#it’s giving post breakup haircut

[heartflw]

i CANNOT keep defending you trevor zegras. the mullet needs to go i’m not even sorry.

[harryslittlefreakk]

to build a home

Summary: buzz cut!rry and y/n spend their first new year’s together after splitting up and they look back on happier times. inspired by the song!

Warnings: sad!rry 🥲 fluff, smut

A/n: a little new year’s drabble !! wishing everybody happiness and love for the year ahead 💖

you can join my general taglist here!

and find the rest of my writing here 🫶🏼 enjoy!

Harry had been here countless times before, though this was one of his first times as a guest. He reached inside his pocket for his keys instinctively, muscle memory from all the times he’d slumped through the door after a long day at work, all the times he’d stumbled inside with one hand wandering all over your body. But now he was standing on the doorstep, cold and nervous with one hand gripping onto a key ring that no longer held a key to your home.

He could hear the bustle of a party inside, the low beat of music echoing from the sound system he’d chosen. Every inch of the house, even from the outside, had traces of both you and him written into the walls. The only thing that was all you was the ‘for sale’ sign posted at the end of the driveway.

He remembered the day you’d spotted the house, the slim building covered in climbing wisteria, squealing from across the road as you pointed out the ‘for sale’ sign. You’d been walking back to the car after viewing a different house, desperately trying to find somewhere to make a home together. He’d called to enquire about the house as you stood there pinned to his side, imagining what you could do with all the different rooms. You’d moved in only a few months later, renovating the house together through the lonely months of the pandemic, spending your days covered in dust and paint but never feeling happier.

Harry bit the bullet and rang your doorbell, fingers clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle you bought. He watched for movement through the frosted door, shifting awkwardly as he ran a hand through what was left of his hair. He’d shaved it on a whim, too many rom-coms telling him you needed to do something drastic after a breakup, and since he already had tattoos, a haircut was the only possible solution.

“Hey, Harry,” you smiled, cheeks already stained pink from the alcohol. He knew you well enough to know you liked a few glasses while cooking, a final one as you finished setting up the drinks and nibbles, and a bottle or two as you danced with friends. You looked beautiful, one of his old band t-shirts tucked into a sparkly silver skirt, waved hair draped around your shoulders. Harry leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek, holding out the champagne bottle in his hand with an awkward smile. “S’for you,” he told you, shuffling into the doorway. He kicked off his shoes, eyes glued to the floor as he followed you into the living room. Too uncomfortable to acknowledge that he knew this house like the back of his hand, somewhat too proud to remember all the times you’d snuggled together on the sofa his friends were now sitting on. You stopped suddenly, swivelling to look back at him with parted lips. “Your hair,” you gasped, instinctively reaching out a hand to touch it. It snapped back to your side, your heart in your throat as you apologised. “Sorry, I-”

“Just fancied a change,” Harry told you, rubbing his hand across the top. You plastered a grin back onto your face, turning back on your heel wordlessly as your friends stood to greet him. You’d decided to stay civil for them, for the sake of keeping the peace within the group you’d grown close to together throughout your years as a couple. You hadn’t ended on bad terms, merely a result of wanting different things from your life. Harry’s priority had always been his music, and as much as he loved you, you both knew he couldn’t resist the offer of a new tour or new shows halfway across the world. You wanted a family, your uninterrupted time together during the pandemic leaving you wanting more. He wanted a family too, but you knew the majority of the parenting would fall on you while he was out doing what he loved, and somewhat selfishly, that wasn’t the life you wanted. These were all things you’d known when your relationship became serious, but you’d foolishly believed he’d change. You never wanted to change him, never wanted to take away his love of performing, but you needed him to be more present. Sleeping on a tour bus and following your love around the world was fun, but it wasn’t a lifestyle you could keep up forever.

Harry gazed around the room as he spoke with Mitch and Sarah, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hands. It hadn’t changed at all since the morning he’d moved out, framed pictures of the two of you still littered across the shelves. His awards still sat on the bookcase, shiny and void of dust as if they were your prized possessions. It sent a chill through him, to be sat here smiling in the house he’d bought for you, unchanged except for the lack of him. He was heartbroken and yet relieved when you told him you wanted to sell the house, the idea of different men one day sleeping in his bed too much to bear. He stood up suddenly, excusing himself from the conversation and padded over towards the back door, fingers tracing across the edge of the dining table as he walked through. You watched him go, slipping away to follow him as your guests continued to talk and dance.

Harry was perched on the steps of your patio, eyes wandering across the dark night sky. He glanced over at you as you plopped down next to him, scooting over slightly to give you more space. “How did we get here?” he murmured, swilling the liquor around the walls of his glass - something, anything to distract from the tears forming in his eyes. You sighed, placing a gentle hand on his thigh. “I’m a guest in my own house.”

“Harry-” you started, eyes trailing across his face. “I was meant to be enough for you, I wanted to be enough for you.” He turned to face you, green eyes glistening in the moonlight. “You’re everything, H. I just needed a little more,” you told him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“If I was everything I wouldn’t be living in a rented apartment on the other side of the city.”

“I know, I know,” you whispered, choking back the start of tears. “I miss you every day Harry,” you confessed, words barely coherent between sobs. He wrapped an arm around you, his owns tears spilling out from heavy-lidded eyes. “I love you,” he told you, thumb rubbing delicately across your back. You stayed that way for a while, drinking in the silence around you both, hurt lingering in the air.

“It’s nearly midnight,” Sarah called out from the door, bringing you back to reality. Youd been sat there in dead silence for over half an hour, an unspoken conversation echoing around your minds. Harry tapped his hand against your back, sniffing away the last of any long-dried tears as he stood up. You turned to watch him slip past Sarah’s petite frame as she padded over to pull you to your feet, draping an arm over your shoulder as you walked back through the house. “Ok?” she asked, slipping a glass of prosecco into your hands as you rejoined the group. You’d set up the projector earlier ready to display the new year’s countdown and fireworks. You clicked it on just before the huge ‘10’ flashed across the living rooms bare wall, purposely left that way for when you and Harry wanted to cuddle and watch films in the late evenings.

Your friends shouted every number excitedly, party poppers and kazoos ready to blow as the clock struck midnight. Everyone shifted around to cuddle up in their couples, arms wrapped around each other ready for their new year’s kiss, leaving only you and Harry stood on your own, feet away from each other where usually you’d be pressing drunken kisses to each other’s mouths before the countdown even finished. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the numbers got lower. 2024 would be the first year you started without Harry in half a decade.

3

He yanked on your hand, pulling you into his side

2

He smiled down at you, wrapping an arm around your waist

1

He cupped your cheek with his cold hand, leaving you staring up at him with parted lips

Happy New Year

Echoed around the room as he dove towards you, lips crashing against your mouth. It was hard but gentle, soft yet deep, his mouth immediately melding with yours in a heartbreakingly familiar way.

“For old times sake,” he whispered, eyes glinting as he pulled away. You were speechless still, his kiss saying so much and yet not enough. “Harry,” you whispered, tugging him closer to you. Here, buried into his chest, feeling the same old little butterflies flit in your stomach, you were happier than you’d been in months.

Harry lingered in the kitchen as the last of your friends filtered out, scrubbing at dishes in the kitchen sink, nervous hands needing to find something to do. He heard the front door click shut, followed by the sound of your bare feet padding across the wooden floors, stopping behind him. He turned around to see you leaned up against the dining table, watching him. “You don’t need to do that, H,” you murmured, rim of a wine glass pressed against your mouth. “Wanted to,” he smiled, placing the last plate onto the drying rack and drying his hands on his trousers. He stalked towards you, grazing the back of his hand over your blushed cheek. “Stay here tonight,” you told him, the alcohol adding an over-confident edge to your nervousness.

He picked you up, just high enough to sit you down on the edge of the table, green eyes trailing over your face as you stared back at him, eyes wide and cheeks warm. His gaze was dark, caught somewhere between pain and lust. They dragged across your face, again and again, searching for any sign hesitance or doubt. When you didn’t flinch under his stare, his lips found yours again. Soft at first, tongue nudging delicately at your teeth for permission to lick into your mouth, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair. You chuckled against his lips as you felt nothing to grab onto, hand instead splayed across the tickle of his stubbly head.

He pulled back for a second, leaning behind you to clear a space at the end of the table before guiding your torso back until your back was flush with the wood. His hands shoved your skirt up around your waist, mouth peppering gentle kisses up and down your thighs. His touch felt so foreign, yet so much like home. He was so gentle with you now, not able to throw you around like he used to. Every move was tentative, careful not to push you too far, as if he ever could.

Harry hooked a finger under the band your pants, the tip of him grazing over your folds. He held them to the side with one hand, head lazing against your thigh as he looked over your pussy, groaning at the sight he’d longed for every day you’d been apart. He’d always craved you, just needing a little touch or taste to get through the day, or celebrate the end of a long one. He pressed a kiss into your entrance, true affection coursing through his bones. His tongue darted out, almost involuntarily, licking a stripe along your centre, then pausing to see how you’d react. When your hips bucked into him, impatient and starved of his touch for too long, he began to lick and lap at you, murmuring contently as he tasted your sweet juices on his tongue. He moved slow but with purpose, savouring the moment rather than chasing after your high as he used to. You’d never think having someone’s head between your thighs could be romantic, but this was about as romantic and loving as it could be. He was licking into you with care and attention, smirking against your folds as you writhed around, constantly trying to grab at his non-existent hair. The stubble was tickling your inner thighs as he moved, something you were used to from his chin but it felt better now. He was different, changed since you last saw him, and yet still the same perfect man.

He slipped a digit inside of you, pulling the thoughts from your mind as he began pushing into your sweet spot, tongue fucking into you simultaneously. He’d usually be spilling out obscenity by now, rasping against your folds in the way he knew you loved. But like this, silent except for the tiny moans and groans emitted from you both, you felt reborn. Approaching everything differently, vulnerable to each other’s wants and needs. His lips wrapped around your clit, feeling your legs beginning to shake beneath him and knowing you needed that one final push. Your orgasm washed over you quickly, back arching off the table as your juices ran down his hand. It was so simple, so easy and still perfect. “Happy new year,” he whispered, pressing a kiss onto your mound as he finally came up for air.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @angstygyal @hannah9921 @he6rtshaker

[purpspencil]

Tales of Scarabella and Chat Noir

When you give yourself a post-breakup/post-moving to another continent haircut to have some sort of control over your life but it goes horribly wrong:

Was experimenting with MSB!Alya's hair and I thought this was funny

Meme under the cut:

[abiiors]

thinking thoughts ab being the one to give ross his haircuts 🤭🤭🤭 he’d probably love it, i think he’d find it super relaxing and he’d maybe get all sleepy during it… running your fingers through his hair?? sounds like heaven to me ngl

ooo n then finishing up his hair and like blowing the hair on his neck to blow the hairs away why can i imagine him groaning and then pulling you onto his lap but before you let him go all soft dom on you, you start complimenting him and his hair and he gets shy from all the attention and praise so he starts blushing and giggling and trying to hide his face or something and then maybe you start giving him kisses all over his face and that just exacerbates his shyness, i can see this being either a super soft moment or super h*rny moment but most of the times i think ab this (it’s a sleep scenario for me hehe) it ends up being both 💀

(also this isn’t me asking you to write smth based off of this, i just wanted to share these thoughts with you cause we’re both ross girlies <333) (i do love your writing though, thank you for sharing it with us <333)

I AM NOT JOKING WHEN I SAY I SCREAMED INTO THE PILLOW THIS IS SO CUTEEEEEEEE

it's definitely a last-minute haircut. he's been putting it off or forgetting to get one or just hasn't had the time to get one because of his schedule. so you take pity on him and offer to trim it a bit for him (2 am post-breakup bangs def count as hairdresser experience, okay? that and the fact that you were the designated hairdresser in the house during the lockdown!) anyway, he trusts you'll do a good job plus he gets a scalp massage on the house for being your fav customer 🤭

he's on the dresser chair, eyes closed, looking absolutely blissed out with a soft lil smile on his face while you trim his hair. you run your fingers through them too, mostly to make sure they're even from all sides but also to run your nails across his scalp and watch him shiver in delight. once you're done you jokingly tap on his shoulder and say "right, that'd be 200 quid" and before you know you're being pulled onto his lap, arm tight around your waist while he's all shirtless with freshly cut damp hair and smirking at you.

"200 quid, is it?" he teases back "forgot my wallet tho. can i pay you...some other way?"

and you giggle at how cheesy he is but he won't stop looking at your mouth or pulling you closer until you're completely pressed up against him. and you do try to tease him back like "we are not in a porno" but he just hits you with the "we could be" and a wink and well who are you to refuse him 🤭

[childofgabriel]

continuing my last post, here are some spacekru moments i'd like to see flashbacks about (pushing for my spacekru spin off):

- murphy's coma. that must have been WILD and so scary since no one is medically trained. the GUILT that monty must have been feeling

- raven teaching emori about mechanic stuff. i can imagine raven was doing her usualt raven stuff and emori just kinda watched from afar, slowly coming closer each day til raven offered to teach emori some things. from there on they spent more and more time together, emori learning a lot

- emori and echo bonding over being grounders in space together. that must have been really difficult for them, never having been in space before and not knowing what to expect, missing earth so much

- spacekru finding booze. i know it happened, i know they cheered, i know they got drunk as hell

- i know this didn't happen (not as far as we know anyway) but murphy learning some medical stuff. he wants to be useful and knows the smallest bit of what he saw clarke and abby doing in the past, so he takes it up to organize the abandoned medbay and try to make something of it

- emori and echo learning to read and write. i'm kinda assuming here that grounders don't read or write, but i could be wrong. i'd really like to see them learn, probably raven and bellamy teaching them. hell, maybe murphy can learn some stuff too ("first son, first to dye")

- on a similar note, emori and echo teaching the others trigedasleng. a really nice exchange of knowledge and culture

- mourning clarke together. bellamy and raven ofc took it really hard, but the others were close with clarke as well or at least knew her good enough

- spacekru haircuts! they all got nice new hairstyles, i'd like to see how the haircuts went between them. maybe the first time they were still a bit wary around each other, feeling uncomfortable with another person coming close to them with scissors / a knife

- training with each other and teaching fighting styles. bellamy and harper can teach the rest how to use guns, while echo can show them how to use swords and a bow. i'm also really impressed by how raven won from echo in their little sparring match (even if echo let her win)

- the "rules" that they made. murphy mentioned they had "too many rules", so i'd like to know what they are. we already know the "time rule" aka not being allowed to mention how long they've been on the ring for, the punishment being a chore. murphy was one of the chores lmao (i'm laughing but that's sad tbh)

- emori and murphy's breakup of course. really want to know what exactly happened and how, since they both seemed to have different takes on it

- bellamy and echo slowly learning to trust each other. i still remember the "will we ever trust each other?" "probably not" (something like that) and BOOM 6 years later they're dating

- maybe a bit more about the ring itself? i'd like to know the layout and what kind of departments they have. the ring looks pretty big, but it seems like they didn't actually have many bedrooms. after murphy pushed emori away, raven says they were forced to bunk together. emori could have chosen a room for herself, but maybe there were just only very limited rooms, 5 or so? seems a bit strange to me for such a large spaceship

- i like to think they had weekly therapy talks, so i'd like to see more about them just being vulnerable with each other and learning their stories

- just more spacekru. i love them and miss them so much. please give us more content of them, literally anything

thanks for reading!

