#last union didn’t get their raises for two years

[mechanicalpoet]

I’m so fucking tired

Just bone deep mental exhaustion

If we get those raises (IF) then I might see about a brief stress leave. I can’t afford it otherwise.

[zreamy]

nothing to lose

pairing: jay park x fem!reader

summary: after a hockey party, a football game, and a near perfect first kiss, jay is humbled by his (practically silent) friend sunghoon, who reminds him that he has nothing to lose.

genres: university / college au, friends (uni crushes) to lovers, smut, fluff

warnings: minors dni, vaguely (very?) british undertones..

word count: 24,064 .. sorry.

playlist: awkward sza, do you like me? daniel caesar

author's note: please just be nice to me and let me know your thoughts (positive / negative / anything as long as ur not mean abt it) .. thank u @asahicore my rock, my bestie, my beta reader .. <333 hope u enjoy !!!

When you pair his kind eyes and charming smile with his ever-positive outlook on life, it’s easy to see why Park Jongseong is heavily popular amongst the student body; even described by your flatmates (and the rest of his fan club) as the stuff of dreams. And in your dreams, you know exactly why he’s staring in your direction with a sweet smile on his face. In real life, however, you have absolutely no idea and it’s kind of weird. Not his smile itself, no, his smile is.. really pretty, but it’s kind of weird in the sense that it’s directed at you. 

You think. 

Most of the library’s population sits across the room in the computer lab and based on your seat, at an empty table, in the (also empty) far corner, he’s either smiling at you or at the wall that your head is resting on. It’s not until the two of you lock eyes that you feel you should smile back, though your brows knit together at the way he whips his head around in the other direction when you do – a move that seems out of character for the Park Jongseong that you know. Or rather, the Park Jongseong Jay that you knew.

The Jay you knew was a (more than) pleasant enough guy who grinned in a way that pushed a dimple into his cheek every time he got to class and sidled his way through the aisle to sit in the seat next to you. The very first time he did it he’d mistaken you for someone else, his smile faltering slightly as he sat down anyway, a large hand extended to you.

“Jay,” he introduced himself, nodding thoughtfully when you told him your name and holding on to your hand for a split second longer than what was comfortable. And even though it was clear that he’d been sitting in the wrong seat, at Na Jaemin’s end-of-year party months later, you acted shocked when he told you about how he’d forgotten to put his contacts in that morning. Nonetheless, he continued sitting next to you in that class for the rest of the semester.

From your current seat in the library, you watch him curiously, wondering if he might look over again. For two minutes, he leans against a shelf in the reference section, completely unaware of his audience (you) as he types on his phone. You can’t take your eyes off him until the sudden vibration of your phone startles you, your hand reaching for it immediately thinking (hoping?) it might be a text from him.

yj: hockey mixer tn 

yj: what are you guys wearing 

You feel relieved to see that it’s just Yunjin in the group chat, though, as you read the messages, you struggle not to roll your eyes seeing that she (captain of the hockey team) is still trying to convince you (non-member of the hockey team) to go to the hockey mixer. By the looks of things, the field hockey team is the last to take advantage of the space that the student union building has to offer. Functioning as a nightclub over the weekend (and on select weeknights), The U is the place to be if you’re looking for a good time for a good price.

Unlike the other club parties, tonight’s hockey mixer is Yunjin’s answer to concerns raised by members of the students’ union about binge drinking on campus. According to her: “A mixer is an informal gathering where people mingle, interact, and get to know each other. And a party is,” she paused, fixing her eyes on the ceiling as if waiting for divine inspiration to strike. “Fun.” She didn’t seem pleased when you asked if this meant that the mixer would be boring and eventually confessed that the hockey party would be a mixer in name only.

You lock your phone without responding and lift your gaze back to references only to find that Jay is gone; stuck to the part of the bookshelf he was leaning on, you notice a lopsided poster featuring two crossed field hockey sticks and a ball over a green gradient, and a chill runs down your spine. If Yunjin is one thing, she’s bad at graphic design persistent. 

Unfortunately, in all your time spent not working, you find that your laptop hasn’t begun doing your research paper for you, and the Google Doc looks exactly the same as it did when you last edited it one hour ago, with only the intro from the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals website pasted into it. In the bottom left corner of your screen, a white box tells you that it’s 467 words long, and, feeling a rare bout of motivation, you get to work paraphrasing and attempting to condense the text.

As morning turns into afternoon, the library starts to get busier and busier, and despite the low hum of several different conversations creeping in through your earphones, you’ve gotten into a flow with your work and don’t let anything distract you. That is until Jay himself lets his backpack thud onto the table across from you, brows raising a little at the sudden noise, before pulling out the chair and sitting down. 

“Need a study buddy?” he asks, a tentative hand on the zipper of his jacket. 

You take a moment to observe him; the way he asked to join you after having already joined you, settling into the seat before you’d had a chance to say anything. A part of you wants to say “no,” just to see how he reacts, but, with a smile on your face, you take out your earphones and say, “Sure.” 

A grin spreads over his lips as he mumbles the word sweet, shrugging off the oversized coat and letting it drape over the back of his chair, revealing a chunky pair of headphones sitting around his neck and a thin gold chain with a hook pendant on it. His dark hair sits flat on his forehead and he rakes a hand through it twice before taking a textbook out of his bag. He doesn’t touch it, though. Instead, he lets his elbows rest on the table in front of him, biceps flexing slightly under his sleeves as he crosses his forearms. “What are you working on?” he asks.

“A report on the integration of renewable technology in buildings, for my sustainable development class.” 

Jay hums, brows raising slightly. “Renewable tech like solar panels and shit, right?” 

“Right.” 

Another grin, pretty, sincere. “It’s cool you’re getting to learn about the stuff you care about,” he tells you, and even if you hadn’t been looking at him, you’d have been able to hear the smile in his voice, light, sweet. Jay is sweet. The statement trickled out of his mouth so simply, so casually, a small detail that you have to rack your brain to recall sharing with him; still just as attentive as you remember. “Really.”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling too. “Exactly.” 

There’s a distinct comfort that rolls off of Jay in waves as the two of you chat, and the scene feels familiar. It’s reminiscent of the nights you’d spend together last term, at a table like this one with the notes from your shared Property Law lecture sprawled out in front of you while pretending to study. The two of you would find anything else to talk about, and constantly received dirty looks from the laughter you’d struggle to stifle. 

It’s not until Jay reaches for his textbook that you properly check it out, and as a non-fashion student, you’re not expecting to know what subject he’s studying but you’re pretty sure that Nutrition, Energy, and Human Performance are not part of his curriculum. “Excercise Physiology?” you ask, reading its title.

“I picked it up earlier for Sunghoon. He’s at the rink all morning,” he nods.

“So why are you studying it?”

Jay laughs, shifting in his seat. “It’s, like, the only thing I have in my backpack. I just came over here ‘cause I wanted to say hey.” 

It takes everything in you not to say “aww” out loud; his sweetness palpable, his smile contagious, and his eyes so bright and warm that your heart soars in your chest when you look at them. “Hey,” you say after a beat. 

“Hey,” he chuckles. “How was your break?” 

“It was good! I went home for a week, or so, and then I got bored and came back to hang out with Chaewon,” you tell him, grinning despite yourself at the memory of poorly mixed cocktails and days spent lounging by the pool at her family’s holiday home. “85% of the summer was just us running around being stupid.” 

“And the other 15?” 

You feel more than a little awkward about telling him that you spent the other 15% fooling around with Jaemin, so with a forced smile you tell him, “Just more running around being stupid.” Hopefully, he can’t sense your mild discomfort and thinks you’re scratching your neck because it’s itchy and not because of the slight guilt you feel. “How was yours?” 

“Minus Chaewon, I had, like, the exact same break.” He pauses, breaking out into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh, and I went to the Yuuri show! It was crazy.” He runs a hand through his hair, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “I was gonna text you but I didn’t wanna bother you during break or anything.” 

“Oh,” you say, dragging the vowel. “Right. So you’re bothering me during term time instead?” You tease, though with the way Jay’s eyes widen and his brows knit together, it doesn’t seem like he’s caught on to your joking tone. “I’m kidding, tell me all about it,” you add as quickly as you can manage, a huge smile on your face. 

Relief washes over you as Jay laughs, his shoulders shaking, and his nose crinkling, showing off the scar across its bridge that you’ve come to like so much. After calming down, he watches you carefully, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Right,” he finally says, taking a breath before talking with excitement and at great length about the concert. 

But it isn’t without slight interruption: Jay’s phone vibrates against the table a few times, and he ignores it, eventually turning it on do not disturb before squinting at you. “You’re not allowed to laugh. Pinky promise me you won’t laugh.” He holds his hand out to you, wagging his pinky finger in your face. There’s a smile on his lips when you link your finger with his, his skin rough against your own when he squeezes your pinky. As much as his tight grip is starting to hurt, you (unsuccessfully) fight off a smile when you realise that the two of you are effectively holding hands. 

“I’m not gonna laugh,” you promise.

A beat passes before Jay lets out a chuckle. “That’s my girl,” he says, voice low as if he didn’t want you to hear him. You wish you didn’t hear him. 

When you try to let go, he doesn’t budge, only easing up a little so he’s not cutting off your circulation anymore; just holding it lightly with his. Across the table from you, struggling to meet your eyes, Jay wears a sheepish look. “He threw his pick out into the crowd at the end of the show, and I caught it!” he tells you, looking away. “And I cried..” His voice thins out into practically nothing though you think you hear the words “home,” and “Heeseung,” before he stops talking completely. 

Jay’s sentimental side has tugged at your heart for as long as you’ve known him, and given the way he’d sobbed quietly in his seat at the cinemas when you’d gone out to watch a late showing of Spider-Man 2 together, you find it easy to imagine him welling up over catching Yuuri’s guitar pick. 

For some reason, much like the tears he’d shed over Peter Parker, you find the thought quite cute, and a smile teases at the corners of your mouth as you make a mental note to finally listen to some Yuuri songs later on. Jay looks at you expectantly, and before you have the chance to speak his phone starts to ring, vibrating incessantly against the table, though Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, unable to suppress the snort that makes its way out. 

Jay shakes his head. “You promised me. You’re still promising me,” he says, lips curving into a frown as he makes a show of waving your still-linked hands.  

“No, it’s cute that you cried.” 

He seems shocked by this. “Really?” 

“A little.” 

His mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he furrows his brows at you. “A li—” He’s cut off by his phone vibrating once again, and he releases your pinky to check it. Jay sighs lightly, reading the messages from his screen and picking up the textbook. “Sorry, Hoon’s on my ass about this thing. I gotta go.” 

Disappointment weighs lightly on your shoulders at his words, though you do feel better when you see the little pout on his lips, hoping that it means he doesn’t want your conversation to end either. “I get it,” you say, shooting him a smile that you hope is convincing as he puts the book in his bag before pulling his jacket back on, and standing up from his seat. 

“I’ll text you,” he says cheerfully, waving at you before leaving. He looks over his shoulder a few moments later, waving again with the same smile from earlier on his face. 

You can’t help but watch as he retreats, captivated by the air of confidence he somehow exudes even without showing his face, until he disappears into the mix of students by the entrance, becoming just another bag and shoulders in the crowd. 

Without Jay to chat to, the idea of sitting in the library becomes jarring, and suddenly it’s time for you to leave too. You don’t hesitate to grab your phone when it vibrates twice next to you, an odd combination of the relief from earlier and slight disappointment hitting you when you see that it’s Yunjin — texting you directly this time. 

yj: if you wanna ignore me turn off read receipts 

yj: open bar for girls on the team

you: sounds like the hockey girls are gonna have a good night

yj: i’ll get you a jacket

you: don’t bother i’m not going. 

SWANG rattles through tinny speakers in the student union and with every free drink you knock back, it gets harder and harder to pretend to Yunjin that you’re not having a good time. The team jacket she snagged for you and Chaewon to share fits a little big over your shoulders as you conclude that Number 20 is a lot more popular than you thought if the vaguely disappointed look on many faces when they see your face is anything to go by. 

Sitting in a booth towards the back of The U, you and Yunjin mumble along to the song with a shot in each hand as she starts a countdown from 3! and you wonder whether or not you’ll be able to make it to class in the morn—2!—ing given how much you’ve had to drink and how much of the night is still left to happen 1! The formerly rancid tequila goes down like water the first time around, and gets caught in your throat the second time. 

“I’m so happy you came tonight!” she yells in your ear, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, choosing to gush while you cough into the crook of your elbow. “I always have the most fun with you but you never come out.” Her drunkenness is evident in the slightly higher pitch that her words take on and the way most of the consonants come out almost the same way the vowels do. 

As sweet as she’s being, you can’t ignore the alarms blaring in your head hearing that your best friend would describe going out (at least) two nights a week as “never” going out, but you chuckle along anyway, locking your hand with hers. 

With a smile on his face, Lee Jeno brings Chaewon back to the booth in one piece, ruffling her hair a little before raising a hand to salute you and Yunjin, and disappearing back into the crowd. 

“The period at the end of that last text almost convinced us,” she says as she takes her seat beside you. “But I new your little crush on Jay wouldn’t let you miss a chance to see him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Chaewon rolls her eyes, backing a shot before leaning over you to get closer to Yunjin. “She’s pretending again.” 

With a scoff, Yunjin unlocks her phone and pulls up her camera roll to an album titled with an unfortunately cute ship name. “I can’t stop thinki–” You cut her off, snatching the phone from her hands and placing it under your thigh. 

“Okay, okay,” you relent, letting your head fall back as you groan. “I may have had a.. thing for him last semester but I’m over it now.” 

“Do you think he’ll swipe up if I post a song he likes?” Chaewon reads between laughs. 

Flustered, you sink into your seat after hearing the text that you sent two nights ago, hoping with all your might that the booth will open up to swallow you whole. 

To your utter devastation, it does not. 

The universe chooses to soothe you in a different way by sending an angel Kazuha to drag you all out onto the dance floor. With intertwined hands, the four of you “excuse me” and “sorry” your way over to where Sakura and her friend Mark are dancing a little closer than usual with one another. 

His hands are on her hips as he holds her back to his front, the two of them grinding to the music, but she’s quick to smack his hands off of her and break away from him when she sees you guys approaching. Using a hand to push hair out of her face, Sakura laughs at nothing, smacking Mark’s chest playfully while he glues his eyes to the floor. 

“We missed you at pres,” you say, wrapping her in a hug. 

“Right, sorry, Mark had a thing at his place!” 

Despite understanding why she does, you ignore Chaewon when she nudges you at the mention of Mark and his place before hugging him too, agreeing when he says that you guys should come next time. 

The six of you form a circle after greeting one another, jumping around while yelling obnoxiously to the music blaring into your ears. Over Mark’s shoulder, you see Jay nodding at a friend before leaving the clu—“I’m actually gonna go get some air,” you blurt out. “Alone!” you add before Yunjin can offer to come with. 

Despite the way the breeze nips at your legs, the fresh air is a welcome slap in the face when it hits you; the previously ear-splitting music reduced to a pathetic mumble now that you’re outside. A few girls that you recognise from some of your classes stand opposite the, now short, entry queue, waving you towards them and blowing cigarette smoke over their shoulders. You shake your head when they offer you a draw, though (against your better judgement) you do accept a few hits of a polar menthol flavoured juul while chatting distractedly about your “new spot” on the hockey team and trying to find Jay — which doesn’t take you very long.

Not too far from where you’re standing, he leans against the building’s grey brick while looking at his phone. Its OLED display casts a slight glow over his features, showing off the crease of his brow, the slope of his nose, and the tiny little pout set on his lips as he types. 

You can’t help but stare as Jimin and Minjeong plan the rest of their night, which includes afters at Yizhuo’s if she doesn’t pass out, and extend an invitation to you and your friends — “I mean, we’re still gonna go. She’ll probably need us more if she does,” Minjeong says, stubbing out a cigarette under her shoe before both girls head inside. 

Waving goodbye, you let yourself find Jay again and take a deep breath. For a moment, you attempt to strategise in the way you and the girls always do together. A few possibilities play out in your head and right when you think you’ve found a good opener—“Hello!” You find yourself saying as you stumble walk over to him.

As you’ve come to expect, his mouth curves into a smile when he looks up at you. “Hello,” he says, laughing through the word. In the short time it takes you to reach him, and lean about an arm’s length away on the same wall, he slips his phone into his jacket pocket. “Since when are you a hockey girl?” 

With a smile of your own, you roll up your left sleeve to refer to a watch that you’re not wearing. “It’s been a few hours.”

Jay’s teeth press down on his bottom lip as he chuckles, before mumbling an apology and pulling his phone back out. You don’t mean to peek at his screen when he opens the messages app, but you do anyway. And can’t help but feel bad at the sight of your name at the top of the second message thread — the memory of Yunjin taking your phone so you couldn’t text back forcing your stomach to turn a little. 

Lifting your gaze back up to him, you sort of hate how pretty he looks as he ruffles his hair before putting his phone back in his pock—You turn your head immediately, finding sudden interest in the lamp post that irregularly flickers a pale yellow over his shoulder. For a split second, it seems like you managed to stare at him without being caught, but if the little laugh he lets out is anything to go by, your neck jerk wasn’t as subtle as you’d hoped. 

“You’re cute,” he grins, stepping a little closer. “It suits you.”

It’s a struggle to backtrack and remember what the two of you were even talking about as the faint scent of his cologne hits your nostrils. “F-field hockey?” you offer. 

“The jacket,” he clarifies, a sweet laugh slipping past his lips as he speaks. 

“Ohh, you too.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You think this suits me?” 

His hand comes to one side of his denim jacket, holding it out slightly and allowing you to catch a proper whiff of his cologne and a glimpse of his bare shoulder. You worry a little about what might come out of your mouth if you open it, deciding for everyone’s sake just to nod and pray that he’ll leave the damn jacket alone. 

“It’d probably look better on you.” 

An audible smile tugs at your lips. “No way.” You shake your head, trying and failing to keep your giggles to yourself.

“You wanna prove me wrong?”

With a tilt of your head, you turn the offer around in your mind; a pros and cons list starting to take shape. 

Pros: getting to wear Jay’s jacket, having an almost permanent reason to keep chatting with him throughout the night, and getting to see Jay in a vest — arguably the biggest pro of them all, given the amount of IG stories he’s posted in the gym recently.

Con: losing free drinks privileges; which doesn’t really seem like a huge deal because Chaewon can just wear the hockey jacket and get drinks for you like she’s been doing for half of the night so far. 

Under the weight of Jay’s stare, you shift on your feet, realising that he’s clearing his throat for the second time since he stopped speaking and you still haven't said anything. “But then I’d have to pay for my drinks,” you say in an attempt not to seem too eager. The words slur a bit on their way out, though you’re too caught up in the way Jay’s lips tug into a grin to fuss over it. 

“Not if you stick wi—” He stops short, cut off by a voice from a few metres away. “Jongsaaaaaaeeeeeeng!” it yells. And if not for his silver head of hair, you’d never have believed it was Park Sunghoon screaming like that. 

“Poor guy kept icing himself,” Lee Heeseung calmly explains, walking ahead of Sunghoon and, what looks like, Sim Jake who’ve been giggling with one another since the cry left the younger’s mouth. 

Despite not knowing Sunghoon very well, from what you’ve heard about him, it’s easy to imagine him hiding bottles of Smirnoff Ice to ice one of his friends, only to lose track of where he’d put them and find them himself later on, thinking one of his friends was icing him. The thought makes you stifle your laughter; you like the fact that Jay laughs too. 

Before dapping Jay up, Heeseung offers him the confiscated Smirnoff Ice that Sunghoon had made quite a dent in, only shrugging when he declines. Jay watches as his friend wraps an arm around your shoulder in a polite side hug while asking if you want to finish the “smice”. You let a beat pass before telling him that you’ll think about it. 

For a while, you listen as he fills Jay in on what he missed at pres, smiling at Jake and Sunghoon as they get closer, and wondering when it would be appropriate if at all, to introduce yourself to the three boys that you’ve only ever walked by at parties or on campus. You find a window when the two arrive, waving a little when you tell them your name. 

Jake’s lips curve into what looks like a smirk as he looks over at you. “We know,” he says, eyes darting quickly over to Jay before looking back at you.

Sunghoon says nothing. 

The boys are quick to get back to their conversation, and Heeseung glances in Jay’s direction, nodding his head before making a show of unscrewing the cap on the smice and skying it. After an impressive chug, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, holding up the empty bottle like a trophy before putting it in the bin. 

With a slight frown, you realise that you didn’t even get to tell him that you didn’t want it. 

There’s a grin on his face as he wraps his arms around Jake and Sunghoon’s shoulders. “See you guys in there!” he says before guiding the two boys away and into the club.

With the two of you on your own again, you become hyperaware of your proximity, of the fact that if you moved your hand even a centimetre it would brush his. The heat from his body is dizzying, and with his body leaning down towards you, Jay is already watching you when you look up at him. His lips rest in a small smile that only widens at the sight of your face, seeming unbothered that you’d caught him staring. That it wouldn’t take much to bridge the gap between your faces. Between your lips.  

“The offer still stands,” he says. “To wear my jacket and drink for free.” 

A somewhat familiar 808 beat rattles through tinny speakers in the student union.Jay’s jacket fits pretty big over your shoulders as you try not to say anything ridiculous while he holds your hand, leading you through the crowd. Now that your hands are actually clasped, the butterflies you’d felt over having linked fingers for a pinky promise seem silly, completely eclipsed by the feeling of your heart clattering against your ribs. After every few steps, he looks over his shoulder at you, your cheeks burning hotter and hotter with each smile he throws your way.

Upon your return to the booth, you drop the team jacket in Chaewon’s lap, praying that your friends won’t say anything about Jay or the fact that you’re wearing his jacket — or the fact that despite having reached your friends safely the two of you are still holding hands. By the looks of things it seems as though telling her to move up isn’t enough of a signal to her that you’d like to sit down; though maybe she’s just too busy trying to shrug the jacket back on to move up. You tell yourself that she’s just too busy trying to shrug the jacket back on to move up. 

Chaewon wears a wicked grin on her face, making no effort to be discreet about staring at your intertwined fingers. “YN? Why aren’t you dancing? You love this song!” she says, opening her mouth to wink obnoxiously at you and nudging Yunjin.

“I don’t know this song,” you say, liking the way Jay laughs beside you, squeezing your hand a little. 

For reasons unbeknownst to you, Yunjin sees this as the best opportunity to chime in, tilting her head before saying, “Whaaaaaaat? This is your favourite song! Trust me, Jay, she loves this song!” 

“And she’s such a good dancer,” Chaewon adds. “Have you seen her dance, Jay?” 

You stand around dumbly, mouthing the word “stop,” at your friends and leaning up towards Jay when he leans down to you. “How about a drink?” he asks with a voice as smooth as velvet, soft lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“Please.” 

After telling the girls that you’ll be back, and flipping them off with your free hand, you let Jay lead you back through the dance floor to the bar, letting an elbow rest on its surface. When you look at him, he’s watching you, his lips quirked up ever so slightly while he does so. 

Letting your nails drum against the bar, you smile back. “Sorry about my friends,” you say, unsure as to why you’re apologising but feeling like it’s the right thing to say. 

“Sorry about your friends?” Jay asks. He grins. “Sorry about mine.”

You want to tell him that you liked his friends, that they seemed nice. Even though Sunghoon didn’t speak, and Heeseung finished the drink he offered you before you even had a chance to let him know that you wanted it. But he’s already distracted. 

His eyes scan the bottles that line the shelves behind the bar, and you busy yourself doing the same thing, the sight of almost every rum brand bringing up memories of past nights out with your friends. Two palm trees on a white bottle of “MarkLeebu” leave you suppressing your laughter as you think about Sakura’s friend falling asleep - standing up - against the wall of a club after drinking two bottles of Malibu to himself on a dare. 

Jay’s breath fans your ear when he speaks, “What are you having?” 

“A jäger bomb.” 

With a nod, he orders your drink and a whiskey for himself, and as per his suggestion, the two of you toast “to third year” before drinking. 

Jay makes good on his promise. One shot becomes two becomes three, and a cocktail in a comically large pitcher before you wake up the next morning to Sakura hogging the duvet, and no memory of anything beyond sitting down at the bar. 

While lying on your back you curse two versions of yourself: the first for leaving the window open before you left, and the second for having so much to drink. Staring up at the ceiling, you attempt to go over your interactions with Jay using a fine-tooth comb to figure out just how badly you humiliated yourself last night. Given the fact that you don’t remember what happened after 1 a.m. (or so), this doesn’t take too long, and the corners of your lips quirk up into a smile as you think about the way his hand felt in yours. 

