#it’s literally just my deepest intrusive thoughts written out

[dottcre]

going to bed after dropping that fic

[starleska]

when Logic twists: an analysis of Logan, cognitive distortions, and a future Side

spoilers ahead! this is a little deep-dive into some foreshadowing in the latest Sanders Sides episode, and what i believe the team are going for in terms of Logan’s arc. just some thoughts i had after the episode - i hope you enjoy, and would love to hear your thoughts too :) tw for discussion around mental illness, trauma, abuse, intrusive thoughts, therapy, etc. 

so, we all know that Thomas does a marvellous job portraying difficulties with mental health. he uses interactions between his Sides to carve out fun stories that dramatise the the internal struggles which come with facing complex situations, including those which arise from your specific history and mental illnesses. the writing behind Sanders Sides often uses consideration of real symptoms and therapeutic techniques in order to impart useful advice to the audience who may be struggling with similar issues. with all of this in mind, i thoroughly believe that a good chunk of you are correct about this new Side (foreshadowed in Logan’s eyes) being Wrath, or some variant of Stress or Anger, and here’s why: 

Logan is the side of Thomas which is constantly needing to pick up the slack. not only does he spend a good deal of his time de-escalating conflict between the other Sides, he is constantly letting his own dreams (and consequently, needs) fall by the wayside to comfort, validate and assist Thomas' overall desires. we even literally see him benched during the court case with Janus - his input is considered unimportant unless he is deemed as the voice of reason. with this understanding, Logan is viewed by the other Sides as a Side who doesn’t need help. He’s Logic, so they believe he always knows what is appropriate, and how to control himself - or even that he doesn’t need to control himself at all.  yet i don’t believe this to be the case, and i think ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ foreshadows this in an intriguing way: by utilising the dynamic between Logan and Remus. for context, i am speaking as an individual who suffers from Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), a form of PTSD. whilst the Thomas we know in the Sanders Sides universe is of course somewhat sanitised and simplified for the easier imparting of moral lessons, we know that this Thomas suffers from issues with intrusive thoughts, low self-esteem, and high anxiety. whether or not these can all be attributed to an underlying condition is irrelevant, but what is intriguing is whether these symptoms are being exacerbated by traumatic, triggering or otherwise stressful events affecting Thomas’ life - which, based on the direction ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ went (using the relationship with Nico as a conduit), i think is true. when you experience a number of traumatic events or an acute amount of stress, your Logic can become faulty. let’s think about Logan not as a super-genius who just knows what is the correct thing to do all of the time: his knowledge comes from a bank of information and experiences, which he constantly uses to provide a ‘rational’ stance next to the more ‘emotional’ traits of each Side. yet Logic relies on evidence in order to build up this ‘rationality’. let’s think about a scenario wherein you are told every day by someone that you are ugly. now, if this occurred later in life, your Logic might have already rationalised that this is not the case - that you are beautiful just as you are, that this person is seeking to hurt you, that they are projecting, etc. your Logic would make those reasonable counterpoints based on past experience. however, if you were told by multiple people throughout your life, every day, that you are ugly - say, from caregivers, or close friends - you would internalise ‘i am ugly’ as part of that internal Logic. in the first scenario, you would be able to accurately evaluate the thought, ‘i am ugly’ as a cognitive distortion. however, in the latter scenario, you may be unable to, because you have this bank of ‘evidence’ that other people perceive this as reality. even if those people are abusers, or have an ulterior motive, the notion will be internalised and become your reality - so your Logic will say, ‘i am ugly, based on all of the evidence.’  i find this interesting because in this latest episode, they specifically had Logan call attention to cognitive distortions. we must remember that Logan is a part of Thomas. this is Thomas attempting to rationalise with himself, to implement mindfulness and CBT techniques which he knows to be successful, because they have worked in the past and he has it on scientific authority that they help with intrusive thoughts. but this leads us to a question: what happens when you experience so many traumatic events, or so much stress, that your Logic turns against you and begins to validate your intrusive thoughts?  imagine for a moment Logan’s awesome rational power - but levied in support of all of Thomas’ deepest fears. in my own experience with CPTSD, a horribly thorny mental trap is the one you fall into when you start down the path of ‘i must be a horrible person, just like they said. i must have deserved everything done to me. look at all of the evidence.’ these thoughts often appear rational due to the intense nature of the sufferer’s pain, particularly if that pain is repeated or prolonged. i believe that Logan’s outburst, paired with Thomas’ fretting over not receiving a call back from Nico, are supposed to represent the building stages of this mental trap. such thoughts are difficult to emerge from, but they become even more difficult to deal with when met with a powerful emotion: Rage. if you have cause to think thoughts of the ‘i am a disgusting human being’ variety thanks to trauma, stress or similar negative events, often there is a good deal of pent-up Rage stored alongside. justifiable Rage, one might say - it certainly feels so in the mind of someone who has suffered so terribly. if one is prone to hating themselves, feeling inadequate or other fertile breeding ground for intrusive thoughts, they may also sometimes snap into the opposite extreme - becoming infuriated by everything that has happened to them, and that they are still needing to deal with yet more pain in the present. this is something i have suffered from personally: when mixed with trauma, it is equal parts emotional dysregulation, and being triggered by something. you might be enRaged by the idea that you were ever ‘passive’ as a victim of something terrible, and want to ‘fight back’. in other words, the emotional state of your Rage will feel justified - and this can cause you to engage in some deeply destructive behaviours. this is why i believe this new Dark Side will be Rage (or an equivalent). Logan’s ‘STOP IGNORING ME!’ speaks of a breaking point brought on by years of fixing other people’s problems, only to receive very little in return. there’s a misconception that people who are ‘good’ at handling stress or fixing other people’s problems (i.e., not showing much of the strain) are simply less stressed as a whole, and therefore should be saddled with yet more stress. Logan’s screaming at Remus, and Remus’ delight at Logan’s response, shows us that Logan is exhausted from all of the hard work that he’s had to do in order to fight Thomas’ intrusive thoughts and cognitive distortions, alongside the massive amount of stress in his life. likewise, by giving into his impulsivity and opening up more opportunities for further stress, Thomas has allowed Logan - and his Logic - to become vulnerable to Remus and intrusive thoughts. Logan may have successfully been able to dispel the intrusive thoughts which had no basis in reality (for instance, a murderer hiding in Thomas’ closet) - but what happens if Thomas is given validation for an intrusive thought? in other words - what if Logan feels he has reason to listen to Remus? i believe this Rage has been simmering within Thomas for a long time, and his debut is going to be explosive. there are lots of ways this debut could be written; some have theorised that Logic and Rage will be a kind of antithesis to the Creativitwins, wherein the two are fused as Thomas has internalised his Rage as having a Logical root. this would have Rage not as a separate side, but a kind of version or alternate mindset for Logan, a bit like how he was when in Virgil’s room. i would not be surprised at all for this episode to include both Remus and Janus - Remus, revelling in the intrusive thoughts which Logan/Rage is now allowing to fly free, and Janus, delighting in Logan/Rage’s validation of destructive behaviours, which may well include Deceit. i could also see Virgil being drawn in by this irresistible combination of Anxiety-fuelling thoughts - intrusive thoughts inspiring inadequacy, Deceit inspiring fear of being found out, and the terror of Logic being twisted to validate every fear Virgil has ever had for Thomas. you know when someone has hurt you really badly, and so in your head you come up with countless (awful, unrealistic, hurtful) ways to ‘get back at them’? that’s what i think the next Sanders Sides episode is going to be like.  of course, like Anxiety, Intrusive Thoughts and Deceit, Rage will have his uses too. i believe, if any of this theorising is correct, that the next Sanders Sides episode will follow a narrative discussing if Rage is justified when one is hurt to a massive extreme, and what Logic can one follow when it backs up every destructive impulse. are you being Logical if you are full of Rage? basically, i think Logan (influenced by a breaking point and giving over to Rage) is going to do everything in his power to be destructive, under the idea that it is the only Logical thing to do. i believe he will fall to the horrific power of cognitive distortions and mental illness, and that the other Sides will need to use their strengths to bring him back. anyway, that’s all my thoughts! my apologies for any inaccuracies, or if anything in here was upsetting. i’d love to hear what you think about this, and your own theories! :D take care 💏

[panharmonium]

apparently folks are doing fanfic writers’ appreciation day today (which i did not even know was a thing but it’s a great idea so!) 

so, big shoutout to @padmerrie​ who is my number one source of fandom content for literally everything, and has been since we were small children printing out lotr fanfiction, writing harry potter au’s, and drawing our own x-men and star wars comics...she writes stuff that is tailor-made for our specific fandom needs and exactly on-point with our personal reads of various characters, AND she writes for everything???  she writes me star wars fic, she writes me teen wolf fic, (and GIVES ME FIC BOOKLETS FOR CHRISTMAS, WHAT) and now she’s writing avatar fanfic, like IS THERE ANYTHING SHE WON’T DO

so big shoutout to all of her gems, including but definitely not limited to:

crackfic!Yarael:

“I just got my speeder back from the shop.  You may remember it being vandalized several months ago?”

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow and clucked his tongue.  “You mean when someone dismantled and reassembled your speeder in the library to make it look like the statue of Master Sharad Hett was about to crash recklessly into a shelf of archives?”

“Wait - what?  Now this I gotta hear about,” Vos said, his eye bright with gleeful intrigue.  However, Yarael threw up a single finger almost instantaneously, as if to silence any further questioning.  

“Yes.  That.”

“Ah then, yes, I remember it well.  And if I recall correctly, my padawan graciously offered to help you with the repairs.”