[maypearlss]

𝐨𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : 𝐫𝐣 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

i'll be the first to confess that rj is underappreciated. by me, specifically. which is probably why you guys haven't heard as much about him. that's my bad. but it's his time to shine now! and he's gonna be crazy entertaining to write, guaranteed, so that definitely makes up for the lack of attention i've given him. here's all about rj, folks!

on top of being the most cryptic member of overconsumption to the eye of the general public, rj has a penchant for stirring up conflict within the band. call it a hangover from an uneasy childhood. he loves getting under peoples' skin, but, by now, the band has just accepted it as one of his quirks. one quirk of quite a few, including a strong appreciation for any substance that can make life more interesting. one might say another hangover.

but don't be mistaken: behind the continuous mischief-making and frequent benders is a more well-intentioned soul than most give him credit for. misguided, yes, but well-intentioned. it's a part of him that is seldom acknowledged by others in favor of his junkie image—actually, he's seldom acknowledged at all in discussions of overconsumption's success.

no worries. who needs acknowledgment when you're in a world all your own?

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋆｡°✩

full name: roger jesse patterson

age: 23 (1985)–tbd

birthday: march 26

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: pansexual (so closeted even he doesn't know)

ethnicity: scottish-american

occupation: rhythm guitarist for overconsumption

love interest(s): none

likes: causing problems, speedballing, fantasy books/movies, arguing, animals, jeans with giant holes in the knees, being high

dislikes: his friends being genuinely upset about something, working out, getting haircuts, parties, horror movies, boats

height: 5'6

build: small, thin

hair: wavy, red mullet

skin: pale

eyes: grey-blue

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆｡°✩

⋆ nothing to lose - l.a. guns

⋆ all hell's breakin' loose - kiss

⋆ mr. brownstone - guns n' roses

⋆ smokin' in the boys room - mötley crüe

⋆ nightrain - guns n' roses

⋆ locomotive (complicity) - guns n' roses

⋆ dirty deeds done dirt cheap - ac/dc

⋆ welcome to the jungle - guns n' roses

⋆ dancing on glass - mötley crüe

⋆ right next door to hell - guns n' roses

⋆ no mercy - l.a. guns

⋆ out ta get me - guns n' roses

⋆ coma - guns n' roses

⋆ kickstart my heart - mötley crüe

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 ⋆｡°✩

he's, surprisingly, the first friend may makes within the overconsumption group

he can only fall asleep if he's laying on his stomach, but him falling asleep is rare because he isn't a fan of sleeping in general

he named the title track of overconsumption's debut album, all it takes

he's the ex-boyfriend of one of duke's older sisters, liv, whom he still remains on good terms with even after the breakup—duke has a bit (aka a lot) of a grudge against him for it, but he's subtle enough about it that rj doesn't really care

he's lactose intolerant

he's gonna make me really sad

i posted this intro to my instagram like 2 days ago, then forgot to put it here, so WHOOPS!! but it's here now, so all is forgiven :) and that's it for all the main/supporting character intros! the next intros i post will probably be some combined intro posts for some of the side characters like amelie, tigerlily, may's abuelo, those folks! but it might be a little while before then, we'll just see how much energy i have in the near future!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

i think it’s the fact that he can go so many directions that makes it hard for me to write him argh i want to write him soooo bad. AND STOP free his haircut let him live only he can pull it off 😣

if you write for kaiser pls do something twisted i would be SO invested you don’t understand. and omg let me hear about that nagi plot pls pls

i def feel that HAHA i think in every fandom people will interpret characters in their own ways but some characters (ex rin, shidou, barou) tend to have pretty standard fandom characterizations from fic to fic (now whether i AGREE with these standard characterizations is a separate thing but at least they are consistent) and others can be completely diff depending on who the author is. i think kaiser (and to a lesser extent nagi and sae) is subject to the latter where everyone sees him in a slightly diff way so it’s hard to nail down which version of him YOU want to write yk.

AHHH i feel like kaiser is a really good character to write darker stuff for so i do think that if i wrote for him it would be a heavier story than what i’ve been putting out recently. and we shall ignore the haircut…tbh rooting for a kainess breakup because long hair kaiser/man bun kaiser is so MAJESTIC i think ness gives him the shitty haircut on purpose so he can gatekeep

nagi plot under the cut!! heheh it’s pretty convoluted and also atm just a bunch of rough notes on my ipad…i would have to try writing the first chapter a couple of times to see if it even flowed the way i wanted it to and to make the according adjustments if it was something w potential so even if i do ever end up writing this particular story the finished product might be very different than this!! that said i am in fact sharing the entire outline so i fear you will not be very surprised by any plot twists if i ever work on this or post it

basically it’s a mix of a couple of fics for other fandoms that i never got around to writing + some newer ideas that i have had!! the main cast of characters is ofc y/n and nagi but also rin is there!! and sae and reo but they’re secondary to the main trio

it starts off in a post-apocalyptic world overrun by monsters and which has a loose oligarchy-type government. y/n is the bastard child of duke l/n, who is the head of one of the influential government families. when she’s youngish (twelve or so??) her mother dies and officials attempt to arrest her for identity fraud when she claims that she must be sent to the l/n estate as they are her only surviving family. she manages to escape and learns how to use some weapon (either a sword or a spear idk atm) to kill monsters as she has a strong desire to protect those less fortunate than her, as well as to prove herself and one day find her father so she can have a family again.

on the other hand nagi is the eternal warrior (there would be a more researched title for him but atm this is my placeholder) whose original self was there 1000 years ago when the apocalypse began and was the only one able to fight back against the monsters when they appeared. he has been reincarnating (though WITHOUT his memories LMAOAO he’s not ancient i prommy he just looks the same/has the same name in every lifetime) and once people viewed him as a defender of the people, but a while ago the mikages (another one if the influential families) took custody of him and he’s basically been their enforcer for the past 100 years so people kinda hate him. he is kind of jaded and lonely after witnessing/causing so many deaths and he doesn’t see much of a point to life besides following whatever orders reo/the mikages give him and killing who he’s told to.

at some point nagi is told to kill y/n (it’s revealed eventually that it’s because duke l/n realized she’s out there and called in a favor w the mikages but we don’t know that at first) but instead of killing her he ends up saving her life. even he can’t explain why he took the initiative to disobey orders for the first time so he decides he’ll stick with her for the time being until he can figure it out (plus going back to the mikages isn’t really an option considering he’s gone against them)

while y/n + nagi are on the run, they meet rin, who is VERY confused about a lot of things. the itoshis are basically the family above all of the other families, and he’s supposed to be their heir, plus he has memories of having a great childhood with his parents and older brother, but for some reason he finds himself on the street with nothing but a note in his fist that says “don’t trust father and sae”. nagi and y/n decide that rin’s goals of trying to reclaim his position as heir and figure out the meaning of the note (which is in his own handwriting though he doesn’t remember it) align with theirs of finding duke l/n and. just chilling ig?? idk nagi is kinda there at that point HAHA. anyways so they all decide they’ll work together.

a bunch of stuff happens blah blah this entire part will come to me when i’m actually writing LMAOOO. anyways then it’s revealed that before getting thrown out, rin realized that if he ever got to close to asking questions/getting curious about the apocalypse, he’d suddenly forget what he was doing (in an unnatural way not just him being dumb), so he began writing down notes to himself to keep track of his suspicions. however he is found out and his notes are burned before he’s cast out and his memories selectively erased, though he managed to save the note telling him not to trust his family so that he didn’t end up falling into the same pattern again.

rin reveals that sae has the power to alter memories, and that he suspects the itoshis (plus the other influential families) also have some knowledge of how the apocalypse began and how it can be ended/the monsters gotten rid of for good. y/n reaches duke l/n but he rejects her and says he wishes he sent nagi after her sooner, and that he also regrets sending them any money at all because things would’ve been better if she would’ve died as a kid. nagi manages to round up the members of the influential families (#boyboss 😜) and sae has a change of heart from seeing rin again after so long; he says that there is a way that they can stop the apocalypse from ever happening, but that means that the influential families lose the power they obtained after the fall of the world, so they’ve been hiding it from everyone since they discovered it.

every generation, an itoshi is born with the power to wipe memories and send one person back in time. with that power, they could conceivably return to the beginning of the apocalypse and prevent it from ever happening. sae is the one with that power in the present and he decides that having wealth/whatever isn’t worth the destruction of the world, so he agrees to send back y/n, as he believes she has the best chance at managing to set things right.

y/n travels back in time and meets the first version of nagi, who ends up falling in love with her. unfortunately even before the apocalypse things were kinda unsettled as everyone realized Something was going to happened, and eventually a world war breaks out, which og nagi and y/n get involved in. y/n is fatally wounded at one point, but before she dies she manages to tell og nagi everything about the future and how he has to stop the box containing the beginning of the apocalypse from being opened. sadly og nagi invented being down bad and he is so distraught by her death that he opens the box and curses himself to the cycle of reincarnation so that he can meet her in the future.

y/n wakes up back in the future unsuccessful and also shocked that the one who started the apocalypse was nagi (even though current nagi has no clue about any of this). sae is furious that she wasted his power and didn’t actually accomplish anything, but at some point rin realizes he also has that power?? not the memory part he just can also send her back to the past…not sure why this is the case but it’ll come to me as i’m writing and hopefully not feel like an asspull DHSKSJSJ. anyways even though she’s lowkey traumatized y/n agrees to try one more time.

og nagi falls in love with her again ofc (we’re three for three here if you all are keeping track) but before the world war can break out, y/n kills nagi. he is understandably shocked but instead of being angry at her he tells her she must’ve had a reason and dies decently happy considering he was murdered for something he hadn’t even done yet 😭 because nobody else has the knowledge of where the box is besides y/n, the apocalypse is averted, and the world war is concluded in a relatively typical way instead of supernaturally, so life goes on as best as it can.

however, y/n is then stranded in that timeline of 1000 years ago, without anyone she knows (as og nagi is obviously dead and the others aren’t born yet). she can’t return to a future which doesn’t exist so she’s just stuck there for the rest of her life.

the epilogue is a series of letters she writes to nagi and rin, detailing her life and how she misses them. the last letter is addressed to nagi, wherein she explains that death is coming for her soon and she hopes that wherever she ends up next is the same place that he is. it’s kinda unclear whether she’s talking to og nagi or her nagi from the no-longer-future but you know me and my open endings 🤩 leaving it up to reader interpretation is my fav thing and i will do so at the slightest provocation

[emily-mooon]

Talk to me about the College Radio AU

Hello Dearie!

Alright I’m going to make a list of random thoughts I have had for this au so let’s get into it!

-Platonic Stobin and Byler have weekly meetings about the Jancy pining to vent out their frustrations on not being able to just tell one of them they still have a chance as out of everyone they are the only ones who know that it is mutual.

-I came up with a friend for Nancy named Julie and at some point she falls for Samantha. She is also the main support for Nancy at Emerson since she doesn’t really know anybody. They meet at Emerson’s school paper, The Berkeley Beacon. She’s probably my favourite OC I had to make for this au.

-I mentioned Eric in the first post I made about this au but I wanna mention that he has a huge collection of band shirts he wears everyday. He also has a nightmare taste in music (ranges from goth to the most 80s pop music ever).

- Jonathan may or may not have an unsent love letter from 1984 for Nancy (prior to them dating in the pining mixtape days).

- Nancy dabbles a bit in photography while at The Berkeley Beacon.

- The timeline for it is late August 1988 to December 1989. The time in between was originally going to be shorter and end in March of 89 but because of the release date for certain songs I want to be in the mixtape Jonathan makes about his feelings for Nancy, I had to move it.

- Samantha out of the Siouxsie Sioux Costume I imagine looks like this Siouxsie (Mostly just for the haircut).

-Argyle and Jonathan have monthly phone calls and talk about all the stuff that’s going on in their lives. Also they give each other advice on whatever problems they have.

- This au does take place within canon btw. I call it an au because this entire story would not be apart of endings for Jonathan and Nancy cause if there were to be a Jancy breakup, I think it would happen before the time jump and then they would get back together at the end.

I’m going to end the list here since I’m on the verge of getting into a more spoilery territory and I do want to write it at some point as since it is kinda a passion project for me since it combines my love of Jancy and music.

Thank you Dearie for sending in this ask, Hope you are having a good weekend so far!

[off-traveling-in-the-stars]

Redesigning Gotham's Riddler

Note: This is intended to be part one of a series I have, one of my special interests is fashion/costume design and the other is superhero media. So this will be fun. Also, I don't have any negative feelings towards Riddler's costuming! His was one of the best in the whole series and the costume designers on the creative team made some excellent choices! This is not to say they did a bad job!

Introduction: So, I dislike a lot of costuming choices in Gotham seasons 1-4. I believe that a story can be portrayed very easily through the costume design, so here's what I'd do if I was in charge.

Season 1: I don't have much to say here. He's still in his beginning phases, but I have a few notes!

Him having some question mark cufflinks or dark green cufflinks could've had some subtle hints towards his villainous future. I know that he has question mark socks but due to the weird lighting of the show, they're not that visible in most scenes.

Season 2: Only a couple notes.

That scene where he kills Tom? I think the jacket should have hints of green. I don't know, I just think that him wearing a red plaid jacket is... weird.

Then afterwards, more green ties and notes of green in his general outfit choices.

He's got that green sweater when he's out of Arkham, which is subtle enough. Like I said, his wardrobe is definitely my favourite out of any rogue on the show.

Season 3: Okay, some notes. Man, his hair... I don't like it. The hair was becoming way more chilled out by season 2, like his newfound freedom from the GCPD and now... back to the weird combed back, gelled hair. It can still be managed by hairspray at this phase of his life, but not where it's basically solid.

What happened to the green? It's very subtle in the first half of the season (pre-breakup) with his suit, which does work for his new job as Oswald's confidante. I would've liked some hints of purple, as a reference to both Oswald AND the normal Riddler colours. In the tie, the lining of the suit, or even the cufflinks.

Late season 3 Riddler has a good costume, classy and still loud. Getting rid of any hints of purple would be good, if they had hints of purple earlier.

Season 4: A lot of notes.

Pre-Riddle Factory was alright. He was messy, dishevelled, and dumb.

During the Riddle Factory, on the other hand... He should've been camped up. He acts as a game show announcer! He needs the drama of it all! The hints of a gold staff, some question marks on his tie, and a new bowler hat! The hat could have a ribbon of bright green, matching the suit.

Season 5: Give the man a haircut, I beg of you.

I really like the journey he has with all... 4? Of his new outfits. They're new, with small details. Once he reunites with Oswald, he should have a bit more purple, but his purple tie was a nice detail.

The finale: GIVE HIM THE QUESTION MARK CANE. PLEASE?

I like the purple gloves and tie, the dark green ribbon on the hat, it's really nice overall! Maybe more saturated, to match Oswald's high saturated finale outfit?

(On another note, here's the image that inspired this post:)

[majdoline]

idk what this is, but it’s very much giving post breakup mental breakdown haircut.

[montyterrible]

“This is a (wo)man’s world”: The Excessorious Thinktation of Mr. Monty Terrible, re. Birds of Prey 2020

For a movie so focused on women, one of the most noticeable early design choices in the 2020 Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn ironically concerns a man: specifically Jared Leto’s Joker. The character is present here but in ways that deliberately omit the particulars. The animated Joker seen in the opening is more of a classically… clean-cut version of the character and not really recognizable as the Leto Joker. Ditto the image of his head Harley has as a bulls-eye on the wall of her apartment. The man himself is only seen from the back, in the couple of instances where he does “appear.”

