#is this what college people feel like cramming in final touches on their thesis

[caramelmochacrow]

brain got fucking fried as hell the fuck *insert image of a cat that looks so sickly*

[wickedlyqueer]

Wherever the wind may carry us

Nearing their graduation at Shiz, Glinda prepares for her final event as president of the university’s LGBT+ Network. Completely unaware that Elphaba has a surprise for her planned...

(Final one-shot in the Dutch High School Universe. Can be read separately).

READ ON AO3

Glinda woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread in the oven. It had only been a couple of months since she and Elphaba had found an affordable apartment, but the long wait had been worth it—no matter how many times her old roommates had set off the fire alarm. Not that Glinda had exactly deserved a ‘best roommate award’, being the girl who always had her partner over and was prone to leave her pile of dishes out for days.

But none of that mattered anymore. After a year long search they finally managed to snatch an one-bedroom apartment in the centre of Shiz. It was all they could afford for now, and though the space was a bit crammed, Glinda thought it suitable. They were just starting out after all! Only last week had Glinda gotten her final grade for her thesis and officially gotten enough credit to graduate. Meanwhile, Elphaba had been accepted as a PhD candidate at the university and would be working alongside researchers like Dr. Dillamond. Glinda had never seen them beaming as much as when they received the news.

A soft knock came from the door and Elphaba peeked their head around. “Oh good, you’re awake. Breakfast’s ready.”

“I noticed,” Glinda smiled and nestled deeper into her blankets. “Hmm, so is there a special occassion or am I just lucky?”

“Well, it’s your last day as president. I thought you deserved something nice,” Elphaba said and crouched down next to her to give her a kiss. “Morning, by the way. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. You?”

“Oh you know me,” Elphaba said as they played with Glinda’s messy and curly hair. “I fall asleep at three and wake up at seven and somehow that’s enough fuel for me to get through the day.”

“How you do it is beyond me.”

Elphaba chuckled. “Well, if you’re ready to leave your comfortable cocoon, I made us a fancy breakfast. Got freshly squeezed orange juice and warm, tiny breads waiting for you.”

“Oz, that sounds good. I’ll be there in a few, okay?”

After Elphaba left the room she checked her messages on her phone and then put on her slippers and Elphaba’s comfortable sweater that was too big for her. In the kitchen, Elphaba was still prepping some food.

“Need help?”

“Nah, I got it.”

“Probably for the best,” Glinda joked and Elphaba let out a laugh. It was no secret that her cooking skills were abysmal.

A bit of free counter space was left and Glinda decided to hop on it. Elphaba was rolling up slices of cheese and put them on a plate and added a cut stem of parsley as decoration.

“Oh, it’s a fancy fancy breakfast. You’re really going out of your way here.”

Elphaba looked up to her and smiled. “Anything for my girl. I actually thought I’d pamper you this entire day, since it's the closing of a big chapter.”

“That’s true.”

Though her initial hesitation stopped her from going to any LGBT+ meetings the first semester at Shiz, after her gender reassignment surgery, Elphaba had persuaded her to go to one of their lectures about the differences in trans identities across the globe. It had been so fascinating that Glinda kept going to every lecture or borrel she could attend. In her second year, she became part of the board and was in charge of organizing the events. She continued this during her final year of her bachelor, and when applying for a master’s programme, she got asked to become president.

“I can’t believe this is my final day with the Network.”

“Hey.” Elphaba stopped what they were doing and placed their hand against her cheek. “Don’t forget the amount of good you’ve put into the world. You created this welcoming space for every queer person on campus. You’ll go down in the books as a great president.”

“And the first trans woman,” Glinda was quick to add.

“That too,” Elphaba grinned and went back to cutting little cubes of cheese. “Oz, can you even imagine what high school Glinda would think of you?”

“She’d freak out and run back into the closet.”

Elphaba laughed. “Oh yeah, she would. You used to be so terrified of coming out and look at you now. Here, try this,” they said and fed her a cube of cheese.

