#its 1:03 now

[bubblingcolaa]

Long wordy post again oh no (I don't have a sketchbook, okay)

So basically this is just to uh.. explain how I view Roger? A lot of people will probably disagree with me and like.. I get it. It's a strech from an actual book representation and such. A lot of my ideas are, and I need to re read the book so I get a better understanding. (Also sorry for bad gramrr and spelling errors and such. It's late and I spent like an hour on Duolingo so my Brian is thinking more in foreign languagess rather than English)

Anywho, my thought was like.. Roger doesn't nessicarly need to be cold and such. Yes he's described as a shady kid whom know body notices, but like, that doesn't mean that he's nessicarly emo. Y'know? I personally think that the reason why Roger is a sociopath borderline psychopath is because that's just his brain. Like it's that occasion where that part of the brain that feels sympathy and empathy didn't develop correctly for Roger, and that's why he is the way he is. Like, he knows what he does is bad and all, and he can slightly control it. But, overall, he just doesn't care. But, this doesn't neeissicarlky exclude the fact that he can be kind of caring, right? Perhaps he has a strange way of showing it, but there's a few people I hiss life that be does care for. Find torrlible. Like maybe his way of showing that he wants to befriend someone is just giving them a rock or writing a detail essay on like.. the physiological side effects of cannibalism or something. Whatever Roger would do. And also, keeping the fact that he's basically the quiet kid an d doesn't talk to anybody. He like.. only knows people if their a friend of Jack's or something.

So, that's all I'm saying. I know it's far out from the book and literally nothing like this is proven in it, but then again, the book is about the harm of mass thinking and all, I don't think William golding was too concerned about fully developing a little furtive boy whose basically a side character and only says like seven sentences in the whole entire book. (Directly, there's a few that is emplied)

Anywho, that's all I have ://

[thechildbythesea]

TMNT Grind

so because of a friend, i am back on my tmnt sht lol and i decided to start with the best, 2003, and watching the first episode, i am reminded why i love this show so freaking much

raph called leo "teachers pet"

leo retorted with "ninja drop out"

AND THESE TWO IDIOTS ARE LIKE "ooooo" LIKE TEENAGE GIRLS DURING A CAT FIGHT XD i love my precious idiots so much

[killjoy-prince]

Birthmas manga and merch haul

[astroboyanalysis]

they should just give me infinite free time to reread all of the manga and rewatch all of the 80s and 03 animes and blog about them

[themindelectricdemo4]

IF I NEED TO PROVE TO ANYONE TYPING IN CAPS IS MY PREFERENCE FOR SOME REASON I HAVE SEVERAL REASONS.

IT REFLECTS MY NONHUMAN IDENTITY. ROBOTIC-ESQUE, ALIEN-ESQUE, GENERALLY STRANGE & UNUSUAL, SOMETHING NOT HUMAN

ITS A TEXTUAL WAY TO RECREATE MY FLAT AFFECT. I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN MY TEXTS ARE READ WITH TONE SO ELIMINATING CAPITALIZATION & THE LACK THEREOF REMOVES AN ELEMENT OF HAVING TO DEAL WITH INTERPRETATIONS OF TONE.

IT REFLECTS MY OUTWARD IDENTITY. I LIKE TO DRESS COLORFUL ON BLACK, "SCENECORE" TYPE OUTFITS, SCENECORE CULTURE INVOLVES A LOT OF MANGLING OF TEXT & THIS IS A WAY TO DO THAT WITHOUT MAKING IT TOTALLY UNREADABLE. 1 W0N7 M4K3 4NY0N3 R34D 7H15 5H17 & IT GOES AGAINST MY PUSH FOR ACCESSIBILITY

SPEAKING OF ACCESSIBILITY CAPITAL LETTERS ARE EASIER FOR ME TO READ. THEY ARE BIGGER. YEAH. IM 1,021 YEARS OLD THESE EYES DON'T WORK LIKE THEY USED TO

[hangup119]

when pigs fly ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

you will only admit that you actually like kim leehan when pigs start to fly. for now, though, everyone else will just have to suffer the push-and-pull that happens whenever the two of you are near each other's vicinity.

or: your younger brother invites you to join his minecraft server, and chaos ensues.

pairing. gamer!kim leehan + fem!reader

genres + warnings. non-idol au, streamer au, gamer au, rivals to lovers(?), brother’s best friend(?) | profanity, sexual jokes, violent jokes, mentions of violence (only in game!!!! dw), not rly r2l more like u-piss-me-off-but-u-dgaf2lovers HAHA i do not know what i am doing..., y/n is hard to get!!! or is she... 😈

status. on-going | taglist. open | networks. @onedoornet

author’s note. this is completely inspired from the awesome @lionhanie’s bnd playing mc headcanons 🫡 plz show them some support bc this smau wouldn’t be here today if not for it 😿 ANYWAYS FIRST BND WORK LESGOO

reblogs appreciated!

main story ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

crossover

profiles one | two

01 #needthat

02 woonagi OUT 🔥

03 female acquired 🙏😎

04 day 1

05 𝓲’𝓶 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶

06 your worst nightmare

07 he’s right behind me isn’t he

08 pretty privilege at its finest

09 ho is u falala ?

10 a christmas miracle

11 burn at the stake

12 negative 1 dollar

13 the birth of y/nhan

14 ur not even that hot 😂

15 this truly was a Friendship is magic

. . . & more to come!

story by hangup119. do not steal.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Amazon illegally interferes with an historic UK warehouse election

I'm in to TARTU, ESTONIA! Overcoming the Enshittocene (Monday, May 8, 6PM, Prima Vista Literary Festival keynote, University of Tartu Library, Struwe 1). AI, copyright and creative workers' labor rights (May 10, 8AM: Science Fiction Research Association talk, Institute of Foreign Languages and Cultures building, Lossi 3, lobby). A talk for hackers on seizing the means of computation (May 10, 3PM, University of Tartu Delta Centre, Narva 18, room 1037).

Amazon is very good at everything it does, including being very bad at the things it doesn't want to do. Take signing up for Prime: nothing could be simpler. The company has built a greased slide from Prime-curiosity to Prime-confirmed that is the envy of every UX designer.

But unsubscribing from Prime? That's a fucking nightmare. Somehow the company that can easily figure out how to sign up for a service is totally baffled when it comes to making it just as easy to leave. Now, there's two possibilities here: either Amazon's UX competence is a kind of erratic freak tide that sweeps in at unpredictable intervals and hits these unbelievable high-water marks, or the company just doesn't want to let you leave.

To investigate this question, let's consider a parallel: Black Flag's Roach Motel. This is an icon of American design, a little brown cardboard box that is saturated in irresistibly delicious (to cockroaches, at least) pheromones. These powerful scents make it admirably easy for all the roaches in your home to locate your Roach Motel and enter it.

But the interior of the Roach Motel is also coated in a sticky glue. Once roaches enter the motel, their legs and bodies brush up against this glue and become hopeless mired in it. A roach can't leave – not without tearing off its own legs.

It's possible that Black Flag made a mistake here. Maybe they wanted to make it just as easy for a roach to leave as it is to enter. If that seems improbable to you, well, you're right. We don't even have to speculate, we can just refer to Black Flag's slogan for Roach Motel: "Roaches check in, but they don't check out."

It's intentional, and we know that because they told us so.

Back to Amazon and Prime. Was it some oversight that cause the company make it so marvelously painless to sign up for Prime, but such a titanic pain in the ass to leave? Again, no speculation is required, because Amazon's executives exchanged a mountain of internal memos in which this is identified as a deliberate strategy, by which they deliberately chose to trick people into signing up for Prime and then hid the means of leaving Prime. Prime is a Roach Motel: users check in, but they don't check out:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

When it benefits Amazon, they are obsessive – "relentless" (Bezos's original for the company) – about user friendliness. They value ease of use so highly that they even patented "one click checkout" – the incredibly obvious idea that a company that stores your shipping address and credit card could let you buy something with a single click:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1-Click#Patent

But when it benefits Amazon to place obstacles in our way, they are even more relentless in inventing new forms of fuckery, spiteful little landmines they strew in our path. Just look at how Amazon deals with unionization efforts in its warehouses.

Amazon's relentless union-busting spans a wide diversity of tactics. On the one hand, they cook up media narratives to smear organizers, invoking racist dog-whistles to discredit workers who want a better deal:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2020/apr/02/amazon-chris-smalls-smart-articulate-leaked-memo

On the other hand, they collude with federal agencies to make workers afraid that their secret ballots will be visible to their bosses, exposing them to retaliation:

https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/amazon-violated-labor-law-alabama-union-election-labor-official-finds-rcna1582

They hold Cultural Revolution-style forced indoctrination meetings where they illegally threaten workers with punishment for voting in favor of their union:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/31/business/economy/amazon-union-staten-island-nlrb.html

And they fire Amazon tech workers who express solidarity with warehouse workers:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/amazon-fires-tech-employees-workers-criticism-warehouse-climate-policies/

But all this is high-touch, labor-intensive fuckery. Amazon, as we know, loves automation, and so it automates much of its union-busting: for example, it created an employee chat app that refused to deliver any message containing words like "fairness" or "grievance":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/05/doubleplusrelentless/#quackspeak

Amazon also invents implausible corporate fictions that allow it to terminate entire sections of its workforce for trying to unionize, by maintaining the tormented pretense that these workers, who wear Amazon uniforms, drive Amazon trucks, deliver Amazon packages, and are tracked by Amazon down to the movements of their eyeballs, are, in fact, not Amazon employees:

https://www.wired.com/story/his-drivers-unionized-then-amazon-tried-to-terminate-his-contract/

These workers have plenty of cause to want to unionize. Amazon warehouses are sources of grueling torment. Take "megacycling," a ten-hour shift that runs from 1:20AM to 11:50AM that workers are plunged into without warning or the right to refuse. This isn't just a night shift – it's a night shift that makes it impossible to care for your children or maintain any kind of normal life.

Then there's Jeff Bezos's war on his workers' kidneys. Amazon warehouse workers and drivers notoriously have to pee in bottles, because they are monitored by algorithms that dock their pay for taking bathroom breaks. The road to Amazon's warehouse in Coventry, England is littered with sealed bottles of driver piss, defenestrated by drivers before they reach the depot inspection site.

There's so much piss on the side of the Coventry road that the prankster Oobah Butler was able to collect it, decant it into bottles, and market it on Amazon as an energy beverage called "Bitter Lemon Release Energy," where it briefly became Amazon's bestselling energy drink:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/20/release-energy/#the-bitterest-lemon

(Butler promises that he didn't actually ship any bottled piss to people who weren't in on the gag – but let's just pause here and note how weird it is that a guy who hates our kidneys as much as Jeff Bezos built and flies a penis-shaped rocket.)

Butler also secretly joined the surge of 1,000 workers that Amazon hired for the Coventry warehouse in advance of a union vote, with the hope of diluting the yes side of that vote and forestall the union. Amazon displayed more of its famously selective competence here, spotting Butler and firing him in short order, while totally failing to notice that he was marketing bottles of driver piss as a bitter lemon drink on Amazon's retail platform.

After a long fight, Amazon's Coventry workers are finally getting their union vote, thanks to the GMB union's hard fought battle at the Central Arbitration Committee:

https://www.foxglove.org.uk/2024/04/26/amazon-warehouse-workers-in-coventry-will-vote-on-trade-union-recognition/

And right on schedule, Amazon has once again discovered its incredible facility for ease-of-use. The company has blanketed its shop floor with radioactively illegal "one click to quit the union" QR codes. When a worker aims their phones at the code and clicks the link, the system auto-generates a letter resigning the worker from their union.

As noted, this is totally illegal. English law bans employers from "making an offer to an employee for the sole or main purpose of inducing workers not to be members of an independent trade union, take part in its activities, or make use of its services."

Now, legal or not, this may strike you as a benign intervention on Amazon's part. Why shouldn't it be easy for workers to choose how they are represented in their workplaces? But the one-click system is only half of Amazon's illegal union-busting: the other half is delivered by its managers, who have cornered workers on the shop floor and ordered them to quit their union, threatening them with workplace retaliation if they don't.

This is in addition to more forced "captive audience" meetings where workers are bombarded with lies about what life in an union shop is like.

Again, the contrast couldn't be more stark. If you want to quit a union, Amazon makes this as easy as joining Prime. But if you want to join a union, Amazon makes that even harder than quitting Prime. Amazon has the same attitude to its workers and its customers: they see us all as a resource to be extracted, and have no qualms about tricking or even intimidating us into doing what's best for Amazon, at the expense of our own interests.

The campaigning law-firm Foxglove is representing five of Amazon's Coventry workers. They're doing the lord's work:

https://www.foxglove.org.uk/2024/05/02/legal-challenge-to-amazon-uks-new-one-click-to-quit-the-union-tool/

All this highlights the increasing divergence between the UK and the US when it comes to labor rights. Under the Biden Administration, @NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo has promulgated a rule that grants a union automatic recognition if the boss does anything to interfere with a union election:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

In other words, if Amazon tries these tactics in the USA now, their union will be immediately recognized. Abruzzo has installed an ultra-sensitive tilt-sensor in America's union elections, and if Bezos or his class allies so much as sneeze in the direction of their workers' democratic rights, they automatically lose.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/06/one-click-to-quit-the-union/#foxglove

Image: Isabela.Zanella (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ballot-box-2.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[losergames]

Chop Shop is strictly 18+ for language, themes, and potential explicit content. 

🔗 - Game Intro | Bug Report | Ko-Fi

Episode Four is now available! (+ 59,000) - PLAY HERE

Debrief after your meeting with Inez.

Steal... or don't!

Yvonne has a secret.

2 more achievements.

And more!

This update comes with a patch (Version 1.2.3) For this update you will need to start a NEW SAVE. An updated inventory macro has been implemented and is not compatible with old saves. I really wish you didn't have to but it's what's best for the game and its longevity!

Patch notes + author notes are under the cut. If preferred, you can access them in game in the start menu.

STORY

PROLOGUE:

General edits and fixes.

More vague, as to not elicit any emotional connection to the crew for continuity.

EPISODE 01:

Added a new set of personality building choices when meeting KJ, Jonno, Natasha and Aiden at the bar.

EPISODE 02:

Tweaked the conversation with Dilani in the closing scene to reflect more on the situation. Added some more fearful dialogue and flavour text.

Other general edits and fixes.

EPISODE 03:

Fixed gaps and spacing issues.

Minor phrasing and sentence structure changes.

Grammar and typo fixes.

UI + TECHNICAL

SETTINGS:

Changing the font size now only applies to the game text in the passages.

Added descriptions to the toggleable settings.

UI:

The background now changes colour dependent on what theme you are using, instead of the default black.

INVENTORY:

The inventory macro has been updated! Previously V2, now V3 of the ChapelR Simple Inventory Macro.

CREATE A SAVE

Modified the randomise PC choice, setting pronouns in 'sets' instead of randomising each pronoun separately.

GAMEPLAY MODE

Players can now choose a gameplay mode when starting a new save: Regular or Challenge.

Challenge mode disables the back button, disallowing players to return to the previous passage. Players cannot redo dice rolls or try out different choices for desired outcomes.

Challenge mode is not available in Create A Save. All CAS made saves default to regular mode.

AN: hello hello! it has been a while -- episode 04 is finally here!

this ep was a long one to get through but we finally made it out of the fog. i found that i wrote a bunch of stuff that just... didn't fit? but is hopefully going to be used later down the line, so it's cool i've got shells of scenes for later.

i can't find any game breaking bugs myself and my amazing beta testers have scanned through as many possible variants as they can! of course, if there is anything funky, broken, or maybe not triggering correctly, please submit a bug report!

again i will say that you will need to start a NEW SAVE for this update. unfortunately the updated inventory macro is not compatible with previous saves. i really didn't want this to be a thing when updating chop shop but it is unfortunately just the way for this update - apologies!! i know it's super annoying when games do this but chop shop is still a wip so there will always be some teething problems along the way.

as i look through my notes, we have now completed act 1 of my outline (AAAAHH) so soooo exciting. finally pc can stop wringing their hands about being bad and actually //start// being bad.

if you've made it this far -- hello and thank you! i'm so happy we're at the point where PC is making some real decisions, taking another step into their life of crime.

happy update day and happy reading!! thank you so much for the continued support and patience!!! i hope you enjoy the new episode! - becky :-) <3

[luvkuvi]

What's so good about him?!

Scaramouche X reader ☆ Smau

synopsis — Your ex boyfriend kuni is in a band called 5wirl and they're pretty well known considering him and his bandmates are still in college but you still hated his guts on how he ended things with you back then in highschool the day before graduation. So whats the best course of action in this situation? make a hate account of him of course. 

Genre — SMAU, Gn! reader, 5wirl au, modern college au, ex to lovers, enemies to lovers-ish(its more of the reader disliking scara) slowburn,fluff,crack,angst, cyber bullying, lots of kys + kms jokes and just typical stan twitter behavior. pictures used for the reader isnt meant to represent the reader!! its more of using the pose !!

💌 — first smau!! might be ooc in some and may be cringe due to most of the chapters early on is just basically daily stan twitter but hope you enjoy!! slow and inconsistent updates. Also timestamps dont matter unless stated otherwise

Status — started: 06/15/23 (taglist open)

Chapters:

babygirls + childe ☆ 5wirl

Teaser !

Act one ☆

01 – chill out

02 – dick riders

03 – unfold

04 – apologies

05 – better than him

06 – diversion

07 – diversion successful

08 – why now

09 – no

10 – please

11 – weird

12 – time

Act two ★

13 – curiosity

14 – no wonder

15 – catching up ☆

16 – stupid ☆

17 – coward

18 – selfish

19 – looking at you

20 – all too well

21 – change of mind

22 – interview

23 – quitting

24 – best friends

25 – suspicious

26 – surprise

27 – connecting the dots

28 – ignorance is bliss

Act three ☆

29 – trending

30 – overeacting

31 – well shit

32 – what

33 – hoes mad

34 – invisible string

35 – reunion

36 – oopsie

36.5 – flashback

37 – final show

.

.

Bonus ★

bonus – Story of us

Taglist!(closed): @sakiimeo @sagegreenthinks @evsolostheuniverse @ozzierenato @mechanicalbeat1 @bananasquash @admiringfish @misomiis @wolfe02 @msameikanevaeh @yukiipc @magica-ren @r0ttenhearts @vvyeislazzy @yuumaofc @klanxii @darthvada @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @yoyo-yui @deluluangel @katsumikumo @thenightsflower @lazy-sanns @sukunasrealgf @4thnocturne @danhenglovebot @sketcheeee @fumichannorakuen @featuredtofu @mine-lu @karma-gisa @amyena @onmywaytoteyvat @fujimoribaby @eliqusgenma @buubbbbly @reekapeeka @elernity @323jelly @kunikissr @miko1ly @feverish-dove @zuunotsane @pomeiu @yxcade @kascar-chronicle @supercoolusernameomg @otomegame-oneshots @cookieofwishes @swivy123(bold usernames means i couldn't tag you :<) 1/2

[m3t4l-cru5h3r]

LIST OF FUNDRAISERS TO DONATE TO + RECIEVE ART!