He isn’t even seen breaking up with Harley. We’re just told about it. You can read this as meaningful if you like—Joker’s presence and his influence on Harley being this intangible, malignant thing, like a ghost, maybe, wholly separate from his physical body—though it’s also just blatantly an attempt to dodge using a version of the character that did not exactly win over audiences without outright rebooting him. The obvious brand rehabilitation happening here undermines the art a bit, such as it is: It’s more transparently a product in this way. While there may be artistic or logistical excuses, I don’t think any fully invalidate this point since it still feels like the movie is dodging even the established look of the character in a pretty telling way.

Whatever the exact ratio of intention to coincidence, the result is a message of separation, liberation—*emancipation*—for the Harley character, in-universe and as a valuable asset/property. The title might lead with “Birds of Prey,” but this is Harley’s movie: no Jokers allowed.

Not that the absent Joker is a “bad” thing. While I can find my way to liking other parts of the 2016 Suicide Squad, including Leto’s Joker, it’s inarguable that that film’s contribution to the modern DC universe of live-action films was mainly Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn, as well as a certain garish sense of style that does persist here, arguably in a stronger sort of way than in even the proper Suicide Squad sequel that would come later. The impression that I come away with is that this movie’s temperament is more genuinely meatheaded in a 2016 Suicide Squad sort of way than it is crass-but-clever like the 2021 THE Suicide Squad. The fist bump the lady protagonists share at the end (over breakfast drinks and tacos) feels very much spiritually of a kind with the visual of two masculine hands gripping one another, muscles bulging from the camaraderie.

Maybe that is itself a notable feature given that this is a movie principally about women, written and directed by women, and with Robbie as a producer. It’s glittery, ridiculous, violent fun For The Ladies. It’s a movie with a breakup at its center, and we see Harley deal with that in some perhaps stereotypical ways, like giving herself a haircut and eating junk food while crying, but the whole movie kind of has a certain post-breakup anger, determination, and wildness behind it. It’s fast paced but not so much in a deft way and more like the proverbial bull in the china shop. Harley is the narrator, so her typically chaotic perspective is the excuse, in a sense, for the stylistic excess: bright colors, character introductions and sometimes vengeful motivations conveyed via on-screen text, a surreal performance of “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend” when she’s hit in the face by mob boss antagonist Roman Sionis/Black Mask at one point.

The overall vibe for the plot is “heist”-esque, with some interruptions and rewinding by narrator Harley to create excitement and a sense of fun and complication. It isn’t exactly wildly original or interesting in terms of the narrative or writing, however, and there are points where the movie seems to more or less acknowledge this: like Harley essentially admitting that Renee Montoya’s suspension (as a cop) is a trope or how Black Canary calls attention to Harley suddenly having rollerblades on for some reason in the funhouse fight sequence. Momentum is the focus here. The Fantabulous Emancipation is a lean sub-two hours, and that feels about right for this concept. The much-missed 90-minute runtime standard of old, which this movie still exceeds, was the exact right length for a disposable bit of entertainment with some highlights. You can practically feel the script (and Harley) trying to force the team together in time for the climax, but it generally does not feel like the story was mutilated to reach this runtime.

Roller derby feels like a good fit for this version of Harley aesthetically (and also jibes with the feminist theming), and it gets paid off with the skates at the funhouse brawl and afterward when chasing down Sionis’ car. Cassandra Cain has been taking things out of people’s pockets all movie long, and then she reverse-pickpockets a grenade onto Sionis to finally end him. Harley’s troubles really get started when she tries and fails to eat an egg sandwich, and then she finally gets to eat one at the end. There’s even a fun bit there where the narrator and on-screen Harleys sync up as the story concludes: “Call me a softy,” says the narration; “I dare ya,” says Harley in the car with Cass. It’s a cute, conclusive-feeling beat to end on.

The real treat here, in my opinion, are the fight scenes, especially a couple starring Harley in a police station where the music is reminiscent of a shriek of rage at times. There’s a moment where she’s hiding behind a palette of cocaine, which is then shot up by Sionis’ mercenaries, allowing Harley to inhale the dust and go a little extra berserk. The funhouse fight is visually pretty engaging thanks to the environment, which also creates opportunities for interesting fight choreography. I can’t compare this to every one of the live-action DC movies, but Fantabulous definitely has some of the crunchier action I’ve seen in these films, with a somewhat higher degree of visual credibility. This section is small, but even on rewatch, I would say that the fights are the main reason to see this movie. They’re at least noteworthy highlights.

The “emancipation” of the title definitely shows in the design and theming of the film in ways that I have to imagine made some people very angry—something something “shoved down our throats,” “childhood ruined,” woke, etc. The women aren’t sexualized in a leering way here, and the focus seems to have been on clothing them to give them a sense of style appropriate to their character versus creating something strictly “attractive” or honoring the designs from the comics. Black Canary gets somewhat more revealing attire, but in a considered way where there’s still more covered than not. Harley’s outfits take the Suicide Squad 2016 foundation and add like 200% more accessories and glitter. Cass is dressed like a kid, and Montoya looks like she’s a living, aging person and just very “normal” overall. Huntress might come closest to wearing something like a super suit consistently.

The theming is very straightforward empowerment stuff and very safe—or it would not be broadcast so aggressively like this—though that fact won’t stop the aforementioned, theoretical, angry viewers from thinking it’s some aberration and step too far. Too “political” and so forth.

It’s laid on very thick: When Harley blows up Ace Chemicals early on, Montoya immediately gets her intent (“She just publicly updated her relationship status”), while her partner (a man) is oblivious. Montoya is overlooked and overruled at work in favor of men; Black Canary is repeatedly referred to by Sionis as his “little bird.” Probably the most high-falutin’ it gets is with Harley telling Canary that “A harlequin’s role is to serve” and “You know, a harlequin’s nothing without a master.” And then Canary saves her from being some kind of kidnapped or trafficked in the back of a van after a man gets her drunk(er). Even Doc, the elderly man who owns the restaurant Harley lives above, sells her out. Some of the most squirmy violence in the film, to me, involves breaking a man’s legs with a baseball bat. It’s a movie that some might claim is misandrist, though, if anything, it feels pretty egalitarian with how hard the blows consistently land. The ladies strike one another and men and are struck by men with quite a bit of oomph.

“Friends, brothers, men of Gotham,” says Black Mask to his army, making what should be simple mercenary/goon work feel downright fraternal. Later, the final part of the final showdown happens on a pier lined with statues of the Gotham founders, most of which seem to be men. This is where Harley and Cass kill Sionis, who had risen to the top of the patriarchal heap in the modern day.

There’s maybe some self-awareness here since, earlier, Harley tells Cass to “blow something up” or “shoot someone” to get respect from boys.

While there are other men characters, two of the most prominent are Sionis and his right-hand man, Victor Zsasz, and the two of them have this very… interesting (read: gay) relationship. Like, Zsasz is incredibly visibly jealous of the attention Sionis gives Canary at one point, and Sionis has this sort of BDSM-adjacent thing going on, which would make sense with the “black” “mask,” in a way. He’s more often associated with gloves (and a fear of uncleanliness despite apparently also having a penchant for having Zsasz remove people’s faces) than with a mask in this movie, however. A fixture of his club’s stage are these two big black hands on either side, with eyes held between their middle two fingers. Which kind of suggests the gloves are the mask. Meanwhile, the mask itself is on a pedestal in a room with this sort of bondage-y art on the walls, and putting it on almost seems to be a last resort and feels like this particularly manic, strained moment for Sionis. There’s at least an association being made.

There’s part of me that appreciates how this could be an intentional assault on a certain contingent of the movie’s audience. “Aggressive” is a good word for it, as is “gay.” Neither of those things bothered me, though I did find Chris Messina’s (Zsasz) and Ewan McGregor’s (Black Mask) performances kind of grating at times. It’s funny that Leto’s Joker is persona non grata here, as both of these men are at points doing things with their mannerisms and voices that remind me a lot of that take on the Joker. You might even call some of the acting that they’re doing “bad,” in fact.

They both have their moments of genuine menace, though, that intersect with the themes and help redeem the oddball stuff—like this pretty tense and upsetting bit where Sionis thinks a woman in his club is laughing at him, so he forces her to dance on a table and her male companion to cut and then tear her dress off. Looking on, Canary sheds a tear of, we can assume, sisterhood. Zsasz similarly gets a bit creepy with Harley’s paralyzed body later in the movie and then tries to get Canary to cut open Cass to prove her loyalty and extract an all-important stolen diamond, and when he dies in this scene the women essentially take turns stabbing him in some form. It is not subtle!

Now, potentially associating male gayness (or at least some shade of queerness) with violence against women seems problematic. And while I can appreciate these versions of Sionis and Zsasz being some kind of cishet male comic fan repellant, and also just the weirdness of the take, it seems like making them more conventionally masculine and straight would have kept the theming tidier. There’s not room in here for too much nuance.

[knicknackiees]

This happened yest 11.30.23, but only writing about it now 12.1.23 03:51am coz I'm still up (prolly due to the white choc mocha I drank at 12mn.lol) and I'm in the mood to share some things. So...

Yesterday, there were some highlights. It was EOM so I went full serious mode at work that I barely got up from the chair and even got to the point of ordering just a burger instead of rice meal for dinner because I really have to patch things up before the clock strikes twelve and Nov goes buhbye. So yeah, I was busy and focused in doing my job when the breakup news re: kathniel (a Fil loveteam that I'm fond of) was trending. As much as I want to hop into that bandwagon while the tea is still hot (mm yes, I'm that marits sometimes esp on stuff or ool I'm interested in! Hehe), I gotta give way for my job. In the end, many memes and theories and rumors and confusing details were spewed out by so many marits like me, some even becoming like mother marits – the bringer of chikkas. So when I was finished, I immediately grabbed my phone to sip the already warm teas and saw that my langga sent me a PM, so instead of opening fb, I opened his message and got this. So the context of this is, despite the kathniel breakup trend, some netizens posted that true love is found in boys with less hair or with none at all. And with the collaged pic, my beau sent me this picture of us when he had the semi - kalbo haircut. I know it'll come off as corny or meaningless for some but hey, this is my bf and this really made my day. Plus, I never expected he was updated with this tea, too. Haha I guess he's also a teato as I'm a teata, huh? 😏 Anyway, his message really painted a smile on my face and even made me laugh. I appreciate the effort and his thoughts on this. Cutieee! If true love looks like this, I'll agree to the claims 101%! 😊😊😊

Thank you, langga!

Yesterday was an exhausting day but you made it a whole lot better. I love you! ❤️

[one-sided-bbl]

breakup toolkit

hi klonni bib, its kylie

a little over three months ago i went thru.... A BREAKUP

its been really shitty, not as much anymore but some days are still hard

i really did love him and still do but i eventually realized i needed to move on, not necessarily onto someone else but just something else. this post is kinda more for myself but i present to you the BREAKUP TOOLKIT for anyone who needs it

let yourself cry, but don't reach out to them when you're in "emotion mind" as my therapist calls it, even tho when you let yourself cry and be sad youll probably want to text them

stop thinking about how to win them back or what you could have done for a different end result. its over for now and if youre meant to be together itll happen evenutally. focus on urself for now

take selfies, nothing compares to the sexy post-cry puffy eyes swollen lips selfie, plus u can look back at them later and laugh at how sad you were and appreciate that youre less sad now

avoid sad music for the first few weeks or maybe months. you have enough valid reasons to be sad dont make it worse

do listen to misandrist music (Fiona Apple's When the Pawn has helped me a lot, recommended to me by sophia)

dive back into a hobby you used to fill your time with when you were single

read a book or two (i'm ready everything i know about love, also recommended to me by sophia, and omg it helps so much)

hang out with your friends and celebrate that youll never have to decide between a party with your bf and his friends or watching a movie with the girls (ur bf's friends will never be as nice as your actual friends anyway)

give them their stuff back, stop holding onto that one CD he lent you so you have a reason to see him and return the CD because lord knows youre gonna leave feeling even more disappointed and it's just gonna reopen the wound

avoid places you guys used to hang out especially when he decides to still hang out there everyday

dont go on dating apps for the first few months, no one on hinge is going to be similar enough to your ex to help you get over them and it'll probably just make u want your ex even more

journal, but only when you feel like it. going thru a breakup is a grieving process and sometimes those feelings cant really be expressed in words and thats okay

find a new cafe that youre less likely to see your ex at

get a good vibrator if u dont already have

instead of trying to find someone to replace your ex, look for attractive people the opposite sex of your ex

get the haircut youve been thinking about

document every time you look sexy

remember your previous breakups (if applicable) and remind yourself of how you were able to get over it, and you will be able to get over this one as well

take it day by day

most importantly confide in your friends or whatevrr support system you have it helps 1000000%

this is all i can think of for now but i hope it helps anyone who might stumble across it :)

[eliotquillon]

ok yes in witherward book 3 i need an eliot-ollivan Parisian Exile Crossover and i need gedeon to get his ass handed to him both verbally and physically but i ALSO need cassia to get a post-breakup haircut PLEASE HANNAH I KNOW YOU HAVE TUMBLR PLEASE GIVE CASSIA A HOT GIRL BOB

[kittyt-hexxed]

My Lovers Hate Each Other (Vi x Reader x Sevika) - 1

Part One - Getting with Sevika

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Final Part

Warning: Polyamorous Relationship, misogynistic asshole at the Drop, broken bones, fighting, breakups, alcohol, swearing and rowdy behavior

Summary: You’re the bartender and owner of The Last Drop. You run it with pride and your customers have come to respect you. With you behind the bar, that puts you into regular contact with Sevika and you end up crushing on her.

Author Note: Surprise! I’m posting it early!

You slide a beer down the bar to one of your regulars with a wink. He grins at you and raises his glass in a silent salute before taking a big drink from it. You were extremely busy since it was singles night and all of the single and looking people of Zaun were here to mingle. The themed nights were courtesy of Powder who thought it might keep the place interesting. So, once a week, there was a new themed night to keep morale high in the club.

Your regulars didn’t care about themed nights, only coming in for their fix of alcohol and friendly conversation. Some came in just to talk with you and gather information before scurrying off. Being the owner and bartender of the most popular nightclub and bar kept you well informed. People tended to spill more than necessary when they had a few drinks in their system. On the other hand, some people became quite nasty when they drank.

Thankfully, you haven’t had to deal with any nasty customers yet. The night was just getting started, but you knew you might have one or two later. Singles night tended to bring forward some men and women that should remain single. They liked to take their dating frustrations out on you when it didn’t go to plan.

“Oi! Y/n!” Ran shouts at you, “Are you forgetting someone?” You snort as you hand someone their drink.

“Thanks for asking, but I haven’t forgotten anyone!” You jokingly call back, making your regulars laugh. You pick up an empty glass and stop in front of them. Ran loved to tease you when you were working, if she couldn’t annoy Sevika. Your eyes scan the crowd looking for the woman, but you don’t see her. ‘She’s probably in one of the alcoves towards the back. I wouldn’t be able to see her from here.’

“What can I get you?” You smile at Ran, “Manners, dignity… a new haircut perhaps?”

“A gin and tonic would be preferable.” Ran grins, sliding their money across the counter.

“Ah.” You playfully sigh, “A gin and tonic it is. I was hoping for a challenge.” You wink and get to making their drink. A few more people approach the bar in the few seconds it takes, making you sigh internally. ‘I’m going to kick Thieram’s ass for getting sick off of a shimmer bomb. What made him think mixing shimmer with an energy drink would be a great idea is beyond me!’

“There’s no one helping you tonight?” Ran questions as you hand them their drink.

“No, but I’ll manage. I only have two more hours of this shit.” You glance at the clock. You were doing well tonight. No heartbroken crazies have come to you, yet, so you’re hoping your luck stays that way.