“Hm, this is good.”

“Yeah? It’s added with buttermilk and some cumin seeds.”

“Nice. Also, what was that about pampering me all day?”

A dark blush spread across their cheeks and Elphaba busied themself with whatever was on the cutting board. “Well, I thought we ought to celebrate today. So after the meeting I reserved us a table at Peach and Kidney’s. Maybe go for a walk afterwards, watch the sun go down at that little park you like.”

Glinda was touched. “Really? That’s so sweet!”

“I thought so too. This day is all about you. I still need to go to the lab for a bit, but I should be in time for the event.”

“Dr. Dillamond called you in?”

“Yeah, he messaged me if I could come down for an hour or two.” Their eyes glazed, but it was for such a brief moment, Glinda thought she must have imagined it.

“As long as you can make it to my final event as president. I may or may not mention you in my goodbye speech.”

Elphaba smirked. “Uh oh. Should I be scared?”

Glinda hoped off the counter and drabbed her arms around their neck. She left a lingering kiss on their lips. “Never.”

--

That afternoon, Elphaba sprinted into the humanities faculty building, out of breath. They located the lecture hall where the event would take place and saw the doors were still open.

“Oh, thank Oz,” they breathed out heavily. They promised Glinda to meet her beforehand and almost didn’t make it in time. The lecture hall was already packed and a few students were still searching for a seat. Next to the lectern, Glinda was in light conversation with the vice president of the LGBT+ Network. Elphaba took two flight of steps at a time as they rushed down the stairs. Before they were down, Glinda had already spotted them and let out a sigh of relieve.

“Hey,” Elphaba said and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay, we’re running a bit late ourselves. You got hold up at the lab?”

“I did, yes,” they agreed, knowing they wouldn’t come up with a more convincing lie themself.

“Okay, well, you better go grab a seat. I don’t think many more will be coming.”

Elphaba nodded. “Sure, and hey—you got this.”

“Thanks babe,” Glinda smiled.

They quickly took a seat in the second row and nervously patted their pocket to feel if it was still there. Not long after, the doors closed and the room quieted down as Glinda stepped towards the lectern.

“Thank you all for coming to our last event of this school year. Before I’ll introduce our guest speaker for today, I’d like to take a moment to say a few words. As some of you may know, this will be my last day as president of the LGBT+ Network. After this event, Jeremy will take my place, and I’m certain he’ll be able to lead this wonderful network with much care and great enthusiasm.”

She looked away from her notes and gave Jeremy a smile. “Upon meeting me, most people have reacted surprised that I am president of the LGBT+ Network. As a trans woman, I cannot help but feel flattered by this. It means I pass, it means I can live my life unnoticed,” Glinda took a breath. “But I’ve learnt more than once that this right of passing can be stripped away from you the moment people find out. This is how I got taught to hide myself and be quiet. I never took pride in my identity. It felt like a dirty secret. I was a dirty secret.”

Her gaze fell upon Elphaba and a soft smile tugged at her lips. “If not for my rock, my datemate Elphaba, I would still feel the need to hide. If they had not pushed me to go to one of these events in my first year, I would not be standing here in front of you. They taught me that, yes, queer acceptance still has a long way to go. But that spaces such as these help us be ourselves. And they were right, because it helped me become myself.”

Her voice started to crack, and Glinda paused for a moment before pushing through. “So to Elphaba, to all the wonderful board members of this network, and to each and every person who has come to these events, I want to thank you for creating this safe space for me. I hope in my two years as president, I have been able to return that favour.”

Applause rung through the audience. Elphaba whooped in support and Glinda’s cheeks coloured with embarrassment. Not that she minded, Elphaba knew that too. And why wouldn't they show how proud they are of her? If Glinda could make them turn into a pile of mush, then the least they could do was do the same for her.