Hi, everyone!

Firstly, I deeply apologize to all the people in my inbox wishing for me to answer their asks. I empathize with the hardships you are all facing and have my deepest condolences.

Formatting each ask individually was getting overwhelming, so I have decided to compile all of them into a convenient list.

As usual, remember to donate, share, and boost as much as you can! Every little bit helps! Thank you.

No matter your currency, you will be able to donate:

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Pink text indicates a fundraiser is close to its goal.

(Last updated 1/7/25)

BONUS: For every $10 donation, I'll draw you a headshot in my experimental lineless style (examples above)! These are exclusive to GoFundMe donations, and cannot be recieved as a normal commission.

Message me on Tumblr, Discord (doodlinacornz), or email (doodleandacorn@gmail.com) with your donation receipt to verify.

I will draw anything from animals to people to mechs. Though complicated designs will be simplified.

Minimum of 2 subjects per piece. Guidelines on what I will draw is the same as my standard commission terms.

I will need a screenshot of your receipt, alongside the fundraiser you have donated to. Example of receipt (it will be sent by email):

Thank you! Again, please consider donating or at least sharing/boosting this post! Every little bit counts to these people's survivals!

[puckstories]

Early Morning | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, established relationship, not sure what else only edited once.

Summary; The morning after the Winnipeg loss. Kinda cringe, kinda domestic.

Word Count; 2.5k

Author’s note; He looked so defeated in postgame media 😭 someone give him a big hug!! There isn’t really a premise to this fic, it’s just fluffy and I need that, personally. Inbox is open for requests, and any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated. Love you all. -Honey

Upon waking, the first thing you notice is the unfamiliar weight beside you. Still tangled in a fog of sleep, you roll over, expecting to find the usual emptiness. Instead, your arm brushes against something solid and warm—a hard lump beneath the covers. Blinking against the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains, you squint your eyes and focus.

Quinn is there. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, mouth slightly parted, emitting soft snores with every exhale. His chest, bare, rises and falls in a steady rhythm. A small, dried patch of drool sits at the corner of his mouth, and despite his tousled brown hair, you can still make out the faint red imprint on his forehead from his helmet—the telltale sign of his previous game. The messy sheets barely cover his lower half, leaving most of the covers bunched up beneath him, as though he’d fought for dominance over the bed in his sleep.

You sigh softly, rolling back onto your side, rubbing the heels of your palms against your eyes to wipe away the last remnants of sleep. The night before blurs in your memory—work had been exhausting, and by the time you’d collapsed into bed, you’d barely had the energy to think, let alone stay awake long enough to wait for Quinn to call. Last you heard, he was still in Winnipeg for the last away game of the roadtrip. And yet, here he is now, stretched out beside you, having returned home sometime in the middle of the night. You hadn't even heard the jangle of his keys in the door, much less felt the weight of him slipping into bed.

As you lie there, your eyes trace the outline of his body, the soft curve of his back, the way the morning light plays against his skin. You and Quinn had been dating for a little over two months now, and in all that time, he'd never once shown up in the middle of the night unannounced, not even after a home game—let alone after getting off a late flight from an away game. It was unlike him, the type who usually kept to his routines, always texting you first to make sure it was okay to come by. A spontaneous visit, especially after a road trip, was out of character, and it made your mind race with curiosity.

Reaching over to the bedside table, you fumble for your phone, its cold surface a sharp contrast to the warm cocoon of blankets. The screen blinks to life, and your heart skips a beat when you notice the unread message from Quinn. Swiping it open, you squint at the time stamp—12:03 AM, well after you’d slipped into unconsciousness.

I tried calling you but you must be asleep.

You feel a twinge of guilt as you scan the message. He had tried to message you, but you’d been out cold, blissfully unaware of both his texts and the game itself. A sigh escapes your lips. You'd barely made it through dinner, let alone the start of the game. Work had drained you, the kind of exhaustion that made staying awake for anything else a battle you couldn’t win.

Now, scrolling through your notifications, you can’t help but wince when you see the final score. The Canucks had lost, and badly—a brutal 6-1 blowout in Winnipeg. Your chest tightens, imagining how deflated Quinn must’ve felt stepping off that plane, dragging his gear behind him, shoulders slumped in defeat. The last thing he’d need after a night like that was silence from you, but that’s exactly what he got.

You drop your phone back on the nightstand, letting it land with a dull thud, before running a hand through your hair. You can picture it now: Quinn sitting on the bus, staring at his phone screen, waiting for a reply that never came, while the disappointment of the loss gnawed at him. He must have needed you, needed the comfort of something familiar, something steady to ground him after the sting of defeat. And you weren’t there to answer.

A small pang of regret settles in your chest, but as you glance at him lying peacefully beside you, your guilt softens into something warmer, something more understanding. He came to you. After the long flight, after the frustration of the game, after all of it—he came to you. Without asking for permission, without caring if it broke some unspoken routine, he just needed to be here, in your bed, in the one place where he could let his guard down.

Groaning softly, you stretch out your legs and arms, feeling the delicious pull of tight muscles loosening after a night of deep sleep. The sheets slip away from your body, and for a moment, you just lie there, savoring the lazy comfort of the morning—the warmth of the bed, the quiet of the room, and the weight of Quinn still sound asleep beside you. Even though you know he could probably sleep through a hurricane, you still move carefully, slipping out of bed inch by inch to avoid disturbing him.

The cold air nips at your skin the moment you leave the cozy embrace of the blankets, sending a small shiver through you. Your feet make a soft thud as they hit the hardwood floor, the contrast between the cold surface and your warm skin causing you to flinch slightly. You tread quietly across the room, mindful of each creak in the floorboards. As you walk down the hallway, the soft patter of your footsteps echoes faintly.

You push the bathroom door open gently, catching your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, tangled from sleep, falls in wild waves around your face, and you reach up to corral it into a loose, low bun. Turning on the faucet, the water sputters for a second before it flows smoothly, cool against your fingers. You splash it on your face, the shock of cold water clearing the last remnants of sleep from your mind. Droplets cling to your skin, rolling down your cheeks as you reach for a towel and press it to your face, savoring the softness of the fabric against your freshly washed skin.

You grab your toothbrush, the soft bristles brushing against your teeth as you lean against the sink. For a few minutes, the world is nothing but the sound of water swirling down the drain and the fresh taste of mint spreading across your tongue.

Lost in your thought, you’re startled when you feel a presence beside you. You jump slightly, your heart skipping a beat as you glance to your left and find Quinn standing there, his eyes still heavy with sleep, hair even messier than before. You hadn’t heard him get up; just moments ago, he’d been dead to the world, sprawled out in bed, the very image of peaceful slumber.

He leans in silently and presses a soft kiss to the back of your head, his lips soft against your scalp, sending a gentle shiver down your spine. The gesture is so simple, yet so intimate—a silent "good morning" You feel the brief weight of his hand resting on your shoulder as he steadies himself, before he steps away toward the toilet.

Without a word, Quinn drops his boxers, the fabric pooling around his ankles. He goes about his business, yawning as he stands there, the faint sound of the stream hitting the water filling the small bathroom. You’re used to this by now, the easy lack of pretense that has formed between the two of you, the understanding that neither of you needs to tiptoe around each other’s presence.

For a moment, you watch him, his shoulder to you, his posture relaxed. There’s something about this, about the way he moves through your space so naturally now, that fills you with a quiet sense of contentment—a reminder of how easy things have become between you two.

Turning back to the sink, you spit out the last bit of toothpaste, watching the foam swirl down the drain. You rinse your mouth and place the toothbrush back in its holder. As Quinn moves toward the sink, you step aside, your shoulders brushing briefly as you give him space. "Do you want coffee?" you ask.

He nods. "Sure, thanks." You return his nod with a small nod of your own before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving him to finish up.

Entering the kitchen, you move toward the coffee maker automatically, your body working on autopilot as you open the cabinet and pull out two mugs—his favorite, a chipped ceramic one from some team event, and yours, a simple white one with a faint coffee stain inside from countless mornings like this.

You fill the coffee filter with grounds, the sharp, earthy scent of fresh coffee filling the air as you tap the spoon against the edge of the basket. Once the machine is set, you press the start button, listening to the low hum as it begins to brew, the first few drops of coffee hitting the pot with a faint hiss.

Leaning back against the island, you cross your arms, letting out a small breath as the room fills with the comforting sound of the brewing coffee. The rich aroma slowly overtakes the air, curling around you like an old, familiar friend. You close your eyes for a second, savoring it, feeling the subtle shift in energy as the house starts to wake up.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of the countertop, cool and smooth beneath your skin, as you glance out the window at the pale morning sky. The world outside is still, a soft gray lingering just before the sun fully rises. Behind you, you hear the faint creak of a floorboard. You know Quinn is moving around, probably padding through the hallway toward you.

He enters the kitchen quietly, his bare feet padding softly across the floor. His movements are slow, unhurried, like he's still shaking off the last remnants of sleep—or maybe it’s the weight of the previous night’s loss still clinging to him. You look up as he approaches, and there’s something in his expression—tired, but warm—that makes your heart soften.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you find yourself stepping into his embrace almost instinctively, like it's the most natural thing in the world. The space between you disappears, and the familiar comfort of his body presses against yours, grounding you both in the moment. His arms fold around you firmly, his hands splaying across your back as if to hold you closer, to keep the world out for just a few more precious seconds.

You let out a quiet breath, melting into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek. His chin comes to rest lightly on top of your head, the weight of it comforting in its simplicity, and his hands begin to move in slow, soothing circles along your back. The motion is calming, like he’s trying to let you know—without words—that everything is fine, that he’s here and that’s enough for now.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the hum of the coffee maker filling the space between you.

"I'm sorry about the game," you murmur against his chest, your voice barely above a whisper. The words slip out before you can stop them, a quiet expression of the worry you’ve been holding onto since you saw the score this morning. You feel the sigh that escapes him more than you hear it, his chest rising and falling beneath you in a subtle gesture of frustration mixed with resignation.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, his voice rough from sleep, but there’s no edge to it—just the quiet exhaustion of someone who’s used to the ups and downs. His hands keep moving against your back, slow and reassuring, as if to say it’s not your burden to carry. You nod into his chest, accepting his words but still feeling that faint tug of empathy in your heart.

A few beats of silence pass, and you feel his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. You don’t want to push, but you need to ask. “Are you okay?” The words are tentative, cautious, as if you’re feeling out the depth of his mood.

This time, it takes him longer to respond. His hands pause for a moment, as if he's considering what to say, weighing his answer. “Just tired,” he says eventually, his voice low, the kind of tired that goes beyond needing sleep. There’s a heaviness in the way he says it, and you know it’s not just about the game—it’s the travel, the constant pressure, the physical and emotional toll of it all.

You close your eyes, sinking further into his embrace, letting the quiet stretch between you again. There’s no need to fill the silence; the simple act of being here, together, feels like enough. His chin shifts slightly against your head, and you can feel the warmth of his breath in your neck as he exhales slowly, as if just holding you helps ease some of the weight he’s been carrying.

The coffee pot gurgles softly in the background, signaling it's done, but neither of you moves to break the moment. You stay there, wrapped in each other, his arms still holding you close.

"Do you wanna stay in bed today?" you ask. You tilt your head back to look up at him, your cheek still resting lightly against his chest. His eyes are half-closed, his arms still wrapped loosely around you, and for a moment, it seems like he’s too caught in thought to respond. You wait, giving him the space to absorb the question, watching the way his expression softens as your words sink in.

"We can order food," you continue, your voice gentle and inviting. "Watch movies, whatever you want."

The offer lingers in the air, a way to hit pause on the outside world, to create a small, safe bubble just for the two of you. No obligations, no demands—just the simple pleasure of doing nothing, together. You know he needs it. After the brutal loss, the long flight, and the constant pressure, a day of stillness sounds like the perfect antidote.

He finally nods, exhaling a deep breath. His response is little more than a murmur, almost swallowed by the closeness between you. “Yes, please.”

"Okay, we'll stay in bed. No rush, no plans. Just us." " you whisper, your voice soft and reassuring. "Breakfast first?"

“Coffee first,” he says with a faint smile, his voice still barely above a whisper but more present now, a hint of his usual self creeping back in. “Then breakfast. Then movies.”

[back2bluesidex]

Six Degrees of Separation - MYG [Preview]

✨ Patreon Membership Exclusive Series ✨

Pairing: Best Friend!Yoongi X Female Reader X Doctor!Seokjin

Theme: Angst, Unrequited love au, pining, more angst, eventual cheating and smut and fluff.

Word count: Each part will contain 1k to 2k words.

Summary: Break up hurts, but being rejected by the man you have loved for five solid years and losing him and his friendship in one damn night - only for him to show up a year later holding your cousin's hand all ready to tie the knot hurts more.

Break up hurts, but going through all six degrees of separation from the Man who was never yours - hurts a lot more.

Warnings: heartbreak, rejection.

Update Schedule: Every Tuesday 4:30 am UTC.

Read the full chapter

Chapter index:

Prologue

Degree 1: Shock

Degree 2: Denial and Desperation

Degree 3: Anger

Degree 4: Depression

Intermission - Meeting Seokjin

Intermission 02: Min Yoongi

Degree 5: Acceptance

Intermission 03: Hyeri

Degree 6: Moving on

The Gaps of the Theory

The Exceptional Case

“So, do you have anyone under your radar? Anyone you like?” Yoongi is funnily interested now. It’s probably the most interested he has been in your love-life. 

Again, the reasons stay unaware.  

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You manage to utter, heart already acting wild inside your ribcage. 

“Really? Who is it? Do I know him?” Your best friend perks up. 

Curiosity makes him look so young. You see the young, twenty one years old Yoongi whom you met through Jimin. You see the Yoongi with mint hair too focused on the bottle of your nail polish reading the chemicals that it contains, you see the twenty three year old boy who waited for you at the hospital lobby when you banged your head against the corner of your bed, you see the twenty four year old man who cried like a baby in your embrace when his grandfather passed away - right then you realized you never wanted to see him cry again. Right then you realized Yoongi’s happiness means more to you than your own. 

You see the twenty five year old Yoongi, the Yoongi who made you realize what jealousy is, the Yoongi who made you realize - you had fallen in love with him. 

“It’s you. I am in love with you.” it’s not you, it’s the memories you share with him that makes you speak, that makes you confess. You never meant to say these words without any preparation, you never meant to say these words until you reach your breaking point - maybe you have reached it after five years?

Your chain of thought has clouded your head so much that your mouth ran in its own accord.

And you regret it. 

You regret letting out the truth you have successfully hidden for the past five years because the look you see in Yoongi’s face can’t be compared to anything you have seen before. 

It’s a mixture of disgust, disappointment and hurt.

“W-what? Y/N you can’t-” 

“Why can’t I, Yoongi? Is it forbidden for me to love you?” You chuckle dryly. 

Yoongi closes his eyes, runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply. “If this is a prank, Y/N, I-” 

“It’s not a prank, Yoongi! I love you! I really do. I have been in love with you for the last five years but you are just too blind to see!”     

Yoongi turns his back towards you, as if looking at your face will pollute his vision now, “I wasn’t blind. I was just-  was just praying to be wrong, Y/N! Damn it! This is not right. You and I, we are friends! This is not-” 

While you have been praying for Yoongi to feel the same, Yoongi has been praying for the complete opposite. As his words sink in your blood, your vision starts blurring. 

“Yoongi, can’t you try?” You plead. Never in your life have you ever considered pleading with anyone for love - but when it comes to Min Yoongi, your resolves don’t last long. 

“No! No, Y/N! I can’t. You are my friend. My best friend. I can’t see you as anything else!” He finally looks at you, looks into you and rows his words deep in your soul. 

Yoongi takes a step back from your figure, then another, then another, “and just so you know… I have someone.” 

With that he walks away in the opposite direction, leaving you behind. 

The first stage of separation is Shock. 

They say shock happens on both physical and psychological level, that it leaves you feeling out of your own body.

As you stare at his retreating figure with tears making a mess on your face, you realize, you just reached the first degree of separation from Min Yoongi - a man who was never yours to begin with.

[saekkas]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄

summary: you've been pulling all-nighters and michael kaiser isn't happy about that. good thing he has a trick to lure you into bed with him.

w.c: 1.6k

notes: don't be fooled by the pictures. the only kitty cat in this fic is kaiser <3

the digital clock by your side is silent, no ticking to announce the seconds that are trickling by so quickly. time is slipping through your fingers like sand, and you can only watch, pushing past the grainy texture.

everything is starting to feel like a bubble, wrapped in a haze of focus. the sound of blowing AC is minimal, no more hustle of honking cars, and the world is quiet as your eyes sting from the tablet light, drooping in exhaustion.

all is well. at least, until that bubble breaks.

"how are you still sitting there even after all these hours?"

kaiser pads into the living room, shirtless with only some sweats hung low on his waist. every single one of his steps are confident, as if he's set out on a mission he's determined to complete. he fans himself with a hand, walking over to where you're seated on the living room couch. "are you a zombie? or has my angel finally turned into a mummy?"

there are dark circles under your eyes, generated by the hours upon hours of work you've been putting in. every movement feels sluggish; the tablet in your hand feels heavy, as if something's tugging you and your body to lie down on the comfortable cushioned furniture. lack of sleep and too much caffeine, probably.

you can see the way he's eyeing you, a borderline mix of anger, annoyance, and sleepiness wrapped into a person that is him. you don't know whether to be threatened or intrigued by it.

"come here, baby. let's get you to bed, okay?" kaiser leans in close to you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. "i can't let you work yourself down to the bone. you've got me, remember? my card's for you to use."

his movements are too gentle, too smooth and the way he's smiling so sweetly at you, batting his eyes, makes you wonder what he has planned. when you feel the telltale signs of his fingers around your hand, you glare, pressing the tablet to your chest. kaiser's always been a smooth predator, he knows how to get what he wants.

"you look like a feral raccoon," he laughs, sitting right beside you on the couch. "i have a thing for pandas. not trash pandas."

this time, he leans in to press himself into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist as he all but curls into your frame. his shoulders slump and he sighs, happily nuzzling his face into your skin. "you smell lovely, liebling."

"mikka," you sigh as he starts to leave gentle kisses on your skin. he's nothing if not trouble but you won't lie to yourself, his presence always brings comfort even if he does end up distracting you from your work most of the time. "shouldn't you be asleep?"

the digital clock on the desk looks back at you, the gleaming red numbers clear. 12:03 AM. you frown, placing your hand on the crook of his neck, playing with the hair that's found its place there.

"aren't you tired?" his body relaxes, curling more around your frame like a cat does with its mother. you can only chuckle when he tries tugging the tablet out of your hands. "what's gotten into you?"

for one, your lover never goes to bed past 10 PM. it's part of the routine you both have. whenever he's home, you follow his routine down to the t. it starts with breakfast at 8 AM, lunch at 1 PM, dinner at 6 PM, and cuddles sprinkled throughout. then you let him drag you to sleep by 9 PM, snuggling against each other like it's the first time you've both shared a bed.

the pout he's sporting tells you he isn't happy that it didn't happen tonight.