“If you need me to get Krow to hop the bar, just let me know.” Ran pats the countertop.

“Thanks, Ran, enjoy your drink.” You wave them off and get to the other waiting customers. Everyone was really pumped up tonight and it made you happy to see. The drinks kept coming and even your servers were getting their money's worth of work in. You’d be calling tonight successful by closing.

“Hey, Bartender! Why are you chatting over there when you’ve got paying customers waiting?” Someone shouts at you, making the girl in front of you wince. You excuse yourself from the conversation, promising to get her that water she requested.

“If you didn’t realize, everyone here is a paying customer. I don’t give drinks away for free.” You cross your arms, “Now if you ask a bit nicer, I’ll get you a drink that isn’t someone’s piss.”

“Listen. I don’t expect a child like you to understand grownup manners.” The man spits, making you raise an eyebrow, “Just get me a fucking beer. I’ve dealt with too much shit tonight.”

“Well, this child owns The Last Drop. So, take your money and get out of my bar.” You scowl, “I’m not entertaining people like you tonight.”

“You’re kicking me out when all I’ve asked for is a beer? What the fuck? Ugh, this is why women shouldn’t be working a bar.” He scoffs and that makes you angry. Nothing made you angrier than someone saying you shouldn’t be the owner of The Last Drop. It takes a lot to piss you off, but that topic will always be sensitive for you. You had forced Silco to give you ownership of the bar when you were only sixteen. After Vander and your friends’ deaths, nothing could’ve stopped you from shoving a crowbar up Silco’s ass. Not even the threat of your own death, so he gave you the keys and you spent what money was left to renovate it.

You take a step forward, fist clenching when Sevika comes out of the crowd behind him. It was like she knew when someone had upset you. You could usually handle the rowdier people yourself, but most of the time Silco’s muscle would cut in and escort them out. Usually, it was the two big brothers that you loved to tease and call “Thing One” and “Thing Two”. You didn’t know their names as they refused to tell you, but they were there when it mattered.

Except, when it came to moments like this, Sevika was the one who cut in. You were surprised every time, assuming the last was just a coincidence but you were starting to see a pattern. Her metal hand comes down on the guy's shoulder and he freezes, his eyes nervously trained on the dangerously glinting metal. Her grip tightens on his shoulder and you hear the crack of his bone before he screams in pain. Sevika doesn’t say a word as she drags him, kicking and screaming, by his newly broken shoulder to the front door. The others either ignore what’s happening or watch in amused sympathy as the poor sap to earn Sevika’s ire is thrown from the building.

A moment later, Sevika comes back through the crowd with her eyes trained on you. You place a pint of beer on the counter where she stops, knowing the routine at this point. She observes you silently, checking you over for injuries, before nodding her head once and disappearing with her drink.

The rest of the night goes by smoothly and you’re wiping the bar down before you know it. Your servers wave you goodbye as they head out and you bid them a goodnight. The club was mostly clear except for Sevika’s gang lounging around and shooting pool. They tended to stay until you were locking up to make sure no one came to mess with you. You appreciated it even though you had your prized guns strapped to your thighs. If someone tried to mess with you, you weren’t afraid to take the shot, but it was nice having someone looking out for you. Or in your case, a whole gang.

“Y/n! Here.” Krow hands you a vial of Shimmer, “I was told to give it to you.”

“Thanks, Krow. They can be used as more than a drug, you know?” You hum, pouring the vial into an empty alcohol bottle.

“What do you do with it?” Krow raises an eyebrow.

“That's a secret.” You smirk.

“Hey Krow, we’re heading out since little miss cobra is about to lock up!” One of the gang members call. Your attention is drawn by movement in the corner of your eye. Sevika approaches you and Krow slinks away with a wink. The rest of the gang says goodbye as they throw smirks in your direction while they head out and it makes you raise an eyebrow.

“That asshole didn’t hurt you, did he?” Sevika sits down across from you. The look in her eyes is intense as she waits for your response. an unlit cigar tucked between her lips.

“No, he didn’t even touch me.” You lean against the counter. You know that’s not what she’s asking, and Sevika won’t let you shrug it off.

“I didn’t mean physically.” Sevika narrows her eyes. You look down and sigh.

“I was angry. I might’ve put my fist through his face if you didn’t do something.” You click your tongue, “You’re always there when someone makes me angry.”

“Am I?” Sevika says casually, pulling out a cigar and tucking it between her lips. Your hand is flying into your pocket and whipping out your lighter before she can even think to reach for hers. It was ornate with golden designs on it that you cherished. You purchased it in Piltover when you had to meet up with an associate.

“Need a light?” You question her and flash you are lighter. Sevika’s eyebrows go up at your offer and you keep steady eye contact with her. Offering to light someone’s smoke in the undercity was some serious shit. It’s how you signed deals, pledged your loyalty to someone, or got involved with something. You didn’t offer a light and you didn’t request one from someone randomly. If you were friends or close to someone, that was different, but in wider circles, it could mean signing a deal with the devil himself.

Sevika keeps eye contact with you as you move forward, flicking the lighter open, and lighting up her cigar. Sevika continues to hold eye contact with you as she takes a drag and blows the smoke into your face.

“Go out with me.” You say firmly. You watch her take another drag but blow the smoke away from you this time. You can’t stop your eyes from flickering down to her lips as she does.

“What makes you think I want to go out with you?” Her rough voice sends a shiver up your spine.

“You let me light your cigar.” You respond. Sevika smirks and nods her head slowly. She takes another drag, purposely making you wait for her response before she chuckles.

“You’re cute, Y/n. I know you’ve been crushing on me. I’m flattered.” Sevika stands up, “Make it worth my while, sweetheart.” Your jaw drops as she walks out. She wasn’t wrong. You’ve been crushing on her for a few months now. How could you not? She was an enigma. You knew of her when Vander was in charge. Whenever you’d hang out in The Last Drop, you’d get the chance to see her enjoying herself or having a conversation with Vander. You hadn’t talked to her personally during those times, but you’d hear things from other people. Vi liked to complain about her sometimes, but she mostly praised the woman’s strength.

Sevika was held in high respect by a lot of people in the Undercity for getting things done. After Vander’s death, she was held higher up due to people’s fear of her. When you asked someone about her, they either flinched and walked away or told you one thing… that she was one scary lady. It brought you great amusement to witness because that wasn’t the woman you knew.

Sevika wasn’t much of a talker unless she had a few drinks in her. She was the kind of person to sit and observe everything around her, even if it didn’t look like it. She enjoyed spending her time playing cards and gambling. She’d light up a cigar or cigarette and knock back a couple of glasses. She preferred the more expensive whiskey but would get a few beers as well. If she was feeling particularly fancy, she’d ask for a vodka sour and leisurely sip it. The cigars she smoked were also expensive. Silco preferred to get his custom-made and did the same for Sevika. The smoke that rose from her cigar was a pale red instead of the usual grey. You knew a lot about her without really knowing her, and that’s what drew you in. So, the fact that she’s allowing you to take her on a date was huge.

“I knew it!” Powder drops down from the rafters and startles you out of your daydreaming, “Silco owes me a few coins!”

“You guys bet on us?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yup! I told him Sevika was into you but he disagreed so I placed a bet on it.” Powder snickers.

“That’s my girl!” You ruffle her hair, “What’s Jinx up to?” You tilt your head. You kept up a friendship with the blue-haired bombshell, and because of you, she was still Powder in private. Jinx had ended up becoming her persona instead of her identity. When Silco failed to parent her, you played big sister and corrected things. You spent enough time with her over the years to know what she responded to. You got closer due to her sister’s death and sometimes Powder would hang in the rafters above you to keep you company. It was fun for you to find little drawings tucked away in your bartender uniform or glitter in the register. It relieved you greatly to know that your efforts had made a difference.

“Jinx is supposed to be making new bombs.” Powder sits on the counter, “She’s taking a while on it.”

“Interesting.” You smile slyly, “Why is that?”

“Who knows.” Powder shrugs, “Sooo about you and Sevika?” She wiggles her eyebrows. You groan but tell her about your crush.

You weren’t sure when it happened. Was it after the fourth date and you let her do body shots off of you? Was it a few weeks later when you left clothes at her place? Or, was it a spur-of-the-moment decision on her part? It didn’t matter when it happened, but it mattered that it left her lips.

“Why are you touching my girlfriend?” Sevika questioned darkly, a few seconds prior to your spiraling. The woman that was grabbing your wrist had yet to let go. A foreigner from her lack of response. Anyone from Zaun would’ve been smart to at least let go of you at those words. This woman didn’t even flinch as she stared Sevika in her eyes, too cocky in herself to realize the very real danger she was in. The others at the table seemed a bit smarter than their friend, nervously glancing at each other when they realized that the bar is silent. The regulars knew not to mess with you after you shot a man for trying to drug someone, but now that you were obviously involved with number two herself? People suddenly pulled their manners out of their asses. Besides, it’s like Vander said. You don’t mess with the one who pours the drinks.

“Your girlfriend? Well, I’m sorry, but she’s coming home with me tonight.” Sevika’s eyes flick over to you and you shake your head. From the moment you started dating, it was made clear that you’d have the freedom to date and sleep with other people. You didn’t mind that at all, especially because you were also a frequenter of Babette’s. With that out in the open, you two were content to continue forward with your tentative relationship.

“Is that true, Y/n?” Sevika raises an eyebrow.

“Not with her, but Ran and I are going to the brothel together after my shift.” You toss a wink at the black-haired cutie. Ran smirks and raises their beer bottle at you.

“Alright then.” Sevika’s hand closes around the woman’s throat before she’s dragged from the bar. Her friends startle, snapping their heads to you as you casually rub your wrist.

“If you don’t want your friend to die, I suggest you go apologize on her behalf.” You inform them and they’re scrambling out of their seats a second later, “I’m okay, you can go back to drinking!” You wave off the concerned looks from your patrons. The bar immediately fills with chatter once more and you make your way to the booth Sevika had been occupying. You hop up onto the table, Ran moves their drink out of the way and pats your thigh. You spot Sevika coming over and the butterflies swarm your stomach once more. ‘Why are you touching my girlfriend? She called me her girlfriend. Is that what we are now?’ You hold out your wrist and she inspects it before lifting you off the table and placing you on her lap. You blush as she wraps her arms around you, her metal arm keeping you in place so you can’t move.

“Thieram is here so you’re not working anymore.” Sevika states, making you laugh.

“I can handle myself, Sev.” You grin at her, “By the way, did you call me your girlfriend earlier?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my girlfriend.” Sevika says casually before taking a drink from her beer. ‘That answers my question. I guess I’m her girlfriend now.’

“Stop grinning at me like that.” Sevika forces you to turn your head, “I’m trying to enjoy myself.” You and the crew just snicker.

“Hey, Y/n? Can we talk?” Hayley signals to you from the end of the bar. You smile at her and nod. You hand Powder her apple juice - watching her slink back into the rafters- before heading into the backroom with her.

“What’s up, babe?” You lean against the wall as she stands in front of you.

“I don’t know how to say this… but, I can’t be your girlfriend anymore.” Hayley sighs, looking anywhere but at you.

“What? Why? As far as I know, we’ve been doing okay. You told me so a few days ago.” You frown.

“Honestly, I can’t stand being secondary to Sevika. You’re an amazing girlfriend, Y/n, it’s nothing you’ve done. Whenever I’m with you or when I’m out on my own I’m “the girl who’s dating Sevika’s girl” not your girlfriend. That’s how everyone knows me, and it sucks. So… I’m sorry but I’m breaking up with you.” Hayley rubs her arm. You take in a deep breath and exhale heavily.

“I understand. You definitely deserve to be seen as more than that. Good luck with the next girl, Hayley.” You flash her a smile and exit the room. Your regulars give you concerned glances but you keep up your cheery attitude. The day passes in a blur as you fight the urge to cry. You really liked Hayley. She was very sweet and worked at the concert grounds. Out of all the girls you’ve dated, she was the one who not only lasted the longest but really made you happy.

You were quick to lock up for the night before heading downstairs. You wanted to shower and get into bed before you burst into tears. Hayley wasn’t the first girl to bring up those concerns. Sevika was too well known, too feared, and had too much of a reputation for people to compete with. This was the fourth girl to break up with you because of it, and it made you sad. You didn’t mind only dating Sevika or visiting the brothel, but it was tough when the reason your relationships failed was because of who you were in a relationship with. You had yet to tell Sevika about it because you didn’t want to upset her.

Stepping out of the shower, you sigh sadly and wrap your towel around you. You freeze when you see Sevika sitting on your bed. She frowns when she sees you and beckons you over. You wrap your arms around her shoulders as she pulls you onto her lap.

“Why are you crying?” Sevika mutters, wiping away your tears.

“Hayley broke up with me today.” You whisper.

“Why?” Sevika growls.

“The same as all of the other girls.” You huff, “You have too big of a presence for them to compete with. People refer to them as “the girl dating Sevika’s girlfriend” instead of as my girlfriend. They got tired of it or it affected their self-esteem.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.” You nervously glance away from her.

“Y/n, of course, I’ll be upset. You’re hurting because of me.” Sevika grabs your chin, “I know you really liked Hayley.”

“I did but she’s right. If I want another girlfriend, I’d have to date another you.” You joke, “That’s the only way I’d be able to keep someone.”

“I don’t think I could get along with another me.” Sevika clicks her tongue.

“That says a lot about you, doesn’t it?” You tease her, making Sevika raise an eyebrow, “Ouch! Did you just pinch me?!” You whine and rub your thigh.

“Hm?” Sevika leans back, “I don’t know what you mean.” You can’t help but laugh.

Time flew by and before you knew it, you and Sevika had been together for two years. With how busy she was with Silco, most of the time you were together was when she hung out in the bar or snuck into your bed at night. You loved to wake up in the middle of the night to her cuddling you against her like a teddy bear. The first time you found out Sevika was a cuddler, it made you melt. She was such a strict person until it came to you. You saw a side of her no one else had the pleasure of seeing.

That made it all the funnier when Powder would complain to you about Sevika and tell you to put a leash on her. The two of them got into a lot of arguments because of Jinx. Sevika wasn’t a fan of her hard work being destroyed by a teenager. You would giggle and tell Powder that Sevika would strangle you with it before you could get close. As she actually did one time when you playfully tried to put one on her. The sex that night was one you’d never forget.

“Hey, Y/n! Can we try something new tonight?” Sherry asks, “I’m feeling a bit more daring than usual.”

“Sure thing, Sherry! Are we going fruity or staying on the bolder side?” You grin at her. The front doors to the bar slam open, startling everyone inside and making you scowl.

“SHE’S BACK FROM THE FUCKING DEAD!” One of the guys hollers, pale as hell. You recognize them as the guys that were playing cards with Sevika earlier.

“VANDER’S GIRL! SHE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE!” The other one screeches and that was enough to have you vaulting over the bar. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you shouted for Krow to take over before you were sprinting out of the bar. Vi had been your best friend growing up and losing her devastated you. You joked that she couldn’t die no matter how badly she came home beaten and bruised. The day she didn’t return and Powder bawled her eyes out into your shirt, your heart cracked.

Even if those idiots were spewing shit from their mouths, you had to go see. Not only that, but they were with Sevika and if Vi was really back, then you’d have the fight to break up. Sevika was working for Silco at the end of the day, and Vi being back wouldn’t be good for him. If Silco had any inkling that Vi was alive, he’d order your girlfriend to kill her. Unless Vi got her angry enough, then Sevika would do it herself.