“Okay, sentimental stuff out of the way,” Glinda laughed nervously as the applause died down. She switched to a different piece of paper. “Now, it is my absolutely honour to introduce professor Wertl who visits us from Qhoyre University. Her research in…”

Everything but Glinda faded to the background. It took all of Elphaba's willpower not to jump out of their seat and declare the love that was bursting out of them right in front of all these people. They dug their hand in their pocket and smiled as they felt the little box against their hand. A chapter would be closing today, that much was certain, but Elphaba was not done with their story yet.

Dr. Dillamond hadn’t asked them to come to the lab at all. Elphaba had to come up with a white lie, so they could run across town and pick up the ring they’d chosen out for Glinda weeks ago. Tonight, as they’d sit at a park bench while the sun would be dipping under the horizon, they’d ask the question they always knew they’d ask one day.

Nearly five years ago, they had been sitting on a different bench and told her they could not imagine spending the rest of their life without her. Those words had stuck true all these years through college, and now, at the verge of a brand new adventure, it was time to commit to that promise.

Life had thrown its fair share of curveballs at Elphaba, and they were sure many more were to come. But they knew they’d be strong enough to smash them right back with Glinda on their team. Nothing in life had been easier than loving Glinda. And with the ring hiding in their pocket, Elphaba would ask her if they could continue to love her. Today, and for the rest of their life.

[badacts]

recovery

noun

1) a return to normal state of health, mind or strength. “He made a full recovery from cancer.”

2) the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost. “A specialised team were sent to ensure the recovery of the body.”

It becomes hard for Andrew to justify putting himself back together at all when he keeps hitting the wall hard enough to break again.

He’d said years ago now to Jean Moreau you can’t cut down someone who’s already in the gutter. Andrew was born there and it took a long, long time for him to crawl his way out, tasting someone else’s blood mixed with his own, like a rebirth. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. He’s not sure if it’s worth the effort to try it again. Plenty of people have told him he belongs in the gutter, in the grave. Perhaps they’re right.

He would give himself over to it entirely, except he’s spent too much time with people intent on throwing themselves towards the stars these last few years. Renee, Kevin, Neil, his brother - continually reaching upwards, and dragging Andrew up alongside them.

Farther to fall, for all of them. But it’s only Andrew falling, and that’s such a pretty, pretty metaphor for a gore-ugly feeling. Like broken limbs, like bruises, like pain and fear he could never bleed out with the rest. Something people kept teaching him, not taking from him like they did everything else.

Well. Not quite everyone. 

He flips his phone open and shut. He isn’t sure how many times he’s done that, isn’t even entirely sure what time it is, but the motion feels smooth as muscle memory in his hand. He opens it, dials, presses the skin-warm plastic to his face.

The ringing is bright and painful to his ears, but it doesn’t ring long before the line clicks live.

“Hey,” Neil says. Andrew’s senses aren’t discerning - his calm and familiar voice is irritating, too. 

Once upon a time, Neil rang him just like this from outside the Foxhole Court, using Andrew like an immovable object against his ultimately-stoppable force. And he had been a force of nature, drawn to shattering point under the weight of things Andrew understood even without the real specifics. He’d bound Neil in place, with a promise and himself. That’s why they are to each other, by turns.

Andrew’s hands haven’t stopped shaking in days. He can’t remember the last time he slept. Last night he poured himself too much whiskey and thought about dying again, and it’s a force inside himself he doesn’t think he can stop alone. 

He says, “Come and get me.”

Neil flies out, but they drive back to South Carolina. Neil drives, anyway - Andrew wouldn’t drive off the road on purpose with him familiar in the passenger seat, but he might do it by accident.

Without the distraction of driving, Andrew can’t sit still, jittery and grinding his teeth and irritable over the waves of bone deep exhaustion. Dull like this on the inside, every external stimulus is an assault on him. It’s a long drive - Neil can’t do anything for him except keep going, with brief pauses for him to rest while Andrew paces and fumes and occasionally breaks things.