"mikka, go to bed. i'll be with you in just a sec." the words are nothing but a lie and you both know it. if it weren't, he'd be happily drooling with his hands around you in bed by now.

kaiser snorts, his pout turning into a frown. he's displeased and it shows in the way that he's started to tug your tablet harder, determined to get you into bed with him. you can feel him shake against your neck, and you tilt your head, surprised when he leans back with a victorious smile and your tablet in his hand.

"mikka." the threat in your voice is clear as you raise your hand, asking him for the tablet back nicely. "i need that back. give it to me, please."

"you know i can't do that." the pout he shows you is absolutely sweet; one you've seen him use dozens of times to get his way. one you have yet found a way to refuse. "i can't sleep while my fiancée works."

there it is. there's that word again. fiancée. another trick he's been using to get his way. "right, fiancée?" he repeats, tucking his hands under your legs and back to lift you into his arms.

"besides, i'm more important than whatever your working on. after all, i'm your fiancé." he nuzzles his face into yours as he walks, playfully biting your nose with a giggle.

you can only glare when he grins at your flustered expression.

"shuddup. you're so annoying." kaiser smells oddly sweet, a mixture of scents that don't usually linger on him, and as you lean your forehead against his collarbone, he's quick to place you on the bed, hurriedly pinning you under him right after. "mikka!"

"let me see." his tone is a mixture of laughter and whines, and his eyes sparkle brightly, similar to the diamond studded ring that now sits on your finger. he holds your wrists, dragging them away to reveal your face, flushed and all. "there's my pretty."

there's a silence that comes after, one that he fills with a loving gaze and a haughty smirk. he leans down, pressing himself against you, and nuzzles into your neck with his hands wrapped tightly around your waist.

he clearly has a thing for your neck.

the press of his body on yours is heavy but it's something you're used to. kaiser is someone who thrives with physical contact and combined with the summer heat, he's been a menace. he insists on latching onto you like a koala every single day. not that you mind. especially not when he's shirtless like he is now.

"aren't you hot?" you mumble, trailing a finger down his back. you watch as he shivers at the action, goosebumps rising on his skin. "we might both experience heat stroke if we keep cuddling like this."

"yes, i am hot." comes his answer which you snort at. he grins at the sound, lifting his head to look into your eyes. "don't act all coy. i know you love it when my tattoo's on show."

your eyes dart down to his arm at his words, taking in the thorny roses that slither up the skin. they're stark, inky black against his pale arm. you follow their path up to his neck, marveling the rose on his skin that perfectly matches his hair and eyes.

"see," he teases smugly, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips. "you can't resist me."

you blink at that, looking at him with wide eyes.

"what?" a grin makes its way onto his lips as kaiser places his head on your belly, kissing you through your pajamas. "something you wanna ask?"

something is different about him. not in the way he looks, not in the way he behaves but in the way he smells. your eyes narrow before widening in realization. "you're wearing lip gloss?" you prop yourself on your elbows, using a hand to pull him up. "lemme taste."

kaiser grins, smug as he lets you maneuver him all you want. with every peck that's placed on his lips, his grin grows bigger and bigger until he looks like a chesire cat.

"is that why you smell different?" you mumble, tilting your head to press against his lips harder. he responds in kind, wrapping his hands around your waist tighter as if you're going to disappear if he doesn't. "what flavor is that? cherry?"

when he finally lets you pull away, your lips are red and swollen, playfully bitten by the man in front of you. his gaze stays on them, smiling smugly as he nods.

"yeah. after all, i'm the one that gets to pop your-"

there's a groan that comes when you push him off. you giggle, hovering above him from the bed. sprawled on the floor, your big bad fiancé looks nothing like his fierce persona on the field. if anything, he looks like a startled starfish. "that's what you get for being so annoying."

there's a glint in his eye that has you backing up on the bed. seconds later, he's back on his feet, tackling you into the pillows. the sound of laughter fills the room and as you pant, hovering above him, you cradle his face in your hand. your future, your world, your everything.

"i can't wait to marry you," you whisper, one hand trailing hearts on the rose that sits on his neck. "i can't believe you roped me into this."

"i guess i'm just that charming." he laughs, pulling your body down until you're straddling his lap. his hands are gentle as they trail down your thighs in return, squeezing the fat around your hips. "i can't wait either. especially for-"

"one more word and i'm banishing you to the couch."

"will you be on the couch with me? because if you will-"

"mikka."

"yes ma'am."

[sound-of-scoups]

Moth To A Flame | JJK & KMG | 03

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader x Kim Mingyu  Genre|tags: Idol!au, series, established relationship, infidelity, lots of angst, lots of drama, smut, maybe fluff.  Word count: 15.8k + Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Chapter warnings: Angst at its finest, like, literally this is pure and raw angst (poor baby is going through it), mentions of Jungkook smoking, crying, everyone here needs therapy, mentions of Jungkook not handling the BTS hiatus very well, arguments, abuse of power by a superior (?). Lemme know if there's more. A/N: 1. Time to get some questions answered...; 2. As ARMY, it's so strange/painful, but at the same time, relieving, to write about the things that happened in 2022 with BTS, knowing that it's already 2025 and the war is over; 3. I have no idea when chapter four will come out, I decided it will be a surprise, so it can come out tomorrow or in two weeks hehe.

Summary: Four years ago, you crossed paths with a charming member of the K-pop group Seventeen during their tour stop in Osaka. The two of you shared three intense, unforgettable days before life took you in different directions. It was painful for both of you, but you knew you couldn’t take things any further and had to say goodbye. Now, back in Seoul for good, you’re in a new relationship with another idol: Jeon Jungkook—whose charm and stability make him everything you thought you wanted. You are very much in love with him, and as your connection deepens, it feels like your life is finally falling into place. That is, until you meet one of your boyfriend’s best friends and are stunned to discover it’s the same man you fell for in Osaka all those years ago. As buried emotions resurface and secrets begin to unravel, you find yourself torn between these two men, caught in a whirlwind of love and conflict, testing the boundaries of loyalty and the choices that could change everything. 

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The moment you walked out of HYBE headquarters, your entire body seemed to spiral into a state of complete mania. You paced around the block for a few moments, overwhelmed by an intense urge to scream and laugh uncontrollably—all at the same time.

Your phone showed multiple missed calls from Jungkook, likely eager to know how the meeting had gone, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to answer any of them. You didn’t know how to tell him the news without sounding like you were on the brink of psychosis for reasons entirely unrelated to the happiness of landing the biggest opportunity of your career.

Instead, after minutes of aimlessly wandering the streets like someone who had just escaped from a psychiatric hospital, you made the only choice that felt right: you called your best friend.

“Wait,” Dahee said, holding up a hand to stop you mid-sentence, her steps faltering as if the physical pause could help her process everything you’d just unloaded on her. “Mingyu? As in Osaka Mingyu?”

You nodded, taking another lick of your strawberry ice cream. “Yep.”

You nodded, taking another lick of your strawberry ice cream. “Yep.”

Initially, you both met at your usual spot—a cozy restaurant downtown, tucked by a window that overlooked the bustling street. The aroma of barbecue wafted around you, blending with the soft clink of dishes and the murmur of voices. You and Dahee dove into a meal not much after, her excitement about her upcoming wedding filling the air immediately. She animatedly described the flowers, venues, and music with her eyes sparkling, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt her with the chaos that inhabits your mind.

As the hours passed and you started walking together along the Han River, Dahee finally looked at you, curiosity shining in her eyes. With a gentle nudge, she asked what was going on with you. Her sincerity was unmistakable, and after a steadying breath, you began unraveling the turbulence of your life events, spilling every detail you’d been holding back all day.

Dahee’s expression after you finished telling her everything was like you’d sprouted two extra heads right there on the riverbank. She blinked a few times, processing each piece of information you’d just handed her. Finally, she shook her head, eyebrows raised.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely above a gasp as she tugged you toward one of the benches along the shore, her hand gripping your arm tightly. “First of all, I’m hurt that you never told me that Mingyu from Osaka was the Kim Mingyu.”

“I couldn't, babe,” You shrugged, leaning back comfortably against the bench. “Seventeen's legal team made me sign an NDA. I couldn't even be telling you this.” 

You felt a pang of frustration as you recalled the weight of that document, the way it had silenced your thoughts and feelings about everything that had happened four years ago between the two of you. 

Dahee’s jaw dropped, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally found her voice. “An NDA? Seriously?”

You nodded, gaze shifting to the river, its calm surface contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you. “I couldn’t say a word to anyone about what happened. I couldn’t reach out to him. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to be in the same country as him for years.”

The words slipped out of you like a confession, each one weighted with the years of secrets you’d held inside, now finally spilling free.

The pain of knowing he had chosen this path remained buried deep within you. You still felt naive for believing in everything he had said and promised that morning before you went your separate ways. Four years had passed, and while you were no longer the person you once were, and thought the green light of forgiveness had already been lit, even if only on your end, it still hurted.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Dahee studied your face, brows knitted together. “I thought NDA’S were just myths.”

“Oh, they’re real, all right,” you replied, a bitter smile touching your lips. “And terrifying.”

“How did they even ban you from being in the same country as him?” Dahee asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That is incredibly so unfair.”

“It was part of the NDA. They included a clause that forbade me from trying to contact him or even being in the same place as him for a certain period of time,” you said, taking another bite of your ice cream. “They wanted to protect his image, to keep the media from blowing anything out of proportion. To not make a big thing out of something insignificant.”

Those exact words that came out from his manager’s mouth, hitting you like a slap across the face and reverberating in your mind with an almost cruel precision for years. You could only guess that you were insignificant enough to be erased from his life, but important enough to warrant a whole legal agreement about it. 

Probably what he thought too.

“I didn’t have a choice; it was either that or risk legal action.” You completed it.

Dahee stared at you, completely dumbfounded, her jaw slack as she tried to process what you’d just said. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands for a moment before letting out a muffled groan.

“That’s insane. How do you even enforce something like that? Did they just expect you to… what? Erase him from your memory like he’s some kind of ghost?”

“Pretty much,” you replied bitterly, taking the last bite of your ice cream. “Until last year, at least.”

“That's why you didn't come back sooner,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours for reaffirmation.

You nodded, a rueful smile playing on your lips. “Yeah.”

Dahee let out a low whistle, leaning back against the bench. “Wow. That explains so much. And now,  you’re telling me that the biggest opportunity of your career just so happens to be working with him? Talk about fate having a sick sense of humor, bestie.”

“Exactly," you muttered, dragging your hands down your face in exasperation. "It's like the universe is laughing at me. 'Oh, you're finally moving on? Cool, let me drop Mingyu right back into your life for funsies.'”

“And no one at HYBE thought this might be, I don’t know, a tiny bit problematic for the two of you?”

“I don’t think they know, or even care. Pledis wasn’t part of HYBE back then. So to them, I’m just another freelancer with a decent portfolio,” you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I think no one there remembers what happened between us.”

Dahee sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry, babe,” her expression softened. She reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That sounds incredibly painful to hold to yourself.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you nodded, grateful for her support right now. “It’s been a struggle. I thought keeping busy would help me forget, but seeing him again…” 

You trailed off, unable to find the words to fully explain the emotions crashing through you. Memories you thought you’d buried deep had come rushing back with such force it felt like you’d been blindsided for four years. 

Dahee’s grip on your hand tightened, her voice firm yet gentle. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, you know. Why didn’t you didn’t tell me the second you connect the dots about his connection with Jungkook?”

“I didn’t know what to do, to be honest. Considering how everything went down, I… thought he’d forgotten about me, Hee.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “And he didn’t?”

You hesitated, biting your lip before shaking your head. “No.”

That much you were sure, since he hadn’t left you any room to think otherwise. It was clear in the way he looked at you, like he wanted to ask a thousand questions but held himself back, respecting Jungkook's presence beside you. The way he kept conversation, the way he and his friends talked about Osaka and referred to you, even without knowing it was you. It was almost like he wanted you to see he still cared, but didn’t want to be direct about it. 

You just couldn't understand why.

“Did he say something to you? Otherwise you wouldn't be thinking about it.”

You hesitated again, the words lingering on the tip of your tongue. Maybe Dahee was right—if nothing had happened, if he hadn't followed you to the bathroom, if he hadn't asked to talk, if he hadn't looked at you like that, as if it were the first time he was seeing you in his life, or said us that way, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t still be dwelling on it.

"He asked if we could talk.”

Dahee straightened up, her expression a mix of curiosity and cautious concern. “And what did you say?”

You shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of your coat and looking away from her. “That I would think about.”

You could feel her gaze studying you carefully, her faze was sharp but not unkind. Dahee sighed deeply and you held your breath for a second, believing you were going to get scolded by your best friend for having allowed even the smallest space to open, giving the guy who had broken your heart in the worst possible way a sliver of hope that he might talk to you again. 

“So let me get this straight,” she started, planting the palms of her hands on her own legs, the marquise-shaped diamond of her engagement ring shining brightly. “Mingyu, the guy who allegedly tried to erase you from his life and left you with a suitcase full of unresolved emotions and the biggest heartbreak of your life, wants to talk. And you didn’t say no, but you didn’t say yes either.”

“Pretty much,” you admitted, feeling the weight of it all press down on you again.

The fact that he wanted to talk set off a cascade of flags in your mind. What could he possibly want from you now? Why, after all these years, did he choose this moment to break the silence? Hadn't he been the one to make the decision for both of you all those years ago? Was it because he saw you with Jungkook that your ego couldn't handle it?

Deep down, you knew he wasn't like that. You knew perfectly well that he wasn't that kind of person. But now your brain was already working with far-fetched answers to the confusing questions surrounding it and the only person who could answer them was the one you weren't ready to face yet. 

Dahee let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “This is the kind of plot twist I'd expect from a bad drama, not your life. Are you okay, though? Like, how are you feeling now?”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. 

The truth was, you weren’t allowing yourself to feel anything, while at the same time, you were feeling everything—the good, the bad, the messy ones. It was a paradox that seemed to stretch you thin, tearing at the edges of your composure. For the longest time, you found yourself torn between two extremes: the desperate yearning to see him every day, and the equally fierce desire to never lay eyes on him again. 

Sitting there by the river, with Dahee’s presence beside you, it was the first time in years you allowed yourself even a sliver of vulnerability about this subject. The chaos of seeing Mingyu again, of being thrust into a situation you’d worked so hard to avoid, made your defenses feel paper-thin. And now, after landing the job that could very well change your life, you felt like that fragile piece of paper was precariously floating on water, ready to dissolve into nothingness.

The idea of starting fresh as Seventeen’s stylist should have excited you—it did excite you—but the weight of the past lingered, heavier than you wanted to admit. You knew that from now on, there would be no avoiding Mingyu. In fact, you would be seeing him far more than you ever could have imagined over the past four years.

Seeing Mingyu again wasn’t just a footnote; it was a headline, bold and unavoidable.

How could he suddenly reappear in your life and completely upend everything? How could he suddenly seem to be everywhere?

These thoughts wouldn’t stop circling, growing louder with every passing minute under the moonlight. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, like the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to throw your carefully built world into disarray. You had spent years carefully locking away every memory, every feeling tied to him, convincing yourself it was better this way. That his absence was a closed chapter, one that didn’t need reopening. Yet here you were, about to walk into a reality where he wasn’t just present—he was unavoidable.

“I don't know. I mean, I thought I was okay. I’ve spent years trying to move past it, convincing myself it didn’t matter anymore. But seeing him again… it’s like all the progress I made just evaporated.”

After everything, you were the only one who ended up with wounds to bind. And now it looked like it was all open wide while someone dumped a bag of salt into it.

“And the worst part? I’m not even angry at him anymore. I’m just… sad. Sad that it ended the way it did, sad that I still don’t fully understand why,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. “But then there’s Jungkook, who is perfect, and makes everything feel so magical, so right and…” you paused, letting the morning's events replay in your mind. “He asked me to move in with him this morning.”

Dahee froze, her eyes widening and mouth falling open in astonishment.. “Wait, what?” she finally said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “How did you even respond to him?”

“I didn’t,” you admitted, letting out a long sigh and pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “I also told him I’d think about it.”

Dahee groaned, rubbing her temples like she was getting a headache just from hearing everything. “Okay, so Mingyu reappears, bringing all your unresolved trauma back to the surface, and a week later, Jungkook, your incredible, loving boyfriend who would probably lasso the moon for you, asks you to move in with him?”

“That sums it up,” you said with a weak laugh, though there was no humor behind it, and taking your hands from your eyes to your hair, restlessly. "Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes, Hee. Damn it, why does everything feel like it's moving so fast now?"

“Babe, that's… huge,” she murmured, gaze softening again with understanding. “Like, life-changing huge. Of course it feels fast. You’ve got a whole lot of emotions to process, and now this. No wonder you’re feeling overwhelmed.” 

You blinked rapidly, the lump in your throat threatening to spill over into tears. It was actually a surprise that you hadn't shed any tears yet today. “I mean, I should be happy, right? Jungkook is everything I ever wanted and it took me so long to feel like this again after Mingyu. But now…”

“It’s like you’re second-guessing things because of Mingyu.” Dahee finished your sentence as if she’d read your mind. 

“Yeah.” You buried your face in your hands. “It feels like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and I don’t know which one is going to tear me apart first.”

The words hung in the air, raw and heavy, as your chest tightened with the weight of your own admission. It wasn’t just about a choice—it was about the uncertainty, the guilt. 

On one hand, you did want to say yes to Jungkook because he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and you know he loves you, just as much as you love him. But on the other hand… there’s Mingyu. And it's not like you're thinking about going down that road again, because you're not. But just the idea of ​​him being a part of your life again is enough to throw you completely off balance.

Dahee reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Have you told Jungkook anything yet?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I haven't.” You exhaled shakily, lowering your hands and staring at the calm river in front of you. 

How do you even begin to explain this to him? 

'Hey babe, remember how I told you I had a complicated past? Surprise! My ex-situationship is Kim Mingyu, your best friend, and we’re going to be seeing each other almost every day now. Do you still want me to move in?’

“I’m scared, Hee,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I just… I’m terrified of how he’ll react. What if he thinks I’m not over Mingyu? What if this ruins everything?”

Dahee frowned, tilting her head as she regarded you with a mixture of concern and resolve. “But you’re not holding onto Mingyu, right?” she searches for your face, and when you say nothing, she asks, her tone turning more serious, “I mean, how do you actually feel about him?”

Mingyu.

Mingyu.

How did you feel about Mingyu? It wasn’t an easy answer. One you were still working to figure out. Just his name alone brought a flurry of emotions you didn’t want to confront. Guilt, anger, sadness, longing—all of it muddled together, making it impossible to think straight.

“I…”  you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. You looked away, focusing on the ripples in the river as if they might offer some clarity. “I don’t know.”

Dahee didn’t push, giving you space to sort through the chaos in your head. But the silence wasn’t comforting—it felt like an interrogation room, the weight of the truth pressing down on you.