You hear the fight before your eyes land on them. When you slid in front of the opening of the alcove, you were just in time to witness your girlfriend choke-slam Vi through a crate. ’Ah, shit I hate being right!’ You gasp as Sevika lifts Vi by her throat. Overwhelmed with emotions at seeing your alive best friend, you couldn’t let your girlfriend continue this fight.

“Vika, stop!” You shout, causing their heads to snap in your direction. It was almost comical how their shocked expressions matched each other so perfectly.

“Y/n?” They question simultaneously causing them to glare at each other.

“Please, let her go.” You plead as you gently place your hand on Sevika’s metal one. You stare your lover in the eyes before she sighs heavily and yanks her arm away from Vi. You immediately reach for Vi when her feet hit the ground and she pitches forward. You steady her as she coughs, and frown knowing she’ll have bruising around her throat later.

“Thank you.” You say to Sevika who grunts and picks up her cloak. Vi turns to you with wide eyes and you give her a bright smile, “Welcome home, Violet.” You pull her into a tight hug, feeling tears sting your eyes. You can feel Vi hesitate before she returns the hug and relaxes into it. You can’t believe that you’re hugging her once again. ‘After so many years… I can’t believe she’s alive.’

“You’re okay.” Vi sighs in relief as you pull away, “I’m so glad you’re okay, Y/n.”

“Imagine how I feel.” You laugh, wiping away your tears, “I thought you were dead.”

“Do you know where my sister is?” Vi pleads, “I’ve been trying to find her. I need to find her.”

“I do.” You place a hand on her shoulder, “You can come with me.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t stand too close to my girlfriend.” Sevika growls agitatedly. You sigh as Vi gives you a startled look that quickly twists into anger.

“You’re dating that brute?!” Vi shouted, “She betrayed Vander! What the hell, Y/n!”

“Vi. I can explain. You’ve been gone for a while. Things… have changed a bit.” You raise your hands in defense, not liking the confused yet angry look in Vi’s eyes.

“I’m so not having sex with you tonight.” You hissed at Sevika, punching her shoulder in your frustration. That’s not how you wanted to break the news! Sevika’s smirk drops and she actually gives you a betrayed look. You knew that was the one thing she was looking forward to tonight.

“If you still want to follow me, I can take you to your sister.” You turn back to Vi who has a frown on her face.

“Yeah. Please.” Vi sighs, “I just need to take care of something really quick.”

“Sure, I’ll wait for you here.” You nod.

[ugh-yoongi]

love.fm | knj

⟶ pairing: namjoon x f.reader

⟶ trope/au: estranged lovers | radio host

⟶ genre: angst, fluff, comedy

⟶ rating: mature

⟶ warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, lots of feelings about a previous breakup, jk is a shithead but we love him, ambiguous but hopeful ending. not much else, this is pretty tame aside from the swearing.

⟶ wordcount: 12.4k

⟶ summary: you know three things for certain: jeon jeongguk will do anything to inconvenience you, kim seokjin is an absolute bastard for putting you in charge of the station’s holiday show, and you’ve got a lot of regrets about the way your relationship ended. however, you also know spending the last two years on your own has done you some good. you’ve got a new haircut, an apartment with a bay window, and a rescue dog.

there’s also the stranger who keeps writing into the station about regrets of their own. the stranger whose prose feels so familiar. the stranger who leaves you wondering if things with your ex are quite as resolved as you think.

⟶ dialogue prompt: "i'm still there, in our house... it's lonely there without you. i never realized how lost i'd be with you gone, how empty our home could feel. i finally understand how you felt."

⟶ event: written for the resolution revolution collab, hosted by ash @jimilter and amelia @knjsnoona​. thank you both for letting me participate! ❤

⟶ a/n: ahh, it’s finally here! i’ve been working on this on and off since the beginning of october. i guess i can’t seem to stay away from those exes to lovers fics, eh? this will require some suspension of disbelief but i hope you all will enjoy it anyway. please let me know what you think! feedback/reblogs/etc. are always appreciated and welcomed!

Ben Franklin once said there are only two certainties in life: death and taxes.

You’d like to add a third: that every year, without fail, on the day after Thanksgiving, you can always find Jeon Jeongguk hogging the staff microwave.

It’s the busiest day of the year for you, and every year, without fail, your half-hour break is always halved because Jeongguk is hogging the microwave. Most people would adapt, having sensed a theme, but not you. No, you’re stubborn, and instead of packing a lunch that doesn’t require reheating, you find a better use of your time to be lecturing a kid fresh out of college about proper office etiquette.

“Jeongguk,” you say, voice stern and exhausted, “honestly. This is absurd. There’s no way in hell you need to microwave whatever that is for ten minutes.”

“I do,” is all he says, not at all oblivious to your seething but choosing not to acknowledge it.

“You’re an asshole. Why do you do this every year? Why must you make me suffer?”

He turns to you, earrings twinkling under the fluorescent lighting of the staff kitchen, and smiles. It’s smug and taunting and far too pleased. It gives you heartburn. “Should’ve gotten here sooner. You know how much I love Thanksgiving leftovers.”

“Fuck off. You know I always take my break at this time. You saw me get up and ran in here so you could steal the microwave—”

Jeongguk squawks. “I did not!”

“You did so,” you insist, nose scrunched in indignation. “You saw me get up, ran into the hallway so you could cut in front of me, and then you shoulder-checked me into the wall like some kind of barbarian. There’s a dent! You posted it on TikTok!”

He snaps his mouth closed. “That doesn’t sound right. I’d never do something like that.”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and pull out your phone to check the time. Seven minutes have ticked by. You pinch the bridge of your nose, try to steady your breathing. “I’m being serious. Nothing on earth needs to be microwaved for ten minutes.”

“Wow, what if I get worms and die because you made me eat raw turkey?”

“It’s not raw. It’s already been cooked.”

“To the appropriate internal temperature? You don’t know for a fact. I have to microwave it for ten minutes to kill off all potential bacteria.”

This is not a battle you’re going to win. Not against Jeongguk, anyway, because he takes great pride in being the world’s largest pain in the ass. Proctalgia, if you want to get technical about it, which you don’t, so you just huff and pay for a bottle of cold brew from the stocked refrigerators and grumble about why the station can afford weekly fresh food delivery but not a second microwave.

Truthfully, the microwave probably isn’t the issue. It’s just a scapegoat for the real problem: the holidays. Thanksgiving is stressful enough, because you’ve got to keep track of travel plans and takeoff and landing times and flight and gate numbers long before November even rolls around, not to mention all the extracurricular bullshit once you’re actually in the same city as your family. Then there’s keeping track of whose house to be at, when to be there, and what to have in hand once you are. Then, as if you haven’t suffered enough, you’ve got to deal with the mind-numbing conversations all your aunts and uncles and cousins rope you into, all while your brother gets to sit on the couch doing nothing as he nurses a beer.

Which is why you’d decided to pass on all of it this year.

Sure, spending the holiday alone was kind of a bummer, but traveling halfway across the country and taking a red eye back just for some turkey and mashed potatoes had stopped being worth it a long time ago.

(Two years ago, maybe.)

Because you’ve never been able to just enjoy it. Not ever, but especially not since you’d started working at the station, because they’d stuck you with the yearly holiday show once the old host retired. Santa-mental is the station’s pride and joy, raking in more advertising money than it sees the other ten months of the year combined, so there was no way they were going to let it die just because of a little retirement.

And it’s not like you hate it. True to its name, Santa-mental is just an excuse to expel all that pent-up festive energy and sentimentality. From Black Friday through the second of January, listeners call and write in to say what they’re thankful for, what their hopes are. Kids write letters to Santa and say what they hope to find under the tree on Christmas morning, and, thanks to all that advertising money, the station always mails back a neatly wrapped gift. On December 26th, the talk shifts to New Year’s resolutions, what changes people want to make in the upcoming year, what they hope will be different.

It’s exhausting, and it’s a lot of playing therapist, sometimes, because not everything is holiday cheer and light-up antler headbands and confetti from the ceiling when the clock strikes midnight, but you love it. Despite all the stress, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Which cannot be said for the motley crew you’re forced to work with.

In particular, one Kim Seokjin, who’s merely an older yet just as chaotic version of Jeongguk.

You’re barely back at your desk five minutes, half of your lunch still uneaten since someone decided to hog the microwave, when he corners you and Hoseok. “Ah, Hope and Joy, my favorite Santa-mental co-hosts!”

“We’re the only Santa-mental co-hosts,” Hoseok laughs, seemingly incapable of experiencing irritation. Hence why Seokjin had given him Hope as his on-air nickname without a modicum of irony. Yours, on the other hand…

You shove a forkful of stuffing into your mouth, trying not to cringe at how bland and rubbery it is. “What d’you want?”

“Impeccable manners as always,” Seokjin retorts. “I just came to check in since it’s the big day, see how everyone’s feeling. Are you sufficiently festive? Do I need to buy you two matching Christmas sweaters?”

You stare blankly back at him as you spear another piece of lukewarm stuffing. “You know what you can buy us? A second—”

“Wow, would you look at the time? You two are on in ten. Some of the sponsors for this year are new, so don’t forget to take a look at the final list. We’re already at 75% of our revenue goal and it’s not even December yet, so don’t fu—”

“Are any of those sponsors a microwave company?”

Seokjin just glares at you. “Don’t fuck it up,” he warns, “or else you’ll get coal in your stocking.”

Hoseok, the perpetual ray of resplendent sunshine that he is, smiles at you. “Wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

With another roll of your eyes, you mumble something under your breath that suspiciously sounds a lot like I’m going to write a letter to Santa and ask for a fucking microwave before Hoseok drops the sponsor list in front of you. Three minutes until showtime, so you gather your things and make yourself comfortable in the studio, mentally preparing yourself for five more grueling weeks.

Then there’s the countdown, the red ON AIR light flickers to life, and you hear Hoseok’s cheerful, familiar voice through your headphones.

“Ho, ho, ho! It’s finally that time of year again…”

December arrives before you can blink, and with it comes the snow.

It used to be a welcomed sight. Used to bring a smile to your face every time you stepped outside and the world smelled earthy and crisp. Waking up and seeing everything under a blanket of white—there was nothing like it. Those days you used to crawl back into bed, feet covered in thick socks, a warm body to fit yourself against.

Those days are long gone. Now there’s a pinched frown instead of a smile. Everything smells stale. The disgusting, brown-tinged slush is nothing but a hindrance. You wake up cold and alone in a bed that’s too large for just you.

December used to come not only with snow, but magic, too.

It doesn’t feel magical anymore.

And that’s—well, it’s not great. There used to be so much joy and infectious happiness. You used to look forward to digging the decorations out of storage, to knocking the days off the advent calendar. You used to bake cookies and ice silly reindeers and snowmen on top, laughing so hard you’d cry at how horrible they looked. You used to pour a glass of wine and put on Christmas music as you stuck ornaments on the tree.

You don’t do any of that anymore. Not alone. Not without Namjoon.

Now you wake up cold and alone and there’s a split second, right as you wake up and aren’t fully conscious, in which you forget. A split second where you feel tacky and warm, where there’s a phantom body heat on the side of the bed that used to be his. And after you come to, after that dream is ripped away from you, you drag yourself out of bed and paint on a smile.

You go to work and you listen and you read and there’s a split second there, too, when you think this is it, this is the year all those holiday blues finally disappear, this is the year I’ll be okay.

Another dream that’s ripped away.

“Hey. You okay?”

Hoseok’s next to your desk, looking just as sunny as he sounds in a light-up sweater. HAVE A KOALA-TY CHRISTMAS! it says, right above a cartoon koala wearing a Santa hat.

You clear your throat, trying to remember what you’d been doing before devolving into yet another existential crisis. Oh, right—you’d been going through the comments on the station’s Facebook post (“What’s your holiday wish for this week? Comment below and we might make it come true!”), looking for anything you might be able to use for the show.

You’ll be taking it to your grave that I wish I didn’t have to shovel my driveway anymore!! was the post responsible for this downward spiral.

“Ah, yeah, I’m okay.” You hope your smile is convincing. Not likely, considering you’re trying to convince a professional smiler. “Thanks, Hobi.”

Hoseok doesn’t push. Not right away, at least. He at least has the audacity to wait a whole fifteen seconds. “You sure? Did Jeongguk post something inappropriate on the Facebook page again?”

You snort. “Not yet. Although if he promises one more person a PS5 I’m gonna murder him.” You point at the screen and Hoseok leans in, his face so close he starts to go crosseyed. “Look. All this person said was ‘I hope my banana bread turns out good!’ and he offered to send them a fucking PlayStation.”

A trickle of laughter comes tumbling out of Hoseok’s mouth. He always tries not to, tries to heed all your warnings about not laughing at the shit Jeongguk does, but there’s only so much he can hold back. Today, the limit is apparently a banana bread PlayStation.

“I’ll take over the Facebook comments,” comes his solution. “Why don’t you check the emails?”

Hoseok’s gone as soon as you agree, just the remnants of his expensive cologne lingering in the air. Smells like one Namjoon used to wear, which is not a thought you should be thinking when you’re only seconds removed from a crisis. Some things can’t be helped, you reason, typing the station’s email address and password into the boxes.

santamental@wkyn.com

dontgivethistojeongguk

Immediately, you sigh. Seventy-six emails, and that’s low for this time of year. Seventy-six is you getting off easy.

Most of them are some variations of the same: promotions, raises, holiday bonuses; a day off, a flight voucher, debt erased; spending time with family, seeing friends. Sometimes the contrasts make you dizzy. A college kid wishing to ace their finals at the same time a single parent wishes for enough money to buy their kid some toys. Sometimes it feels wrong, feels like Seokjin’s playing God, deciding who is and isn’t worthy. But you also know there’s worth here. You know what you do is silly but important. It helps people, even if it’s just Jeongguk blindly promising gaming consoles.

I wish organic chemistry didn’t exist, one says. You snort in agreement.

I wish I could afford a flight to visit my parents. You forward that one to Seokjin.

I wish Taco Bell was open 24/7.

On and on they go, sent at all hours of the night. Unsurprisingly, the one about Taco Bell came in just before three a.m., and you can only assume the sender hadn’t been entirely sober. Relatable. You’d spent many nights pining after unattainable fast food during your college career. Going one step further and writing into a radio station to pine further? Also relatable.

However, just below it, sent at two-sixteen a.m., is this:

mono.persona@gmail.com | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

It strikes you someplace deep—a place you’ve tried really hard not to acknowledge, because there isn’t much you wouldn’t give to hear those words from Namjoon. Which is silly. There’s two years’ worth of time and distance between you now, and no combination of words is going to erase it. Nothing’s going to undo what’s already happened.

Still.

You stare at those eight words for a long time. Long enough for them to blur around the edges. Long enough for the cursor to hover over the reply button. Long enough for the voice in your head—the one meant to tell you how bad of an idea this is—to go quiet.

In all the time you’ve done the show, you’ve never replied to an email. They either get forwarded to Seokjin or read on-air. Turning them into correspondences isn’t a thing, because god forbid Jeongguk ever got ahold of the password and turned hundreds of people into pen pals and formed weird parasocial relationships with them. And you’re not keen on doing that, either, but—

Why can’t you? you type. You need to know.

Before you can overthink it, you hit ‘send.’

After two years and one month, you’re still adjusting to living alone.

The silence had been almost overwhelming at first. Same with all the empty space. Drawers that might’ve been Namjoon’s in another life are empty and clinging to the smell of old wood, the scent of fresh linen not having permeated yet. Lights he might’ve flicked on stay dark, and that darkness is at its worst in the winter when it seems to last forever. Just a few hours of light and then this inevitable, lingering darkness.

