind of undetectable weather for ice cream to melt down the cone, onto unsuspecting fingers curled into the dry waffle texture. Yoongi makes that well aware by poking your cheek with his sticky finger, garnering several pictures of the encounter.

Seokjin has even tried to implement studio life into his constant narrative to keep up the facade of your relationship with Yoongi. While the pair of you go on these occasional dates, Yoongi also has a deadline to fulfill with his album release. On the days where dates are not planned out, he’ll be in the studio—rearranging songs to fit in with the music beats that have more or less been tapered down to perfection. As his manager, sometimes you find yourself staying past your allotted time slot of being at the studio, before sneaking into the recording booth way past midnight to see what Yoongi and Namjoon are up to.

Just as it follows: you straighten up, craning your neck backwards a little to allow for slight muscle extensions after sitting at a desk for an extra hour too long. With Yoongi’s album steadily approaching, there are interviews that need to be arranged, magazines and newspapers and radio shows alike all reaching out to you for the opportunity to cover Yoongi’s growth as an artist. Albums also equate to tours to help promote the album, and with the close call from Yoongi’s last experience with such, it means that you need to book more locations—or the same location across multiple dates.

Overall, the growing pile of work means that you and everyone else at KSJ Studios are just as anticipated for Yoongi’s album release as the general public. It seems as if his collective fanbase are hoping and waiting under the same parameters: was the album going to be as good as they were expecting?

You shoulder your purse, stepping out of your office and shutting it behind you. You navigate through the hallways, glancing sideways to peek out the long glassway of windows, all overlooking the city skyline, the multicolor lights flickering ahead in the distance. You quirk a lip.

Your usual brisk pace dies down when you pass the studio you know Yoongi and Namjoon are recording in. The soundproof walls inside mean that hardly any music ever seeps out from between the cracks, only heightening your curiosity. Your busy schedule recently has made it so you have hardly been able to hear what Yoongi and Namjoon have come up with.

You glance down at your watch. It was nearing midnight. Well, you think to yourself, a little peek wouldn’t hurt. You reach over to grip the door handle, pushing it down and pushing it open. Inside is the usual scene: Yoongi behind the glass, his fingers curled around the headphones as he speaks into the microphone. His voice filters through the main studio area, where Namjoon sits behind computers and music panels, capturing every single second of what is going on.

Further driven by curiosity, you find yourself pulling harder at the door to let yourself in. Namjoon turns at the sound, but softens a little when he sees that it’s you.

“Burning the midnight oil?” You tease, standing next to Namjoon at the table, watching Yoongi’s closed eyes as he loses himself in the song.

Namjoon grins back. “You’re not gonna tell us to stop, are you?”

“Hey.” You bring both arms up in a sign of surrender. “I’m off the clock on this one. Just wanted to see what you two were up to.”

Suddenly, Yoongi calls your name from behind the glass, as the noise is amplified through the studio. You jump slightly, having not expected to be noticed so soon. Yoongi waves. “It’s late!” He calls. “What are you still doing here?”

You lean forward to press the button that opens the two-way communication. “I’m not sure you heard, but there’s an artist in this studio that’s working on an upcoming album—it’s causing a lot of pain for the rest of us.”

Yoongi laughs at that. “Touche, touche.” He brightens up slightly. “Hey, we’re wrapping up on this song, so if you stick around I’ll drive you home.”

This is a natural offer for Yoongi to make, considering the extent to which you’ve spent long nights here. Brushing it off as nothing more than Yoongi just being a good pal, you nod and flash him a thumbs up. “Sounds good, sounds good. But take your time. Don’t let me get in the way.”

You turn around, allowing the music of Yoongi’s song to refilter back through the studio. You park yourself atop the couch at the back, settling into the soft cushions. Come to think of it, falling asleep definitely isn’t the worst thing in the world to do—especially on this couch. And you’re exhausted, what with scheduling events all day and having to burn through your social battery by making one too many phone calls with various people within the industry.

The last thing you remember is Yoongi’s soft humming that fades away into a quiet static.

You jerk awake after what feels like a few minutes—but judging from your new position on the couch (horizontal this time, instead of vertical) and the blanket that has been tucked under your chin, you realize quickly that this few minutes has actually been a few hours. It might be hard to believe that, because the world around you still seems very similar to what it had been when you fell asleep. The lack of windows in the studio make it very difficult to distinguish time—although Yoongi’s voice sounds much closer than it had when you first fell asleep.

You sit up.

Namjoon and Yoongi jolt at your sudden movement. “Woah! She’s awake now,” Yoongi teases.

Blinking for a few seconds, you turn your head to find Yoongi out of the recording booth and instead sitting at one of the tables in the actual studio setting. Surrounding Namjoon and Yoongi looks like an entire McDonalds family meal: chicken nuggets, $1 menu burgers, lots of french fries…

You let out a breath to help further situate you to your new surroundings. “Min Yoongi…” You start, voice hoarse. “You said you were just finishing up.”

“I was,” Yoongi explains, looking vaguely guilty. Only vaguely though. “But I had this sudden epiphany, like holy shit you really had to be here—it was crazy.”

“I was here,” You choke out.

Yoongi waves you off. “You know what I mean—here here. Anyways, yeah, we realized that we couldn’t leave, especially when I got Namjoon on the same page. He was just as excited as I was!”

Namjoon slaps his hand. “Don’t drag me into this!”

Yoongi ignores him. “Anyways, it’s like two in the morning and we got hungry. McDonalds is the food of champions, after all. You hungry? Here, have some water first.” He grabs a bottle of water from the table and unscrews the cap. Suddenly, he’s standing up and making his way towards the couch. He sits down next to you, offering the water to you. “Here. You must be thirsty.”

You are. Still heavy-lidded too, but you try your best to blink away the exhaustion as you blindly reach for the water and manage to grab it after Yoongi adjusts his own angled arm. He watches you as you tilt your head back to down some of the water, accidentally drinking a little more than your mouth can handle. Some of it slides down the corner of your lip, making you angle your head back properly and remove your lips from the bottle head.

Yoongi softens a little at your clumsy nature, tugging the sleeve of his long-sleeved forward in order to pat the corner of your mouth. “Aw, look at my tiny little baby, can’t even drink water properly,” He coos.

You flinch slightly away from him, trying for a glare that comes out more like a pout. Yoongi laughs softly at the sight. “There are no cameras around us, Min Yoongi,” You grumble out. “You don’t need to be so attentive.”

“Nevermind that, I’m just trying to be a friend. You want a french fry?” He reaches across the space separating the couch from the table, and grabs the box of salty french fries. His voice carries that usual positive disposition from previously, but the light in his eyes has died down a little. You don’t notice it, too busy looking at the french fries and realizing that you are actually a little hungry.

The remainder of Yoongi and Namjoon’s break is dedicated to finishing up the family meal, before Yoongi looks at the clock and claps his hands together. “Hey Namjoon, I think I should take my girl home before we get back to working. Is that okay?”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker between the two of you, but he relents. “Of course.” He utters your name. “Have a good night.”

“I should be saying that to you,” You return teasingly, more of your senses have returned since putting food into your stomach. “See you tomorrow, Namjoon.”

So Yoongi takes you home, driving through the darkened streets, making light conversation with you, completely ignoring the fact that he has just addressed you as his girl, before your phone starts to buzz in your lap. It’s a notification from Instagram, saying that Namjoon has tagged you in a picture. Raising an eyebrow, you tap the alert, which takes you to a picture from just a few minutes ago—you and Yoongi at the studio, Yoongi tapping gently at your face with his sweater paw. The caption burns into your mind: three am company, ft my favorite artist and his favorite girl.

His favorite girl.

His girl.

CHAPTER 5: HIS GIRL

Yoongi’s album is entitled Y2, and it releases in the autumn, when the leaves are colored orange and the breeze has called for cozy jackets and big sweaters. It’s the perfect attire to wear as the earphones get plugged in and slipped into ears—curled up by soft cashmere and Yoongi’s luring voice. He’s got about sixteen songs on the album, a sweet mixture of loose beats and soft vocal voices that seem to simultaneously battle the drawn out harsh tone of stories extended across various three minute arrangements. The stories cover the low point—passive aggressive fights, of late nights, of “holding your hand, being so close, yet feeling so lonely”. But the songs also touch on the high points—coming back together, of soft morning light, of “being with you, wiping the traces of exhaustion from the corner of your lips, so close yet so far away, and still knowing you’re all I [he] could ever want”.

At least, it is what one article touches upon in a Y2 review, where the journalist gives high remarks to Yoongi’s album. She calls it a refreshing interpretation of music, continuing in the era of singers actually singing about their feelings. More than that, an era of storytelling in music. Of anything, of life, of the highs and the lows—the sadness, the happiness, the softness.

Safe to say that Yoongi is very excited to read this review on his phone, along with the surplus of positive things people have to say—from highly regarded journalists who belong to highly regarded newspaper companies, from social media, from his friends and family. Most especially, from you. You: whose hand he holds underneath the table as the numbers of listens start pouring in from various streaming websites.

He’s been nervous about this. He’s put his blood, sweat, and tears into the creation of this album, every song has been nailed down to perfection. His name, and his heart, is back out into the world.