“It’s not that I’m still in love with him,” you finally said, your voice barely audible. “It’s just… seeing him bring back everything I tried so hard to bury. The what-ifs, the unresolved feelings, the stupid hope that maybe, somehow, he didn’t forget about me too.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” she started, her tone playful. “For a long time, I thought the guy from Osaka was your imaginary friend or something.” You laughed at her effort to lighten the mood, grateful for her attempt to break the tension within you. “The way you talked about him back then, it was like he’d disappeared into thin air. Poof.”

You sighed, the weight of your thoughts settling in as you laid your head into her shoulder. “Maybe it would have been easier if he had.”

Dahee let out a soft hum, her hand gently rubbing your arm as the two of you sat in silence for a moment. The city lights reflected on the surface of the river, casting a shimmering glow that felt oddly soothing despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“Maybe,” she said finally, her voice quieter now.

You glanced at her, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

She shook her head immediately, her expression softening.

“Not even close,” Dahee said firmly.”I think you are someone who has never gotten closure from your past.”

You looked down, letting her words settle over you like a balm. They didn’t erase the turmoil inside, but they softened the edges, making it feel a little less insurmountable.

Closure? What's that like?

“I just…” you began, voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt Jungkook. He’s... he’s everything. And I’m scared that even considering talking to Mingyu is betraying him. I love Jungkook so much, Hee. He’s everything to me and I’m scared shitless of losing him.”

Dahee sat silently for a moment and her gaze drifted to the river. You could almost see her mind turning, sorting through the weight of your words and the emotions you’d finally allowed yourself to express, raw and unfiltered for the first time in ages.

“Listen, you don’t owe Mingyu closure. Not after what he and the company put you through. But you do owe it to yourself to figure out how you want to handle this. Whether that’s keeping things strictly professional or finally getting the answers you deserve.”

Her gaze seemed to be piercing your soul. You knew that no one was better at listening to your mental confusion than her, and you couldn't be more grateful that you had chosen to turn to her first.

“I do think you should give yourself some credit. You’ve been blindsided in a massive way, and anyone in your position would feel a little unsteady.” Dahee gave you a look that was equal parts stern and compassionate. “However, you need to talk to Jungkook about this. Not about Mingyu specifically, maybe, but about how you’re feeling. He loves you, anyone with eyes can see that. He deserves to know before this becomes an even bigger mess.”

You swallowed hard, her words hitting a little too close to home. Deep down, you knew she was right. Jungkook deserved honesty, even if it scared you to lay everything bare.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you murmured, your fingers curling into fists in your lap. “How do you tell someone you love that you’re suddenly tangled up in unresolved feelings from the past without making it sound like you’re questioning your relationship with them?”

Dahee let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re overthinking it, babe. Just tell him what you told me: that seeing Mingyu again threw you for a loop, but it doesn’t change how you feel about him.”You stared at her, the simplicity of her suggestion making your chest ache. Maybe it really was that simple—if you didn’t let fear complicate things further.

“And what about Mingyu?” you asked hesitantly, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “Do I... talk to him? Or do I just pretend he’s not there and hope this whole thing goes away?”

“That depends,” Dahee’s expression hardened slightly, her lips pressing into a firm line. “If he wants to apologize, maybe hearing him out could give you some closure. But if he’s just trying to wiggle his way back into your life with no good reason, you don’t owe him anything.”

You exhaled, the weight of her words settling into your chest. She was right, as always—but that didn’t make any of this easier.

“I don’t even know if talking to Mingyu will give me the answers I’m looking for. Don’t know if I’m ready to hear them either,” you admitted. “What if it just makes everything worse?”

Dahee tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Or what if it gives you the closure you need to finally move forward? You can’t control how it turns out, but avoiding it forever isn’t going to help either. Sometimes the only way out is through, babe.”

The thought both terrified and comforted you. Could you face Mingyu again, knowing how much he had hurt you—and how much you’d tried to move on? Could you really hear whatever it was that he needed to say without letting it unravel the life you’d built?

“I guess the question is,” Dahee continued, her voice softer now, “are you ready to let go of the past? Because if you are, maybe this conversation is exactly what you need to do.”

After your conversation with Dahee, you spent a few minutes alone in your studio-slash-apartment, carefully sorting through your thoughts until everything felt perfectly clear. You had finally made up your mind about telling Jungkook the whole truth, convinced that he deserved to hear all of it from you, and by all of it, you meant all of it, including your hesitations regarding the biggest opportunity of your career and why. 

No more secrets. No more running from your past. 

Still, even though you were certain of your decision, stepping out of the elevator in Jungkook’s building, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that the road ahead was about to become much more complicated. 

Could he handle all of it? Could you handle laying it all out for him?

It wasn’t just about the past; it was about the future, too. The idea of moving in together, of merging your lives more deeply than ever before, felt both exhilarating and terrifying. If you said yes, would this be the start of something even more beautiful than you already had now, or would the ghosts of your past threaten to tear it all apart? 

Your mind has been your worst enemy lately, and you knew that. It felt like the only things occupying it were unanswered questions and nagging insecurities. It was as if you had regressed four entire years of therapy to deal with things like that. 

The hallway on the top floor of the building where Jungkook lived was silent as you typed in the password and let yourself into the apartment. The familiar beep of the keypad was followed by the faint click of the door unlocking, and you stepped inside. 

Almost immediately, an excited Bam darted toward you, his nails clicking against the wooden floor. His dark eyes sparkled with recognition, and he let out a happy bark, throwing his front paws at your legs in a determined effort to reach your face. You laughed softly, crouching down to greet him.

“Hi, my baby,” you cooed, running your hands over his silky fur as his thin tail wagged furiously. “Did you have fun with uncle Junghyun today?”

Bam responded with an enthusiastic lick to your cheek, making you giggle despite the heaviness of your thoughts. You stayed there for a moment, scratching behind his ears and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, letting his boundless energy soothe some of your nerves.

Straightening up, you glanced toward the living room, where the glow of Jungkook’s mood light projector cast a soft, familiar warmth. Looking around, you saw that the television was paused in some reality show, and somewhere in the apartment, you could also hear the soft melody of an R&B song somewhere, although Jungkook was nowhere to be seen. 

“Bamie, where’s appa?” you asked sweetly, slipping off your shoes, setting your bag and phone on the console, noticing now that it was out of battery. Bam tilted his head at your question, then turned and trotted toward the hallway, as if to guide you. Smiling, you followed him through the apartment, your own footsteps muffled by the plush rugs beneath your feet.

The nerves began to creep back as you walked towards Jungkook's room, your heart picking up speed. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but the thought of holding back from him felt even worse. And you also knew that, despite your fear, he deserved all your honesty. 

Your footsteps faltered as your ears registered the sound of a soft sniffle coming from Jungkook’s room. The weight in your chest shifted, no longer nerves there but a pang of worry. You stood still for a moment, your fingers brushing the edge of the door frame as you leaned closer to listen.

“Jungkook?” you called out softly, your voice just above a whisper. His name hung in the air, but there was no immediate response, just the faint rustle of fabric and a muffled sound that could have been a shaky exhale.

Pushing the door open further, you stepped inside and were met with a sight that made your heart twist. Jungkook was sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head hung low. One hand raked through his dark hair in a way that seemed almost frantic, while the other clutched at his phone. His broad shoulders were hunched, and even in the dim light, you could see the slight tremble in them.

“Kookie,” you said again, your voice firmer this time but still gentle. Bam brushed past your legs, padding over to Jungkook and nudging his knee with his nose. Jungkook glanced up, startled, his wide, watery doe eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he quickly wiped at his face, as if trying to erase the evidence of his tears.

“Oh, hey, babe,” he mumbled, his voice thick and strained as he forced a small, unconvincing smile. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

You crossed the room in a few quick steps, kneeling in front of him to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong, baby?” you asked softly, your hands instinctively reaching out to rest on his knees. “Why are you crying?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head as if to dismiss your concern, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. He looked away, biting down on his bottom lip as his phone slipped from his hand and landed on the bed beside him. “I just… It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you feel like this,” you countered gently. Your mind raced through every possible scenario, trying to understand what could have left him like this. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

He nodded but hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. You ran your hands comfortingly through his damp hair, realizing that he must not have gotten out of the shower long ago, since the towel was still on the bed, and he was wearing only sweatpants.

“Did I do something?” you asked, unsure if the tears could have anything to do with what had happened in the kitchen this morning.

Jungkook shook his head immediately, his eyes widening as he met your gaze again. “No, no, baby, it’s not you. It’s not anything you did. I swear.” His words were rushed, almost desperate, as if the thought of you blaming yourself had pulled him out of his emotional haze for a moment. “You could never…”

Relief washed over you, but the worry remained as you watched him struggle to find the words. His warm hands came up to cover yours where they rested on his knees. He gave them a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing against your skin as if grounding himself with your presence.

“Then what is it?” you asked softly, leaning in closer so your faces were only inches apart. “Please, Kook. I hate seeing you like this. Let me help.”

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the music playing in the background. It seemed like he might brush it off again, but then he sighed heavily, his gaze finally meeting yours. His brows knitted together, his lips trembled, and fresh tears pooled in his reddened eyes. 

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“Scared of what, baby?” your voice was soft as you massage the back of his hands with your thumbs. 

“Of the hiatus,” he admitted quietly. "Of what it can do to the members and me. Of having to do it all alone.”

Your heart sank at his confession. The weight of Jungkook's fears settled heavily in the room, making your own chest tighten. You should’ve known. It should’ve been your first thought, after seeing him struggling with it alone for days, refusing to share it with you; to worry you, just because he was that kind of person—the one who would never bother anyone with his problems.

But just as you had already predicted earlier, now that BTS were going to take a break to focus on their solo projects plus the military service that would start by the end of that year with Seokjin, Jungkook wasn't handling this in a very healthy way. He was sleeping poorly, smoking more, and skipping meals. He thought you didn’t notice, but there was nothing about him you didn’t see, and Jimin made sure to keep you updated on everything when you were apart.

You knew he enjoyed being active, being with the members, and doing what he loved most, giving it his all. You also knew that the idea of not being able to do that for a certain amount of time scared him more than he was willing to admit. Jungkook had a featuring song to be released with Charlie Puth in less than a week, and you knew he was feeling pressured by it. You just wished he had voiced his concerns before it got to this point. 

Reaching up, you gently cupped his face, brushing away the tears that slipped down his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Baby,” you murmured, your voice trembling with empathy as you shifted closer. “You don’t have to do it alone. You’re not alone.”

His eyes closed at your touch, his lashes wet with tears. “It feels like I am sometimes,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The members… we’re all doing our own things, and I know it’s what we need, but it’s hard. I’m used to having them by my side, to leaning on them when it gets too much. Now, it’s just going to be… me.”

“But you have them,” you reminded him gently. “Even if you’re working on your own projects, they’re still your brothers.”

“I know that," he said, his lips trembling a little. “But what if I don't know who I am without them?”

“Then this is the moment you'll find out, love,” you said softly, your hands still cradling his face. “Trust me, this isn’t about losing who you are; it’s about finding new parts of yourself, ones you didn’t even know were there.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find reassurance in your words. “What if I mess up?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of his doubt. “What if I’m not good enough without them?”

“You won’t mess up,” you said with conviction, pressing your forehead gently to his after kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re talented, Jungkook. The most talented person I know. And more than that, you’re hardworking, dedicated, and passionate. Those things don’t disappear just because you’re standing on your own for a while. You’re more than enough, with or without BTS.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut again as he took a shaky breath. Then, he nodded, his hands reaching up to grasp your wrists gently, as if he was trying to ground himself again. 

“I don’t want to let anyone down. I don’t want to disappoint them, ARMY or you. I don't want these speculations to become true.”

The looming uncertainty of BTS's hiatus had been on everyone’s mind since Tuesday. It was an ongoing topic across the country and the world. Rumors of disbandment flooded social media and the news, but just as the members, you knew they weren’t true. They were still working on group projects, filming content, and recording songs; still together. 

The difference was that now they would have the freedom to explore their individuality and show the world who they truly were as artists. 

“First of all,” you whispered softly, placing a kiss on his temple. Jungkook had always been hard on himself, striving for perfection in everything he did, but seeing him let the words of strangers chip away at his confidence broke something in you. “You could never disappoint me. And the members, they understand, they know what you’re going through. As for ARMY, they would walk through hell for you. You’re not in this alone. Never.”

He stayed silent again, just breathing, as though taking in your words. You watched as the fear that had been evident in his eyes slowly started to fade, replaced by a mix of gratitude and uncertainty.

Jungkook leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours again, his hands gently cupping yours where they rested on his face. “I’m so lucky to have you.” 

“Believe me,” you whispered back, “I’m the lucky one.”

For a few moments, the two of you stayed like that, comforted by each other’s presence, the weight of his worries slowly lifting, if only for a moment. In that quiet space, with his hand in yours and his heart open before you, everything felt a little more manageable. So manageable that for at least that moment, you forgot what you came to do here tonight. 

But Jungkook made sure to bring you back to reality not long after.

“Now let’s forget about me,” he said, his voice sounding a little bit more upbeat now. “What about you doll? Have any big news to share with me?”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head to the side for a moment, to look at him carefully. “Are you sure you're okay, tough? If you want to keep talking, we can leave this for later.”

Was it selfish of you to want to avoid the subject? Maybe.

But really, you just wanted to make sure he was going to be okay, that all these treacherous thoughts would leave his mind and never return again, even though you knew this was like an impossible mission at the time.

Jungkook sighed, rubbing his face with his tattooed hand. “I’ll be okay. Just... a lot on my mind.” He looked at you, his eyes soft but weary. “I don't want to drag you into this. But thank you for asking.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to push him further, but unable to ignore the weight in his words. 

“Baby, I always want to be dragged into whatever is happening in there,” you murmured, using your index finger to point to his head. “It's my job to try to ease your bad thoughts.”

He smiled faintly, appreciating your offer, but you could tell he wasn’t ready to dive deeper into the conversation. Instead, he shrugged and said, “We’ll figure it out later. But for now, I just want to hear how your meeting went.”

The silence stretched between you two for a moment. You gave him a small, understanding nod, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the table between you. You didn’t press any further, trusting that when he was ready, he would find the words.

“Okay, but you know where to find me,” you said quietly, your voice steady and calm, offering him the space he needed.

Jungkook looked at you then, and for a moment, the storm in his eyes seemed to settle. “I know,” he said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now tell me, please. I’m dying here.”

Looking back now, you knew that moment should’ve been the moment you told him everything. You should have used the confidence you had earlier to stop running from the truth you had kept hidden so far. 

But when your gaze met his beautiful doe eyes again, still red and puffy from crying, you also knew you couldn’t bear to do that to him. You couldn’t be the one to introduce more doubts and uncertainties into his life. Hell, there was nothing in the world you wouldn’t do to never see him cry like that ever again.

So you changed course, deciding that leaving the topic of Kim Mingyu and Japanese nights for another time was the best choice. To protect that small glimmer of peace you saw returning to him.

“They offered me a position as lead stylist for one of their major groups,” you said, trying to force the best smile you could. At the same time you were happy about the biggest opportunity of your career, your heart broke from having to hide things from Jungkook.

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in surprise before a smile broke through the lingering haze of sadness. The shift in his expression was instantaneous, his tears momentarily forgotten as excitement replaced the storm cloud in his gaze. He got up from the bed immediately taking you with him.

“Babe, that’s amazing!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying a newfound energy as he wrapped you in a hug and spun you around in the air. “I told you! You’re so talented, of course they’d want you!”

The genuine enthusiasm in his voice was enough to both warm your heart and deepen the ache of your guilt. 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling at his words, even though a knot twisted in your throat. “Thank you,” you said softly. “I’m really excited. I’ve been dreaming of something like this for years.”

After years of working with big artists and accomplishing great things in this industry, things that had never been properly rewarded or given credit, you knew you deserved something like this. It was more than just a dream come true; it was the result of all your hard work. Every late night spent hemming clothes in cramped apartments, every early morning dragging garment bags through crowded subways, every tear shed over designs rejected without a second glance—it had all led to this moment.

“You’re amazing,” Jungkook said, pulling away slightly to look at you with admiration in his eyes. “Babe, I’m so proud of you.”

You returned the smile, though it was a little strained. “Thank you, Kookie,” you said again. 

You desperately wanted to take solace in his unwavering faith in you. And perhaps, just perhaps, gather the courage to tell him everything soon. For now, though, you stayed silent, allowing his love and support to envelop you, even as the weight of your secret pressed heavily on your heart.

“Did they tell you which group it was?” he asked, pulling you to sit on his lap as he sat on the bed again. 

You nodded, trying to avoid his gaze but afraid of raising suspicion. “It's Seventeen.”

You watched as a smile spread across Jungkook's face, his entire expression lighting up with joy at your news. You had expected this reaction, his excitement was inevitable. You knew he’d be thrilled not only by the idea of you being nearby again, but also working directly with his friends.

The problem, however, was that this was the one part that made you hesitant. It wasn’t that the rest of the members were at fault for your situation; you were certain they were incredible guys. Based on everything Jungkook had shared with you and what you’d read about them, you knew they would embrace you warmly and make you feel valued in your work.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of butterflies in your stomach—the bad kind. It was a sensation that went far beyond the typical nerves of starting a new job. It felt like a premonition.

“It just keeps getting better,” Jungkook spoke in an excited tone, just as you imagined he would be. “That way I can ask Mingyu to take care of you.”

Your heart clenched at Jungkook's words, even as you tried to maintain your composure. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you, and the mention of Mingyu’s name only deepened the knot in your stomach. You forced a smile, nodding slightly as you leaned into his chest, hoping the motion would shield your conflicted expression.

“That’s sweet of you,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone light as you rested your head on his shoulder. “But I think I’ll be fine. It’s a professional environment, after all.”

Jungkook chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring as he stroked your back. “I know you will. You’re amazing at what you do. But it doesn’t hurt to have someone looking out for you, right?”

You swallowed hard. What reasons would you have to say no? “Right,” you echoed, though the word felt hollow on your tongue.

The truth you had promised yourself to share with him earlier that evening now felt impossibly distant. Jungkook's excitement and trust in you only made it harder to picture disrupting this moment with the weight of your past. Yet, even as you held on to the comfort of his embrace, a quiet voice in the back of your mind reminded you that the longer you waited, the harder it would be to face the truth.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to drown out the voices swirling in your mind, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of your boyfriend's arms, stealing just a little more time before you faced the storm.

“This is huge for you. We need to celebrate.” 

Jungkook's enthusiasm was infectious, so you allowed yourself to be swept up in it. His smile was wide, bunny teeth on full display now, and his arms wrapped tightly around you like he never wanted to let go. Deep inside, you wished he wouldn't. 

“Celebrate?” you repeated, opening your eyes and arching a brow, unable to keep the smile off your face. “What did you have in mind, Jeon Jungkook?”

He hummed, the corners of his lips quirking up mischievously. “A fancy dinner? Or... I could cook for you. Something special. Your favorite, maybe?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said softly, your heart swelling at the thoughtfulness in his voice. You didn't want a fancy dinner or anything else. You just wanted to enjoy the rest of the night with him and Bam; to stay right here in his embrace. 

Jungkook’s eyes lit up at your response, and his lips curved into the kind of grin that made your chest warm in the best way. “Then it’s settled,” he declared, leaning back slightly to look at you more closely. “Let’s open a bottle of wine too. You deserve it. This is your moment, babe.”