Your memory tells you that he smiled a lot, but this seems like an insignificant detail because Jay always smiles a lot. There was a pitcher. A big one. Inside it was a vibrant, sweet, too cheap to be true cocktail that you sipped, blinked, and opened your eyes to find yourself in bed. The unaccounted-for period fills you with a visceral sense of dread, leaving you unsure if you shiver because of the temperature in your room or out of sheer embarrassment. 

The notifications you find on your phone only make you feel more nervous, so you cover your eyes with your hand before checking them. You were mentioned in Chaewon’s Instagram story (which means you behaved catastrophically), and you have a text from Jay (which .. well you’re not quite sure what to make of this). Through the gap in your fingers, you start by looking at the story, uncontrollable butterflies in your stomach from what you see. A picture (on close friends) of you sitting in Jay’s lap with his arms wrapped around your wairs, and his chin resting on your shoulder; the two of you donning wide grins with THESE TWOOOOOOO 😍😍😍 written over it. 

Jay’s text is simple yet sweet: hope u got home okay, was realy nice getting to chill w u again &lt;3. You don’t even realise that you’re giggling until Sakura stirs next to you. 

you: i did thank uuuuuuu

you: sorry if i was weird though haha 

You say. Although all things considered, you can’t really think of anything to be haha-ing about but Jay’s reply comes so quickly that you barely have the time to dwell on this fact. “Nahhhh you were so cute dw,” he texts back. 

With your stomach doing somersaults, you turn over in the bed, burying your head in the pillow to muffle a squeal.

Sakura wakes up. 

While in the shower, you let the water hit you directly in the face for a bit with your eyes screwed tightly shut under the stream. And not a single thought occurs to you other than how cute Jay seems to think you are. 

jay: do you have class today

you: slept in

jay: L

jay: for me.. i wanted to see you again  

Your jaw falls open as you read the message, and over your shoulder, Yunjin lets out the gasp that you hadn’t been able to. “Oh, my God!” she says, watching as a cheek-aching smile creeps up on your lips. A small celebration ensues while the two of you squeal and kick your feet like children. And then your phone vibrates again.

jay: could still link if ur down?

jay: hold up 

Yunjin pulls air through her teeth. “Could still link if you’re down,” she reads before taking the phone from your hand. “Fuckboy text, ignore.” 

Knowing you’re not likely to win the argument that Jay’s not a fuckboy — even though he’s not one, you think — you roll your eyes. “So what if he’s a fuckboy?” you frown, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“If a fuckboy was supposed to be liked he’d be called a like boy,” Yunjin says as if reciting scripture. “Text Jaemin back if you want a fuckboy.” 

You don’t mean to groan out loud at her tone. “Jaemin’s not a fuckboy, he’s just.. a guy. Who.. likes to fuck.” 

The sound of the front door opening prompts you to pause the TV, and the two of you crane your necks towards the open doorway to hear what’s going on. It’s Chaewon giggling loudly before speaking. 

“Thanks for bringing me home.” 

A deep chuckle sounds through the hall. Jeno. Of course. “You’re my girl,” he says and his smile is audible through his words. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Chaewon giggles at this too, and, pressing play on the remote, you share a look with Yunjin as you hear the beginning of a wet kiss. Brooklyn Nine-Nine gets through an entire cold open and the theme song before she – looking fresher than ever in her boyfriend’s sweatpants – joins you both on the couch. 

“What’d I miss?” she asks. 

“Yunjin thinks Jay’s a fuckboy.” 

Chaewon lets out a snort. “Well, yeah, anyone could’ve told you that, dude’s best friend is Lee Heeseung,” she says, though quickly changes her tune as if remembering her audience. “It’s all just rumours though, people see a good-looking guy who’s overly friendly and flirts with everybody, and posts obvious thirst traps to his Snapchat story, and just assume he’s a fuck boy..” she trails off, sinking a little in her seat.

Somewhat disheartened, you nod your head. “Right.” 

“So what did I miss?” Chaewon asks again, pointing at the TV this time. 

Still in Yunjin’s custody, your phone vibrates in her lap and she gasps as she reads the screen. “A reformed fuck boy?” she says, holding the phone up for you and Chaewon to read. 

jay: would you like to hang out with me later? 

You grin despite yourself, reading the message and reading it again before telling him “yes”, and later can’t come soon enough. The time slips by like molasses and you finally meet up with Jay -four decades- two hours later, with no set plan, at the library where he approaches you with Jake and a smile on his face. 

Friendly as ever, Jake chats with you and keeps a pretty smile on his lips the whole time. “If you ever have a hard time with physics or math based classes, I’ve got you,” he offers, clearly happy to hear that you’re in STEM too. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tell him, grateful as you remember the tears you’d shed over a Construction Mathematics lecture last year. 

With a wave, Jake leaves the two of you alone, saying “See you later” before walking away. He excitedly glances over his shoulder to where you stand with Jay a few times. 

After telling you that he “knows a spot,” Jay takes you on a bit of a walk, successfully distracting you from the distance by keeping you talking. He listens enthusiastically while you ramble about a show you started, and you like the feeling in your chest when he says he’ll check it out. 

With a “ta-da,” Jay extends an arm to the gate in front of you. A play park. “We’re here!” he says, struggling to mask the excitement in his voice as he walks towards the empty play area. “It’s no fun when there’s kids here so I brought us the long way.” 

As you follow him through the gate, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. The last time you’d been sober at a play park you were probably 15 or so, cutting through the park on your walk home from school with your friends. You’d spin the roundabout at lightspeed cackling at the screams of terror coming from those sitting on it, and talk about your crushes while calming down on the swings. 

Jay sits on one of the swings and watches you, and even though you’re not too sure what to talk about, you’re pretty sure confessing your crush on him as you sit next to him might send him running in the opposite direction. Instead, you clear your throat and look over at him. “So your “spot” is a play park?” you ask, using your feet to rock you back and forth. 

He pulls air through his teeth, scrunching his nose and tilting his head. “Would you prefer it if I took you to CP in the Sky?” 

If Jay had his car with him, you might have hoped for that. Most of the boys in your city who drive, including Jaemin, have been known to take girls to a spot they know. Super quiet, private, and almost as pretty as you, they’ll say, and take you up to ‘Car Park in the Sky’; the city’s most notorious hook-up spot. Though, Jaemin hadn’t exactly been secretive about wanting to hook up and actually only drove there after you’d told him about it. 

You shake your head. “The park is good, it’s great.” 

Conversation ebbs and flows between the two of you, the sounds of nature and the swings creaking keeping you company. It’s nice spending time with Jay like this. Sober. And not holed up in the library or a cafe with assignments and deadlines on your mind. 

You don’t mean to gain momentum but you do, swinging about as high as you can, gasping when you see a car over the top of a climbing frame. 

“What is it?” he asks, laughing to himself when you jump off the swing. 

“I wanna take a drive!” you call out over your shoulder, jogging over to the wooden stationary car you saw.

Jay’s footsteps sound after yours, and he grabs you by the wrist before you climb into the driver’s side. “Did you get your licence yet?” 

You shake your head, watching as his mouth falls open, bracing yourself for a lecture on how a girl of your age should be driving already. 

He looks aghast, in genuine distress before he speaks. “What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive?” Jay nods his head to the other side of the car. “Go.” 

Letting out the most exaggerated sigh you can manage, you comply, dragging your feet to the passenger side and climbing in. Jay follows suit, sitting down next to you on the small connected seat built with kids in mind, and his thigh presses up against yours. 

“Don’t be upset, everyone knows passenger princess is way more fun than actually driving.” 

And rationally, you know he’s not specifically calling you a princess but your tummy turns nonetheless. 

“Whatever,” you mumble, faking a sigh and struggling to suppress your laughter when he buckles a fake seat belt. Jay gives you a disapproving look when you don’t move to do the same. “Are you serious?” 

“As a heart attack,” he says solemnly, though you can see the smile teasing at his lips. “Better safe than sorry, that’s what I always say.” 

There’s nothing behind his words, no hidden meaning but you read into them anyway, hoping he can’t hear the way you gulp at the thought that plagues you. For some reason, you’ve chosen this hill to die on, shrugging at him and turning to look straight ahead. 

Jay sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose before leaning over you to grab your ‘seat belt’ and buckle in by himself. He takes his time though, and the way he looks you dead in the eye makes you wish you’d just done it yourself. His face is close to yours, his breath warm against your skin, creating a welcome contrast to the cold air around you. He lingers for a beat before sitting up straight and clicking the belt into place. 

“Finally,” he whispers, putting an imaginary gear stick into reverse and draping his arm over the back of your connected seat. You can’t help but watch as he looks over your shoulders before moving the car, liking the way his side profile looks under the rapidly setting sun. Something stops him, he looks at you. “I can’t focus with you staring at me like that,” he says, taking his hand from the wheel to touch your cheek.

Your breath catches in your throat. Jay grins, gently turning your face away from him. You stare over at the roundabout and feel just as dizzy as you would have if you’d taken him up on his offer to spin you on it. 

Jay gets on with all the necessary checks before ‘starting’ the car and ‘driving’ off. “What are you thinking about?” 

It probably wouldn’t be appropriate to tell him that you’re thinking about the way it felt when he put his fingers to your cheek. Or how gentle he was with you, only pushing you a little bit and then guiding you the rest of the way. So you keep that to yourself. “The movies.” 

You hear Jay chuckling next to you. “All of them?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “The drive-in kind. Have you been?” 

“I went once.” 

You gasp, excited. “Really? What did you see?” 

Jay thinks about it for a while. He thinks about it really hard before shaking his head, “You know, I don’t think I was paying much attention.” 

“You spent all that money on a ticket and didn’t even pay attention? What were you doing?” The words rush out before you can stop them and you cringe a little thinking about the possible answers. 

He turns his gaze back out on the road. “Sleeping,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. 

You wish you could go back in time to stop yourself from asking, finding an answer to the question: “Is it better to speak or to die?” 

“Hey, we can go to the drive-in right now! I just need to put this thing in park and we can watch any movie you want!” he says, stopping the car and turning as much as he can in his seat to face you. “Any movie that’s available with a Netflix subscription!” he adds, smiling when you do. 

Cramped together in the front seat of the stationary car, the two of you watch The Devil Wears Prada and get about halfway through before Jay’s phone hits 10% — and it’s probably the best movie watching experience you’ve ever had.  

You take Jay up on his offer to walk you home, and he chats with you about the movie, telling you how much he thinks it totally blows that Miranda Priestly isn’t a real person that he can work for after graduation, but he seems happy enough when you suggest that he could become Miranda Priestly.  

Reaching the familiar crossing by the student union, you look up at him. “If it’s easier, you can just head your way from here. I can literally see my building,” you offer, feeling bad about him walking so far out of his way. 

Jay scoffs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I’m not gonna make you walk by yourself.” 

“It’s barely five minutes,” you tell him, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.” 

“YN?” 

“Hm?”

A pretty smile spreads across his lips. “I want to, let’s go.” And Jay hardly gets to start telling you about his upcoming mock trial before you reach your flat. 

“This is me,” you say, pointing at the door to your building. 

He lets out a dry chuckle. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head. He frowns, looking terribly cute with his lips turned down like that. Though it doesn’t last for long and he raises his brows when you gasp. “You know, we came from a place I’ve never been before, and I’m starting to think this might be the wrong street,” you say, struck by the sudden realisation. “We should probably walk around the block a couple more times, just to really be sure.” 

Listening to your words, Jay beams at you and it’s heavenly. “I heard it can actually take, like, 4 or 5 walks around the block if you want 100% certainty.” 

“Oh yeah,” you giggle. “I think I’ve heard that too. Should we make it 6?” 

“Perfect.” 

To your surprise, you’d both been wrong. As it would turn out, the required number of, very slow, walks around a student housing complex to be 100% sure, completely beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re at the right place is ten.

“Hey, uh, how about we do one more lap? Just to make sure? For the absolute best measure,” Jay suggests, eyes twinkling under the streetlamp. He almost looks a little nervous, burying his hands in his pockets as he watches you. 

“Sounds good.”

Just like your last few walks around the student housing block, fallen leaves rustle under your footsteps, and the back of Jay’s hand still brushes against yours, but this time feels different. Maybe because there’s a finality to this; the last lap. You couldn’t possibly ask him to spend any more time walking around here. Could you? 

“This neighbourhood is so cute, all the student apartments clustered together like this, I love it,” he says, looking over at you.

“It’s nice knowing that some of my friends, and the people I like partying with, live so close, but it’s always so noisy around here,” you tell him, continuing when he doesn’t speak. “‘Cause it’s all just a bunch of 18–20–somethings that live here, and The U’s just down the street. The noise is fun when I’m part of it, but when I’m studying or just trying to sleep it’s annoying.” 

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cool though? There’s always something happening. So even if the girls aren’t down to go out, you’re not exactly short on plans.”

You’d never really thought of it like that. Probably because Yunjin is always down to go out. But you like the way he puts it. You nod, reminded of your classmates who live in the building right next to where you’re walking. “Yeah, I should probably text Minjeong more.” 

“And if not you can always hit me and see what I’m doing,” he says at the same time. 

You stop walking, and your heart — feels like it — stops beating. 

Jay, noticing this, stands in front of you, hands help up defensively as he shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that, obviously. I just thought it’d be cool if you weren’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, maybe we could link and do nothing together,” he explains. “I’m stupid, sorry.”

This might be the first time you’ve ever heard Jay ramble like this, and your heart does a twirl just seeing his worried expression. “I think if I’m not doing anything, and you’re not doing anything, then it’d be cool for us to link and do nothing together, Jay,” you smile, liking the way he visibly relaxes, his shoulders falling slightly and an exhale curling out of his mouth and into the air.

“Cool.” 

When, for the 11th time, you reach your building, you turn to Jay and hesitate a little, unsure of what to say. Glancing at him, it looks as though he’s feeling the same way. A silence falls over the two of you. 

Finally, Jay speaks. “Goodnight,” he says, pulling you into a hug. 

Despite your surprise, you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him close. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is racing. Or the way it starts to pick up when you catch a whiff of his scent. Warm and cosy, tempting in a strange way that you can’t quite put your finger on but you like all the same. 

When Jay lets go of you, you look up at him almost instinctively. You don’t mean to stare at his lips but you do, gulping at how close they are. You want to kiss him. Not any more than usual, but the urge is there. “Goodnight,” you say, taking a step back and walking up the path to the door.

Using your key fob, you unlock the door, turning to look over your shoulder and thankfully finding Jay still standing there, watching you with a stomach-turning smile on his face. “I had a really nice time tonight,” you say, smiling back. 

“Yeah?”

You nod. “We should hang out more.”

“I think so too.” 

“Cool,” you smile, biting your lip. “Goodnight, Jay.” 

“Goodnight, YN.” 

“Could you, text me? When you get home, so I know you’re, like, safe.” 

Jay beams at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” 

After a week (eleven days) of texting and hanging out with Jay when you can, you find yourself spending 3 hours of your Friday afternoon taking notes in your Sustainable Development lecture, and coming to the realisation that none of the course content is relevant to the report you’re trying to get through. 

Seeing Jay leaning on the wall outside your class when you leave is a welcome surprise; he wears a thin pair of glasses and a smile that makes your heart stutter a bit as he stands up straighter, greeting you when he sees you and quickly falling into your step. “I meant to ask you earlier, are you going to the game on Saturday?” A beat passes. “Football,” he clarifies. “First home game of the season.” 

“Maybe if my friends are going.” 

Jay seems to think about this for a moment as you round the corner at the end of the corridor and he holds the door to the stairwell open. “After you.” 

You mumble a thank you and count six steps before he speaks again. 

“I’m going,” Jay informs you, his hand meeting the back of his neck to scratch awkwardly at it. “I mean, I’m gonna be on the pitch but.. I’ll be there.” 

A breathy laugh slips from your lips at this added information; how sweet of the football team’s captain to let you know that he’ll be at his team’s football game on Saturday. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I just think it’d be cool to see a friendly face in the crowd when I score the winning goal.” 

Given Jay’s unending kindness, you imagine that most of the faces in the crowd — or at least the ones from your uni — will be friendly, especially if he scores the winning goal. The thought causes a smile to itch at your lips as you consider that maybe he means that it’d be cool to see your friendly face in the crowd. And who could say no to that? 

The rest of the conversation goes smoothly and Jay slows down when you reach the second floor. “I have some admin shit to work out, but I’ll see you at the game?” he asks, watching you with hopeful eyes and chewing on his bottom lip.

Knowing full well that you’ll be there, you pretend to think about it for a moment. “Maybe.”

Jay chuckles at this, tilting his head. “Please?” 

“Maybe,” you repeat, despite already planning your outfit. Did you wash your white shirt or will you be doing laundry tonight? You wave at Jay when he waves and make your way down the rest of the stairs while clicking mindlessly through Instagram stories. 

Nothing interests you until you reach IG user onyourm__ark's story; a picture of IG user 39saku_chan in his football jersey. You hit the like button and pretend to believe that the song choice (Infrunami by Steve Lacy) was made purely out of sheer enjoyment of the artist’s early work.

With a smile on your face, you text the group chat to solidify your weekend plans.

you: are u going to the football game tmrw

cw: not even if u paid me

yj: hard no

yj: i’m going to the party AFTER the game though

yj: why?

you: it’s nothing dw

cw: ???

you: jay invited me..

The chill of October’s first evening is unkind on your face as you sit amongst the rowdiness of drunk uni kids, cheering and groaning in unison as the game trudges on, and somehow Kazuha manages to sleep through it all with her head on your shoulder. 

“Fuuuuck,” Yunjin groans, shivering in the seat next to you. “I hate sports.” 

“Says the captain of the hockey team,” you say, voice coming out muffled behind the top of your jacket.

“Playing and watching are, like, completely different.” 

You’re sure Yunjin’s right, she has to be, but you have to admit that there’s something more than slightly entertaining about watching a group of boys chasing a ball around and yelling expletives at one another, all while number 99 keeps a huge grin on his face, laughing at his teammate’s temper. Or lack thereof. 

However, the novelty wears off at around 8:45 when the ref calls for half-time; a chill runs down your spine as you’re struck with the realisation that university football games are full-length. But other than Yunjin’s teasing, there’s no use pretending that you hate the sight of Jay lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

As the players retreat from the pitch and some students start to clear the stands, Yunjin gets up to stretch. She hums along to the song playing while you watch from your seat with aching knees, slightly envious and trying not to move too much and wake up Kazuha who sleeps soundly on your shoulder. 

With her arms above her head, Yunjin lets out a yawn. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’d really rather be doing a reading for marketing than be here any longer.”

“And I’d rather be helping you out,” you say, frowning a little when Kazuha stirs. “Hey, what do you think they do during half-time?” you ask distractedly. 

She thinks about it for a beat, eyes flicking to the pitch before looking back to you. “We usually strategise, use the bathroom, get water — quick things like that,” she says, raking a hand through her hair, watching as you shift a little in your seat to get your phone from your pocket when it vibrates. “They have a lot longer than we do though.” 

jay: are you having fun?

you: yeah you guys are great, good game so far :)

Yunjin scrunches up her nose as she reads the exchange. “God, you’re so boring,” she sighs, taking the phone from your hands, and typing something before showing the screen to you. 

“We should link at the party later,” you read, scoffing as you take it back and delete the message. “I’d never say that.” In those words. 

jay: hahaha i think you might be my good luck charm 

A dramatic gasp comes from a now-awake Kazuha. “Don’t reply!” 

You heed this advice, joining her as she stands up to stretch as well. 

“Look how much fun they’re having,” Kazuha sighs, pointing over at Sakura and Chaewon in their seats close to the pitch. They dance along to the music blaring through the speakers and laugh so loudly you can hear them despite their distance. “Why didn’t we join them?” 

You think about it for a bit, filled with regret. “At the time, pregaming before the game and then pregaming again before the party seemed intense but..” you trail off, watching your friends clutch their stomachs in laughter. “Next time.” 

“Next time,” Kazuha repeats, slouching in her seat. “I’m clearing your drink supply when we get back.” There’s a frown on her face when she speaks but she’s quick to perk up at the sound of your text tone, grabbing the phone for herself. 

jay: are you coming tn? got a feeling that congrats will be in order

you (technically kazuha): wouldn’t miss it !!! 

“Three exclamation points? I’m not that desperate,” you say defensively, nudging her in the ribs. 

As if on cue, Yunjin reads another text. “I saw his notes again, his handwriting is so cute and ugly, agh I’m literally clutching my chest, he’s perfect,” she says, her voice high-pitched and mocking. 

Hearing your typed words out loud from someone else’s mouth is troubling, especially because “It never seems that bad when I’m typing,” you frown, immediately checking your phone when it goes off. 

jay: awesome :) see u there 

jay: !!!

The game’s second half goes by much quicker and in the end, they lose 5-3, leaving you and Yunjin struggling to keep your laughter to yourselves at the sight of the FIRST W OF THE SEASON banner hanging up in the living room of the house that most of the footballers share. With linked arms, the two of you make your way to the kitchen to get something to drink. Already feeling the buzz from pregaming, you settle on a cup of lemonade which Yunjin rolls her eyes at. 

“Shut up,” you say, eyeing her over the rim of your cup. 

Yunjin holds her hands up defensively, spilling a few drops of her tequila-vodka concoction. “I didn’t even say anything.” For a couple of minutes, you pretend to listen as Yunjin tries to come up with a game plan for the night, nodding and humming along when she pauses, and trying to decipher the animal code names she’s using. A gasp. “I see him! Black cat and penguin sitting out on the half wall.” 

You watch as she leans over the sink to get a closer look out of the window. “I feel like saying exactly where they are makes the code names redundant.” 

“I feel like you’re redundant.” A beat passes. “Just be yourself, and if he says something funny, laugh and put your hand on his bicep while you do.” 

“Noted.”

Yunjin doesn’t let you go outside without taking a sip (or three) of the poison in her cup, and after you gag over the sink, the two of you make your way into the garden, sights set on the half wall where “black cat” now sits alone. A potent mixture of the scent of tobacco and weed hits you the second you open the back door, and the two of you leave the house to make a beeline to Jay, apparently to Yunjin’s displeasure, given the way she asks you three times to play beer pong with her when some of the basketball boys start setting up cups for the next round.

“No,” you say. Three times. 

As if sensing your presence, Jay whips his head around right before the two of you reach him, a bright smile gracing his face as he waves at you with his whole arm. He seems to glow against the darkness of the night, bright, dreamy, an unreal quality that leaves you feeling fuzzy around the edges. Jay, you think, over and over and it starts to sound made up. Jay. Jay. Jay. Until you reach him. He stands up when you guys are close enough. “You’re here,” Jay says with a smile, pulling you into a hug. With his arms around your waist, his hold is somehow both tight and gentle. Secure. Safe. 

“Hey,” you say, voice muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. A whiff of his scent hits you, flooding your senses. Fresh, citrusy, and undeniably Jay. A dizzying combination, so light, and distinctly him in a way that makes your heart beat a bit faster. 

When Jay lets go of you to hug Yunjin, you take the last sip of your drink and almost wish you’d taken her cup instead; your lemonade is sweet to the tongue but does absolutely nothing to boost your confidence. You watch as they greet each other while Jay sits back down. Standing in front of him with your arm against Yunjin’s, you feel as though you've missed the window to sit down too and opt to continue standing next to her. 

“We like your banner,” you say, pointing in the direction of the house behind him. 

Following your finger, Jay lets his head whip around towards the back of the house. Yunjin uses the time he spends looking over his shoulder to nudge you, nod her head in his direction, and mouth the word “sit” at you. So you do.

If he’s surprised to turn back around barely a second later and find you right beside him, Jay doesn’t show it. He gives you a warm smile and knocks his knee against yours before speaking. “What, first w of the season?” He tilts his head. “And here I thought you were a good luck charm, twenty,” he says with a chuckle when you nod. 

Yunjin’s brows raise, and you feel yours rise too. “Twenty?” she asks. 

“The hockey jacket,” he answers without missing a beat. “Speaking of, when’s your next game?” 

“Oh, we’re playing the Foxes next week,” Yunjin rakes a hand through her hair. “TDU, you know?” 

Jay nods, turning his attention back to you. “Can I look forward to seeing you on the field, twenty?” 

Tilting your head, you pull air through your teeth. “You know what, I actually just got benched, like, right now,” you say, liking the way Jay laughs. “I’m out for the rest of the season.” 

After clapping a hand to his mouth, Jay points at you. “Did they get you on a drunk and disorderly after the mixer?” he asks through a laugh. 

In horror, you watch while Yunjin’s head falls back with laughter as she lets out cackles that only unsettle you. “That’s exactly what happened!”

“I was not.. disorderly,” you say meekly, finding sudden interest in the hem of your skirt.

It sounds as though Jay says: “You didn’t tell her how she got back home?” though you’re finding it difficult to focus on much other than trying to recover your missed hours after the hockey mixer. 