“Like I would ever let Skywalker within ten feet of my speeder,” Yarael spat. “Force knows he was probably the one who did it!  I’m still not entirely satisfied with the alibi that you provided, might I add.”

most accurate!Derek

[Scott] had been up all night trying to make sense of his physics homework for the fourth night in a row that week, and despite the efforts of his mom and Stiles, who both seemed to have taken it upon themselves to make sure he got through his junior year not by the skin of his teeth, he just wasn’t getting it.  Heck, even Derek took a shot at it, after a startling 3 a.m. visit that nearly resulted in a sleep-deprived Scott stabbing him with a pen.  It was an uncomfortable ten minutes that ended only when Derek hastily climbed out the window muttering something about his car and needing to get gas.

the BEST NAGROUPIES!!!!!  seriously.  before the padme book was announced, there was @padmerrie’s fic, and that was my only naboo-crew fix.

“I’m not afraid,” Sabe declared firmly.  Her expression was that of deepest trust.  Padme looked from her to Panaka, then back.  Sabe remained unwavering.  

“All right,” Padme sighed, shaking her head, unhappy with the decision.  

But Sabe smiled.  She turned to Panaka.  “Please leave us,” she commanded dramatically, shooing him away with her hand.  

Panaka frowned contemptuously.  “I believe the Senator is still the only person who gets to make demands around here.”

“It’s been a while since I last impersonated a person of importance.  I’m going to need time to brush up on my skills.”

“I don’t think you’ll have much trouble easing back into it.”

the most subtle, delightfully deft, brush of clone wars-worthy dramatic irony/foreshadowing chapter conclusions ever

“Perhaps I can persuade you to reconsider after a glass of wine.”  Palpatine settled himself behind the table and sat poised against the high back of his chair, which resembled that of a throne.  “How about joining me for dinner tonight?  Consider it a farewell meal before you departure after the vote tomorrow.”

“I would love to,” Padme said with a smile, “and thank you.”

“Perhaps you’d care to join us, Master Kenobi,” Palpatine offered.

Obi-Wan, who would rather have shared a cup of tea with a gundark than suffer through an entire meal with the Chancellor, said politely, “I’ll have to check with the Council, but if you don’t mind the intrusion, I’d be honored.”

“The honor is all mine,” the Chancellor said, and he smiled more broadly. “To be graced by Master Kenobi’s presence twice in one day!  I daresay if it weren’t for the circumstances, I’d be concerned.”

this lolarious allusion to a generational fashion faux pas obi-wan just can’t seem to shake

Anakin closed the door of his bedroom behind him and went to meet Obi-Wan in the living room.  He was already standing at the door pulling on his robes.  When he saw Anakin, he raised an eyebrow and looked him over.  

“Nice poncho,” he said, eyeing Anakin’s civilian ensemble.

“I found it in the back of your closet,” Anakin retorted.

“I know.  I put it there.  Are you ready to go?”

BADASS PANAKA SUBDUING A SENATE GUARD

Padme scrambled to her feet, but Panaka was already two steps ahead of her.  In one fluid motion, he was at the guard’s side and had grabbed his raised arm, which was preparing to strike again, and twisted it around his back.  The rifle fell from the guard’s hand to the ground as he cried out in pain.  Panaka maintained a firm grip, despite the painful protests spewing from the unarmed man.  When he attempted to pull away, Panaka yanked him against his chest by his twisted arm, causing the guard to let out another pained noise.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Panaka growled in his ear.

“Get off me, leatherhead,” the guard hissed angrily, spit flying from his mouth, but Panaka held him even tighter.  

“Make another move and I will pluck every last one of those feathers off your goddamn head.”

“Why, you - “

the best anakin and obi-wan

“I don’t understand how someone like Master Qui-Gon could have been taught under someone like Count Dooku,” he pondered out loud.

Obi-Wan smiled softly.  “What about us?  You and I are certainly different, are we not?”

“Yes, but you would never stray from the Order,” argued Anakin.  His expression was childlike, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be pleased at the boy’s remark.

“Perhaps not,” said Obi-Wan, his blue eyes twinkling amusedly.  “People change.  Jedi too.  And even when one has finished their training, the path is not paved for you.  Even Jedi become lost, Anakin.  But it is our willingness to ask for guidance that brings us back.”

He stared hard at Anakin.  The warmth left from his smile was still there, but there was an urgency in his eyes, undetectable to most, but not to Anakin. He gazed back at him and nodded, and as he did so, he thought of bringing up his nightmares about his mother - that perhaps this was the invitation he was looking for.

the obi-wan and padme team that we DESERVED, featuring them being peers who have important conversations and mutually admire and respect each other

“So did this dinner put your mind at ease or make things more complicated?” she asked, eyeing him.

Obi-Wan gave her a sour look.  “What do you think?”  They walked in silence.  It wasn’t until they had reached Padme’s apartment that Obi-Wan spoke again.

“I don’t trust him, Padme,” he stated matter-of-factly, drawing his arms across his chest.  He looked so serious, and Padme couldn’t help but smile.  

“He’s been my strongest supporter,” she said.  “I know his speech tonight was a bit maudlin, but what he said wasn’t untrue.  He’s always shown me great respect, even when we’re on opposing councils, which, I admit, feels like a lot lately.  But still.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “There’s a falseness to him that I can’t explain.  I felt it when I first met him, and it’s grown more palpable over time.  You must sense it.”

“It’s hard to tell truth from deceit these days,” Padme said evasively. “Especially when you’re in politics.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Then you know how easy it is to mask your true intentions.”

literally like i just want to have christmas every day so i can read infinite fic booklets of this stuff

“Do not tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

Scott rocked his head against the seat cushion.  “No…I was just thinking about Allison.”

“Of course you were,” Stiles muttered under his breath, gripping his steering wheel bracingly.  Scott didn’t seem to hear him.

“She used to say this thing when we were dating.  About her dad.  ‘Don’t poke the bear.’”

There was a pause, and when no one said anything, he added, “You know, like, don’t bother him.”

Keeping his eyes on the dark, winding road ahead, Stiles replied, “Yeah, I’m not the one failing English, buddy.  I got it.”

i.......could just post the entirety of everything she’s written, honestly, but as that won’t fit - happy fanfic writers’ appreciation day to the person who keeps me flush with fic and fandom fun all year long!  

[jiminwolf]

When the cherry blossoms fade

Soulmate!Jiminxreader oneshot

Genre: Soulmate AU/ Fluff

Summary:The fate entwining You and Park jimin are much stronger than they seem.

A/N: The whole story was inspired by this song written by B1A4’s Jinyoung. I actually started writing this story in May last year when the song first came out, but I guess I took too much time to work on it and even after IOI disbanded I'm still not done with this. If there are mistakes and sudden changes in writing style, please keep in mind that i spent an entire year on this. This is still unedited.

Prologue

Year 00

Tuesday 2:11 A.M.

The hospital

A new life is brought into the world, loud wails and cries filling the small operating room, the pungent smell of blood filling the air. The new mother tears, her husband grasping her hand tightly, still unable to let go after the tedious 6 hour delivery filled with painful contractions that made her feel like ripping all her hair out. The doctors and nurses smile at her brightly, and she can only reciprocate with a weak smile.

The newborn is wriggling, struggling against the doctor’s grasp, as he brings the child over to the exhausted parents. A mark is fresh on its tiny, pink wrist.

“Congratulations, it’s a girl.”

The parents lean over to carry the small bundle of joy, excited to see her mark. They both gasp in shock, as the mother’s fingertips smooth over that certain spot.

“She has two, what does this mean? Is there something wrong with her?”, the mother worriedly questions, for she has never seen anything like it before.

“There’s nothing to worry about. Babies that have two marks combined together are very rare, yet very lucky. It just means that she has a second chance to meet her soulmate again if she happens to miss the first chance.”

The pair sighs in relief, and return to staring lovingly at their child.

The soulmate system was established to save mankind, for there were simply too many people in the world who failed to find a partner in life. A tattoo, often known as ‘the mark’, forms on every newborn. Each mark is unique to two individuals in the world, and often acts as a hint to a significant event occurring in both of the soulmate’s lives where the two will finally meet. However, once the two meet, it is necessary for the both of them to recognise each other as soulmates. If the opportunity to find each other is missed due to the both of them failing to recognize each other in the crowd, the mark gradually fades to nothing. A person with no mark is looked down upon in society, and to have no mark is a disgrace to the family name. Once the soulmates successfully recognize each other, both their marks remain permanent and stay for life. The meeting between soulmates can occur at  any point in time.

---

The start.

Year 04

Saturday 4:55 P.M.

Your house

The summer was getting to your head, the heat rising up around you, surrounding and suffocating you. The climate is hot and humid, the sweat dribbles down your tiny forehead and the baby hairs that fall out of the little braid your mother did for you stay plastered to your neck, the minimal amount of clothes on your figure all glued onto you with sweat. Sticky, icky, disgusting sweat.

Despite the sweltering heat, you were sitting outside by the steps that led to your little house by the countryside. Mommy is in the living room watching television, you think, swinging your small feet around where they are unable to touch the ground. You hum a familiar tune, the same tune that you hum with the other neighborhood kids when you go out for ‘adventures’ around the small cluster of houses.

You glance at the daisies, the marigolds, the budding tulips that sprout up in your garden; the bees that buzz excitedly around them in a frenzied dance. You pause, and wonder, how nice it would be if I could draw the flowers with my crayons and give the picture to mommy as a present? You immediately scramble to your feet but turn to meet soft fabric.

“Daddy!” You exclaim excitedly.