“Alright,” you said, your smile soft but genuine. “I want to help.”

Jungkook groaned dramatically, shaking his head. “No way. You’re the guest of honor tonight. Your job is to sit back, relax, and enjoy.”

“Guest of honor?” you teased, tilting your head. “I live here half the time.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “Half the time. Which means tonight, you get to be spoiled.”

You laughed, unable to stop yourself from leaning into him. “Fine,” you conceded. “But I’ll set the table.”

“Deal,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft, affectionate tone. For a moment, the weight of your secret felt just a little lighter, his unwavering love wrapping around you like a shield against the storm you knew was coming soon.

If you were being honest, you had expected the night to end like this. Not with warmth and laughter, but with words sharp enough to leave invisible cuts. You hadn't anticipated, however, that it would be for entirely different reasons from those you thought. Or maybe, deep down, you had known. You should’ve known, at least, that this subject had probably been taking up residence in his mind throughout the day.

It had started so innocently. You had an amazing dinner with Jungkook, sharing Japchae and a bottle of wine. You’d explained your work with Seventeen, detailing the complexities of managing their schedules, moods, and preferences, all while ensuring their cohesive look as a group. He’d listened attentively, supportive as always, even suggesting he could travel with you when his own schedule allowed.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if I could join you and Mingyu for part of the tour?” he had said, his excitement genuine.

The night seemed perfect and as it came to a close, you insisted on helping him at least put the dishes back in the cupboard. But Jungkook refused, gently telling you to go get ready for bed while he took care of all the cleaning himself. Feeling the drowsiness from the wine setting in, you didn’t put up much of a fight and headed off to unwind.

You were calmly brushing your teeth when Jungkook entered the bathroom, quietly sitting on the toilet lid, after putting Bam in his room to sleep. Through the mirror, you saw his eyes heavy with sleep and the lingering effects of the wine on his face. 

“You didn’t have your phone with you today?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you through half-closed eyes.

You paused mid-brush, the question catching you off guard. “I did,” you replied after a pause, spitting out the toothpaste. “But it ran out of battery at some point during the day, and I didn’t see it until I got here.”

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. He simply watched you, his expression unreadable. “Where did you go after the meeting?”

You frowned, sensing something off in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to ask about your day in such detail, especially considering how understanding he’d been about your busy schedule. You could tell there was something in his tone that made it feel less like casual curiosity and more like... concern, maybe even unease.

You quickly finished brushing your teeth and rinsed your mouth, turning to face him, your hand still holding the toothbrush in a vague gesture of distraction.

“I went for a meal with Dahee,” you said slowly, testing the waters. “We haven’t seen each other in ages, and it was nice to catch up.”

His jaw tightened slightly and Jungkook sat there, watching you with a contemplative expression, his gaze flicking to the toothbrush you were setting down on the counter. “And how did you arrange that?”

“Through my phone…” You trailed off, suddenly feeling defensive.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding almost imperceptibly. “So your phone died, but you managed to message Dahee before that?” His voice was calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You paused, trying to gauge his mood. Jungkook was always the type to give you space if you needed and he had never been insecure about your relationship, nor had he shown any distrust towards you at any time during the past six months. But there was an intensity in his eyes now that made you wonder if something was bothering him, if he would have talked to someone who was possibly much braver than you when it came to telling the truth to his face.

“Jungkook,” you said, turning to face him fully after drying your hands on the towel and placing your toothbrush beside his. “What’s going on? Are you upset I went out with my best friend?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I just…” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You couldn’t text or call me back? Not even once?”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and suddenly the warmth of the evening felt suffocating. “I’ve been busy,” you said, crossing your arms defensively. “I told you today would be packed.”

“And you couldn’t spare five seconds to let me know you were okay?” His voice was rising now, the hurt unmistakable.

You blinked, his words landing heavier than you expected. Jungkook’s tone wasn’t angry, but it was raw, tinged with something that felt like hurt. His wide eyes searched for yours, the vulnerability in them throwing you off balance.

“I—” you started, only to falter. Maybe you deserved it after ignoring his multiple missed calls. “Kook, my phone was dead. I didn’t even think about it because it was such a last-minute thing with Dahee. I wasn’t trying to ignore you.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked back up, his expression was softer, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “I know you weren’t ignoring me. It's just... when you didn’t have your phone with you, and I couldn’t reach you... I started to wonder if you were avoiding me after this morning.”

And there it was. 

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to scare you off with the idea of moving in; I just thought that—”

He broke off, running a hand through his hair. The vulnerability etched across his face made your heart ache. You knew, from the moment you had walked out of the kitchen this morning, stating you needed to think about it, that this matter would linger unresolved in his mind. You had felt it would create a tension that would only grow if you didn’t address it according to his timing. 

“You just thought what?” you prompted gently, your voice soft but insistent.

“That it might bring us closer,” he finally said, looking up at you. “That would show you how serious I am about us. About you.”

The warmth of his words seeped into your chest, the tenderness behind them making your heart flutter. But just as quickly, doubt crept in.

You swallowed hard, your thoughts swirling. You told yourself Jungkook wasn’t trying to guilt-trip you about this—at least, that’s what you kept repeating, hating yourself for even entertaining the idea. Still, the unease lingered inside, as if your freedom to think it over was somehow a source of discomfort for him.

You couldn’t help but study his face, your eyes scanning every feature, searching for even the slightest hint of uncertainty about this. There was none—his expression was steady, resolute. Unlike your own mind, which was spiraling, racing through every possible reason for your hesitation.

“I meant it,” he stated, eyes searching for something in yours. “I don’t want you to be anywhere else but here with me. I love having you around. And honestly, it feels like the right time."

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling heavily, before opening the door and stepping out of the bathroom. Entering the bedroom felt like seeking refuge, as if the space could somehow ease the tightness in your chest and help you breathe better. His words echoed in your mind, their gravity sinking in as you started pacing around his bedroom, your movements restless.

Your thoughts raced wildly—this wasn’t just a step; it was a leap, one that would change everything. The idea was both thrilling and utterly terrifying.

And you wanted it. Didn’t you?

Jungkook was everything you’d ever dreamed of—kind, stable, and endlessly patient with every quirk and flaw you carried. You loved him, deeply and fiercely. Yet, the thought of merging your lives so intimately made your heart race for reasons that weren’t entirely joyful.

The events of the past week and this afternoon loomed in your mind, a dark shadow cast over the light you’d found with him, lingering just enough to make you question if now was the right time.

Jungkook came out of the bathroom and was now standing near the closet door, watching you silently as you paced around, his dark eyes tracking your every move with a mix of curiosity and patience. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but more calm than before. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing for an answer—just waiting, giving you the space to process what he’d said.

“I… I don’t know,” you began, biting your lip. “It’s a big step, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “I know,” he replied gently. “It’s a huge step, but I’m ready for it, and I want to take it with you.”

You took another deep breath, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the walls closing in around you. Jungkook’s expression faltered, confusion flashing across his features as he watched you.  

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you said finally, your words carefully chosen. “I just… I feel like maybe it’s too soon?”

He studied you with a frown. “Too soon? Y/N, it’s been six months. I love you. I want to build a life with you.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “And I love you too. But…” you trailed off, unable to put into words your emotions. 

“But what?”

Oh, I don't know, I'm kind of keeping a secret from you that I slept with your best friend four years ago and we pretended we didn't know each other to your face, and I don't know how to deal with that. Do you still want me to move in?

The absurdity of saying it aloud hit you like a cold wave, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn't just the words themselves, it was the potential devastation they carried, the way they could shatter everything you and Jungkook had carefully built together so far. Not that this situation was making things much better, you thought.

You shook your head as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. This wasn’t the time, not now. Maybe not ever. But the weight of the unspoken truth lingered above your head, pressing down on you even as you stood frozen in the middle of the bedroom.

This wasn’t about doubting your feelings for him. You loved Jungkook more than words could express. He had shown you time and again that he was there for you, steady and unwavering, no matter what. But taking this step—making this commitment—wasn’t just about love. It was about letting go of the fears that whispered what-ifs in the quiet corners of your mind.

And mostly, letting go of the past. What you weren't sure you were ready to do anymore.

You had been so sure of yourself just hours ago. Why doubt clawed at your chest now?

Finally, you stopped pacing and turned to face him, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if for comfort. You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “But what about everything else? My work, your schedule? It’s a lot to juggle.”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We’ll figure it out. I just want to be with you, come home to you. I think it could be amazing. Just think about it, babe, no more running back and forth, no more late-night drives. It’s closer to work, and you’d waste less time in traffic.”

“What about my apartment?” you asked, but deep down it was clear you were just looking for reasons to stand your ground.

His response was immediate, as if he’d already thought of it. “You can turn it into your studio. I can help you with that.”

“You’ve thought of all this.” It wasn’t a question, though it sounded like one.

“I have,” he admitted, his tone soft but certain. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

What the hell was wrong with you? Why didn’t you want to live with this perfect man standing in front of you, offering everything you’d ever wanted?

You chewed your lip again, hesitating before you spoke again. “I just think we should wait a little longer.”

Jungkook sighed, and the playful lightness from earlier vanished. “Y/N, if this is about me leaning on you too much, then say so. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“No, it’s not that,” you replied quickly, though doubts began to creep in.

“Then what is it?” he asked, his tone tinged with hurt.

You opened your mouth to explain but faltered. How could you share that the memory of Mingyu’s piercing gaze and your unresolved history loomed in your mind? That, despite your love for Jungkook, moving in together felt like a complicated risk right now?

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. It’s just…” You sighed, shaking your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re acting like I should drop everything and just say yes!”

His expression darkened, confusion morphing into irritation. “I thought we were building a future together, and now it feels like you’re pulling away!”

“It’s too soon!” you shouted back, the admission tumbling out before you could stop it.

Jungkook blinked, his expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. “Too soon? Y/N, we’ve been together for six months. I love you. I want to build a life with you. How is that too soon?”

“I don’t know!” you cried, running a hand through your hair again. “I just… I need more time, okay?”

“More time for what?” His voice cracked, the vulnerability in his eyes making your stomach churn. “To figure out if you even want this? If you even want me?”

“Don’t do that,” you said sharply, your hands trembling. “Don’t twist this into me not loving you, because you know that’s not true.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, stepping closer. “Because right now, it feels like you’re running away.”

“I’m not running away!” you yelled, your voice echoing in the bedroom. “I’m just… I’m trying to figure things out. My work, your schedule—there’s so much to juggle.”

“I told you: we can figure it out together,” he said, his tone softening for a moment. “But I can’t keep doing this, Y/N. I need to know you’re all in.”

Your throat tightened, tears stinging your eyes. “I am all in,” you whispered, though now even you weren’t sure if it was entirely true.

“Then prove it,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Because right now, it doesn’t feel like you are.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words crushing you. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. How could you explain the doubts that clawed at you? How could you explain to him that you were scared to death that your past would come back to destroy what you had built together without telling him who your past was?

Silence lingered between you, heavy and suffocating. Your shoulders slumped as you sat on the edge of the bed trying to control your legs that you hadn't realized were shaking. “I’m too tired for this right now, Jungkook. Can we please talk tomorrow?”

He stood there for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of hurt and anger before shaking his head. “Fine.”

Jungkook grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and headed for the couch, the soft sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall. You stood there, your reflection staring back at you in the mirror wall, tears streaming down your face for the first time this week.

The night had ended exactly as you’d expected. Just not for the reasons you’d hoped.

You’d officially step into your new role as Seventeen’s lead stylist three days later, after submitting your resignation letter to Elle Magazine. The transition from one job to the other had been anything but smooth, even though HYBE had done their part to ease the process. You were grateful for their professionalism and for agreeing to handle any complications with your former employer, even providing a temporary replacement until a permanent hire could fill your position, showing how much they wanted you to work with them.

They wanted you to start immediately, which meant you’d already spent the last three days coordinating the group’s wardrobe remotely, finalizing adjustments, sending approvals through a dizzying chain of emails, and constantly contacting their former stylist, named Mitsuri Miyawaki, known as Stormi. 

Three whole days of nonstop emails, virtual meetings, and late-night alterations that had blurred together, confined to your apartment-turned-studio, sewing and sketching, and though you were now more excited about the chance to leave an even greater mark in the fashion and entertainment industry, your whole body bears witness to your tiredness.

All of this, however, meant that you hadn’t spoken or seen Jungkook in three whole days. The next morning, when you woke up, he had already left for work, and you couldn’t wait for him to come back, since doing so would’ve made you late. The only messages exchanged between the two of you over the past three days had been about Bam, aside from the one you sent this morning: a simple "Fighting ❤️," knowing today would be the release of Left and Right.

You wished things were different right now, but there wasn’t much you could do to improve the situation, especially since your answer to what he wanted so desperately remained unchanged.

As always, for the past three days you have been using your coping mechanism: focusing on work to forget your problems. 

And Stormi had been a lifeline in your chaos. To your surprise, she was now TXT’s new stylist and, apparently, also Vernon’s girlfriend. That particular tidbit had been casually dropped into one of your conversations catching you off guard, but making you have an immense empathy for her immediately, since you were practically in the same boat. 

She was extremely kind and attentive to your questions, and within just a few days, the two of you had already spoken more than you had with anyone else this week, constantly staying in touch through countless messages, video and phone calls. Her guidance was invaluable, but it was clear she was more than ready to hand over the reins. 

For your first day, she had offered to show you around the building and take you to the cafeteria for an iced americano, mentioning it was one of the largest and most varied she had ever seen, which, of course, you couldn’t deny. 

“Have you met Choi Arin sunbaenim, yet? The supervisor?” Mitsuri asked you, when you two entered the cafeteria. 

You shook your head, scanning the spacious cafeteria with curiosity as you joined the line to place your orders. You immediately recognized some familiar artists scattered at tables, chatting and eating animatedly, along with various members of the staff team.

“Not yet,” you admitted, glancing at Mitsuri as you queued up to place your orders. “We've only communicated through email. She mentioned she'd stop by my studio before introducing me to the members.”

One of the things you had discovered was that here, the team of stylists of each group had their own separate space to work, even though the general HYBE wardrobe room was available to anyone who needed it. And since you were in charge of guiding Seventeen’s stylist team, you also had a private studio for yourself, which you had appreciated very much.

“She's a cow,” Mitsuri said, without beating around the bush. “She’s been on my case since day one. Honestly, it’s a miracle I wasn’t fired when she found out about my relationship with Hansol.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “She’s the one who discovered it?”

“Unfortunately.” Mitsuri rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“I'm guessing she didn't approve?” You let out a genuine chuckle at the expression on her face.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Mitsuri snorted, grabbing a tray for her order. “She’s a stickler for rules, and she doesn’t care much for personal connections interfering with work. Can’t say I blame her entirely, things can get messy if you’re not careful, but still, it’s exhausting.”

“She must’ve been intense,” you said, cringing at the thought of a stern supervisor breathing down your neck.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mitsuri said, chuckling softly. “To be fair, HYBE has some pretty strict policies about that sort of thing. But you know how it is—long hours, close quarters. Things happen.” She shrugged. “That's why I was relocated.”

The mention of personal connections and professionalism hit a little too close to home, given the delicate balance you were already trying to maintain between your personal and professional life. The last thing you needed was for someone like Arin to scrutinize your every move.

Mitsuri seemed to sense your unease, her expression softening. 

“Don’t let her intimidate you, though,” she continued, her tone lightening as you moved down the line. “You’re ridiculously talented. They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t think you could handle it.”

Her words brought a small smile to your lips. “Thanks, Stormi. That means a lot.”

She shrugged with a grin. “Just speaking the truth. Besides, you’re gonna kill it here. I’ve seen your work and it’s amazing. The guys are lucky to have you.”

The line moved forward, and you placed your order, grateful for the brief reprieve from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind as always. While Mitsuri grabbed a piece of iced lemon loaf cake to enjoy right away, you decided your stomach couldn’t handle much more than an espresso to keep you awake. Still, you couldn’t resist grabbing a chocolate chip cookie for later because it looked too good to pass up.

“Okay, but enough about Arin,” Mitsuri said, offering you a reassuring smile. “You’re going to love working with Seventeen. They’re a handful, sure, but they’re good guys. They make all the stress worth it. And if you ever need a break or a rant session, just call me. I’ll sneak you out for coffee, or a drink if it’s really bad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, her easy going demeanor putting you at ease despite the lingering nerves. “I might take you up on that.”

As the barista handed over your orders, Mitsuri raised an eyebrow, her smile never fading. “You already know some of them, right?”

The two of you weaved through the maze of tables, heading toward one near the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight streamed in, highlighting the bustling cafeteria as you settled into your seats, the view of the city below serving as a stunning backdrop.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as you took a sip of your coffee. “Seokmin, Minghao and... Mingyu. They are friends with Jungkook. I don’t know them much more than that.”

You knew that starting a friendship by lying wasn’t the best approach. But what could you do? She was still a stranger—albeit a dear one, but a stranger nonetheless. It wasn’t like you could just spill personal details about your life, especially when it came to your past. The NDA was still in effect, after all.

After your answer, Mitsuri proceeded to give you a complete dossier on each of the members, describing them with an excited smile and evident affection. It was clear that she had loved working with them, and it probably hadn’t been easy to be reassigned to another group. Still, she seemed to like TXT just as much, mentioning that they were great, though less chaotic than Seventeen.

Despite the nervousness, you found yourself laughing, already imagining what kind of dynamic they must have within the group. It sounded like Seventeen was a vibrant mix of personalities, each one offering something unique to the group, and you’d soon be a part of that energy.

“Jeonghan looks like an angel, he’s even nicknamed Angel, but trust me, there’s nothing angelic about him. Not in a bad way, though,” Mitsuri added with a grin. “I say this with great affection. His language of love is disturbance. He’s a great listener also.”

“Disturbance as a love language, huh?” you chuckled, taking another sip of your coffee. “Sounds... intriguing.��

“Oh, it is,” Mitsuri replied, her grin widening. “But you'll love him. Jeonghan has this way of making everyone feel at ease, like he’s scheming something, but in a way that makes you curious rather than nervous. He’s got that kind of charm.”

You couldn’t help but smile, her enthusiasm contagious. It was clear she held a deep affection for the group, which eased some of your anxieties about stepping into your new role. If they were anything like Mitsuri described, you had a feeling this job, though challenging, might also be a lot of fun.

As the conversation continued, Mitsuri moved on to talk about Joshua, the group's resident gentleman, and his impeccable manners that somehow made his occasional mischievous moments more surprising. Then there was Seungkwan, who, according to Mitsuri, was a whirlwind of energy and emotion, a living embodiment of both comedy and heartfelt sincerity.

“Don’t even get me started on him,” Mitsuri said, shaking her head fondly. “Seungkwan’s like a serotonin boost in human form. But be prepared, he’ll probably want your opinion on everything, from wardrobe choices to which snacks should be stocked in this bedroom.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. He sounds like he’d be hard to say no to.”

“Oh, he is,” she confirmed with a mock-serious nod. “And then there’s Mingyu…” Mitsuri’s tone shifted slightly, a hint of something playful but cautious creeping into her voice. “You’ve already met him, right?”