The night of the album release is the launch party.

“Dude, it’s supposed to be a chill night,” Jungkook calls from the hallway, and you can’t help but laugh at how exasperated the boy sounds. “Would you just calm down?” Jungkook emerges from the aforementioned hallway. Despite his mention of this ‘chill night’, he’s still wearing something vaguely casual chic. “You’re his manager. Manage his overthinking tendencies.”

You laugh, watching as Jungkook plops down into the empty spot next to you on the couch, immediately leaning back into the cushion. “You know as well as I do that I don’t have that much control over him.”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “You probably have more control than you think.”

Before you can ask more questions, think more deeply into what the fuck Jungkook means by that, his eyes land on the hallway entrance before straightening up in the cusion. Your eyes follow Jungkook’s movement, where Yoongi is now standing in the once vacant space of his apartment. But his stance isn’t what gets you to stare, what makes your breath feel like it has just caught in your chest. Although he’s following the ‘casual chic’ dress code that Seokjin has ordered, there’s something about a white t-shirt that hits differently when it’s paired with a coat and dark jeans that highlight his long legs.

Yoongi gestures down at what he’s wearing meekly. “What do you think?” Although it appears that he’s addressing both you and Jungkook, his gaze is almost entirely fixed on you.

Trying hard to ignore the racing of your heart, you straighten up and somehow manage to make your way over to him without snapping your ankle on your chunky platform boots. Doing your best to pay attention to his outfit over his face, you reach over to straighten out the silver necklace he’s got dangling at his chest. “You look good,” You settle calmly. “And Jungkook is right—it’s supposed to be a chill night. Seokjin just invited people from the label. And some of your friends as well. Relax a bit, will you?”

Finally, you force yourself to level your gaze with Yoongi’s, fully confident that he’s just staring at you and probably wondering why you aren’t making eye contact with him. But when you do manage to glance at Yoongi’s face, you realize quickly that he’s not even staring at you. Instead, he’s staring down, at the curve of your throat.

Without warning, your cardiac system seems to pump itself too hard, because your breath of surprise comes out through your nose, effectively bringing up and lowering your lungs so fast that anyone would be able to read your vital sounds now. This proves to be true, because Yoongi’s gaze darts up from your neck to your eyes so quickly, that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had you stuck around without looking at his eyes. Doing that, however, might have saved you from this now tricky situation. “Sorry,” Yoongi manages, eyes flickering between yours. “I, uh, didn’t hear what you said.”

You realize the gravity of your position—your fingers now curled around the lapels of Yoongi’s jacket and one of his hands curled around your waist. That gravitational pull from every single one of your dates with Yoongi comes back again, curling around your neck and seeming to push you closer, closer—!

Jungkook coughs loudly from behind you.

You and Yoongi tear your gazes away from each other, as you uncurl both of your fingers from around Yoongi’s coat. “I-uh,” You start. “Was just saying that you should relax a little. You don’t have to try and impress anyone tonight.”

Yoongi sneaks one last glance at you. “We’ll see,” He says, before stepping away from you and brushing past Jungkook to make his way towards the door. Jungkook turns to look at you, wide-eyed and mouthing the words ‘what the fuck was that?’

To which you shake your head, very sure that you don’t want to get into this tonight of all nights. This was supposed to be a celebration for Yoongi. Just as you’ve done for the past few months, you can continue to keep your emotions in check. Easy-peasy.

Except it’s not easy-peasy because you see Seokjin at the club that he’s reserved for Yoongi’s album release party, and you realize that this is not a chill event for you—you still have to keep up the facade of your relationship in front of everyone.

Yoongi seems to realize this at the same time you do, because he inches closer to you and laces your fingers together. From afar, Seokjin nods in an unspoken confirmation regarding your behavior.

The beginning of the party starts with the trickle in of the various guests Seokjin has invited—from the friends he has made in the business, to others signed under the KSJ records label, to you, Jungkook, and Yoongi’s personal friends from college. The onslaught of new people fills you with the usual sense of excitement after not having attended a party in what feels like years. Working as a manager for a budding new artist is a lot less about the parties and more about the hustle.

The first hour of the event is dedicated to the mingling of people—of free food and conversations around the bottomless cocktails that every guest rushes to the bar to take full advantage of. It’s nice to be able to catch up with the friends that you and Yoongi haven’t spoken to since graduation—which is the group you and Yoongi first approach, as Yoongi is slinging his arm around one Park Jimin. The latter whose eyes widen and lips curl up into a grin at the sight of the two of you. It’s nice to see an old friend again, it almost brings you back to a time where you and Yoongi were both in-tune and surface-level friends.

“Hey, congratulations on the new album release!” Jimin exclaims brightly after the three of you have acquired some drinks from the bartender. Jimin raises his drink first, to which you and Yoongi follow suit.

As the glasses clink into the air, Jimin adds in another thing that reminds you of the fact that you and Yoongi are not back in college. You are here, in the present, with a fake relationship on the line.

“And congratulations to your relationship announcement,” Jimin continues.

You cough on your drink at that, lowering the glass immediately, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “Jimin, I know what all those reports have been saying…”

“Don’t worry,” Jimin brushes off. “I read through some of them. You guys have been dating for three years, right? I’m honestly surprised I never saw it. In hindsight, it makes sense.” Jimin takes a longer sip, gesturing towards Yoongi with a noise of acknowledgement coming from his throat. “Hm—I guess because you guys are dating now, I can let the cat out of the bag—but, Yoongi liked you from the first moment he met you.”

Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to choke on his drink, his chest heaving as he coughs into his sleeve. “Jimin, ah, you don’t need to talk about that—!”

Jimin laughs, naturally assuming that Yoongi’s choke was done out of shyness and not something deeper than that. “What, you think just because this happened when we were at college, I wouldn’t have said something all these years later?”

You can’t help but smile at their exchange. Although Jimin’s comment about Yoongi’s crush definitely piques your interest. You turn to Yoongi. “You had a crush on me back then?”

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Jimin beats him to it. “Oh yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about you—said that you had this smile like starlight and were super easy to talk to.”

“You have a great memory for someone who almost flunked college algebra,” Yoongi bites out hotly.

Jimin, clearly oblivious to the situation, laughs out loud. “I agree. Normally I would have forgotten all about that. But.” With Jimin’s fingers still curled around the wine glass, he is only able to point an index finger out at Yoongi. “I’ll never forget that look in your eyes. Like you saw something you were never going to let go of.”

You know Jimin is the one talking, but you cannot help but look at Yoongi as you feel your world spinning slightly around you. You blame it on the alcohol—as small of a sip as you have taken so far. Jimin, unlike a lot of the other parties you’ve been spending your time with, is not in on the joke of your relationship with Yoongi being a PR cover story. So there has to be some merit to it. Right?

Right?

Before you can even think how to phrase the billions of questions flying through your mind, the soft beat of a hand against a microphone sounds through the bar, as the original music that has been pounding through the club gets lowered to show that someone is trying to command everyone’s attention.

It’s Kim Seokjin, situated at the stage, with the microphone in hand. “Hey everyone! Before we actually start unveiling the numbers that Y2 has hit so far, I just want to say a few words. First of all, thank you everyone so much for joining us tonight as we celebrate the anticipated release of Min Yoongi’s album.”

Lots of claps sound from the guests, several cheers, one of you and Jimin join in just for the sake of embarrassing Yoongi. If he’s flustered with the attention, he’s gotten a lot better at hiding it.

“Actually,” Seokjin continues. “Why don’t we have the man of the hour join us? After all, my words don’t mean shit up here—I wasn’t the one who just released new music. Yoongi, come on up!”

Lots more claps and cheers, and the music volume increases dramatically just to give Yoongi some sort of platform to enter on. It makes you laugh. Seokjin is clearly having fun with his role. So you watch, sticking by Jimin, as Yoongi emerges from the crowd to step onto the stage. Seokjin pulls the microphone away from the pair of them as he leans over to whisper something into Yoongi’s ear, where the latter nods a few times before accepting the microphone that is now being extended out to him.

Yoongi clears his throat, speaking over the lowering music. “Hi guys, thanks so much for coming out,” He starts, laughing a little when there is another round of cheers. “As I’m sure a lot of you know, this is my first full length album that’s being released out into the world and it’s basically everything I ever could have dreamed of. One lesson that I’ve learned is that making albums of both the cover songs I did and the original songs I would produce in my shitty college apartment is a completely different experience than getting professional equipment to do a lot of the work for me.”

You laugh at that, the memories floating through your mind.

Yoongi smiles a little at the feedback he gets. But he continues. “And of course a lot of that professional equipment was able to work in my favor because I had helped. Seokjin of course, deserves a thank you for letting me learn and experiment with new sounds, and for letting me take a risk by trying out beats and stories that a lot of people might have turned down. And Namjoon.” He seems to spot Namjoon from the crowd, because he delivers a nod. “For being more than my favorite producer, but also my mentor and my guide. We had a lot of lightbulb late nights together. And finally…” His eyes land on you, and you feel yourself self-consciously straighten up. “Y/N—my Y/N. For those of you who don’t know, my girlfriend is my manager and we recently made our relationship public. I thought the transition from private to public would have been the hardest thing of my life, but she made it so easy. Just as she’s always made it so easy to inspire my music, to be my best friend—and to love her.”