He puts a finger to his lips, and you immediately quieten down. In his hands, he has two red packets, dripping with water from the packet. You have no idea what it is called, yet you love it so much. He passes you one, and you desperately tear open the packaging to reach for the sweet treat within. It is icy cold and tastes like fruit, yet the artificial taste of it lingers on your tongue afterwards. As you continue to gobble it up, your father whispers, “ It’s called a popsicle, sweetie.”

You glance up at him with glassy eyes, your pouting lips stained by the red food colouring found in the popsicle, before bursting out into a fit of giggles. He smiles with you too. The two of you sit side by side, watching the cars drive past the front gate, whilst sucking on your strawberry flavoured popsicles.

The heat causes the popsicle to melt quickly, sending glossy red syrup running down from your hand to your arm. You rub at the ruby red liquid, only to make your hands stickier and the situation messier. You stare at your dirtied arm in disgust and discomfort. Your father laughs again.It is then you first notice the weird looking mark on your right wrist.

“Daddy.”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

He turns to inspect your tiny wrist; but he knows very clearly what you are talking about, the mark on your wrist still ever so clear despite the intrusion of the new sticky, red lines across your skin.He holds your tiny wrist delicately, rubbing soothing circles on the porcelain smooth skin.

“It’s your mark.”

“My mark?”

“It will help you to find your future husband, a person you will love even more than Daddy and Mummy”

Your lips form an ‘O’ shape, then you frown in thought, the deepest kind of thoughts a four year old could possibly have.

“But I think I’ll still love Daddy and Mommy so much more.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, one a four year old will only interpret as happiness, before turning to face the little girl and gaze at her lovingly. She looks ever so innocent, so protected from the ways of the world.

He mutters under his breath,“We’ll see then.”

---

Year 18.4

Monday 10:47 P.M.

Someone’s House

The party is still going strong, but you feel like you’re dying. Young adults your age are scattered around the house, some grinding feverishly against each other on the the makeshift dance floor, loud pop music blasting from the cheap speakers, flashing lights that seem to make your headache even worse. Others are either seated on the couch beside the dance floor or are in the backyard. Most of them are couples, making out wherever they can. If your parents were here, they would have commented, “No sense of social modesty!”

But they aren’t here, which makes things 10 times better and 10 times worse.

The heavy bass of this music is deafening, and you aren't sure it's the music or the alcohol clouding your mind that sends the surrounding walls thumping to the beat.

Your roommate, Claire Park, the one that got you stuck here feeling like shit in the first place, is nowhere to be seen. You scan the place, the bright, flashing lights impairing your vision. Your head is throbbing like crazy and you are very sure you look very haggard. All you want to do now is get out of this damn place. You had a shot too many, despite knowing very well that you cannot handle liquor. The guys that were initially hitting on you have also moved onto other girls, leaving you drunk and stuck to the kitchen counter.

You saunter over to the living room, the current dance floor, and finally spot Claire. She defines the word ‘goddess’, literally. She is right smack in the middle of it, flaunting her jaw-dropping physique accentuated in a sparkling silver dress, grinding on a jock at the same time. He looks so familiar, yet you can’t lay a finger on who the hell he is. You, on the other hand, look like a potato. Absolute crap, decked out in a suspicious looking hoodie and sneakers, which earns you dirty looks and sniggers from the cheerleader group a few meters away from you.

Just before you can reach out to her, you feel bile bubbling over in your stomach and you instinctively cup your hand over your mouth, rushing upstairs towards one of the available toilets, only to find that it is locked because of some stupid couple in there. You rush into the other toilet and breathe a sigh of relief when you find that it is unlocked. You lean over the seat and release. Wiping off the excess spit on your mouth, you rise and flush the toilet.

Your phone suddenly rings and when you see the Caller ID, you feel like slapping yourself. It’s your parents. You’re supposed to be studying in the dorm as finals are round the corner. You hesitantly pick up the phone.

“Hello? Are you studying now?”

“Uh..um yeah, I am.”

“Why can I hear music in the background?”

“Um...I like to listen to music while studying??”

You are such a horrible liar.

“You get your lying ass back to your dorm right now! I am in your room right now and there isn't a single soul in here! Don't you get how important studying for your exams are? How can you still go to parties at times like this?”

You mutter a few apologies to your parents on the other side of the line and sigh as you end the call. What a bummer.

Pissed and grumpy from the alcohol and the phone call earlier, you storm right onto the dance floor, pushing and shoving other party goers away to grab Claire’s hand, earning a few glares from the surrounding partiers as you practically drag the girl shouting in protest out of the house. The both of you stumble out, and your lungs relish the feeling of fresh air after being trapped in that stuffy old house for the past 4 hours.

“Hey! What the hell man! I just managed to meet some cute guys. The night is still young!” Claire whines. She's the kind of girl you would classify as a goddess and a troublemaker at the same time.

“My parents just called. I just got myself into some deep shit.”

“What?! You should have told me earlier, I would have left with you.”

“Says the one who got me into this kind of shit party.”

“At least there were cute guys! You should have seen! I—-”

You cut her off abruptly.

“No thanks. Now can we get both our asses back to the dorm? I’m strangely hungry after puking so much.”

“..Or maybe we should go check out that new Chinese Korean restaurant near the dorm. I heard they open till eleven!” She giggles.

Sometimes you really just love and hate your roommate at the same time.

Year 18.4

Sunday 2:31 P.M.

Wang’s Chinese-Korean food

Jimin

Earning pocket money has never been this nerve wrecking.

It’s his first day working as a part-timer at Wang’s Chinese-Korean food, and already females are eyeing him like a tasty morsel.

He had only ended up there because of his stupid roommate, Kim Taehyung, who told him that the part time job would be a good deal, good pay, flexible hours. What he wasn't told was that it already had a reputation within the campus despite it being a new store, something that only transfer students that had just joined this term would not be well aware of. That is exactly what he is.

The restaurant is situated near the campus, and is known to have attractive waiters. Very attractive waiters. As a result, both senior and junior girls flock to the place after lectures, determined to either talk to them or score one of their numbers.

Sadly, he wasn’t aware of this particular situation at all. He didn’t feel that he was particularly good looking whatsoever, or rather, when he was compared to the other six boys working the same shift as him.

Kim Seokjin, a tall wide-shouldered lad slightly older than him with the face of an idol, makes him seem like your typical Prince Charming. He cares for every single customer; and girls swooning over him has become so common that he is used to it already.

Min Yoongi, with flawless, glowing skin that snow white would even be jealous of. He seems like an ice prince, but once you get to know him, he can be pretty chill. He has legs that are too pretty to be on a man.

Kim Namjoon, tall and charming, with a gentlemanly air that makes girls flock around him, desperate for attention. His pastel pink hair can be easily spotted around the restaurant, accentuating his glowing olive skin that girls drool over.

Jung Hoseok, a cheerful and energetic man, is super nice to everyone around him, and has a perfect ski slope as a nose bridge. His radiant aura infects everyone around him, giving everyone in the shift a newly found energy.

Kim Taehyung, perfect height, perfectly defined features,a perfect deep voice that surprisingly does not fit his age. His annoying roommate and a fast worker, yet he tends to goof around on the job.

Jeon Jungkook, his favorite and also the current maknae, has flowing onyx locks that frame his doe like features. He is often nicknamed ‘The Golden Maknae’, and he does not deny it, though his only current weakness is girls, but it increases his likeability by a ton.

Then there’s him, just good old Park Jimin, who has totally no idea why girls are chasing him like crazy. He doesn’t mind anyway, since the job earns him good money and the others treat him well.

Then he has an absurd thought : Was there the slightest chance that he could meet his soulmate? Unfortunately, he is dragged out of his reverie for the umpteenth time by Hoseok’s shrill screams for help with the ice water at table 10.

The rest of them chuckle and he rushes over to give Hoseok a hand, but the thought embedded in his mind just doesn’t fade away. It sticks to his mind just like bubblegum to the sole of a shoe, and he smiles to himself, and the group of girls in the far corner start squealing like crazy.

Maybe, he thinks.

Just maybe.

Year 18.9

Friday 10:35 P.M.

Campus

Your stomach growls for the very fifth time, and you are only halfway through the first lecture. The other students that sit near you stare at you in disgust, and you whisper silent apologies to them. Claire is all the way at the back of the hall, already making herself comfortable with the surrounding students.

You scoff at her, only to slump back in your seat in agony because of how hungry you are. You have food in your bag, in fact lots of food that your mom prepared for you that morning. There is carbonara, a tub of salad, Oreos and a bag of chips in your bag, but it would be too risky to start eating in the middle of the lecture. You calculate your chances, considering the fact that the current lecturer has hawk eyes and he would not hesitate to shout at you with that microphone of his and publically embarrass you for life. The students around you would also cause a big commotion upon sight of food which would in turn result in you getting spotted by the teacher.

You sigh, and reach into your bag, fingering the smooth plastic packaging of the Oreo packet, before sneakily popping one in your mouth. You chew once, twice, then reach for the second chocolate biscuit in the pack. The now empty blueberry coloured packaging is then abandoned in the small bag you own, and you hum a soft merry tune to yourself. The students behind tap your shoulder and shush you up. Three small chocolate biscuits would obviously never be able to satisfy your hunger, yet it is enough to last you through another lecture.

You turn your attention away from the scripts, notes and colorful stationery scattered around your tiny makeshift table and scan the hall; shifting uncomfortably in your seat Most of the students look super bored while taking notes down from the lecture. The lecturer is busy telling everyone his life stories while forcing them to listen as if it is some inspirational speech. Nobody is listening, except for the few new faces you spot within the crowd. Most of the girls and boys scattered amongst the front row are busy taking down whatever he says, a telltale sign that they are newbies in this school. One boy with hair the colour of a setting sun; the colour of maple leaves hanging on the trees in breezy autumn, sits in the second row. It makes him stand out in the whole hall full of students. None with a colour as striking as his. His hair looks so velvety soft, just like liquid gold.