Perhaps that’s how the entire breakup has been, if you had to describe it.

It’s why you’re staring at an empty corner of your living room, thinking it might be a nice spot for a Christmas tree if you bothered to put one up these days. You’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, your mother’s voice a dull buzz as she drones on and on about whatever comes to mind, because she knows how you get this time of year and wants to help but is a bit shit at being empathetic and comforting.

Which is why she says, “Did you hear your cousin’s getting married?” and doesn’t consider it a bad thing to say.

Because it shouldn’t be. Two years and one month. Most people are over it in two years and a month, you think, so it’s not really a bad thing to say. “Hm,” you grunt, “had no idea.”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, tongue clicking against her teeth. “That’s because you’re not on Facebook.”

You make a face she can’t see. “I use it enough for work. Trust me, there’s nothing on there I want to see.”

She must be going through the mail. Every now and then there’s the sound of a page turning—a magazine or a circular. Your mother always used to call her sister or her best friend as she clipped coupons. Now it’s you. “You know,” she starts, and you do, actually, know where this is going. “I’m still friends with Nam—”

“Don’t.” She sighs, moves to protest. “Mom, seriously, I don’t want to know.”

Because what you also know is Namjoon’s five-year plan. The house, the marriage, the garden. Could’ve written a ten-novel series on it, the way you’d memorized it back when it was relevant to your life.

(Back when you were a part of it; when it included you.)

Maybe it’s petty, maybe it’s self-preservation, but you don’t want to know how he’s doing. Can’t know, because whether he’s doing well or doing awful, both are equally miserable. The thought of him moving on and loving someone else, being happy without you, is enough to take your breath away, but you still love him enough to want only good things for him.

Two years and one month.

You spend another fifteen minutes talking to your mother before the call disconnects and that silence is back. It’s almost enough to have you dialing her number again and letting her talk about your ex. Instead, you stare at the empty corner of the living room and imagine the Christmas tree you’d put up. How large it’d be, what color lights; if you’d buy new ornaments or use the old ones you’d inherited from your grandmother. Then there’s a thought, so brief and jarring it nearly steals the air from your lungs—

Namjoon would’ve put a plant there.

Working under Kim Seokjin, there aren’t many rules.

Hoseok had described him once as two children in a trench coat (“His shoulders are two children wide!”), and you can’t find any fault in that description. That’s what he is: an overgrown child playing at adulthood—and, really, it’s not that you mind. You’ve had far worse bosses than Kim Seokjin. Squeaky, honking laugh and incessant need to be the center of attention at all office parties aside, he’s a good station manager. A bit neurotic, especially where Santa-mental is concerned, but his only rule is solid:

Work stays at work.

Compared to your last gig, you’ve got it good. Not easy, because you experience ten months’ worth of stress in the span of two, but you clock in and leave on time, Seokjin has only called you after-hours once (ate questionable ceviche at his partner’s holiday party and sent an SOS from the bathroom), and you’ve still got to deal with Jeongguk. Leave work at work? You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, yet here you are, face shrouded in blue light as you add the station’s email account to your phone.

Across town, Seokjin just got a phantom chest pain and doesn’t know why.

On this side of town, you try to swallow the feeling of being too big for your body—that jittery thing that accompanies anxiety. Because it doesn’t make sense, the way you’ve latched onto a single message. Two years and one month and you’ve never projected this hard, no matter how wistful and depressing the email. Holiday blues are nothing new, yet this time it’s enough to send you spiraling.

“Idiot,” you mumble to yourself, free hand stuck in a bag of potato chips. “They probably didn’t even answer.”

That’s the problem with these one-sided relationships. You’re halfway to desperate and they probably feel stupid for even sending in something so personal.

It takes a bit to scroll through all the new messages, mind blanking on what question Hoseok had posed today. Jeongguk’s Facebook privileges had been temporarily revoked after a small crowd had shown up to collect their PlayStations, so the responses are more level today than usual.

Then the username appears, and it halts all executive function, potato chip growing soggy on your tongue as you forget how to chew. There it is, a new message at the bottom of the old ones, your heart thumping wildly in your chest despite there being no reason for it:

mono.persona@gmail.com | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

santamental@wkyn.com | Why can’t you?

mono.persona@gmail.com | I don’t think she’d want to hear it.

Introspection has never really been your thing—not like it was Namjoon’s, anyway—but the response gives you pause. In the place of this imaginary woman, would you want to hear it? If Namjoon called you right now, stitched his heart to his sleeve and let apologies spill out of his mouth, would you listen? Or would you hang up the phone, all of it too much to bear?

That’s the thing about time. Everyone says it heals all wounds, but maybe all it does is give you clarity. Buys you enough time to do all that introspection you weren’t good at before. And, sure, maybe that’s healing. Maybe all someone needs to do is look back on something with a fresh set of eyes, see all the parts that didn’t fit, all the parts that used to taste sweet but turned sour, and it’s enough to begin moving on.

Time. You’ve had two years and you’re still not sure if you’d pick up the phone. And, if you did, would it be in the name of closure? Morbid, genuine curiosity? Would you call it selfless, giving Namjoon the space to say what he feels needs to be said? Or would it be selfish? Because it’s a double-edged sword. Maybe you’d give anything to hear Namjoon’s voice again, hear that apology, but you know it’d destroy you.

So, yeah.

You can understand this person’s hesitation. It’s hard enough being on the receiving end in your imagination; you can’t imagine the turmoil of being the one who wants to apologize but not knowing if they should.

If they can.

It’s unfair to latch onto this the way you are. You know that, but it’s easier to justify when you think it might be mutually beneficial. Maybe this stranger’s apology for someone else can soothe some of your scars, and maybe you can be a listening ear for someone who clearly needs to be heard. So you suck in a breath, swallow your nerves, and type:

santamental@wkyn.com | What would you say, if you could?

Then you do two things: you press send, and you change the password.

“Seokjin,” you say the next morning, meeting him at the coffee machine in the staff kitchen. “The station email started getting some weird spam messages,” you lie, “so I went ahead and changed the password.”

All you get in reply is a grunt. “Okay,” he says, pressing the espresso button on the machine.

He doesn’t ask for the new one. Doesn’t tell you to share it with Hoseok or Jeongguk. Doesn’t do anything except lean against the wall with his eyes closed, stress and exhaustion oozing from his pores.

You know exactly why you’re relieved, but you pretend you don’t.

Jeongguk’s punishment—for lack of a better term, because Seokjin would let him get away with murder if he could—for the PlayStation debacle is, much to your delight, Santa Duty.

Usually, it’s Hoseok that has to suffer. Has to stay a few hours late and deepen his voice and take call after call from kids who are very excited and very vehement to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. Hoseok’s lovely, human sunshine and all that, so he never complains, but the stress of playing Santa on top of the rest of his duties is a lot.

Hence Jeongguk.

“Are you serious?” he whines, seconds away from pouting and stomping his feet. You’ve seen this song and dance before. Any second now he’ll deploy the twinkly doe eyes and Seokjin will fold like a cheap metal chair. “You’re really gonna make me be Santa?”

Seokjin’s fighting the urge to let him off the hook, you can tell. His face is all scrunched up as if he’s physically pained by making Jeongguk do something he doesn’t want to do, and his clenched fists twitch at his sides. A pathetic display. He would truly let Jeongguk get away with murder, and it’s you who has to suffer for it. “Yes,” he says eventually. “Hoseok had to take over the Facebook page since… the incident, so he’s too busy.”

Jeongguk is a brat, but not enough of one to argue. Pretending to be Santa on the radio is a much more palatable punishment than permanently losing social media access. “Fine,” he grumbles, though the undertone says it’s a bad idea. He knows it, you know it, and Seokjin probably knows it, too, but he’s not willing to take on the task, so Jeongguk it is.

Which turns out to be a horrible decision, of course.

Kids one and two are simple enough: one wants a Barbie Dreamhouse and the other one wants a new bike. Jeongguk hems and haws through both calls, saying just enough to keep them hopeful but careful not to over-promise now that he’s on probation. Seokjin’s watching him like a hawk, all five-feet-ten-inches of him managing to take up the doorway to the studio, arms crossed over his chest like a bouncer.

He’s gonna fuck it up, his eyes say.

I know, yours respond.

It isn’t until the third kid calls in that things start to go downhill. Jeongguk never wanted to play Santa in the first place so he’s bored, doling out half-assed responses. Sometimes he forgets to use the Santa voice and it’s just Jeongguk talking to kids, witch cackle and all. It’s… a stark contrast to Hoseok’s Santa, that’s for sure, and Seokjin looks incensed, steam practically pouring out of his ears. You’d spare him some sympathy if he ever bothered to buy a second microwave, but he still hasn’t, so he deserves whatever consequences come from this.

Turns out the sponsors aren’t, like, overly thrilled that Santa Jeongguk promises child number six a PlayStation even though he asks for a limited-edition Iron Man figurine, so Seokjin dumps even more work on you and Hoseok: Santa duties for him, regardless of whatever else he’s tasked with, and all social media accounts for you. Makes you feel like you’re drowning.

Somehow, thanks only to divine intervention, you make it to the weekend. You collapse face-first onto the couch and shut off your brain. No thoughts about what to have for dinner, about your car payment you haven’t had time to pay that’s now three days overdue, all the dog hair you have to vacuum—no, all that exists are the fuzzy blanket you’ve draped over yourself and the cringey Hallmark movie you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from.

And it’s… nice, you suppose, but it’s just a temporary distraction. Can’t be a stopper for all that stress and loneliness. Doesn’t do much to change the fact that the first thing you take off after a long day at work is your obligated smile. Doesn’t do much to ease the chill in your bones. Doesn’t do much to stop the reminder that, years ago, this is the type of day that’d have Namjoon pulling you into his arms, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck, thumbs working at all the knots in your shoulders.

Lingering on the past is dumb—you know this—but it just feels a little cruel that a D-list celebrity couple on a questionable television network can laugh and smile coyly and flirt their way through a Christmas tree farm and you’re sad on your couch.

Just three more weeks of this, you tell yourself. Three weeks until January 2nd. Three weeks until you can shrug off your fake holiday cheer and try to go back to normal.

You should call your mother.

Which is another dumb thought, because it’s not like she’ll understand. She’ll listen and coddle you a little, but she won’t get it. All she’s ever known is your father. She can’t relate. Never had that breakup. Never lost who she thought was her person. And it’s not like you’re about to confide in your coworkers, even though you’d begrudgingly consider them actual friends. Seokjin’s too stressed to take on your problems; Hoseok’s too cheerful, despite being the one who’d probably understand the most, so you’re not about to drag him down with you. Jeongguk was never an option.

Still, your eyes drift to your phone. There’s someone in it that’d understand. Seems to be going through the same thing. Someone you’ve been too overwhelmed to reply to, so now that guilt settles over you, too.

There’s comfort in familiarity. That’s how you excuse the calm that washes over you when you see the unread message waiting for you, a real water-in-the-desert situation. The proverbial light at the end of this week’s shitty, taxing tunnel.

Briefly, you read over the old ones—

mono.persona@gmail.com | I wish I could tell her I’m sorry.

santamental@wkyn.com | Why can’t you?

mono.persona@gmail.com | I don’t think she’d want to hear it.

santamental@wkyn.com | What would you say, if you could?

—and then your breath hitches as your eyes gloss over the new one.

mono.persona@gmail.com | I don’t know. That’s silly, isn’t it? I’ve had so long to think about it and I still don’t know. Or… maybe I know and I’m just scared. Is that worse?

I know I’d want to say I’m sorry. Even if it doesn’t mean anything, if it’s too late, I’d want her to know that. I’d want to say I miss her, that I hope she’s doing well and is happy. I’d want to ask if she misses me, but I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to actually do it.

I keep having this recurring dream about running into her by accident. Serendipity, I guess. Like, I bump into her at the grocery store or at a coffee shop. And, each time, I say the same thing to her: "I'm still there, in our house... it's lonely there without you. I never realized how lost I'd be with you gone, how empty our home could feel. I finally understand how you felt." And, each time, it’s somehow too much and not enough.

So, I guess I’d want to say that, too, just so I can stop dreaming about it.

My friends keep saying I’ll be okay soon, to give it more time. I guess that’s what you do with breakups: you just… wait, and one day it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. No one really tells you what to do until then, what to do with all the empty space. They don’t tell you what to do with the guilt and the hope, either, and that’s the worst part.

I’m sorry. I sort of just dumped all of this on you, but it feels nice to get it out. Even if I’ll never be able to say it to her, at least I’ve said it to someone. Thank you for reading it.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the screen, obscuring the letters, making them illegible.

I think she’d really like to hear that, is all you manage to type.

“God,” Hoseok groans, looping his headphones around his neck, “today is brutal.”

Across from him, you nod, lips wrapped around the straw to your extra-large cold brew Seokjin had bought you as a peace offering. “Mm.”

“It never stops,” he continues. Face-plants onto the table in front of him, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” no doubt making his suffering worse. “Look at it,” he whines, pointing at the screen. “There are sixty-seven people on hold. Sixty-seven!” A pained sigh. “You think those reindeer will run me over, too?”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” You lean back in your chair. “Jeongguk! Can you come in here and run into Hoseok at full force?”

Hoseok chokes while Jeongguk tosses back a huh? why? that has you snorting. “Ah, cheer up, Hobi. You know this day’s always the worst.”

“Okay, but why?” he continues to gripe. “Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need you to mansplain Christmas blues to me. I know why this time of year is hard for people, but it’s usually, like, because of money or people having shitty families, right? But this year it’s all bullshit. Just stupid stuff that absolutely doesn’t matter.”

“That seems a little harsh.”

“Is it?” he retorts. “If I have to listen to one more person complain about the price of wrapping paper, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“There’s a paper shortage, Hoseok.”

He pulls a face. “And that’s my problem? Stop cutting down the fucking trees, then! Did they ever think of that? Did they ever think that if they cut down an entire fucking forest, maybe suburban white women who put oatmeal recipes on Pinterest wouldn’t be able to wrap Christmas presents anymore? God, how selfish! Think of the children—”

Seokjin materializes out of nowhere, a bag of takeout in hand—the sort of boss who’s kind of a shithead but always seems to know what people need. “Eat up, bud, I got your favorite,” he says to Hoseok, busying himself with setting out the food. True to his word, he presents your co-host with a spread of all his go-tos and you watch, bemused, as Hoseok whimpers. Seokjin shoves a fork in his hand and pats the top of Hoseok’s head. “Okay?” When he nods, Seokjin tacks on, “Okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Just stay off the internet. This is your third rant this week about the environment and consumerism.”

“Okay,” Hoseok replies, cheeks bulging around a lot of orange chicken.

It takes a while for the color to return to Hoseok’s face, make him look alive again. You take the next few calls on your own, fielding rants about the state of Christmas in between rants about corporate conglomerates and the general demise of small businesses. Someone calls in to complain about the people complaining. Another person calls in to complain about this year’s mall Santa and how every single child that’s met him has cried. There must be a reason for that, the person drawls. Don’t you think it’s worth looking into?

Jeongguk cackles from outside the studio. Makes a show of grabbing his coat and keys and says he’s going to the mall to investigate. Seokjin catches him by his scarf when he’s halfway out of the building and shoves him back to his desk. Hoseok’s still shoveling broccoli beef into his mouth.

You’re starting to sound soulless when you take another call. “Hi,” you chirp, voice dripping with fake sugar. “Thanks for calling Santa-mental. What’s got you down this year?”