Love.

You suddenly feel like you’re seeing the world through a small lens, unable to believe the words you are hearing and the sights you are seeing. Yoongi is staring right back at you, with all this love and adoration in his eyes, lips quirking up as a result of the coos from the audience.

It’s a vague kind of spotlight anxiety from seeing so many people looking at you considering the circumstances. It’s a feeling that only heightens when Yoongi opens his mouth again to continue speaking. “Actually, honey, why don’t you come up here, so I can thank you properly.”

The whoops and cheers sound again, and Jimin has to nudge you in the ribs to get you to move. Your initial thoughts are one of panic, suspicion, and curiosity. One glance at Seokjin’s direction conveys the high influx of questions that are flowing through your mind—what exactly are those two boys planning?

Yoongi’s hand extends out to you, helping you up onto the stage, as you turn around to face the crowd of people Yoongi has just been addressing. Of course, you have less experience hiding your general shyness around crowds, so the most you can muster is a smile and a wave.

Yoongi laughs into the microphone. “Don’t worry baby, I didn’t call you up to embarrass you. I just wanted to show you that all of this…” He gestures to the whole club, the crowds of people who have taken time out of their schedule to show support, the sounds of his album now filtering through the speakers. “All of this was possible because you believed in me, you supported me, and agreed to help me work toward my dream. This is all as much yours as it is mine.”

Then, he surprises you by leaning forward to brush his lips across your cheek—a gesture that further incites a bigger reaction of positive cheers and hoots from the audience. You turn your head immediately towards him as soon as he pulls away, your eyes wide with surprise. After all, you and Yoongi have never discussed the rule on kissing before, have never brought up any sort of lip contact to any degree. His boldness is something that takes you completely off guard.

And judging from the uncertain look that dances behind his eyes, a flicker that only you can see and decipher, you can tell that he hadn’t been expecting that from himself either.

You’re about to pull away, maybe walk off the stage and take another drink to whatever the fuck that was all about, before Jimin’s familiar voice sounds off from within the crowd.

“You call that a kiss, Min Yoongi?” Jimin calls, close enough now that it’s easier to see him. “C’mon, kiss your girlfriend like you mean it!”

The rest of the crowd immediately catches onto what Jimin is doing, and they play into it immediately. Suddenly, shouts of “KISS HER, KISS HER!” sound throughout the guests.

The new direction that this has taken over the span of just a few seconds seconds you into another wild onslaught of differing emotions. Nevermind the fact that you’ve never agreed to actually kiss Min Yoongi. Obviously, the internal choice has been made for a handful of reasons, none of which you can explain to Yoongi or Seokjin without digging yourself further into this hole where you would truly have no way of escaping.

Which is why you clearly can’t say anything of protest right now. Everyone thinks the pair of you have been dating for years, and that kissing has become a natural action for you both to do. Of course they would play into Jimin’s game, thinking nothing harmful of it.

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears as you shift your gaze from the crowd of people before you to Yoongi, who looks equally as stunned by the request as you. He plays it off a little bit, however, smiling as he brings the microphone close to his mouth again. “I’m not sure you all would want to be subjected by some PDA, especially you over there, Park.”

Jimin makes a noise of disapproval. “It’ll just be this one time! I’m sure people don’t mind! Spread the love, Min.”

Other people from the guest list add on that they don’t mind in between their laughter and giggles, probably writing off you and Yoongi’s shy disposition as just that: a shy, private couple who is still getting used to the watchful eye of the general public. Nevermind the fact that you and Yoongi have just never kissed each other before.

Yoongi then turns to look at you, microphone down to his legs so that it can’t pick up the small whispers the pair of you start exchanging. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you up here…”

“No, no, it’s fine, I understand why you did it…” You trail off. “Kissing my cheek, on the other hand…”

Yoongi groans. “Yeah, that’s my bad. Seokjin said I could consider doing it but I wasn’t thinking when I leaned over. I completely forgot that Jimin is a menace to society. I’m gonna kick his ass after this.”

You want to continue this private, side-lined conversation, but it is overrun by the louder voices that keep repeating the same two lines over and over again: “KISS HER, KISS HER!” until the echoes of it start ringing in your ear drums.

Yoongi switches topics to the more pressing one at hand. “So, uh, I guess we should…”

You exhale quickly, nodding. “It seems so…”

Yoongi inches closer to you, his breath fanning your lips as your eyes instinctively close. “I’m sorry,” He whispers, the final thing he says to you before he kisses you.

Now, let’s backtrack a little. You’ve liked Yoongi for years, so to say that you’ve never thought of this moment would just be a lie to yourself. Of course you’ve thought about kissing Yoongi. Or, at the very least, you’ve caught yourself staring at his lips when he would go off on another spiral about his passions. That type of talking is very hot, so what?

But you never thought you would be able to experience it, to kiss the lips you’ve flickered your eyes to more times than you’re willing to admit. So as soon as you feel the weight of his mouth against your own, your brain goes haywire. Suddenly, all your senses are hyper focused on Yoongi—from his lips, to the warmth of his body wrapping itself around you, to his fingers curled around your wrist.

You hardly hear the cheers from the audience, too busy allowing your heart to melt into butterflies as he presses harder into you, moving his lips against yours. You part your lips as well, curling your wrist to gather the material of his shirt into your hands.

It feels like time has stretched out before Seokjin claps both of you on the back, forcing you to jolt away from Yoongi. He actually looks flustered this time—pink cheeks and reddened lips, his eyes are fixated on you, chest heaving. You feel like you’re in a similar state of shock, especially because kissing Yoongi makes something dawn on you. A realization of ice cold water.

This isn’t just a crush you’ve harbored on Yoongi for the past few years. This isn’t just some small schoolgirl crush living out a fantasy, or something you can easily brush off, or simple butterflies you can squash everytime he reaches out to hold your hand. This is love. You’re in love with your best friend. And you have absolutely no fucking clue what to do about it.

If the audience is taken aback by this long-term couple in front of them looking zero point two seconds away from devouring each other in a frenzied passion, no one settles long enough to comment or stare upon it for too long. Seokjin does well to grab the microphone from Yoongi and bring the attention back to the actual party on hand. He mentions another round of free alcohol, which are two words that can take anyone’s attention away.

“And Yoongi, uh, I actually need to borrow for you a moment,” Seokjin murmurs in a low voice. “So I hope I’m not taking away from…” He trails off, gesturing awkwardly between the two of you. “Whatever this is…”

“Oh no!” You interject quickly, taking a step away from Yoongi. “Not taking away at all.”

Yoongi gives you a concerned look. “Maybe we should, uh, talk about that…”

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay, seriously.” You shrug a shoulder. “Just part of the act, right?”

Yoongi’s concern melts away into something that might be hurt, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come. “I’ll try not to be long then.”

You nod. “Yeah, no problem—no need to rush or anything… I’ll just be hanging out with Jimin…”

Yoongi gazes at you for a few seconds longer, before he lets himself get dragged off the stage by Seokjin. Rather than immediately go out to seek your old friend, you find your gaze following after the two of them, trying to see where exactly Yoongi is getting roped into.

You continue to trail after them in the club, until the two of them are pulled into a booth—the person opposite of them makes your lips part in utter shock.

“Yoongi, I want you to meet an old friend of mine,” Seokjin starts as he and Yoongi dive deeper into the thrones of people. Yoongi feels himself being directed towards a corner booth, currently occupied by two people. “She wanted me to introduce you.” Finally, the pair of them stop at the head of the table. “This is Lee Jieun.”

Right off the bat, Yoongi is vaguely insulted that Seokjin thought that someone like Lee Jieun needed an introduction—because who wouldn’t know who Lee Jieun?

Lee Jieun, like Yoongi, is a singer-songwriter with a sweetheart reputation, who weaves stories and experiences through her music. But unlike Yoongi, who got his start through Youtube and built himself from the ground up, Lee Jieun signed into a record label at the age of 15. As one could tell, she was that talented. Still is, as a matter of fact. Her albums are continuously winning awards, establishing herself in the charts, connecting with people all over the world. He would know—when Yoongi finally discovered Jieun in the midst of his Youtuber days, it was the catalyst that served as the biggest influence towards the release of his original songs. The fact that they’re both the same age only makes Yoongi even more in awe of her.

Yoongi being able to see Lee Jieun, in the flesh, is a powerful enough sight to leave him speechless.

Lee Jieun sits at the booth, looking all prettied up with her big eyes and red lips. Everything about her seems regal, from the smile she flashes Yoongi to the hand she extends out towards him.

It takes a second for Yoongi to register what he needs to do. Hastily, he steps forward and takes her hand in his. Despite her delicate nature, her handshake is firm as the pair of them move their joined hands up and down once. Honestly, considering their status difference, he feels like a handshake is too casual for them, but he doesn’t speak of it. He just basks in the moment, until he lets go of her hand.

Afterwards, he joins Seokjin in the booth, sliding into his seat.

Jieun smiles brightly at the two of them. “Thank you for going out of your way to come talk to me. I hope I wasn’t disrupting your night.”