He casually threads a hand through his gorgeous hair, then moves to continue taking notes down. Even with such a simple gesture, he oozes charm from every part of him. His aura built from sunshine is basically that alluring.

Wow, what a find.

You lean forward to take a closer look at him; your new interest. To be honest, you have never been this attracted before, not in this particular manner. You almost never take much notice of your surroundings, as you could not care less about the people around you but this, this boy, immediately catches your eye the moment you spot him. It isn't just because of his hair, instead something else, something you just can't lay a finger on, that makes your heart race at abnormal speeds.

At this moment, he chooses to turn around and meet your eye. Even from such a far distance, you notice how his beautiful eyes twinkle. A connection as thin as a string of spider silk forms between you and him, and the world feels like it stopped for that three seconds for the both of you to hold your breaths and just stare.

You quickly turn away and cup your face, feeling it heat up rapidly; your heart fluttering. The string is broken, and you are left dangling and confused. You turn back to look at him, only to realize that his back is now facing you once again.

You slump back into your seat and whisper to yourself, “What the hell was that.”

The bell suddenly rings, and the whole student body is in a hurry to escape the tiny hall. You are the only person still glued to your seat, eyes staring into blank space. The students quickly drain out and take to the halls, enjoying their next 5 minutes of freedom between empty classrooms and lockers. You don't even notice.

“Earth to y/n, earth to y/n, are you in?”

You snap out of your trance and glare at the waving hand in front of your face. You suddenly remember the boy and shoot out of your seat, startling Claire and sending her stumbling back a few steps.

“Where is he? Where has he gone?” You exclaim, whipping your head around the now empty lecture hall, leaving you with a confused Claire.

“Whoa wait what who?”

“Y’know, the orange haired boy.”

“Oh him? He’s a transfer student isn't he.”

“I already know that. Did you see where he went?”

“Yeah,he just left the hall like 1 minute ago.”

You grab your bag and sprint out of the hall and into the corridor, desperate to find his familiar face again, but all that meets your eye is an ebony crowd, no boy with hair like sunsets in sight, except for a senior year student with pastel pink hair leaning against a locker, smirking at you.

You sigh in disappointment before a panting Claire collides into you head first from behind.

So much for luck.

Autumn boy is gone.

Year 19

Friday 6:46 P.M.

Dorm room

It’s been a few months since you last saw him.

Okay maybe not just a few. About

You seem to have forgotten him, yet it doesn’t seem like it too. What have you been doing with your life.

Music blasts from your room, and you lie motionless on the bed. Thoughts of studying have already been abandoned and you honestly just feel like staying in your room for the rest of the day doing nothing. You glance at your desk, back at your hand then back at the desk again. The feeling of skin against fresh linen. The refreshing scent of the sun that is embedded in your blanket makes your toes curl in pleasure. You roll yourself up in the sheets to form a giant human burrito, the warmth from your body contrasting with the cool, humid air that tickles the tips of your toes that stick out from inside the blanket.

Soft rhythmic tapping of raindrops on your window have been overwhelmed by the heavy bass of the song. You wiggle out of the comfy blanket and turn to sit at your bedside. Your toes trace tiny circles on the cold wooden floor. Staring at the raindrops against the backdrop, the window forms a barrier, separating the two worlds. The soft lavender fabric of your oversized sweater pools around your figure. It is raining heavily outside, yet it accentuates the lovely colour of the sunset outside. It reminds you of your favourite season,autumn, where the leaves of maple trees gradually transform to a beautiful amber shade.

You then remember the boy you had seen last month, his bright, silky hair standing out in the crowd. You sigh to yourself, then land softly onto the heap of linen spread across your bed. You consider calling Claire to ask her to go out and get take out for you, before you remember that she is already outside that the emptiness of the house finally strikes you. You then contemplate calling home delivery, reaching out for your phone.

You turn the music off, and the house becomes eerily quiet. Using your phone to scroll through the contact list, you lift it above you. Just as you were about to press ‘dial’, your phone rings loudly, and you drop the gadget on your face in shock. Speak of the devil.

You answer hurriedly, your voice still shaky, “Hello? Claire?”

Instead, someone else is on the other line.

“Uh um yes? Hello? This is Claire’s phone and um.. Oh Oh we’re calling from Wang’s Chinese-Korean food. Is Claire your friend?”

The person on the other line is definitely a male; his voice deep and mellow.

You clear your throat.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

He mutters something on the other line that you can’t make out before replying, “You see, we have a bit of a situation here. Your friend, er..Claire, has gotten herself slightly drunk and is disrupting business here. Just wondering if you would be able to bring her back?”

You mentally slap yourself. You should have known better to let Claire go out alone on a friday night.

“Sure, I’ll make my way over now.”

You throw the first pair of jeans you find in your closet on and head out with your trenchcoat, only to curse yourself when you realise that you have no idea where the hell ‘Wang’s Chinese-Korean Food’ is. Goddammit.

Thank the world for whoever invented GPS.

You spend the next 40 minutes of your life scrutinizing the small text on your phone, listening to the machine telling you where to go and trying to locate the restaurant, only to realize that it is just outside campus. How dumb was that.The rain only makes it worse by wetting your hair, clothes and brand new shoes. Great.

There is a pretty long queue outside the restaurant, and you push and shove your way through the crowd, cursing when someone steps on your already dirtied shoes. The smell of oily food wafts out of the place; the air conditioning blows the hair out of your face. Standing right at the front door taking orders is someone you recognize as a senior on campus. You’ve seen him around because of his striking pastel pink hair, but you have no idea what his name is.

“How many people?”

“Looking for someone.”

He moves out of the way, gesturing to another waiter within the restaurant, and your shoes make contact with the magenta ‘WELCOME’ rug.

You don't even have to scan the place to know where Claire is.

Jimin

He looks up from the cashier time to time, glancing worriedly at the girl drowning her sorrows in alcohol. He feels sorry for her, he wants to help her out, but the circumstances do not allow him to do so. He continues to observe the girl and takes a profound interest in her actions.

She continues to call for more soju, and Hoseok shoots uneasy glances at her then at him again, as if trying to determine if the girl has gotten herself drunk enough the night, but he signals to Hoseok to continue supplying her with soju. Hoseok stares back at him in confusion, then shrugs it off unwillingly and gets back to work. Jungkook and Taehyung walk past the girl occasionally to check on her, and they both walk off with worried faces.

The tapping of his fingertips on the wooden counter becomes a rhythm, just before shouts from the table in front of him interrupts his daze. It is that girl, bursting out in horribly sung pop songs in her drunken fit. Jin and Taehyung immediately stop in their tracks and tend to the girl, but she smacks Taehyung right in the face, and Jin is struggling to keep her under control. He has to cover his mouth to stop himself from bursting into a fit of giggles. Jungkook apologizes profusely to the other customers affected by the commotion as the other two men try to calm the girl down.

Taehyung somehow manages to gain access to the girl’s phone and calls somebody while Jin pacifies the girl with iced water. He straightens up at his seat, and continues with his duties as cashier.

He doesn't know how long it's been, but he notices the instant where a new customer has just entered the store. He stares at the girl, strangely feeling a warm tingle crawl up his spine. The girl is breathtaking, and every step she takes is effortlessly graceful. She is dressed so casually, a lilac sweater pulled over her figure, the faded jeans fitting her legs perfectly, her hair swaying with every movement.

But she looks like an absolute goddess to him, and she would most definitely be his religion.

Jungkook leans over the counter and nudges at his side, motioning to the girl.

“Whoa Hyung, you’re totally drooling at the sight of her. She’s your type?” Jungkook jokes, earning a sharp glare from him.

“I don't know,” he shrugs, “but she's really attractive though. I mean, she's not pretty or anything, but for some strange reason I feel like finding out more.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“Eyy,You should go for it Hyung.”

Jungkook nudges his side one last time, winking at him before getting back to work.

Jimin huffs in annoyance at the maknae.

A few more hours left to the end of his shift, and he's going to give this girl a shot.

You

You don't even notice the boy approaching your side because you're so preoccupied with Claire and that really good looking blonde waiter with wide shoulders attempting to help Claire out.

Claire has black bean sauce smudged all over her pretty lips, a streak of her mascara inching down the side of her left eye. You frown at the sight, and the handsome waiter in front of you grins sheepishly. Before you can blurt out your apologies, the feathery light tap on your shoulder has you whirling around. You wince at the whiplash, only to make contact with a pair of beautiful brown eyes, the colour of roasted coffee that is warm on the tip of your tongue, and dark tea that swirls within delicate china porcelain. The tiny specks of caramel in his iris flash, and you feel the bond forming all over again, this time even stronger and even more overwhelming than before. The feeling of warmth shoots through your entire body and spreads, just like the shimmering fireworks on the 4th of July.

You shudder slightly and glance back at him, realizing that he is wearing the exact same expression as you are. You scan his face, a pink blush crawling up your cheeks. It’s the same boy from the lecture hall, the autumn boy,  just that under closer inspection, his olive skin carries a warm glow and you realize how deliciously plump his rosy bottom lip is. He looks starkly different from the encounter at the lecture hall, for his hair is now a stunning onyx, the colour of the city night sky devoid of stars, hinting at the infinite number galaxies that lie beyond earth, engulfing us entirely in a world of mystery.