He knows what this is. It’s still a relief to sit in Betsy’s office and hear her say the phrase mixed affective state and finally have it all slot into place in his jumbled mind for a second, switch the labels from this will be the thing that kills me to treatable.

Neil shifts at Andrew’s side. Right now Andrew can’t bear the thought of Neil touching him - even his own clothes against his skin feel too harsh - but he can’t let him out of his sight either. It’s not the first time Neil’s sat through a session with him anyway.

“The way I see it, we have two options,” Betsy says, her stare level, measuring. “The first is that you keep going on the way you have been.”

She doesn’t say until you can’t anymore, but it’s implied so clearly that she might as well. It’s not like he doesn’t see her point - that’s why he’s here again, more than six months after he first told her he was spiralling. 

“The second is that you try medication,” she continues. She doesn’t need to go on. They’ve had this conversation before, more than once. Every time before this he’s said no, because he can’t forget the constant fight for control against court-mandated hypomania, can’t stop remembering what that grin felt like.

Except that months and years later, still struggling, still tasting gutter water and afraid to look at the sky, he has started to think; I won’t wait forever. And I can do better than this - which sometimes sounds too much like I can’t do this.

Neil, who has always dedicated too much of his life trying to defend Andrew, says, “Is that really necessary?” He remembers, too. 

“Whether it’s necessary isn’t really the question,” Betsy replies. “It’s more of a suggestion, and a question of consent. Anyone capable of asking for help is capable of consenting their treatment. That just means it’s a yes or no to the option of it.”

“So what if he doesn’t? Take anything, I mean. If he says no,” Neil says. He must be able to guess, but then again, maybe he can’t - he hasn’t been here before, for the grittiest dirt of it all. Perhaps he just wants to hear it out loud.

“I can’t say for sure. No one can,” Betsy says. “Andrew’s disorder is by nature unpredictable. He could spontaneously improve. He could decline further, which is common in untreated patients. There’s a high rate of compulsory hospitalisation of people with unmanaged bipolar disorder too. As well as the major depressive and mixed episodes he’s already shown, there’s a risk of full-blown mania and psychosis.”

“He’s not psychotic,” Neil says, through force of habit in the face of that old accusation.

“Not yet,” Andrew says. It hurts to talk - he’s bitten the inside of his mouth bloody at some point, though he doesn’t remember when. Eidetic memory is great up until you start losing your grip on reality. His voice comes out rough but unmistakably dry.

“We can wait, of course. But Andrew has already waited a long time," Betsy says, though gently for Neil’s sake. “I wouldn’t suggest it unless I thought it was a worthwhile plan of action. Finding the correct medications can take some trial and error, but it also saves people’s lives.”

Neil looks like he’s about to keep going, scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas like he thinks Andrew needs to be protected from Betsy and all her nasty ways of trying to help him. It’s less irritating than it should be to have him speak around Andrew, and Andrew knows exactly why that is.

When he was sentenced after everything with Nicky, everyone - his lawyer, his court-appointed psychiatrist, Nicky himself - said the medication was his way out, his freedom, his saviour. Even when it became obvious that it was twisting him, that he was a hair’s breath from losing the control they didn’t think him capable of anyway, no one said anything. Andrew wasn’t considered able to speak for himself, but he had no one to speak for him either. At least, no one who said the words that were cramming in his throat, caught up in the teeth he showed in his smile.

Prison wasn’t a great alternative to the drugs, and he couldn’t keep his promises from there, but from the edge of having his sanity stripped from him entirely it looked pretty fucking great by comparison.

Neil Josten might not people’s idea of an advocate, but they probably haven’t met every big-mouthed and protective inch of him. Those people also likely haven’t seen the way he quiets at Andrew’s look, mouth closing as he looks back with his concern written large across his face for Andrew to read.

Andrew hates that expression. He hates that he believed Neil saying I’m here to help months ago, and hates that he was right. I’m right here - that was what he said, and the second Andrew had asked for Neil to come for him, he’d done it, everything else be damned.