Yoongi shakes his head immediately. “Oh, god no. Of course not. I’m just—I’m really honored to see you here. I-I had no idea that you were friends with Seokjin.”

Jieun laughs. “Oh yeah, we go way back—we were actually signed under the same label. Seokjin left to pursue management a few years ago, but we’ve always kept in touch.” She reaches over to take her glass of soda from the table. “He told me when he signed you, you know. He said that you were doing street performances a few cities down?”

Yoongi flushes at that. “Oh yeah—my origin story.”

“I mean, everyone starts from somewhere,” Jieun brushes off, laying down her cup again. “So I’ve honestly been looking out for your name since Seokjin signed you. I heard about your tour, but knew that I wanted to wait until your first full length album just to make sure your reputation was a little more fleshed out before bringing up my idea with Seokjin.”

Yoongi blinks, switching his gaze from Jieun to Seokjin. The latter nods, as if to let him know that Jieun would be the one providing information. So Yoongi turns back to Jieun.

Jieun continues. “Since it seems that we’ve both developed a songwriting, storytelling reputation amongst the music industry, I was hoping that you’d agree to do a collaboration with me. Just one single, both of our names attached to it. It’s been awhile since I worked with another artist, and I’m sure that doing this will only further put your name out there. It could also be a really good learning experience.”

Yoongi almost cannot believe his ears. Lee Jieun wanted to do a collaboration? With him and his inexperienced ass?

Yoongi coughs out in wonder. “Wow.”

Jieun smirks. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No, no, not at all!” Yoongi reassures, but then he backpedals a little. “I mean, it’s not that I was expecting you to ask for a collaboration—I just—!” He cuts himself off, exhaling heavily to calm his nerves. “It’s just, you were a very big reason I even wanted to sing my original songs back when I was street performing. So the fact that you’re asking me to do a song together is honestly so crazy to me.”

Jieun grins. “I’m honored—so are you agreeing to my request?”

Almost on instinct, Yoongi turns to Seokjin. It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t want to do the collab, it’ll probably be the single most greatest thing to happen in his career, but Seokjin was technically his boss and their contract had it so Seokjin usually had to final say in what he believed would be best for him.

And for the briefest flicker of a second, Yoongi’s mind switches to you. More than Seokjin’s approval, he finds himself seeking your praise the most. After all, you know how much he admires Lee Jieun. He wants to share this moment with you.

Instead of jumping up to go find you, he forces himself to stay rooted to his seat. “I-I think I would be the one who feels honored. T-That is, if Seokjin says it’s okay.”

Seokjin holds his arms out. “Of course it’s okay! The collaboration was also partly my idea. Anywho.” He turns back to Jieun. “We’ll have to run through Yoongi’s schedule with his manager just to see when he’s available. But after that, we can get started.”

At the mention of you, Yoongi’s manager, Jieun’s eyes brighten with her smile. “Oh yes, your girlfriend.” She sits a little straighter, trying to seek you out. “She’s here at the event right? I’d really love to meet her, if that’s okay?”

Yoongi nods immediately. “O-Of course!” He also sits up a little straighter, moving about in his seat to try and locate you. He finds you near the bar, seeming to have ditched your hang-out with Jimin, as you take an occasional sip of your drink. “She’s over there.”

With a nod, the three of them move out of the booth and towards the bar, where you’re still slouched over, scrolling through Instagram on your phone. You seem to notice their approaching presence, because you take a quick glance over to acknowledge them, before doing a double take when you realize who else is in Yoongi’s company.

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim, immediately sliding out of your bar stool, your gaze fixated on Jieun.

Seokjin laughs at your starstruck reaction. “Y/N, this is Lee Jieun—but I’m guessing you already knew that?”

You seem to realize your behavior, because your shyness comes back. “I do. Um, hi! It’s really nice to meet you.” You reach over to offer your hand.

Jieun takes it, shaking for a second. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Your gaze immediately flints to Yoongi. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me that you were acquainted with Lee Jieun herself!”

Yoongi waves you off. “Actually, Seokjin is the mutual party.”

Your lips part in shock, as you nod once, twice, in understanding. “Well, uh, in that case, I hope you’re having a good time tonight, Jieun.”

“It’s really a wonderful launch party,” Jieun praises. “But I do admit to having ulterior motives. I actually came by to ask Yoongi if he wanted to work on a collab song with me.”

Your lips part, and Yoongi feels a vague sense of pride swell up in his chest when you turn to look at him, eyes brighter than they have been all night. “Yoongi! That’s so amazing! I hope you agreed.”

“I did, actually,” Yoongi says with the nod of his head. If you notice that he’s puffing his chest out a little as your words go straight to his head, you don’t comment on it. “We’ll definitely have to go over my schedule with you, pick some dates where Jieun and I can have some writing sessions, and then the recording sessions, just to name the big picture stuff that’ll have to get done. But we should all be good to go.”

As Yoongi continues to list everything that’ll need to be done in order to create music together, your gaze shifts between Yoongi and Jieun occasionally, taking in their equal excitement and passion for the long project ahead. It isn’t until the end, when you and Yoongi leave the launch party, after having collected praise and much more from the many friends and connections that have been gained throughout the night, you enter the car wearing an unreadable expression—like you’re pondering something that threatens to break you.

To be frank, you aren’t surprised that Lee Jieun asks Yoongi to collaborate together. Sure, maybe she came a little earlier than you had expected, but you always knew it was a matter of time before the pair of them met. Their reputations are too similar, their personalities too good together; you’re sure that fate would have lined them up at some point.

It just feels like maybe the universe made them a little too perfect for each other—and it’s something that becomes glaringly obvious as a month of songwriting goes by without a hitch. Every few days, Jieun would turn up to KSJ Records, bright-eyed and always looking so, so pretty. Every few days, Jieun and Yoongi would sit next to each other, conversing about the story of their song, both bright-eyed with unbridled affection for what they were writing. And sure, Namjoon would be a part of these songwriting sessions. But that’s not the point.

The point is that as Yoongi gets bigger and success becomes a more natural occurrence in his life, the more people he’s going to meet with whom he shares a common interest and dedication for. People he would probably (most definitely) get along with a lot better than he could get along with you. Friendship is nice and all, but it can’t substitute for the powerful combination of passion, intimacy, and commitment that comes out of romantic companionship.

And you see it in his eyes: the excitement he gets when he’s surrounded with like-minded people. You’re Yoongi’s manager, sure, and one of his best friends, obviously, but there’s only so much you can contribute to conversations about the actual music. Truth be told, when it comes to editing, you just do whatever Yoongi tells you to. And don’t even get you started on the music arrangements—you can’t even lift a candle to what Yoongi himself can do. Or Namjoon. Or especially Lee Jieun.

And although you know that Yoongi means no ill-intention, it feels as if he takes every opportunity to remind you of that fact.

“I mean, she’s amazing.” He’s sighing dreamily over his bulgogi. The pair of you are at a corner booth in a Korean barbeque restaurant, on another fake date Seokjin has prearranged for you. It’s not the first date you’ve been on since Jieun entered the picture, and it’s definitely not the first time Yoongi is bringing her up. And although this isn’t even a real date, and although this isn’t a real relationship, there’s only so much you can take—both as a friend and as someone who is starting to feel the curl of jealousy in your stomach.

Still, you refuse to let the cat out of the bag. So you sigh, picking up your chopsticks and digging into your meat. The only thing you can manage is: “I bet she is.”

But Yoongi doesn’t stop there. “You should have seen her today, she was on fire. Songwriting abilities, obviously. We were stuck on this one part of the song, but then she just swooped in with this perfect one-liner that made my heart drop. Seriously, it was so cool. I don’t know how her mind works, but I want to keep hanging out with her to learn more.”

You almost drop your meat completely into your salt dish, but you recover quickly with a cough. The noise helps cover up the fact that your heart feels the white-hot burn of frustration and confusion. “W-Well, you guys do make a good team. You know, being on the same level talent-wise.”

Yoongi laughs at that, completely oblivious to your state of mind. “Talent-wise? I wouldn’t say I’m anywhere near the level Jieun is at…”

As he trails off, you dare yourself to flicker your gaze up to him, seeing the pink flush that dusts along his cheeks. Interpreting this as shyness for the internal praise and fondness he has for Jieun, you look away and pick up the plate of raw beef brisket to dump into the grill.

Yoongi notices what you’re doing, and immediately reaches over to take the plate from you. “Here, let me do it.”

A part of you wants to fight about it, but you know doing so will just lead you down the path of no man’s land. So you let go, offering the tongs to Yoongi as he takes it to scrap the meat into the grill between the two of you. He takes the silence as an opportunity to further gush about Jieun, and how he can’t wait to work on music arrangements with her, how he’s excited to record the song with her, so on and so forth.

How could you even contribute to a conversation like this? He’s talking to you about a girl in a way that reminds you of your college days—back when the pair of you were strictly friends and nothing more, and he would talk to you about girls he thought were cute. It feels a little bit like right now. Yoongi and Jieun do make a good team, they get along together, and have formed a closeness within such a short period of time that anyone passing by the studio would assume they’ve been friends for years. Or, even further, that they were dating. At the very least, Yoongi speaks highly enough of Jieun that one could assume that she was the one he liked, and not you.