You make eye contact with him once again, noticing that he has the exact same blush spreading across his cheeks. You swallow and look down at the ground in embarrassment, feet tracing tiny circles on the tiled ground. The handsome waiter takes note of these small actions, chuckling softly to himself before taking his leave. Claire is too forgotten within 3 seconds within the entry of this ‘new’ character, despite the fact that you were here for her in the first place.

“Uh, hello.” He meekly asks, his voice pitched slightly higher than most men you know. As a result, he sounds like an absolute angel to you.

“O-Oh, hi.” You awkwardly reply.

He rubs his neck, then he flashes a super cute smile at you. What he doesn't know is that he's already got you reeled in with just his eyesmile.

“Uh she's your friend, I'm guessing?”

“Yeah, she kinda got herself pretty drunk, and it's pretty embarrassing for the both of us, considering that most people already know who she is.”

He nods in agreement, the both of you bursting into laughter.

Just as you were about to ask this beautiful angel for his name, Claire chooses to lean over and attempts to puke over you, sending you jumping back. Unfortunately, she does puke all over the cement floor, and some of it stains the fabric of your jeans. Several customers turn to scoff in disgust but a waiter behind you with flowing locks like caramel sighs and heads over with a mop. You sigh too, but turn to ask the waiter with large doe eyes and Raven hair in the corner for a mop to help clear the area up. He’s actually been staring at you and the boy with hair that once reminded you of flames for the past 7 minutes, yet you shrug it off.

“No, no it's alright. I can do this on my own. You better head back to take care of your friend.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind helping-”

“No! I-I mean it's better if you don’t. Your friend there needs help.”

You glance back at Claire who is now banging the table and notice how all the other customers are complaining about the ruckus to the distraught waiters. Leaving might be the better choice. A step forward, and you trip over thin air like the klutz you are. Your fingertips touch when he reaches out to grab your hand to pull you back, and the both of you flinch away. It sends a warm tingle shooting down your spine. You smile awkwardly; blush again.

“I-I guess I gotta help her out then. Nice meeting you?”

“Nice meeting you too.”

You apologise to the other waiters and pay the bills with Claire’s money before practically dragging Claire by the arms out of the shop. You look back at Autumn boy in the shop, sending him an apologetic smile. He reciprocates.

Unfortunately, it’s drizzling outside, and the walk home with Claire leaning over you every few minutes gets the both of you soaked by the end of the journey. Thankfully, after the GPS incident earlier, it only takes 20 minutes for the both of you to stumble back into the dorms, arms linked casually.

After helping Claire change into fresh, clean clothes, you peel off your clothes too, stuffing the big heap of cotton and denim into the washing machine before dashing into the hot shower. It soothes your nerves and your freezing body, sending you into a dazed trance after you drag yourself out of the steaming bathroom. The moment your hair is blown dry you collapse onto your bed and knock out, sprawled across soft linen.

2 days later.

Claire is awake.

Wide awake.

Someone keeps screaming like a banshee from the bathroom, and it's already been the third minute straight. It's loud enough to wake the whole building of students.

She groans and shouts back in irritation, “What's with all the racket so early in the morning.

The screaming stops for a moment, then it intensifies.

Claire has to reach for the emergency earplugs in her drawer before heading over to the bathroom with a metal bat in her hand. The door is wide open for Claire to enter, and there you are standing in front of the mirror, a toothbrush still in you mouth full of toothpaste. Tears are streaming down the side of your face, your hand trembling while brushing your teeth. She doesn't realize why you're so overcome with grief until she glances in the mirror and recoils in shock, metal bat clattering noisily on the white tile floor. She gasps, and takes a step back. The chopstick part of your mark has already faded halfway, the chopsticks now a translucent red against your skin.

You stop screaming and turn to stare at Claire with reddened eyes.

“What do I do now.” you whisper, your voice trembling.

She is shocked into nothingness, and stares at you like a deer caught in headlights, a blank canvas in her head.

“Erm, but do you have any ideas about who your soul mate might be? Like maybe it was that other guy on our campus or some guy you passed by..”

“No no no… If my mark has a pair of chopsticks, it MUST mean something, but I can't think of anything now. THIS IS SO DUMB!!”

Claire suddenly lights up, snapping her fingers.

“Chopsticks! Chinese restaurant! Did you feel a connection with anyone you met there?”

“Shit, I just might. That guy, I felt something for him. I felt something.”

You lurch forward to engulf her in your embrace, and she giggles along with you.

“Well no time to waste! We’ve got to get you your soul mate!”

You nod feverishly, and within minutes you are fluttering out of the house, a grey coat draped over one arm, running as hard as you can to that restaurant from yesterday. You can't afford to miss him again.

Thankfully you reach the place in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately everything is wrong. Totally upside down kind of wrong.

The staff staring at you with suspicious eyes in the restaurant are totally different people from the ones you met yesterday. You feel an invisible Claire wingmanning you, and you clear your throat to speak.

“Uhm excuse me, but do you know this guy who works here at night with like really nice brown hair and uhh like equally nice brown eyes?”

You start gesturing and drawing figures in the air to explain your point better but the staff there just low key judge you for everything you do. You then proceed to lose all hope, as well as the image you never had in front of them, but not before someone calls you from behind.

You spin around so quickly that you experience whiplash to meet your saviour and realise. It's the raven haired boy from yesterday, and he smirks at you. That kid. You frown, obviously feeling personally victimized and slightly cheated. (You had hoped for it to be that manly pink haired waiter or… Oh oh!! That waiter with really pretty plump pink lips instead of this cocky kid)

“You’re looking for Jimin hyung?”

“Wait Jimin who??”

Jeongguk literally facepalms himself.

“Like, that hyung you were talking to just yesterday, the one with the brown hair and sparkly eyes?”

You snap your fingers in triumph and start hopping on the spot. Your heart soars.

“Yes him!”

You start nodding your head vigorously and Jeongguk has to literally hold you down in order to effectively convey his message over to the hysterical you.

“You see, Jimin hyung told me to tell you that he's not in town now because he has to return to Korea for an emergency trip. He doesn't know when he’ll be back...or if he'll ever be back.”

Your jaw drops and you feel an irresistibly strong urge to start shouting hysterically and tear everything in your way apart.

But you don't, and stay fine, calm and cool like the civilised student you ought to be. You take a deep breath. Exhale. Ignore the tremble in your heart. Ignore your shaky exhale.

“I understand.”

You turn on your heel and calmly walk out of the shop. One foot out, and you start bawling like a three year old kid on the streets as you run back to the dorm, tears streaming down your embarrassingly red face. The sleeves of your pastel pink hoodie serve as temporary tissues for you to dry your tears.

Life is unfair to you, so unfair.

So much for finding your so called destined soulmate.

What utter bullshit.

Still year 19

2 days after the ordeal

King Ramen Shop

7.42p.m.

The tiny shop located at the end of a staircase leading to the basement is filled to the brim with people, some college students, mostly the working class. They all huddle in their assigned seat, head down, busy slurping down the ramen noodles swimming in the hot, miso broth. The whole restaurant smells like a mix of faint soya with boiling ramen noodles. Chattering echoes off the walls in waves, and the chef is busy serving the other customers seated in front of him. A bowl of happiness served, freshly made, steaming with the scent of miso enveloping your senses.

You noisily wolf down the hot shoyu noodles in front of you while Claire rambles on about the theories taught during the boring ass lecture that morning. The two of you engage in a heated debate about whether or not to buy the new campus jersey in navy blue or black, bursting into laughter when Claire just shouts out “BLUACK!!!” in the middle of her meal, the whole restaurant of customers turning back to stare at her. Even the chefs stop for a moment to smile a little and shake their heads in disapproval,

 While the whole restaurant gets caught up in the atmosphere, you are suddenly reminded of the fact that you might never see your soulmate again. At officially the worst timing ever. A surge of anger fills you, then a hot tear of mixed disappointment and fury slides down your cheek. You hurriedly wipe it off, awkwardly laughing it off, but Claire has already noticed.

She places her warm hand on your back as you forcefully stuff the noodles into your mouth

“Thinking about him?”

You choke a little, then place the chopsticks on the rim of the porcelain bowl with a soft clink and face her.

“Telepathic.” you mumble under your breath.

“What?”

“Oh no no it’s nothing, I mean yeah kinda I guess. The full weight of the situation is still sinking in and I’m feeling pretty crushed under it. It’s pretty vexing to me considering the fact that I have no idea if he’ll ever return and I’m already feeling overwhelmed by university life, so it’s all piling up on me and stuff. You feel me?”

Claire sighs and looks you in the eyes; her warm brown eyes carry a sort of considerate and loving glow.

Her reply pricks your eyes with tears.

“I feel you.”

.

Jimin (3rd person POV)

Year 23.3

12:24 P.M.

Airport

“The white of the airport is too much, glaring even but then again, where is my luggage? Which row do I collect it from? Shit.” were the thoughts running through his mind, hidden behind the thick black sunglasses, covered by the ochre coloured beanie. He absently glances around, desperately attempting to spot the screen with his flight number displayed on it. People just stream past him, their shoes tapping lightly against the large white tiles on the floor.

He casually jogs over to the correct conveyor belt when he spots his ‘lucky number’, grabs his sky blue luggage and strides off as if his whole internal ordeal never occurred before. Not before flashing a bright smile to the friendly old lady whom he had sat next to in the plane.

The airport somehow has a faint jasmine fragrance spreading through it. Glorious sunlight pours through its large glass walls and delicate installations are everywhere. He steps out of his designated gate, relishing in the moment-

“Jimin hyung!! Over here hyung!”