“Briefly,’ you said, keeping your tone neutral. “We were introduced through Jungkook a while back.”

Mitsuri hummed thoughtfully. “Well, Mingyu is... Mingyu,” she said finally, her words laced with amusement. “He’s an absolute sweetheart. Tall, a bit clumsy, but honestly one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. Not to mention, he’s ridiculously good-looking.” She smirked. “He’s got this... aura about him. Basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. But don’t let that fool you. He’s a flirt, and he knows it.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Oh, you knew it too.

You wanted to smile at the fact that, despite everything, Mingyu was still the same, but you held yourself back. Every detail Mitsuri described knocked on the door to the basement of your heart, bringing back a faint sense of familiarity you hadn’t realized was still lingering there. It felt like looking at a photo of someone you used to know. 

You just nodded, filing away the information. 

“He’s a perfectionist, though, so don’t be surprised if he’s the one asking for adjustments on his outfits the most.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Trust me,” Mitsuri said, leaning back in her chair. “You’re about to experience the Mingyu Effect firsthand. And once you do, there’s no going back.”

You knew she was right. You had lived through it, you were more than familiar with it.

Mitsuri had moved on to the next member, and you were lifting your coffee to your lips, laughing at her description of Hoshi, when your attention shifted to the counter. You analyzed a group of four guys who had just entered the cafeteria, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

They all had their backs turned to you and Mitsuri. The first one had black hair, and despite his small stature, his physique was strong and well-proportioned. The second one wasn’t much taller, with a lean, toned physique and brownish hair. The guy who came right after him had light brown hair as well, but his muscular, athletic build—with broad shoulders and strong arms—made him clearly the second tallest of the group.

The last one of the group was much taller than the rest, with a long, muscular torso that clearly drew attention wherever he went, including from the group of girls sitting just a few inches away from him. His black hair was a little messy, falling over his ears and you could see the muscles on his back through the fabric of the white shirt he was wearing.

From that angle, he looked like thousands of other ordinary men in Seoul, but you knew exactly who he was.

It was as if he had been summoned.

Unable to look away, you were paralyzed, waiting for the moment when he would turn around and spot you, right in his line of sight, after nearly two weeks since you told him you would think about it and had remained completely radio silent. 

“Y/N?" Mitsuri calls out to you, following the direction of your gaze. You hold your breath for a moment, relieved when a group of staff members stepped into her line of sight. "Is everything okay?”

You blink, stunned. This couldn't be happening. “Uh... Yeah. I... I just…” You trail off, searching for the right words, but your mind feels foggy as you try to focus on anything else but the man standing across the room.

You looked back at the counter and saw his eyes locked on you, his face completely incredulous, as if he was feeling the same way you were about him: like the sight of you there was some sort of figment of his imagination. He blinked a few times and you swallowed hard.

The moment you saw his feet moving, instinct takes over your body, and a surge of self-preservation propels you out of your chair.

“I'm sorry, Storm,” you said, glancing at her. “I have to go.”

She looks puzzled by your sudden behavior but simply says, “Oh, it's okay.”

“I just remembered I need to make some adjustments, and…” Your eyes dart up, catching sight of him coming closer. “Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything.”

You grab your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and rushes between the tables, darting out of the cafeteria at a speed you didn’t know was humanly possible. Without daring to look back, you hurry toward the elevator's hallway, your heart racing, unsure if he’s following you or not.

The elevator doors seem to take an eternity to open as you anxiously tap all them, stealing quick glances over your shoulder. Each second feels like a lifetime, your heart pounding in your ears, drowning out the hum of the bustling building.

You silently beg for the elevator to arrive, gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Just as the sign shows it’s on the 9th floor, you catch sight of him stepping into the hallway, his tall figure unmistakable even from a distance.

“Y/N.”

The sound of his voice calling out your name freezes you in place, sending another chill down your spine again. You feel the weight of his gaze even before you turn to meet it, and you swallow hard again, hand hovering over the elevator button as you consider your options. Run, face him, pretend you didn’t hear him—none of them feel like the right answer.

You glance over your shoulder, trying to appear composed, though every nerve in your body is screaming to run. Mingyu is just a few feet away now, his expression a mix of disbelief and something you can’t quite place. Relief? Confusion? Frustration? Maybe all three.

“Y/N,” he calls once more, and this time, you can hear the unmistakable urgency in his voice. The gentle way he says your name tugs at something inside you, making it even harder to stand your ground. 

The elevator dings, its doors sliding open, offering an escape route. You hesitate, torn between stepping inside and hearing what he has to say. Suddenly, your feet seem to have forgotten their purpose right at the moment that you wanted to shield yourself from the storm brewing between you and the man standing behind you. 

“Y/N. Seriously?” he says softly, his tone carrying a thousand unspoken meanings.

You exhale sharply, your resolve crumbling at the vulnerability in his tone. Slowly, you turn to face him, your bag still clutched tightly against your side. His dark eyes lock onto yours, searching for something, though you’re not sure what.

“Please,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Just give me a minute.”

“Hi," you finally manage to say. You’re trying to figure out what to say, but your head is filled with a jumble of meaningless words. Hi? Really? Who, in their right mind, says something as dumb as 'Hi' at a time like this?

"Are you...?" he begins, his voice breathless. "Why are you avoiding me?"

You blink, caught off guard by his question. For a moment, you're paralyzed, unable to respond. It feels as though time slows, the noise of the building fading into the background as his voice echoes in your mind. 

It wasn’t exactly your intention to avoid him, but lately, it seemed like that was your only response to everything being thrown your way.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out right away. “I’m not... I wasn’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to even begin explaining. “I didn't mean to,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. You take a step back, trying to create some space between you two, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

“You didn’t mean to what?” His voice is softer now, tinged with something that sounds like frustration, but also concern.

You glance down, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been trying to avoid coming back to you all at once. You want to tell him everything—the reasons you’ve kept your distance, the mess of emotions tangled up in your heart—but it’s too much to say all at once. It’s too raw, too complicated. You need to be mentally and emotionally prepared for a conversation like this.

He stared at you for a beat longer, his brows furrowing as if he were trying to read you. It felt like he was slowly beginning to grasp the weight of the situation, the realization dawning on him bit by bit. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, your throat tight. The tension between you felt palpable, like you were both standing on the edge of something you weren’t ready to face yet. “It has.”

His voice was laced with something that sounded almost… regretful as he said, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again after...”

You blinked, taken aback by the rawness in his tone. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

But your confusion only deepened with every word he said. He was the one who left. He was the one who disappeared without a trace after that last day. He was the one who had shoved that NDA down your throat. And yet, here he was, looking at you like he hadn’t wanted that.

You couldn’t make sense of it.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating you in this huge hallway. You looked away, trying to steady your breath, trying to keep control. But his presence was overwhelming, stirring things inside you that you didn't even know how to explain without seeming like you were still madly in love with him.

Because you weren't.

You were hopelessly in love with Jungkook and only him.

“Mingyu,” you said, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as you speak his name out loud for the first time. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

He leaned down, his face leveling with yours.

“Are you kidding me?” His eyes were wild, full of disbelief. He took a step forward while you took one back, your back hitting the metal of the elevator doors. “You think I’m just going to bump into you again, say ‘Hey, Y/N, what’s up?’ and let you walk away again? Just like that? No more words, no more talking for another four fucking years? Have you even thought about talking at all?”

Your breath catches at his words, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s collapsing in on you. You wanted to make sense of what he meant by emphasizing the word again. But at the same time, you were afraid that knowing might make things inside you worse. His intensity, the raw emotion in his voice, it’s all so much harder to face than you ever expected. 

“I'm not ready for this conversation yet,” you admit quietly, looking away from him to stare at your own shoes.

“You need to be ready to talk to me?”

“If there’s anyone I need to be ready for, it’s you,” you admitted, your voice almost low enough that he wouldn't hear. But he did. You saw it in the way his entire face seemed to contort in pain, exactly like the pain twisting in your own chest.

“I just need…” he begins, searching for your gaze. “How are you? How long have you been back?”

“I’m fine,” you answered mechanically. “I got back in August.”

For the last four years, you've been angry, convincing yourself you were above it all, but just one single look at his face was enough to make you understand that you weren't. 

Quite the opposite, actually. 

Somehow, you're holding it together, barely managing to keep your composure, but you knew that if you stayed even a second longer, you wouldn't be able to keep it up. The way Mingyu's face seems to mirror the confusion that's going on in your head, combined with only two hours of sleep and no clue when this day would end, is too much for you to handle right now. You need to get out before everything unravels.

“I have to go,” you say, your voice suddenly desperate. “Okay?”

Before he could respond, you turned and walked away, heading straight for the first elevator with its doors wide open. You’re aware he could’ve caught up to you in a few quick steps, his long legs easily closing the distance, but he doesn’t. And as the elevator jolts downward to the 15th floor, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he's still there, just behind you.

When Choi Arin finally arrived at your studio, around three in the afternoon, your nerves had completely calmed, though a throbbing pain in your head prevented you from thinking clearly enough to continue sewing the gold studs onto the leather of the black jacket that would soon belong to Wonwoo.

To your surprise, she didn’t say much, simply asking you to follow her—and so you did. Now, the two of you were trapped in the elevator, traveling from the 15th floor to the 6th in almost complete silence, the only sound being the soft hum of the metal.

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, but she remained unchanged: her gaze was focused on the metal doors, her posture erect, hands clasped behind her back.

Her demeanor almost made her seem like a strict high school principal, but she was much younger than you had anticipated. If it weren’t for the badge hanging from her neck, clearly marking her position within the company, you might have easily mistaken her for one of the company’s female artists, especially considering her striking beauty.

“How has your first day been so far?” she finally asked, turning her body slightly to look at you. Her eyes are piercingly intimidating, yet her voice remained calm and gentle, echoing through the elevator.

You felt the weight of her gaze, the intensity of her presence making it hard to keep your composure. It's as if she’s already assessing you, measuring you in ways you aren't prepared for. You straighten your posture, trying to mask the nerves bubbling up inside of you.

“It’s been... busy,”  you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though her intense gaze still made you feel on edge all over again. “I’ve been mostly settling in and getting familiar with the team. There’s a lot to process, but it’s all exciting.”

Arin nodded thoughtfully, her expression unreadable as she listened. “I’m glad to hear that. Transitioning into a new role, especially one like this, is never easy.” Her gaze briefly flicked down to your sketchbook, which you clutched in your hands. “I’ve heard you worked with Bangtan Sonyeondan before.”

You nodded, feeling a hint of pride. “Yeah, I worked with them for a while.”

At that moment, you assumed she would start a conversation about your past work experience, as most people in this field flipped out with excitement when they learned you were responsible for securing Dua Lipa a million-dollar contract with Versace or how you had styled BTS for the VOGUE X GQ Korea 2022 January issue and the Grammy’s. 

But you couldn't be more wrong. 

The way she clicked her tongue and pressed the button to stop the elevator on the eighth floor made her intentions very clear, exactly as Stormi had predicted: she wanted to intimidate you.

“This isn’t like the last time you worked here, so I would like to clear a few things up.”

Arin’s voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it now, one that made the air between you feel thick. She stood straight, her posture unwavering, as if she were delivering a warning she expected you to understand without questioning.

“First of all,” she began. “I don’t like you and that’s not going to change. If it was it for me, you wouldn't have been hired. I know your history and I don't approve of it. I’m the supervisor here, which means you answer to me. I don’t care that you have experience in this field or that your boyfriend is famous. I’m the one in charge here.”

The weight of Arin’s words hitted you like a physical blow, each one cutting deeper than the last, the abrupt shift in tone catching you off guard. You tried to keep your face neutral, but it was hard when everything inside you screamed to respond. You had worked for years to earn your place in this industry, to get to a position where you could walk into any room with confidence. But here, in front of Arin, that confidence felt like it was slowly slipping away.

“I don’t care how many people you’ve worked with, how many magazines you’ve graced, or how many contracts you’ve secured. None of that matters here. This is a different ball game, and the rules are mine. You follow them, or you’re out.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just walk away. But you knew that would be foolish. No matter how much Arin seemed to want to break you down, you weren’t the kind of person to let someone like her get the best of you.

“I understand,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

"I expect you to follow protocol exactly as it's laid out, no exceptions," she said, leaning forward slightly. "And whatever personal connections you might have? Leave them at the door. This is a professional environment, and I won’t tolerate anything less than that."

You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to remain composed. "Understood," you said evenly, meeting her eyes.

Her lips curled into a tight smile, but it wasn’t warm. “I want you to know that there will be no fraternizing with any of the group members. If you do, you’ll be fired. Do you understand?”

The intensity of her statement lingered in the air, her piercing gaze challenging you to flinch. But you didn’t. You square your shoulders and met her eyes, willing your voice to stay firm. “Crystal clear,” you replied.

“This is a very different environment,” she continued, her eyes locking with yours, as if daring you to challenge her. “Here, we don’t do things the way you might be used to. There’s no room for mistakes, no room for error. We work fast, we work hard, and we work with a level of professionalism that you might not have encountered before. I trust you understand that.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, her subtle jab not lost on you. Instead, you forced a polite nod, your expression calm despite the fire building in your chest. “Yes. And I respect your position. I’m here to do my job, and I intend to do it well.”

“We’ll see about that. I have my doubts. I hope you prove me wrong.”

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. The pressure in the air felt suffocating, but you could tell that Arin wasn’t finished yet.

“You’ll be working under my direct supervision,” she continued, her tone sharper now. “And if I catch even the slightest hint that you're not living up to the standard I expect, you’ll be gone before you even realize what happened. Got it?”

You didn't even know if she had the power to do it, but it was clear that there was no room for negotiation. It was clear that Arin wasn’t interested in a discussion, only in making sure you knew exactly where you stood in this power dynamic.

“Got it,” you said again, your words tight but firm.

“I’m in charge here,” she adds again. “Anything I need goes through me.”

“Sounds good.”

“I don’t know how your last experience here worked, and I don’t care. Anything goes down with you and someone in the group, you’re fired. Remember one thing: I have eyes everywhere.”

The repetition of her words didn’t escape you, but you didn’t feel the need to comment on it. Arin was clearly intent on asserting dominance and testing how far she could push you. It was as if she needed to keep reminding you of the same boundaries, like she was trying to convince herself more than anything else.

You noticed the way her eyes kept scanning you, searching for cracks in your composure. It was strange—almost obsessive, as if she feared that a single slip-up would unravel everything. You could feel her frustration simmering just beneath the surface, her control slipping in these subtle ways that only someone used to being in power would notice. You almost wondered what it was about you that made her so intent on stamping out any hint of rebellion.

“Understood,” you repeated, careful to keep your tone neutral. Your mind was already spinning with the implications of her words.

You had worked in this industry for a long time, and Arin’s rules seemed arbitrary, almost paranoid. She couldn’t control everything, and if she didn’t relax, her insecurity would show.

You still had a job to do, and you weren’t about to let anyone make you doubt your place. “I’m here to work,” you said, trying to keep the slight edge from your voice. “And I’ll follow the protocol, exactly as you laid it out. No issues.”

Arin paused for a moment, studying you intently, as if she were searching for any hint of insincerity. But when her gaze softened, even just a fraction, you knew that she was registering your compliance. It wasn’t the warmth of trust, just the relief of a brief moment of silence where she wasn’t feeling threatened.

“Good,” she said at last, her voice slightly less sharp, though still guarded. “I expect no less.”

She pressed the button and the elevator started moving again with a jolt that almost made you lose your balance.

When you exited the elevator, you walked behind her until you reached one of the rooms, marked with a sign that reads: SEVENTEEN - Do Not Disturb - Rehearsal. 

“Welcome to the team,” Arin said over her shoulder, her tone colder than the temperature of the hallway. It wasn’t a greeting—it was more of a command. And then she opened the door to the practice room.

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[doctorbunny]

MILGRAM Hallucination Booklet Translation pt.1 (Yamanaka and DECO*27 Interview)

Context: This interview was from a booklet handed out at the MILGRAM Hallucination live show on the 21st January 2024 (if you want a copy you can buy it here) This translation was made possible by the generosity of @maxpawb sharing images of his booklet with me This translation is mostly my own, but @maristelina helped me with some sections. Now without further ado:

Q.01 Introduce Yourself. I'm Takuya Yamanaka. I'm the creator/planner/screenwriter for MILGRAM. I'm DECO*27. I work as the music producer for MILGRAM. I like Hatsune Miku.

Q.02 What reactions from the guards have been the most surprising so far? Yamanaka: There are a lot of guards that were born overseas, aren't there? Even though it's created with rather Japanese sensibilities, overseas audiences didn't seem to mind at all. Though the countries and sensibilities are different than what I anticipated, votes have become more multifaceted, it's very interesting, isn't it? DECO: To forgive or not forgive the prisoners what do you do, whether it goes as you expected or the result turns out to be quite the opposite, its fascinating. Maybe your nationality affects the kind of criteria you use to make judgements? I've been thinking about something like that.

Q.03 Is there anything you didn't imagine would happen at the start of the trial? Yamanaka: I didn't write it with a large overseas audience in mind, because from the start I wasn't worrying about popularity at all, I simply didn't think I'd be watching over so many guards. Milgram was developed as a more underground project, but it's popularity is a good surprise, isn't it. DECO: There were more people who got into MILGRAM without already caring about my music than I imagined, it was surprising. I feel like MILGRAM has spread further beyond than what I thought it would. I'm very grateful!

Q.04 So far, what's made you the happiest? Yamanaka: Everything. As a creator it brings me great joy to see a work that existed in my mind, take shape and be enjoyed by so many people. Other than that, because I also love the characters I've birthed, seeing all the guards talking about them and sharing their thoughts, both positive and negative, has to be the best feeling. DECO: It makes me happy to see lots of people analysing the meanings I put in my songs! The theories get pretty close to the truth too, I think... the power of all the guards is really cool.

Q.05 So far, what has been the most challenging? Yamanaka: Because I have to change the script in accordance with the audience's decisions, I can't create the entire story in advance. Furthermore, as of the second trial, there aren't only individual character storylines, the prisoner's verdicts begin to emerge and they influence each other. That is to say, I can't start writing until after everyone's results are out. Willingly subjecting myself to doing something this unreasonable, is what I feel is difficult for me. But because DECO*27 is also going through the same hell, we're holding on to some semblance of sanity. DECO: The story changes in accordance to all the guards' choices, and the music has to be written to match. I think this is harder for Yamanaka-P, who writes the script, than it is for me... But though its tough, I feel its really worthwhile, It makes me really happy to be able to communicate with everyone through my songs!

Q.06 Do you have any regrets like "I wish I had done it differently back then!"? Yamanaka: I've thought it over quite carefully, but there's nothing in particular. I think everyone involved in the project is giving it their all and its a really passionate environment. DECO: Nope! I've been able to put all the things I've thought of into my songs.