“I’ll do it,” Andrew says. When he looks back to Betsy, there’s no surprise on her face - just mild approval in the softness about her eyes. 

“If you’re sure,” she says, offering him an escape exit like she always does. He’s never bothered to answer her before, and he doesn’t now - he wouldn’t have said yes if he had uncertainties.

He leaves Betsy’s office with a prescription that he passes to Neil, unable to stand the crinkle of paper against his palms. Their fingers don’t brush. The light looks strange outside, mostly because he doesn’t know what time it is. It burnishes the reddish parts of Neil’s hair to fire and gold, makes Andrew blink. I’m right here.

“Columbia?” Neil asks. His eyes catch the sun when he looks at Andrew over the roof of the car, turning them nearly translucent. “We can go to a drugstore on the way.”

Andrew gets into the passenger seat. Maybe he’s not immune to looking at stars after all.

Andrew Minyard Receives Martin-Carr Award for Goalkeeper of the Year

Gillian Stokes

In just his second year in the professional leagues, controversial goalkeeper Minyard, 25, has won the top prize at last night’s National Association of Exy Awards Ceremony. Minyard also confronted rumours that the reason for the early end of his first season was due to a stint in rehab by openly mentioning his battle with mental illness is his acceptance speech...read more

Andrew Minyard’s College Thesis is Making the Rounds Online: Why You Should Read It

Alex Aoki

It’s entitled ‘Mental Illness in Juveniles in the Justice System’, and it’s a confronting read. While you couldn’t call Minyard ‘outspoken’, he has become something of a figurehead for mentally ill athletes in Exy since admitting to suffering from Bipolar Disorder at...read more

Playing in the Dark: Professional Athletes Talk Mental Illness and Suicide

Laurel Davies speaks to athletes at the top of their respective sports about mental illness, medication, the risk of suicide, and the silence that many of them are forced to endure in the course of pursuing their careers. Angus Fletcher (Football), Deeva Patel (Tennis), Andrew Minyard (Exy) and Madeleine Chen (Swimming) are all...read more

[dawnover-dusk]

Starling { Seungcheol } (7)

genre: crime!au, mystery

word count: 2,903

summary: when monsters from 5 years past come back to play

warning: death, blood, if you can’t watch crime dramas do not read

< previous      next > CANCELED

The large living room was cluttered with picture frames and portraits of a happy, close-knit family of four, and you couldn’t help but smile at all the baby pictures on the mantelpiece as you entered the room behind Seungcheol and Jun. Mingyu and you took to standing as out of the way as possible in the corner of the room while the detective and psychologist introduced themselves to the three people sitting on the couch. The parents were clearly upset – worry was etched into their faces as they clung to each other in comforting holds. The son, Chan Lee you presumed, had a more anxious aura around him, his body fidgeting and clearly fighting to stay seated.

His fight against his nerves was lost when he shot up with a surprised exclamation of, “Dr. Wen!” Jun gave the young man a reassuring smile and gestured for him to sit down, and Chan did so with a strange sense of deflation, as if he was caught doing something wrong. 

“Where were you last night?” Jun began gently.

Chan took a deep breath before launching into his recollection of events. “I got back home really late from the school library, maybe around 2 or 3AM? I was supposed to have an exam later today, and I was going to pull an all-nighter to cram but I needed to go back home anyway to grab my phone. I forgot to bring it with me when I went to classes yesterday. I pass by a small playground from the train station on my way back, and that’s when I saw this car just idling in front of the park area. I thought it was weird because this neighborhood is usually dead quiet, and it was this really beat-up sedan, so I kept my eyes on it. That’s when I saw this hooded figure trying to push what looked like another person into the backseat.”

“Could you describe the person at all?” Seungcheol asked.