It’s another stupid tradition in a long line of stupid traditions. December 23rd is always set aside for those long-suffering Christmas blues, the day where callers can air their grievances and get them out of their systems at the last minute. Before they have to go to Christmas Eve parties and pretend; before they have to exchange gifts with people that have been wearing on their last nerve for weeks.

So maybe you’re starting to sound worn down, shouldering all this negativity temporarily, but you’re used to it.

“Yeah, hi,” a gravelly voice responds. “I’m calling to bitch about my best friend.”

Hoseok chokes on a forkful of rice. Begins to whisper, “Tell him he can’t—”

“That’s not a very festive word,” you snort, light enough that this caller knows it’s a gentle correction but stern enough for him to not use the word bitch on air again.

The man clears his throat, undeterred. “Right. Anyway, I’m calling to complain about him.”

“Why? Is he being a Grinch?”

“No,” the caller says, “he’s just lovesick. Had a bad breakup and can’t seem to get over it.”

“Oh. Well, breakups are hard, y’know.”

“Sure. And he’s not, like, unbearable. He still showers and goes to work, and he even has a therapist so he’s being functional and working on himself or whatever other bullsh—stuff. Stuff his therapist helps him with.”

You roll your lips, try to contain your laugh. Seokjin’s probably red-faced and white-knuckled in his office. “That sounds good,” you counter. “Productive. What’s there to complain about?”

The caller is quiet for a few seconds before he tentatively admits, “I miss him.”

“Oh—”

“He’s my best friend and he’s been so hard on himself. Blames himself for the breakup. Which, like, sure, maybe that’s true, but… I don’t know. It’s hard to see him like this, I guess.”

“How long has it been?” you ask, even though you’re long past the point in the conversation where you’d wish them well and play some tone-deaf Christmas jingle.

The caller hums. “Almost two years, I think.”

Play the song about the Christmas shoes, Hoseok mouths to you. Always says that about the really sad calls. Says it one-ups their sadness, and Hoseok’s not as much of a bastard as Seokjin and Jeongguk are, but he has that streak sometimes.

Fuck off, you mouth back.

“I had a tough breakup of my own not too long ago, so I understand your friend’s struggle. I’m gonna play something for the two of you. Happy holidays.”

Maybe you play it for them, but you play it for you, too: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” probably a too on the nose choice, but it helps distract you long enough that you miss the questioning stare Hoseok sends you before he stares past you and catches Jeongguk’s eye and sends him the same look.

You also miss the voice in your head that says you know that voice, the one on the line. It’s a little rougher than the last time you’d heard it, two years and one month ago, but you know it.

For now, you let Darlene Love croon away. Hoseok wordlessly hands over his egg roll.

They’re his favorite.

Christmas is quiet.

At six, you blink your eyes open and check the weather. Bundle up and put those little boots on your dog’s paws. They put too many chemicals in the de-icer these days, your mom had said. I can’t believe you moved to a place that snows so much.

(You can’t either, sometimes, but you would’ve gone a lot farther for your relationship. For Namjoon, specifically, because you’d dated a few people in the first year or two of college you couldn’t imagine moving down the street for, let alone to some pin-prick town on the opposite side of the country.)

By seven-thirty, you’re eating a breakfast you’ve managed to scrape together with the last of your groceries. Eggs, a slice of toast, some cut-up fruit. Not bad, considering all you’d managed to choke down last year had been half a Nature Valley bar that you’d cried over after it covered your bed in crumbs you didn’t have the energy to clean up.

Your mother FaceTimes you at ten-thirty, just like she’d promised. She scolds you first, chastising you for the millionth time about not coming home this year for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but lays off once your dad redirects her. She flips the camera to your brother and his wife at the breakfast bar. You suspect she’s pregnant but that they’re waiting to drop the news and suddenly you’re thankful you’re not there.

You like your sister-in-law; really, you do, but you don’t think you have the energy for something so big and important.

By noon you’re back in bed, your dog curled up by your feet and A Christmas Story playing nonstop on TV. You contemplate making a drink but decide against it. Somehow it feels like progress to be sad sober.

That plan goes out the window by three. It’s snowing again and the snow always makes you think of Namjoon, of all those nights in college where he’d drag you out of your shitty student apartment with your awful roommate to pelt you with snowballs and kiss the warmth back into your cheeks. Makes you think of graduation and heat-slicked skin and Namjoon next to you on the couch, limbs rigid with anxiety as he asked where do we go from here? even though he meant do you still want me now that this part of our lives is over?

And you had just smiled and said I can’t imagine living somewhere without snow now even though you meant of course I do, sometimes I’m scared that I want you forever.

So, the snow makes you think of Namjoon and you miss Namjoon something terrible so, yeah, you’re drinking by three.

An email comes through at 3:48. A digital gift card from your brother, because that’s when he realizes he’s forgotten to get you a gift. You send him a quick thanks but leave off the asshole. You wonder if things between the two of you had always been this strained or if they’d gotten worse after your split from Namjoon. They were fast friends, closer in five minutes than the twenty-something years you’d had with him. You wonder if they still talk; if your brother blames you.

Doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Not all siblings have to be close.

But now you’re thumbing through the rest of your emails. Personal combined with work in one singular inbox, so there’s a 10% off coupon for the pizzeria by the station sitting on top of a response from the stranger you’ve been corresponding with.

santamental@wkyn.com | I think she’d really like to hear that.

mono.persona@gmail.com | Hm, I’m not so sure, but I’ll take it into consideration. The New Year is coming up. Maybe my resolution will be to say all these things I’m too scared to.

You snort derisively. Yeah, you know a thing or two about fear, know a thing or two about all the times you've picked up your phone, intent on reaching out—not just to Namjoon, but to anyone—only to lose all your resolve. And where has that gotten you? Now you’re stuck with all these feelings and no one to talk about them with. Alone in a room full of friends. That’s no way to live, you can hear Namjoon say. The king of emotional intelligence except when it mattered most.

Being vulnerable is hard; perhaps the hardest thing there is, if your stunning lack of enthusiasm towards it is anything to go by. And it’s not like you’re opposed. Until things fell apart, your and Namjoon’s relationship was a masterclass in effective communication, and that doesn’t happen if both parties aren’t willing to be vulnerable. It’s just… hard—hard to pick yourself up and get back on that particular horse when everything in you is screaming to stay off.

But there’s an opportunity here. If this stranger can pluck up the bravery to do—and be—better, maybe you can, too.

santamental@wkyn.com | That sounds like a really nice resolution. Maybe I’ll do the same.

mono.persona@gmail.com | Have some things you can’t bring yourself to say, too?

santamental@wkyn.com | A lot of what you said really resonated with me. I had a rough breakup of my own a while ago. A lot was left unsaid. I’ve spent a lot of time convincing myself it isn’t worth reaching out as opposed to thinking about what I’d say if I did.

mono.persona@gmail.com | And? What would you say, if you could?

santamental@wkyn.com | I guess… I guess I’d ask if it was worth it. Not in a snarky way, just genuinely curious. Because there were problems, of course—it isn’t like the relationship ended for no reason. But it feels worse now, alone, than it ever felt together.

I’d say that I’m sorry. I’d say I wish I would’ve tried harder. I’d say there’s an empty spot in my apartment that would be perfect for a plant, but that I haven’t put one there because I’m scared I won’t be able to take care of it. That maybe that’s some kind of metaphor for our relationship—or me. I’m scared of ruining all these things I grow to love, and I don’t know how to let go of that fear. I don’t know how to accept that sometimes things end, and maybe it’s no one’s fault, even when it still feels impossible to breathe sometimes.

Sometimes I wonder if I should be over it by now, so the thought of asking that terrifies me. What if I’m the only one not over it? What if I’m hanging on to something that’s long dead?

mono.persona@gmail.com | I don’t know anything about your relationship, but if it’s anything like mine was… love like that, it doesn’t just go away. It’s too big, too important. Just because there’s time and space between the two of you, it doesn’t erase the love that was once there.

Or maybe I’m just projecting?

santamental@wkyn.com | If you’re projecting, then so am I.

Although… if your resolution is to be brave, maybe I can be brave, too.

mono.persona@gmail.com | Hm, like a pact? I think that would be nice, actually. I think I’ve felt complacent for far too long; content to leave things as they are instead of saying what I want to say. Maybe it’s selfish to reach out after so long, but I’ve still held on to this small thread of hope that if I do… maybe I won’t get rejected. Maybe there are some things she’s left unsaid as well.

santamental@wkyn.com | You’ll never know if you don’t try, right?

mono.persona@gmail.com | Right. If nothing else, there’s worth in being brave and no longer having to live with the uncertainty and what-ifs.

santamental@wkyn.com | Let’s do it, then.

mono.persona@gmail.com | Let’s do it.

After your first day back to work, post-holiday, Seokjin takes you out to dinner.

Hoseok and Jeongguk are invited, too, but both decline. Hoseok’s eager to head home and loaf in front of the 85-inch, ultra high-res television he splurged on with his Christmas money, and Jeongguk’s off to the mall to, in his words, “finally investigate that sus mall Santa.”

So here you are, sat across from your boss in a tiny Italian restaurant. A candle flickers between the two of you, flames dancing wildly every time Seokjin sticks his hand in the bread basket. He’s suspiciously quiet, and it’s not just because he’s in an enclosed space. Much like every other restaurant in this podunk town, Seokjin knows the owner, so he’s not concerned about his volume or the speed with which he puts away five buttered dinner rolls. No—this is beyond. This is genuine concern he’s looking at you with.

“Can you just spit it out already?” you prompt, anxiety needling along your skin. Would he really bring you to an Italian restaurant to fire you? You’ve been having doubts about playing the Christmas shoes song, but you hadn’t thought it was this bad.

Seokjin’s hand pauses centimeters from his mouth. “The bread?” he asks, words muffled around a mouthful of soggy roll. He swallows hesitantly. “Is there something wrong with it? Where would I even—”

You gag. “Ew! You’re sick. Why would I be talking about the roll?”

“Because I had a mouth full of roll! What else would you be telling me to spit out?”

“Whatever it is you’re clearly trying to figure out how to say! You’ve been looking at me weird since we sat down!”

Seokjin adjusts his posture, spine ramrod straight against the uncomfortable wooden back of the chair. “Oh,” he says, tone caught out. “We’re just concerned about you.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Concerned about what?”

“Nothing serious,” he replies. He toys with the stem of his wine glass. “Hobi and Jeongguk were a little concerned to hear about your breakup. None of us had any idea.”

“Ah, well, you forgot to ask about it during my job interview.”

Seokjin levels you with a pointed stare. “You didn’t really have a job interview.”

“And whose fault is that?”

The waiter appears, dropping off a plate of fried calamari that Seokjin immediately has his hands on. Oblivious to the look on your face, he retorts, “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Are you? That’s a bit of a loaded question. After two years, you’re well past the worst of it, so you’re not exactly lying when you answer (“I am. It wasn’t recent.”) but it almost feels like you are. Because you are okay, but you still have bad days. Not the kind of days where you break down crying and feel like you can’t get out of bed, but days where you feel worn down. Days where all your limbs feel heavy with what-ifs and a little bit of guilt.

“Okay,” Seokjin relents. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug. “If you want to talk about it.”

He laughs. “It’s not an interrogation. Really—I’m just making sure you’re okay. You don’t talk much about personal stuff. Not like Hoseok does, anyway.”

You scoff. “Hobi would give someone his social security number if he liked them enough.” Seokjin doesn’t react. In fact, he’s quiet for a long time—long enough for the silence to be replaced by the clanking of dishware, of the chefs barking out orders in the kitchen. “Tell me he didn’t.”

“He… might’ve done that, yeah.” Awkwardly dabbing his napkin at his face, he quickly adds, “But Jimin was able to get it sorted! Everything’s fine!”

“If you say so.”

Over two massive dishes of pasta, and perhaps slightly fueled by the carafe of wine that never seems to go empty, you wind up telling Seokjin about your relationship. How you’d met Namjoon during the spring semester of your sophomore year in a shared chemistry lab—you, a bright-eyed and probably naive nursing student; Namjoon pre-med and too smart for his own good. You tell him how you’d only taken organic chemistry at the recommendation of your advisor and how it didn’t make a lick of sense to you; how Namjoon had offered to tutor you, which was standard at first, but found the two of you going on coffee dates by Valentine’s Day and official by Easter break.

You tell him how happy the two of you had been. All the conversations you’d had about what would happen after graduation. How you promised Namjoon you’d go wherever he went. You could get licensed anywhere, so as long as the two of you were together, you’d be happy. So that’s what you did: followed him to another big city, passed your boards and got licensed, found a cozy apartment not far from the hospital and campus. Two years of that before you outgrew it. Found a small house to rent in the suburbs. Namjoon used to wake up early to catch the train and text you pictures of the sunrise.

Life was good. The two of you were twenty-five and exhausted but so, so horribly in love that nothing else mattered.

And then, like most good things inevitably do, things fell apart.

It was gradual. Blink and you’ll miss it. The opposing shifts, the burnout, the days off spent catching up on sleep rather than each other. The meals eaten alone, the gray mornings that found you waking up to an empty bed. The first morning Namjoon had taken the train and didn’t send you a picture. The evenings spent in silence in front of the television. No conversations, no touching, just existing alongside one another like the ghosts of a love gone stale.

You’d smiled in Namjoon’s graduation pictures. Kissed him on the cheek and showered him in endless praise about how proud of him you were, not a lie to be found, drunk on the hope that maybe things would be better now that another chapter was behind you.

Then he dropped the bomb. His residency was on the opposite side of the country. He’d matched into his top choice, the best one in the country for his specialty, and he wanted you to go with him. I know that’s selfish, he’d said, and you couldn’t figure out why he’d say that, why it’d be selfish for you to go. You’d asked him why he’d waited so long to tell you, and the air was knocked from your lungs when the answer was that he knew you’d say no.

You tell Seokjin that Namjoon had been right. A string of tearful conversations, the mutual decision to call it quits, put an end to the proverbial suffering and let go of a dying thing. I guess that just happens sometimes, you tell him. Life gets in the way.

You tell Seokjin how you couldn’t bear to stay in that house in the suburbs anymore. How you quit your job and moved to this tiny town, adopted a dog, applied for any job that was hiring. How you’d never worked in a radio station before, but you’d liked Seokjin the moment you met him. He’d said you had a voice for radio and they had an opening that needed to be filled immediately, so when could you start? You don’t make anywhere near as much money as you used to, but you have time to breathe. The stress, the exhaustion and the burnout, are gone. You have enough.

Now here you are, two years later.

So, sure, you’re okay in the sense that there’s scar tissue where the worst of it once was, but you’re not sure how to shake the knowledge that Namjoon was your person. You’re not sure how to reconcile that, of all the decisions the two of you had made together, you’d chose wrong on the most important one.

santamental@wkyn.com | I finally talked to someone about it today. My relationship.

mono.persona@gmail.com | How did it go?

santamental@wkyn.com | Probably would’ve gone better if it’d been a therapist instead of my boss, but… it was nice. Talking about it means it was real, you know?

mono.persona@gmail.com | Yeah, I feel like that, too. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what her voice sounds like, how she laughed. I’m scared I’ll forget more and then it’ll be gone completely. God, that sounds pathetic, huh? It’s not like she died. But you cling to those sorts of things when memories are all you’ve got left.

santamental@wkyn.com | No, it’s not pathetic. It’s hard to feel like the person you spent so much time with is just a stranger now. Like, what are you supposed to do with all the space they used to occupy? I had all this love for this person, and now I can’t remember what their laugh sounded like.

mono.persona@gmail.com | Can I ask… if you’re still planning on reaching out, what are you hoping for? I’m trying to temper my expectations (preparing for a rejection and/or to be ignored) and I just have no idea what to expect.

santamental@wkyn.com | Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m not expecting anything, especially not any sort of relationship. I’d say the most I could hope for would be a cup of coffee, but I don’t even know where he’s living these days. Or if his number is the same. I could reach out and get told I have the wrong number and to fuck off.

mono.persona@gmail.com | Wow, coffee. That sounds really nice. I’m really hoping for that for you.

santamental@wkyn.com | Thank you. I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.

mono.persona@gmail.com | I guess we’ll see, huh?