It feels a little bit like being left behind—it’s a thought that only continues to fester.

It takes a few more weeks, but you eventually draft up Yoongi’s tour schedule. It’s a few sheets of paper that detail the duration of the tour, the cities, the locations, the dates of each location, the size of the venue, how ticket distribution will work, on, and on, and on—all information that Yoongi has insisted on knowing about ever since he was signed into KSJ Records. The man just likes to know what his fans have to go through in order to see him, and you respect that.

However, before you can officially create the tour post that’ll be up on the KSJ Records social media account, it needs to go through a final approval: from Yoongi himself. And because he likes to take notes with paper and pen, like the old-fashioned songwriter he is, he’s asked you to print everything out for him.

This is what leads you to stand near the printer in your office, waiting for the last page to print and slide into your awaiting hands. Once all the pages come out, you flip through them to make sure that every city on the tour is accounted for. You turn back to your desk, collecting some magazines that have been stacked on top of your table.

Along with getting the setlist for the tour, Yoongi had also asked you to get a hold of some magazines and articles that provided reviews from his first tour. Something about wanting to read any critiques people might have had for his show.

You gather the small stack as well before sliding it into your bag and stepping out into the hall. It’s surprisingly early for you to be leaving your office, the late afternoon, but there’s a part of you that just wants to give the document stack to Yoongi and dip out for the rest of the night. By now, the doubts of Yoongi’s affection for Jieun has dug itself deeper into your mind and letting yourself be around Yoongi for too long brings up too many questions that cannot be good for your mentality.

Questions like: If he could, would Yoongi prefer to date Jieun for real?

Was Jieun better than you?

And the best one of them all: Were you just holding Yoongi back from better relationships?

You continue to walk down the hallway of the building, your pace a little slower than normal because of the cloudy thoughts that threaten to overtake your mind. Finally, you stop outside of the studio you know Yoongi and Jieun are recording in. You take in a deep breath, forcing your usual cheery personality to shine through as you pull down on the handle and let yourself into the studio.

As soon as you step inside, you almost wish that you had just slid the documents under the door. The sight of that would probably have been easier to process than the one in front of your eyes right now.

Namjoon, as usual at the desk surrounded by music panels and laptops, playing the recently finished music through the recording booth situated on the other side of the glass. Behind this aforementioned sheet of glass are Jieun and Yoongi. With headphones on, they’re standing next to each other behind the microphone. Their shoulders practically touching, you don’t miss the way they both keep sneaking glances at each other, the corner of their lips turning up, looking like they’re having the best time together.

You try not to slam down the door behind you, but your grip on the knob is a little too harsh to call for a softer click. Fortunately (or unfortunately, given how much fun Yoongi and Jieun look like they’re having—wait, did Jieun just touch Yoongi’s arm), neither of them notice your arrival.

Namjoon, however, notices.

He turns around to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?”

You try for a smile, your hand brushing against the door. “Sorry, I slipped a little,” You lie cleanly. You hold up the documents in your other hand. “Yoongi wanted me to prepare a few things for him, stuff for the upcoming tour.”

Namjoon gestures for you to sit next to him, something that you follow. As soon as you sit down, Namjoon asks to see these aforementioned documents, which you pull out of your bag and hand over to him. It’s quiet between the two of you, the only sounds being the laughs and giggles between Yoongi and Jieun—as if one has them as just told a secret only understood between them. It’s a feeling that doesn’t settle well in your stomach.

“Wow, this is very efficient,” Namjoon observes, seeming completely oblivious to your internal seething.

You shrug, eyes still locked in on the inside of the recording booth. “Yoongi asked for the best, so I gave him the best. Hey, so—!” You change topics. “Is there a reason they’re in the booth together? Don’t a lot of collabs nowadays just exchange everything virtually?”

Namjoon hums. “I didn’t know the jealous girlfriend was a full time act of yours now.” He’s clearly just trying to have fun. After all, only Taehyung and Jungkook know about your crush on Yoongi. “But honestly? I’m not too sure. They just wanted to go in together—said that they could be more personal when working in a face-to-face setting. And they’re actually making a lot of changes as they keep going through the song and hearing how the music is turning out. They’re a good team.”

Namjoon’s usage of the very same phrase that has been haunting you for the past few weeks doesn’t sit well in your stomach.

Namjoon returns the documents to you. “Did you want to talk to him now? See if he’s cool with you just dropping it off?”

You nod. “If that’s okay?”

Namjoon smiles. “We’ll just wait until they take a breath.”

Waiting doesn’t turn out to take a long time, because Jieun stops the song to make another statement about what line should replace the one they just sung. And Yoongi looks at her like she’s just hung up all the stars in the galaxy.

“Namjoon, do you mind starting the song over? We got a new idea for this part,” Jieun calls from inside the booth.

Namjoon leans forward to press the button. “Actually, you guys have some company.”

You lean forward as well. “Hey guys.”

Jieun grins, waving at you through the window. Yoongi acknowledges you as well, but there’s something suddenly stiff about his movements. You notice that he’s also stepping away from Jieun, as if to hide what has been going on between him and Jieun. As if that makes you feel any fucking better.

“Hey, uh, Yoongi?” You continue. “I have the documents you asked me to prepare for you. I can just leave it here for you to go over if that’s cool. Maybe take a little bit of time today to go over everything.”

Yoongi thinks about this for a moment. “Actually… honey,” He adds the pet name as an afterthought. “Do you mind dropping it off at my apartment? We’re probably just gonna be focusing on the song until pretty late tonight.”

The acknowledgement Yoongi has that he and Jieun are in for another late night only grows the seeds of doubt in your mind, as you clench your teeth. You can’t let your insecurities get the best of you. Not now. “Sure,” You manage, trying for a small.

Yoongi grins. “Thanks baby. I’ll make it up to you this weekend, okay?”

At this point, it just feels like he’s teasing you and it’s something you find you aren’t really in the mood for. So you manage a curt reply, giving a positive response that you’ll drop by his apartment to deliver the documents regarding his upcoming tour, before you’re up and out of the studio before Jieun, Yoongi, or Namjoon can say one last thing. But you don’t care. The sooner you’re out of there, looking at the heart-eye festival between Jieun and Yoongi, the better you feel.

So you take the train to Yoongi’s apartment, a now much bigger space in a slightly nicer area of the city. At least, nicer than the college apartment he shared with Jungkook that was no stranger to bed bugs and constant maintenance issues. The newer apartment Yoongi has recently acquired is nicer, has more modern finishes, and is now a space he fills in all by himself.

As you unlock the door to his apartment, you immediately make your way down the small hallway entrance, where a mirror and his shoes occupy a small corner of the area. The hallway opens up into the living room, and you turn on the light and take in the vaguely familiar sight of his new furniture—home pieces that you helped arrange with him a few months ago. Come to think of it, that was probably the first and last time you had come by Yoongi’s apartment. Before certain life elements got involved.

Tonguing the inside of your cheek, you plop yourself down on the couch and place the document stack at the corner of the coffee table. It looks rather strange just stacked like that, no context provided, so your eyes shift over for a pen and a post-it note.

You find a stack of post-it notes, and find a pen sticking out from inside a notebook. Paying little attention to the notebook, you just make a grab for the pen and rip it out of the notebook with the aggression of a gorilla. The notebook flies open, the contents inside barring itself right at you.

Your immediate reaction is to close the notebook. After all, it just takes one glance at Yoongi’s scrambled handwriting to know that this is one of his writing journals. His most recent one, in fact, judging from how flat the pages after the one currently open appear—like it hasn’t been stained with a pen yet.

You want to close it—you really do. You and Yoongi have built a friendship on trust. That’s what kept you both together throughout the long years, and you know better than to risk everything just for the chance to scope through what is essentially a songwriter’s diary.

Your fingers inch towards the edge of the book, about to close it shut, before the title at the top header makes you freeze.

MY SECRET

Without meaning to, your eyes read over the lines. And you feel sick to your stomach.

The song is so raw, so personal, brimming with desire in every verse. It covers lingering stares, secret smiles. A barrier. How Yoongi “wants you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you”. And you know Yoongi—you know him better than anyone. You know that for all the love songs he sings and the topics he sings about that he feigns ignorance for, he draws on personal experience to write his music. How else could he make everything so personable?

How could this song not be about Jieun?

The lingering stares, secret smiles: it clearly points to the events in the recording booth you saw earlier that day, and if he’s writing a song about it, it’s obvious that today hadn’t been the first time for those stares and smiles.

The barrier: obviously you. The relationship facade he’s forced to put up with you, when he’s clearly so much happier with someone else.

With those factors, it’s so clear that Yoongi would want Jieun, but would be unable to have her.

And you’re just the girl in the background with the starry eyes for a guy who would never even look at you the way you want him to.

That realization brings the hot tears to your eyes, as you slam the notebook shut and bring your hand to your mouth, biting your finger to muffle your sobs. What comes out is the build-up of months of insecurities, of having to keep the biggest secret of your life to yourself, and the additional jealousy brought in by a third party.

This despair and sadness isn’t good for you, and you know that only continuing to hide it away in light of Yoongi and Jieun’s partnership, in light of your feelings, and Yoongi’s exploding career—you should only be able to handle so much. You’re a human being, and you have your limits.