“I didn’t really get a good look – it was really dark, and they were dressed in all black. I didn’t even know that they were taking my sister, to be honest. I ran over and I guess they panicked because they slammed the backseat door and immediately tried to get into the driver’s side, and that’s how I was able to grab the bag. The hood fell off and all I could see was that the person was pale and had chin-length black hair before the car sped off. They didn’t turn on their lights or anything so I couldn’t even make out a license plate. I hurried home to get to a phone, and that’s when I started to get a really bad feeling. The living room table had Dohee’s notes all over, and my cellphone was sitting on top of one of her papers, but she was nowhere to be found.”

“She also had a test today and was cramming. Dohee and Chan are related all right,” the father chimed in with a shaky laugh.

“Chan, I’m going to ask you questions that might seem a little strange, okay? But I need you to bear with me,” Jun quietly asked. “Was anything published about you recently?”

Chan furrowed his brow in thought. “Well, there was that small article that ran in the school newspaper about my honors thesis, but I doubt anyone reads the paper.”

“How is your relationship with Dohee?”

“I mean…we fought like any brother and sister would. We have that awkward age gap where it’s not small enough to understand each other and not large enough that I can just treat her like a kid. Plus, she was a lot more interested in the artsy stuff – you know, composing, music. But our relationship got a lot better once I started college. She’s a senior in high school now and I was helping her with her admissions essay – her dream school is Berklee,” Chan ended with a small pang of pride evident in his voice. 

Jun pressed, “But how did you know that Dohee was the one taken?”

Chan’s mother immediately went to protest, sensing an accusatory tone in Jun’s voice, while Seungcheol tried to calm her down. Chan again adopted the “caught red-handed” expression, and with an uncomfortable laugh, he remarked, “I guess they didn’t make you the psych department chair for nothing.”

You rolled your eyes at Jun’s obvious grin at the compliment. The young man unlocked his phone and handed it to Jun, showing him a series of text messages. “I…didn’t show this to the police because…I don’t know, I thought it was just a prank or something. But I think this is the reason why Dohee went to that park at 3AM.” 

Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you but

I’m Dohee’s friend and we did something sort of stupid

We’re at the playground a few blocks away from her house and she’s sort of… passed out drunk right now?

Can you pick her up?

“Do you know why she would do that instead of just ignoring these texts?”

“The same reason why she tried to beat up one of my friends when he made fun of me,” Chan laughed. “She was like…ten at the time. Dohee’s tough, she knows what she wants and follows her own path. She’s confident and brave – perhaps stupidly so. She probably thought this was one of my friends and was going to ‘teach him a lesson,’ as she likes to put it. As much as we fought, she didn’t like it when other people messed with me.” 

You heard Mingyu exhale loudly next to you as Seungcheol and Jun thanked the family for their time. The four of you headed outside to regroup.

“C.S.U. says that none of the syringes were used. They searched the park too, and they found a bit of blood leading to the road,” you began.

“She probably knocked Dohee out with something, maybe after realizing that it wasn’t Chan that came. I don’t understand why she didn’t just leave when she noticed that she made a mistake,” Seungcheol mused.

Jun shook his head. “Well, she’s not going to kill Dohee. She identifies too much with her. We have to find them quickly, though – based on what Chan said, Dohee has been loud spoken and her family has supported her passions for her entire life. I don’t know what’s going to happen when Starling’s fantasy of the ‘poor younger sister in her older brother’s shadow’ breaks.”

“Maybe she needs Dohee for something,” Seungcheol said, glancing at you. You raised your eyebrows at him, and he shrugged. “Well, she’ll let us know sooner or later,” he remarked, “All we can do is get detectives out in the neighborhood to ask about a beat-up sedan.” He began to walk towards his car, and you quickly waved goodbye to Jun and Mingyu before jogging after him.

“I’ll need my phone back,” you said quietly, touching Seungcheol’s arm. He froze in place, one hand resting on top of the car door. He turned to face you and shook his head, causing you to huff in response. “Seungcheol, I know what you meant back there, and I know that Jihoon could only trace that number to a burner phone anyway. You know you have no legal grounds to hold it anymore, considering that it was never officially seized as evidence.”