You’ve gone on countless nights out, spent many mornings after vowing never to drink again, and, on multiple occasions, have gotten too drunk to enter the club. But even then, in the past, your memory has only ever been.. spotty, nonlinear. Never completely void for hours at a time, and it’s concerning. After tonight, you really won’t drink again. 

Except on birthdays. 

And when you go to the club. Or to parties. Or when you’re bored with the girls. But again, apart from that? Never. 

“How did I g—” you start, though Yunjin cuts you off. 

“I think Zuha’s lifting her leg again, hold on,” she groans, looking over Jay’s shoulder at the glass doors leading to the kitchen. Yunjin disappears back into the house and it’s not until you watch her slide the back door shut behind her that you remember Kazuha having too much to drink at pres and having to stay in with Chaewon. 

When you look at Jay, he watches you with knitted brows. “Kazuha’s doing what?” he asks. 

“Ballet,” you explain. He nods. 

Neither of you speak for a moment. While you chew on the inside of your cheek, you can’t help but wonder if you should’ve followed Yunjin, or if you should’ve had less to drink at the mixer. You reckon the fact that Jay’s still talking to you must mean you didn’t do anything that you can’t recover from, but you can’t shake the feeling that your trip home that night was less than pleasant. 

“Hey,” Jay says quietly, catching your attention with concern lacing his features. “What do you look so down for?” he asks. 

Though terrified of the answer, you repeat your earlier question. “How did I get home?” you ask, wondering if the Earth usually opened up to swallow people whole or if you’d have to put in a special request.

Jay licks his lips, using his hand to push your shoulder playfully. “I have no idea,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I was talking to Yunjin at the library on Tuesday, I think, and she told me you can’t remember anything. I just wanted to freak you out.” 

You feel heat under his touch and relief from his words, though something about him talking with Yunjin seems to jostle you slightly. “Yunjin was at the library?”

Briefly, what looks like disappointment flashes across Jay’s face, replaced quickly with a pretty smile, light, playful. “You care more about Yunjin being at the library than me asking your friend about you?” he asks.

“You were asking my friend about me?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re cute,” Jay says sweetly, smiling at you in a way that makes your cheeks burn even when you look down at your lap. 

There’s something about the way he says it, so casually as if telling you the time or today’s date, that throws you off. It doesn’t make any sense to you that some of the most vivid sensations that Jay makes you feel are just that: sensations. You know that your stomach doesn’t actually have butterflies in it and that your heart isn’t really twirling in your chest, but it sure feels like it. You wonder if he also feels like that sometimes. You earnestly hope that if he does, it’s because of you.

He seems nearer than before when you look at him, and for fear that you might kiss him if he gets any closer, you bring your empty cup to your lips, lean back a little, and pretend to sip. Its emptiness isn’t lost on Jay, however, who chuckles, asking if you want a refill. While walking towards the house, you listen as he tells you what the team normally get up to during half-time (mostly strategising and pretending not to hear Heeseung’s snores), and silently beg your cheeks to cool down. His hand is heavy on the small of your back as he ushers you inside first, sliding the door shut behind him, and gently pushing you towards the kitchen island. 

You let yourself lean against the counter, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach as you watch him reach for a visibly sticky bottle of your favourite drink without asking what you’d like. Though before actually touching it, his eyes widen. “Wait, I have something for you,” he says, holding out a hand for you to take. “Come on.” 

Jay weaves his fingers with yours, leading you through the house and up the stairs into a bedroom. He closes the door gently behind you, stepping over a couple of backpacks before sitting on the end of the bed, and tugging at the zipper on one of them. 

For a moment you watch as veins appear on his hands and have to physically tell yourself to drag your eyes to anything else, eventually settling on the walls. Walls that are covered in countless glossy 4x6 prints, some shots of landscapes, groups of people, out-of-focus beer bottles and.. “You have a lot of photos of Mark Lee in here,” you comment, scanning the room around you. “And it doesn’t look like you’re.. in any of them,” you continue as you notice a grainy polaroid stuck to the wall next to the light switch — a picture of Mark making out with his best friend, Sakura “give me a break, a boy and a girl can be just friends” Miyawaki, and make a mental note to bring it up later. 

Jay glances at you as if you’re the one sleeping in a Markkura shrine. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s his room,” he chuckles. “You can sit down, you know,” he adds after a beat, moving over a bit on the bed. 

With a nod, you look at some more of the pictures as you make your way over to the spot next to him, a photo of Mark and Jake with their middle fingers to the camera catching your eye. And holding it for so long that you trip a little over one of the backpacks before sitting down and pretending nothing happened. Thankfully, Jay doesn’t seem to notice. 

“It’s not much by the way, don’t get your hopes up,” he warns, his hand still hidden by the fabric of his bag. 

“Got it.” 

Despite his earlier disclaimer, he makes a show of the whole thing. “Ta-da!” His voice is a little singsong as he brings the obje—bottle of Smirnoff Ice into view. 

“Thank you?” The bottle is cold in your hands when you take it from him, reading the ABV 4% on its label and wondering how many of these Sunghoon must have had to drink to have been stumbling the way he was that night. You also can’t help but wonder what reason Jay has for buying you a bottle and then taking you into the privacy of Mark’s bedroom to give it to you.

“Yeah,” he trails off a little, letting his hand come up to scratch the back of his neck. “You looked pretty crushed the other night when Heeseung finished that one bottle.” 

You can’t help the scoff that comes out. “Crushed? I mean, I might’ve frowned.” 

“Frowned? You were near tears, I was worried about you.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious, every time I looked at you, you had this.. upset look on your face.” 

“Well, maybe you should stop looking at me so much.”

Jay’s eyes sparkle under the light, flicking back and forth from your eyes to your lips as he brings a hand up to your face, tucking some hair behind your ear, his fingers hot on your skin, unmoving. His eyes lock with yours. “Come on,” he says in a low voice. “You know there’s no stopping that.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. Jay bites his. His gaze drops back down to your mouth. Lingers. And in what almost seems like an alcohol-induced hallucination, he leans in. Slightly. As if testing the waters. As if waiting for a sign that you want him to stop. A sign that you want him to continue. Anything. His hand is heavy on your cheek when he cups it in his palm, skin rough against yours. 

Mere inches away, Jay’s lips seem more tempting than ever. Separated only by the distance of a breath and your nerves, you try to settle yourself. To put your heart at ease. But how could you relax when he looks at you like that; his gaze soft, tender, all of his attention on y—The bottle slips from your hands, cool against your thighs, reminding you of its existence. Jay flinches when you do. 

“Let’s have a drink!” you suggest, though the absence you feel when he takes his hand from your face makes you wish you hadn’t.

“Sure.”

The cap screws off the bottle with a few satisfying clicks, and Jay, amused, shakes his head when you offer him the first sip. “After you,” he says. 

Without a second thought, the bottle touches your lips and the sweet, sweet taste of Smirnoff Ice touches your tongue, coating your mouth and leaving you wishing the alcohol content was higher. 

“Do you mind if I put my lips on it?” he asks while you pass the drink to him. 

You shake your head, determined not to think of a double meaning, and watch as his lips connect with the bottle’s opening, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat while he drinks. When Jay pulls it from his mouth, he lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips. You wonder if it will taste different in his mouth, if his lips, wet from the drink, taste as sweet as they look. 

Now that you realise you’ve shared an indirect kiss, you kick yourself for passing up the chance at a direct one, deciding that if you want him to kiss you, you’ll need to get closer. Step up your game a little. Maybe you’ll say something about his necklace, ask to get a better look.. And hopefully, he’ll take the hint and kiss you because you’re not really sure what else you could say. 

Of course, you could opt to skip words altogether, taking his face in your hands, and pressing your lips to his. You’re sure that’s what Yunjin would do. And you’re sure that would be her advice to you if you asked her.

Jay hands the bottle back to you and you close it, determined to feel his lips on yours if it’s the last thing you do. And you quickly open the bottle again, one last sip for good luck. The soft laugh he lets out is breathy, and it’s hard to tell if the heat in your stomach is coming from the drink, or from the way you see him looking at you in your peripheral. 

His straight teeth bite at his bottom lip, and he shakes his head when you offer him another sip. This time when you close the bottle, you do it for good, setting the glass on the floor so it doesn’t interrupt you again. 

“I really like your necklace,” you say, off to a good start, following the plan. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Aw.. thanks,” he says, choosing now, of all times, to stop being a conversationalist. 

In the quiet of the room, you realise that you hadn’t planned anything beyond the compliment. You let your eyes focus back on the charm hanging from his neck, trying to picture him with a fishing rod in his hand, and wellington boots on his feet. It doesn’t really work. “I didn’t realise you were so into fishing,” you blurt out, and the way he knits his brows together makes you wish you’d just grabbed him and planted a kiss on the lips he purses to the side while watching you. 

“Me?” 

“Yeah you, with your cute little hook on a chain.” 

Jay squints at you. “Hook on a chain?” he repeats. 

You let a hand reach up and press on the hook pendant on his necklace. 

His shoulders rise and fall dramatically as he sighs, his hand coming up to wrap around yours, holding it to the base of his neck as the small (not) hook warms in your fist. “Why does everybody think it’s a hook?” 

“It isn’t?” 

“It’s the letter J.” He lets go of your hand to lift the charm. “See?” 

You squint your eyes, leaning a little closer to him, gaze fixed on the little gold hook letter sitting near the base of his neck. “Ohhhh, right,” you say, but even from a few inches away, it still looks like a hook, and from this close, you can hear the way his breath hitches in his throat.

With an inhale, you find yourself lingering. Sticking around just long enough to make out the woodier notes of his cologne before moving back a little. Finally, you draw your eyes away from his neck, wanting to meet his gaze but finding yourself stuck on his lips instead. They sit slightly ajar, pink, pretty, sort of chapped in the way they always seem to be. His breath tickles your forehead. You sit straighter, noticing the way his eyes burn holes into you. 

“Quit staring,” you mumble hypocritically. 

Jay’s brows quirk up for a split second as he sits back on his hands. “I’m not.”

“You are.” 

“Well, you’d have to be staring at me to know.” 

“Do you want me to stop staring?”

He seems to consider this for a second before shaking his head. “No,” he tells you. 

“What do you want then?” Your voice is soft when you ask. 

“I wanna kiss you.” 

Jay’s lips don’t move but you hear the word “really” being spoken out into the room like a question. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own and doesn’t fully register until Jay says: “Yeah,” so softly that it’s practically a whisper. 

Jay wants.. to kiss you. You feel your breath catch in your throat and it seems even more ridiculous to think it than to have heard it from him. To see his lips move to form the words. I wanna kiss you, he’d said. You’d heard it. You’d seen it. It happened. He wants.. to kiss you. 

“Do you want me to do that?” he asks, leaning in slightly, his hand rising to cup your cheek. Slower, gentler than last time. 

You let your gaze meet his; regret flooding you immediately. Just as kind and soft as the rest of him, Jay’s eyes stare into yours, warm, and inviting, but, still, you can’t shake off your nerves. More than anything, you want to say yes; to say of course, can’t you tell? but you don’t trust yourself enough to open your mouth and speak to him. Instead, you nod, so slightly that for a moment you wonder if he even noticed. And then, there, in the dim privacy of Mark Lee’s bedroom, while your heart beats out of your chest, Jay kisses you for the first time. 

His lips are warm against yours, the sweet taste of Smirnoff Ice only amplified as he holds you close. Soft, gentle, kissing Jay is everything you’d imagined it would be. You feel as though you might melt under his touch as his hand grabs your waist to pull you closer. So close that you’re nearly in his lap as he deepens the kiss, his tongue moving along yours.

It doesn’t feel real, it can’t be. 

As if thrown by your thoughts, Jay pulls away. While attempting to form a coherent thought, you catch your breath, once again, regretting looking at him. He looks down the bridge of his nose at you with half-lidded eyes, and his pretty, pink lips sit parted, wet and plump from kissing. Jay leans in almost immediately, the moment cut short by his lips on yours once again. 

It’s tangible this time; you couldn’t possibly make up the way his hand grips your ass or the way he groans softly when you whine into his mouth. He’s real, and he’s kissing you, and you only feel yourself growing dizzier, and dizzier the longer his lips move against yours. A gasp pulls you out of it and the two of you separate.

Looking in the direction of the now open door you see Sakura and Mark hand in hand. You can’t help the slight embarrassment that hits you at first, hating that, of all people, it had to be Mark to walk in and find you making out with someone on his bed. 

Though you get a bit distracted seeing him and Sakura like this, they look cute together. His football hoodie covers her form completely, much longer than the dress she has on, as she leans into him, and a giggle slips from her lips when he lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her waist instead. 

Somewhat belatedly, and needlessly, Mark apologises, his eyes focused on you when he speaks but you can’t get the words out to respond to him. Jay chuckles at this, shaking his head and telling him not to worry about it as he stands up from the bed. You follow suit. Jay picks up your drink from the floor and takes you by the hand, telling Mark he’ll text him later while leading you out of the room. When you glance at Sakura, she’s grinning at you, mouthing: “Sorry,” before smacking your butt. 

Jay hands you the bottle when the door closes, his hand slipping out of yours. A beat passes. And then another. He chews at his bottom lip. You clear your throat and the silence continues. It’s a shame to be standing around like idiots on the landing like this, you think. 

“I..” he trails off, wiping his hands on his pants. He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I should get back to the boys.” 

Your heart sinks as you hesitate, unsure how to respond. Slowly, you nod. “Right, yeah,” you say.

“Later,” he mumbles, holding up his hand to wave stiffly at you before turning around to leave. 

Deflated, you lean against Mark’s door while you search for your phone to ask Yunjin where she is. Maybe if you’d waited for a moment, you’d have seen the way Jay stopped at the top of the stairs to look over at you, seen the frown on his face when he saw that you weren’t looking at him. But instead, you read 2 texts from Yunjin. 

yj: dude heso into u 

yj: flirt more = hv fun upstairs 

You spend the next three days pretending nothing happened at the party, avoiding Jay, and dreading going to uni. It’s just unfortunate that for you, pretending nothing happened looks like zoning out in the library while replaying the kiss in your head until your elbow slips off the desk. And avoiding Jay seems near impossible, given his tendency to show up everywhere. Or rather, your tendency to see Jay in everything. 

Like the tiny little black cat you saw perched on the fence outside your apartment building, and the busker singing Harry Styles in the city centre. And the half-full bottle of Smirnoff Ice from that night that sits on your dresser with your perfume and jewellery, displayed with about as much sentiment as a trophy won at school for a random achievement. 

Impulsively, you post a selfie to your Instagram story before hiding your phone under your pillow and leaving the room entirely, making yourself comfortable atop the kitchen counter and waiting for someone to come back home. 

Chaewon gets home first, and quickly, arriving with a groan as she shrugs her jacket off and shuts the door behind her. “I hate uni,” she mutters. “I hate studying, I ha— Hey.” She jumps a little when she sees you in the kitchen. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, where’ve you been hiding?” 

“My room.” 

She nods, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “You’re not going out tonight, right?” 

You shake your head, amused by the look of relief that paints Chaewon’s features as she whispers thank God. “I’m gonna shower, and take a nap,” she informs you. “But when I wake up, it’s you, me, pizza, and whatever story Yunjin has from practice.” 

“Can’t wait,” you say sincerely, stepping down from the counter. 

With a wide smile on her face, she salutes you before dragging her feet to the bathroom. Completely endeared, you decide not to comment on the salute even though you think it’s sweet that she’s starting to copy her boyfriend. 

The sounds of student housing on a Wednesday evening seep in through the open window as you pour yourself a glass of water, unable to stop wondering if Jay saw your story; and what he thought about it if he did. Wondering if he’d notice that the picture was from Saturday night. 

Filling up your glass again, you take it to your room and pull your phone out of hiding. Along with a message from Yunjin telling you and Chaewon to order your food so it comes shortly after she gets home, you find that Jay hit like on your story. Then sent a reply ten minutes later saying: you’re sooo gorgeous.

With a smile on your face, you type out various forms of “thank you so much, you’re perfect,” before settling on a simple: thank uuu :D, and Jay’s response is immediate. 

jay: i don’t think i’ve said that before

jay: how prettty i think you are

The heat that rises to your cheeks is troubling, yet despite your best efforts, you can’t get it to pass. Especially not when you read and reread Jay’s message. You press your eyes shut, willing the heat to pass, willing the grin on your face to fade. Neither works, in fact, they only worsen when you open your eyes to see the new messages waiting for you in the chat. 

jay: it’s a lot bte 

jay: *btw 

You let out a romcom-worthy sigh, clutching the phone to your chest and laying down on the bed. A glow-in-the-dark sticker stares back at you from its spot on your ceiling, a single star that you’d won as a set of two at the arcade with Kazuha in December. The memory brings a smile to your face, even though you remember being a little annoyed after she turned down the other star when you tried giving it to her.

Another message from Jay makes your phone vibrate in your hands. 

jay: sorrry 

you: it’s okay 

You tell him. Even though you’re not sure what he’s apologising for. Just like before, Jay reads the message immediately though this time his reply never comes.

With Yunjin now home from practice, and freshly showered, you sit on the couch with your flatmates, talking and laughing over the sound of the TV for hours until Netflix asks if you’re still watching, and Yunjin’s passed out with her cold, wet hair on your shoulder.  

Pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, Chaewon retires to bed, whispering “Goodniiiiiiiiight,” in your ear before abandoning you. Tired as you are, a part of you feels bad about waking Yunjin so you decide to sit a while longer, moving the blanket from your lap to cover her up properly. But of course, this is the movement that wakes her up. 

In a soft voice, you tell her goodnight, standing up from the couch to stretch your arms above your head. 

“You never told me what happened on Saturday,” Yunjin says tiredly. “Kkura told me you and Jay were busy in Mark’s room.” 

The mention of his name takes you back to that night. Back to Jay and the way his lips felt against yours, the way his hand held your waist, and the way he’d ditched you outside Mark’s room. A pit forms in your stomach; and as if reading your mind, Yunjin asks if you’re okay.

You sit down on the other end of the couch, bringing your knees up to your chest and telling the story from top to bottom. After recounting the night in detail from after she left you guys alone, you find yourself hyperaware of the differences between you and Yunjin. For you, the highlight of Saturday night was Jay kissing you and then running away after. 

“Wait, Sakura and who?” she asks when you’re done. 

For Yunjin, the highlight of the story seems to be Mark’s presence. 

“Mark.” 

“She told me she went on her own, what were they doing?” 

Although you have some idea, you think it best to keep your knowledge to yourself. “They were looking for her phone,” you say, pleased to see that Yunjin accepts your answer and moves on. 

“So then what?”

“He texted me hey on Sunday morning, which I ignored, and then a couple hours ago he replied to my story and told me how pretty he thinks I am,” you say, pausing to take a breath. “Then ignored my response.” 

Yunjin sits silently, seeming to take in everything she’d just been told. Her eyes are focused on the TV screen ahead so you look over at it too. It had gone into standby mode, displaying nothing but an indistinct impression of the two of you. 

And the silence continues. 

In the TV’s cast, you can just about make out the way she tilts and then turns her head to look at you. “Maybe he’s just.. frazzled, or something, from being walked in on. How did you feel?” 

The answer takes a while to come up with because for you, the night exists in two parts — Before kissing Jay, and everything else that happened when you left the room. This whole time, you’ve been so focused on him leaving, that you’ve barely given any thought to how you felt when Sakura opened the door. Frazzled, you think. Probably the best word to use. Embarrassed suits a bit better though. 

“I was embarrassed about it, but only because it was Mark. If it had been you, or Chaewon, whoever, it would’ve been different because they’d walk in and go “oh sorry” or something and leave, but obviously, when it’s Mark going into his own room, he’s there for something, you know?” you explain, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Maybe that’s how he feels too.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t embarrassing enough to leave and never talk to him again.” 

Yunjin exhales heavily. “I want to be on your side, really, I do, but isn’t that kinda what you did?” she asks, her voice hesitant as she tilts her head. “He texted you the next day and you didn’t reply, what do you think he’s thinking about right now?” 

“He’s the one who said he should get back to the boys.”

“What if that’s just because he spoke first?” she suggests. “Obviously we don’t know what you would’ve said if you spoke first, because you didn’t, but I feel like you would’ve been like “I-I’m gonna get back to the girls” and ran away.” 

Always correct, Yunjin is your worst enemy and your best friend rolled into one. Oh, how you hate her. Well, she’s correct about the fact that you would have said the same thing. You think. You press your lips together in a straight line and sink into your seat. 

She sighs when you don’t speak. “Look, he talked to you today, and told you how pretty you are, which is a win, right?” 

You nod reluctantly. 

“So let’s celebrate that, celebrate the fact that you kissed Jay! Even better, the fact that he kissed you.” Yunjin pauses, for what you think is dramatic effect, before speaking again. “Just.. don’t sweat the small stuff, okay?” She stops again to yawn. “And text him back if he reaches out, or, text him first.” 

Leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, you brush your teeth, watching as Yunjin does the same, sitting on the edge of the tub with her eyes shut. While gargling mouthwash, you think about the conversation you’ve just had and decide to take matters into your own hands. By pleading with God to put Jay in front of you and have him tell you that he likes you back. 

Once again, the higher powers seem to be on your side. Kind of. Jay does end up in front of you to tell you that he likes you back. Kind of. But only after learning that you’ll have to start your report again; which, given that you’d only gotten through 800 of the required 4000 words, wasn't exactly criminal. It was an irritation that settled in you, mainly, as all of your research and the sources you’d found were now redundant in the face of such adversity. 

Nonetheless, with heavy feet, you leave the lecture hall, trying to come up with a way to fake your graduation ceremony next year so you can secretly drop out. You draw a blank and find Jay waiting in line at the vending machine near the library’s entrance. 

Even though you’d spoken with her on Tuesday night, here, today, on Friday afternoon, Yunjin’s words echo so clearly in your mind you almost want to peer over your shoulder to see if she’s there. You do. She isn’t. 

Your formerly heavy feet lead you right over to Jay, who greets you with a smile. “How’s the report coming?” he asks, his tone light, easygoing, and clearly oblivious to the fact that his question strikes you like a knife to the gut. 

The two of you shuffle forward slightly, now at the front of the queue. Waiting for your response, he punches E6 into the machine that rattles loudly, delivering his bottle of Lipton lemon. 

“Not great,” you tell him, feigning nonchalance and watching as he presses E4 before squatting down to collect both drinks. “Are you heading to class?” 

Standing up straight, Jay holds out the new(er) bottle of Lipton peach towards you. “What happened?” 

Holding the drink in your hands, you fall into step with him and sigh despite yourself. “I have to start over.” 

Jay’s eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly at your words. Dramatic. Cute. “Nooo,” he says sincerely. “How come?”

“I read the question wrong.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s okay, at least you found out now rather than later. And you still have until December to get it done, that’s almost two months! I’m sure most people haven’t even read the question,” he tells you in a gentle voice. 

There’s a fuzziness in your chest, and Jay’s words make you feel like everything will be alright. Even though you weren’t exactly cut up about the report, something about talking with him about it leaves you feeling soothed when you look up to give him a warm smile.

“I don’t have classes today, I’m just here to study,” he says, answering your earlier question as he leads you to a table. 

You watch as Jay sits down, and decide to take a seat across from him, dumping your bag on the floor at your feet. His brows quirk up when you put the drink down on his side of the table, confusion evident in his voice when he says: “You don’t like peach tea anymore?” 

All of a sudden your heart is pounding, and you grin despite yourself. Oh, Jay, you think. “It’s my favourite.” 

Matching your smile Jay slides the bottle over to you. “It’s yours,” he says.

You can’t explain the overwhelming sense of gratitude you feel over a barely cold, 500ml bottle of tea, but it beams brightly on the table between you; radiant, glowy, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “Thank you,” you say sincerely in a soft voice, lest you knock the bottle out of its haze. 

The deepest part of your brain romanticises the scene around you even further, and the table you sit at, in the smallest library on campus, starts to seem like something from a kid’s storybook. From a mythical land where the iced tea is luminescent, and you get to study with an angel who wears Chrome Hearts pants and olive green 6s.

“Can I read it when you’re done?” His question cuts through your thoughts. Surprised by how genuine Jay sounds, you glance back over at him to find him already looking at you, his lips pushed up into a soft smile that spreads flutters around your chest.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to realise what he’s talking about, but you tilt your head when you do. “You wanna read my paper on wind turbines and solar farms?” you ask. 

Jay’s eyes widen briefly as if shocked that you’re even asking him that. “Of course I do,” he says, sounding almost offended, defensive maybe. 

You eye him from across the table, sceptical. Jay seems to pick up on this. “Why wouldn’t I want to know about the UN’s advances towards net zero by 2030?” he asks, chuckling to himself when you raise a brow. He shrugs. “I got curious after you mentioned it.” 