Q.07 Which prisoners are the easiest to write dialogue/music for? Yamanaka: If I had to pick one, it'd be Fuuta. He's the type of person that's pretty easy to write because his brain never shuts up. Other than him, Yuno and Shidou are relatively academic kids in theory, so they're easy to write because they're very clear when it comes to what they want to convey. [TL note just because its funny, the idiom Yamanaka uses is lit. "There is barking in the inside [of Fuuta's] head] DECO: It went smoothly for all of them!

Q.08 Which prisoners are the most fun to write dialogue/music for? Yamanaka: Muu's lines were the very fun to write~. I'm fascinated by her approach to life and can't help but envy how fun it must be to behave like that. Yuno and Amane are my runners up. I enjoy writing the kinds of characters who plainly state their ideas and speak eloquently. DECO: Mahiru! From the start writing about the relationships between men and women has been what you might call my forte, its enjoyable to make. I feel like this is also why I find Yuno easy to write for.

Q.09 Which prisoners are the hardest to write dialogue/music for? Yamanaka: Overwhelmingly, Haruka's dialogue takes me the longest to write. I have to use the parts of my brain that I wouldn't normally use to figure out how to not just directly convey what he wants to say. DECO: None of them!

Q.10 What's your favourite combination of characters? Yamanaka: Amane and Shidou. They're on completely different wavelengths about everything, and the best part is that there's no getting around it. My second pick might go to Yuno and Muu. They don't get along at all so their fights are never just superficial squabbling. DECO: I always like the interactions between Es and the prisoners. I'm liking how over the course of the voice drama interrogations, Es seems to be gradually coming to understand the prisoner's humanity. Especially Es + Mahiru!

Q.11 Do you want to be friends with any of the prisoners? Yamanaka: Shidou and Kazui. I like the idea of being friends with professional people. I think that people who choose to go into something specialized, its clear they have a kind of resolve and that's charming, isn't it? DECO: Yuno! I feel like she'd be easy to talk to. She seems like she's used to friends who maintain a good distance from each other. [note: while 'good' here can mean a fair amount of distance, in Japanese relationships the concept of boundaries is also built into the idea of distance, so in English you might talk about someone who is a close friend but still has good boundaries, but in Japanese this is someone who has the 'right amount'/ちょうどいい of distance from you, so this could mean Yuno doesn't have any close friends or that Yuno is just a good friend because she isn't going to turn up to your house unexpectedly and eat all the food in your fridge]

Q.12 Do you want to date any of the prisoners? Yamanaka: I love all of my characters a lot, but, well... how should I say it... I don't think I would date any of them. [TL note: I had to shift the wording to be more natural in English but the Japanese Q is more like 'which prisoner would you want to be your boy/girlfriend?' curse english for not having an exact equivalent to koibito, so Yamanaka's answer is more like 'I think would break up with all of them' its a nominal difference but my friend said to mention it bc its funny] DECO: I'm sorry.

Q.13 What's your favourite line/phrase? Yamanaka:

[Scene from Muu's first voice drama Crying B, TL taken from MILGRAMMER]

Es: Judging from your facial features, are you what they call “half-Japanese”? [lit. haafu/Half] Muu: Yeah… I’m biracial. [lit. daburu/Double]

It would have to be that wouldn't it? I got goosebumps when I wrote it it. DECO:

"It's not my fault"

I think that single phrase was able to represent Muu's character really well, if I do say so myself.

Q.14 Are there any prisoners that you think its good they're in MILGRAM? Yamanaka: All of them. Without these 10 people, this Milgram would be a complete failure. DECO: Without these 10 people, MILGRAM wouldn't exist!

Q.15 Is there anything the guards aren't aware of yet? Yamanaka: Of course, there may be some minor details, but I don't think there are any major points missing. The mysteries have already disseminated, I feel the full picture will be clearly revealed if the theories and wild speculations, which have been shared around the world, come together. As expected. DECO: There are! I hope you look forward to the gimmicks I wanted to put in my songs that will come out in the third trial!

Q.16 Is there anything you haven't been able to do up to now, but you want to try doing after this? Yamanaka: I want to do a stageplay. Every performance would be a different story set in Milgram. If anyone reading this is involved with stage productions, please contact me. [I can't find it now but I swear a while ago Yamanaka tweeted something similar like "I'm interested in doing stage adaptations of Caligula Effect or MILGRAM, if anyone is involved with stage production please contact me" I hope he does it, a MILGRAM stage play would be awesome] DECO: Fortunately, I'm already doing everything I want to do! Writing the trial 3 songs couldn't be more fun.

Q.17 Represent "MILGRAM" in one word. Yamanaka: 『人』 "People" DECO: 『噓』 "Lies" [This one is both simple and interesting so as a preview I'll share how akka and DMYM answered] akka: 『幻』 "Illusions" DMYM: 『信』 "Faith"

Q.18 Give a brief comment about the future of "MILGRAM". Yamanaka: There have already been plot developments that I personally wish I didn't have to write. The guards have all chosen a very intense path. It's frightening. I've also been ready to obey these choices since the start of MILGRAM, so I think we all should enjoy this story that can only be told once together. DECO: I've already started writing the prisoner's songs. It's hell. Please prepare yourselves. Q.19 A message for the guards. Yamanaka: Thank you for always looking after the prisoners. Milgram is a work that involves the participation of everyone, including yourself. The thoughts you had, the actions you took, the joy, and resentment you felt towards this prison, all this became a part of Milgram too. I would like you all to please live healthily in your realities alongside Milgram. DECO: Thank you for your hard work as guards. Although MILGRAM is full of troublemakers, we would be grateful if you could continue to watch over us for a long time to come. We will do our best to meet your expectations.

[A link to part 2 will be posted here when its ready]

(Japanese transcript under the cut)

Q.01 自己紹介を。 山中拓也です。 ミルグラムでは企画・原作・脚本をしています。 DECO*27です。 MILGRAMのサウンドプロデューサーを務めています。 初音ミクが好きです。

Q.02 これまでの看守たちからの反応で驚いたことは？ Yamanaka: 海外にもたくさんの看守が生まれるていったことですね。とっても日本的な感性で創っているので、海外ウケとかきにしていませんでした。やはり国が違うと感性も違うものだと思うので、より多面的な投票がされて、とても面白いですね。 DECO: 囚人が赦すor 赦さないのどっちになるか、と自分で予想していたりもしたのですが、結構それが逆の結果になっていることがあって興味深ったです。もしかして国民性で判断基準が違ってくるのかな？とか考えたりしました。

Q.03 審判開始時点では思い描いていなかったことはあるか？ Yamanaka: 海外ウケ気にしたことないと書きましたが、そもそもウケ自体あまり気にしていなかったので、シンプルにこんなにたくさんの看守の方に見守っていただけるコンテンツになるとは思っていませんでした。もっと、アンダーグラウンドで展開するつもりだったんですが、嬉しい悲鳴ですね。 DECO: 想像以上にDECO*27を知らない方にもMILGRAMを観てもらえたことに驚きました。自分の思っていた以上にMILGRAMが広がったなと感じています。ありがとうございます！

Q.04 これまでで一番嬉しかったことは？ Yamanaka: 全部です。自分の脳内にしかなかった作品が、形になり、たくさんの人に楽しんでもらえること自体がクリエイターとしては大きな喜ぶです。あとはやはり僕は自分が産んだ登場人物のことが大好きなので、プラスでもマイナスでも看守の皆様が彼らについて語って、想いをぶつけてくれいることが最高に嬉しいです。 DECO: たくさんの方に自分が音楽に込めた意味考察してもらえた嬉しいです！かなり正解に近い考察もあって、看守の皆さんのパワーすごいな…と思っています。

Q.05 これまでで一番大変だったことは？ Yamanaka: ユーザーの選択によって、シナリオを変更をするので、あらかじめ制作することができないということです。しかも二審からは個人のストーリーラインだけでなく、他の囚人の結果による影響も出てくる。ということは全員の結果出てからじゃないと制作できないということです。そんな無茶を勝手に自分でやりはじめて、勝手に自分で大変な思いをしています。同じ地獄をDECO27も味わっているので、なんとか正気を保っています。 DECO: 看守の皆さんの選択に応じてストーリー変化し、それに合うように音楽を書くことです。これは僕よりもシナリオを書く山中Pのほうが大変だろうな…と思いますが…大変ではありますがとてもやりがいをかんじていますし、曲を通じて皆さんとコミュニケーションが取れていることが嬉しいです！

Q.06　「今思えばやっておけばよかった！」のような後悔はあるか？ Yamanaka: よくよく考えてみたんですが、特に無いです。制作に関わる全員がベストを尽くしてくれているとてもアツい現場だと思います。 DECO: ないです！思いついたことはすべて楽曲で出力できています。

Q.07 シナリオや音楽の制作がスムーズな囚人は？ Yamanaka: 一人あげるとすればフータでしょうか。頭の中でわんわん言ってるので、かなり書きやすいタイプです。あとはユノや、シドウあたりの比較的理論的で偏差値高めな子たちは何が伝えたいかが明確なので書きやすいです。 DECO: みんなすんなりでした！

Q.08 シナリオや音楽の制作が一番楽しい囚人は？ Yamanaka: セリフを書いていて一番楽しいのはムウですかねぇ~。こんなふうにふるまえたち人生楽しいだろうという憧れすあります。次点で���ノやアマネでしょうか。思想がはっきりしてて、弁の立つタイプは書くのが楽しいです。 DECO: マヒルです！自分が元々男女間の関係性を描くのが得意ということもあって、楽しく制作しています。そういった意味ではユノも書きやすいなと感じます。

Q.09 シナリオや音楽の制作に苦労する囚人は？ Yamanaka: 圧倒的にセリフを書くのに時間がかかるのはハルカです。彼が伝えたいことを、伝わらないようにする調整に普段は使わない脳を使います。 DECO: いないです！

Q.10 お気に入りの組み合わせはあるか？ Yamanaka: アマネとシドウ。すべての要素が噛み合わなさすぎて、どうしようもないところが良いです。次点でユノとムウかもです。表面的なケンカにならないだけでかなり気が合わないので。 DECO: エス対囚人の絡みは須く好きです。ボイスドラマの尋問によって段々とエスが囚人の人間性を掴んでいく様が気に入っています。特にエス＋マヒル！

Q.11 囚人を友達にするなら誰か？ Yamanaka: シドウとカズイ。友達にいてほしい職業の人たちです。なにかのスペシャリストを選択する人たちというのは、何かしらの覚悟が決まっている人だと思うのでそれだけで魅力的ですね。 DECO: ユノです！話していて気楽そうだなと感じます。お互い良い距離感を保てる友達になれそう。

Q.12 囚人を恋人にするなら誰か？ Yamanaka: 僕は登場人物のことを全員最高に愛してますが、まぁ、なんというか、全員やめとこうと思います。 DECO: ごめんなさい。

Q.13 お気に入りのセルフやフレーズは？ Yamanaka: 「その顔立ち、ハーフというやつか？」「うん...…ダブル」ですね。書いてて鳥肌でした。 DECO: 「悪くないもん」 1フレーズでムウのキャラクターを上手に表現できたなと我ながら思っています。

Q.14 ミルグラムにいてくれてよかった、と思う囚人は？ Yamanaka: 全員です。この10人でなければ、このミルグラムになっていないので。 DECO: MILGRAMはこの10人がいなければ成立しません！

Q.15 看守たちにまだ感づかれていないことはあるか？ Yamanaka: もちろん、些末な部分はあるかと思いますが、大きいところだとないんじゃないですかねぇ。既に問題はバラまいたし、世界中に発信された考察や妄想を組み合わせたらきっちり全貌が明らかになる気がします。さすがです。 DECO: あります！第三審で僕が楽曲を通じてやりたかったギミックが出てくるので楽しみにしていてください！

Q.16 今できていないが、今後やってみたいことはあるか？ Yamanaka: 舞台がやりたいです。毎公演、コンセプトの異なるミルグラムで行われる舞台。舞台制作に関わる方が、読んでおられましたら是非山中まで。 DECO: 有り難いことに、やりたいことは全部やれています！第三審の曲を書くのが楽しくてしょうがないです。

Q.17 「ミルグラム」を一文字で表せ。 Yamanaka: 『人』 DECO: 『噓』

Q.18 今後の「ミルグラム」について一言。 Yamanaka: 既に僕が個人的には書かないでいたかった展開が確定しています。看守の皆さんなかなか強烈な道筋を選びました。恐ろしい。自分もその選択に従う覚悟をしてミルグラムをスタートしているので、一度きりの物語を皆さんと一緒に楽しもうと思います。 DECO: 既に楽曲を書き始めている囚人もいます。地獄です。覚悟しててください。

Q.19 看守たちへメッセージを。 Yamanaka: いつも囚人たちのことを世話してくださってありがとうございます。ミルグラムとは、参加する皆さん自身を含めてミルグラムという作品です。この監獄に対して感じた思い、起こした行動、喜び、 憤り 、それらすべてが作品の一部になります。是非ミルグラムと共にある皆さんの現実を健やかに生きてくださいませ。 DECO: いつも看守としてのお勤めご苦労さまです。曲者ばかりのMILGRAMですが、これからも末永く見守っていただけると幸いです。期待に応えられるよう、尽力してまいります。

[amkyor]

can you please do something of boyfriend shinso? like just one day of them at UA, and then they get to the dorms and spend the afternoon together and if you want they can sleep together (no need of nsfw or anything). add whatever you want! (fem reader please)

pt: sorry for my bad english!

H. SHINSOU SHORT STORY

Synopsis: You and the former class 1a, Shinsou included, were now in the 2nd year of the hero course, class 2a. You were lying on your bed in your dorm room, trying your hardest to go to sleep. After all your efforts, nothing was working. With that, you stepped out of your dorm to the common room to get a class of warm milk.

Two Insomniacs:

The clock on your bedside table ticked quietly in the dark, the glowing red numbers reading 1:03 AM. You lay on your back, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling, your mind a restless storm.

No matter how much you tried to block out the noise in your head or force your body into stillness, sleep just wouldn’t come.

It never did, not easily.

Your bedside light flicked on with a soft click as you reached over for the near-empty bottle of melatonin resting on the table.

You frowned at it, shaking the bottle slightly to hear the faint rattle of the last few tablets.

You’d taken your prescribed dose hours ago.

No luck.

With a groan, you rolled over, pulling your blanket over your head in frustration.

The dorm room was quiet, the only sounds being the faint hum of the air conditioner and occasional creaks of the building settling.

Everyone else in Heights Alliance was probably fast asleep, their dreams carrying them far away, while you remained rooted in restless wakefulness.

You flipped over again, clutching your pillow in hopes that maybe—just maybe—this time you’d find that elusive sweet spot.

But no.

The more you tried, the more frustrated you grew, your thoughts swirling in a cycle of how much you needed to sleep and how impossible it felt to actually do so.

Finally, you sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Enough was enough.

If lying here wasn’t working, maybe getting up would. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor before slipping into your bunny slippers.

The plush fabric brought a small sense of comfort, though it didn’t stop your tired mind from grumbling about the situation.

"Warm milk," you mumbled to yourself, standing and stretching slightly. It was an old trick, something your mom used to swear by when you were little.

You didn’t have much hope that it would work now, but at this point, anything was worth a try.

Grabbing a hoodie from the chair at your desk, you shrugged it on over your tank top, leaving it unzipped.

The soft fabric hung loosely around you, giving you a bit of warmth against the nighttime chill.

Your bunny slippers shuffled softly against the floor as you made your way to the door, careful not to make too much noise.

You paused for a moment with your hand on the doorknob, listening to the silence of the dorm hallway beyond.

Taking a breath, you slowly turned the knob and opened the door, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor.

The faint glow from the nightlights spaced along the walls created long shadows, the quiet almost eerie in its stillness.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you glanced down both ends of the hallway, ensuring no one else was awake.

The soft padding of your slippers was the only sound as you started toward the common area and kitchen, hoping that a warm glass of milk might finally bring you the rest you so desperately needed.

The hallway was silent as you padded softly toward the common area, the plush bunny slippers muffling your steps.

The faint glow of the nightlights cast long, uneven shadows along the walls, making the journey feel almost surreal.

You wrapped your hoodie tighter around yourself, the chill of the late hour seeping into the air.

When you reached the entrance to the common area, you paused, peeking around the corner to make sure no one else was there.

The room was still, the furniture sitting in quiet disarray from the day’s activities.

You exhaled softly, relieved to find it empty.

The last thing you wanted was to explain to anyone why you were up at such an hour.

Stepping carefully into the room, you avoided the creaky section of the floor near the couch and made your way toward the kitchen.

The soft dim light above the stove was just bright enough to illuminate the space without being harsh on your tiredless eyes.

You flicked on the overhead light, setting it to its lowest setting.

The warm glow cast soft shadows across the countertops, giving the kitchen a cozy, almost inviting atmosphere.

You headed straight for the fridge, the cool air brushing against your face as you pulled the door open.

The gallon of milk sat on the bottom shelf, its familiar red cap catching your eye.

You reached for it, careful not to knock over anything else as you lifted it out.

Closing the fridge door quietly, you placed the milk on the counter with a soft thunk, the sound barely registering in the silence.

Turning toward the cabinets, you opened one and pulled out a simple white mug, its handle smooth and cool in your hand.

Placing the mug on the counter beside the milk, you unscrewed the red cap and tilted the gallon carefully, watching as the milk poured in a steady stream.

You stopped halfway, not wanting to overfill it, and set the jug back down before twisting the cap back on.

The microwave sat in the corner of the counter, its shiny surface reflecting the dim light.

You opened the door and placed the mug inside, the faint hum of the appliance filling the kitchen as you set the timer for 30 seconds.

Pressing the start button, you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms as you waited.

The seconds ticked by, the quiet whirring of the microwave somehow soothing in the stillness.

Your eyes wandered around the kitchen, taking in the familiar surroundings.

The little magnets on the fridge, the neatly arranged dish rack, the faint scent of dish soap lingering in the air—it all felt comforting, grounding you as you stood there.

The microwave beeped softly, breaking your thoughts.

You straightened up and walked over, carefully opening the door and reaching inside to grab the mug.

The warmth of the ceramic seeped into your hands, the gentle heat a welcome contrast to the chill of the kitchen.

Turning back toward the island counter, you walked over and leaned against it, the cool surface pressing against your side as you cradled the mug in your hands.

The warm aroma of the milk wafted up, calming in its simplicity.

You raised the cup to your lips, taking a small sip.

The warmth spread through you, soothing and comforting in a way that made the late hour feel a little less daunting.

You took another small sip from the cup, the warmth of the milk spreading through your chest in a way that momentarily calmed you.

The heat soothed the chill of the night, and for a brief second, you thought maybe—just maybe—it was working.

You let yourself lean against the counter, the edge pressing into your hip as you closed your eyes, trying to focus on whether you felt even a shred of drowsiness.

Seconds passed, and you tried to gauge your body’s response.

Was your breathing slower?

Did your limbs feel heavier? No.

Instead of the calm onset of sleep, all you could register was the lingering warmth of the cup against your fingers and an irritating ache pulsing on the right side of your head.

A small headache—not sharp but dull and persistent—pounded in rhythm with your heartbeat.

You sighed heavily, the frustration creeping into your chest like a slow-moving wave.

Turning around to face the counter fully, you placed the mug down with a soft clink.