And you think this might be it.

CHAPTER 6: TRUTHS

“Y-Yeah, I think it’s food poisoning or something,” You speak quietly into the phone, playing with the edges of your blanket. “I’m really sorry, Seokjin, I’ll try to send out some emails to respond to news outlets today…”

“Hey, no, you’re totally fine,” Seokjin replies hastily. “I don’t blame you for that. Just try and get some rest today, and update me on how you feel tomorrow.” A pause. “What was it?”

“Uh, it must have been in the takeout I got last night.” That’s a lie. You cooked your own dinner last night, and are lying straight through your teeth regarding your condition, but you can’t find it in yourself to go to work today. Not since the discovery of Yoongi’s crush on Jieun made you want to dig yourself into a hole and never crawl out.

It’s not like you ever thought you had a chance with Yoongi—but you had just thought maybe something would be different after the hand holding, after his radio interview, after your kiss together.

But Jieun serves as that nice splash of reality that Yoongi wants someone better than you. Someone more like him—someone passionate about music, who gets along with him better, who can write music with and write music about.

At this point, it just feels like you’re a weight, dragging Yoongi down in the waves of his past.

On the other side of the phone, Seokjin sighs. “Damn, that’s always the worst. Those are the ones you suspect the least. Anyways, I’ll let you go. Get some rest. Maybe I’ll let Yoongi know so he can bring some soup.”

The mention of Yoongi makes you feel like you could actually get food poisoning. “You can let him know, but he’ll probably be too hung up on Jieun to give a shit.”

Seokjin, of course, knows nothing, so he laughs at what he thinks is your joke. “That’s true. They’re actually at it again today, which is surprising considering Jieun only comes by a few times a week. But no, she was here bright and early and so was Yoongi. Basically, they showed up to the studio at the same time. They called it fate, or some shit like that.”

“You don’t say,” You return dryly.

Namjoon’s confirmation that they make a good team, paired with Seokjin’s admittance that Yoongi is hung up on Jieun, puts you in a delicate mood for the rest of the day. You try to watch some TV shows, some movies, play some video games, but you are constantly distracted by thoughts of Yoongi and Jieun.

You’re all curled up on the couch, about to click into another movie, when there’s a knock on your door. Your heart leaps in your throat as you stand up. You hate the brief flicker of hope in your chest, the curiosity that perhaps Yoongi is the one knocking.

All those hopes are dashed when you see it is Jungkook on the other side of the door.

“Oh,” You remark, the smile dropping from your face. “It’s just you.”

Jungkook looks at you like you pissed in his cereal. “Uh, I don’t see other amazing friends over here bringing you store-bought chicken soup because they heard you got food poisoning last night.” He holds up the bag for extra emphasis.

You roll your eyes, grabbing the bag from him. “I don’t actually have food poisoning, I just didn’t want to go to work today.”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows at your statement. There’s a lot you’ve given him that he can work with, lots of things he can ask about. Maybe ask why you would lie about your food poisoning, maybe ask why you didn’t want to go to work today, maybe ask why you still looked like shit.

But the first thing he says: “You owe me twenty dollars.”

You roll your eyes, beckoning him inside with the jerk of your head. “Sure.”

Jungkook laughs a little. “Wait, okay, I was actually kidding.” But he still steps into your apartment. “I’ll be serious now. Why lie about food poisoning? And since when do you not want to go to work? If anything, you love to go so you can stare at Yoongi’s ass through the recording booth—!” He cuts himself off when you give him a glare of such pure hatred that it actually shocks him. “Wait, are you mad at Yoongi?”

You tear your gaze away from him, placing the bag of groceries on your countertop. Sorting through what Jungkook has bought serves to be a good distraction.

Jungkook continues to look at you. He’s quiet, but he always has a lot to say, and since you’ve been his friend for so long that only heightens his need to talk. “I knew it!” He finally says. “I knew you were mad at him. Taehyung and I were placing bets down.”

You slam the can of chicken soup on the counter. “HEY. What did I say about gossiping?”

“Not in front of your face?”

Your hand flinches, as if to stop yourself from grabbing the can and throwing it at his stupid face. Jungkook doesn’t even move in fear, the bastard. “I’m just gonna pretend I don’t know about the bets. You want a can of chicken soup?”

Jungkook confirmation finds you at the stove, heating up two of the many cans Jungkook had bought for you. Included in his twenty-dollar purchase had been a few containers of tums, and some orange juice.

Jungkook lingers in the back. “You wanna tell me why you’re mad at Yoongi?”

You whirl around to face him. “How did you even know I was upset?”

Jungkook snorts, but quiets down when you glare at him. He coughs. “You’re pretty easy to read, you know. You’ve been acting weird ever since Jieun started coming by the studio.”

“Weird how?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re just a little quieter. And you haven’t been spending as much time in the studio as you used to. That was the biggest giveaway.”

You’re quiet for a moment. You rub at your cheek. “Does Yoongi know?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Doubtful. But I think he knows something is up. I was on the phone with him last night.”

It’s your turn to snort. “Okay, that’s really fucking funny.” At Jungkook’s raised eyebrow, you explain. “I thought he’d be too busy comparing Jieun to sunlight, or something, to notice me.”

“Oh, so you’re jealous.”

You and Jungkook have a staring contest, before you sigh. “I accidentally saw Yoongi’s writing notebook yesterday. It had all these love confessions in it, and I’m pretty sure he was talking about Jieun.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No way? Are you sure?”

You cough. “Well, I’m not a hundred percent. But it was all about this forbidden crush he couldn’t act on because of a barrier. Who else could be the barrier? He obviously thinks I’m holding him back from pursuing a relationship with Jieun.” You think about your words for a second, trying to decide if Jungkook is trustworthy enough to disclose this information to. “I think I’m gonna break it off with him. Maybe quit too, while I’m at it.”

Jungkook’s lips part. “But why?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” You cry. “I can’t keep up this fake dating with Yoongi anymore, it’s too complicated, and I’m actually in love with him so that opens up this whole other series of complications. And it’s not fair to Yoongi—he shouldn’t have to deal with feelings he obviously doesn’t return. The whole charade thing just isn’t doing me any good. And even if I break off the relationship, I would still have to see him all the time because of the whole manager situation. Quitting just seems like the best option for me.”

Jungkook is quiet for a second. “How do you even know he wrote that song about Jieun?” He finally asks, speaking carefully.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling. Who else has he been spending all this time with? Who else could that song possibly be about?”

Jungkook gives you a long, hard look, like he almost can’t believe your brain can be thinking those thoughts. But he relents. “I think you should talk to Yoongi before quitting. He’s one of your best friends. He deserves to know why, at least.” He looks over your shoulder. “The chicken soup is done.”

You whirl back around to turn off the stove. But also so Jungkook can’t see the tears glassing over your eyes.

It turns out, telling Yoongi you want to quit is a much more difficult task than you could have thought. For starters, Seokjin sets the pair of you up on more dates than before. Apparently, there are some rumors going around regarding Jieun’s more and more frequent turn-ups at KSJ Records, and people have started connecting the dots that her appearances are tied to either one of two reasons. Either Yoongi and Jieun are collaborating on music. Or they’re dating.

The second reason is a lot juicier, much more exciting, so naturally a lot of people have gravitated towards supporting that reason. To try and expel those thoughts, Seokjin sends you out on more dates with Yoongi. It’s all fine, but your thoughts about breaking off this relationship and quitting just makes you more quiet and closed off as you wallow deeper into your thoughts.

You suddenly don’t know how to contribute to the conversations Yoongi tries to bring up to you. The words seem to fail you every time, and you feel yourself constantly resorting to silence or one-worded answers. And it constantly always feels like Yoongi is standing too close to you. Every step towards you is a step away from him. When he tries to hold your hand on the sixth date in two weeks, you wiggle out of his grasp and pretend that you need to fix your jacket.

Your own journey to self-destruction means that you are completely oblivious to the hurt in Yoongi’s eyes with every step you take to distance yourself from him. But what could you even say to him?

How could you tell him you want to quit your job in public? That would obviously lead to a fight, and it would reflect badly on Yoongi’s public image. Just because you want to quit doesn’t mean you still care about him, because you do. And you still want him to succeed. With Seokjin’s constant scheduling of dates, it leaves little room for you to share in an actual private discussion. The only off times Yoongi has are the days Jieun comes by the studio, and you try to stay a mile away from that place now.

But it turns out, you don’t have a choice today, because Seokjin calls you into his office and tells you to drop off the samples of cover art that has just been dropped off at the studio. The cover art is something that Jieun and Yoongi have designed together for the album, to be displayed when the single is released.

With heavy feet, you make your way through the hallways and towards Yoongi’s studio space. Every fiber in your being hopes that Yoongi and Jieun will be in the recording booth, working on their song (or even better, just not in the studio at all), so that you don’t have to face them enjoying each other’s company right in front of your face. There’s no music coming through the door, so your heart soars that latter prospect.

As you open the door, however, you realize that there’s no way for you to be so lucky.