With burning cheeks, you watch him as he continues to talk, neither of you making any effort to start on the work you’re there to do. As much as you feel it’d be useful to get work done in the library — because it’ll allow you to go home and do nothing without guilt — you don’t see the point in half-assing your research and absentmindedly chatting with Jay, when you could ditch the research completely and fixate over the way his lips move to form his words. 

“I lost my student card so I need to read while I’m in here. I think it’s better though; easier to stay focused, less distractions,” Jay tells you when you ask what brought him to uni just to study alone. “Usually,” he adds, gaze flicking up to meet yours with a teasing smile crossing his lips.

Jay’s words hold a flirtatious undertone that isn’t lost on you or the butterflies that take flight in your stomach. “I’m not a distraction,” you say, frowning slightly. 

“I never said you were, but I had no problem getting my work done until you got here.” 

Jay’s words remind you of your first test for Property Law in February. The two of you sat together at a table in the campus cafe, empty mugs and printed slides scattered across the space between you. For four hours, you highlighted sentences and rewrote notes to keep your hands busy until Jay walked you back to your flat, where you pulled an all-nighter so you could actually study. You got a 61 and slept for twelve hours afterwards. 

“If it’s getting to you that much, I can go,” you offer, really, really, hoping he doesn’t take you up on it.

“No, please stay. I like spending time with you,” Jay admits with a slight downturn at the corners of his lips. 

You try to work out how to echo his sentiment without sounding like a lovestruck fool, though you draw a blank, distracted by the way he– “Are you batting your lashes at me?” you ask through a chuckle.

Jay squints. “Is it working?” 

You shake your head. 

“Well, neither are you,” he points out, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that almost makes you feel scolded despite his light tone. You think you like it. 

An overly dramatic sigh huffs its way out of your mouth as you roll your eyes at him, fighting a smile at the sound of his breathy laughter. “Whatever. Starting now, I’ll work on my paper. You focus on your reading, no distractions,” you suggest.

“Right, no distractions,” Jay repeats, his eyes falling to your lips. 

Sticking to your word proves much easier than you’d initially thought and you manage to sit, mostly undistracted, for more than a little while, putting the paragraphs that can stay in italics, the bits that need to be amended in bold, and deleting the rest. 

Your workflow is broken only when Jay speaks softly, “Is it cool if Heeseung works with us?” he asks, sending a text after you tell him that it’s okay. 

And as if he’d been waiting around the corner, Heeseung shows up seconds later. “Jongseongieeeeee,” he coos when he sees Jay, extending a hand to pat his head and ruffle his hair. 

Unable to hide his irritation, Jay’s face scrunches up at the interaction and in an attempt to stop the sudden attack, he grabs Heeseung by the wrist, seeming shocked when it works. You watch him fix his hair in his phone camera. 

In the same playful tone, Heeseung says your name too, sitting down in the seat next to Jay. “I feel like I haven’t seen you since the hockey mixer.” 

You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes out at the cute pout on his lips. “Because you haven’t seen me since the hockey mixer,” you say, smiling at Jay when you notice him looking at you. 

“You weren’t at the football party, were you?” Heeseung asks, his eyes widening right when the words leave his mouth. “Riiiiiiiight, you were.” He mumbles to himself before covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m just..” he trails off, pointing at his laptop with his index finger before opening it and sinking in his seat. 

There’s a nasty pit forming in your stomach while you watch Heeseung all but disappear behind his screen. And in the black screen of your laptop, you stare at yourself, pretending that: 1. The fingerprints and smudges don’t bother you, and 2. That you don’t notice the way Jay’s looking at you. Or rather, the fact that Jay’s looking at you. If you’d noticed the way he was looking at you, you might have picked up on the softness of his gaze. But you didn't, so you don’t. 

Instead, the fact that Jay’s watching you only makes you feel worse. Though at least it looks like your hair is sitting nicely today, you think, glad to have at least one thing working for you rather than against you. Like the pit in your stomach, or the Lipton peach that tastes like nothing when you take the first sip.

In the presence of Heeseung - and the things he said - the three of you manage to get on with your work, free of conversation. 

Reluctantly, you let the two boys walk you back to your place when you’re ready to go home. Heeseung leads the conversation, thankfully, with no more mention of the football party and even hugs you goodbye while Jay watches from a few feet away. Judging by the expression on his face, you’d think the person he’d liked for months kissed him and then ran away. 

“Sorry,” Heeseung whispers, pressing his lips into a straight line. 

With your key in the lock, you watch as they retreat, Heeseung nudging Jay when he reaches him and mumbling something that you can’t quite make out. Neither of the girls are home when you get inside and, sprawling out on the couch, you look for your phone to make plans. 

you: we should go out tn

cw: tmrw ! i have a deadline

yj: broke friday or .. j*emins party 

Too broke for broke Friday, the two of you find yourselves stepping over the legs of a sleeping Sunghoon to reach the open door to Jeno and Jaemin’s apartment. There are people everywhere, including the hall outside, but you suppose this is the benefit of student housing; none of your neighbours can complain about noise because they’re too busy being part of the commotion. 

Jake almost spills his drink when he sees you both, saying “heyyyyy,” with a giggle and eyes that linger on Yunjin while he talks though he quickly excuses himself to take water to poor Sunghoonie. 

The night is largely uneventful, much the same as every other night out you’ve had since starting college. Except for the part where Jay shows up,a massive grin on his face to greet your friends. Sakura, Yunjin, and Kazuha all get a “hey” and a brief hug. Jay regards you with a nod and a small smile. At least Kazuha seems to believe you when you tell her that you’re crying in Jaemin’s bathroom because you hate your outfit.

After a weekend of self-pity, you spend Monday at a coffee shop with Sakura, watching as she studi—“You could at least pretend to study, you know?” she sighs. “Every time I look up you’re either staring at me or using your phone, it’s distracting.” 

With a frown on your face, you touch your mug to see if your coffee is cool enough to drink yet — it’s not — before flipping your notebook to a blank page and trying to write out some of the key points that you remember from Friday’s lecture. A part of you feels bad for neglecting your Architectural Practice class but it’s just not as interesting, and you tell yourself that you’ll dedicate all of your time to it after finishing your report. You definitely will not come to regret leaving three months worth of work to the very last minute. 

You study with Sakura for a few hours until deciding that you simply cannot continue, and the two of you leave the cafe in favour of a Mcdonald’s drive-thru, eating your dinner in the dark parking lot before she drops you off.

On Tuesday night, you’re thankful that Yunjin and Kazuha don’t push you to go out with them when you say you’re tired, but when Netflix asks if you’re still watching Modern Family at almost 3 a.m., you wish they had. 

You push yourself out of bed to do your skincare, and hear the two girls coming back home as you apply your last pimple patch. After Kazuha all but yells something about a huge pair of shoes by the door, it seems like they settle in the kitchen. 

They’re sharing a bowl of cereal at the table when you get there. Feeling bad, you make instant noodles for them while Yunjin hugs you from behind. Both of you try your best to laugh quietly at Kazuha’s story about some box blond figure skater who completely blanked her when she tried flirting despite staring at her all night.

Once the food is ready, you sit up on the counter, watching them eat straight from the pot. Trying to talk to those two while they’re so invested in dinner is a waste of energy so you busy yourself on your phone instead, scrolling aimlessly until both girls kiss you on the cheek to thank you for looking after them. Kazuha gratefully drinks the glass of water you give her, and Yunjin, as you expect, is stubborn about it; taking three small sips before running away to her room. 

The argument you can hear through the open window keeps you entertained as you wash the dishes, and you check your phone on the way to your room, finding two texts from Jay. 

jay: i know it’s late but can we talk in person if you’re up

jay: it’ s important

They came in four minutes ago and you chew on your lip trying to figure out what he wants to talk about. 

you: are you okay?

jay: can you come outside 

With not even enough time to hit send on the three question marks you’d typed out, the distinct ring of a FaceTime call surprises you. Though what you find more surprising is the sight of your building’s door behind Jay’s face which just about fills the screen. Lit dramatically by an orange street light, he looks beautiful. Looks cute when his lips pout slightly around the words: come quickly and dress warm, as he successfully convinces you to leave the comfort of your bed.

Through the glass in the main door, you see him. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he looks up towards the sky and puffs visible breaths into the air above him. Jay turns around at the sound of the door opening. You feel your stomach lurch because he doesn’t smile when he sees you. 

“Hey,” he says after a while, watching you intently, inspecting almost, as you shut the door softly behind you. His face softens, the smile he hadn’t given earlier coming through now. “Are you wearing my jacket?” His voice is soft too when he speaks, breathy enough for the smell of alcohol and vague peppermint to hit your nose. 

“I thought I should probably give it back,” you nod. “Sorry I kept it so long.”

Jay shakes his head, hair shifting on his forehead from the motion. “No, I love it on you. Please keep it,” he pauses, taking a step towards you. “I want you to keep it.” 

Thank God, you think. You hadn’t really been meaning to give it back, and you weren’t really sorry to have kept it so long, it just felt like the right thing to say. 

The space between you is so small that you wonder if he can hear the way your heart rate starts to pick up. In the time you hadn’t talked, you’d seen him around campus, in the corners of story posts, but seeing him here in front of you is almost overwhelming. A gust of wind ruffles the jacket Jay has on and his scent unfurls right under your nose; warm, lived in, mixed with faint sweat and what you think might be tobacco. It creates a musk that leaves you weak at the knees.

“It was milk and cookies night,” Jay continues when you don’t respond, digging into his pocket and holding a plastic-wrapped cookie out towards you. “You like white chocolate chip, right?” 

Hearing that it was milk and cookies night makes you wonder if you’d been too hasty when you turned down the girls�� invitation. 

Despite the cold, Jay’s hand is warm when your fingers graze his. Letting your touch linger, you thank him sincerely, touched by the little things he seems to remember about you. 

Even though you’re aware of the other students coming home from various nights out, and end up having to move out of the way so some of them can enter your building, it feels like the two of you are in your own world. You notice that his sights are locked on the cookie, on the spot where your fingers touch, allowing you to admire him freely. 

Standing almost directly under the lamppost now, you notice that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are dusted with red. You feel a little bad, he must be freezing, you think. Your gaze falls to his lips that sit parted, chapped like you expect, and now you’re thinking of kissing him. 

Clearing his throat, Jay moves his hand from yours to put it in his pocket. You do the same. 

“I know I said I wanted to talk, but I just wanted to see you,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d come if I said that.” 

You frown, wondering if this whole time he’s been avoiding you because he thought you didn’t want to see him. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Jay only shrugs in response. 

From over your shoulder, you hear the door opening. Jay’s eyes flicker in its direction. You turn your head to look too. A boy with pink hair frowns when both of you tell him you don’t have the lighter he’d been looking to borrow. 

“I’m sorry about leaving after we kissed. And for avoiding you. That was stupid,” Jay says as soon as the door closes. “It was childish of me to do that instead of just telling you how I feel. I wasn’t gonna say anything, because I know you only see me as a friend, but I have to let you know that I like you, a lot.” 

You stand around limply for a beat, staring up at Jay and trying to take in every single detail about this moment before you inevitably wake up. But this ‘dream’ doesn’t cut off where you’d been expecting it to. Instead, you feel your heart thudding against your ribs, your stomach flipping. The only thing you can get yourself to do is blink at the boy in front of you. The boy who likes you. 

A lot.

“It’s just that, after Heeseung said that shit in the library and you couldn’t even look at me, I knew I didn’t have a chance with you and I just.. am trying to figure out how to be near you and pretend like I don’t want to drop everything and kiss you.” 

“What’s stopping you?” you ask, surprised that your voice even comes out properly.

Jay’s gaze drops to your lips. Without noticing, the two of you had gotten so close that your chests are barely an inch apart; they’d probably touch if either of you took just one deep inhale. A beat passes. His gaze flicks up to meet yours and your breath hitches in your throat. You want to kiss him. You must. Right when you start to lean up towards him, to put your lips on his, he steps back. 

“Fuck,” Jay mumbles, his brows knitting together as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” 

The ability to hold his liquor is something that Jay sees as both a blessing and a curse. 

On the bright side, he can drink as much as he wants and won’t say or do anything he wouldn’t say or do when sober. His delivery might be a little off when he’s drunk but the point still stands.

On the not-so-bright, catastrophically dim side, however, Jay wakes up the morning after drinking with a vivid memory of everything that happened to him at whatever party he’d been to. Plus a killer migraine. 

And so, since drunkenly showing up at your place with a cookie in his pocket and his heart on his sleeve two weeks ago, Jay’s been quietly pitying himself and gently encouraging Jake to work harder on physics so he can get some sort of time machine up and running. 

Though it seems like you’ve been able to go on as normal. So normal, in fact, that Jay starts to believe the whole thing was just an elaborate dream. So elaborate that when he scrolls through your text thread, he finds the messages that you’d ‘exchanged’ that night. He finds the thought of having developed self-awareness in a two-week-long dream to be a greater comfort than the reality that you don’t like him back. 

You would have said if you did. Right? Or at least brought up what he’d said. Asked if you could talk about it. You’d be so excited to see him again, sober, that you wouldn’t even be able to say anything except: “I like you too!” Right? 

But you haven’t. So unless you’re going through trauma-inflicted amnesia, or someone has finally come up with the technology to invent The Neuralyzer, you really don’t like him back.

Jay had been so sure, certain that you liked him back. It just seemed so obvious; like the way you seemed to find him at every party, and how anytime you saw Jake in the engineering block you’d ask about him. Surely it wasn’t all in his head. The way that Chaewon and Yunjin had been teasing you at the hockey mixer, and how Yunjin made up that excuse to leave the two of you alone at the football party. It was all so.. like-y.  

Even today, when you texted him asking to hang out. He was sure that you were finally (finally!) going to tell him you liked him too. So sure, he’d even told the boys that he’d be coming back home as someone’s boyfriend. As your boyfriend. 

But instead, Jay finds himself climbing the stairs of his apartment complex wondering how the fuck he’d been so delusional. In his back pocket, his phone vibrates. Twice. Texts; both from you. 

you: i forgot to say but lmk when u get home lol

you: and if u have time to hang out before ur game tmrw !

His heart twists in his chest as he reads your messages. 

jay: okayyyyyyyyyyyyy, i can chill for a bit

jay: what did you have in mind? 

After fishing his house key from his jacket, he twists it in the lock and crosses the threshold before texting you once more: home now :). You heart the message immediately. The laughter that Jay could hear in the hall quiets as soon as he closes the door, and heavy footsteps thud towards the living room’s open doorway. Sunghoon. 

“It’s Mr YN YL—” he stops short. “Oh.” It’s not until Sunghoon looks over his shoulder and shakes his head that Jay even notices the stupid shutter shades he’s wearing. And when Jay joins his friends in the living room, he smiles despite himself seeing the way they’d decorated the space. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, hand-drawn A4 posters with both of your names written in lopsided hearts are stuck to the wall, and Jay ignores the thought of losing the security deposit to appreciate his friends; they’re good to him. 

On the way to his usual seat, an armchair in the corner of the room, Jay stops to wrestle a bottle of Desperados from the open six back sitting atop the coffee table and kicks a balloon that was in his path before sinking into his chair. 

Knowing there’s no use giving them a play-by-play, Jay recounts the last few hours as briefly as he can. He makes sure to leave out small details; like how he felt weak at the knees when you hugged him and told him you loved him after he won you a Hello Kitty plushie from the claw machine that you swore was rigged. Or how you’d worn his jacket out and his heart started racing when he noticed that your perfume had started to mix with his cologne. Unexpectedly, the guys seem hooked on the story right until its end. “So it’s not like it went badly or anything, I just.. didn’t tell her.”

Somehow, all three of them speak at the same time: “What do you mean you didn’t tell her?” 

Jay stares at a spot on the floor, noticing a hole in the toe of Jake’s sock. He’ll make fun of that later. “I just couldn’t get the words out,” he mumbles, shoulders drooping as he slumps further and further into his seat before taking the first sip of his bitter drink a—“Fuck, why does anybody drink these?” 

“Cheap,” Sunghoon mumbles, scowling after sipping from his own.

Clearly.

“Unless I’m missing something, this doesn’t seem like the end of the world. Just tell her tomorrow, tell her now, text her,” Heeseung sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. 

The other two boys seem to agree, echoing the sentiment and adding their own ad libs to it. Jay watches as Sunghoon leans over to get another drink from the table, admiring his commitment to beer drinking even though he doesn’t like it. He waits for silence before speaking again: “I already know she doesn’t like me that way. And it’s only been two weeks so it doesn’t make sense to confess again so soon when I know the answer.” 

“Again?” Sunghoon asks, raising a brow. 

Ahhh, Jay knew there was something he’d forgotten to do. Though he's struggling to figure out how he’d withheld this information, considering it was the main thing on his mind at all hours. “Yeah, after milk and cookies I went to hers and told her I like her,” he says, attempting to feign nonchalance, shoulders rising and falling in a stiff shrug.

“And you kept that to yourself because..” 

Jay scrunches up his nose, genuinely unsure. “I didn’t go there to confess, I just wanted to see her and give her the cookie I got for her,” he admits. “But then she came outside, and she had my jacket on, and she just looked so pretty. The only thing on my mind was oh, my God, I can’t go any longer without telling you I’m in love with you.” Jay pauses, taking a long sip of beer before telling them what happened outside your building. 

As if he wasn’t feeling bad enough already, Heeseung bursts out laughing. Hard. It’s not long before Jake and Sunghoon join in and Jay wants to vanish into thin air. Feeling slightly left out, he also wants to ask what’s so funny, but the fear of being slated holds him back. 

It’s the eldest who calms down first, sitting up straight in his seat. “So you go to YN’s door, tell her you like her, almost kiss her, then explicitly tell her not to say she likes you back, run away from her, again, and you’re wondering why she didn’t say she likes you back?”

With the story being laid out so simply, Jay starts to see the flaws in his logic. Though too stubborn to admit that he’s wrong in front of Jake, he nods his head. “Exactly.” 

He presses his lips into a straight line when the boys call him chronically stupid. 

“You need to call her, talk to her, figure your shit out before it’s too late,” Heeseung says with a firm tone. 

Jay thinks about it, biting at his bottom lip before replying, asking in a small voice: “But what if she says she doesn’t like me?” 

As much as not having confirmation is killing him, there’s a part of Jay that likes not knowing how you feel about him because it lets him play into his delusions. Lets him feed himself with thoughts of you being excited to see him because you like him and not because he makes great platonic company. The thought of you checking up on him through Jake because you’ve been thinking about him, but feel too shy to ask directly. And Jay knows when you properly reject him, he won’t be comforted by such thoughts anymore. They’ll only hurt him. 

Though after hearing what may be the wisest thing he thinks Sunghoon has ever said, Jay starts to see the situation a little differently. It’s casual. Spoken through a yawn. “You already don’t have a girlfriend. Nothing to lose, right?” 

The walk to your apartment building is longer than he remembers, but the cool air feels good on his neck as he tries to figure out what exactly he should say. Jay only starts to consider that this may not be the best idea when he stands face to face with your apartment building and feels a little too nervous to buzz your flat. What is he doing? 

A grating screech comes from the heavy door when it opens, and Chaewon’s boyfriend steps outside with squinted eyes. “Jay?” he asks as the door thuds shut behind him. “YN didn’t say you were coming over.” 

An awkward chuckle slips from Jay’s lips and (for the first time in his life) he does jazz hands. “Surprise?”

Jay feels better when Jeno’s lips spread into a grin. “Ohhhh,” he says, nodding and extending an almost empty deck of cigarettes in his direction. 

“I’m good,” Jay declines, shaking his head. 

Though if things go poorly up there he might have to take Jeno up on his offer. 

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Jeno uses a fob to open the door for him, and Jay can’t help but feel comforted by the way Jeno pats him on the back and says: “I’m rooting for you.” 

Standing at the door to your apartment only unleashes a new sense of nervousness. His hand rests on it, balled into a fist, waiting to be pulled back. But something stops him. Jay lets his hand slip down the door and takes a step away from it. He’d been standing too close. Now, he stands shifting his weight from foot to foot, and the toes of his shoes are just touching the doormat. 

Reminding himself that knocking isn’t the hard part, Jay takes a deep breath and knocks three times. 

A few minutes pass and it’s now that he remembers he doesn’t even know for sure that you’re home, or awake. He counts ten seconds before knocking again and the second his fist touches the door, he hears the sound of a lock clicking and the door creaks open. 

Like something from a dream, you stand in the doorway, looking so beautiful with his hoodie on that Jay has to put in effort to keep his jaw from falling to the ground. 

“Jay?” you say quietly, brows furrowed. “Is everything alright?” 

“Do you like me?” Jay blurts out, pressing his eyes shut immediately as all plans of a proper conversation go to the wind. From his spot on your doormat, he can hear the sound of the TV quieting and a terrible silence settles over the two of you; lasting eight whole seconds before you speak. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

Jay steps into the apartment, taking off his shoes at the door while mumbling a greeting to Yunjin and Chaewon who (definitely heard him) lay on the couch with wide grins on their faces, and follows you to your room where you close the door behind him. 

“Sorry, I had, like, a speech ready and then I saw you and I just..” he trails off, standing awkwardly near the door and looking at everything in the room except for you; he struggles to tear his eyes away from a polaroid picture of the two of you with huge grins. It’s only when you talk that he manages to look over at you instead. 

“You can sit down,” you say, patting a spot on the bed next to you. Without saying anything, Jay crosses the room to sit beside you — if sitting at arm’s length can be considered as beside you. “Tell me about the speech,” you say, and Jay shakes his head while trying to convince himself that your chuckle isn’t patronising. 

“Do you like me?” he asks again, not wanting to waste any more time. 

“I like you.” 

Your words, simple and quiet, leave Jay winded. 

“You look surprised,” you say, tilting your head. “You really didn’t know?”

Immediately, he relaxes his face. Clears his throat. Jay’s not entirely sure what he did and didn’t know, but he doesn’t think it matters. Nothing could possibly matter more than you do right now. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. “I like you too.” The words sound regular when he says them, though he does like the lightness in his chest knowing for sure that the feeling is mutual. “Can you say it again?”

“Jay,” you start, resting your hand on his knee. Jay wonders if this is supposed to comfort him and clasps his hands over his lap as discreetly as he can manage. “I like you,” you tell him again.

Under the weight of your words, Jay feels his heart cinch a little in his chest. Why does everything sound so perfect coming from you? He can’t help but lean in, finally kissing you after what feels like an eternity. Jay didn’t think anything would feel better than your first kiss, but having your lips move softly against his, and knowing that you like him back, might just be the best thing ever. How did he go so long without this? Dazed and lovestruck, he lets his forehead rest against yours to calm down, to catch his breath. “Again?” he whispers, hopeful, one step away from begging.

You let out a chuckle, soft, breathy, fanning his lips. “I like you,” you say after a while, quietly, a whisper, just for him before kissing him again.

Jay’s not sure when it happened, he’s not even sure he notices that you’re sitting in his lap until you grind down on him; the feeling overwhelming despite all of the layers between you. A whine slips from your mouth into his when he rolls his hips up towards yours, and he can’t help but hate himself a bit for not just confessing sooner. 

You pull away from him, a smile on your face as he chases your kiss. “Please touch me,” you whisper, hiding your face in his neck when he chuckles at your request, calling you cute under his breath.

He feels oddly thankful that you’re not grinding on him any longer because he was about two more movements away from cumming in his pants. His hand slips under your shorts, finding your clit and pressing on it through your underwear, liking the way your breath fans his skin when you sigh. The wet patch on the fabric only starts to spread when he starts rubbing you. “You like that?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him on an exhale, letting your hips roll against his hand, whimpering at the friction. 

Your mouth quickly finds his again, and you let your hand clutch at his shirt, balling it up in your first before tugging at it, parting to take it off of him. With wide eyes, you gape at his torso, the word “Shit,” falling from your mouth while you let a hand rest on his stomach. 

When he tries pushing your panties to the side, the soaked material sticks to your slit slightly, and Jay groans despite himself. You’re absolutely drenched in slick, sopping wet to the core as you let out a broken whine from the feeling of his finger slipping into you. Curling his finger towards your belly button, his eyes fall shut, cock throbbing against his thigh when he thinks about how you’d feel around his shaft, how you’d look under him.

“You’re so good,” you whisper, awestruck and trembling in his lap.

The way you watch him makes him feel a little under pressure when he opens his eyes, but, determined to make you feel good, Jay attaches his thumb to your clit and everything is so slick that his finger slips around a bit before he can help it. You squirm in his lap, your head falling forward into the crook of his neck, forcing Jay to hiss when you bite on the skin of his shoulder. Your whimpers turn into cries and you mumble that you’re close, your walls tensing around him a moment later as if to prove your point. 

Jay pulls his fingers out, holding back a moan at the way they glisten in the light, coated in you— “Nooo,” you whine, sounding audibly distraught. 