He removes his sunglasses and smiles. The whole crew he worked with at Wang’s Chinese Korean food is here to welcome him back, with Taehyung holding up a large, glittery pink sign that says ‘Have you seen this handsome boy called Park Jimin?” Taehyung chants his name repeatedly as Jeongguk smiles to himself from aside. Jin runs forward to envelop him in a big hug, pull his beanie off and ruffle his silver-grey hair which smells faintly of blossoming flowers.

“Yah, kid, we missed you.” Yoongi comments.

“Especially your ass.” Taehyung adds, sending the whole bunch of rowdy boys bursting into laughter.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get you some rest after that tiring flight from Korea. After that, we’ll party.” Namjoon says while loading Jimin’s luggage into the boot of his car.

“Besides, I believe you have someone you’re looking for here too.” Jeongguk mutters. Jimin smiles.

“I do.”

Day after

8:04P.M.

Juniper Bar

Jazz music plays in the background, with Taehyung mimicking the saxophonist’s nimble finger movement as he rambles on about his prior experience with the saxophone.

“It was like she was my lover. I needed her, she needed me. We would then have our private concert where she would be the star and the sounds of her would mesmerize the crowd. Sexy sounds, I would say.” Taehyung describes, with the occasional wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Dude, that sounds so suggestive.” Jimin comments as he exaggerates his shiver, his hands running all over his body.

“Goosebumps.” Jeongguk whispers. The group of them burst into laughter.

“Yo, Kookie, betcha couldn’t bust a note even if you tried, like, on the saxophone. Took me like three months and if that isn’t fast I don’t know what is.”

Tae finishes his blue cocktail and waves his hand carelessly in front of Jeongguk’s face.

“I betchu I can. I bet it on Jimin hyung’s fine ass!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Hey! Don’t drag me into this!” Jimin exclaims in fake horror, and the group of boys laugh again, with Jin’s window wiper laugh being especially loud this round.

Namjoon leans onto Jin with a low groan, grabbing only thin air when he tries to reach for Jin’s dark brown hair. Tired and half-drunk, he mumbles, “Did y’all hear about the festival thingy next week. Heard some peeps mentioning it a few days ago.”

Some ‘yes and ‘nos’ here and there, but then Jimin nudges Jeongguk’s side. Jeongguk stares into the addictive caramel brown of Jimin’s eyes. Light flashes across his irises, akin to shooting stars in a dark night sky when he says, “Hey, Kookie, how bout we give it a try. It sounds fun.”

Hoseok hollers, “Hell yeah!” before he stumbles onto his barstool. Namjoon chuckles at his fellow 94 liner, gently nudging Jin’s side.

Jeongguk almost trips over his tongue in his hurry to reply.

“Sure.”

You

Year 23.3

9.52 p.m.

Your room

F(x)’s ‘four walls’ reverberates against the walls of your room, quite literally the four walls of your room, as you shuffle across the wood flooring in your fluffy pink bunny slippers. Hopping, twirling like an ice skater across the ‘ice’, you take a calculated jump and land on the comfort of your bed, screeching, “triple axel!!!” ,proceeding to kick the blanket vigorously.

Queen Y/N claims the day again, as the crowd chants her name crazily, waving their big blue banners around. You stand up on your bed, take a deep bow, wave to the imaginary audience; blow a kiss.

“Love is four walls-”

You let yourself drop onto the bed, then wrap yourself up like a lil tiny warm fluffy sushi roll and huddle in the soft linens of your comforter, preparing to sleep in your super cute pastel pink rabbit pjs.

Well, not before the door to your room slams shut.

“AaaGhhH!! Will you please shut up!! I'm trying to have some beauty therapy time here!”

Claire charges in with a charcoal black mask plastered to her face; fiery red hair wrapped up in a white towel. Two thin slices of cucumber are held delicately in her left hand while her right tightly clutches the doorknob. She embodies rage; written in big red letters across her face.

“Sorry.” You sheepishly mumble, lightly tapping two of your fingers together in an attempt to appease her with your ‘cuteness’. She is unfazed, and only agrees to leave the war zone of your room after cursing loudly against your even louder music.

Amazing how she managed to put up with you as her roommate for the past few years.

You sigh in relief, but it is short lived, for Claire returns with a loudspeaker and shouts, “SHUT UP AND SLEEP! DON'T FORGET WHAT WE HAVE TO ATTEND TOMORROW.” right in your face. She storms out once again. A grand entrance, a grand finale.

Oh, right. Tomorrow. The ‘big’ day.

It’s the annual spring festival tomorrow, where practically almost everyone in the town gathers to celebrate, sing, dance, watch the cherry blossom petals fall. Mostly couples, though, who attend because of the ridiculously romantic atmosphere of the whole getup. Lots of families attend too, their children showering in the pale pink petals that flutter down from the trees; kiss them gently on the tip of their noses.

It’s especially important for you, too. You still have one more chance. One more chance to find that wretched soulmate of yours again and whoop his ass for escaping the first time. It’ll be a sight to see under the pretty spring backdrop.

Your fingertips trace the cherry blossom on your wrist, then press onto it slightly harder at the empty spots. The mini Claire in your head nags you to doll up and look real pretty tomorrow, for someone you are destined to see again, but just not today. You kiss your mark tenderly, then drift off into the world of dreams.

Tomorrow

You

11.52 a.m.

Apartment

“ Y/N!! Hurry your ass up! The festival probably started already!” Claire hollers from across the room, jamming her bright yellow strap on heels onto her tiny, perfect feet.

“Coming! Coming!!” You retort, hopping out of your room in a white blouse and a  flowery pleated skirt. You double check your makeup in the glassy reflection of the window while slipping on your white sneakers.

“We’re gonna make it on time.”

“So this was your idea of a fast way to get to the festival?” Claire half questions, half screeches.

“Yup!” You shout back, pedalling even faster on your bike to overtake the cars which stop at the red flash of light.

Thank goodness you wore safety pants under, and that your hair is in a loose mini bun.

Jimin

12:44 p.m.

Festival Venue

Though it’s only mid afternoon, the festival is happening. Children are running along the petal scattered road, ice cream and cotton candy in hand. Couples with matching marks stroll, hand in hand, under the trees, smiles plastered onto their faces. Love is written clearly in their eyes.

Jimin stares enviously at the pair while lapping away at his sea salt cherry blossom flavoured ice cream, Jeongguk by his side. The spring breeze is surprisingly refreshing, for it carries a tinge of flower fragrance which tickles at his nose. People stream past him continuously, as he sits there in silence with Jeongguk, soaking up the festive atmosphere.

Ice cream drips onto his hand when he doesn’t notice; it leaks onto his wrist.

“Aishh, not again.”

Jimin stares blankly at his wrist, the pink mark, identical to the current romantic backdrop of the festival, and smiles. Jeongguk glances over his shoulder, raising a brow at Jimin questioningly.

“Hyung.”

Jimin doesn't respond to the call.

Instead, the pink petals call out to him, entrance him, make him remember. They reach out, kiss his cheeks, tug at his cotton candy pink hair. They make him remember. He recalls his sole purpose in returning, for the image of her flashes right before his very eyes; it flits across his mind. He has to find her, no matter what.

And today might just be his day.

You

Claire literally drags you off the ridiculous get up of a pink bike and right into the heart of the festival, where music blasts at crazily high volumes. Cherry blossom ending by busker busker, a favorite amongst spring songs plays, and everyone starts to hum along; tap their feet to the rhythm.

Even you look up from your box of cherry blossom mochis to sway to the song ;relish in the cool spring breeze that blows at your hair lightly, the cotton candy held in your other hand fluttering in the breeze.

You, now let’s hold hands on this street How is this love song that you hear right now? I hold hands with you, whom I love As we walk together on this unknown street As the spring wind blows The scattering cherry blossom petals Spread out on this street As we walk together

At the back of your head, you suddenly feel a familiar ring, then a tingle that shoots down your spine. As though possessed, you look around for a figure, someone that resembles him. The wind pulls your hair to the left, as though to tell you :Hey! Look there! He’s there! Your legs decide to have a mind of their own, and you wander away from Claire, chasing your formerly lost lover solely based on feeling. You can feel it, 100 percent, that he’s around here somewhere. You just know it.

When the wind blows, my heart sounds to pound without knowing When the wind blows, from way over there, I keep seeing you When the wind blows, my heart sounds to pound without knowing When the wind blows, from way over there, I keep seeing you

A boy, from across the street, matches your eyes. He stares at you curiously, despite the petals that attempt to obscure your vision; to cut the connection between the two of you off. You would have missed him; you almost missed him, just because of his cotton candy hair that hides him delicately in the surroundings. It is impossible to miss him now, because you've already figured him out. The longing in his eyes that feels like a reflection of yours had already given him away. Nothing is stopping you now.

Jimin

He looks around, his eyes holding no purpose, except for the girl he is looking for. People walk around him, in front of him, beside him, but he takes no notice. Some girls walk past him and Jeongguk and giggle softly to themselves, but he does not heed them and neither does Jeongguk. The ice cream has long been finished and forgotten and the two just sit there in comfortable mutual silence.

Jeongguk glances around upon hearing the spring song from the other side, his ears chasing the melody, and he spots a familiar figure bouncing along at the other side of the street. She moves like a dandelion floating through the air, dancing in the breeze. Eyebrows scrunched, he thinks hard about who she is. It clicks in his mind.He turns around to tell Jimin.

“Hyung! Isn’t that-”

Then he realises that Jimin has already seen her. The girl on the other side locks eyes with Jimin, and Jimin rises to his feet.

No words further exchanged, he makes his way over to her.

Jeongguk smiles to himself while he watches Jimin’s silhouette get smaller and smaller as he gets further, further.