Inside, Yoongi and Jieun are eating lunch, takeout noodles split between the two of them, and they’re in the middle of laughing. The laughter, however, stops when you open the door, effectively interrupting their fucking date. Which is a thought that does nothing to make you feel better. The silence that echoes on only further makes you feel like shit.

You and Yoongi sharing a room privately nowadays is a rarity, since you’ve been doing a good job at avoiding him at all costs. His unanswered text messages and shortened calls echo through your mind at the sight of him. With the look he’s giving you, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Jieun, however, remains completely oblivious to the situation as she gives you her normally bright cheery greeting. You stare at you, momentarily stunned. You would have thought Yoongi shared the troubles of your relationship with her, for some reason. You try to remain nice about it, though, giving Jieun a small smile as you return her greeting.

“I, uh,” You start, bringing the package up for both of them to see. “Your cover art came in today. Seokjin just asked if I could drop it off here.”

Jieun brightens at the sight. “Oh my gosh, it came! Do you mind if I…?” She trails off, hands reaching out to take the package from you. You give it to her. “Yoongi, isn’t that so exciting?”

“Yeah…” Yoongi trails off. A quick glance at him tells you that he’s staring at you. You look away. “Did you see it yet?” He asks you.

You shrug. “I, uh, haven’t. But, anyways, I have to get going.”

“Hey,” Jieun calls, freezing you slightly in your path. “Thanks for bringing this over. We really appreciate it.”

We?

The use of that specific noun, while supposedly harmless in the current context, makes your stomach flare with that white hot curl of jealousy. Your teeth clench, as you swallow down the spiteful words that almost manage to escape into the air around you. You smile, no teeth. “You’re welcome.” That’s the only thing you can manage before you’re turning around to open the door and practically bolt yourself out of the studio.

You only make it a few feet before the door to the studio opens and you hear footsteps trailing after you. He calls your name, and your heart drops. You are so not ready for any type of one-on-one conversation with Yoongi right now.

But your entire soul still gravitates toward him, so you stop and turn around to face him.

Yoongi is by himself this time, and looking like a mixture of confused and defeated as he approaches you. “Listen,” He starts. “I know that we haven’t had a lot of time to really talk…”

“It’s okay,” You brush off.

Yoongi says your name again. “You know, you don’t need to lie to me. You’re my best friend—I can tell when you’re hiding something from me.”

You sigh, shaking your head as every nerve in your body is telling you to walk away. “Yoongi, I’m not sure I can do this right now.”

“Do what?” He presses. “I know that I’ve been super busy, but if you want to talk you can just let me know. Tell me what’s bothering you, okay? Because I…” He trails off, sighing, and you feel that vague sense of guilt wash over you. “I can tell that you’re avoiding me and it’s really shitty. I can’t even focus that much on my song with Jieun.”

The mention of Jieun stiffens you up again. “Well, sorry for being an inconvenience,” You spit. “Why don’t you go back to your new fucking girlfriend if you’re gonna bring her up to my face again.” You couldn’t stop yourself this time—the words were too ready at your lips. Your chest is heaving from it too, but it is things that you know that you will regret saying.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow deeper together as your words.

You stare right back at him, the shadow of a thought passing over you. If you’re going to tell Yoongi your biggest secret, it might as well be right now. You don’t know the next time you will be this brave, this reactive, this bold.

Both of you open your mouths at the same time.

“Did you just call Jieun my girlfriend?”

“I’m quitting.”

You clamp your mouth shut. You hadn’t meant to speak at the same time as him. A small wave of regret passes through you, as you hope that Yoongi wouldn’t have heard your statement over his question. But of course he does.

Yoongi’s frowns at you. “Did you just say you were quitting?”

You take a step back, running a hand through your hair as your exhale comes out shaky. More shaky than you intended it to. Oh no. “Yeah,” You manage, already feeling your emotions bottling up. “I was gonna try and talk to Seokjin about quitting before I left.”

If Yoongi thinks you were joking before, he definitely doesn’t now because he takes a step towards you and catches your wrist before you can go that far. “B-But why?” His eyes have gotten a little wider, and he’s staring at you like his world is being pulled apart.

You try to tug your wrist away to no avail. Your mind tries to flash through several different excuses, but you realize that you need to tell him the truth. Yoongi deserves that much, at least.

As you try to collect your thoughts, Yoongi starts scrambling. “W-Was it something I did?” He asks quickly. “Because normally you’d always try to call me out and I’d fix myself immediately. A-Are you unhappy with your position? Because I can try to get Seokjin to give you less workload or something. I-I’m really sorry if it was something that I did to hurt you. I-I just really need you here so talk to me… please…”

You shake your head. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” You whisper. “I know your secret, Yoongi, and that’s why I can’t do this anymore.”

“W-What secret?” His eyes are still on you.

You take in another breath. “I went over to your apartment that night,” You start. “And I saw what you were writing in your journal. I know that you’re in love with Jieun, and that you only see me as a barrier to pursuing a relationship with her. And that sucks because normally, I’d encourage you to go after her. But we’re doing this whole dating thing, and I feel like I’m neck-deep because…” Your words come out a little more shaky. “Because I’m in love with you,” You whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for years. B-But I know now that I’ll never measure up to Jieun, or any of the other girls in this industry who deserve you more than I do. I thought that I could keep being professional for you and your career. But it’s too hard for me.”

“W-Wait,” Yoongi says, tightening his grip on you. “Can you just let me explain, please? It’s not like that, I promise you.”

You rip your wrist from his hand. “I read it!” You retort loudly. “Who else could be the person you want more than anything, but can’t have because of a physical barrier? When else have you used a real person to inspire your music? It’s too hard for me, Yoongi! I can’t keep doing this!”

Yoongi seems to be struggling with his next words. “So, what?” Yoongi asks, circling around his next question carefully. “You’re just going to leave? Is this… the end of our friendship?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! I haven’t thought this out that far. But I know that we shouldn’t be doing this fake dating charade anymore, because I know there’s no way these past few months have meant the same to you as it did to me. I also know that I can’t really be in the same room with you right now.”

Yoongi hopelessly gazes over at you, his own chest heaving as he himself struggles with what to say. “Please don’t do this,” He returns softly.

Your gaze lingers on Yoongi’s for just a while longer, trying to burn the image of him in your mind, before you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

As it turns out, Seokjin is out of the office for the rest of the evening. Which is fine, right? Whatever. You can just call him tomorrow morning and schedule a meeting with him, tell him the urgency of it and will definitely be able to muster your strength for another conversation about your secret feelings for Yoongi.

You return to your apartment and immediately burst into tears as the weight of today’s confrontation sinks its teeth right into your neck. You just shared your feelings with Yoongi, you threatened your employment, and almost cut off your friendship with Yoongi as a result of that.

Your many years of friendship, of late nights, of laughter together. It seems silly to want to cut off an important friendship just like that—but it just seems unfair of you to carry on with a friendship where you’re always going to crave more. And if Yoongi is smart, he’ll know that as well, and he won’t come back.

Still, a part of you just hopes a little. Even though, of course, it’s a stupid thing to hope for. Yoongi has already established his taste, and it’s definitely for people leagues above you. The thought only makes you cry a little harder, so much so that you try to drink some water in order to calm down.

You’re in the beginning stages of patting down your face, of grabbing some spoons to put into the freezer, when there’s a series of frantic knocking at your door. You turn your head towards the source of the noise, trying to figure out who could be visiting at a time like this. It’s been a few hours since your confrontation with Yoongi at the studio, but you assume that he’s probably blowing smoke up Jieun’s ass. There’s no way that it could be him.

So you open the door, and freeze when you realize that it is Yoongi.

More than that, it’s Yoongi with his chest heaving. Almost like he has just run around the entire city to reach you.

The only thing you can manage right now is a wide-eyed stare.

Yoongi stares right back at you. Just a few hours ago, he had looked so helpless and lost for words. A first, actually. But this time, he’s staring at you with so much intensity that you cannot look away.

Yoongi finally seems to catch his breath. “You’re an idiot,” He states.

You’re so caught off guard by that statement that you forget you’re supposed to be upset with him. “I’m sorry?” You ask.

Yoongi huffs, practically barreling past you to step into your house. You try to tell him to stop, but he’s distracted by rummaging through his backpack for something. With a sigh, you decide to close the door. As soon as he’s standing in your kitchen, he finds an old, beaten up notebook that you vaguely remember from his college days. He points at you with his notebook. “You’re an idiot,” He repeats. “If you think that the lyrics on my coffee table are the first time I’ve written lyrics about a specific person.”

At your shocked expression, he immediately starts flipping through the notebook. You notice that certain pages are marked with sticky tabs.

Yoongi settles on a page and clears his throat. “Hidden within the walls of our lecture hall, your laughter curls through the cracks like liquid fire. You light up my day amongst borrowed pencils and shared jokes. I knew that you were going to change my life,” he reads. He looks up at you. “The first day I met you, when I asked you to borrow a pencil.” You remember those lyrics. It was from a song he had written called ‘starlight’—the opening song on his first EP.

He flips through a few more pages. “I never learned about love, but I watch her believe in my dreams, take the same steps to join my team, and I feel like I could figure it out.” He looks at you. “When you agreed to help me with my Youtube channel.”