“Man, why did I have to fall in love with a smart person,” you heard him mutter under his breath. A corner of your lips curled into a smirk and you patted him on the arm.

“Because you love the challenge, babe.” He rolled his eyes at you. “Why don’t you want to give it back? It’s your manly protective side, isn’t it?” you teased.

“I just…I saw how shaken up you were the last time, and if there were any more messages, then at least this way you wouldn’t know about them.” He ran a hand through his hair as he averted his eyes from your disappointed gaze.

“So, you wouldn’t have told me,” you breathed out, more of a statement than a question. A weight settled on your chest as you saw Seungcheol give the tiniest of nods, and you tried to keep your rising anger in check. He tentatively wrapped his arms around you as yours felt as heavy as lead by your sides, not wanting to reciprocate but not wanting to push him away either. You were glad that he had parked his car away from the police cordon because there you two stood, trying so hard not to escalate the moment into an argument.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your ear. “I know that you’re strong, and you’ve seen as much as I have, but seeing you break down scared me so, so much. It was stupid to think that you would never find out, but I wasn’t thinking–”

“It’s fine, Seungcheol,” you managed to sputter out as your arms regained their ability to move, wrapping around his waist tightly. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before raining a flurry of kisses on your face, whispering praises about how patient and understanding you were against your skin. This time, you did try to push him away, involuntarily giggling as he brushed against ticklish areas of your jaw and neck. “Just don’t let there be a next time, okay?” You looked up to see him grinning.

“I’m surprised that you aren’t more upset, actually. I thought I would have to grovel.” You scoffed and pressed a kiss to his lips to wipe off the annoying grin on his face. 

“Don’t worry, I’m still mad, but seeing that I got the truth out of you so quickly, I’ll let it slide. Plus, I thought I would spare you my Power Point presentation on healthy relationships.”

“Trust and communication, I got it,” Seungcheol grumbled as you smiled at him smugly, finally moving to get into the passenger side of the car.

As you settled into the car, Seungcheol’s phone vibrated loudly in his pocket. He gave it a cursory glance before tossing it over to you and starting up the vehicle. You read over the message and felt excitement ebbing away your remaining anger.

It was time to go back to the police precinct.

On your way to Wonwoo’s lab, you stopped by Jihoon’s electronic cave to retrieve your phone. With the device safely back into your possession, you and Seungcheol entered the giddy detective’s office to be greeted with his exclamation of, “I love cryptograms!”

“Okay, buddy,” Seungcheol humored good-naturedly as you tried to refrain yourself from laughing at the normally quiet man. “What did you find?” 

Wonwoo pushed his wire-framed glasses further up his nose and waved you over to look at his computer. One monitor had the garbled code as revealed under the paintings, while the other monitor had a text box open with the deciphered message. “Well, the third painting helped complete the entire message, so I was finally able to decrypt the entire paragraph. It seems like it’s addressed to someone. Take a look.” 

Maybe they would have loved me, too, but I was a disappointment. If only I had acted more like you, right? Now, you’re even pretending that I never existed. “Growing up alone,” what a joke. You were always the perfect child, so how could you even act like you understood what I was going through? Understand this: I became this way because of you.

“I don’t need a psychology degree to see that she has a lot of anger,” you breathed, eyes running over the lines of text. 

“Get this over to Jun anyway,” Seungcheol nodded. “I’ll call a meeting later to discuss what we have so far. The detectives should be done canvassing Dohee’s neighborhood by then.” 

“Wonwoo, you’re brilliant, by the way,” you said, and you could see the taller man’s eyes crinkle as he smiled. “Seungcheol, I need to get back to work, so keep me updated, okay?” He nodded and the pair of you bid Wonwoo goodbye. Seungcheol walked silently with you to the exit of the building, and watched as you disappeared down the block towards the morgue. 