Though he’s too busy tasting your cunt on his fingers to grace you with a response. In the quiet of the room, you sit up properly to look at him, watching with parted lips as Jay sucks on his fingers, humming at the way you taste. You barely give him a chance to put his hand back down before pressing your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

Getting a tight grip on your waist, he moves around a bit to lay you down on the bed. Resting on his forearm, Jay leans over you, kissing you again. He lets his hand trail down your body, liking the way you spread your legs when he dips his fingers into your waistband. You nod eagerly when he asks if he can take them off, and his cock throbs when you tell him to take your panties off too. 

With no unnecessary fabric in his way, his finger drags up and down the length of your pussy. Already close, it doesn’t take long for you to start whimpering and squirming underneath him, your walls stuttering once again as you cum, hot and hard on his hand. 

Ever the gentleman, Jay stands up to place himself between your legs, groaning at the sight of you, pulsing and wet. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says. Deciding not to waste another second, he uses his thumbs to spread your lips a little before burying his face in your cunt. 

It doesn’t take much for you to writhe under his tongue, and as soon as he kisses your clit it’s a wrap. He feels his cock leaking a little when your clit starts to throb between his lips, and he can’t help but groan when you tug at his hair. 

You stutter through the words: “Too much,” and Jay tears his mouth away from you, letting his forehead rest on your inner thigh while he catches his breath, savouring your taste on his tongue. It doesn’t last long though; your scent drives him crazy. When Jay leans back over your face, he presses kisses to your cheek, mumbling to you about how pretty you are, and how good you taste, all while playing with the drawstrings of your hoodie. 

He likes the way it looks on you, way better than it does on him. Likes it so much, he almost objects when you sit up to pull it over your head. Jay’s glad he doesn’t. He gulps at the sight of your breasts, surprised to see that you weren’t wearing anything under his hoodie, his dick somehow growing harder just from looking at you. 

Jay feels an intense desperation to suck on them, but your hands reach back up to his face, pulling him towards you to kiss him again. He settles (ecstatically) for holding one in his hand, pinching your nipple with his fingers. He’s relaxed, he’s happy; not torn up about it because he has all the time in the world to feel your tits in his mouth. 

He thinks. 

Jay pulls away from you. “Wait,” he says, feeling butterflies when you smile up at him. “Can I be your boyfriend?”

Your giggle sounds like music and he feels warm all over when you say, “Of course,” the words somewhat muffled by his lips on yours again, he could make out with you all day. But he stops for a moment, looking down at you, into your eyes and revelling in this moment. Revelling in you, his girlfriend, and the way you look at him. Like he put the stars in the sky or moved mountains; like you want him just as much as he’s wanted you all this time. And he wonders what he’s done to deserve it. 

Overwhelmed by emotion, Jay kisses you, lets his tongue run along the seam of your lips as he considers just kissing you for the rest of the night. It almost seems like he’s trying to, and you speak once more against his mouth. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, moving your head to the side. “It’s okay if you’re not, but I’d like to know.” 

Jay smirks at you — pretty cocky for a guy whose dick is throbbing against his thigh just from hearing you talk. “You want that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding. “Need it.” Your gaze burns into his as he tries to process your words. You look distractingly beautiful with a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, lidded eyes, and kiss-plumped lips that you press up against his once more. “There’s condoms in the second drawer.”

Leaning up off of you, Jay reaches into his back pocket to show off the two condoms he’d brought with him.

“Classy,” you tease, though there’s an excitement in your eyes that drives him mad. 

“Responsible,” he corrects, standing up to pull his pants and underwear down. Slapping against his stomach, his cock throbs when he hears you gasp. Jay lifts his head in your direction, trying not to cum on the spot from the sight of you leaning up on your elbows, staring at his dick with an open mouth. 

Taking a deep breath, Jay reminds himself that he has all the time in the world to find out what your pretty lips will feel like around him, choosing to busy himself with putting the condom on instead. “How do you want it?” 

If the way you stop and stammer through the word “However” is anything to go by, the question seems to catch you off guard. Making his way back over to you, Jay racks his brain trying to figure out how he wants this to go, but seeing you on your back with your legs spread for him makes it clear. He hovers over you, lips drawn to yours like a magnet, using his hand to run the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, all while you whine against his mouth every time he pushes past your clit. 

“Don’t want to wait any longer.”

Your words make his stomach turn. He pulls away, his brows knitted together. “How long have you been waiting?” 

“Months, Jay,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, eyes screwed shut in a tortured expression. “Please.” 

Satisfied with your answer, Jay guides his cock to your slit. Pushes just a little. “I won’t make you wait like that again,” he tells you, and he means it, pushing in as much as he can before you cry out. 

Worried, Jay stops, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek. “You okay?” 

“I just need a sec,” you tell him breathlessly.

Jay nods. As good as he feels, quitting while he’s ahead seems like the better option at the minute — he needs a sec too, but with the way your walls clench around him, it doesn’t really feel like much has changed. He finds himself having to hold his hips back after a while, as you get used to the feeling of him inside, your pretty little cunt starts trying to suck him in and his breath hitches in his throat when you look him in the eye. 

With a hand on the back of his neck, you pull his face back down to yours. “I’m good,” you mumble into his ear. 

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning when you nod in response. 

You stretch around him so easily that Jay whines as you take him in, deeper and deeper, inch by inch until he bottoms out. “Shit,” he mutters. How did he go so long without this? The sting of your nails digging into his bicep makes him hiss and he all but passes out when you moan. Falling from your mouth on a loop with every move he makes, his name is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard; you cut yourself off with a gasp, breath hitching in your throat.

“There?” Jay asks, even though he knows he’s hitting your spot. 

You look up at him through fluttering eyelids, becoming more and more dazed each time his hips smack yours. “Mhm, I—close,” you mumble. 

Jay takes this as a sign to hike your leg up around his waist, making sure to hit it each time he pumps into you. It seems like it’s working. “Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, using his free hand to push some of your hair out of your face. 

Your whines turn into broken sobs and you hide your face in the pillow next to you, muffling your screams. Although he thinks your consideration for your flatmates is coming a bit late, he leaves you be, finding the sight sexier than he cares to admit. 

Sexier still is the way your body tenses before squirming again, your walls pulsing uncontrollably around him while you cum. Jay’s stomach starts to tighten as he fucks you, spurred on by the look on your face as you orgasm, and the sound of his cock filling you up. With a few more thrusts and a jagged moan, he spills his load into the condom, just about collapsing on top of you. 

Considering how fucked out and sleepy you’d been while Jay cleaned you up, he isn’t surprised to find you fast asleep when he gets back from cleaning himself. He does his best to join you in bed as softly as possible but it’s no use because you wake with a large yawn, making his heartache from a weird mixture of guilt and how cute you look. 

He lays on his back, grinning to himself when you rest your head on his chest, making yourself comfy with an arm and leg slung over him. You talk drowsily about watching The Devil Wears Prada in full after his game tomorrow and nod eagerly when he asks if you want to wear one of his jerseys to come and watch him play. Jay keeps his eyes shut until he hears you snoring faintly, and looks forward to teasing you about it in the morning.

When he stares straight ahead at your ceiling, a fuzzy feeling rises in his chest. “I put my star on the ceiling too,” he whispers, knowing you can’t hear him, but feeling happy nonetheless.

Huddled up under Jay’s jacket, you sit on the half wall outside the football house with Chaewon, watching as Jeno blows smoke from his super king over his shoulder. Though given the way that the wind blows it back in your faces, the two of you may as well have taken him up on his offer to share. 

Letting Chaewon rest her head on your shoulder, you take a sip of your drink and feel thankful to the version of you from five minutes ago who let Jay fill your cup with lemonade instead of vodka. The two of you laugh along with Jeno until you see Yunjin rushing out of the double doors and into the garden. 

“Is there anything wrong with my outfit?” she asks, giving the three of you a twirl so you can check and mumbling a “thank you” to Jeno who reaches his arm out to stop her from falling over in the process. 

Yunjin’s outfit looks fine. At first. Until you notice the massive hole in the left side of her skirt; the sight of which leaves you and Chaewon wiping tears of laughter. Through cackles and a slight stomach ache, you manage to ask what happened. 

“I got caught on something, like, an hour ago, and I wasn’t hurt or anything so I forgot about it, and then I went out front and felt the craziest breeze on my thigh and I looked down and.. half of my skirt is just.. missing,” she explains, pausing only to take a draw from Jeno’s cigarette. “Does it look intentional at least?” 

You almost choke on your drink when Chaewon suggests using her acrylics to make an identical hole on the side, telling her to market the holes as “cutouts” and try selling it on Depop. 

“Vintage, Y2K, I.AM.GIA, Destiny’s Child, Britney Spears,” she says, although she’s had so much to drink that it all comes out as one word. “Don’t laugh at me, write it down! Babe, quick, take pictures!” 

Yunjin poses dramatically while Jeno takes product photos on her phone, and in the space between them, through the double doors, you see your boyfriend standing next to the dining table, his friends laughing around him while he stares over in your direction with a sweet smile on his face. 

And even though you can’t say for sure, you’re just glad that here, tonight, you have a pretty good idea of why Park Jongseong’s smiling at you.

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

[bella-rose29]

Lose

Elrond x f!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: no happy ending, i repeat, no happy ending!!! main character death and descriptions of injury, Elrond gets heart-broken and it might just break your heart (if it isn't broken already)

instead of killing @oblivious-idiot i think they might kill me after this one oops

inspired by the song Arcade by Duncan Lawrence

(not my image and are we surprised I can't remember who's it is)

Once, laughter could be heard among the trees of Lindon. 

The elves that wandered the woods would smile at the sound of the children playing, catching sight of the orphan and his friend running after each other but never being able to focus on their fast-moving bodies. 

They had grown up together, studying in the libraries and whispering in corridors, sharing hidden smiles and fleeting glances. Nobody had been surprised when Elrond Peredhel had asked to officially court you, and nobody had been surprised when you had said yes. They didn’t know about the small kisses or murmured ‘I love you’s that had happened before that, but afterwards it was obvious how the two of you had always felt. You were happy together, and your union was one of the most beautiful Lindon had seen for a long time. 

Then the war had come. 

Sauron had spread his evil across Middle-Earth, killing the people in their thousands and taking control of the Uruks, never stopping until Imladris was under siege. Elrond had fought, taking a position of command while you stayed behind to protect those who couldn’t raise a weapon, and every day that he kissed you goodbye you worried it would be the last. 

“I will fight for you, melethel,” he whispers at night in one of the few hours you get together. Both forces need to regroup, and over the last couple of years you’ve carved out a little room for the two of you in this place Elrond has built for the refugees. “Every day the thought of coming back to you gives me strength.” He never fails to make your heart flutter, but you wish that he did not have to leave in the first place. When tears start to spill out the corners of your eyes he gently wipes them away, calloused thumbs brushing your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The following kisses to your mouth are just as tender, and for the first time in months your touches are more than fleeting. 

In the morning when the drums started Elrond had strapped on his armour and kissed you goodbye, promising he would see you again soon. 

He almost wished he had not made that promise. 

His soldiers come back to a ruined camp, a breach in one of the walls of Imladris and bodies of elves left lying on the ground. Orcs still roam, attempting to break further into the safe haven, but Elrond does not bother with them: his mind is on you.

The door to your room is broken, smashed in by a weapon and the floor littered with debris from the furniture. He cannot immediately see you, the only visible body an Orc that had been speared with something sharp (thank the Valar that someone had taught you to fight), but he does not release his breath. Elrond would not breathe until he found you. 

A proper inspection of the room reveals that you are nowhere to be found, but before he can question the trail of blood he sees he hears footsteps behind him. A twist and pull and his sword is out of its sheath and up to the neck of an Orc, and it takes less than a second for him to decide on pushing it forward with the intent to kill. The Orc has barely hit the floor before Elrond is moving out the room to find you, but he takes two steps and abruptly halts at the sight in the courtyard. 

The Orcs have been chased off and the bodies of their dead laid out, and Elrond’s eyes flit anxiously over them as his heart races. Please, he prays, to gods he does not believe in. Please. He has had visions of this exact moment before, and every time it ends before he finds you, leaving him waking in the night sweating and shaking. The panic sets in as he nears the end of the lines, quickening his heart and breathing and reopening the cracks in his mental armour from when his family had left him for the West, and then he sees it. 

Then he sees you.

“No,” he whispers, feeling numb as he stumbles forward, his knees giving out and making him fall to the ground beside your broken body. “No, no no no, please.” He drops his sword, the clang echoing in the silent courtyard but not making him flinch, and raises his bloodied hands to cradle your face. Someone had draped a cloth over your body, preserving the decency of the Lady of Rivendell but leaving your head uncovered. Your eyes are still open, and Elrond has to gently close them so that he stops his heart from caving in at the lack of life there. 

The funeral is quiet and secluded, but the service afterwards is one that everyone in Rivendell attends. Everyone except your husband. 

Elrond sits in the ruins of your room clutching the talisman you had given him on the day you had married, lips pressed together in a thin line while he struggles to keep the tears back. He goes and fights when the horns sound, every day until Sauron’s forces are defeated, but this time he does not fight to return to you. He fights with unbridled rage, the only love of his life departed from this world and a desire to make his enemy feel even an inch of the pain that spears his heart burning in the place where his heart would be. He would die from it if he did not have your kin to look after, the two sons and single daughter you had borne him still children. He had to continue for them, because he would not make an orphan of them the way his parents had him. 

When the war was over laughter could be heard again, although Lindon was destroyed. Children grew up in the ruins of Middle-Earth and the ground flourished, but it was a while before Elrond Peredhel truly smiled again, and even longer before he laughed. 

He should have known that he would lose you eventually when he had loved you so much.

Elrond always did.

[imthepunchlord]

Awww I just realized after the last few anons and rereading what you’ve previously said about Lucee helping to give Gina wings and inspiring her to travel freely (minus the time she had Tom) that Lucee and Marianne would’ve been the first and second line of defense as Gina’s support group while she was going through what is most likely the worst patch of her entire life. Given the time period, she probably wouldn’t have been ABLE to leave Roland and get full custody of Tom while he was still a minor, so I totally get why she stayed with him both in the Bugettes AU and in canon, but that doesn’t make it suck any less to live through. I bet Lucee stayed with Gina for a long time afterwards when she first began her travels to make sure she properly healed before going separate ways and wishing each other well. I didn’t know that Gina went by her maiden name in-show before that anon brought it up; it was revealed in Miraculous Paris in Sabine’s contact list to be Bianchi (a plural of bianco which is "white" in Italian), neat! In this AU, I can totally see her wearing her prism design t-shirt (with the white light entering on side of a sphere and a ray of colors coming out of another side) as homage to the Miraculous fairies and how Lucee especially helped her out. Speaking of Lucee, I can also totally see her having Cursed Roland without his knowledge right after both Tom and Gina had left him like “Oh no, you don’t get to make MY chosen’s and HER son’s lives miserable for two decades, not even have the base decency to feel guilty or remorseful, and get off with no further comeuppance. May You Forever Live in the Shadow Cast by Tom Dupain’s Light.” And by the start of the Bugettes AU’s main plot, this has of course manifested as Roland’s bakery fading into obscurity once Tom and Sabine opened theirs and became vastly popular, them being happily married for 20 years while Gina hasn’t once reached out to him since their divorce, them having a beautiful, sweet and talented daughter who he never got to meet much less have a relationship with, etc.

I've actually come to a different speculation on the Dupain family dynamic, with it being more complicated than Rolland's the outright villain.

I'm under the belief that Gina and Rolland had a one night stand, she wound up pregnant, and traditionalist Rolland wanted them married to raise the kid together, and Gina agreed cause this is a kid she's about to bring into their world.

Only it's not exactly a great union between them given Gina's a free spirit while Rolland is a strict traditionalist. It's a major conflict of just who they are.

And based on what's given in canon, Tom probably was much closer with his father than his mother, given he doesn't seem happy to see Gina when she comes to visits. And based on what we see, she means well and does love her family, but there's also a disconnect and she has a hard time keeping up with them and what's going on. So my guess is that Gina was a more absent parent while Rolland was actually there for Tom. It could also add to Tom becoming a baker, created through that closeness with his father.

Only Tom married Sabine (and changed how he made bread) and there was a very bad fall out between the two with Rolland disapproving (and the messy set up of Rolland either implied to be racist or he stopped talking to his son over bread).

And then there's Sabine, who lost her parents, would want to see family together as she knows that ache of losing family. So she connects well with Gina, and this whole dynamic is probably why Sabine became an angel and Tom became coal in Befana.

And Sabine knows how close Tom and Rolland were, which is why she wishes they could reconnect.

Instead of Rolland being the villain of it all, I think it's just messy people being messy. Rolland does look the worst out of all Dupains (as he either was a racist or he just straight up stopped talking to his son over a bread recipe), but from what I hear, he also really steps up to change and improve. I have some ML buddiese who have watched more of the show and do like him.

I also will say I haven't thought about Gina's history all that much. Most I have is potentially the possibility that her family fled from Italy to France but got caught up in the invasion of Paris. And Gina met Lucee with a goal to reignite Gina's inner flame, and inspire others, to be a guiding light, to inspire hope.

Though at this time, I can't say how long Lucee would've stayed with Gina, same goes for Pollen and Marianne.

[skelavender]

“Still, my mom is going to imply…” “I know. It’s not serious. I mean, it’s not like we’re married or anything.” Scully chuckles and pushes up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Now that’s not going to help dissuade the rumors, Agent Scully.” He teases. “At this point, I don’t think there’s any hope.” OR After a year of platonic marriage, things start to change.

read chapter one of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

One look, dark room

Meant just for you

Time moved too fast

You play it back

Buttons on a coat

Light-hearted joke

No proof, not much

But you saw enough

***

November 1996

There are flowers on Mulder’s desk. 

A bouquet of… well, Mulder’s not great with flowers, but they’re all purple. There’s lavender, he knows that, and what he’s guessing are violets and irises. The last he can’t recognize, but it looks like a purple daisy. Maybe it is just a purple daisy? He didn’t know they made those. 

As he steps further into the office, he notices Scully behind the desk. She had been gone when he woke up, which was unusual for them, but had left a note on the coffee maker saying she had some errands to run before work and she would meet him there. It was folded and in his pocket. 

“Good morning,” she greets.

“Hey. Who sent you flowers?”

Scully raises one eyebrow and a small smirk graces her face, a challenge. “Check the card.”

He looks at her with curiosity and approaches the desk. He plucks the card out of the little fork, and when he unfolds it, he blinks dumbly a couple times.

Happy anniversary, sweetheart. 

Oh.

It wasn’t as though he’d forgotten. Of course not, not in a million years. Her gift is waiting at home, on top of the bookshelf in their home office where she could neither see nor reach. That was part of why he’d been disappointed when he woke up to a cold bed. He had wanted to give it to her before work, but she left before he got the chance. He had ordered personalized stationery for her, paper being the traditional gift for a first wedding anniversary, from a store down in Rosslyn. They have Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. letterpressed across the top in green, with a notepad to match. 

“I don’t think anybody has ever gotten me flowers before.” He notes with a dreamy tone to his voice. Scully has impressed him.

Her satisfied expression softens. “I’m glad I could be the first.”

“Thank you, Scully. I love them.”

“You’re welcome.”

“God,” he laughs and ducks his head. “I can’t believe it’s been a year. It’s flown by.”

“It has, hasn’t it.”

“It seems like just last month we were averaging a hospital visit every two weeks.”

Scully snorts, “Not that we’re that far off.” 

Mulder chuckles, and rounds the desk to peck her cheek. “I didn’t forget, by the way. Your gift is at home. I’ll give it to you this evening.”

“I didn’t think you had.” She mirrors the small kiss and Mudler retreats to the chair Scully usually sits in. If she wants the desk today, she can sure as hell have it. 

***

Scully pulls up outside her mother’s house and parks the car. She’s unbuckling her seatbelt when his hand shoots out and stops her. Her eyes shoot up to meet his, one brow raised.

He’s been thinking about it since Maggie called him to extend the invitation to the dinner. When they were first discussing getting married, Scully was concerned about her mother finding out. She had mentioned to him that she didn’t think her mother would keep the secret, but he suspected that she was afraid she wouldn’t approve of what was essentially a sham union. 

But Mulder wears his ring, and people tend to be curious.

Most of the time he can get away with vague answers that aren’t really lies, but he knows Mrs. Scully would grill him about it. He can only answer so many questions by talking about Scully without really talking about Scully before her mother notices. 

“Your mom still doesn’t know, right?”

Scully knows what he’s talking about immediately. “No. Only that we’re living together.”

He slips his ring off his finger and holds it out to her, ���Will you hold onto this for me?” Her mouth forms a little O. “She’ll have questions. There are only so many ways I can skirt them.”

“Of course,” she says. Her hands trace the neckline of her cardigan. He’s about to ask what she’s doing as he’s still holding the ring out to her in a flat palm, until the gold chain pops out and she undoes the clasp.

It would be so easy to forget about it. That she also wears the ring. That their union isn’t one-sided. That she’s as intertwined with him as he is with her. She wears it openly at home, sometimes, but the necklace remains hidden when they’re out and about. Despite that, Mulder, with a possessive streak that he tries to damp down, remembers. The image of her ring laid against her chest, or the fleeting vision of it on her finger for a couple days in the hospital, is settled into its own corner of his mind. He thinks of it more often than he’d like to admit. 

Scully plucks the ring from Mulder’s hand and slides it onto the chain. It clinks into place next to hers. Two hearts, strung together. 

“Thank you for mentioning that, I hadn’t considered it,“ The thought of hiding you hadn’t crossed my mind, she doesn’t say. She tucks the necklace back into her shirt and goes to unbuckle her seatbelt again. “You ready?” 

Mulder nods, and they approach the Scully residence. 

“She does think that we’re dating, you know.” Scully says as they walk up the pathway side by side.

“Really?”

“I tried to explain we’re living together because of the convenience, but she was not convinced.”

Mulder’s hand goes to the small of Scully’s back as she does up the couple steps onto the porch. “I’m not surprised. She always seemed to think we were…”

“I know. But now she’s pretty damn sure of it.”

“You did your best.”

Scully wonders how different things would be if they were… romantically entangled. Would he have fought her mother’s Thanksgiving invitation so hard? Would his hand be in hers, or around her shoulders, instead of on her back? Would he drop a kiss onto her lips on her mother’s front porch before facing the crowd inside?

She steps back and her eyes crawl up and down Mulder’s form. One of the buttons on his shirt doesn’t match, she notices. The cleaner would have attached a closer match, so he must have done it himself. 

Who had taught him to sew a button? It’s not a skill she would expect him to have. She can’t exactly picture his mother sitting him down to teach him. Every time Scully thinks she finally knows Mulder, finally understands him, something new surfaces that makes her rethink him. 

Scully sucks in a breath and refocuses. “Still, she’s going to imply…”

“I know. It’s not serious. I mean, it’s not like we’re married or anything.”

Scully chuckles and pushes up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Now that’s not going to help dissuade the rumors, Agent Scully.” He teases.

“At this point, I don’t think there’s any hope.” She rings the bell.

“Dana! Fox! Oh, it’s so good to see you both.” Maggie swings the door open and greets them with her usual warm, excited smile. She takes each of them in for a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs Scully.”

Maggie slaps his arm playfully. “You call me Maggie, Fox, how many times do I have to tell you.”

“Alright Maggie.” Mulder smiles at his shoes. Mulder fucking loves Maggie Scully. She offers affection so freely, in a way Mulder isn’t used to experiencing, especially not in a familial manner. He wasn’t raised with this, with hugs hello and being allowed to call friends’ parents by their first names. It’s foreign to him. She’s been trying to get him to call her Maggie since she started feeding him while Scully was gone, but it had never stuck. 

“Bill and Charlie are in the living room, why don’t you two go sit with them while I check on the bird?“ Maggie offers.

“Tara and Marcel couldn’t make it?”

“No, Tara decided to go to her parents last minute, and Marcel is, well, Polish, so he didn’t want to come back over with Charlie for an American holiday.” Maggie winks at her daughter. “You’re the only one who brought a partner this year, Dana.”

“Mom, that’s not—“ Scully sighs and runs a hand over her forehead in exasperation before deciding to just drop it. “I’m surprised Charlie was able to get the time off, he usually isn’t.”

“I’m not teaching this semester,” a new voice explains, Mulder turns around to face a burly looking redhead. “I’m focusing on research and writing. Makes it a bit easier to get away for American holidays.” He turns to Mulder and offers a hand, which the agent takes. “You must be the Agent Mulder I keep hearing about in Dana’s emails. Charlie Scully.”

“That would be me. It’s good to meet you.”

“Dana says you just go by Mulder?”

“With a first name like mine, you’d go by anything else.”

Charlie laughs, “So tell me, Mulder, has Dana ever told you about what happened at her senior prom?”