He continues through his notebooks of lyrics, of stories, of secrets. Every single lyric he reads to you connects back to some memory he holds of the two of you. All the memories together in college: from the panic attack he had in the bathroom of the first party the pair of you attended, to exploring the nearby cities via subway until early mornings, to corner ramen shops.

Soon enough, he moves on to the lyrics he had written during his first tour. The distance he felt, and how that related to the emotional distance he felt with you—that desire he constantly felt for more, and how the manager and artist relationship the pair of you had couldn’t hold a candle to the friendship you once held. The distance was never a physical challenge, and that was something you could never connect the dots on.

Every stone of his hidden affection is turned over, every lyric he has marked read over and explained with such a passion. It’s like he has waited years to finally have his turn, to finally speak the way he’s always wanted to—directly, with no tricks of music and whimsical arrangements to make you doubt everything he could say.

He had written whole songs about the fake dating experience, of how he wasn’t sure he could only pretend to love you when it was the only thing he ever knew how to do.

Finally, he flips to his most recent song. The very song that you had stumbled upon the other day in his apartment. “I want you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you,” He reads. He looks up at you. “The barrier was the blanket of our fake relationship. You were never stopping me from doing anything, because you were the only thing I have ever wanted. So…” He gestures to all the notebooks that he has laid out across your kitchen counter. “Do you now see how many song lyrics are actually about you? All about you. Because you’re all I’ve always known.”

Your gaze carefully studies each notebook, layered over each other, overflowing with dedication and passion. The privacy of someone who has surprisingly spent his entire singing career sharing nothing but his darkest secrets. Your arms are overlapped with each other, tightening against your form. “I-I had no idea.”

Yoongi shakes his head, but when he looks at you, his eyes are soft. “I figured that.” He’s leaning across the counter to keep his gaze leveled with you, but he pushes himself even closer to tap a finger on the spot between your eyes. “I thought I made it so obvious. You were never listening.”

“I-I never thought to,” You admit softly. But Yoongi has a point. Ever since he started writing and sharing his original songs, he has done nothing but sing them to you in any and all forms. From the private sessions the pair of you shared in his college apartment, to the performances he would deliver on the street, in the recording booth at all hours of the day, to the tours and the audiences that sing those love declarations right back at you. For years, Yoongi has done nothing but give, and give, and give. And you had no idea.

Your breath hitches, and Yoongi rounds the counter and gathers your face in his hands. “Shh,” He coos softly. “It’s not your fault.”

You sniff. “It is my fault! I’m such a stupid bitch. And I treated you and Jieun like shit because I thought you were in love with her. I thought I was holding you back from being able to date who you really wanted to be with.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, technically, you were.” At your look, he hastily goes to explain himself. “The person I really wanted to date was you. But since we were, uh, fake dating, that prevented me from being able to date you for real…”

You groan at his teasing grin. “You idiot, that was so bad.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Yoongi is still grinning though, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. His eyes follow the movement, mentally outlining you into his mind. “I just wanted to see you smile.” His smile slips a little. “Since you had been ignoring me for so long.”

You pout. “I told you, I thought you were in love with Jieun. And honestly, that would make a lot of sense… she’s really pretty and talented and you guys could talk about music for hours, especially compared to me—!”

“Stop,” Yoongi cuts in, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m gonna stop you there before you say something I don’t like.” He angles his head to level his gaze with you. “Jieun is really cool, I’ll probably be the first one to admit that. But she’s not you. Hey, c’mon, look at me.” He forces you to look at him again. “You are also so, so pretty and smart and talented. You may not know a lot about music and songwriting, but you were always the one who pulled all-nighters with me to edit my videos, or learn music with me, or point out if something in my music didn’t sound right. Your passion to help is something I really love about you.”

You pursue your lips to hide your smile. “Love, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t even hesitant. “Well, yeah, because I’m in love with you. I thought that was obvious.”

You exhale. “Yeah, well, it’s different hearing you say it outloud.”

Yoongi grins. “Well, hopefully you’ll get used to it. I have many years to make it up to you.” His smile dies down a little. “I’m sorry,” He finally settles with. “I should have been more straightforward and honest with you about my feelings. You must have been suffering for so long, having to keep it all in and everything.”

You shake your head. “I’m also sorry,” You whisper. “For jumping to conclusions so fast. And also not really listening to your lyrics. That was kind of stupid of me, considering I’m your manager and everything.”

Yoongi laughs. “It seems like you’re good now, seeing as you’ve just gotten an exclusive behind-the-scenes artist cut and commentary about his songs.” He pauses for a second. “So, I hope this means that you won’t quit being my manager. And that, maybe, we can promote our relationship from fake dates to real ones.”

You smile. “I’d like that.”

His smile turns softer. “And I was hoping that maybe I can kiss you again. For real, this time. No cameras, no Seokjin breathing down our necks.”

You giggle. “Just so you know, if the kiss at your album release party had been a real one and we were actually dating at the time, I probably would have wanted you to fuck me in the bathroom or something.”

Yoongi groans. “Don’t say that with that cute smile on your face. Makes me want to do things to you.”

“I don’t see you pulling away though.”

“Of course not.” Yoongi’s figure loams over you now, his lips brushing against yours. “I have three years to make up to you.”

With that, he kisses you, silencing whatever next words you were going to say. That is, if you even had any to begin with. Now that he’s kissing you, stealing the breath from your lungs, you’re not even too sure any thoughts have been floating around at all. Unlike the kiss at the album release party, which had been softer and dainty, held back to hide a secret, this kiss is rougher. Yoongi is already moving his lips against yours, already parting his lips to brush his tongue against your lower lips. His hands are already sliding across the counter, trying to cover you more and more.

His hand slips on the counter though, almost sending his sprawling on top of you. You catch him with your hand on his chest, as the sudden action makes both of you pull away from each other. The sight you both face is very much like the sight from the launch party: flushed cheeks and redden lips, a desire for more flickering behind eyes.

But this time, there is no expectation to carry on in a party like a long-term couple. That is what allows Yoongi to wrap his arms around you, pulling you to his chest this time. He kisses you again, slower, softer, but you deepen the kiss with the part of your own lips this time. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you as he lifts you into his arms and blindly navigates through your apartment, into your bedroom, where you both fall atop the mattress.

“And just for the record,” You whisper, right when Yoongi pulls away to let both of you catch your breath. “I love you too.” You’ve already admitted your feelings earlier in the day, but it’s worth it to see Yoongi deliver that heart pounding gummy smile.

#btswritingcafe #ficswithluv #yoongi scenarios #yoongi scenario #yoongi fluff #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #traci writes

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redrobin-detective · 3 years ago

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Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached.

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control.

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule.

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown.

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments.

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand.

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents.

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture.

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

#Ben 10 #this took sooo long whoops #i wanna write about ben's breakdown so mad you have no idea

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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

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Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys.

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable.

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party.

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that.

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now.

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought.

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!"

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening.

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?"

More cheers, more hollers.

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!"

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day.

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse.

Again—you fucking hate frat boys.

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst.

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer.

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt.

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team.

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!"

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell no!"

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike."

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving."

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed.

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?"

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly."

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer.

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little.

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?"

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along.

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though.

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?"

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer."

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers.

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in.

He does, and you let out a breath of relief.

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?"

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?"

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you."

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs.

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue.

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?"

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself."

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon.

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip.

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice.

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach.

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum.

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!"

"Ayyy, waterfall!"

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced.

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch.

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up."

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game.

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards.

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace.

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup.

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you.

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you.

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before.

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team?

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you.

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out.

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult.

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes.

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses.

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way.

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls.

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you.

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc.

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover.

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall.

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster.

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him.

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them.

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it.

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms.

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees.

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested.

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins.

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?”

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away.

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him.

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave.

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning.

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you.

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too.

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was.

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips.

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble.

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere.

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out.

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper.

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind.

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind.

“Holy—”

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs.

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass.

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately.

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress.

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan.

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you.

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it.

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to.

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door.

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias.

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again.

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot.

Is still hot.

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong.

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner.

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits.

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face.

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you.

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago.

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head.

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick.

God dammit, why is he so sexy?

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so...

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body.

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face.

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted.

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip.

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock.

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion.

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth.

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue.

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you.

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward.

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot.

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit.

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to.

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine.

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts.

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight."

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you.

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed.

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach.

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression.

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support.

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot.

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee."

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out.

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side.

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth.

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like.

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?"

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!"

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together.

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave.

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it.

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove.

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?"

And, there's that point.

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request.

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea.

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times.

But, it needs to stop.

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth.

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer.

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call.

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven.

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it.

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them.

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious.

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before.

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods.

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated.

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself.

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee.

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much.

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully.

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?"

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to.

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point.

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you.

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie.

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?"

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal."

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended.

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards.

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day."

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face.

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias."

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick.

"You have any classes?" You ask.

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place.

"Sucks," is all you can come up with.

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?"

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself.

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'.

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?"

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals.

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it.

"God dammit."

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear.

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to."

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan.

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole.

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane.

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name.

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit.

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air.

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess.

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat.

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate.

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

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