The weight of it leaving your hands felt symbolic, almost as if you were giving up on the idea that it might help.

Leaning forward, you pressed your elbows onto the countertop, resting your head in your arms.

The surface of the counter was cool against your skin, contrasting with the heat that lingered in your cheeks and forehead.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to push away the overwhelming tide of hopelessness that threatened to break through.

Why was it always like this?

Why couldn’t you have one peaceful night of sleep?

The questions circled in your mind, swirling together with the ache in your head and the exhaustion tugging at your body.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, though in reality, it was only a minute or two.

After a while, you lifted your head slightly, your arms still folded beneath you as you brought your fingers to your temples.

With slow, deliberate motions, you began rubbing gentle circles into the tender spots on either side of your head, hoping it would ease the ache.

The repetitive motion was soothing to a degree, but it wasn’t enough to quell the overwhelming sense of defeat.

The hopelessness grew, bubbling in your chest until it felt like it might spill over.

With a small groan of frustration, you let your hand drop and press your palm firmly against your forehead, as if grounding yourself physically could somehow calm your mind.

You stood in that position for a couple of seconds, hoping that this would have caused some kind of change.

But then...

That’s when you heard it—the faint sound of shuffling near the entrance to the common area.

Your muscles tensed instinctively, and you slowly lifted your head, your palm still half-covering your face.

The soft padding of footsteps grew louder and closer.

Lowering your hand completely, you turned your gaze toward the source of the noise, desperation evident in your expression.

You weren’t sure what you expected to see.

Maybe another sleepless student wandering the halls, or perhaps even a teacher.

But as you blinked against the dim light, you focused on the figure stepping into view, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

Your eyes met Shinsou’s as he stepped fully into the dim light of the common area.

He stood there in his usual unbothered stance, one hip slightly cocked, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweatpants.

The plain T-shirt he wore was loose but not enough to hide the lean frame of someone who spent hours training.

His hair was an unkempt mess, half covering his forehead in uneven strands, but it wasn’t unflattering.

He looked tired, though—not just the ordinary kind of tired, but the weight-of-the-world-on-your-shoulders kind that resonated deeply with your own sleepless struggles.

“Shinsou…” you muttered, your voice low and scratchy from disuse.

Your blank stare met his equally weary one, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

His gaze swept over you briefly, taking in your disheveled form.

The messy low bun you’d hastily tied your hair into, the strands framing your face, and the tight tank top that was covered with your oversized hoodie didn’t seem to faze him.

He blinked slowly, his dark purple eyes lingering just long enough to notice the faint crease of exhaustion on your brow and the slight redness in your eyes.

Then, with a small sigh, he averted his gaze, his head turning to the side as though he couldn’t bring himself to stare for too long.

“What are you doing awake?” he asked, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer.

You stayed where you were, your elbows still propped on the counter, hands loosely clasped in front of you.

The weight of his question seemed heavier than it should have, as if he wasn’t just asking why you were out of bed but why you always seemed to end up like this—tired, restless, and chasing sleep that never came.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I thought warm milk might help.”

His eyes flicked back to you momentarily, studying the mug that sat on the counter in front of you.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something but decided against it.

Instead, he walked further into the room, his sock-covered feet making soft scuffing sounds against the floor.

“You really think that works?” he asked, leaning against the edge of the kitchen island opposite you. His tone wasn’t mocking—just curious, with a hint of skepticism.

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to the cup in front of you. “I don’t know. It’s supposed to… but it hasn’t helped yet.”

There was a beat of silence, and you shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, in a way, but also unnerving. It was like he could see through the layers of exhaustion and frustration you’d piled up over the weeks.

He tilted his head slightly, his messy hair falling further over his forehead. “You’ve been like this for a while, haven’t you?”

Your lips parted in surprise, but you quickly closed them, unsure how to respond.

He wasn’t wrong—your sleepless nights had become more frequent, more intense.

But hearing it said aloud made it harder to ignore.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” you said, brushing off the comment with a weak smile. “Just stress, probably.”

Shinsou didn’t look convinced.

He straightened up slightly, his hands still buried in his pockets. “You should’ve told someone. Aizawa, maybe. He’d get it.”

You shook your head, letting out a dry laugh. “What’s he gonna do? Expel my insomnia?”

For the first time, Shinsou’s lips quirked up into a faint smirk, but it faded quickly as his gaze softened. “Still,” he murmured, his voice losing its edge. “You shouldn’t deal with it alone.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you looked up at him fully for the first time since he entered.

There was something raw and genuine in his expression—something that told you he understood more than he let on.

“I’ll be fine,” you said softly, though even you didn’t fully believe it.

Shinsou looked at you for a long moment before sighing again, the sound heavy and tired.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

You couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. “Takes one to know one.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, and the sound was softer than you expected—almost comforting.

He leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing as he watched you take another slow sip of your warm milk.

For a moment, the exhaustion didn’t feel as suffocating, and the ache in your head seemed to ease just a little.

You tilted your head slightly, the warm milk in your hands now forgotten as you studied Shinsou.

His tired features, the shadows under his eyes, and the way his hair still managed to fall perfectly into place despite its unkempt state—it was all so quintessentially him.

But what really caught your attention was the way he carried himself, like someone who was used to holding more than he let on.

“So,” you began softly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the appliances. “What’s your story?”

Shinsou blinked, his gaze shifting from the floor to meet yours.

For a moment, he just stared at you blankly as if trying to process your words. “My story?” he asked plainly, his tone laced with mild confusion.

You nodded, leaning a bit more heavily against the counter. “What are you doing up, I mean…” you clarified, your eyes searching his for some kind of answer.

Shinsou stood still for a moment, his posture relaxed yet unreadable.

His purple eyes, usually sharp and calculating, softened under the dim light.

They seemed more vulnerable now, less guarded. Finally, he leaned away from the counter, his hands slipping out of his pockets.

Without a word, he moved around the kitchen island, his steps slow but deliberate.

You watched as he made his way to the fridge, his movements almost sluggish but still precise.

When he opened the fridge door, the cool light illuminated his face, casting shadows over his angular features.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered simply, his voice low and steady as he reached for a water bottle.

The plastic crinkled slightly in his grip as he closed the fridge door with his other hand.

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight slightly. “That’s it? No elaborate explanation? No deep confession about what’s keeping you up?”

Shinsou chuckled softly, a sound that was more like a low exhale than an actual laugh.

He twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a small sip before leaning against the counter opposite you.

His eyes met yours again, and for a moment, you thought he might actually open up.

But instead, he smirked faintly, his lips barely curving upward. “Not everyone has a dramatic reason for being awake at 1 a.m.,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Fair enough,” you murmured, taking another sip of your milk.

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, the quiet of the night settling around you like a blanket.

It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt oddly intimate.

The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the space between you, and the warmth of your milk seemed to seep into your bones, easing the tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

Shinsou set his water bottle down on the counter, his fingers tapping lightly against the plastic. “What about you?” he asked, his gaze flickering back to you. “What’s keeping you up tonight?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around your mug. “Same as always,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

“I just… can’t sleep. No matter what I do, it’s like my brain doesn’t want to shut off.”

Shinsou nodded, his expression unreadable but understanding. “I get that,” he said after a moment.

“Sometimes it feels like the harder you try to sleep, the more impossible it gets.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a small rush of relief that he understood. “And then I end up here, drinking warm milk like it’s some kind of magic cure.”

He chuckled again, the sound a bit louder this time. “At least you’re trying,” he said, pushing off the counter and taking another sip of his water.

“That’s more than some people would do.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

Shinsou glanced at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Usually? I just… stay awake. Sometimes I train, sometimes I read. Whatever keeps me from thinking too much.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. “Guess we’re both stuck in the same boat tonight,” you said, offering him a small smile.

He returned it, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your chest feel just a little lighter. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess we are.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the silence between you now filled with a quiet sense of camaraderie.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the night feel a little less lonely.

You gave Shinsou a small, appreciative smile, feeling a little less alone in your insomnia.

The warmth of the milk in your hands grounded you, and his quiet presence seemed to calm the restlessness in your chest.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence, “do you think we’ll ever get used to this whole sleepless thing? Or are we doomed to be midnight wanderers forever?”

Shinsou leaned back against the counter, his fingers loosely gripping his water bottle.

His tired purple eyes glanced at you, a hint of amusement flickering in their depths.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice low and calm. “Maybe we’re just wired differently. Some people can sleep like rocks, and then there’s us.”

You chuckled softly, lifting your mug for another sip. “It’s unfair, really. I’d kill to sleep like Kirishima. That guy could probably sleep through an earthquake.”

“Or Kaminari,” Shinsou added, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “He passes out anywhere. I caught him napping under a desk once.”

You laughed quietly, imagining the sight. “That sounds about right. I swear he’s part cat or something.”

Shinsou’s smirk grew a little, and he took a sip of his water, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “At least you’re not alone in it,” he said after a pause.

“Even if it sucks, it’s not the worst thing in the world to have someone else awake, too.”

His words caught you off guard, and your grip on your mug tightened slightly.

There was something unspoken in his tone, an underlying sincerity that made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nice having someone to talk to.”

Shinsou nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile.

Neither of you said anything for a while after that, the silence settling back over the room like a thick, comforting blanket.

Eventually, you finished your milk, the empty mug feeling heavier in your hands than it should.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed off the counter and made your way to the sink, the soft tap of your bunny slippers the only sound in the room.

You rinsed the mug and placed it carefully in the sink, the clink of ceramic against metal almost too loud in the stillness.

Turning back to Shinsou, you gave him a small nod. “I’m gonna sit down for a bit,” you said, your voice soft. “You can join if you want.”

He didn’t respond immediately, simply watching as you walked toward the common room.

The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, and you reached for one of the folded blankets draped over the back of the couch.

It was soft and thick, the kind of blanket that made you feel warm just holding it.

Settling onto the couch, you wrapped the blanket around yourself, tucking it under your legs as you leaned back against the cushions.

The warmth seeped into your skin, and you let out a quiet sigh, your body finally starting to relax.

A moment later, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you.

Turning your head slightly, you saw Shinsou making his way toward you, his water bottle still in hand.

He moved with an easy, almost lazy confidence, his posture relaxed and unhurried.

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze meeting yours briefly before he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

The distance wasn’t too far, but it wasn’t close enough to feel intrusive either. It was the perfect balance, and you couldn’t help but feel a small pang of gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

Shinsou leaned back against the cushions, his legs stretched out in front of him.

He rested his water bottle on his knee, his fingers idly tracing the ridges of the plastic. His eyes flicked toward you, soft and curious.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired in all the wrong ways.”

Shinsou hummed in understanding, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the quiet hum of the building and the soft rustle of the blanket the only sounds between you.

It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable—it felt natural, like the kind of silence that only existed between people who truly understood each other.

The soft, ambient quiet of the room allowed you both to settle into a peaceful rhythm, the gentle rustle of fabric and the occasional sip of water breaking the silence.

You had your legs stretched out under the blanket, your body sinking into the couch, and your mind almost drifting into a sort of haze.

Shinsou seemed content to just sit, his own legs outstretched as he relaxed beside you.

After a moment, you shifted slightly, your curiosity pulling you out of the comfortable quiet. “So,” you began, breaking the stillness.

“What kind of books do you usually read?” you asked, remembering how he had mentioned reading to take his mind off of things.

Shinsou looked at you, his eyes glinting with interest before he shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’m into horror mostly,” he replied nonchalantly, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that answer. “Horror? Really?”

He nodded, his expression turning serious, though there was a glint of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve always liked it. There's something about a good thriller that gets under your skin, you know? The stuff that makes you look over your shoulder when you’re walking home.”

You chuckled softly, imagining the serious, intense Shinsou reading a book and jumping at the slightest sound. “I can’t imagine you getting scared, though.”

Shinsou smirked at that, his gaze shifting toward the ceiling as he leaned back into the cushions, his arm stretching out to rest on his knee.

“You’d be surprised,” he said with a small laugh. “There’s a book I’m reading right now that’s got me hooked. It’s called The Haunting of Ashfield Manor.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That sounds... intense. What’s it about?”

Shinsou’s face lit up as he began to speak, his voice warming as he delved into the details of his favorite book.

His words began to flow more quickly, and you could tell this was a topic he was passionate about.

“It’s about this old manor, right? It’s been abandoned for decades, and people say it’s haunted. But the main character, this guy named Evan, decides to go there to investigate. He’s a skeptic and doesn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that. But once he’s inside, weird things start happening. The further he digs, the more he uncovers about the dark past of the house. It’s creepy as hell."

You could hear the excitement in his voice as he spoke, the way his eyes brightened as he recounted the plot.

You smiled at the way he geeked out over it, completely immersed in the story.

“Sounds like the kind of book that makes you want to sleep with the lights on,” you teased, earning a grin from Shinsou.

“You have no idea,” he replied, his voice low and amused. “There’s this one part where Evan finds this hidden room behind a false wall, and when he opens it, there’s a doll sitting in the middle of the room. The air is so thick with tension, and you can hear this whispering—just barely—but no one’s there. I swear, I almost dropped the book when I read that part.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, shaking your head slightly. "I think I’d be too scared to finish that one.”

Shinsou chuckled softly. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. It’s one of those books that sticks with you long after you’re done reading it. But that's what makes it so good, you know? It’s not just about the jumpscares—it’s the suspense that gets you.”

He didn’t seem to notice how he had subtly shifted closer to you as he spoke, his body inching toward yours as he got more animated about the book.

His knee was now just a few inches away from yours, the warmth of his body radiating toward you as he leaned in a little.

It felt natural, comfortable, like he was just… there with you, sharing something that mattered to him.

His hand rested casually on his knee, but as he shifted, the back of his hand brushed softly against the exposed skin of your thigh.

You didn’t notice at first, your focus entirely on him and the way he was talking about his book, but the gentle pressure of his hand felt warm against your leg.

As he continued describing the eerie atmosphere of the manor, you found yourself drawn deeper into his words, your attention entirely on him.

His voice had become almost hypnotic, the way he described every detail with such care, as though he were painting a vivid picture right in front of your eyes.

“The last chapter got me, though,” Shinsou went on, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned forward.

“Evan’s digging deeper into the mystery, right? And he starts seeing things—like, actual ghosts. But the craziest part is... he’s not sure if they’re real or if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. And the thing is, you never really know. The author doesn’t make it clear whether it’s all just in his head or if the house really is haunted.”

You let out a soft sigh, clearly impressed by the way he spoke about it. “That sounds so intense.”

Shinsou nodded, a glimmer of excitement still in his eyes as he finished his thought.

“It is. The whole book builds up to this point where you can’t tell what’s real anymore. It messes with your mind. It’s brilliant.”

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “You really are into this stuff, huh?”

He shrugged slightly, his smirk returning. “What can I say? It’s fun getting lost in a good story.”

You glanced down at where your skin brushed against his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch on your thigh.

You hadn’t realized how close you two had gotten until now, but the proximity didn’t make you uncomfortable.

If anything, it felt... natural.

You turned your gaze back up to Shinsou, meeting his eyes, and saw the quiet enjoyment on his face.

He seemed content, lost in his world of books, and you couldn’t help but feel glad you were there to share it with him.

The conversation flowed naturally between you and Shinsou, each word he spoke, pulling you deeper into his world.

He had such a captivating way of talking about his passion for horror, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to him as he spoke.

His voice was smooth, deep, and had a certain rhythm to it, like music playing in the background.

Every word felt like it had a purpose, and the way he described his favorite books, his voice becoming more animated with each sentence, made you smile.

You were completely entranced by him now, hanging onto every word. “So, what got you into books?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

You wanted to know more about him, more about what shaped his love for all things horror.

His eyes seemed to brighten as you asked, clearly excited to share.

“Well, it wasn’t always books, you know,” he began, his voice calm and smooth.

“It started with movies. Horror movies, to be specific. My parents were into thrillers, and I’d watch them with them when I was younger. But, eventually, I realized that books had a whole different kind of power. They didn’t just show you the scares. They made you feel them. Like, the tension builds in a way movies can’t. You’re forced to imagine it yourself, and that’s... that’s what really got me.”

You nodded, feeling like you were starting to understand him more. “That makes sense,” you said softly, shifting your position slightly, trying to get more comfortable.

His words were soothing, and the more he spoke, the more relaxed you became.

His voice was like a lullaby in a way, the depth of it making you feel safe and at ease.

Shinsou continued talking, his hands moving as he described different horror movies and books that had inspired him.

You barely noticed how your body had started to relax, your eyelids growing heavy as you leaned back against the couch.

His voice filled the space, but your mind began to drift, lost in the warmth of the moment.

You shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but it was hard.

Every word he said seemed to wrap around you like a cozy blanket, making you feel more drowsy by the second.

As you sat beside him, your head started to droop, and before you realized it, your body began to lean into him.

You tried to fight it, to stay awake and engaged, but the soft pull of sleep was too strong.

Your eyes fluttered for a second, and then you gave in. Without even meaning to, your head slowly tilted toward him, coming to rest on his broad, warm shoulder.

It wasn’t until he felt the steady, comforting pressure on his shoulder beneath your cheek that he realized you had fallen asleep.

The sudden contact seemed to startle Shinsou, but by the time his attention returned to you, you were already half asleep, your breathing slow and steady.

He blinked, looking down at you with a soft frown, his voice quieter now. "Hey... you there?" he asked, his tone unsure, but there was a trace of concern in it.

You didn’t answer him, your head still resting against his shoulder, your breath, steady and calm.

You felt safe there, warm and completely at peace.

Shinsou didn’t seem to expect you to fall asleep, but the moment lingered—like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.

He looked down at you again, his dark eyes softening as he watched you.

After a moment, he let out a small sigh.

"You're so knocked out, aren't you?" he muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He shifted slightly, moving just enough so he could adjust his posture.

His hand, which had been resting loosely on his knee, now moved to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear.

His fingers brushed your skin lightly, but he seemed to hesitate for a second before pulling his hand back.

He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh again, leaning back against the couch with you still nestled against his shoulder.

He didn’t seem to mind.

The weight of your body resting next to his felt natural, like a quiet, unspoken bond between you two.

There was a peace to it, a comfort that neither of you had to force.

You were just there, together in the silence, the space between you filled only with the quiet sound of your breathing and the soft hum of the night around you.

Shinsou adjusted his position slightly, making sure you were comfortable before leaning back against the couch himself.

His eyes closed for a moment, but his attention was still on you, the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath your head.

“You really are something, huh?” he whispered softly, almost to himself.

It wasn’t a complaint. There was no annoyance in his voice—only a quiet, almost fond amusement.

He seemed to smile slightly at the thought, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer, watching you sleep soundly, the gentle rhythm of your breathing matching his own.

It was a simple, peaceful moment. One that didn’t need words, just the gentle assurance of being there together.

And as the minutes passed, Shinsou finally let himself relax, the sounds of your peaceful sleep and his own slowing breath blending together as the night stretched on, the two of you quietly sharing a space in the stillness.

AUTHORS NOTE: I know this isn't exactly what you requested, but I wanted to do something similar in my own way!! If you like, I could do something more to your liking!! ᡣ𐭩

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