“No, she has not.” Mulder replies, tone keen and interested. He turns to his partner, “Scully, am I about to unlock embarrassing childhood stories?”

“Charlie, you promised you would never tell anyone!”

Charlie taps his fingers together conspiratorially, and begins regaling Mulder with the story as they enter the living room. 

Upon introduction to Bill, Mulder understands why Scully had laughed so hard at a joke he once made about the two of them having an affair. Bill hides his contempt for Mulder poorly, with a pinched smile as they shake hands and the occasional glare. When Maggie calls them into the dining room to gather for the meal, Mulder sticks to his Scully’s side and Bill settles himself on the other end of the table, at the head. 

“Mom, that was delicious,” Scully says as she pushes her chair back. She then turns to Mulder, “Should we get on the dishes?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Dana.” Maggie protests, rising from her seat.

“You cooked us an amazing meal, Mrs. Scully, please let us clean up.” Mulder places a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to stay in her seat and converse with her sons, and he and Scully retreat to the kitchen with piles of dishes in hand.

“You wash, I dry and put away?” Scully offers, and Mulder nods. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” he says after a few moments of quiet washing. “I was afraid it would be awkward. I mean, Bill doesn’t seem to like me very much, but Charlie seems nice.”

“I can’t believe he told you about Marcus.” Scully laughs, “That story is so embarrassing.”

“I’m just glad to have finally earned your embarrassing childhood stories. It’s like I’ve reached the next level of friendship.”

Scully snorts. “Right, Mulder. Step one is they bail you out of jail, step two is they shoot you, three is get married, four is buy a home together, and five is learn about their senior prom. That’s the natural order of things.”

Maggie watches from the other room as Mulder tilts his head back to let out a full belly laugh. Dana elbows him, and he deposits a smear of suds onto her nose in response. As she observes the ensuing playful water fight, Maggie can’t help but hope they soon see what she does, what she’s sure Charlie has picked up on as well, what Bill might still be unaccepting of. There’s so much affection between the two of them. Dana looks up at Fox with a look that she’s never seen on her daughter’s face before, one filled with raw affection. Maggie can tell that whatever they have, it’s coming to a head. Something is there. Everything is there, glowing between them.

Plus, Fox has a thin strip of paler skin on his fourth finger of his left hand, right where a wedding ring would lie. 

next chapter ->

[jurakan]

Can I have a fun fact friday pls?

You’ve got it. Today You Learned about Robert Smalls.

[Maybe you knew about him; if so, I apologize. But he’s not that well-known of a figure, and it IS Black History Month, after all.]

Born into slavery in Beaufort, South Carolina in 1839, as a young man he was hired out into Charleston by his owner. This was a thing some slaveowners did and most of the money went back to them, but Robert was able to get a small wage for himself. He gained some skills working at the docks piloting boats, and learned a lot about Charleston Harbor. When he grew older he married another enslaved woman who worked in Charleston as a maid, and they had two children. He planned to be able to buy their freedom, but unfortunately the cost was too much.

And then the Civil War happened.

Robert was a good helmsman, so he was made the pilot of the Planter, a Confederate ship tasked with setting mines and transporting supplies and troops in Confederate waterways. But at this point, dear Robert decided to start planning escape, which is going to be difficult with the Union blockade of Charleston Harbor. But with the other enslaved crew members, they made a plan.

On the night of May 12, 1862, he and the other crew members (who were often left by the ship as long as they made curfew) managed to sneak off with their families. Robert wore the captain’s uniform and hat, so they were able to pass checkpoints by giving the correct signals, not getting too close to Confederate ships, and he copied the Confederate captain’s physical mannerisms. Confederate ships didn’t realize what happened until he was out of gun range.

He approached the Union blockade with a raised white flag, and surrendered the ship to Union forces. For this, he and his crewmen instantly became heroes in Union states.

As if that wasn’t awesome enough, Robert Smalls decided to use his knowledge of ships and the Confederate navy to join the Union military, taking part in over fifteen major battles in American Civil War. At one point he became captain of the Planter, the ship he had escaped on and given to the Union.

After the war, Smalls actually bought the house his enslaver used to own, and won the court case when that guy tried to get it back. He also let that man’s wife live in the house in the last few years of her life, which is probably a lot more gracious than I’d be in those circumstances. He was a part of the South Carolina State Constitutional Convention, and then the SC House of Representatives, working to make education free to all children in the state, and built a reputation as a good rhetorician. He then served in the US House of Representatives.

Look, Robert Smalls is The Man. The fact that he isn’t that well-known is incredibly disappointing, (he’s only got a couple small memorials and signs in Charleston) though there are some efforts to give him more recognition. he has an episode of Stuff You Missed in History and a Badass of the Week article. 

There’s also supposedly a movie in the works. I’ll wait until I see a trailer to get excited for that though.

[mariacallous]

A pair of undersea data cables in the Baltic Sea mysteriously stopped working in the last two days, and the first reaction from Germany and Finland, two NATO members, was essentially, “What have the Russians done now?” followed by, sotto voce, “Is there a chance this was an accident?”

The two cables—one between Sweden and Lithuania, and another from Finland to Germany—suddenly went down Sunday and Monday. It’s not the first time data cables in or near the Baltic have been tampered with, nor pipelines punctured. But that very background noise of Russian interference and malfeasance in the Baltic in recent years has muddied the true signals of what is going on. As it is, every bad thing that happens up north is laid at Moscow’s door, especially when things are getting heated otherwise. 

Yes, a couple of Finnish nuclear power reactors also went mysteriously offline at the same time the cables were cut. Yes, the Russians have been on a sabotage rampage throughout Europe. Sure, the Russians have made special trouble in the Baltics since Sweden and Finland joined NATO. True, the Biden administration has belatedly unleashed Ukraine to strike at Russian targets somewhat behind the actual Russian front line, crossing the latest of the Kremlin’s effable boundaries and sparking the promise of reprisals.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the Russian survey/spy ships that have spent years darting about the Baltic were behind the sudden outage on the line between Sweden and Lithuania or the one between Finland and Germany. One such ship was as far away as Irish Sea just days ago. 

Forensics on the severed cable won’t be possible until it is dragged up for repairs, which could take weeks. Dragging anchors, trawling, and other accidents actually cause the majority of subsea cable incidents.

“There is a risk of seeing everything one way in a hall of mirrors,” said Charly Salonius-Pasternak, a researcher with the Finnish Institute of International Affairs. “It’s possible that a ship that wasn’t used to operating in the Baltic” could have caused an accident, he said, citing Russia’s shadow fleet of tankers that often eschew local pilots with the same ease they jettison rules and regulations. “The people who would usually be [sailing] here aren’t, and these guys can make mistakes.” 

Salonius-Pasternak said that policymakers and intelligence professionals would be looking at coincidences, “and when they see five or six things all pointing in the same direction, then they’ll draw conclusions publicly.”

Top German officials for once got off the fence. German Defense Minister Boris Pistorius called the incident “sabotage” and said that he didn’t believe any ship’s anchor did that.

The problem with attribution when it comes to undersea sabotage, if that’s what it is, is much like that of cyber attribution, if not trickier. Cables go down for lots of reasons; cables get cut in a lot of ways. Pipelines, too, though less so. Fingerprints are rare. Nobody is even entirely clear yet on who blew up the Nord Stream gas pipeline between Russia and Germany two years ago, though some reports suggested a Ukrainian operation. 

People in the subsea cable business caution that accidental damage in this case is perfectly plausible. Chinese sand trawlers, not Chinese planning, might have clumsily damaged Taiwanese undersea cables a while back; Yemen’s Houthis, who vaguely warned about cutting subsea cables, only did so in the end because the ship they crippled with drones ended up dragging its anchor over a bunch of cables. 

But it is the wider context that rightly worries NATO’s members. Russia has for years sought to reassert its traditional influence in the Baltic Sea, lost a first time when the Baltic republics bolted from the Soviet Union in 1991 and a second time when, thanks to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the Baltic became a true “NATO lake.”

For years, Russia has used survey ships to keep a close eye on Western subsea infrastructure in the region, from data cables to natural gas pipelines and offshore wind farms. More recently, it has flooded the narrow sea with irregular oil tankers to skirt sanctions, raising additional concerns about navigation and the safety of the environment. NATO now has a subsea infrastructure unit on the case. Smaller countries are taking steps to protect their underwater infrastructure. 

And Russia’s aggression in Ukraine, as well as possible destabilizing actions elsewhere, coupled with the imminent arrival of a second Trump administration in the United States, prompted several European and NATO members on Tuesday to pledge a more robust European defense against Russia’s “restless revisionism.” 

The leaders of the United Kingdom, Germany, France, Italy, Poland, and Spain pointedly noted in their joint statement that “Moscow’s escalating hybrid activities against NATO and EU countries are also unprecedented in their variety and scale, creating significant security risks.”

When it comes to protecting the internet and data cables that are the underpinnings of modern societies, industry experts often note the built-in redundancy that comes from having so many cables essentially covering the same route: There’s more capacity to fill any unexpected shortfalls or interruptions. Ukraine belatedly learned something similar as it sought decentralized power-generation solutions after Russia destroyed half its big power plants. 

“One of the best ways to protect critical infrastructure like this is through redundancy, having lots of the same things, in this case many data cables. Redundancy creates resilience if it’s done well,” Salonius-Pasternak said. The problem is that it runs counter to the just-in-time efficiency-driven managerial mindset that dominates so much that is adjacent to national security, down to and including sharp-end activities such as U.S. naval logistics.

“This is one of the reminders that, while it might seem economically unfeasible at times, it is worth it to states to ensure that there are resilient networks, not just communications, but energy, heat, and so on,” Salonius-Pasternak said.

[muzaktomyears]

Secret life of the Beatles and the man who got them groupies and pot

Mal Evans was the Beatles’ fixer, roadie and confidant, but little is known about the man the Fab Four adored. Now a new book reveals all

For eight years, Malcolm “Mal” Evans was, in his way, as fundamental to the Beatles as Brian Epstein and George Martin. He was their long-time roadie and personal assistant, sometime lyricist, occasional performer and regular fixer at the height of the group’s fame and beyond.

Over the years he became friend and confidant — attending their weddings, fending off fans, procuring groupies, accompanying them on holiday, joining them on acid trips, going to India on their infamous pilgrimage to see the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. But Mal’s dedication to the “boys” and his own desire for stardom took its toll, leading to the end of his marriage and his untimely death in January 1976.

Until now, Mal’s life remained shrouded in mystery. Drawing on hundreds of exclusive interviews and with full access to unpublished archives — including his personal diaries, manuscripts and memorabilia which for 12 years were forgotten in the basement of an American publishing house — this is the first complete portrait of a complicated figure at the heart of the Beatles’ story. Just when you thought there was nothing new to know about the Fab Four, here comes the extraordinary tale of one ordinary man right in the middle of it all.

AT 27, MAL HAD FIVE YEARS on John Lennon and Ringo Starr and even more on Paul McCartney, who had turned 20 in June 1961, and George Harrison, still a teenager at 19. Mal – was the odd man out in more ways than one. He held a real job, as a telecommunications engineer for the General Post Office, and he had a home and a family. With his wife, Lily, he lived in Liverpool’s Allerton district, where they were raising their 15-month-old son, Gary.

It was a simple twist of fate that landed Mal behind the wheel of the band’s Ford Thames van on a January day in 1962. Neil Aspinall, the Beatles’ road manager, had fallen ill with flu. He was hardly the only person felled during that severe winter. During the last week of December, a blizzard swept across England and Wales, leaving snow drifts of up to 20ft in its wake.

By the time Mal and the Beatles began the long drive to London, around midday on Monday, January 21, the van’s brakes had begun to slip. During the early leg of their journey, brakes didn’t really matter. But it was on the journey home that disaster struck in the middle of the night. As Mal drove along a quiet rural road, the windscreen “cracked with a terrible bang”, as he’d write later in his Post Office Engineering Union diary. With the windscreen splintered, Paul observed as Mal “put his hat backwards on his hand, punched the windscreen out completely and drove on”.

Mal was left to contend with the gale-force winds now pummelling the van’s interior. The bandmates gathered up stray caps and scarves and wrapped them about their beleaguered driver, who had pulled a paper bag over his head to battle the cold. “It was perishing,” John later recalled. “Mal had this paper bag over his head with just a big split in it for his eyes. He looked like a bank robber.” Meanwhile, John, Paul, George and Ringo huddled together in the rear of the van, sharing a bottle of whisky while stacked one atop the other to generate much needed warmth. “And when the one on the top got so cold it was like hypothermia was setting in,” Ringo recalled, “it was his turn to get on the bottom, and we’d warm each other up that way, and keep swigging the whisky.” It was, in Paul’s words, “a Beatle sandwich”.

All the while, Mal and the boys maintained a steady banter to stave off exhaustion. As the Big Freeze raged — swirling both inside and outside the van — the Beatles regularly pestered their driver about how much further they had to go. “[Two hundred] miles to go!” Mal would reply, referencing the approximate distance between Liverpool and London. In the years to come, “It became our own private joke, and ‘200 miles to go, Mal’ was heard whenever things were tough.”

DURING HIS YEARS WITH THE BAND, Mal discovered that the best way to avoid being ribbed by the boys was to be ready for virtually anything. To this end, he carried around with him an ever growing doctor’s bag to meet the Beatles’ every possible whim. It was swollen with musical instrument paraphernalia — plectrums, guitar strings and the like — along with household items such as aspirin, chewing gum, a torch, crisps, biscuits, tissues and cigarettes, of course. As the years went by, he had another piece of luggage, which he lovingly called his “dope bag”: a brown suede bag with an om sign prominently displayed, complete with freshly rolled joints.

This began after Bob Dylan dropped by their hotel in New York in 1964 during their first tour of North America. Not long after Dylan’s arrival, the Beatles offered their guest a sample from their motley collection of pills — Drinamyls and Preludin (both uppers), mostly. But Dylan wasn’t having it, instead suggesting “something a little more organic”. At first, Brian Epstein demurred, sensing the Beatles’ apprehension.

That’s when Dylan said, “But what about your song — the one about getting high?” At that, he began singing the middle eight from I Want to Hold Your Hand: “And when I touch you, I get high, I get high.”

John quickly interjected: “Those aren’t the words. It’s ‘I can’t hide, I can’t hide’.”

Ringo tried Dylan’s marijuana first. A few puffs from Dylan’s joint left him smiling and suddenly marvelling at the way the ceiling seemed to float down onto him. Soon, they were all stoned. George recalled that, “We were just legless, aching from laughter.” And for Paul especially, the Beatles’ first brush with the devil weed seemed not only mind-blowing, but a moment of great import. To him, it felt exactly like the kind of experience that should be captured for posterity. Having dutifully provided his roadie with a pencil and paper, Paul ordered him to, “Get it down, Mal, get it down!” Despite being quite stoned in his own right, Mal managed to record the Beatle’s most insightful thoughts. The next morning, Mal retrieved the musings, which boiled down to a single sentence: “There are seven levels,” his notes read. Roadie? Bodyguard? Fixer? Now Mal could add “amanuensis” to his evolving portfolio.

AS EARLY AS 1963, it was clear that there was an unusual zeal among Beatles fans, one unbounded by the conventional social behaviours of the day. “As if attacked by a virus that changed their moral standards, teenage girls wanted sex with the Beatles and they didn’t care how they got it,” wrote Tony Bramwell, Brian Epstein’s assistant. “When they tried to grab a live one, crawl through windows or hide in wardrobes, they were sorted out by Mal and Neil Aspinall like M&Ms, to be sampled and tasted first. Brian — who was puritanical where his protégés were concerned — would have had a fit had he only known, but he was kept totally in the dark.”

At its height, the stage and its environs would take on the look of a battle zone. “Unconscious teenagers were being dragged out of the audience,” Mal wrote, describing a gig in San Francisco in 1965, “and we hauled them on to the stage for safety. Some were in a terrible state, bruised, battered, cut and unconscious. Their clothing was torn and their hair dishevelled. We put them backstage, where the casualties mounted into the hundreds as the show went on. A chain of policemen organised to get them to the first aid centre.” At one critical juncture, a fan hurled a metal folding chair onstage. Eventually, the situation became simply too dangerous for the band to continue. “It’s no good,” Brian was told. “You’ll have to cut the show. Only one more song.”

As the casualties mounted, Mal prepared to usher the Beatles to safety. “Sobbing girls lay slumped against the walls or huddled in the corners,” he wrote, “and I caught a glimpse of Joan Baez trying to revive some of them with smelling salts. Every artist in the show was backstage helping out and trying to get the fainting youngsters back on their feet.”

When the concert mercifully ended, the Beatles dropped their instruments, ran from the stage and climbed into an enclosed freight truck to make their escape. Afterwards, “Pandemonium broke out in the auditorium,” Mal wrote, “and I thought the whole place was going to collapse around us. But somehow, the police managed to keep the tide at bay, all the exit doors were thrown open and people were hustled out. The scene behind them was of devastation, with seats overturned, people still trying to get onto the stage and more people fainting.”

By the next morning, the Beatles and their entourage were winging their way back to London. But the perils of the band’s second North American tour would not be so quickly forgotten. For his part, Brian Epstein would chalk up the chaos and violence to lax security. But it was more than that, Mal realised. He had long felt that there was a dark side to Beatlemania, that not all the attendant hysteria could be understood as the simple byproduct of fandom.

Meanwhile, as the tours mounted up, for Mal the sudden availability of sex, seemingly free from consequences, represented an irresistible bonanza. After a lifetime of self-doubt over body issues and inveterate shyness, he simply couldn’t control himself.

“Big Mal was a demon for sex,” Tony wrote. “His stamina would have been remarkable in a harem. In the flat, sooty back streets of Birmingham or Manchester, he was a stud straight from the Kama Sutra. Like sacrificial virgins, a lot of the girls willingly accepted that they would have to do it with Mal to get to John, Paul, George or Ringo, and Mal knew it.”

Years later, John would liken the Beatles tours to Fellini’s Satyricon, suggesting that their worldbeating jaunts were a fantasia of sexual decadence. Lloyd Ravenscroft, the Australian tour manager, confirmed that the band members “had girls in their room, yes. That was in the hands of Mal Evans, who was very good at picking the right girls. It was very discreet and well organised.”

Mal became “a suave and smooth procurer”, in the words of Larry Kane, a broadcast journalist who was embedded with the band on one of their US tours, “able to spot a target with incredible intuition. It was as though he could pick up on the scent of women who were willing. Only rarely did I see him alone in a hotel corridor. At least his flair for recruiting included an understanding of the difficulties the Beatles could face if any female companion was underage or wronged in any way. If one could get an Oscar for safely procuring women, Mal Evans would have received the lifetime achievement award.”

Back home, Mal’s reunions with Lil and Gary were tempered by the infrequency of his correspondence and by the odd scraps of paper his wife had discovered in his suitcase — addresses and telephone numbers, invariably written in a feminine hand, from the “pen pals” he would meet on the road. Mal brushed off their significance, but Lil knew better. “It used to break my heart,” she recalled.

By 1968 — a year in which he had tried in vain to remake himself as a record executive — Lily’s mistrust of her husband had reached a fever pitch. By this point, she wasn’t just finding “silly groupie letters” in his suitcase, but also the occasional stray pair of knickers and other telltale signs of infidelity. She recognised that Mal was being seduced by overwhelming forces, impulses with which she could hardly begin to compete. “One minute he would be in Hollywood,” she said. “The next day he’d be back here cleaning out the rabbit hutch.”

Mal had emerged as a celebrity in his own right, thanks to publications such as The Beatles Book. “It was OK for him,” Neil Aspinall recalled, “going out in front getting the instruments ready. Dead popular he was. As they cheered and shouted at him he talked to them and made jokes. He didn’t have to physically fight them off, once it started.”

All shook up: the Fab Four meet Elvis

ON THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 27, 1965, Mal and the boys met Elvis Presley at the King’s Bel Air mansion. The 30-year-old superstar was in town to shoot the film Paradise, Hawaiian Style.

Prior to his coveted meeting with the King, Mal spent time with Colonel Tom Parker at his Paramount Studios office, where the roadie was lavished with gifts, including a gold-plated cigarette lighter and, to his glee, a white bathrobe emblazoned with “Girls! Girls! Girls!”. Mal not only appreciated Parker’s generosity, but recognised that he possessed “one of the most astute showbiz brains in America”, adding that, “He has wrung every dollar he can out of the Elvis situation — and who can blame him?”

As Mal was lounging in the Colonel’s office that day, the telephone rang. “That was a news agency, Mal,” Parker said. “It looks as though word has got out about Elvis and the boys meeting tonight. There’s a story in the London Daily Mirror. Now Reuters wants confirmation.” At that moment, Mal’s heart froze. “For a moment, I thought Parker was going to call the whole thing off.”

But the Colonel wasn’t to be deterred. With the so-called Memphis Mafia — a group of Presley friends and employees who served and protected the King — at his beck and call, Elvis’s manager instigated a complex system by which they changed vehicles several times before arriving at Benedict Canyon. As the Colonel looked on, Mal, Neil Aspinall, the Beatles’ press agent Tony Barrow and the Beatles ducked into a black limo. “For once,” Mal later quipped, “John, George, Paul and Ringo were ready to leave on time, and they climbed into the waiting cars at the bungalow bang on the dot.” Shouting, “Roll ’em!” out of his car window, the Colonel’s vehicle snaked its way through Hollywood, the convoy followed by a police motorcycle unit. By 10pm, the motorcade had arrived at Elvis’s house at Perugia Way. Incredibly, the Colonel’s plan had worked.

Mal was beside himself, feeling a combination of reverence and utter shock. After being served a large Scotch and Coke by one of the King’s minions, Paul beckoned Mal to meet his idol in the flesh. “Presley turned, and we shook hands. ‘This is your number-one fan, El,’ said Paul. ‘And he’s with us.’” Mal was thunderstruck by the sound of the King’s “strangely quiet voice” as he said, “Sure pleased to meet you,” to the roadie.

As the evening progressed, Mal marvelled at Elvis’s luxurious home, with its well-stocked cocktail bar and lounge, its thickly carpeted rooms, and, in the den, a massive fireplace with a copper chimney disappearing into the ceiling at the centre of the room. “Pretty soon the record player was working full blast,” Mal wrote. “Elvis played a whole lot of albums, many of them the Beatles, but modestly, perhaps, did not play any of his own. The noise was terrific, the drinks were flowing, the talk was animated, and, as I say, it was just like being at home with the lads from Liverpool.”

Eventually, Elvis picked up a bass guitar that was plugged into an amp positioned near the television set. “He began to strum away on the thing, playing quite ably, but he insisted that he was only learning,” Mal wrote. “Keep practising, fella. You’ll get to the top yet,” Paul quipped. As Mal looked on, “the most fantastic impromptu unrecorded session of all time” ensued when “El found some guitars for John, George and Paul and a set of bongo drums for Ringo, and they began to make the place rock with an hour of improvised beat music. It was fabulous.”

“There was only one hitch during the little concert the boys put on,” Mal later reflected. Nobody had a plectrum. “Mal’s got a pick,” said Paul. “He’s always got picks. He carries them on holidays with him.” Crestfallen that he had neglected to bring his well-travelled doctor’s bag, along with its ready supply of guitar picks, Mal scurried to the kitchen, where he fashioned pieces of plastic cutlery into makeshift plectrums.

Ringo and Mal tried their hand at pool, losing four straight games to members of the Memphis Mafia, while, “John lost $9 at roulette with Colonel Parker and Brian Epstein, who had joined us on getting back from New York.” In one of Mal’s favourite memories of that night, John pretended to be a reporter.

“Once, when I was talking to El, sitting on a settee, John came screaming up to us and jabbed an imaginary microphone under El’s nose and began to fire off a string of meaningless questions — which I must say were a pretty accurate take-off of some of the daft things that interviewers ask at our own press conferences. ‘What are you going to do when the bubble bursts, Elvis?’ he asked. ‘What toothpaste do you use? What time do you go to bed? Do you like girls? Who’s your favourite artist?’ ‘Yeah, yeah,’ chuckled El. ‘I’ve heard ’em all before.’”

Escaping from guns and a mob in Manila

ON THE MORNING OF JULY 3, 1966, the Beatles and their entourage left for the Philippines by way of Hong Kong. “Manila was our next port of call on our way back to England,” Mal later remembered, “and it was here, for the first time in my life, I was to experience real fear.” As it turned out, things were cockeyed from the outset. After attending their usual post-arrival press conference, John, Paul, George and Ringo were hustled out of a rear entrance and taken to the harbour, where they were ushered aboard a motor yacht.

“It was really humid, it was Mosquito City,” George reported, “and we were all sweating and frightened. For the first time ever in our Beatle existence, we were cut off from Neil, Mal and Brian Epstein. There was not one of them around, and not only that, but we had a whole row of cops with guns lining the deck around this cabin that we were in on the boat. We were really gloomy, very brought down by the whole thing.”