You were safely back in your office and hooked up your phone to the charger, grumbling about how Jihoon left the device to die in his care. You busied yourself with finishing the back up of reports and paperwork that had accumulated as you were running around with Seungcheol, and observed Mingyu as he performed the two autopsies scheduled for the day. Fortunately, (or at least, as fortunate as it could be in your line of work), the two autopsies were natural deaths occurring in the attached hospital, and provided a stark relief to the string of homicide cases. Mingyu had remarked that it was almost refreshingly dull, but other than that comment, you noticed that he was unusually quiet, his bright, bumbling personality now solemn and stern.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you called as the autopsies were completed. “Do you want to grab some dinner or something? I’ll treat you.” 

He bit his lower lip in hesitation. “I’m really tired, so I was just thinking of heading home and going to bed early.”

“Oh…okay,” you nodded. You reached up on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair affectionately, chuckling as his eyebrows knit together. “Give me your reports and you’re done for today,” you said, heading back to your office. 

Your phone was finally charged and you turned it on, sinking deep into your cushy office chair. It began vibrating violently in your hands as notification after notification lit up your screen, and you quickly unlocked the device to see that you had several missed calls and text messages from Seungcheol, Jun, and even Wonwoo.

The voice mails and text messages were all vague and boiled down to calling them back as soon as possible. You sighed and dialed Seungcheol’s number, and you spent the next few minutes reassuring your frazzled boyfriend that no, you were not dead, that you were in your office currently, and that Jihoon had let your phone die. (You could swear that you heard the man’s distinct yell of protest in the background at that last comment.)

His next question confused you. “Where is Dr. Kim?”

“Well, he’s going to drop off his reports and then he’s going home. Why?” you asked, and you heard heavy knocking at your door. “Oh, someone’s here. That’s probably him.” You held your phone away from you to yell for the person to come in. “What’s wrong?” you asked, returning the phone to your ear. You watched the door open and Mingyu shuffle in, carrying a pile of folders with his coat already on and his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Okay, don’t let him leave. We’re on our way over. There was something else in the decrypted message; it was so juvenile that Wonwoo didn’t even see it but Jun pointed it out. The first letter of each sentence—”

Mingyu had dropped the papers onto the corner of your desk and had almost left before he inhaled sharply and turned back around. “I need to talk to you,” the man uttered timidly, and you cut off Seungcheol’s rambling with noncommittal noises and the reassurance that you would see him soon.

“Sorry about that, I think they found something about the Starling case. I hope you weren’t too excited about going home. What’s up?”

He grimaced and shrugged off his coat before plopping down heavily in the chair across from your desk. “Yeah, it’s about that. Did you see the press release about my fellowship appointment?”

You nodded. “It was super impressive. Your parents sounded really proud,” you teased.

“Well…it got me thinking about the deaths, and how all the men had something written about them too, and how they all had younger sisters. And then I thought about the first Starling killer, and his partner, and the time frame, it’s just—”

“Slow down, Mingyu,” you interrupted as his words jumbled and rushed together. He nodded and took a breath before continuing.

“This morning, when I heard about Chan and Dohee, it reminded of something. I never thought it was relevant, and honestly, I thought she was either dead or found someplace happier to be, and…” Mingyu’s voice faltered as he swallowed thickly. “The interview with my parents made it sound like I’m an only child.” His eyes flickered to meet yours, and the intensity of the sadness reflected in his dark brown eyes startled you. 

Your phone vibrated again, and Mingyu took the distraction as an opportunity to reorganize his thoughts. A text message from an unknown number tauntingly filled your screen, and like the man before you was doing, you summoned every shred of courage in your body to read it.

GRIM REAPER, IT’S TIME FOR YOUR FINAL APPOINTMENT. LET’S MAKE A DEAL.

A familiar series of numbers – coordinates – followed the message, as well as a fuzzy image of an unconscious and bound teenage girl. You weren’t aware that your breaths were quickening until Mingyu cleared his throat, and you flickered your eyes to him again as he finally mustered the strength to utter the statement that he never wanted to be true.

“She ran away from home five years ago. I think my sister, Mina Kim, is Starling.”