“Lucky him.”

3rd person POV

The two of you automatically gravitate towards each other, just like how unlike poles attract, the force pulling the two of you together is simply too strong to break. He runs towards you, you run towards him too. You meet in the middle, below the big cherry blossom tree, where the spring breeze blows once again, taking petals and the faint fragrance of flowers with it. Some petals entangle themselves in your hair and his. The two of you stand there and smile at each other because finally, finally you've found each other.

The both of you stand and stare; stare into each other’s eyes; immerse yourselves in their endless galaxies filled with stars and unexplored planets. You are his moon, and he is a lonely astronaut floating within your orbit, pulled towards you by gravity.

It’s almost as if you’ve read each other’s minds. Face flushed, you breathlessly mutter, “ Y/N, my name is Y/N.”

He timidly smiles to himself. His heart, his insides are bursting with colour upon hearing the sweetness of your voice; a sweet honey that he would absolutely get hooked on; a love drug he would submit himself to. Absolutely illegal.

“Park Jimin..from last time.”

Your heart leaps across oceans, continents and back. You hold your trembling hand out for him, your hand that trembles as much as your tiny heart. Your sleeve pulls back slightly to reveal your mark, a cherry blossom with two faded lines in the middle. Jimin glances back at his own wrist, and his mark matches yours.

“Soulmates?”

“Soulmates.”

Just before his hand meets yours, a tiny cherry blossom drifts down from the tree above. Slowly but surely, it lands in the square of your palm.

Surprised, the both of you let out a hearty laugh. His eyes form tiny crescents, twinkling and beautiful.

He closes in on the distance between you and him, enveloping you in his warm embrace; his arms wrapping around you tightly.

The cherry blossom tree rains pink on the couple below; it rains love, and love is quite literally in the air.

As for the both of you, nobody knows what the future may hold, but like what they say,  you will marry your first love if you catch a falling cherry blossom.

He was your first love.

And you were his.

[mab-speaks]

Fic: Dangerous Decadence

For @zokudarakuron. Written for my bsd ficlet challenge based on the prompt requests: “I would kill for a cup of coffee…literally” and Angocest. (Ango x Ango)

Rated: M 

Summary: Definition of Decadence - 1. moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury. 2. luxurious self-indulgence.What if Ango's ability enabled him to luxuriate in self-indulgence - literally and, like Chuuya when he goes into Corruption-mode, Ango can lose himself to himself in a downward spiral to the point he can't stop? Who needs friends when you can entertain yourself?

Content Notice: Sex, references to suicidal ideation/attempt, loss of control, Inappropriate humor. Also, implied Odazai and potential Dazango.

You can read it here or on the Ao3. 

Clack. Scuff. Clack.

The sound of my shoes against the pavement resounds in my ears tonight. My shadow stretching before me grows longer with every step, taunting me to chase it, to catch it before it, too, slips from my grasp.

I try to ignore the taunt, pushing my glasses further up the bridge of my nose and focusing instead on the end of my journey. The hotel. Eighteen stories of concrete walls, the promise of anonymity and seclusion within.

Who needs friends anyway? I've gotten by just fine without them for most of my life; if Dazai and Odasaku feel the need to cozy up together at the bar and forget I'm present, then who am I to interrupt? I'd excused myself to use the restroom and left through the back door. They probably haven't even noticed my absence.

I furrow my brows as the wind picks up, the sea-breeze chilling my face with a layer of salt, fogging my glasses. My temples throb, a tension headache building.

Clack. Scuff. Clack.

I continue walking, the buzzing of the streetlamps accompanying my shoes in a pathetic rhythm. It's odd, the lack of people tonight. Normally the nightlife in this district borders on bawdy, but tonight – the streets are vacant, the shops all closed, windows dark.  

My shadow jumps as I pass the park, playing hide and seek with itself amongst the diagonal pattern made by the trees. Nearly there. The hotel looms ahead, dark but for a scattered few lit windows.

I welcome the burst of warm air that greets me as I stride through the lobby doors. I flash my ID at the doorman and head for the elevator, rubbing absently at the nape of my neck. I need to do something about this tension, something I haven't indulged in for far too long. The idea flashes across my mind like a sign from heaven, making my pulse race, my palms itch.

The elevator dings as it reaches my floor, the doors taking far too long to open. I have to force myself not to break into a run in my rush to reach my room. My hand trembles as I put the key into the lock, my heart thudding in my ears. Is this really a good idea? I have had several shots of whiskey already. I may not be thinking clearly enough to … NO! I don't care! I deserve this. Attention. Affection. Self-care. I need it. I bite my lip as I open the door and step into my sanctuary.

I loosen my tie, unbuttoning my jacket as I cross the room to draw the drapes over the windows. That finished, I run through my nightly routine of checking the room for bugs and signs of intrusion, shrugging out of my clothes as I go, leaving them where they fall.

It's been too long. My hands grip the tiled bathroom counter, my back bent, head bowed as I glare at the large wall mirror, my forehead creased. My gift – I used to rely on it all the time – decadence enabled me to rise above all others, to need nobody. It made me superior. In this moment I can't recall why I had sworn off using it, why I had called it a curse.

I bite my lip, hesitating, my eyes roving over my own reflection. His pale skin, nearly always hidden beneath a brown three-piece suit, now completely revealed. His lips are plump and rosy, the faint traces of teeth marks marring the lower one. They stretch into a smirk, an invitation. I'd been ready to go for it the moment I'd stepped off the elevator, but now, facing him – my conscience prickles, the throbbing at my temples intensifying.  

"Wh-hy?" I ask aloud, my voice cracking. "I haven't needed you for more than two years. I buried you." My arms tremble, elbows locking to keep them from giving out. My nerves feel raw under the eyes of my reflection, his dilated pupils drinking in every inch of my exposed body with the magnetism of a black hole.

He doesn't answer out loud, can't … yet.

He arches an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. I know what he's thinking. After all, he is me. If you'd like me to answer, you know what you have to do.

My eyes burn as I close them, briefly shutting him out. It's hard to think clearly under his gaze, harder still with the pounding in my temples. In my mind's eye, I return to the bar, to my lonely perch on a barstool, separated from Dazai and Odasaku by the service counter. They share a laugh, a joke perhaps that I hadn't caught, their shoulders brushing, Dazai's hand clutching Odasaku's wrist to steady himself. I sigh, swigging the last of my drink and swallowing the bitter taste with a grimace.

I open my eyes again, meeting his, my focus sharpening as the lingering taste in my mouth grows bitter once more. Right. What are friends really? What guarantee do they deliver? Friends grow together and then apart, some faster than others, at least, according to my observations. I hadn't asked to be friends with them in the first place. I was bullied into it. Sure, I enjoyed the time I had with them more than any other period of my life, but I always knew it would come to end. It was inevitable. They never knew who I really am and, were they to find out, they wouldn't hesitate to kill me. Dazai especially.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry, lips parched. I take in my reflection. My eyes are round and soft, sad. This, too, was always inevitable. I can't count on others to fill the emptiness inside me. I can only rely on myself.

"Discourse on Decadence," I whisper, reaching up, touching my fingertips to his, meeting them in a coarse press of dry skin against skin, our palms lining up, pressing flat together and then, our fingers linking, curling, joining in a shared fist. Heat floods my body, the familiar thrill of pleasure, of promised satiation. I pull, breathing out, stepping back to make room as he climbs out of the mirror as if from a veil of mercury and then we stand face to face, my peripheral vision catching our twin profiles in the mirror.

"Ango." He speaks first, his voice soft and deep, washing over me like warm puff of air, sending sparks of anticipation up and down my arms, canvassing my chest. I simply take him in, his presence so familiar and yet, altered. The hollow space inside my soul aches, yearning for him to fill it up, a hole tailor-made to his shape. "How I've missed you."

I fall into his arms without a second thought, his warmth further igniting mine, making me feverish. I don't care. I haven't been cherished for so long, haven't felt whole and complete. I need this – him – like air, like water. He can do anything to me and I'll let him. I close my eyes, nuzzling his neck and lose myself in the sensation of our skin brushing together, my pulse rushing, my mouth panting, desperate to join as one.

Our lips meet and catch, tongues tracing familiar patterns, and then we trade kisses, drinking them in with so much need, so much frenzy, I forget to breathe. Surrendering myself to his arms, his guidance, giving myself completely over to the only person I can trust makes my heart swell with the thick nostalgia of coming home. I lose myself, my sense of time, my everything without complaint so long as he doesn't leave me. He carries me to the bed and sets about fulfilling my deepest, most hidden desires. Nothing is false between us. How could it be? He is me.

XxxX

Self-Indulgence. Decadence. It isn't so much a gift as a curse; I recall these facts now. I can give myself anything, can accomplish any goal so long as it's something I truly want. The downside to this ability took me a long time to realize and by the time I had, it was too late for me. If your every desire can be had, every goal you set can be achieved all on your own, goals cease to carry weight, pleasures become boring, dull, and the need to connect with others, to develop relationships is not necessary. I began self-sabotaging my efforts, finding half-way through a mission that would have secured me a position of great power that I no longer wanted it. I no longer cared.

I got picked up by the government, drafted into the Special Abilities Division, and then seduced into becoming a double agent by Ougai Mori. He was always the mastermind behind most of the cases I catalogued during my undercover stint as an accountant. When you get to the point of complete apathy, hollowed out inside and dreaming of a day when you may once again have something to live for, following a master with a clear vision and a tight grip on control is just what happens.

I hate myself as much as I love myself. I hadn't realized that I still had the capacity for such strong emotions as love and hate until Dazai singled me out. He and Odasaku. And now they have outgrown our friendship, found a higher plane together and left me high and dry. I can't hate them for it; I already saw it coming.