Things would get worse. After Brian succeeded in securing the Beatles’ return to the mainland, they ensconced themselves in the opulent Manila Hotel for the night. What the members of the band’s entourage didn’t know was that the Beatles had received an invitation from Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos and First Lady Imelda Marcos requesting their appearance at Malacanang Palace at 11 o’clock the next morning. Only, Brian and the Beatles never laid eyes on it. After an incident in America, at the British embassy in Washington, in February 1964, when the band felt they had been snubbed by upper class, titled guests, official requests for the Beatles’ presence were routinely ignored. Instead, the group went about their business in Manila, performing the first of two shows for 35,000 spectators at José Rizal Memorial Stadium and another audience of 50,000 later that same day.

For the moment, the band and their entourage hadn’t felt any blowback from having snubbed the First Lady, save for scathing news reports on Filipino TV. That night, the promoter arranged for a lavish party at the hotel, with numerous prostitutes on hand to cater to the boys’ needs. On the morning of July 5, Mal began to sense trouble when a pistolpacking member of the promoter’s staff requested autographed pictures of the Beatles. “I was in the middle of explaining that I had given away most of the photographs,” Mal wrote, “keeping a few for the plane crew on the way home, when I was cut short by the same gentleman brandishing a gun in my face and repeating the demand. I couldn’t give them to him fast enough. This was the prelude to a morning of terror.”

Mal could feel the tension rising as he sought out a truck to transport the luggage and gear to the airport. “The feeling in the air was that nobody wanted to be associated with us,” he wrote. “On arriving at the airport, I was informed by the police on duty that I couldn’t park near the airline gate, but in the normal parking area like ordinary people. Their attitude being, ‘Who do you think you are?’” When the band and their entourage arrived at the airport, Mal discovered that no one would help them, save for the KLM airline attendants, who processed their baggage.

Everything went to hell when they began making their way to the international lounge, only to be intercepted by a dozen Filipinos. “It was obvious that they were looking to cause trouble, and quite prepared to beat the hell out of us, because of the fiasco the previous evening with the First Lady,” Mal wrote. “They were standing on our toes, jabbing us with elbows, generally giving us a bad time, and the last thing we could do was hit back. Up to that point, they were just a nuisance and making us feel very uncomfortable. I would give my right arm for any of those boys, but under these circumstances, it was most inadvisable to retaliate in any way whatsoever.”

It was chauffeur Alf Bicknell who could no longer contain himself. Daring to strike back at the assailants, he was viciously attacked, ending up flat on the airport floor with a pair of cracked ribs. Despite his large size, Mal sustained numerous blows, as did Ringo, who was knocked down with a swift uppercut and crawled away as assailants kicked him. Things seemed to get worse as the group approached customs, where John and George were punched and kicked. Paul managed to avoid the brunt of the violence by sprinting ahead. Along with Alf, Brian suffered the most, sustaining a sprained ankle during the mêlée. At one point, Mal realised he was bleeding from his leg.

Mal would never forget the surrealness of walking across the tarmac after the violence they had experienced in the terminal. The ruffians were still in evidence, hurling insults and epithets as the Brits made their way to the waiting KLM plane. But the fans were there too, shouting, “We love you, Beatles!” and tossing bouquets of flowers at their feet.

Once on board the plane, Mal wrote, “We all gave a sigh of relief, thinking we were safe on neutral territory. We were all shaking, beads of fear running down our faces.” That’s when immigration officials boarded the plane, demanding that Mal and Tony Bramwell follow them back to the terminal.

In the immigration office, they found themselves once again at the whimsy of the mob, being jostled, pushed and shoved as officials demanded they fill out new immigration forms. As TV crews recorded their every move, the two struggled to complete the forms, their hands visibly shaking in terror. And then, just like that, they were being led back to the plane, once again experiencing a strange gauntlet of violence and insults on the one hand and the goodwill of the assembled Beatles fans on the other. After some 40 intense minutes away from their friends, Mal and Tony were back in their seats. “The last words we heard before the doors closed were, ‘We love you, Beatles,’” Mal wrote.

Mal Evans died on January 4, 1976. He was shot by the police in a California apartment as he brandished a rifle, having taken a suspected Valium overdose. His diaries and memorabilia lay on the floor next to him.

Extracted from Living the Beatles Legend by Kenneth Womack (Mudlark, £25), published on November 14. 

(source)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Noah Berlatsky at Public Notice:

Just three days after President Joe Biden dropped out of the presidential race and endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris, Harris has already secured enough delegates to be the presumptive Democratic nominee. The speed with which the party came together around her is inspiring. Harris has been endorsed by almost everyone who matters in Democratic politics — senators, governors, key organizations, unions. She’s also raised some $100 million and counting from more than 880,000 small donors, more than 60 percent of whom hadn’t contributed before this cycle. If anyone was on the fence about whether Biden stepping aside was the right move, they probably aren’t now.

The past three days have been a remarkable display of Democratic consensus and unity after a bitter intra-party argument over whether Biden should be the nominee. The rush to support Harris also indicates that the party believes she can beat the Republican candidate — giant orange fascist blight Donald Trump. New Harris-Trump polling started trickling out yesterday, and it contained good news for Democrats. A Reuters/Ipsos poll taken entirely after Biden announced his decision to step aside showed Harris up two points nationally (and up four points when RFK Jr. is included). Another poll showed Harris and Trump tied. Given that Harris just had her first rally as the presumptive candidate yesterday, we’ll need more time to figure out exactly how the race has changed. But there are already a number of reasons to be hopeful about her prospects of winning this November.

Unifying looked easy. It’s not.

The first indication of Harris’s strength is … well, pretty much everything that’s happened since Sunday. Harris has been pilloried over the last four years as a middling politician, largely on the grounds that she suspended her 2020 presidential campaign before Iowa. The reliably confused Pamela Paul at the New York Times, for example, argued this week that “Harris is a fundamentally weak candidate” who “fizzled out” in the presidential race. As political scientist Jonathan Bernstein points out, though, Harris’s candidacy didn’t fizzle out. She had solid endorsements and decent polling — but she figured out that Biden was too far ahead to beat in a very crowded field and dropped out early. That allowed her to stay on good terms with party actors and put her in a position to get the vice presidency. That’s not losing. It’s winning.

[...]

Harris and abortion rights

Harris is also well positioned to run on some of the central issues of the election. In particular, she’s a good voice for the party on abortion, which has been an especially energizing issue since the Supreme Court gutted abortion rights in its Dobbs decision in 2022. The Dobbs decision was hugely unpopular and remains so, even in Republican strongholds — anti-abortion measures in deep red states like Ohio and Kentucky have gone down to defeat. Democratic strength in the 2022 and 2023 off-year elections have been attributed by most analysts to the electorate’s support for abortion rights. Democrats are fighting to get abortion referendums on the ballot in November in states like including Arizona, Nebraska, and Florida. Despite Democratic successes under his watch, Biden has always been an imperfect messenger on abortion rights. A devout Catholic, he started his career by arguing that the Roe decision protecting abortion rights “went too far.”

Biden is now solidly pro-choice, and his administration has of course defended abortion rights, most recently winning a Supreme Court case defending abortion pills. But his ambivalence lingers. Even in 2023, after Dobbs, Biden was careful to note his own personal discomfort with abortion procedures, stating in one speech, “I happen to be a practicing Catholic. I’m not big on abortion.” Immediately following the Dobbs ruling, Biden’s administration struggled to come up with a strong rhetorical or policy response. He’s also been weirdly reluctant to even say the word “abortion” in speeches. Harris has no such reticence. She visited a Planned Parenthood clinic in March; she’s believed to be the first president or vice president to ever visit a clinic providing abortion services.

[...]

Harris the prosecutor

On Monday, in her first big speech after Biden’s endorsement, Harris emphasized her experience as a prosecutor and said it put her in a strong position to make the case against Trump. “I was a courtroom prosecutor,” she said. “In those roles I took on perpetrators of all kinds. Predators who abused women. Fraudsters who ripped off consumers. Cheaters who broke the rules for their own gain. So hear me when I say I know Donald Trump's type.” She hit the same theme yesterday during her first campaign rally as the presumptive Democratic nominee. It was so well received by her audience in suburban Milwaukee that the crowd broke out in “KA-MA-LA! KA-MA-LA!” chants.

The contrast here is glaring. A jury found Trump liable for sexually assaulting writer and journalist E. Jean Carroll; he’s been accused of sexual assault and harassment by numerous other women. He was convicted of fraud for misvaluing assets in New York. A jury convicted him of falsifying business records to cover up hush money payments before the 2016 election. He also faces charges involving mishandling of classified documents and illegally attempting to overturn the 2020 election.

Harris got her start in politics, as she says, as a prosecutor. As San Francisco’s DA and California’s AG, she went after fraudsters engaged in Trump-like scams. She obtained a $1.1 billion judgment against for-profit Corinthian College for fraud (Trump, for his part, agreed to a $25 million settlement after his so-called Trump University was sued for deceptive practices). She also won an $18 billion settlement against large banks for foreclosure misconduct. (Trump is promising massive deregulation of Wall Street.) Parts of Harris’s record in California are controversial with progressives. She threatened to prosecute parents of chronically absent children. No one was actually sent to jail, but as a policy, using prisons to threaten struggling parents is not a great precedent. Her record has also been criticized by sex workers and by drug law reformers (she prosecuted 1,900 people for marijuana violations). But Harris’s background as a prosecutor isn’t as much of a problem for her today as it was when she was running for president in 2019 — before covid, the George Floyd murder, and the ensuing spike in crime across the country. She’s also no longer running against Democrats — she’s running against Trump, whose criminal justice policies are nightmarish.

Project 2025, the Heritage Project blueprint for a Trump second term, is rabidly anti-sex worker; it proposes criminalizing porn as a step towards criminalizing trans and LGBT people (whose very existence the right considers pornographic). And Trump wants to deport millions of undocumented immigrants, a massive undertaking that evokes histories of police states and concentration camps.

Noah Berlatsky wrote in Public Notice about how Kamala Harris has united Democrats in her short time as the presumptive nominee.

Harris’s robust defense of abortion rights and her prosecutor record are her biggest assets this election.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Insinuation 2.1 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

I woke to the muffled sound of the radio in the bathroom.  Reaching over to my alarm clock, I turned it around.  6:28.  Which made today a weekday like any other.  My alarm was set for six thirty, but I almost never needed it, because my dad was always in the shower at the same time.  Routines defined us.

Taylor just fought one of the baddest dudes in Brockton Bay, and she still needs to wake up and go to school like a normal teenager. Aah, YA Fiction Tropes (Whether or not Worm as a whole counts as YA is a different discussion, but this sure feels familiar)

With all that had happened, I hadn’t slept those full three hours, either.

From what I gather, Taylor isn't going to get a lot of sleep in general over the next two years. Sleep Deprivation may explain some of her decisions.

I shook my head, “Tired.  I didn’t sleep well.”

Danny, Danny Boy, here's your chance to say something! Say ANYTHING you-

 I wasn’t sure if he’d worry more or less if I told him about my powers.

More. Probably more.

Shrugging again, I took a bite of french toast.  My dad was part of the Dockworkers Association, as the Union spokesperson and head of hiring.  With the state of the Docks being what they were, that meant my dad was pretty much in charge of telling everyone that there were no jobs to be had, day after day

Maybe Dockworkers unions work differently, but I feel like that's not - that's not how that should work? How is a Union Rep also a Head of Hiring? The two feel like they should be distinct?

“He’s going to be one of Über and Leet’s henchmen.” I raised my eyebrows.  Über and Leet were local villains with a video game theme.  They were pretty much as incompetent as villains could be while staying out of jail.  They barely even rated as B-list.

I'm pretty sure I heard of Uber and Leet before I ever heard of Amy Dallon, back when I was picking up out of context errant details from SB/SV circles. Incompetent as fuck, but clearly a fan favorite duo.

Being one of their henchmen has to suck tho.

“I heard you come in late last night,” he said.

AYYYYYYY! Danny Boy! *high fives*

Or pyrokinesis and the ability to grow armor plating and claws?  I felt a little knot of ugliness in the pit of my stomach at my father’s concern for me.  It was all the more intense because it was so justified.  I had almost died last night.

Different than the dreams and ideas, huh?

“No more going out in the middle of the night,” he said, “Or I’m putting a bell on the doors.”

:rofl:

“Okay,” I said, adding, “I’m sorry.”  Even with that, I felt a twinge of guilt.  My apology was sincere in feeling, but I was making it with the knowledge that I would probably do the same thing again.  It felt wrong. He gave me a smile that seemed almost like an unspoken ‘I’m sorry too’.

Danny should push harder, but he made the effort, so he gets a parenting cookie nonetheless.

Shrugging, I suggested, “Stove, maybe?”

If Danny bought that, he loses the entire parenting cookie. If he just didn't push, he only loses a third of it, but still, Danny, Danny, Danny!

[franklyshipping]

Tickle-Hungry ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

Here we have our next glorious anon prompt, this one pertaining to an interesting ship between the snazzy Bim Trimmer and courageous Silver Shepherd! Let's explore this cute union and DO THIS!

TAGGING: @bimlee-trimmer @bim-trimler and @silvlee-shepherd

Silver Shepherd, as usual, was being a complete and utter sweetheart, and Bim Trimmer was smitten. The charming gameshow host had taken a swan-dive into the whole “new year new me” vibe, and had begun this process by giving his studio a complete revamp in anticipation of a new panel show he was going to be filming. All the basic decorating had been done and everything he needed was on-site, but now it was a case of getting all the heavy apparatus and props in position… and the workforce he normally used had all come down with the flu! Naturally of course, Silver Shepherd was eager to jump to the rescue and be the hero of the hour, and for the past few days had been placing podiums, installing rows of seating, as well as positioning heavy cameras and light fixtures.

Bim was helping too of course… though mostly by bringing Silver drinks and snacks whilst he himself mostly watched the hero at work. Silver didn’t mind, and honestly was glad because the last thing he wanted was for Bim to pull a muscle! So he accepted the sustenance and chat happily, honestly loving having Bim’s constant company… and the occasional subtle flirting that came with it. Silver pretended not to notice, but he saw how Bim would glance over at him (or sometimes just straight up stare) whenever he stretched or flexed amidst his work. Silver found it very flattering, and as a result had slowed his pace a little, just to make the fun last.

‘Where do you want this camera going?’

‘Just over there please, we’ll use that one for the wide podium shots.’

‘Okey dokey!’

Silver went about moving it, his shirt raising as he did so, and Bim had to bite back a grin when he got the chance to catch yet another glimpse of Silver’s delectable midriff. Bim didn’t know what was coming over him, but something about spying Silver’s adorable tummy or waist made him feel–

‘So what’s it about?’

‘Huh?’

Bim blinked at Silver, realising Silver was stood in front of him, smiling curiously.

‘The new gameshow! Is it a quizzy one?’

Bim used all his willpower not to blush as a charming smile appeared on his face, and he laughed lightly.

‘O-Oh, hah, yeah yeah it is.’

‘How will it work?’

Silver asked, his eyes bright with curiosity which made Bim feel like his heart was going to melt. Bim subtly neatened his hair as his smile grew, subconsciously trying to look smart and charming as he replied.

‘Well um, the questions are in different categories. If you answer enough questions in one category you can get prizes related to it, and there are a list of themes people can pick from. For example if someone went with the theme of Italy and they answer three questions right, they’ll get a dinner for two at a 5 star Italian restaurant. Answer six questions right they’ll also get a six year supply of authentic gelato, and if they answer all ten questions correctly then they also get an all expenses paid 4-night holiday to Florence! Also all the questions are multiple choice, so it’s not super hard.’

Silver looked utterly awestruck, mainly because the prizes sounded so generous!

‘Woah, that sounds so cool!’

‘You really think so?’

Bim asked, and Silver nodded as his beaming smile grew.

‘Yeah! I mean… I think all your ideas are awesome.’

Silver’s words hit Bim like a freight train. Bim was used to compliments, he got them from colleagues and fans practically every day… but to hear words like these from Silver just got to him in a totally different way. Bim couldn’t hold back the warmth blooming on his face, and when Silver saw he’d made Bim blush he himself felt his own cheeks turn rosy. But of course that’s fine between really close friends! Silver figured it was totally normal that his tummy was full of flutters and that his fingers were twitching with the urge to play with Bim’s hair and stroke his face– oh boy. Silver blinked, getting his thoughts straight, and opened his mouth to ask what Bim wanted moving next.

But he didn’t have a chance to get his words out, because Bim too had been swirled about in his own head. All he could think about was how damn kind and sweet Silver was, how generous and selfless… but also how goddamn pretty he was. I mean he was a superhero for goodness sake! Not only that, but he was so strong, so soft looking… and that midriff was a whole treat all by itself. Bim couldn’t resist anymore… and so he pounced.

‘So shall I do one of the podiums next or–AHH!’

Silver’s words were cut off as he suddenly found himself pinned to the floor, eyes wide. As he locked eyes with Bim he spotted a twinkle… a very, very familiar twinkle. Silver had been tickled by Bim before, so he knew what his ler mood looked like… but for Bim this was even more than that. There was something feral in that twinkle, and for a moment Silver could have sworn he saw his eyes flash violet and his teeth momentarily gleam with sharpness.

‘B-Bim what the heck?!’

Silver giggled nervously as he squirmed, but Bim’s hold was strong as he kept him playfully pinned down. Slowly he leaned in and whispered in the hero’s ear.

‘Do you have any idea… how tempting you are?’

Silver’s pink cheeks suddenly darkened to a distinct red as he stuttered.

‘T-Tempting? H-How?’

Bim chuckled fondly down at him, and gently lifted up Silver’s t-shirt to reveal his stomach and waist. With a few fingertips he started tracing the bare skin, and he purred in a low voice.

‘Soft, sensitive… tasty looking…’

Silver’s eyes went wide as he realised what Bim was getting at, and the traces already got his giggles started. Bim’s way of tickling was legendary in the manor…in the most wild and chill-inducing way. Bim slowly licked his lips, grinning and revealing his teeth as his face hovered closer and closer to Silver’s stomach.

‘N-Nonono Bim Bim w-wait yoou know I c-can’t take it when you–EEEEP!’

Bim pressed his open mouth against Silver’s stomach…and started nibbling. In an instant Silver was struggling wildly as he giggled and snorted, his blush creeping down his neck and he started babbling.

‘Nohohoho stahahahappit! Yohohour teheeth ahare shahaharp!’

‘Mhmm, all the better to tickle you with!’

‘Nuhuhuhuhu!’

Silver giggled even harder as Bim nibbled all over his soft, plush stomach. He wasn’t leaving any marks to speak of, but those canines in particular was just impossible for Silver to ignore. Plus with Bim holding his hands down, their fingers interlaced together in a totally normal friend way, there was nothing he could do to fight back!

‘Mmm, has anyone ever told you that you taste as good as you look?’

Silver was flustered into near speechlessness as he gazed up at Bim, gaping and stuttering.

‘Wha–…I…’

Bim laugh, giving Silver’s lower belly a nip as he growled warmly.

‘Aww, did I embarrass you?’

Silver resumed his wild giggles and little shrieks as Bim’s teeth continued their tickly feasting. The rest of the hero’s energy translated into him frantically kicking his legs as he replied.

‘Why ahahare yohou dohoing thihis toho mehehehe?!’

‘I already told you, because you’re just so tempting!’

Bim retorted, nipping at one of the hero’s hips to make Silver squeal and whine.

‘Buhuhuhut why?!’

Silver’s eyes were wide with cute confusion, and Bim hesitated as his own cheeks got hotter. He decided to hide his face by bowing it to nip Silver’s hip again – but even as the hero squealed… he caught the edge of Bim’s smile as it turned noticeably shy.

‘Maybe I… like you.’

Silver’s breath hitched and both men went still. Silver’s smile didn’t fade as the tickles paused and Bim gently released his hands, sitting up and clearing his throat softly as he glanced away from Silver. Bim’s heart and head were racing. Did he really just say that? Would Silver be happy because of what he said? Would Silver know exactly what he meant when he said that he liked him? Bim’s mind was threatening to run away with him, until he felt a squeeze on his hand.

‘You like me?’

Silver whispered, and when Bim looked at him he saw an expression full of a smile, a blush… and hope. Bim cleared his throat softly, gently resting his chin on Silver’s tummy as he nodded, looking at Silver tentatively. The Silver’s face was hot as his mind raced with his own thoughts. Was this really happening? Did Bim say what Silver thought he said? Did they both have the same feelings? Silver knew how he felt for Bim, that’s for sure… he’d felt things for Bim for such a long time, but a lack of confidence had always gotten in his way. Until now. Silver reached out and gently stroked Bim’s cheek, encouraging him to look at him.

‘Maybe… maybe I like you too.’

Bim’s face lit up, and he instinctively pressed his cheek against Silver’s hand. One look in his eyes told him that he and the hero were on the exact same page. Bim also saw that the smile on Silver’s face was vibrant, and a tad cheeky. Flirty. Bim grinned, and leaned down to nuzzle Silver’s already pink hip – he figured there was no harm in flirting back, just a little.

‘Oh really?’

Silver squeaked with surprise… but didn’t push Bim away as he continued to softly nuzzle along his waist. He hid his face in his hands as he giggled, nodding as he peeked at Bim through his fingers. If Silver had been looking for confirmation of their relationship, this was definitely it. Bim chuckled, showing of his pearly whites as he grinned broadly. This was the best day ever.

‘I think you like it when I nibble you, don’t you?’

Silver got butterflies in his stomach at the thought of admitting that of all things… and he also liked the thought of keeping up that subtle cheeky streak he had bubbling in his chest. He snorted softly as he mumbled.

‘Mahahahaybe…’

Bim smirked at that, raising a playful eyebrow. He could tell Silver was playing coy on purpose which he thought was adorable… and he knew exactly what the perfect response would be. Bim took a deep breath, and started blowing raspberries along Silver’s exposed waist as he chuckled.

‘Only maybe? Are you sure?’

Needless to say, Silver was an absolute giddy mess of shrieks and yelping-laughs as his eyes widened cutely.

‘WAHAHAIT WAITWAITWAIT BEHEHE NIHIHICE!’

‘I am being nice, I’m giving you one of your five a day!’

Bim continued his raspberries as Silver kicked and batted at him. Though he didn’t fight back with any genuine force, it didn’t take long for the one-sided tickles to transform into a full-blown tussle of pokes and half-hearted wrestling. Neither man could stop smiling.

‘Yohohou’re ahaha meheanie!’

‘You take that back!’

‘Nohoho!’

‘Oh you’re really gonna get it now!’

Silver’s giggles were bubbly and full of squeaks as they continued wrestling, and Bim’s giggles were similarly unstoppable. He leaned in close with a growl, and the hero shrieked and flails when he felt a sloppy raspberry against his ear.

‘AHHH NONONOHOHOHO!’

‘Ooohhh, I didn’t know your ears were so ticklish!’

‘LEHEHEAVE THEHEM AHALOHONE!’

Bim laughed, and playfully grazed the shell of his ear with his teeth.

‘Aww, so sensitive and delicious! I think these might be my new favourite snack!’

Silver was a mess of flustered laughter, but once again wasn’t truly trying to push Bim away. In fact, he was doing the opposite. His arms were wrapped around Bim’s waist, keeping him snug and as close as humanly possible, which was keeping Bim’s heart racing with delight. He treated both of Silver’s ears to a load of nibbles for a while, before he dimmed down to more soothing kisses, until finally leaning up and having mercy. Silver was panting as he giggled residually, and he beamed when he saw the shy smile return to Bim’s face.

‘Was that… okay?’

Silver giggled, and didn’t hesitate to nod.

‘Yeah… more than okay.’

Then, before he could let his nerves cloud his judgement, Silver leaned up and gave Bim a peck on the lips. Bim’s face lit up, his eyes flashing with those magical glints of violet once again… and he kissed Silver back. They were connected, warm and soothed for a few sweet moments before they briefly parted for air, and Silver whispered.

‘Do you still want me to move stuff–?’

‘Nope.’

‘Are you sure–?’

Bim cut him off with another kiss, making the hero giggle and melt – if he had to pick between moving light fixtures and kissing the most handsome gameshow host in existence, he was going to choose the latter every time. Especially when said gameshow host pulled him to his feet with a grin and a growl, holding his hand and pulling him out of the study and he mumbled about still being hungry. Silver figured his grin was probably permanent now, and his step had a skip to it as he interlaced his fingers with Bim. After all, he wasn’t the only one hungry for tickles – and that, darling readers, is the greatest prize of all.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID! WOOO LUV YOUS!!