You decide you’re going to text Namjoon on New Year’s Eve.

It’s fitting, you figure. Symbolic. You can casually text him at 11:59pm and have an answer. If he tells you to fuck off, you’ll have a clean slate for the new year. You haven’t really thought about what’ll happen if he doesn’t. Getting your hopes up is dangerous, and you have enough self-control not to let yourself go down that road.

But the wait is almost torturous.

Four days. That’s all the time you have to both muster up the courage and figure out what to say. Whatever you’ll wind up saying, you’ve decided you’re going to keep it simple. It’ll be far less embarrassing to have your ‘Hi, Joon’ go ignored than some over-the-top paragraph. You might be doing something scary and brave—or extremely idiotic, depending on who you ask—but you still care about your pride, at least a little bit.

The station’s email slows down considerably. Nothing new from your penpal, either. You figure they’re gearing up for the same thing. You hadn’t specified when you were going to reach out, but you both seem to have come to the same natural conclusion. There’s just something inspiring about New Year’s Eve.

However, what you’ve lost in written, electronic communication, you make up for in Hoseok and Jeongguk.

“You’re really gonna text your ex?” Jeongguk asks, his ass perched on the corner of your desk as he litters it with cracker crumbs. You sweep them into your hand and dump them on his jeans.

As he squawks indignantly, Hoseok tacks on, “Damn, do you think I should text my ex, too?”

“No,” you and Jeongguk say in unison.

“Wow. Why do you get to text your ex and I don’t?”

Jeongguk throws a grape at him. It pegs him in the forehead and falls pitifully to the floor. “Because your ex stole your dog, dude.”

“And your identity,” you add.

Jeongguk nods. “And, like, half the shit in your kitchen. You got your stove stolen, bro. Who the fuck steals a stove?”

“Hobi’s ex, apparently.”

He chuckles awkwardly, voice high and strained. “Hey, come on now, I’m feeling a little targeted here.”

“Her ex,” Jeongguk begins, pointing at you, “is, like, a whole ass doctor. Your ex is a thief. A good one, I’ll admit, because how the fuck do you even get the stove out of a third-floor apartment, but a thief nonetheless. Incomparable.”

That’s how it goes for four days.

And you want to be upset about it, the prodding and unsolicited advice (“Just send him nudes,” Jeongguk suggests at least six times a day) but it helps to settle your nerves. They settle even more when Jeongguk gives up on your ex and focuses all of his attention on Hoseok’s, if your work chat is any indication of his current hyperfixations.

Jeon Jeongguk > did u know hobi’s ex also stole all the tubing for his washer and dryer lmao

Jeon Jeongguk > he had to use the laundromat for 2 months

Jeon Jeongguk > jimin just told me hobi’s ex also stole an entire window

Jeon Jeongguk > who tf did this guy date

You > why is jimin telling you this stuff? doesn’t hr have some patient-doctor confidentiality or whatever

Jeon Jeongguk > ??? jimin loves me, he’d never keep secrets from me

You > pretty sure that’s not how that works

You > …find out more about that window though. the curiosity is gonna kill me.

Jeon Jeongguk > k

Jeon Jeongguk > according to jimin

Jeon Jeongguk > it was his bedroom window

Jeon Jeongguk > landlord was pissed lmao

 Park Jimin > You better not speak a word of this to anyone

You > i’m not scared of you jimin

Park Jimin > What

Park Jimin > Why not :(

You > ???

By the 29th, you’re ready to come out of your skin. The anxiety alone has you in such a chokehold that you’re sure any moment your heart is going to beat right out of your chest, that you’ll get fabric burns on your palms with how often you have to wipe them on your thighs, that Hoseok will pop his head over your cubicle divider and find you face-down on your keyboard, dead.

(Jeongguk promises he’ll take care of your dog if this happens, and just the thought of your pure, innocent baby being tainted by his influence has you surviving on pure spite alone.)

On the 30th, you spend your lunch break in your car. Seat reclined, radio off, staring up at the cloudless sky through your sunroof. You should not be this anxious, you tell yourself. It’s just a text message. The worst that can happen is, quite literally, nothing—and at least that’ll give you an answer. Namjoon doesn’t owe you anything, especially not after two years of silence, so the anxiety makes sense. No matter how you spin it, it’s a pretty selfish thing you’re gonna do. It’s not Namjoon’s problem that you have some regrets, some lingering guilt. For all you know, he’s spent the last two years getting his shit together and moving on, and who are you to interrupt that?

You nearly call your mother for all that Facebook intel she’d been so eager to tell you before.

This is a bad idea, you tell yourself over and over. He doesn’t want to hear from you. Right? If he’d wanted any kind of contact, he’s had two years to reach out. A non-answer is still an answer. Silence, sometimes, is loud and clear.

When you return to your desk, there’s a massive box sitting atop it, wrapped in ridiculous paper with a bow. Seokjin stands to the side with a smug look on his face that only twists your stomach more.

“I got you a gift,” he says, gesturing at the box.

You blink owlishly. “Yeah, I-I can see that.”

“Are you gonna open it?”

“Be pretty rude not to,” you answer, fingers popping a seam along the top. “You wrapped this? It looks way too neat to be your work.”

Seokjin scoffs but his ears turn red nonetheless. “Wow, that’s a really fucked up thing to say someone who just gave you a gift.” You just stare. “Anyway.” He coughs. “Hoseok wrapped it.”

It’s a microwave.

Seokjin gives you a fucking microwave.

“Are you serious.”

“Figured it was about time I got you that second microwave,” he replies easily. Shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocks back on his heels. “It’s voice-activated. Very fancy.” At your hesitant look, Seokjin tacks on, “And Jeongguk is not allowed to use it.”

You open your mouth to say something—a thank you, a why did you give me a microwave five days after Christmas, anything—but nothing comes out. You’d just been on the verge of a mental break, so it’s all a bit overwhelming. Feels like too much, even though you’ve been harassing the poor man for a second microwave for eons.

But Seokjin sees the open-shut-open-shut of your jaw and knows. Says, “Speaking of Jeongguk, he’s going to fill in for you tomorrow. Take the day off.”

“What?” you manage to choke out. “No, Seokjin, don’t be ridiculous, I can—”

He holds his hand up, silencing you. “Not up for debate,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You should’ve gone to work.

You need the distraction. You need something to think about that’s not Namjoon. You’ve already deep-cleaned your apartment and sorted through your closet. Made DONATE and TRASH piles. You give the dog a bath even though he’s not dirty, but he always fights you on the nail trim so it eats up an entire hour of your afternoon. You call your brother and finally ask if you’re going to be an aunt because you can’t stop wondering.

(You are. You cry a little. So does your brother.)

When two-o’clock rolls around, you tune into the station on your phone and listen to Hoseok and Jeongguk. They’re an absolute trainwreck together, absolutely no finesse or chemistry, and you laugh so hard you cry. Seokjin texts you at 2:03 and asks what he’s done, if it’s too late for you to come in. You thank him for the day off and laugh some more.

You eat a late lunch; something light, because even if you’re less anxious than before, you’re still not confident your stomach can handle anything heavier. You watch a few episodes of trashy daytime TV. Take a nap on the couch, the dog curled up at your feet, and hope you’ll wake up just before midnight.

Nine is close enough. You walk the dog before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe you can’t scrub away the doubt trickling in, but you can exfoliate the hell out of your skin. You can use your overpriced deep conditioner on your hair and shave your legs and use the fancy lotion you’d stolen from your mother the last time you visited. You can put on fuzzy socks and make yourself feel good like this, on the outside, even when you don’t feel nearly as good inside.

Candle lit, you crawl into bed and try to read a book. Some self-help bullshit your father had sent you passive-aggressively, because it’s been two years and he still thinks you’re an idiot for leaving your cushy hospital job to work at a radio station. Because of a breakup? he’d asked incredulously, because he didn’t understand. All he’s ever known is your mother, so now he sends books instead of patronizing you out loud. Your mom had given him hell the last time he’d done it, and maybe he doesn’t mind pissing you off, hurting your feelings, but your mother’s exempt.

You stare at the cover. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, it reads. If that’s not a dig, you’re not sure what is. You wonder what your dad would think about mono-dot-persona at Gmail dot com. Then you wonder why you even give a shit what your father thinks about anything.

Eleven-thirty rolls around before you’re ready. Quarter to midnight comes even quicker. You unlock your phone and create a blank text message. Start typing Nam— because you’d deleted all his texts after the breakup. God, you hadn’t even taken that stupid crab emoji out of his contact name, so there it sits, just Namjoonie with a little crab that makes your chest hurt.

Maybe you are an idiot; maybe your father’s right.

Then you just stare, thumbs hovering. There’s a lot you want to say and even less you think you’ll be able to. Twenty years wouldn’t be enough time to talk yourself up for this. You can’t get the image of Namjoon out of your head, sitting on his couch, arm thrown around someone else. Smiling into their neck, their hair, as they count down the seconds until midnight and share a kiss. He won’t even hear his phone vibrate. Won’t see your text until much later when his brows knit together, confused, and he shakes his head as he deletes it.

A shaky exhale. You back out of your texts and thumb to your email.

Maybe I can be brave, too.

I’ve still held on to this small thread of hope.

There’s worth in being brave and no longer having to live with the uncertainty and what-ifs.

I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.

Your phone vibrates in your hand.

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: good luck broski

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: just remember if it goes bad it’s never too late to send nudes

Jeongguk [11:56pm]: hobi is already wasted but he says good luck too

Jeongguk [11:57pm]: i had to hang out with him tonight to make sure he doesnt drunk text his ex. low key hoping he does so i can put it on tiktok

Jeongguk [11:57pm]: ill let u know what happens

Yeah, you’re going to be fine.

Hi, Joon, you type. Delete immediately because it sounds too familiar. Are you still allowed to call him Joon? Hi, Namjoon, you write instead. Blank on what comes next, those two words seemingly taking all your brainpower. Maybe they’ll be enough. Reaching out is the hardest part, right? It’s probably better to keep it simple, anyway; gives you less space to say something incriminating and stupid you can’t take back.

At the last second, you start to tack on an apology. Sorry for texting out of the blue, you want to say. But you’re halfway through when your phone vibrates in your hand again, startling you, so what you wind up sending is—

You [11:59pm]: Hi, Namjoon. Sorry for tecgt

—and you kind of wanna die a little. A lot.

You’re going to murder Jeongguk for two reasons: one, you assume the text is from him, updating you on the developing situation with Hoseok’s ex; and two, Jeongguk is usually to blame for anything that goes amiss in your life these days. But when you thumb backwards, there’s nothing new from him.

There is, however, a little blue dot next to Namjoon’s name, the hint of a response. And then several more.

Namjoon [11:59pm]: I’m so sorry for reaching out like this. Please tell me to fuck off if you want, I just… if you’re open to it, I really like to talk to you? God, that sounds so lame. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking lately and holy shit did you also just text me

Namjoon [11:59pm]: Oh my god you did

Namjoon [11:59pm]: At the same?? Time??

Namjoon [11:59pm]: Sorry for the triple text, this is just doing my head in right now

Namjoon [11:59pm]: I’ve been trying to talk myself into doing this for months now and you just… texted me at the exact same time?

Namjoon [12:00am]: Happy New Year (sent with fireworks)

Namjoon [12:00am]: Can I call you? Is that weird?

Namjoon [12:00am]: Of course that’s weird, you haven’t even replied

Namjoon [12:00am]: Oh my god I am so sorry

You [12:07am]: You can call me

Your hands are shaking so bad you can barely swipe across the screen to answer the call. Two years. You haven’t spoken to Namjoon in two years, haven’t heard his voice. Will he sound familiar to you, or will he sound like a stranger? Will his voice sound like returning home after a long time away, or will it settle in your gut like deja vu—something you can place if you think hard enough, but ultimately slips through your fingers like sand?

“He-hello?”

A sharp intake greets you. “Hi. Wow. Shit, hi—”

“Namjoon.”

Both of you are stunned into silence. His voice soothes over you like a balm; you’ll never be able to forget the sound of it. You’re a fool to think you could. The same voice that made you hushed promises, detailed how loved you were; the same voice that cracked when everything fell apart, that spoke apologies around lips wet with tears.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” he says. “I—Happy New Year? God, this is so crazy.”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat. “You’re telling me,” you say, voice thick. “How are—how have you been? Are you—you said you’ve wanted to for… months?”

“Yeah. This is gonna sound stupid, probably, but I… I wrote into this radio show? I don’t even know what it’s about, Yoongi listens to it around the holidays sometimes, and I wasn’t expecting a reply. But someone answered, and—I don’t know, I just… spilled my heart out. Whoever answered was basically going through the same thing—”

You can’t breathe. “Namjoon.”

“—and we made this, like… pact? That sounds dumb. But I guess we both had a lot of things we left unsaid—”

“Namjoon.”

He pauses. “Yeah?”

“Namjoon,” you say again, vision blurred from the tears stuck to your lash line. “Namjoon, that was me. Fuck. What the fuck? Fuck—holy shit, Namjoon, you were talking to me.”

A long silence stretches between you. “What.”

“That was me.”

“Yeah, I heard you, I just… what? Why are you answering emails for some radio station?”

“I work there. After the—after we broke up, I quit my job. I was so stressed and burnt out and I just couldn’t do it anymore. You know some crazy-high percentage of nurses quit within the first five years? I just… quit. Moved even farther away from the city to some even smaller town and applied for whatever jobs were open and adopted a dog—”

“You got a dog?”

You laugh. “Yeah. He’s an American Eskimo. His name is Doug.”

“Doug? What kind of name is Doug?”

“The shelter gave it to him. It kind of suits him. He acts like a Doug sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Wait—how did you even—you heard the show? I thought you moved for your residency?”

Namjoon clears his throat. “Yeah, I was going to, but I stayed here. Did one a little closer. Leaving didn’t feel right, you know? Like, the thought of losing you and leaving the house… I couldn’t do it.”

Your stomach knots and roils. “You’ve been here the whole time?” you whisper.

“Yeah, I have. That was really you, though? On the email?” You hum. “What the fuck. This is really nuts.”

“Are you upset?”

“No,” Namjoon insists, “not at all. Baby, no, I’m not upset. Everything I said was true, so it saves me so much talking. Which—thank god, honestly, because I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I was just so scared, you know? Of so many things. Mostly I was terrified for you to actually know how much I still miss you. Is that wrong? Am I being selfish? Overstepping?”

All those tears spill over, unbidden. “No, Joon. I—me too. I miss you, too. So much.”

You can hear Namjoon’s smile when he exhales, breathy and soft. Unburdened. An entire universe stretches out before the two of you and you have your pick of what comes next. Words are just words—you’re not naive enough to think this solves anything, that there aren’t countless conversations you and Namjoon have to have. But, for right now, this is enough. It’s security, and that’s all you can really ask for.

The knowledge that, a long time ago, you’d given your heart to someone that’s still keeping it safe.

Of all the decisions you’ve made, that’s the one you’d gotten right. And it’s one you’d make a million more times and never choose differently.

“Hey,” Namjoon says after a while, “how about that coffee?”

Thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