It was only ever a matter of time before this whole experiment went bust. I had ceased relying on my ability in order to save myself, to find a reason to live, to do something worthwhile and also to protect myself from exploitation. It's preferable that my masters remain ignorant of my gift. I truly believe the work I do is, in the grander scheme, worthwhile. So long as the Mafia gains legal status, the citizens of Yokohama will continue to live peaceful and happy lives. Law and order. Peace. Happiness. I long to understand these concepts, to realize them in my own life. I don't know if that will ever be possible, but I still hope.

Fingers press my pleasure spot, scattering my thoughts like chaff. I exhale, moaning, giving in once more to my basest desires. I've lost track of the time, the date, how long ago I ate or drank. I know myself, he knows me, knows what I need and how and when to give it to me. After two years of abstinence, a passionate reunion is definitely not unwelcome.

"Ango," he grunts, his breath hot against my cheek, his touch reaching deeper, higher inside me than he ever has before. I feel like I'm floating, hovering halfway between wake and sleep, the land of dreams and fulfilled desire. My eyes roll back in my head, I'm losing my ability to stay present, passing out … "No you don't. Look at me."

He grabs my chin, forcing it down, his eyes dark as tunnels swimming as I try to bring him into focus. My vision splits into three, blending into two and then, as he stops pumping into me, I'm able to focus on his face.

"It's too much." I sound like I'm whining, but even I can hear the yearning for even more in my own ears. I never want to stop, never want to be alone again. I can see him read my thoughts as he grins at me, his bangs plastered to his forehead, sweat dripping from the tips. "My throat is dry," I clarify. "I need a drin–" I swallow my words as he closes his mouth on top of mine, chasing my complaints down with his tongue. I don't mind. I wrap my arms around his back, holding on for dear life as his hips begin pumping into me again. Drunk on his taste, his kisses, his presence enveloping me, I find my climax as he steals my breath, my vision going white. It stays white as I linger in the moment, high as a kite, floating on a cloud, without a care if I ever come back down.

XxxX

So empty, so high, so light … my brain buzzes as I return to the present, my eyes lolling unfixed in their sockets. I force myself to focus, too see out from my dazed state, but it's as hit or miss as getting power through a frayed wire.

My body rocks, my head rolling on the mattress, occasionally bumping up against the headboard. How long have I been out? How long has he been at it? How much more can either of us take? My stomach clenches, a gnawing rumble breaking the silence. He chuckles.

I try to wet my lips, but even my tongue is dry. My throat feels like a desert, wasted and parched. My eyes are dry. It's more comfortable to keep them closed, but even then, my eyelids feel like they're made of sandpaper.

This … my ability … It's gone too far; it's too much. I realize with horror, holding fast to the thought: I have lost control. I feel nothing. My physical self is somewhere apart from where my mind is at. Where do I find hope? What is hope? Do I still have that? I feel so blank. Empty.

"Da-zai …" The name sounds in my ears, a croak. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who called it. And it makes sense right now, in this moment, that the one man who inspired emotions in me, a man of a similar emptiness, would be my last hope. "I want … I want … Dazai."

The bed creaks as he rises above me. I can't feel my legs. The only sensations I hold seem centered in my chest and my head. I open my eyes as his breath hits my cheeks. My heart clenches as if lodging itself in my throat. His features shift, changing, becoming more like Dazai.

"No!" I gasp. "Not like that. Not you – not me in a Dazai mask. I want the real person. Dazai."

His face returns to normal. The heart-shape, bland features I see every day hover over me as if I was peering into a mirror. His expression doesn't hold the horror I feel at all. His eyes look at me half-lidded, bored.

"Ah yes. But … this goes both ways, you know. You invited me to come inside, to become one with you and that is what I want."

Wait. What? My mind reels. I'm losing the plot.

"I cannot do what you do not want, Ango," he says, sounding so much like he's reciting a carefully prepared criticism. "And, likewise, you know that you can trust me because I am you."

My vision dims again, his face becoming a blur of color until I close my eyes to stave off the discomfort. "Still. Call him. I want Dazai, not this. Please …" Even without the dizzying color blur, I'm losing my fight to stay aware. "I want … Dazai … want you … come …"

I'm slipping in and out of consciousness, unable to fight it, unwilling to try.

XxxX

"Back again, Ango?"

His voice sounds far off, but it gives me an anchor point to draw myself back into awareness. My eyes open as slits. It takes more energy than I have to blink.

"Good. You're nearly ready. We will be one."

My heart stutters, picking up and knocking against my ribs and then skipping a couple of beats. I don't know what he's talking about. It's impossible. We've always been able to read each other. We have no secrets. "I … I don't understand…" My throat feels like it's been scraped raw, just pushing enough air through it to make my voice heard.

"You wouldn't," he says dryly. "You think you can seduce me, us; use us; thrive off the power we make together and then just … one day … stop? That there wouldn't be any consequences?"

My mind races, attempting to catch up to him, to get a glimpse, a thread of what he's telling me. "I thirst," I croak. "Can't think. Need help. Feels like … dying."

He talks over my complaints as if he didn't catch them.

"It's time to break down all the boundaries between us. You can't put us away any more, Ango. Can't refuse to answer us, to ignore our presence, your true nature. We will no longer be suppressed."

"How?" I ask, my voice barely audible, like wind hitting a blade of grass.

"That empty space you always bemoan – it's grown. I've been growing it more. Going to hollow you out, break your reins, your last hesitation and then, I will climb inside. We will reside together in one body and be one always. We will never be without our ability and we will rise above the rest of the riff-raff and show them what true mastery is."

I form my words with my lips, forcing the last of my strength into making them heard. "I'd rather die."

He grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in bruisingly. "This is the truth? Why you call out for Dazai, for that suicidal freak? You choose death over us?"

"Y-es," I gasp. My eyes burning, my lips going numb, the world going dark.

XxxX

"Well that wasn't very nice, but I do admit it had that touch of poetry about it."

My lips are cold, freezing, but it doesn't matter because my throat is wet again, cool trickles of water sluicing over the parched membranes. I'm so relieved, I don't even wonder who that voice belonged to or what it said.

I move my lips, finding a rough bit of something gummy, gluey, pressed against my mouth. The water source. I latch onto it and suck, drinking it as much as I can, though it's slow-going. Ice? I think it must be ice. That would explain the cold, but the weird texture … It must be wrapped in some sort of … fabric? I'm not sure. It's slimy.

Tentatively, I open my eyes, blinking, disoriented. And then things start to make sense as I take in the scene. Dazai, crouching over me, straddling my thighs and pinning me in place while he feeds me melting ice with his … Gross. I turn my face away from the ice pack, finally making sense of the odd taste. "Dazai, stop." Gauze. I turn back to meet his eyes after he's moved the bundle away from my face. He looks like he's trying to hide his amusement. "Seriously? You had me sucking on ice through your damn bandages?"

The pounding in my temples is back again. I'm so tired, Dazai's stupid smirk souring my mood further. "Get off! I can't feel my legs with your bony ass sitting on them."

He smiles, his left eyebrow lifting high on his forehead, his right eye and upper face are still hidden with bandages. "Yes! Good morning to you too, Ango! Did you sleep well?"

My brain feels like mush. I hate mornings. I wrinkle my forehead, confused. What did I do last night? What did I drink? I dare not voice those questions.

"Why are you here?" I ask him, sighing and rubbing absently at my forehead.

He hands me my glasses as the scent of coffee suddenly wafts across my nose, my brain screaming for it. God. Coffee. Yes. Caffeine. I need wake-up juice to give me a boost and then I might be able to deal with Dazai this early in the morning.

I slide my glasses into place and start to push myself up, but Dazai holds me down with his hand on my chest, still pinning my legs between his thighs. "Dazai?" I repeat, unamused.

"Hmm?"

"This is not a joke."

"No. You're right. It isn't."

"Let me get up and grab a cup of coffee then? I'll gladly sit still and listen to whatever you have to say after that."

His forehead creases, worry lines bunching up, his lips drawing down into a frown.

"Dazai. I will kill for a cup of coffee … literally."

He nods again, his expression seeming to grow more sad than worried. What the hell is going on right now?

"And your body is currently between me and the coffee pot," I lower my voice to emphasize the threat. And then it hits me as Dazai's lips twitch into a playful smirk. I massage the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes against the tension. "Right. And it's pointless for me to threaten to kill somebody who longs to die. Is that it?"

I pause, waiting for his playful comeback and encountering only silence. I look up at him, locking gazes with the most serious face I've ever seen Dazai wear.

"You tell me, Ango. Is that it?"

I scoff, an uncomfortable inkling making the back of my neck prickle. I did something stupid. I showed him something too close to home. I blanch, feeling the blood draining from my face.

"Whoa, whoa!" he says, holding onto my shoulders to keep me steady and then fluffing my pillows behind my head. "I'm not judging, just trying to jog your memory. I gotta tell you that I didn't see that coming at all. Like, honestly. I'm impressed."

I can only gape at him. What the hell did I do?

"I've attempted to kill myself dozens of different ways, but … suicide by fucking yourself to death is uh... creative, to say the least."

I cannot believe he just said that. I cannot believe … and then snippets of memories flash across my mind. Dazai and Odasaku's closeness, my quick departure from the bar, the walk home, the mirror … "Oh my god. Why does it have to be you? Why do I have to have this conversation with you?" I'm so mortified, I wish I could disappear into my mattress and just be gone.

His hand closes around my wrist, surprisingly gentle.

"Because, Ango, you called me."

The End