[torreshalstead]

On a crowded street in 1944 - Chapter 11

Summary - The four walls of Upton’s General Store were all Hailey knew although she longed to see what else life had to offer. When a handsome soldier walks through the door, she thinks he might just be the answer to the life she wants to have. But it was 1944 and the country was at war. Would fate smile on her or would her heart be another casualty of the war?

Chapters - 11/15

Notes - we are back to our regularly scheduled Saturday chapters, thank you for the support on this story ❤️ AO3 Link

December 1944

It had been two months since she had last received a letter from Jay, and the feeling that it was just a delay with the postal service had been replaced with a far less pleasant thought.

Hailey could only think of one reason why Jay wouldn’t be writing to her.

But she also thought she would feel it in her heart if something terrible had happened to him, and although the pain of missing him still persisted, it wasn’t joined by something more horrid.

It didn’t stop Hailey from scouring the list of the missing and dead that graced the back pages of the paper every day. She diligently went through each one, checking for a Halstead. She knew him as Jay but was aware it might be a nickname. He could be a James or a John Junior or any name beginning with a J for all she knew. But still, no Halstead’s appeared in her search so she let herself continue to hope.

Maybe his letter had just gotten lost. Because he would write if he could. And she knew he would, because she knew him. She loved him. And he loved her.

Oscar still turned up once a week to take her to the tea shop where he still ordered her a tea. He had never asked if she would have preferred anything else and she didn’t correct him. For Hailey it was just another example of how poorly they were suited to each other. Jay would have asked her.

Still, their time together was pleasant with only mild discussions of the wedding. It was too far off to plan anything so any time he brought it up, she managed to dismiss it without him raising too much of a fuss.

Unfortunately the same could not be said for her father who had taken out a half page advert in the newspaper announcing the upcoming union between the Upton’s and the Farrell’s. He had written the notice himself which would explain why it read as more of a business transaction than an excited father writing about his daughter’s wedding. But Hailey supposed that’s exactly what it was. It was a business transaction. His excitement was only for himself.

Hailey still hadn’t got any more specific details regarding who had promised who what but she knew her father well enough to see behind his smile. From the small amount of information she had gleaned from his loud voice and their apartment's thin walls, she believed it was that Upton General Store was looking to become the sole supplier of Farrell products - very popular leather working tools. It was a good deal and if Hailey’s own happiness hadn’t been thrown in as a bargaining chip, she might have been proud of her father for arranging such a deal.

But as it happened, every time he smiled, it made her stomach turn just a little.

Christmas was just around the corner but with the empty hope that Jay might have been home by Christmas a distant memory, Hailey wasn’t looking forward to the occasion. As with most things, they would decorate the store much more lavishly than their own apartment - all part of the act, and then come Christmas morning she would spend hours slaving away with her mother to prepare the lunch, minus the meat centrepiece this year, and her father would gulp it down without so much as a thank you or an offer to clean the dishes after.

The one relief was that the store would be closed on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, giving her just a little reprieve and she might even get a chance to venture out without having Oscar on her arm. Just a little taste of the freedom she would be giving up soon.

Still, she hoped that Christmas would bring her one thing - a letter from her love.

——————————————————————————

January 1945

Her Christmas wish didn’t come true.

It had been three months since her last letter from Jay and she was now worried.

Everyday she diligently checked the lists in the papers and still no Halstead was listed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t missing in action or, heaven forbid, had been taken prisoner. She knew nothing and somehow the not knowing made everything worse.

She pasted on a fake smile every day, served the customers in the store, completed her chores and listened to her mother get excited about her wedding. And then she would cry herself to sleep, the edges of Jay’s previous letters becoming worn and tattered from her continuous reading. Not that she needed to read them anymore, she knew every one off by heart. But she could imagine him holding the letters and touching them was as close as she could get to touching him.

She had debated trying to get in contact with someone in Jay’s family in case they had received news, but the only family she knew was his brother who was also at the front. There was no one else from what Jay had told her. So even if the worst did happen, she would have to wait for his name to be printed alongside the names of all the other poor souls who had laid down their lives for the good of their country. She didn’t know if there was a delay between when the news was received or when it got printed.

She knew nothing apart from that Jay hadn’t written and her heart was aching.

——————————————————————————

February 1945

February brought Valentine’s Day and still no news of Jay. Oscar bought her flowers, roses, not her favourite but he hadn’t asked and she hadn’t told him. Still, they brightened up her bedroom but not her mood.

Her mother had noticed her change in demeanour, her usually bubbly personality had been replaced by something far more meloncoly. She didn’t bring it up but Hailey noticed the small things she did for her to try and brighten her mood. She would slide extra portions onto her plate when she cooked her favourite food, she managed to get some sample fragrances that she suggested Hailey could wear on her next date, she offered to curl her hair for her. She appreciated them but still, her heart was pining and the longer it went between his letters, the more she believed the worst had happened.

He had been killed.

He had been taken prisoner.

He wasn’t coming back to her.

What she also knew but refused to fully consider was what Jay not coming back to her would mean for her. She would be bound to marry Oscar. A man she didn’t love.

——————————————————————————

March 1945

Hailey’s hope was dwindling away. She was holding tightly onto a thought that was looking less and less possible, her fingers blistered and bleeding from holding the thread so tightly. There was still no news. She started hoping when she checked the list of young men’s names in the newspaper that she would see his, then at least she could get closure.

She knew she’d never love again, that her heart belonged to him even if he was no longer walking this earth, but the not knowing was worse. Her mind spiralled through all of the possibilities, each one worse than the previous and never giving her a moment's rest.

Oscar had started to notice her shift in mood, how could he not, but she appreciated him not commenting on it. On their dates he would let her sit in silence, not attempting to fill the air with inane comments that she didn’t care about. If he ever guessed what was truly going on behind her sky blue eyes, he never said anything.

The ring on her finger still felt foreign but it was still a way out, she wouldn’t be beholden to her father after she was wed. Well, not completely anyway.

She tried as much as she could to focus on the positives but they were few and far between. She still cried herself to sleep most nights, having to splash cold water on her face and her red eyes before going down to the store in the morning to prevent any questions being asked. She couldn’t cope if she was made to voice aloud what was working through her mind.

——————————————————————————

April 1945

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The words that she had from Jay were all she was ever going to have.

They said the war would be ending soon, that the boys would be home before the end of the summer.

If that news had come months ago it would have made Hailey happier than she ever would have thought. But not now.

The end of the war was the deadline for her chance. When the end of the war came, she would be held to her word, to the promise she had given Oscar when she had accepted his ring and tested his patience.

She would be his wife.

And Jay would be nothing more than a memory, a part of her that would always remain but could never continue to be.

She thought about throwing out his letters, where reading them had originally brought her joy, they now only brought her pain. They were full of promises that would never be kept, of dreams that could never come true, of a life that Hailey was destined to never live.

But she couldn’t bear to part from them, they were the only piece of Jay that she had left. And if the worst had happened to both him and his brother, she may be the only person to keep their memory alive. The only person who would visit the graves that may or may not hold their bodies, to mourn at the monuments that would be erected with their names carved into it, the only person who knew the good person that he had been.

——————————————————————————

May 1945

Her nightmares had started to get worse, Jay would be walking towards her, a smile plastered on his face as he climbed down off the boat, the Stars and Stripes flying high above him. Just as he was getting to her, his arms wide to pull her into him, a blush of red would start to spread across his chest, staining his pristine uniform scarlet. His face would whiten, becoming sunken and ghost like, his handsomeness long gone and replaced with something else. Before she could get to him, to help stem the bleeding, he would drop down in front of her into a lifeless heap in the ground.

She would then wake up, her breathing heavy and her skin damp from sweat.

She started trying to keep herself awake at night so the haunting images of Jay wouldn’t fill her mind. But no matter how she tried, when she would succumb to sleep, the beautiful vivid images of their life together she had previously imagined were replaced with something far more hideous.

——————————————————————————-

June 1945

The sun had started to come out but Hailey’s smile had yet to make a reappearance.

What did she have to smile about?

The countdown to the end of the war was on, the excitement in the air was palpable. But the countdown to her was far less enjoyable.

She wished she could be excited, wished the prospect of the white dress and a promise of forever love brought her an ounce of joy. But it was starting to feel more like a prison sentence that she herself had signed her name to. Her positive attitude and hope had vanished and been replaced by a morbid person she wished she had never met.

She wasn’t proud of who she was becoming but there was only one way to fix a broken heart, and hers would never be whole again.

——————————————————————————

July 1945

The war was over.

The banners and flags were flying high, the pictures splashed all over the newspapers. People were rejoicing in the street, knowing that their men and boys would be home soon, at least those who had survived the atrocities.

The street parties were planned. The parades for the returning soldiers, both to honour the fallen and celebrate those who had returned.

But for Hailey. It meant that her timeline had run out. She was to marry Oscar.

The war had ended, but Jay wasn’t coming home.

She would never be Mrs Halstead. She would never be his wife. She’d never have his children and share his life. The dream was just that. A dream.

She was to marry Oscar and now there was no delaying it.

When everyone else was celebrating and cheering together in the street, Hailey cried herself to sleep, the sobs ripping through her body in anguish as she clutched her copy of Agatha Christie to her chest, remembering the promise a young boy had given her.

A promise she knew he would have kept if he could.

[somnolenthour]

𝚃𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

Pairing: Belladonna Lewa/Joshua Lewis (implied)

Contains: Violent urges, slurs

It was a dirty habit.

The cherry glowed in the gray back backdrop of the city, while it should’ve snowed this morning the forecast seemed to change in an instant and Manhattan was bulldozed with sheets of rain. The cold snap made his cheeks burn as he took another puff of his cigarette. Don’t get him wrong, he quit the habit for the fourth time last year and picked it up again so he wouldn’t pick up a comparatively worse habit as a hazard of his job. Joshua rubbed his arm, flinching as his umbrella swayed with motion and threatened to douse him. He took a quick glance at his watch and realized only two minutes had passed and that he was stressing himself out again. It was a pain to acclimate to a new company, a new set of eyes that didn’t understand him at a first glance. It took him a solid week to realize that despite knowing their names and positions, they all blended seamlessly together in his head. Van Patten and Allen had a taste for similar styles of suit, Price and Bateman he kept mixing up because despite their symbiotic nature (he’d never admit such a thing) they clearly went to the same barber. Then Carruthers… Didn’t exactly talk to him much but the man seemed to steer clear of him for reasons unknown. He knew there were more names and more faces he’d have to learn but it was a pain when every single one of them judged him in some way or another. He noticed the glances or the questions on his character or sexuality because the world didn’t snuff out the last bit of human decency and kindness in his heart just yet.

“You know I’m starting to think this mysterious fiance of his doesn’t exist.” McDermott rolled his eyes as he barely poked at the food on his plate and instead elected to sip his drink again and turn to Van Patten as he cooked up another snide remark.

“Oh he’s definitely a faggot- Lewis!” Price raised his brow in recognition and welcomed him over, sitting him down but he wanted to take the bloody mary from the table across from them and see how many tailored suits he could ruin in a single flick and if McDermott ever had to work with a bruised face and ego to boot. Instead he smiled and laughed with them until they finally let him go because they were going to Barcadia and he explained that he couldn’t go because he had a reservation at the Union club and he never saw so many eyes snap back to him.

“You know how it is,” He waved off the men. “Bella wanted to chat about the wedding.”

The man who he was sure was Bateman opened his mouth to say something but instead squinted a bit as he digested the information and cocked his head a bit and for the first time since he was hired, he had the upper hand in his situation.

He jumped at a hand on his shoulder, making him turn his head.

“Jesus man, you don’t feel that?” Price commented about the rain and Joshua looked up through his clear umbrella (that was gathering smoke) and watched as droplets bounced off of it. “Whatever- Just get inside and dry off.”

Another quick glance at his watch told him it’s been fifteen minutes, and he was too in his head to notice. He stomped out his cigarette and rushed inside.

[intriguingpeoplebyangelafloyd]

ADOLF HITLER

ADOLF HITLER

1889-1945

            Adolf Hitler was born and raised in Austria and had an unhappy childhood. His father was brutal, but Hitler looked up to his mother. He was a frustrated teenager and his artistic pursuits were disappointing, even though he had artistic talent. He served as a soldier in the German army during World War I where he was wounded. After the war he was lonely, isolated, and frustrated and he fantasised about much greater things and got entwined in politics.

            Germany was in an economic crisis and the German people were desperate for better days. In Munich, his party the National Socialist Party (NSDAP) attracted servicemen and disgruntled citizens. In 1924 Hitler was sentenced to five years in prison for staging the coup ‘Beer Hall Putsch’, he served only nine months and spent that time writing a book. Hitler’s book Mein Kampf (My Struggle) was published in 1925, the book was about his life and his political ideas. After his release he recruited Herman Goring, Heinrich Himmler and master propagandist Josef Goebbels.

            In 1933, his party won the parliamentary elections, there started the Nazi party, Third Reich and Hitler was their Fuhrer. Hitler predicted they would be in power for a thousand years and those who initially believed that the Nazi party wouldn’t last, would regret that they didn’t do more when it was possible.

            During his time in power he was known for his hatred towards Jews, Communists, Gypsies, political opponents and anybody else he disliked - he had them cruelty treated and killed. On 30 June 1934, was the Night of the Long Knives he destroyed any opponents, to get rid of Jews out of power and made sure he had total control. Hitler created the SS who were loyal only to Hitler and the secret police called the Gestapo. He had anybody he found undesirable sent to concentration camps, where millions died.

            Hitler embarked on a military program on a massive scale to make Germany a mega power. He attempted to take power wherever he could, the capture of Austria, Czechoslovakia, and the Rhineland; he then invaded Poland in 1939, which led to war with France and Britain. Winston Churchill refused to be duped by Hitler and even though Hitler first aligned with Stalin, Stalin later turned to side with the allies. In 1941 Hitler invaded the Soviet Union; the Russians were able to drive the Germans back. He then seized Denmark and Norway and then took over France in a matter of weeks. Hitler then declared war on the United States. The Allied troops invaded Germany from the east and west and had Germany in ruins.

            On 30 April 1945, Hitler and his wife Eva Braun commit suicide inside his Berlin bunker. The night before, around midnight, he married Braun. He wrote his will and declared Martin Bormann his deputy and expelled former right-hand man Hermann Goering and Heinrich Himmler for disloyalty. The two men had been concerned for Hitler’s mental state and doubted his ability to head the party in the last weeks of Hitler’s life when they would have known that the Third Reich was about to fall.

            Hitler and his closest aides had moved into the bunker below the Reich Chancellery garden on 16 January 1945 as allied forces closed in. The bunker housed medical staff, aides, telephonist and his secretary’s. The bunker was decorated in furnishings and artwork.

            On 22-23 April, those in the bunker had left but Hitler chose to remain until the end. On 30 April, Allied and Soviet troops moved into Berlin, prompting Hitler and Braun to end their lives. Braun swallowed a cyanide capsules and Hitler then shot himself. Afterwards Bormann doused their bodies with gasoline and set fire to them. That same day, Hitler’s minister Joseph Goebbels and his wife, killed their six children and then committed suicide. A week after Hitler’s death, Germany surrendered which ended World War II. The charred remains of Hitler remained in Russian custody, a skull fragment complete with a bullet hole and four teeth. Hitler and Braun were buried in unmarked grave in east Germany, their bodies along with those of the Goebbels family, were exhumed in 1970 on the orders of KGB boss Yuri Andropov, they were incinerated again, and the ashes poured into a river.

#adolfhitler #worldwarII

[renee-writer]

The Changeling Chapter 13

AO3

Wee Ian and his sister, Maggie, exam the newcomers with wide eyes. Maggie has never meet her uncle and Wee Ian was just her age the last time he saw him.

 

“You have grown so big and braw,” Jamie addresses his nephew, “and what a beauty you are, Maggie.”

 

“Uncle Jamie, who is the lass?”

 

“Wee Ian, this is my wife and your Auntie, Claire and our son William.”

 

She smiles at the children. “Hello.”

 

Both react the same way, moving away from her, their eyes wide. The lad finds his voice. “Why Uncle Jamie, she is a Sassanach!”

 

“Aye, but dinna fret. She is a good one. I swear it.” Murtagh is holding laughter back. It is good to know that the bairns are being raised as true Scots.

 

“Ian Murray, Margaret Murray, Claire is your auntie. You shall treat her with respect. Is that clear?” Jenny’s stern glance meets their eyes.

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“I understand,” She hands William to his daddy so she can kneel to their level, “the English can be fearsome. I am not fully English. I was raised all over the world. My dear uncle, may his soul rest in peace, he was an archeologist, dug up the past,” the irony of this hits her and she almost burst into laughter. Wasn’t she raised perfect for this adventure she is on! “So even though my voice is English, I am a Scot, for I am married to one and a mam of one.”

 

“That be good.” Wee Ian nods to himself, “very good.”

 

Maggie toddles up and rests against her. She carefully touches her dark curls. Everyone holds their breaths.

 

“Maggie’s Auntie Claire.” She declares. Jamie watches, his eyes full of pride.

 

Later, after the children are tucked in bed, they sit down to talk about the pardon.

 

“Sae this Lord Abernathy is helping cover up Randall’s crimes?”

 

Jamie nods. He understands Ian’s feelings about the man. He has, after all, came close to assaulting Jenny. It was something they don’t discuss.

 

“Aye, it makes sense. There has to be someone high up to allow him to get away with his despicable acts.”

 

“Ned is hoping to persuade him to arrange a pardon for Jamie in exchange for keeping their secrets.” Claire explains farther.

 

Jenny is silent, to silent. Ian looks at her. “Jenny?”

 

“As much as I want Jamie to be pardoned, I loath that he will continue to get away with it.”

 

All nod in understanding.

 

“He won’t for long,” Claire’s declaration has all eyes on her, “there is to be an upraising, we will raise up against the British. Unfortunately, it won’t succeed but, at the last battle, Black Jack will be killed.”

 

“How do you know that? I ken knowing the future but one person out of it, knowing his fate?”

 

“I know, Ian, because before he dies, he will marry a lass named Mary Hawkins. From their union they will have a son. Years after, my first husband, Frank Randall, will be born.”

 

Total silence.

 

“You married one of them!” Jenny hisses.

 

“Frank was nothing like his ancestor. He was interested in the family history. In his research, he found the information about Black Jack.”

 

“Jenny Mon ghrá, remember this is two hundred years in the future. Claire then didn’t know. She can’t be blamed. Her knowledge may help Jamie be free and help us prepare for this coming upraising, eh?”

 

She smiles at him before turning back to her sister -in-law. “Forgive me Claire. I just loath him so much. The knowledge he isn’t long for this world is a comfort.”

 

“I understand and I can help prepare for what is to come.”

 

She explains the upraising and it’s aftermath.

 

“We should stay out then, remain loyalists?” Jamie questions.

 

“Yes. I would love it if we won and could break off their control it isn’t just now. To keep the family safe, we need to stay true to the British.”

 

“We will do as you bid.” Ian says. They discuss what to plant and when, hiding resources away from the conquers.

 

“I am afraid the whole clan way of life will end. The wearing of tartan will be forbidden, the speaking of Gaelic. It will return in our great- great- grandchildren’s lifetime.”

 

There is a solemnness in the air. Her words, though needing to be said, carry a heavy weight.

 

“Thank you Claire. We shall prepare as we can. We shall keep the Gaelic in our hearts. Our children will learn it even if they can only speak it in secret.”

 

“Ian is right,” Murtagh has been quiet, listening for most of their conversations, “the bloody English will never fully conquer us.”

 

“Amen!” Jamie cries.

[iironwreath]

Repair [Cadiana]

[a rewrite of an old thing—took me a while to get to but I wanted to rewrite cady's older pieces into exandria like I did for union. this takes place during the year the party is in the feywild. and now it's longer than it was before oops]

Cadiana darkened the terrace of the house. It should have been easy—raise a fist, knock. They had done it before without hesitation, but it was if she were stone again, her limbs heavy and locked in place.

It was by both miracle and effort they found the house at all. Emon had always been a large city, being the first stretch of land to greet newcomers from Vasselheim, but it must have at least tripled in size in the last three centuries. Cadiana had missed so much time that Gwessar had become Tal’Dorei. 

She curled her fingers into her palms, shoulders creeping upwards. Even a subtle shift made noise, tiny clicks of overlapping plates like a second set of joints. 

They had been to their mother’s grave, but none of the surrounding plots belonged to their father. There were too many ifs: he could have moved anywhere from several months to two hundred years ago. He could have been executed and then burned and sacrificed to Neminar’s demonic legion. Cady wanted to complete the puzzle of where he'd gone—potentially sniffing out the start of a trail, then seeing if it ended in another grave or a living relative. Why hesitate, when she knew what she wanted? 

Passer-bys were unbothered by the armour-clad half-orc looming on a doorstep, too caught up in their own chatter or getting from one place to the next. Elspeth and Hadrean waited across the street, Elspeth attentive on Cady while Hadrean surveyed everyone else.

Cady inhaled, raised an arm, and pounded on the door.

Inside came a call, footfalls, then the door swung inward to reveal an elven woman. Her hair was ginger and cropped close to her skull and there were a sprinkle of freckles beneath a pair of pewter-blue eyes. They were similar to her father’s—to hers. 

Cadiana was a few inches taller and could see into the front hall. A staircase climbed the left wall. Furniture had been replaced and rearranged, and the scent wasn’t one she remembered. A dwarven woman, blonde, stood with her hands on her hips in an archway on the right wall, across from the stairwell. She wore a pair of half-moon spectacles that made her look like she could examine Cady for faults.

“Can I help you?” the elven woman asked with a perfunctory smile. Her accent was from Syngorn. The trophy dagger at Cady’s hip weighed heavy. 

Cady cleared her throat. “Cadiana Jacqueline Steelsong. I’m a paladin of Erathis.”

The woman’s eyes cut up and down her tabard. “I can see that.”

“I’m not here on any official business.”

“What brings you here, then, Cadiana of Erathis?”

There was no eloquent way to phrase it. “I used to live here.”

The elf shared a glance with the woman over her shoulder. “Did you?”

“I did. I was wondering when you purchased the house, if you did.”

The dwarf sidled up beside the elf, arms shifting to cross her bust. “Must’ve been about nine years ago now? Why, you lookin’ to buy it back? We’re not lookin’ to sell.”

Her accent was from Kraghammer. It sent a shiver of memory through Cady—of years spent warring beside them. She closed it behind her teeth, trying not to grind them.

“No,” Cady said. “I was wondering if you bought it from an elven man. Ginger hair, about this tall.” She measured outwards from her mouth with a flat hand.

They looked at each other quizzically. “No?”

Cady massaged their temples with one hand. “Damn it.”

“We might be able to help if you gave us more,” the elven woman said, now with a sprig of amusement. “You’re not lost, are you?”

Frustration pricked at the back of her neck and her posture snapped taut. The women, to their credit, didn’t flinch. “I’m not lost. I’m looking for my father.”

“What was his name?”

“Rhys’Erowyn.”

The elf scratched at her cheek, looking apologetic. “It doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry.”

“Taverns’ll be the next best place to ask,” the dwarf added. “Keep fishing with that name and eventually you’ll get a bite, I’m sure.”

Cady’s mouth went firm. “Thank you.”

The couple nodded and eased the door shut. Cadiana backed off the terrace. She trailed the seams of the house with her eyes—the door’s casing, the windows, then past it to the shingles of the roof and the chimney pointing into the dome of the sky beyond. It was the pale pastel of blue hydrangeas, and the occasional cloud scudded by. 

The home had felt more capacious when she was younger. Homes back then hadn’t always been built with orcs in mind, but her parents had made due. The church had always been home more than this place—where she bunked down, where she had made her first friends.

A part of her wanted to say goodbye to it, like it was important, somehow—but they normally didn’t ‘do’ things for the sake of it, for sentimentality. Normally she had orders that determined what was important for her. A part of her missed that—she could seek out as much guidance as she wanted, but everything was only ever a suggestion, never demanded.

Maybe it was to see if there was any remnant of her mother that wasn’t stone, earth, or bones—a scent, possession, or painting. A grave hadn’t been enough. She wanted something with more life and memory, to know that not everything had been or would be war—but it had been so long. The dust had settled. Maybe her father was that missing link.

Was it even the same building if there had been an attack from the Chrome Conclave, or did it just occupy the same address? Emon looked like it had a fresh coat of paint over fresh scars, but its core remained intact. Tal'dorei wore scars on its body as much as its people—she hadn’t seen the physical scars from the Scattered War yet, though she’d been told where to find them. The mental ones—she was living proof of that. 

She reached up to brush her fingers against her lone tusk, then wrung her left hand to pinch the stub at her knuckle. Homes could be rebuilt from the ground up—did it make them the same home? Could she be rebuilt?

Had she ever been broken? Could she replace what she’d lost?

They turned in a huff and strode back to their companions.